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Chapter 277: Tolos
🕑 Added 2025-04-19 12:58:25 +0000 UTC"I’ll get you to a safe place first. Wait for me there," Lynd said to Ella and Yara as he approached Deltos, who had already eaten most of the grilled octopus.
Yara wanted to tell Lynd that she could take care of herself, but Ella stopped her. Arryn nodded and said, "As you command."
Lynd leapt onto Deltos’s back. The creature lifted its head from the kraken’s corpse and opened its jaws, releasing a freezing beam of light that swept across the body, instantly turning it into a block of stone-hard ice.
Then, Deltos turned, spread its wings, and took to the air. As it flew over Ella and Yara, it grabbed them both and soared into the sky, heading north toward Tolos, where a contact point for the Miracle Merchant Guild was located...
Lazok, the best stone-slinger in Tolos, was originally supposed to join the city’s fleet and sail the seas. Unfortunately, he got seasick—even on ships docked at the harbor. This made him the laughingstock of Tolos, earning him the unflattering nickname “Lazok the Dizzy.”
That nickname vanished after he smashed in the skulls of three mockers with lead balls. Since then, no one dared laugh at him.
Now, with his exceptional slinging skills and expert swordsmanship, Lazok had been hired by the Magister to serve as the captain of the patrol on Garden Street.
Though the title might sound less prestigious than that of a tax collector or dock overseer, his authority was substantial. Garden Street was the busiest part of Tolos, filled with guilds and shops, and its patrol force was significantly larger than in other districts. The regular unit had three hundred members, with an additional two hundred in reserve. Most importantly, the Magister’s Council allocated a monthly fund to the patrol, and as captain, Lazok had direct control over it.
He couldn’t pocket the entire fund, of course, but shaving off a small portion for himself was well within what the bigwigs in the Council would tolerate.
Even a small cut meant a large sum for Lazok. For instance, the exquisite curved Summerhall blade he wore was custom-ordered from the Miracle Merchant Guild’s contact office on Garden Street with money from that fund.
The contact office itself was a modest building on Garden Street—so unremarkable it looked even plainer than the fur shop next door.
And yet, it had become the place in Tolos where the most powerful and wealthiest people gathered. They didn’t come just for the job board or the posted prices; most were trying to build connections with the Miracle Merchant Guild and become members themselves.
When the Miracle Merchant Guild first opened its office here, they invited local nobles and wealthy merchants to join as members. At the time, only a few merchants accepted. The rest sneered at the offer.
But now, having membership in the Miracle Merchant Guild was like holding a golden ticket in trade. Members could buy rare goods at incredibly low prices, with each transaction yielding enormous profits. Unfortunately, the Guild had since stopped accepting new members. It now operated on a referral-and-review system, meaning anyone hoping to join had to curry favor with current members at the contact office in hopes of being recommended.
The Guild’s powerful influence in Tolos wasn’t just due to its own strength and vast wealth channels. The true reason lay in the immense power behind it.
Everyone knew the Miracle Merchant Guild was backed by Lynd Tarran, Lord of Summerhall. His vast territory spanned two continents, but even more formidable than that was his personal authority. After all, the title “God who walks the earth” wasn’t just a name—it was a reality. Any follower of the God of Calamity could attest to that.
Lazok was one such follower, and a devout one. During the last Great Plague, he and his people fell ill. His parents, wife, and several brothers all died. It was the clergy of the God of Calamity who saved him. During treatment, he had clearly felt the presence of the god. That experience changed him—after recovering, he abandoned his belief in the Lion of Night and devoted himself fully to the God of Calamity.
Just as Lazok was thinking about stopping by the Temple of the God of Calamity to pay his respects after wrapping up his routine patrol, one of his men came rushing over from Garden Street Square, shouting from a distance, “Boss! Something’s happened again on Garden Street!”
“Shut your mouth! Do you even know where we are? You want the whole world to hear you shouting?” Lazok snapped, glaring at the nervous-looking subordinate before asking, “Now speak—what happened?”
The man lowered his voice and said, “Those Targaryen folks got attacked again—another assassination attempt.”
“What? Again?” Lazok sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. “How many dead this time?”
“Seven,” the subordinate replied, a trace of admiration in his voice. “That old guy leading them is tough—took down three of them himself.”
Lazok frowned. “Where did the Targaryens go?”
“They took shelter at the Miracle Merchant Guild contact office.”
Lazok raised an eyebrow with a sneer. “Clever bunch. Even the Faceless Men of Braavos wouldn’t dare stir up trouble inside the Miracle Merchant Guild.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Round up the men and head to the Guild. Seven bodies on the ground—either way, we’ve got to show up and handle things. Gotta collect that corpse disposal fee.”
With that, Lazok took the lead and set off with his patrol unit toward Garden Street Square...
By the time they arrived, the corpses had already been loaded onto a cart, and the blood on the ground was being scrubbed away. The cleanup had been fast—entirely because this was Garden Street Square, the very heart of Garden Street. If it had happened in any other district, the bodies might’ve sat there for half a day before anyone came to collect them.
Lazok gave the scene a quick once-over. As a well-known swordsman in Tolos, he could immediately tell that the person who killed the seven assassins was highly skilled, especially the older man who had taken out three of them—clearly a swordmaster.
“What a troublesome bunch,” Lazok muttered as he turned and headed toward the Miracle Merchant Guild contact office.
The building was easy to spot. Its rooftop was lined with banners bearing the blood-red longsword sigil of House Tarran of Summerhall—visible even from far away.
When Lazok reached the Guild, an auction was underway inside. Nobles and elites from across the city had gathered to bid on various items.
Lazok, well-versed in protocol, didn’t go in. Instead, he gave his name and the reason for his visit to the guards at the entrance, who relayed the message to the contact office’s manager.
Before long, the manager came out, accompanied by the Targaryens involved in the incident.
“Lord Lazok, this wasn’t our fault—we were the ones ambushed by those assassins,” said the white-haired leader, speaking first as soon as he saw Lazok.
“Lord Jon Connington, I’m not here to place blame. When someone tries to kill you, fighting back is only natural. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Lazok replied with a smile. “That said, I’m here to collect the corpse disposal and cleanup fees. Technically, that should come from the ones who started the fight—but they’re all dead now, and they died at your hands. So naturally, the debt falls to you. I hope you won’t make this difficult for me.”
Hearing Lazok’s twisted, money-grubbing logic, Rolly D'Arcy behind Jon let out an angry laugh and was just about to step forward, but Jon Connington raised a hand to stop him.
Jon Connington paused, gave it some serious thought, then nodded and said, “That seems reasonable. How much do we need to pay?”
Lazok named a figure. Jon Connington didn’t say a word—he simply pulled out a pouch and tossed it over, saying, “There’s more than enough in there.”
Lazok opened the pouch, glanced inside, and smiled in satisfaction. Then, as Jon turned to head back inside, Lazok called out, “Lord Jon, I won’t take your extra coin for nothing. I’ll give you a bit of information in return—there’s no need to keep waiting here for Khal Drogo. He’s already diverted halfway and is heading to Qarth. If you move quickly, you might still catch him there.”
At Lazok’s words, Jon’s expression turned serious. He turned around, just about to ask for more details, when a powerful, majestic roar echoed from above. Everyone who heard it felt an almost involuntary urge to kneel—it didn’t come from the streets but from the sky itself.
“Look! Look up there!” people in the distance shouted, pointing toward the sky.
Lazok, Jon, and the others stepped out into the street and looked up. From the clouds, a massive dragon with four legs and four wings emerged, diving straight toward the Miracle Merchant Guild.
The crowd was stunned by the sheer sight of the creature. It wasn’t until the dragon passed overhead that anyone even thought to move. But before they could find a place to hide, the dragon had already landed on the broad stone-paved street of Garden Street.
Even though the road was wide, it was still narrow compared to the dragon’s wingspan. The tips of its wings inevitably brushed against nearby buildings, causing visible damage.
People poured out of the buildings on both sides of the street—including those inside the Miracle Merchant Guild, where an auction had just been taking place. Everyone stood there, speechless, frozen in shock.
Every gaze locked onto the strange and magnificent dragon before them. Its four legs, two pairs of wings, and skin as hard as polished marble shattered all common knowledge of what a dragon should be.
Then, the dragon moved. It unclenched one of its claws, releasing a deformed, two-headed figure with distinct Valyrian features, who dropped to the ground. Despite the fall, the figure quickly got up, clutching something tightly, ignoring the dust and pain.
“It’s a Martarys,” someone muttered with disdain. Though Tolos and Mantarys had no direct contact, they were close enough that people here knew well what kind of place Mantarys was.
“Dragon eggs! That’s a dragon egg!” Jon Connington’s eyes swept past the two-headed figure and fell upon the object in his arms, prompting a gasp of recognition.
At that moment, the dragon suddenly spoke.
“Jon Connington, what are you doing here?”
A dragon speaking fluent Westerosi Common was bizarre enough—but even more startling was the fact that it recognized Jon Connington by name. Dragons, if they could speak at all, were expected to speak High Valyrian, not Common.
Everyone instinctively turned toward Jon, who looked completely bewildered. He had long traveled with the Targaryen heirs, but they were human—not dragons.
While the crowd struggled to make sense of what they'd heard, a figure rose from behind the dragon, previously hidden by its massive form. The man jumped down and landed lightly on the ground.
The ease of his landing stood in stark contrast to the ornate, heavy-looking full-body armor he wore. Covered in intricate, arcane patterns, the armor's most striking feature was the dragon-shaped helm—with four limbs, just like the beast beside him, though it lacked the extra pair of wings.
In that moment, everyone realized—the voice they had just heard had come not from the dragon, but from this knight. And clearly, the strange dragon belonged to him.
Jon Connington quickly composed himself, recognizing the armor’s unique design—and with it, the identity of the dragon knight. Still, disbelief lingered. The man was already known to ride one dragon, and now he appeared with another. No one in history had ever commanded two dragons at once.
With uncertainty in his voice, Jon tested his guess.
“Lord Lynd Tarran?”
Though he didn’t speak loudly, everyone nearby heard him. Silence fell across the square as all eyes shifted from the dragon to the knight.
“It’s been a long time, Lord Jon Connington,” Lynd replied, confirming his identity.
At that moment, the manager of the Miracle Merchant Guild contact office immediately recognized Lynd as well and hurried forward to pay his respects.
Seeing the manager’s reaction, the crowd quickly understood—this really was the legendary Lynd Tarran. Many began thinking about how they might find an opportunity to get close to him.
Lynd paid no attention to the crowd. Instead, he waved to Ella and Yara, gesturing for her to stand beside the contact office manager.
“Look after her for a while,” he said. “I’ll be back once I return from the Valyrian Freehold.”
With those parting words, he turned away, leapt into the sky, and mounted the dragon once more. With a few powerful beats of its wings, the beast lifted off, disappearing swiftly into the clouds above.
