At Rhis, the bloody twilight was fading, sinking into the iron-gray dusk of the deep sea.
White flags hung limply from the masts of over a hundred Tyrosh warships, making a slight rustling sound in the rising evening breeze.
The deck of the largest Tyrosh flagship had been cleared; the bodies of the dead were thrown into the sea, and the bloodstains were hastily washed away with seawater, leaving behind large, dark water marks.
Dozens of nobles and officers dressed in Tyrosh military uniforms stood uneasily in several rows under the cold, watchful gaze of the Golden Company Soldiers.
None of them were bound, but more effective than ropes was the pale gold, mountain-like giant shadow in the Port.
It was the undisguised killing intent in the eyes of the gold-armored Soldiers on the surrounding decks, and even more so, a clear realization of their own situation.
They were those who had surrendered, not prisoners of war.
This subtle difference allowed them to maintain a final shred of standing dignity, but it also exposed them to deeper anxiety and humiliation.
Because their fate in the next step depended entirely on the person currently boarding the ship.
Aegon stepped onto the gangplank and onto the deck.
His black robes fluttered in the sea breeze, which carried the scent of salt and rust, and his silver hair flowed with a cold luster under the last light of day.
He walked with steady steps, boarding the seawater-soaked deck and coming to a halt a few paces away from the group of surrendered men.
His gaze calmly swept across those faces—some pale, some panicked, some forced into composure, and some completely numb.
Ghidorah lowered its heads at the Port, its six molten-gold vertical pupils reflecting the gradually lighting ship fires like the eyes of a god suspended above the mortal world, witnessing indifferently.
Golden Company commander Lyswell Peck stepped forward, his right fist striking his chest as his voice boomed, breaking the silence: "Your Highness! The Tyrosh Expeditionary Fleet has surrendered. The main generals and nobles are here, awaiting your orders!"
Aegon nodded slightly but did not speak immediately.
He scanned the crowd again, letting the pressure of silence continue to build, letting the sea breeze pour the chill of failure and the unknown into everyone's marrow.
Finally, he spoke, his voice not loud, yet clearly piercing through the twilight to fall into everyone's ears:
"The war is over."
"Your swords have been laid down, and your flags have been changed. This means you have chosen to live."
He paused, his gaze flowing over every face like a cold spring:
"But there are two ways to live."
"Kneel and pledge your loyalty."
"Surrender all your ships and weapons."
"Fight for me, and your families may live. You might even find your place within the future order."
"Or."
His tone did not change, yet the air suddenly grew several degrees colder.
"Turn around now, jump into the sea, and swim back to Tyrosh. I am giving you a chance to choose."
There was no third option, nor any lengthy threats. The calm statement was more deterrent than any roar.
The deck was deathly silent. There was only the sound of heavy, suppressed breathing and the creaking of rigging rubbing in the wind.
No one moved, no one turned, and certainly no one jumped into the sea.
The instinct for survival, the desire to protect their families, and the fear of the giant shadow in the Port nailed them firmly in place.
But no one knelt immediately either.
Surrendering was one thing; being the first to bend the knee in public was another.
It meant completely abandoning their old identities and pride, turning themselves into appendages of a new master under the watchful eyes of all.
They were struggling, observing, and waiting—perhaps for a suitable opportunity or an example to follow.
Just then, a middle-aged man standing in the middle of the second row, wearing naval general's attire and with weather-beaten lines on his face, moved slightly.
He seemed to have reached some sort of decision and took a small step forward from the crowd.
This step immediately drew all eyes.
The Golden Company Soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons, and the surrendered men looked at him with astonishment, complexity, or faint expectation.
Aegon's gaze also fell upon this man.
The middle-aged general felt the weight of that gaze, pressing down on his shoulders as if it were physical.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look up and meet those deep-pool-like purple eyes.
"Noble Highness."
His voice was raspy but clear: "I am Marco Sollen, former commander of the Tyrosh Third Fleet. I beg permission to... say a few words."
He maintained a bowing posture, his speech steady: "At the final moment, I had to... stop Archon Grover's orders."
"He ordered the Fleet to attack the ships carrying our families. I and several other officers who still had our senses took action to preserve the Fleet and the lives of over twenty thousand people."
"Archon Grover is dead, and the Fleet was thus preserved, enabling us to surrender to you."
Then, he stated the crucial figures:
"This Fleet that was preserved and is now offered to you includes one hundred and seventy-eight ships: forty-seven main warships, forty-two heavy transport ships, and eighty-nine light vessels."
"There are eight thousand four hundred experienced sailors and twelve thousand well-equipped Soldiers."
"Except for eight ships that are heavily damaged and need major repairs, the rest can set sail immediately. Although there are casualties, the backbone remains, and the organizational structure is intact."
The numbers echoed in the twilight, heavy with weight.
Marco bowed even lower, his voice sincere: "This force might be able to serve your future cause."
"I do not dare to claim credit; I only hope you can understand that preserving this intact Fleet will at least save you much time and trouble in rebuilding a navy."
"I have only one request..."
Finally, his voice carried a genuine heaviness: "For the sake of the Fleet being preserved, please spare my family. They know nothing; I only ask... give them a way to live."
He remained silent, waiting for judgment.
After a moment, Aegon spoke slowly: "Raise your head."
Marco raised his head as told, his gaze respectful.
"One hundred and seventy-eight ships, over twenty thousand people," Aegon repeated the numbers, his gaze scrutinizing. "You say you are familiar with this Fleet?"
"...Yes."
"This humble one has served in the navy for over twenty years and is familiar with the performance and command of the main warships, as well as the main routes, undercurrents, and supply points from the Disputed Lands to the Narrow Sea."
"If you were allowed to assist in reorganization, weeding out unstable elements, and restoring basic combat effectiveness, how long would it take?"
Marco answered cautiously: "With your authorization and support, the initial clearing, screening, and restoration of the command system... would take five to seven days."
"To have complete mastery, to have it follow orders like one's own arm, would take months or even longer, and it would require the tempering of actual combat."
Aegon nodded slightly.
"Your family is being watched by my people; they are currently safe."
He provided both a reassurance and a chain.
"Whether they can continue to be safe and have a way to live depends on you, and it depends on whether this Fleet can truly be used by me."
"I understand, I will do my utmost," Marco responded solemnly.
"The Fleet will temporarily be under your responsibility for initial reorganization."
Aegon issued the directive.
"Within three days, I want a ship registry, a personnel roster, and officer evaluations."
"Divide them into three categories: usable, under observation, and to be purged."
"The Golden Company will send overseers to each ship to supervise the execution of orders. You need to cooperate and report regularly."
"Yes, I will cooperate and report on time."
At this point, Aegon leaned forward slightly and threw out an enticing promise:
"Marco Sollen, what you have offered today is the skeleton of Tyrosh's century-old navy."
He paused, letting every word fall clearly into everyone's ears:
"Do well. Accomplish this task. Let me see that this Fleet can not only sail but also fight, follow orders, and control more sea areas for me."
"Then..."
His tone was calm, yet it was like a thunderclap.
"In the future, the person who sits in Tyrosh Port, commands the entire Fleet, and flies the Admiral's flag..."
"Why couldn't it be you?"
The wind on the deck seemed to freeze.
Marco looked up sharply, his eyes erupting with unbelievable shock.
Admiral! Commanding the entire Fleet!
The surrounding surrendered men also changed expression one after another.
Aegon continued in a calm tone: "I don't care about your origin, nor do I care whom you served before. I only care about what you can do and what you can accomplish."
"This Fleet is your trial and your ladder. Grasp it, and the path ahead is broad."
"Fail to grasp it..."
He did not finish, but his gaze explained everything.
Marco's body trembled slightly, not from fear, but because a massive impact and ambition had been ignited.
He bowed again, his voice low with excitement:
"Your Highness... I don't know how to thank you."
"I swear by my life and honor that I will dedicate the rest of my life to this, leading this Fleet to fight across the seas for you. Even if the decks are stained with blood, I will never retreat."
"Remember your words."
Aegon withdrew his gaze.
"And remember, your family, your future, and your life, death, honor, and disgrace are all tied to every decision you make next. Go, the time starts now."
"Thank you, Your Highness." Marco bowed deeply and stepped aside. His face was still pale, but there was already a fire burning in his eyes.
Aegon no longer looked at him and turned to the rest of the surrendered men:
"You have all heard. I have already pointed out a path."
"Admiral Marco can see his path because he has something in his hands and is willing to hand it over to be used by me."
"What do you have in your hands? Will you keep it hidden until it rots, or will you bring it out in exchange for a path that might be just as bright?"
"Think about it carefully. Starting tomorrow, cooperate with the registration, screening, and reorganization."
"Show your value, and I will naturally see it."
"Now, take them back to shore and settle them separately."
"As you command, Your Highness!"
The surrendered men were guided by the Golden Company Soldiers and began to disembark one after another.
Their postures were more submissive than before, and their eyes held a few more bits of complex calculation.
About how to prove their value, and about how to secure that way to live for themselves and their families within the new power structure.
Aegon took one last look at Ghidorah at the Port, turned, and also walked toward the gangplank.
The surrender and initial arrangements at the Port had come to a temporary close, but the more complicated integration, liquidation, rewards, punishments, and reconstruction had only just begun.
He needed to return to the Governors Mansion, where there were even more people and matters waiting to be handled.
The bloody, mangled wound torn open in this city by war needed him to personally sew it up or excise it.