The mont Luke's gaze t Petyr Baelish's seemingly gentle but unfathomably deep grey-green eyes, the semi-transparent system interface in the upper left of his vision popped up without warning. A line of pale golden text appeared, shimring like a stone dropped into water:
[Free Attribute Points: 2]
Luke's expression froze for a split second, his pupils contracting slightly.
Free Attribute Points?!
Gained from eting important figures?
But he hadn't received any when he t Bronn!
Was this Bronn a fake?
Or was there so other… hidden chanism?!
This brief lapse in composure did not escape the notice of "Littlefinger's" perceptive eyes.
The harmless, gentle smile on Petyr's face remained unchanged, but a trace of amusent and curiosity flashed deep in his grey eyes.
He tilted his head slightly, his voice soft, carrying just the right amount of puzzlent and self-mockery:
"It seems I am the terrifying fiscal minister that the rumors speak of — the one who makes even King's Landing's newest 'eccentric' feel afraid? I thought I, a minister so deeply… respected by the people, should be more approachable."
He deliberately emphasized "respected by the people" with a light, self-deprecating tone.
Luke quickly regained his composure and put on a perfectly asured smile — embarrassed yet polite.
At the sa ti, he finally had the chance to carefully observe this master scher and ambitious manipulator famous throughout the Ga of Thrones world.
Petyr was indeed not tall — even sowhat short. With Luke's current 170 cm height, he could clearly "look down" on the man.
Petyr had an ordinary build, but his clothing was exquisite. The well-tailored dark velvet doublet gave him a steady, refined air.
His appearance could be considered handso. The carefully trimd short beard on his chin and the few streaks of grey in his dark hair added a touch of maturity and shrewdness.
Most striking were his eyes — grey-green. They were currently smiling at Luke, but that smile never truly reached the depths.
Luke gave a slight bow, performing a simple and proper greeting. "Lord Baelish, you flatter . I am Luke Jacknien. It is an honor to et you. I simply didn't expect to be summoned by you, my lord. I was montarily… overwheld."
"Luke Jacknien…"
Petyr softly repeated the na, rolling the syllables on his tongue as if tasting an unfamiliar wine.
His grey eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze was like the finest comb, attempting to untangle Luke's background from his clothing, deanor, accent, and even the smallest gestures.
"Jacknien (Draconian)…"
He chewed on the pronunciation thoughtfully, then looked up, his eyes sharpening as they locked onto Luke. "It sounds sowhat related to 'Dragon,' doesn't it?"
"Yet you lack the signature silver hair and purple eyes of House Targaryen. You don't seem to be one of the fabled 'Dragonblood' either?"
"In this age where the Baratheons rule, soone actually dares to provoke the authority of the stag?"
Luke inwardly praised the man's sharpness and associative thinking, but on his face he showed a mysterious, slightly proud smile. "Your lordship's imagination is impressive."
"'Jacknien'… you may understand it as carrying a aning even older and more noble than 'Targaryen'."
He paused, eting Petyr's probing gaze, and dropped a heavy, half-true bombshell with clear, firm conviction:
"I am a descendant of the Heavenly Dragons. My blood carries a lineage even older and more noble than the Dragonlords."
"I am… a Dragon's Heir."
"A Dragon's Heir?"
Petyr's smile froze for a brief mont. His brows furrowed ever so slightly before smoothing out again, but the curiosity in his eyes grew even stronger.
These words sounded arrogant, mysterious, and even… far-fetched?
Yet combined with the young man's undeniably confident deanor and those unprecedented "treasures"… it added a layer of credible mystery to the arrogance.
"Whatever…"
Petyr used a word with a faint Narrow Sea accent, lightly steering the conversation away as if the shocking claim had been nothing more than a trivial interlude.
He put on his professional politician's gentle smile again and got to the point:
"I've heard that so very… novel and interesting items have appeared in King's Landing recently. For example, snow-white salt with no impurities, sugar as sweet as honey and fine as sand, potions that repel insects and bring a cooling sensation, and perfus with unique, long-lasting scents stored in exquisitely crafted glass bottles."
He took a small step forward, his tone carrying just the right amount of admiration. "From what I know, even the finest craftsn in Volantis could not match the craftsmanship of those glass bottles. Truly remarkable works of art."
At the end, his gaze locked firmly onto Luke once more. Though he didn't say it outright, his aning was crystal clear.
Luke t his eyes calmly and nodded. "The Master of Coin's sources are indeed well-inford. Yes, the goods you ntioned all co from ."
"They originate from an extrely distant land unknown to most, created through the joint efforts of dwarf masters and elven mages using ancient magic and craftsmanship."
A mysterious smile appeared on his face, his tone carrying undeniable exclusivity. "And I can guarantee that in Westeros — and the entire known world — only I, Luke Jacknien, can stably supply these items. No one else."
He changed the subject directly and asked, "So, what instructions does my lord have for summoning today? Could it be… that the Master of Coin's office wishes to begin taxing these 'novel items'?"
Petyr let out a soft, amused chuckle and shook his head. "Tax them? No, no, Mr. Jacknien. I am far more interested in promoting trade and increasing… prosperity in King's Landing."
He walked over to a thickly cushioned chair and sat down, gesturing for Luke to do the sa.
"I operate certain… establishnts of entertainnt."
Petyr spoke euphemistically, but both Luke and Bronn understood he was referring to his brothel business.
Bronn, standing dutifully behind Luke like a proper bodyguard, had his eyes greedily scanning the luxurious furnishings in the room.
Petyr continued, "After the girls used the perfus you provided, the results were remarkably good. Custors linger longer, and business has more than doubled."
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "And it's not just my 'small business.' Quite a few important figures in the Red Keep are very interested in your goods."
"The royal family hopes to secure a stable supply of 'Mithril Sal' and 'Velvet Snow' for the court's needs. And our Queen Cersei… seems to have an unusual passion for collecting every variety of your perfus."
He paused, observing Luke's reaction, then cast out the bait: "I believe we can cooperate. And as Master of Coin, I may be able to help you… obtain the qualification for 'royal exclusive supply'."
"This is not rely a stable order. It is also a… protective talisman that allows you to move freely in King's Landing and even across the Seven Kingdoms."
Luke laughed coldly in his heart, but his face remained expressionless.
A protective talisman? More like a death warrant and a shackle.
Cooperating with "Littlefinger" was no different from bargaining with a tiger.
But he needed this channel. He needed to "legalize" and "premiumize" part of his goods, and he needed the power of "official" backing to deter potential covetous eyes.
"Then," Luke said calmly, looking straight into Petyr's eyes, "what is the price?"
Petyr's face broke into a genuinely pleased smile, as if he had been waiting for this question.
"I do enjoy dealing with smart people, Mr. Jacknien."
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