A hundred elite guards disembarked from the white-sailed ship in perfect formation. Due to Nymeria's influence, Wright's personal guard included more than a dozen women.
Wright's primary requirement for selecting his guards was their appearance—no effeminate men or pretty boys; they had to either radiate righteousness or possess the kind of intimidating glare that could make a child cry. Only these two types could maintain his image!
The second criterion was height and physical strength. Wright himself was tall, and if his guard consisted of short men, he would stand out awkwardly among a sea of heads. That would be disgraceful.
By his standards, the women in the unit were far from conventionally beautiful. Most hailed from Dorne, with muscular, sturdy builds that made them just as formidable as the men in combat.
The guards wore light golden armor with single-shoulder capes and adorned antlered helmets. Twenty of them, wielding standardized two-handed battle axes, marched at the front to clear the path.
Behind them, another twenty carried banners on their backs, holding them high with both hands as they followed in two rows. Sixteen of these banners bore the crowned stag wreathed in flames, gleaming brilliantly under the sunlight.
Two banners displayed a pair of black and white swans locked in combat, positioned to the left and right behind Wright's personal sigil. These belonged to Ser Balon Swann—not only Wright's captain of the guard but also the knight of Fire Island in the Stepstones. As Wright was now visiting officially as a Lord, Balon, as his vassal, was entitled to raise his own standard.
Additionally, two banners bore silver seahorses on a sea-green field. The older citizens of the port recounted tales of the family behind this sigil to the younger generation.
Forty more guards marched in two columns, encircling Wright and several noble companions. As they moved, their hands remained firmly on their two-handed axes, constantly scanning the crowd. If anyone dared rush toward Wright, a giant axe would come down instantly.
A band followed them.
Tyrosh was home to many artists, but since their identities hadn't been verified, they weren't allowed to officially accompany Wright. Only the musicians from Nymeria's court had that privilege.
This was something Tyene had informed Balon of—Wright himself was completely unaware of such a rule and suspected that the musicians were merely competing for the honor of accompanying a Lord and had bribed Tyene to influence Balon.
The band was composed entirely of Dornish men and women dressed in extravagant outfits with fashionable makeup, playing a purely instrumental version of The Song of the Dragonborn. To Wright, it sounded like snake-charming music, with an overwhelming whiff of curry.
At the rear, twenty more guards accompanied several dozen naval soldiers who had hired carts from the port to transport chests filled with gold dragons.
The entire procession exuded an imposing aura. Upon gathering at the Myr port, they pushed aside the crowd, banners flying, music playing, and treasure-laden carts rolling behind them. The Tyroshi strode toward the Magister's Hall with unabashed arrogance. Meanwhile, Wright, walking in the middle of the formation, wished he could cover his face with his hands.
"Having the elite guards is fine, but why do we need a band too? All this music and fanfare must be disturbing people!" Wright grumbled to Aurane beside him.
Balon, always blunt, was about to remind Wright that he had hired musicians when he visited Braavos alone. However, Aurane, more adept at reading the room, tugged Balon's sleeve and intercepted the conversation. "It is a tradition among the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. Many lack the wealth to employ musicians, so over time, only Lords continue this practice. Given Lord Wright's demanding schedule, this is actually the first time musicians have officially accompanied him."
Wright thought for a moment. "That's true! Renly always had musicians around him, and when Robert was younger, every place he visited had music—though he usually just sang 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' in his loud, booming voice."
Seeing Wright's discomfort, Aurane smiled. "After a few more times, you'll get used to it, Lord Wright."
"I think I'll spend more time riding my dragon—I'm more used to being alone," Wright replied, then glanced back. "Theon, Wendel, how are you both adjusting to the navy?"
"Fantastic! The military is completely different from mercenary life," Theon, now noticeably tanner, responded from behind him.
"I've been training intensively, and by next month, I'll be able to join the regular soldiers in drills!" Wendel, walking beside Theon, constantly wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. He had lost a few pounds, but given his original size, it was barely noticeable. He had been so overweight that he couldn't even fit into armor, making him the only soldier in the Tyroshi navy yet to receive a standard uniform and chainmail.
Wright had placed both Theon and Wendel into the navy for training. However, Aurane wasn't one to simply accept Wright's casual decision and had conducted a thorough investigation into their backgrounds.
Theon was the rightful heir of House Greyjoy, though the king had stripped the family of its noble title and lands. Upon further inquiry, Aurane discovered that Theon's sister, Asha, had once been a fugitive and had even followed Daenerys. Recently, she had been seen openly drinking in Tyrosh, while Theon had been personally sent to the navy by Wright's orders.
With both the king and Renly turning a blind eye to this, Aurane suspected something significant was at play. He was convinced that Theon and Asha would soon be legitimized in Tyrosh, with their fugitive status revoked.
As for Wendel, he was the youngest son of the Lord of White Harbor, who had personally entrusted him to Wright. Such a long journey wasn't undertaken just to make him a common soldier. Thus, Aurane had discreetly assigned these two "soldiers" to his own guard detail, ensuring they remained by his side at all times. This time, they were personally guarding Wright alongside himself, Balon, Theon, and Wendel.
Now that Wright had taken the initiative to speak with the two, Aurane was even more certain of his suspicions. Wright walked ahead, and the three exchanged a knowing smile. Theon and Wendel acknowledged the favor he had done them.
It was Wright's second time in Myr. The last time he had visited, he had been too busy to stay for more than a day, leaving without properly seeing the city. But now that Myr was about to become his domain, he paid close attention to every brick and tile as he took in the sight of the white-walled city.
The native Myrmen had black eyes, black hair, and olive skin. Their slightly curled hair resembled that of the Dornish. The ratio of freedmen to slaves was one to three, and only freedmen could walk the streets unshackled.
The onlookers observed Wright's entourage, but the usual indifference and curiosity were gone from their eyes. Now, all Wright could see in their gazes was fear, greed, resentment, and—after the utter despair—madness tinged with bloodshot desperation.
The city's textile, furniture, glass, and brewing workshops had all shut down. Most shops along the streets were closed, save for those selling food. The once-thriving commercial hub of Myr had turned into a ghost town.
The intelligence reports had already summarized the situation: due to layers of debt upon debt, Wright had cut off interest payments, and the principal had vanished without a trace. Loan disputes had erupted across the city, and many who couldn't repay their debts had already been thrown into the sea to feed the fish.
Those who remained alive were still struggling to fend off other creditors—who, in turn, had creditors of their own. The ones who had dreamed of overnight wealth had lost everything. Now, violence was one of the few means left for the Myrmen to survive.
Wright's schemes had brought Myr to this state, yet he felt no guilt. Myr had waged war against Westeros multiple times. For centuries, its navy had donned pirate garb to plunder merchant vessels. It had secret agreements with the Golden Company. The wealth of Myr was soaked in blood. And now, he had bled it dry with economic warfare—without killing a single man. Wright considered himself merciful.
His personal guards gripped their battle-axes tightly, maintaining vigilance. After the accompanying musicians had gone through more than a dozen songs, the procession finally arrived at the Magister's Council, the white castle at the heart of Myr.
An elderly Magister stepped forward to greet Wright with a deep bow, making himself as small as possible. "Welcome to Myr, Lord Wright. Please forgive us for not meeting you at the port—there has been a recent wave of banditry in the city, and the city guard is busy hunting them down."
The Magisters of Myr should have been at the docks to receive him, but given the circumstances, Wright forgave their breach of etiquette. These men were the city's top lenders—if they had dared to step onto the streets, the debt-ridden populace would have torn them apart.
"Understandable, understandable. Tyrosh often has pirate troubles as well," Wright replied, playing along with the old man's excuse.
"The banquet has been prepared. This way, please."
No matter how impoverished they became, nobles would never starve. Even under the weight of crushing debt, their feasts remained lavish. Dancers in scant attire entertained the guests, and the meal was filled with laughter and cheer.
But once the banquet ended, it was time for business. The Magister's Council of Myr consisted of seven members. Wright, accompanied by Aurane, Balon, Theon, Wendel, and Maester Maekon from Tyrosh, attended the formal negotiations.
The Magisters unfurled a detailed map of Myr's territories across the conference table. The land plots were marked in various colors, each labeled with the names of the families who owned them. Wright examined it for a moment before pointing at the map.
"How do you plan to sell?"
A corpulent Magister answered, "We are not selling. We're leasing—for fifty years."
Wasn't this the very same trick he had used in the Disputed Lands? These men had learned fast. But what was good for others was not necessarily good for him. Wright drummed his fingers on the table as he looked at the seven men.
"Leasing? And just how high must the rent be to pay off all these noble debts?"
The fat Magister chuckled. "The debts aren't actually that large."
Bang!
Wright slammed his palm onto the table, making the Magisters jump. They all knew his strength was terrifying—if he truly lost his temper, he could level Myr itself.
Did they really think he didn't know how much they owed? The bonds had been printed by his own hand! Every single transaction was meticulously recorded, down to the last Myrish copper!
"You think I don't know?" Wright's voice was sharp as a blade. "What Myr's so-called 'Dragon Bank' holds is worthless! I sent you formal notices last year—those bonds were never my assets! You got greedy for high interest rates and fell for a scam, buying counterfeit securities. You wanted their interest, and the fraudsters wanted your principal! Now, the wealth of this city has been utterly looted, leaving you with nothing but worthless scraps of paper! Myr has become the laughingstock of the world!"
"Lord Wright, we only need a small sum to get back on our feet—" one of the Magisters started.
Bang!
Wright rapped his knuckles on the table, his face dark with fury.
"Where did all your money go?"
Bang!
"Can you find the fraudsters?"
Bang!
"How do you plan to get your money back?"
Bang!
"Can't find the people or the money? So next, you'll kill each other over debts, and Myr will collapse?"
A classic Ponzi scheme. Even in Wright's previous world, in the 21st century, this kind of scam could still deceive people endlessly—sometimes even dragging entire nations into ruin.
Under Wright's relentless and forceful questioning, the Magisters could no longer hold out.
"As expected, Lord Wright already knows the full story. I knew such a huge matter couldn't be hidden for long!"
"Lord Wright, please, you must save us!"
"Lord Wright, if you can help my family survive this crisis, we will be forever in your debt!"
At this point, they didn't care about Myr, nor its people—they only cared about themselves. Wright's expression returned to calm as he listened.
"Now that you're in trouble, the Braavosi in the North will only take advantage of you, the fools in Pentos don't even understand what's happening, Volantis in the South is eager to annex you, and the Lyseni will come to plunder. Not to mention the savages in the East."
Officially, Volantis and Lys were independent, but in reality, they were his people. Braavosi and Pentosi merchants and soldiers had already moved south, only to be blocked outside Myr's bay by the Tyroshi navy. The only one willing to pay the Myrmen now was Wright—and he'd do so using their own money.
Wright spread his arms wide, like a savior descending upon the Magisters, and declared in a loud voice:
"Only me! Only I will not wage war against you in your time of crisis. Dragonfire can turn this city to ash with ease, but I am a fair and benevolent man! I choose to save you through open and just means! Only I can deliver you from this disaster!"
"Lord Wright, we were blind! Years ago, the Golden Company deceived us and slandered you. Please forgive us!" One of the thinner Magisters wailed in exaggerated grief.
He rubbed his face dramatically, but not a single tear came. In the end, he simply covered his eyes with his hands.
"Lord Wright truly stands apart from the rest! A dragonrider worthy of the name!"
"Once we survive this crisis, should we erect a statue of Lord Wright to commemorate his great deeds?"
These cunning old foxes had started playing the emotional card, showering Wright with flattery. But he wasn't buying it. Instead, he brought the discussion back to the original question:
"So, how do you plan to sell?"
Seeing that Wright wasn't swayed, the Magisters exchanged glances and whispered among themselves. After a brief discussion, they handed him a ledger. It contained a list of properties the lesser nobles were willing to sell—land, estates, and even freefolk and slaves, all with marked prices.
Wright humored them with some idle chatter before finally slashing their asking prices by sixty percent.
"Perhaps Lord Wright should take a few more days to reconsider?" The elder Magister was still hoping for merchants from other regions to arrive. Wright's price was far too low.
"Then I'll leave?" Wright turned to them with a pleasant smile, looking each of the seven men in the eye. "Remember, Braavos, Pentos, Volantis, and Lys—all four city-states have fleets just outside Myr's bay. The moment I walk away, they'll be at your gates. Are you sure?"
"Sell!"
Even an idiot could see that if they didn't sell, Wright would start killing. Giving him what he wanted at least ensured they got some money to escape—and maybe even skim off a little extra from other nobles along the way. After all, they were merely the Magisters of Myr. The city itself wasn't truly theirs, so selling it didn't bother them in the slightest.
With the ledger in one hand, Wright tapped the map on the table with the other. "Land—here, here, and here. I want all of it."
"What?!"
As Wright pointed left and right, the lands he marked connected into one massive stretch—practically encompassing the entirety of Myr.
"All the land is mine now. You'll have no choice but to live elsewhere. Take this money and go wherever you please."
Wright then added, "With you nobles gone, the freefolk and slaves left behind won't survive on their own. They belong to me as well."
That same afternoon, the Magisters and Wright jointly issued an official proclamation—Myr now belonged to Tyrosh.
With money in their pockets, the Myrish nobles flooded the Magister's castle, demanding repayment of debts and proceeds from the sales. But things didn't go as planned. The total sum was far lower than expected. Once they paid off the land and slave sales, kept a share for themselves, and set aside some to bribe their way out, there was simply nothing left to repay the creditors.
By the time Wright awoke the next morning, the streets of Myr had erupted into chaos. Barricades of broken furniture and stones blocked every intersection, and people were fighting everywhere—soldiers against soldiers, citizens against citizens.
The great nobles had already divided the bulk of the wealth among themselves, leaving the lower classes with mere scraps—far less than they had originally invested. Now, they fought desperately for what little remained. Some battled for profit. Others, ruined and despairing, had lost everything—family, fortune, hope. They had nothing left to do but take to the streets and unleash their fury.