Chapter 718

The reason was simple—personal interest and collective interest were not always aligned. The Supreme Septon had long been an arrogant and domineering figure within the Faith, making enemies of several High Septons. Luchen Frey, born a noble of House Frey, harbored ambitions for power and influence. Given the right incentives, his betrayal was inevitable.
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Under the watchful eyes of a four-to-five-hundred-strong search party—and an even larger crowd of curious onlookers—Mace Tyrell ordered the doors knocked upon. When no answer came, he gave a single command. Soldiers crashed through the entrance, storming into the residence, overturning furniture and rifling through its contents.

"Didn’t know this place had an owner," one bystander muttered. "Never saw anyone come or go much. Makes sense now—it’s a treasure vault, not a home."

House Tyrell, eager to prove their allegiance, had contributed most of the damning evidence needed to bring down the Supreme Septon, courtesy of their extensive networks in King’s Landing and Oldtown. The soon-to-be council members of Oldtown’s autonomous government had likewise provided everything they knew. The Night’s Watch enterprises, ever the opportunists, gleefully joined in—adding a few details of their own.

Like the accusations against Aegor and Daenerys the previous day, this too was built on seven parts truth and three parts fabrication. The greatest falsehood was the claim that the Supreme Septon had embezzled church funds to purchase Night’s Watch Bonds, a venture that had allegedly netted him a fortune.

In reality, Aegor had personally offered the Faith those bonds back in King’s Landing, practically giving them away at a loss to ensure religious institutions did not obstruct his technological reforms.

But who cared about the truth now?

A hoard of such magnitude, hidden away in a plain, unassuming house—who could possibly believe there was no corruption involved?

Not that anyone was foolish enough to step forward and claim ownership.

After all, no one was stupid enough to reach into the dragon’s maw for gold.
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“What's going on here?”

After taking inventory and stationing guards to oversee the transport of goods, Mace Tyrell swept his arm dramatically and led Luchen Frey to the next stash.

Some might have wondered why Luchen Frey, a High Septon of great standing, would side with Aegor, who openly sought to weaken the power of the Faith.

But the answer was simple: the promise of the Supreme Septon’s seat, the restoration of the Seven’s prestige, and the threat of his own secrets being exposed.

Had Luchen Frey refused, another Septon surely would have taken his place.
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The Faith’s resistance to Targaryen rule was not limited to mere whispers and rumors.

But any long-term schemes or countermeasures had been cut off before they could begin.

Aegor had not waited for the Supreme Septon to strike twice.

His counterattack was swift and ruthless—so much so that it was almost as if he had anticipated this exact moment.

As if everything had already been prepared, and he had simply been waiting for the Faith to step over the line.
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Amidst the chaos, a few “righteous citizens” stormed the platform and seized Luchen Frey, dragging him before Mace Tyrell. The crowd surged with them, their shouts demanding justice growing into a rolling tide that swept toward the market’s exit.

Every street, every alleyway within Oldtown’s walls was already under the tight control of the Western Expeditionary Army.

Every location suspected of storing wealth had been marked.

Even outside the high walls of the Starry Sept, Queen Daenerys’ men stood armed and ready.

And yet, the Supreme Septon had done nothing.

He had received reports of the city’s unrest. He knew what was happening.

But he could neither escape nor destroy the evidence.

And now that his public image had crumbled, he could not even rally the faithful to defend him.

He was alone.

Trapped.

Forced to sit in silent agony, awaiting his inevitable fate.
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Who would dare step forward to challenge the accusations?

The charges were delivered by a High Septon, corroborated by Oldtown’s elite, and enforced by the people themselves.

No one had the will—or the reason—to defend him.

After all, who didn’t enjoy seeing a fallen titan?

Whether that fallen man was Aegor West, Daenerys Targaryen, or the Supreme Septon…

It hardly mattered.

Deflecting blame was always easier than solving problems.
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It was a modest house. Neither extravagant nor decrepit—exactly the kind of dwelling a comfortably wealthy commoner might live in.

Nothing about it stood out.

Except for the fact that all the windows were sealed shut.

Except for the fact that both doors were reinforced, sturdier than expected.

Except for the fact that no one in the neighborhood seemed to know who actually lived there.

Unlike the rest of Oldtown, still swept up in the fervor of events, the Supreme Septon understood now.

This was why Aegor had declared the curfew.
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"Word is, they’re searching for evidence of the Supreme Septon’s corruption. You know who owns this house?"

By midday, news of the investigation had spread to every corner of Oldtown. The public accusations had completely overshadowed yesterday’s rumors about Aegor’s criminal past and the Queen’s bloodline.

Even if someone had objections—who would dare voice them now?
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What had started as a group of barely a hundred—half actors and plants, half curious spectators—had grown.

As they moved through the city, bystanders were drawn in, carried along by the excitement.

"Coincidentally," they encountered patrols, and Mace Tyrell, wielding his authority as Warden of the Reach, ordered those soldiers to join them.

By the time they reached the first vault, their numbers had swelled to over four hundred strong, completely blocking the street.
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The moment the first treasure chest was carried out, the crowd’s collective greed and fury ignited.

All rational thought was drowned in a surge of emotion.

They had seen the wealth with their own eyes.

Why should the Supreme Septon hoard such fortune while they struggled to survive?
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Why had he provoked that man?

Why had he gone after Aegor West—a man countless others had already proven should not be challenged?
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The curfew had never been about stopping gossip.

It had been about setting the stage for this.

For his downfall.
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One site, then another, then another.

Though the locations of these raids seemed random, they followed a carefully planned route, maximizing the spread of the news and its impact.

Not all of these hoards belonged to the Supreme Septon.

At least half of them belonged to other high-ranking clergymen.

But for the sake of spectacle—for impact—it was all attributed to one man.

And even if someone did stand up to refute the accusations…

Well, it wasn’t Aegor who was making them.

It was Luchen Frey.

If anything turned out to be false, who could blame the Hand of the Queen for it?
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As dusk approached, the blood-red light of the setting sun cast its ominous glow upon the Starry Sept.

The Supreme Septon knew.

Before nightfall, the final destination of the now thousands-strong “search party” would be his last refuge.

The Starry Sept itself.
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Aegor could never erase his past crimes.

Daenerys could never change her parentage.

These were fixed truths—ironclad facts that could never be undone.

If one’s enemies chose to attack them on those fronts, defending against them was always a losing game.

The only way to counter an attack like that—was to strike elsewhere.

To open a new battlefield.

To strike at the enemy’s weak points, not where they wanted to fight.
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By the time the first chest of gold was pried open, the crowd had already been swept away by the tide of greed and fury.

Many had come only to watch.

But now, swept up by the moment, they became the loudest voices.

They spread Luchen Frey’s accusations as gospel, even calling others to join them in their hunt for justice.
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At the heart of the storm, the Supreme Septon slumped in his chair.

Alone.

Trapped.

And full of regret.