With the Lizard's Claw equipped, Daeron no longer had to worry about poison or curses. His personal safety was as locked down as it could get.
In open battle he was a dragonrider.
On the ground he was a full knight.
Against assassins he had the Lizard's Claw on his accessory slot.
As long as he didn't do anything stupid, he was basically unkillable.
"I've got everything I need now," Daeron said, sliding the accessory into place with a satisfied grin.
Ever since clearing the volcano dungeon, he'd thrown himself into developing Ginger Island.
He kept farming the dungeon floors, hunting for drops and accessories. The first level refreshed at midnight every day, but it only spat out Solar Essences and a few gold bars. After a while Daeron smacked his forehead—he remembered the Slime Forest on the west side of the island, right next to the Ginger Island farm.
That area spawned yellow-and-black Tiger Slimes, mahogany trees that dropped hardwood, and the occasional golden walnut.
He chopped every mahogany tree he saw and collected the walnuts, then spent the rest of his time slaughtering Tiger Slimes.
Those things were no joke. A normal person would've run for their life. Even a knight who had formed a Life Seed could get swarmed and killed if he ran out of healing potions.
So Daeron just rode Caraxes and steamrolled them.
Caraxes hated monsters on sight. One swipe of his claws turned a Tiger Slime into loot confetti. After a few days the Slime Forest stopped spawning them entirely.
"Guess they're busy making babies," Daeron muttered, staring at the empty woods. "Fine. Let the ecosystem recover."
His haul was already better than expected.
Golden Spur (Accessory): On crit, gain +1 speed for 7 seconds.
Simple and brutal. Every time he landed a critical hit, he got an instant speed boost. The buff didn't stack, but it refreshed every crit.
"I'm a dragonrider," Daeron thought. "Does Caraxes get the speed boost when he crits?"
He tested it immediately because that's who he was.
Result: As long as Daeron stayed in the saddle, every time Caraxes crit with dragonfire he got +1 speed for seven seconds.
And Caraxes crit roughly once every three fire breaths.
"Dragons are pure fire magic," Daeron reasoned. "If I can make his flames hit harder without using more total fire, I might push that crit rate to fifty percent—or even one hundred."
That would be terrifying.
Caraxes was already fast and agile. One fire breath, seven seconds of speed, another fire breath, another seven seconds of speed—he'd basically be permanently accelerating.
The exact duration varied between five and ten seconds depending on the quality of the spur. Seven was right in the sweet spot for battlefield use.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes shook his long neck, scattering the buzzing dragonflies, then crawled over and nuzzled Daeron with his snout.
Daeron hugged the dragon's warm scales, still wearing the Lizard's Claw. "We'll save the Golden Spur for actual combat. Right now the Claw stays on."
Caraxes grumbled, clearly craving that constant speed high, but he understood. Everyday safety first.
---
Back at the beach by noon, Daeron spotted Stannis and Melisandre standing side by side. The sight gave him a weird sense of déjà vu.
He started toward them when a cloud slid across the sun, bringing a sudden cool breeze off the water.
Daeron froze. Every hair on his arms stood up.
His Life Seed and Forest Magic were both screaming the same warning: danger was creeping closer.
His heart sank—then soared.
His little sister Daenerys was about to be born.
"Prince, we gathered every special forage plant on the island and stored them in sealed crates on the ship," Stannis reported, voice serious.
Daeron nodded. He figured they had forty or fifty ginger roots, fiddlehead ferns, and coconuts—mostly regular and silver-star quality, perfect for training squires.
"Prince, we should leave," Melisandre said quietly, pulling her red robes tighter as if the sea wind might give her a chill.
Daeron paused. "You felt it too?"
"The Lord of Light's guidance is clear. Within seven days a disaster will strike the Narrow Sea. We should sail now and not linger on this dangerous island."
That sealed it. A storm was definitely coming, and it would hammer most of the Narrow Sea—from the middle stretch near Dragonstone all the way down to the lower Stepstones.
---
Back at the Ginger Island farm, Daeron handed twenty of the thirty golden walnuts he'd collected to the parrot. The bird squawked once and promised a flock would fix the tropical cabin by nightfall.
He kept the other ten. Twenty walnuts total would repair the farm's totem pole beside the cabin. Once it was fixed he could teleport straight from Ginger Island back to Dragon-Tongue Farm without sailing.
"That would be incredible," he muttered, already excited to test it.
He only had ten walnuts right now and didn't have time to hunt more. The totem pole would have to wait.
"Still, controlling the whole farm is pretty damn good."
He briefly daydreamed about finding the golden parrot near the volcano and buying a walnut for ten thousand gold, but shook it off.
"No shortcuts, old farmer," he told himself. "You earned those walnuts the hard way—by actually exploring the island. Buying them would be wasting coin you worked for."
Before leaving he grabbed the parrot one last time. "While I'm gone, if anyone lands on the island, remember what they look like."
"Gwaa!" The parrot nodded frantically, terrified of upsetting the dragonrider.
Daeron stepped out of the farm, crossed the channel, and flew Caraxes back to Grey Gallows Island.
The Myrish sea trader practically sagged with relief when he saw him. "Prince, you're back!"
Daeron didn't waste time. "I have a plan that can wipe out more than half the pirates infesting the Stepstones. You in?"
The sea trader's jaw dropped. "Half? You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Daeron said. "If you've got the balls, I guarantee the pirate numbers around here drop by half when we're done."
The trader thought it over. The payoff was enormous. A merchant could hardly say no.
Half a day later the Myrish troops pulled out of Grey Gallows, loaded their ships, and sailed through the Stepstones like they were heading home to Myr.
Pirates, slavers, and smugglers watched the island empty and lost their minds with greed. They cheered and swarmed toward the now-undefended rock.
Meanwhile the Myrish fleet quietly doubled back and hit Bloodstone Island.
"Attack!" the sea trader roared from the prow, foot planted on the ram.
The Myrish ships slammed into the pirate dens with total surprise. They sank oared galleys and flat-bottomed cogs, stormed the caves, and burned every supply cache they could reach.
"Damn Myr bastards—you want to die?!" The pirate captains—bright-haired Tyroshi ex-mercenaries—screamed and counter-attacked in a frenzy.
The Myrish fleet stayed slippery. They abandoned their loot and ran.
And they didn't stop. They hit every major pirate nest they could find, then started raiding the smaller roaming bands and slave ships too.
Hit hard, run fast, hit again.
After days of this the Myrish crews developed real elite discipline. They could strike and vanish before the pirates could organize.
Eventually they'd pissed off nearly every pirate in the Stepstones. A massive coalition—more than two hundred ships and almost twenty-seven thousand men—formed to hunt them down.
"Sir, trouble!" the lookout slid down the mast, face pale. "Hundreds of pirate sails closing fast from behind!"
The sea trader's face went white. He clenched his fists. "How many?"
"Too many to count. At least two hundred."
The lookout expected the trader to order a fighting retreat like before.
Instead the sea trader barked, "Full speed—head for Pentos!"
The lookout blinked but obeyed.
Moments later the Myrish fleet turned and ran for the middle Narrow Sea, straight toward Pentos.
Three more days passed. Two days remained until Melisandre's seven-day deadline.
The twenty smaller, faster Myrish warships had reached the middle stretch of the Narrow Sea. The sea trader lifted his Myrish spyglass and stared at the jagged silhouette of Dragonstone on the horizon. He chewed his lip, then gave the order.
"Slower now. Take the calmest route into Pentos waters."
The fleet eased its speed and began the careful turn.
To the pirate captains chasing them, it looked like the Myrish were out of options.
A slaver captain from the Bay of Slaves grinned, teeth flashing. "The Myr dogs thought hooking up with a dragon king made them untouchable. Now the dragon king's gone. Let's see where they run!"
Word of Tyrosh's fall and the Grey Gallows battle had already spread. Everyone knew the Iron Throne had allied with Myr—but the alliance looked shaky.
The Dragon Prince had sacked Tyrosh first, then bailed Myr out of a tight spot, burned a few stray pirates, and vanished. The royal fleet had sailed home to King's Landing with the loot.
Clearly the Targaryens had washed their hands of the whole mess.
Myr, the idiots, still flew the Triarchy banner and tried to claim the entire Stepstones for themselves.
"Then don't blame us for wiping them out," another Tyroshi pirate captain snarled.
The pirates weren't wrong about Myr's greed—history proved it over and over. Even if Myr had some scheme with the dragonrider to kick everyone else off the islands, the pirates had their own plan: destroy the Myrish fleet, retake Grey Gallows, and drive the entire Triarchy out of the Stepstones for good.
Right now they had more than two hundred ships and nearly twenty-seven thousand fighters.
Even a dragon would have to back off from that kind of fleet, right?
The gap between the two forces closed fast.
The pirates loaded their catapults and started hurling boulders at the Myrish rear.
BOOM—
A massive stone smashed into the stern of a Myrish war galley. The ship shuddered and began to sink by the stern.
The sea trader's eyelid twitched. He glanced at the darkening sky and whispered a prayer.
"Daeron Targaryen… I'm trusting you on this one. Don't be late."
Daeron's plan had been simple: Myr abandons Grey Gallows, raids every pirate nest they can reach, and draws the entire pirate coalition after them. Meanwhile Daeron waits with the royal fleet near Pentos. When the pirates chase the Myr ships into the trap, the dragons and royal warships hit them from both sides and end it.
The sea trader had thought the plan was risky, but Melisandre's prophecy about the coming storm had convinced him. Now, with the sky growing heavier by the hour, he could only hope the storm arrived in time—and hit hard enough.