Aegon didn't have to wait long; a knock soon sounded at the door again.
"Come in."
Luke stepped into the hall.
He had already removed his blood-stained armor and changed into clean black martial attire, but the scent of blood and rust that seeped from his bones had not dissipated.
His face was leaner than before, his features sharp, and his eyes like two deep wells, burying all intense emotions.
The excitement of slaughter, the emptiness of fallen comrades, and the coldness of personally executing traitors had all settled at the very bottom, leaving only a deathly calm on the surface.
He stopped a few steps before Aegon and bowed, his movements concise and powerful.
"Your Highness."
"Sit." Aegon pointed to a chair on the other side of the long table.
Luke sat down in silence, his back still straight, hands placed flat on his knees.
"You probably know about Luciana's report."
Aegon got straight to the point, skipping the pleasantries.
"The Skull Squad is crippled; there are fewer than three hundred men left who can still fight."
Luke's jawline tightened slightly, then relaxed.
"Yes."
"But the war isn't over yet."
Aegon looked at him, his purple eyes deep.
"Lys needs to be defended, Tyrosh needs to be controlled, and there will be more enemies in the future."
"We need an army, one that belongs entirely to us, that answers only to me."
"Not mercenaries, not a city watch, but a true field elite capable of fighting hard battles and taking on the toughest challenges."
At the bottom of those deep wells in Luke's eyes, a very faint spark of fire seemed to flicker.
"What does Your Highness need me to do?"
"The Skull Squad's organization exists in name only."
Aegon leaned forward slightly, tapping a finger gently on the tabletop.
"But the path of sustaining war through war is one we've proven works."
"We have more time now than before, so there's no need to be desperate. I want you to use this method to rebuild a new army from scratch."
He paused, his tone growing heavier, each word crystal clear: "The rules will be different than before."
"Heads for bounties."
"But we won't just take anyone anymore. I want Soldiers who are willing to risk their lives, who have brains, and who can obey."
"Quality over quantity!"
"You will handle the screening, you will be responsible for the training, and you will still lead them in battle."
Luke took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slightly.
He understood the weight in Aegon's words; the heavy responsibility of forming a brand-new core military force was being placed entirely on his shoulders.
"The location is still the Stepstones," Aegon continued, his voice as calm as if he were deploying for a long-planned campaign.
"There are exiled warriors, bankrupt sailors, desperate commoners, and pirates of all sizes there."
"Go there, raise your banner, recruit, train, and conduct live combat. Use battle to screen people, victory to unite them, and spoils to sustain them."
"If you need money, go to Luciana; she will allocate it to you through the Roagar Family's channels."
He looked at Luke: "You will serve as the Commander-in-Chief of this new army. How many people you can gather, how many Soldiers you can train, and how tough their bones are will all depend on your ability."
Luke remained silent for a longer time.
Only the faint clamor from outside the window and the steady breathing of the two men could be heard in the hall.
After a long while, he looked up, his gaze meeting Aegon's, and the fire in the depths began to burn steadily:
"Your Highness trusts me... Luke will not let Your Highness down. I will bring back a great army that can fight, dares to fight, and is willing to die for Your Highness."
His voice was not loud, but it was decisive, carrying the resolve of a military oath.
Aegon nodded slightly, his face expressionless, but a hint of approval showed in his eyes.
"The new army needs a new name; the Skull Squad is a thing of the past."
"Dragonblood Guard? Blackflame Army? What are your thoughts?"
Luke hardly hesitated.
He shook his head, his voice low but clear: "Under Your Highness's command, there is already the Bloodsworn, Your Highness's personal guard, sworn by blood to protect you."
"There is already the Golden Company, battle-hardened elites recruited with heavy gold; they fight for profit, but they are useful."
He paused, looking at Aegon with burning eyes, a gaze filled with almost pure adoration and loyalty:
"I do not wish to be an exception. Your Highness is a true dragon; where dragonflame passes, all things turn to ash."
"But ashes... are not the end."
His tone took on a nearly pious quality: "Ashes follow the dragonflame, covering the earth; they are the traces of destruction, but also the soil for new life."
"They are silent yet omnipresent, humble yet bearing everything."
"Luke is willing to serve the might of the dragonflame. Wherever Your Highness points, we shall burn, and even if we turn to ash, we shall pave the road for Your Highness's advance."
"So..." He straightened his back, speaking one word at a time.
"If Your Highness permits, this new army shall be called..."
"The Ash Company."
Aegon listened quietly, looking at the subordinate before him who was young yet had already passed through blood and fire, his eyes burning and determined.
He could feel the undisguised adoration in Luke's words, the persistence of someone who had tightly bound himself to the cause he followed, even willing to define himself as a 'trace of destruction' and 'dust for the road.'
This wasn't blind obedience, but an extreme and thorough way of following chosen after deep identification.
An imitator? Perhaps.
But an imitator with ability, determination, and the willingness to burn himself to light the way forward was also precious.
After a moment of silence, Aegon slowly nodded.
"The Ash Company..."
He repeated the name, as if savoring its meaning.
"Very well."
"From this day forth, you, Luke, are the Commander-in-Chief of the Ash Company."
"All surviving officers and Soldiers of the original Skull Squad are automatically transferred as the core backbone of the Ash Company."
"Take them to the Stepstones. Whatever you need, go to Luciana and have her take you to see the people of the Roagar Family."
He stood up, walked to Luke, and patted his shoulder. The pressure wasn't heavy, but it carried the weight of a trust bestowed:
"Remember your words. I will be waiting to see what kind of army you bring back."
Luke stood up abruptly, his right fist striking his left chest with a dull thud.
He didn't offer any more grand words, but his eyes said everything.
"Go, time is of the essence."
Luke bowed, turned, and strode away with long, purposeful steps.
His pace was even more determined and powerful than when he arrived, as if he had already shouldered the heavy mountain named the Ash Company and was eager to rush toward the furnace that would forge it.
Silence returned to the council hall.
Aegon walked back to the window, watching the sun gradually sink in the west.
The Ash Company... he whispered the name to himself.
Luke had interpreted loyalty and mission in his own way. This was perhaps exactly what was needed right now.
The next day, the execution of those traitors took place at noon.
The process was brief, cold, and efficient.
There were no lengthy sentencing speeches, no final orations from the condemned.
Thirty-two males of the Varian Family were hanged one by one on the newly erected gallows in the harbor square, and forty-three people, including the heads of the nine noble families involved in the conspiracy and their adult offspring, were beheaded on the block.
Lyswell Peck presided over the entire process, with Soldiers of the Golden Company maintaining order.
The gathered citizens of Lys watched in silence, fear and awe clearly written on their faces, but there was also a hint of indescribable, numb satisfaction at seeing their long-time oppressors meet their end.
Blood stained the stone slabs of the square and was quickly washed away, but that heavy smell of iron lingered for a long time in the summer heat, as if it had seeped into the cracks of the city's bricks, becoming an indelible footnote to the birth of the new rules.
Aegon was present at the scene.
When the last head rolled and the crowd began to disperse silently under the Soldiers' urging, he turned and returned to the Governor's Mansion.
The foundation of deterrence had been cast with blood and iron. Next, it would be time for construction and consolidation.
Night once again blanketed Lys.
The blood and clamor of the day settled down, and the lights in the Governor's Mansion were sparse.
After processing another batch of documents regarding the allocation of reconstruction materials and personnel arrangements, Aegon felt a long-absent fatigue originating from deep within his spirit.
It wasn't physical exhaustion, but the weight of weighing options, making decisions, and carrying the fate of thousands on his shoulders.
He did not call for servants, nor did he return to his sleeping quarters, but instead walked alone through the deep, winding corridors of the Governor's Mansion toward the wide courtyard facing the sea at the back.
This place had originally been a location for the governors to enjoy the summer breeze and hold banquets, but now it was empty and lonely, with only the sea breeze wailing through the damaged pillars and sculptures.
In the center of the courtyard, moonlight flowed like mercury over a pale gold, hill-like silhouette.
Ghidorah lay there quietly, its three hideous heads lowered, its six molten-gold vertical pupils closed, as if immersed in a deep rest.
Its massive body rose and fell slightly with long, slow breaths, and its pale gold scales shimmered with a cold and holy luster under the moonlight.
Even in sleep, that ancient, primal pressure that made one's soul tremble remained like an invisible force field, enveloping the entire courtyard and isolating it from the clamor and troubles of the mortal world.
Aegon lightened his steps and walked to the central head.
He didn't speak, but simply reached out and pressed his palm gently against the cool, smooth dragon scales. They felt as hard as the finest alloy, yet possessed a unique, internal vitality and power characteristic of a living creature.
A familiar, reassuring pulse transmitted through the scales to his palm, resonating faintly with some inexplicable presence within his own body.
He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be immersed in this wordless companionship and tranquility.
The dragon let out a nearly inaudible, almost comfortable purr in its sleep, and its left head unconsciously tilted slightly toward him.
At this moment of ultimate mental relaxation, a nearly forgotten thought, like a bubble from underwater, gently floated to the surface of his memory.
The horn of winter he had obtained from signing in at the Crown Tree earlier.
After getting it, there followed the clever acquisition of the Golden Company, the seizure of ships at Myr, the surprise attack on Tyrosh, and the life-and-death battle at Lys. A series of extremely tense actions had left him with no mood or time to carefully investigate this mysterious item rewarded by the system.
Furthermore, the object's appearance was strange, and the energy fluctuations it contained, though restrained, were extraordinary. It would have been unwise to rashly take it out for inspection in an environment where friends and foes were unclear and crises were everywhere.
Therefore, it had been sitting quietly in the system storage space that only he could access.
Now, with the storm temporarily subsided and him alone in the dead of night... it seemed like time for a look.
With a slight thought...
The air in front of Aegon distorted slightly, and a massive object appeared out of thin air, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
The first thing that caught his eye was its size—it was huge.
The curved arc was nearly as tall as a man, and its entire body was a dull, pitch-black color that seemed to absorb the moonlight.
The material was neither metal nor wood, its surface rough and ancient, carrying a sense of weight from having passed through countless ages.
The wide opening of the horn had thick edges, with a diameter large enough to accommodate an adult's forearm.
By the moonlight, one could see complex, hard-to-identify ancient runes inlaid in dark gold metal on its surface.
It stood quietly on the ground, heavy, pitch-black, and covered in ancient runes, radiating a restrained chill that seemed to come from the far north.
Just as he was fully focused on observing and trying to understand the information that might be contained in these runes, a movement beside him caught his attention.
Ghidorah's left head, which had been comfortably dozing under his touch and even letting out faint snores, suddenly moved.
That head, covered in hideous bone armor but with lines slightly more'simple-minded' than the other two, slowly lifted from the ground.
The half-closed molten-gold vertical pupils fully opened, the lazy sleepiness within them quickly receding, replaced by a clear, strongly attracted focus.
Its nostrils twitched quickly and slightly, not sniffing the air, but... precisely locking onto the horn of winter in Aegon's hand.
It tilted its head slightly, bringing its snout close to the horn, its movements carrying a carefulness and curiosity that didn't match its massive body.
When it was a few inches from the horn, it stopped, and a series of very low murmurs, completely different from its usual dragon roars or purrs, issued from its throat. That sound was filled with undisguised... interest?
No, it wasn't just interest.
Aegon clearly saw a flash of... longing in the depths of the left head's vertical pupils?
Like a hungry predator that had caught the scent of a delicacy suited to its palate.
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