The following few days, Luke's life beca orderly and highly efficient.
Every morning, he would take Bronn and four elite guards and venture deep into every corner of King's Landing, like a young, wealthy rchant with a genuine interest in exotic culture and unique tastes.
From the crowded dock districts near the Old Gate, to the deeper, more chaotic shantytowns of Flea Bottom. From the relatively respectable rchant streets on Rhaenys's Hill, to the noisy workshops gathered under Visenya's Hill. Even the areas near Aegon's High Hill, where one could faintly see the spires of the Red Keep, filled with noble servants and lesser rchants — all bore his footprints.
He no longer limited himself to Shoe-maker's Square or Silk Street. Instead, he actively sought out caravans and stalls from all Seven Kingdoms, as well as those from across the Narrow Sea in Essos, the Sumr Isles, and even more distant rumored lands.
His trading thod remained consistent: barter.
One jar of "Mithril Sal" (table salt) for several pieces of good-quality amber or suspected diamond-like items. A small bag of "Velvet Snow" (white sugar) for an uncut agate rough or an exotic jade bracelet. One bottle of "Sumr Snow" (floral water) for a piece of finely crafted Myrish lace or a Pentoshi enal trinket. "Dragon's Cold Fla" (wind oil essence) beca hard currency, easily traded for slightly lower-grade but genuine ruby and sapphire fragnts.
As for the perfus with their flamboyant labels, they were his main bargaining chips for larger, better-cut gemstones.
His eye was sharp. He appeared casual, but his targets were precise.
He pursued anything with natural mineral properties that held high value or unique aesthetic appeal on Blue Star.
Ordinary gold and silver jewelry or vessels held little interest for him unless they were inlaid with valuable gems.
This unique and seemingly "generous" trading style was like a stone dropped into a pond — the ripples spread rapidly.
Within a few days, news of "a strange man in King's Landing trading miraculous spices and perfus for gemstones" spread through the major markets and rchant guilds.
"Mithril Sal," "Velvet Snow," "Sumr Snow," "Dragon's Cold Fla," and the various perfus with their chuuni nas passed through multiple hands, their prices skyrocketing like rockets.
They eventually fell into the hands of the most sensitive and wealthiest nobles, allowing the earliest lucky ones to make a fortune.
The rumors grew increasingly exaggerated and closer to the center of power.
So claid a small bag of "Mithril Sal" was presented to the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, in exchange for a full ten thousand gold dragons!
Though unconfird, word that Littlefinger was interested in high-quality salt spread like wildfire.
Ser Jai Lannister, the Kingslayer of the Kingsguard, reportedly spent five hundred gold dragons for a single bottle of "Rosewater" perfu as a gift for his sister, Queen Cersei, greatly pleasing Her Grace.
The young Princess Myrcella had beco obsessed with "Velvet Snow" and "Ice Crystal Honey," their sweet taste conquering the princess's heart.
Even the little Prince Tomn, who cried incessantly at night, miraculously fell into peaceful sleep after his old wet nurse used a piece of "Ice Crystal Honey" to soothe him.
King Robert's brother, Master of Ships Stannis Baratheon—no, wait, Renly Baratheon — had taken a strong liking to "Lady's Kiss" perfu and spent a fortune to obtain a bottle.
Even the elderly Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, now wore a small, inconspicuous green bottle on his chest.
It was said to be remarkably effective at relieving his headaches and chest tightness, causing the Alchemists' Guild to stir with interest and investigate whether this "cool, pungent" potion had any connection to the dangerous "wildfire."
The modern industrial goods Luke had introduced had, in an extrely short ti, infiltrated the highest social circles and daily lives of King's Landing at a shocking speed. They beca the "must-haves" that nobles competed to acquire to show off their status and taste.
The attention and undercurrents they stirred far exceeded his initial expectations.
That afternoon, as the sun sank in the west, Luke had just completed a trade — three bottles of "Demon's Whisper" perfu for a small bag of roughly cut but vibrantly colored erald roughs.
In a good mood, he was preparing to return to his estate on Rhaenys's Hill with his guards.
Just as they turned into a relatively wide street, a Gold Cloak wearing an embroidered black-and-gold robe with a longsword at his waist, accompanied by two subordinates, blocked their path.
The captain-like guard swept a sharp gaze over Luke and the clearly formidable Bronn and others behind him, before finally settling on Luke's face. His tone was official, yet carried an unmistakable note of authority that brooked no refusal:
"Sir, the Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish, requests your presence. Please follow ."
Here it cos.
Luke's heart tightened slightly, but his face showed no abnormality, as if he had long expected this.
He nodded calmly. "It would be an honor. Lead the way."
Bronn, behind him, subtly raised an eyebrow. His hand rested casually on his sword hilt, his eyes gaining a touch of vigilance… and a hint of excitent?
Following this mysterious employer never seed to be boring.
The group did not head toward the Red Keep or the Tower of the Hand. Instead, led by the Gold Cloaks, they moved through streets gradually lighting up with lanterns.
They eventually stopped at the most prosperous section of Silk Street, in front of a lavishly decorated, brightly lit building guarded by two burly n at the entrance.
The air was thick with heavy perfu, wine, and a certain luxurious, ambiguous atmosphere.
The sign in elegant script read: Chataya's Brothel.
Bronn whistled, his small eyes lighting up.
He looked around lecherously at the provocatively dressed, scantily clad prostitutes posing at the entrance and on the balconies, clicking his tongue:
"Wow… 'Chataya's'!"
"Luke, are we here to talk business or… hehe, Lord Baelish sure knows how to pick a place! This is one of the most famous pleasure houses in the Seven Kingdoms!"
Luke, however, frowned slightly.
The heavy mix of various strong perfus made his nose — accustod to modern light scents — uncomfortable, even a little dizzy. He had zero interest in appreciating the slender and curvaceous, seductive won.
In his heart, he gained a few more layers of caution toward the cunning and scheming "Littlefinger."
Choosing to et in such a place was itself full of implications and a desire for control.
They were led inside the brothel.
The interior was the height of luxury — velvet curtains, gold and silver vessels, rare tapestries. Lightly dressed, beautiful serving girls and prostitutes moved about, their soft laughter and music filling the air with sensuality.
Bronn's eyes could barely keep up, and the guards looked sowhat awkward yet curious.
The Gold Cloak led them straight to the third floor, which was much quieter than below. Thick carpets covered the corridors, and the rooms on both sides had closed doors.
Stopping before an ornate wooden door, the attendant made a "please" gesture to Luke: "My lord, Lord Baelish is waiting inside. Please."
The attendant's hand seemingly casually blocked Bronn, who tried to follow.
Bronn grinned and completely ignored the attendant, bumping him aside with his shoulder.
He followed Luke directly into the room, muttering, "My lord is here to talk business. I have to stay close to protect him — that's the rule. I'm being paid for this."
Inside the room, the lighting was soft and elegant. The air carried a refined incense that overpowered the chaotic scents from downstairs.
A lean man with ticulously trimd short whiskers, impeccably combed hair, and a fine velvet doublet stood with his back to the door, looking out the window at the night view of Silk Street.
Hearing footsteps, he slowly turned around. A gentle, harmless, almost modest smile graced his face, but his grey eyes were like two bottomless cold pools, sharply landing on Luke.
It was the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish — Littlefinger.
A phrase flashed through Luke's mind: Chaos is a ladder.
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