"You really have a dragon egg?"
"Yes! I swear it's true!"
Malacho nodded frantically like a pecking chicken, making no effort to hide the fact that he was a spineless coward who feared the strong and bullied the weak.
Daeron studied him for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Good. You live."
A man who knew when to bend was rare.
He hadn't expected to gain an unexpected prize on this trip.
"The Black Wall nobles of Volantis…"
Daeron muttered under his breath, then asked suspiciously, "Could they really count as a dragonlord family?"
The answer was obvious. No.
If Volantis had ever possessed a true dragonlord family, they had been quietly eliminated by these self-proclaimed descendants after the Doom. The Black Wall nobles were the highest tier of Valyrian-blooded aristocracy—distant relatives at best, with some lingering connections to old bloodlines. They could swagger inside Volantis, but they would never dare challenge House Targaryen.
" Your Grace, I will definitely steal the dragon egg for you—no, I'll bring it to you!"
Malacho was crying and sniffling like a child.
Daeron gave Caraxes a subtle signal. The red dragon obediently backed away, letting sunlight fall across Malacho's face and giving him a moment to compose himself.
Volantis really chose this man as archon? And a Tiger Party archon at that—the one pushing for war?
"The Daughter of Valyria" had truly fallen on hard times.
"Your Grace, are you all right?"
Jaime arrived with ten Lionheart Knights, Bone Sword in hand.
Daeron said calmly, "I'm fine. Bring this one with us. We'll use him to convince the Volantenes to stand down."
Cutting off the head was effective, but that didn't mean an army without its commander would collapse. He had come to cause trouble, not to declare open war.
"What?"
Malacho's red eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the young Dragon King.
Daeron bent down and smiled. "Don't worry. I have something to discuss with you."
:
Evening.
Thanks to Malacho's intervention, the Volantene forces—who had not yet formed a proper counterattack—surrendered on the spot. They opened a path and allowed the royal fleet to depart without further fighting.
Half the Golden Company remained behind to "protect" Daeron's safety.
"Archon, the real reason I captured you was because I wanted to be friends."
Daeron stood in black and silver beside the sand table inside the command tent, pointing at the locations of the Triarchy and the Stepstones.
"The Triarchy is a cancer. They've even recruited the Golden Company and no longer respect the Iron Throne."
"I need your powerful navy."
"You command the fleet. I ride the dragon. Together we can emulate the dragonlords of old Valyria and their sea allies—strike at the old lands of Valyria once more."
In short: I attacked you because I need to hit the Triarchy, and because you have ships.
Malacho: ——
You have a dragon, so you think you're special?
"I won't let you lose out. With a dragon's help, you'll seize the Stepstones—and more of the Disputed Lands—far more easily."
Daeron painted a beautiful picture.
Malacho's eyes lit up instantly. How could this not count as an alliance between Volantis and the Dragon King?
He had known it. Dragon King Daeron had helped the Volantene fleet twice. There had to be an alliance in the works.
Of course there was.
In truth, he simply had no other choice.
That red dragon had flown straight over the entire fleet and captured him.
What else could he do?
"No wonder those Black Wall nobles call themselves dragonlord descendants. So this is what a real Dragon King is like."
Malacho was furious—at himself for not having dragon blood.
Daeron calmed him with a few words, gifted him a silver-plated dagger as an apology, and promised rich rewards once they attacked the Triarchy.
His true intentions were simple.
First, the Triarchy had recruited the Golden Company, crossing his red line.
The Golden Company could not be allowed to survive.
Second, Lys had repeatedly tried to seduce Rhaegar and coveted true Targaryen dragon blood. That made them his enemy.
This was the perfect time to teach them a lesson.
If you don't remember blood and fire, you won't learn respect.
And while they were at it, they might as well deal with Myr and Tyrosh too.
Tyrosh already had a blood debt. No need for courtesy.
As for Myr—their merchants had once been friendly, but talks of alliance had gone nowhere. That meant the alliance had failed.
Daeron would not be polite.
Second, helping the Volantenes attack the Triarchy would deepen their mutual hatred and bleed both sides dry.
As long as Westeros stayed out of it, the more chaos in the Stepstones, the better.
"Your Grace, I can introduce you to the Elephant Party archon, Nysos Vysarys. He's a clever merchant and a decisive politician. He'll like you."
Malacho knew Daeron had ulterior motives, but attacking the Triarchy served his own interests perfectly.
When he won the support of the Volantenes, he had made a military pledge: he would seize the Stepstones and deliver a glorious future for Volantis.
If he returned in defeat or got stuck in a stalemate, he would lose not only his position as archon but likely his life.
Daeron smiled and nodded, then reminded him once more: "Don't forget the dragon egg."
:
One week later.
After the final sea battle between Volantis and the Triarchy, both sides had entered a quiet period, quietly recruiting and rearming without launching new attacks.
That quiet window became an opening for every other faction.
Led by the pirates of the Summer Sea, raiders, slavers, and smugglers from across the region poured in. They attacked merchant ships, fought over medium-sized islands for bases, and raided the Triarchy's coastal territories.
They stopped at nothing to seize every illegal profit they could.
Bloodstone.
Tyroshi pirates assaulted the beach defenses and were driven back by the combined forces of the Second Sons and the Windblown.
After a brutal fight, they fled in disarray.
Rhaegar stood in black steel armor, his red cloak torn to half its length. His Valyrian steel sword "Truth" was bloodied. His indigo eyes showed clear fatigue.
As one of the most important islands in the Stepstones, Bloodstone attracted constant attention.
The pressure on Rhaegar was enormous.
"The Tyroshi pirates will return," Oberyn said as he approached. He wore a yellow surcoat over scarred leather armor, his freshly cropped black hair stained with blood.
He wasn't wearing a helmet.
Oberyn strode forward, his viper-sharp eyes scanning the direction the Tyroshi had fled. "Tyrosh is still choosing its new Triarch. The city is leaderless and full of chaos."
"These pirates don't answer to anyone. They sail under the Triarchy banner and do whatever they want. Sooner or later they'll come back with more men."
Rhaegar spoke slowly. "The Triarchy lost to Volantis. These pirates are rootless. They'll disappear eventually."
Oberyn shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and smiled. "But you need to understand—we're running out of men."
Rhaegar's followers plus the two sellsword companies numbered fewer than five thousand.
By comparison, the Triarchy and Volantis were giants.
Rhaegar caught the implication and looked at Oberyn's smiling face.
Oberyn spread his hands. "I'll go ask my brother to send troops."
He saw an opportunity.
When the Triarchy and Volantis finished grinding each other down, both would be weakened.
Rhaegar already had everything else he needed—except a strong army.
If they filled that gap, they could sweep the Stepstones once both sides were exhausted.
Rhaegar said, "Tell Prince Doran I won't forget House Martell's kindness."
"No one wants your gratitude, Rhaegar."
Oberyn dropped the smile and spoke plainly. "Treat my sister better. She's living cautiously in King's Landing. That's not the life she should have."
With that, he gathered several Windblown men and boarded a longship.
Rhaegar rubbed his temples and stared toward Lys in silence.
Fredo Rogare had written to him.
Lys had taken heavy losses and was now on war footing. They hated both him and the Volantenes, while also fearing Daeron's dragon.
The situation in the Stepstones had become so chaotic that no one could tell friend from foe anymore.
There was good news too.
Using the gold Rhaegar had provided, Fredo had bribed enough people to get himself elected as one of Lys's new archons.
According to him, Lys's attitude toward Rhaegar was… complicated.
They wanted his dragon blood, but they also wanted to control him—without offering anything in return.
Rhaegar was already preparing. Once the Triarchy and Volantis had finished bleeding each other, he would seize the moment, sweep the Stepstones, and strike back at Lys itself.
As for manpower—
The moment Prince Doran learned Rhaegar had taken Bloodstone, he could no longer stay on the sidelines.
Prince Doran wanted Rhaegar to rule the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea—even to become the ruler of Lys—more than Rhaegar himself did.
It all came down to one thing.
Sunk cost.
Rhaegar understood this perfectly. He kept negotiating terms, painting grand pictures, and pulling House Martell deeper into the water.
And House Martell drank it willingly.
:
Lys.
It was June. The island climate was mild, sunlight abundant. The fields had been planted in orderly rows, and fruit trees were heavy with ripening fruit.
The sea was a deep green, rich with fish for the fishermen.
At midday, a fleet flying the Golden Company banner slowly entered Lys waters. Patrol boats moved to intercept.
"Stop! Who are you?"
The Lysene soldiers blocked the way. They recognized the Golden Company banners and ships, but doubted their authenticity.
Everyone knew the Golden Company had lost more than half its strength.
The survivors had been granted land in the Disputed Lands. They were not supposed to be near Lys itself.
Black Barq stepped into view, drew his longbow, and loosed an arrow while shouting, "Less talk! Attack!!"
Thud!
A Lysene soldier took the arrow through the chest and dropped dead.
The rest panicked and tried to row back to report.
A volley of arrows rained down. Every man was turned into a pincushion and tumbled into the sea.
Half the Golden Company charged forward, smashed through Lys's sea defenses, and drove straight toward the beautifully built island.
Lys had been built on an island and possessed no proper city walls.
Even the most important port area only had spiral staircases and decorative walls—no real defensive battlements or gates.
"Charge!"
The Lysene forces had never expected an attack on their home soil. Caught completely off guard by half the Golden Company, they were pushed all the way back to the port.
Then, from beyond the harbor, wave after wave of warships appeared.
"Hiss-graa—!"
A piercing shriek split the air. A long crimson dragon burst through thin clouds and unleashed dragonfire across the Lysene fleet.
"Follow the Dragon King's rhythm!"
A new Volantene lieutenant—a tall, broad man with a scarred face and a tiger-head tattoo on his forehead—stood on the deck and directed the fleet.
He commanded a hundred warships that tore through Lys waters, smashing every Lysene ship they encountered.
This was inevitable.
Lys was wealthy, its climate perfect, its soil rich. It had every natural advantage.
Because of that, the Lysene people had grown arrogant, greedy, and decadent. They cared only for pleasure and schemes, forgetting the one truth that mattered: iron sharpens iron.
Aside from the sellsword companies they hired, the city's own military was pathetically weak.
"Dragonfire!"
Daeron shouted the command as he rode Caraxes, burning several Lysene warships while listening to the screams of the crew. He targeted the hardest targets first.
The Volantene fleet excelled at pursuit. They chased the retreating Lysene ships and quickly ended the naval battle, then turned to besiege the port of Lys itself.
Working with half the Golden Company, they paid a price but finally broke through the port defenses.
"Caraxes. Let's go."
Daeron looked down once, then flew over the outer buildings of Lys and appeared above the beautiful city.
:
At the same time, the Council of Governors was in session.
Tregar Ormollen heard the commotion outside and shot to his feet. "What's happening? It sounds like fighting out there!"
The other archons looked at one another. They had heard shouting and clashing steel as well.
Bang!
The doors burst open. A servant rushed in, face pale with terror. "My lords! The Golden Company has betrayed us! They've brought the Volantenes and they're attacking!"
"What?!"
Valarr's face went white. He strode to the massive windows and stared in disbelief. "Have the Volantenes gone mad? Do they want to start another Bleeding Years?"
Wars between the Free Cities were usually about trade or the Disputed Lands.
For example, the Triarchy's holdings in the lower Narrow Sea.
Besides their own cities, each held portions of the eastern continent's interior. Those lands were collectively called the Disputed Lands.
The three cities had fought countless wars over those territories, causing enormous casualties.
But those wars had always been about the Disputed Lands. Rarely did one city actually attack another's home.
After all, none of them were Braavos, determined to force Pentos into submission with an "unequal treaty."
"Wait… what is that?"
Tregar Ormollen suddenly spoke, his face turning ashen. His hand trembled as he pointed out the window.
Valarr turned to look.
"Hiss-graa—!"
A massive shape appeared in the sky—a long, serpentine body with enormous crimson wings circling above Lys.
In that instant, Valarr felt the blood drain from his head. The only sound he could force out was a strangled whisper:
"Dragon—"