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Chapter 649 - The Bank

In the bay area, knights had apprehended a noble from Dorne, but to what end? It was abundantly clear that no good would come of it.

However, Dicken Manwoody valued his life greatly and had no intentions of meeting his end here. Despite the cold sweat trickling down his forehead upon hearing the demands, he steeled himself and agreed to their terms.

This was the suggestion of the young Dornish guide, Caren, during their expedition, a notion that found unanimous agreement among all present, including the commander. And thus, they began executing the plan.

They spent a considerable amount of time observing and understanding the pattern of supply troops heading towards Prince's Pass, meticulously chose their opponents, and ambushed one of the supply troops.

Their plan was to disguise as a supply troop heading to Prince's Pass, blending in while escorting the supplies, causing disruption from within, and coordinating with the main force outside to take control of Prince's Pass.

At the moment, they had cleared the battlefield, dragging all the corpses into the woods for a hasty burial. They then donned the armor of the Dornish soldiers. The customary attire of Dorne played a significant role; with the shrouds covering half their faces, their original identities were concealed, transforming them into Dornishmen.

The unfortunate second son of Kingsgrave had now become a hostage, his face a key to opening the gates of Prince's Pass.

Although he still rode his warhorse, whistling nonchalantly, the panic in his eyes was hard to hide, for a burly 'Dornish soldier' with a face full of mean scars trailed beside him.

The soldier had a sharp dagger tucked at his waist. Just before setting off, he had gestured near Dicken's thigh, indicating a major vein there, boasting how sharp his dagger was, capable of shaving a spider's legs.

Should Dicken scream or utter nonsense at the gates of Prince's Pass, the dagger would find its way into his thigh.

He would not only lose his virility but, more crucially, the thigh housed a major blood supply route to the lower limb.

A savage stab, followed by a cruel twist in the flesh, and blood would spurt out like a fountain. No one could render aid in time; he'd die of excessive blood loss.

As long as Dicken cooperated, they would spare him such a fate.

The good-cop-bad-cop routine had drained the color from the young Kingsgrave, agreeing hastily, his earlier bravado vanished, leaving a trembling figure atop his horse.

From the ambush to the cleanup, not half an hour had elapsed. Fortunately, due to the Dornish nobility's strict vigilance against civilian escape, the populace of Dorne were confined, and the major road to Prince's Pass was sealed off, allowing them a window of half an hour without any passerby.

Once again, the 'supply troop' embarked on their journey, oblivious to the grey-backed hawk perched on a nearby tree branch, its head tilted, observing them.

It witnessed the entire scene without making a sound, merely observing in silence.

Viserys remained in King's Landing, but in his idle time, he utilized the Old Gods' powers, channeling a portion of his consciousness into the hawk, spectating the battlefield near Prince's Pass, curious about Jon Connington's strategy to breach the city.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

Seated in the King's study in Maegor's Tower, Viserys tapped the wooden armrest of his chair lightly. His eyes mirrored the scene unfolding miles away.

Compared to Bran Stark's trajectory, Viserys' psychic powers were vastly superior, with divine fire burning within him now.

Thus, Viserys could multitask, controlling the hawk while retaining autonomous consciousness, pondering other matters.

"Sire," interjected the Master of Coin, Illyrio Mopatis, his face bearing a hint of confusion. It was rare for the King to be distracted during state affairs.

At present, his work was laying the groundwork for an economic overhaul across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

The Small Council had long ago passed a resolution to establish a central bank akin to the Iron Bank of Braavos and the Thirteen of Qarth.

The populace could deposit and withdraw their savings freely, with the Iron Throne providing guarantees.

As for interest on deposits? Unthinkable. The central bank would offer no interest but charge a nominal storage fee, essentially safeguarding the assets of depositors.

Although it might sound unfair, it was a norm in this era, even the Iron Bank charged a storage fee.

Given the peculiar nature of metallic currency, handling, storing, or safeguarding it was a hassle, prone to loss or accidents.

Thus, depositing in the bank became an optimal solution. Many nobles across the Seven Kingdoms stored their savings in the Iron Bank, including the Tyrells of Highgarden, who, despite contributing over a million gold dragons to the royal treasury, remained affluent due to diversified assets and investments.

The overarching military strategy of the Iron Throne was to reclaim the North, with the pacification of the Dornish rebellion a mere sidebar.

On the diplomatic front, troops were deployed to Naath to defend the erstwhile imperial vassal from enslavement. Although Westeros lacked a slavery system, it didn't vehemently oppose slavery like Braavos did.

Negotiations with Slaver's Bay were inevitable, for without trade, there'd be no slaughter.

With clear objectives in military and political arenas, the Master of Coin, though understated, was perhaps the busiest person post-war, healing the wounds of war before delving into economic reforms.

He drew inspiration from the free cities, initiating a series of economic reforms to disrupt the old financial order.

Once the central bank of the Iron Throne was established, a currency change was on the horizon. They'd gradually collect old versions of gold dragons, silver moons, silver stags, copper stars, and others, remelting them to mint new metallic coins.

Excellent, excellent, congratulations to EDG!

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