Chapter 87

The Seven-Pointed Star was the primary holy scripture of the Faith of the Seven, divided into seven gospels corresponding to the seven aspects of the divine. The official version contained over three hundred thousand words, and when printed along with its illustrations, each copy ran to well over a hundred pages.

Ordinarily, purchasing such a tome—crafted painstakingly by hand on vellum—would cost at least a gold dragon. Even then, it was typically unavailable for direct purchase and required pre-ordering. Few had the resources or inclination to produce more copies than were already spoken for.

Once the first Seven-Pointed Star was printed and bound on plant-fiber paper, Tyrion took the sample to the Faith to pitch it. With his silver tongue and social standing, he secured the first order with remarkable ease: the Faith agreed to purchase a thousand copies at thirty silver stags each. Additionally, they commissioned ten thousand leaflets and illustrations—content provided by the church—at the price of one silver stag per copy.

On top of that, Tyrion's salesmen managed to pull in smaller orders from merchants and shopkeepers. The factory hadn’t even started production yet, but these exploratory orders for the new product had already amounted to hundreds of gold dragons. Some cautious small-time buyers, wary of House Lannister’s name, even prepaid.

The first set of woodblocks was long complete, and Tyrion—ever the opportunist—had already ordered a second set prepared to keep pace with demand.
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This was just for the Seven-Pointed Star. Additional orders for calendars, though sporadic, were already worth dozens of gold dragons. Preparations for novels and risqué booklets were also underway, though Aegor hadn’t yet found anyone with the talent and experience to handle content creation.

He was growing uneasy—if no suitable candidates could be found, would he have to write the material himself? Writing was one thing; he had some experience in that. But illustrations? This world had no cameras or computers—everything had to be drawn by hand!

Still, it was too early to dwell on that. The road ahead would surely reveal a way forward.
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After some discussion, the factory site was chosen just outside the southwestern walls of King’s Landing, along the upper reaches of the Blackwater River, south of the tourney grounds.

The location had many advantages: ample, clean land outside the walls; proximity to the river for water supply, waste disposal, and potential hydropower; and convenient access to Blackwater Bay, the city gates, and main roads. Additionally, the impoverished populace living around the walls provided a ready source of cheap labor.

After days of studying maps and surveying the area, Aegor and Tyrion settled on a spot a few miles outside the King’s Gate, mere hundreds of yards from the main road. The land was on the southern bank of the Blackwater, where the wide bay narrowed into the river. Though originally farmland, the area had been abandoned after its trees were felled and was now occupied by a handful of peasants growing vegetables.

Remarkably, the land hadn’t been claimed sooner. In modern times, it would’ve been snatched up instantly by speculators. But in Westeros, all land around King’s Landing was technically the property of King Robert, and land outside the city walls—lacking the protection of fortifications—was not considered valuable.

Even the most prized land outside the Mud Gate, near the bustling Blackwater Harbor, had been stripped bare during the War of the Five Kings. When Stannis attacked King’s Landing, Tyrion ordered every building in the area demolished to prevent them from becoming enemy footholds.

The plot chosen by Aegor and Tyrion was further west, where the Bay became the river. With its narrow banks and swift currents, it was unsuitable for trade ships, making it an afterthought to merchants. After its deforestation, the land had remained idle, occupied only by a few farmers.
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Arya adored her swordsmanship lessons, and her enthusiasm had slightly softened her father’s attitude toward Aegor. As Hand of the King and Warden of the North, Eddard Stark also found himself intrigued by Aegor’s plans for developing Night’s Watch industries in King’s Landing. Without much effort, Aegor obtained permission from the Hand to use the land. As long as compensation was paid to the farmers for their ruined crops, there would be no rent owed to the Iron Throne.

Perfect.

With a construction crew hired and plans laid, the Night’s Watch’s first southern outpost began to take shape.
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That day, Aegor and Tyrion finished their site inspection and headed back to King’s Landing together.
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“Maybe I should move out here in the future. More space, and it doesn’t stink,” Aegor remarked.

“Space is nice, but it’s far from the brothels,” Tyrion countered.

“Once the area’s populated, prostitutes will naturally follow. Eventually, we might even open a Night’s Watch brothel here. Of course,” Aegor added, casting a sidelong glance at his companion, “the ones for the workers won’t be suitable for a noble Lannister. Why not keep your own mistress?”

“I like variety,” Tyrion replied, ignoring the jibe. “But if you move out here, what about your charming little apprentice? She’s the Hand’s daughter. How would she travel ten miles every day for her lessons? Besides,” he added, “having a Stark girl around helps our cause. You can’t just abandon her.”

“You’re right,” Aegor agreed. Arya’s presence had indeed been invaluable. “I was only joking. I’ll stay in the city.”

“But you’ve given me an idea,” Tyrion continued. “Building the factory is one thing, but providing services for the workers is another. In the future, we could open a canteen, shops, brothels, even a casino—right next to the factory. Then we restrict workers from leaving during work hours and encourage them to spend their wages on-site. We can even pay them higher wages since much of their money would end up back in our hands. Isn’t that the stable cash flow you’ve been looking for?”

Aegor shot him a look. Tyrion, are you sure you’re not the transmigrator here?

“You’re a heartless boss,” Aegor said dryly. “Truly deserving of the title ‘Imp.’”

“Learned it from you,” Tyrion shot back, flipping a rude gesture. “If I’m the Imp, you’re the Archdemon! I’m only after money—you’re the one plotting to send people to the Wall to fight wildlings and White Walkers. That’s a death sentence!”

What had started as banter suddenly turned somber. Aegor couldn’t bring himself to joke further. “Someone has to do it,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Tyrion echoed softly. “Someone does.” Realizing the misstep, he quickly changed the subject. “At least pay them well.”

“They’ll be paid well,” Aegor agreed. He had no intention of facing such horrors himself, but he could ensure those who did received both honor and security.

The two tacitly moved on to other topics. Investment prospects were looking up. A young nobleman in King’s Landing had expressed interest in Tyrion’s projects. While he lacked the authority to pledge significant funds, he had written to his family, and a prominent Crownlands lord was expected to visit soon. If the inspection went well, their first major investment could be secured.
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Riding side by side, they returned through the King’s Gate, circled Visenya’s Hill, passed down Iron Street, and came to Baelor’s Sept. It was then that Aegor noticed a peculiar building.

He’d seen it on his first day in King’s Landing, but the city’s stench and his initial disorientation had kept him from paying it much mind. Now, as he grew more familiar with the city, the building’s incongruity stood out. It resembled a grand inn, much larger than the surrounding structures but far smaller than the Sept. Located in the city center, it was visibly old and poorly maintained, with a closed door and broken windows left unrepaired.

“What’s that building?” Aegor asked.

Tyrion glanced at it. “That? The Alchemist’s Guildhall.”
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