
In 298 AC, when Jon Arryn was poisoned, Matthew knew his chance had finally arrived. Chaos is a ladder. Robert would die. Stannis would kill Renly—and kinslaying is an unforgivable sin. That meant the only remaining legitimate bloodline of House Baratheon would be a bastard. And he just happened to be one. A reincarnator’s ambition never stops. From that point on, Matthew worked even harder to make money. When he finally earned his first gold dragon, fate smiled on him—his cheat ability activated at last. That was when Matthew truly understood one thing: what he wanted, no one else was allowed to take. He didn’t just want to be King of Westeros. He wanted Essos as well. He wanted Braavos—and the Iron Bank’s vast fortune. “Faceless Men? White Walkers? Dragonlords?” As Matthew sat on the Iron Throne, runes carved across his body, he listened to his subordinates whispering and let out a cold, disdainful smile. “How many rune weapons do you think they can stop?” “Ten thousand enough?” “If not—don’t worry. I’ve got more.”