Luciana sighed, a sigh heavy with the weight of reality: "The Port and the walls are being rebuilt, but... the progress is frustratingly slow."
"We lack craftsmen, Your Highness."
"There are too few truly skilled stonemasons, carpenters, and blacksmiths."
"Most of those working now are just commoners with nothing but strength; the walls they build are crooked, and the repaired berths have to be reworked before long."
She paused and continued, "The reorganization of the garrison isn't ideal either."
"The lysene... as you know, they are good at business, pleasure, and political intrigue, but not very good at fighting."
"We offered decent pay, but most who came to apply were just looking for a free meal; very few can actually fight."
"Commander Lyswell Peck said that he has no confidence in defending the city with these people. Currently, the city's defenses and order within Lys are maintained entirely by the Soldiers of the Golden Company, and they are stretched thin."
Aegon listened while unfolding Jon's letter.
His eyes quickly scanned the preceding content: Tyrosh is under control, city defenses basically restored... "What about the armory?" he asked, his gaze continuing to move across the parchment.
"Scarce," Luciana shook her head.
"Lys was never a city-state known for its military preparations. Its stockpile of weapons and armor was never large, and more than half was destroyed in the last battle."
"In the recruit camps now, only one in three can get a decent set of leather armor, and iron armor is a luxury."
"Even more troublesome is that the damaged armaments need repair, but we lack even the craftsmen who can fix armor or mend blades."
She paused, her tone softening slightly: "However... the finances are quite ample."
"Lys was wealthy to begin with, and the treasury already had significant savings."
"After seizing the properties of those rebellious nobles and taking inventory, the gold coins alone exceed seven million, not to mention the countless rare treasures, artworks, and land deeds."
"Money is something we do not lack now."
At this moment, Aegon's gaze fell upon the latter half of Jon's letter.
His fingertips paused lightly on a few lines of text:
"Captured Tyrosh armory: 7,300 longswords in good condition, over 10,000 spears, more than 5,000 sets of various armor including chainmail, plate, and leather, 1,000 crossbows, and countless arrows... The Mercenary culture in Tyrosh is prevalent, and most men of age are trained in martial arts."
"If a recruitment order is issued with promises of generous commissions, over a thousand experienced veterans can be recruited within ten days... Regarding craftsmen: a census shows hundreds of shipwrights in the city, over two hundred blacksmiths, and more than a hundred other various artisans."
"Tyrosh excels in seafaring and warfare, but lacks civil craftsmen such as stonemasons and carpenters for infrastructure... The progress of repairing buildings damaged in the war and the collapsed Black Wall is slow."
The study was quiet for a moment.
Aegon put down the letter and looked up at Luciana. There was a calm understanding in his eyes.
"The issue of manpower and weapons," he spoke slowly, "can be resolved."
Luciana was slightly taken aback.
"The Tyrosh armory is full of swords and armor."
Aegon pushed the letter toward her: "Jon says Mercenaries are everywhere there. As long as the commission is high enough, a veteran army that has seen blood can be raised within ten days."
He paused, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the table: "And we have seven million gold coins, and the future trade revenue of all of Lys."
"Money is something we do not lack."
Luciana's eyes lit up, but then worry resurfaced: "But the craftsmen..."
"That is exactly the key."
Aegon stood up and walked to the hanging map.
His gaze moved between Lys and Tyrosh, finally settling on a point a bit further east.
Myr.
"We now have two city-states, like the two edges of a sword."
His finger first pointed at Tyrosh: "Here is one edge of the sword. It gives us our Fleet, our battle-hardened Soldiers, and our unsheathed sharpness."
Then it moved across the Narrow Sea to Lys: "Here is the other edge. It gives us wealth, the veins of our trade, and the confidence to hold the sword."
His finger finally stopped at Myr, tapping it lightly: "And now, we hold the two edges, but we still lack the most critical part..."
"The point of the sword~"
Aegon turned around and looked at Luciana, a cold light flashing in his purple eyes:
"A true sword cannot have only edges; it must also have a point that can pierce through anything."
"Tyrosh gave us our sharpness, and Lys gave us the strength to wield the sword, but without top-tier craftsmen to forge, polish, and quench it... this sword will never be complete."
He walked back to the desk, his finger tracing the line in Jon's letter about the lack of craftsmen:
"Tyrosh excels in seafaring warfare but falls short in infrastructure; Lys is wealthy but lacks the soul of the artisan. And Myr..."
He looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing through the walls toward the east: "Myr is famous in the Eastern Continent for its craftsmanship."
"Their lenses, their repeating crossbows, their shipbuilding, and their armament forging... that is the quenching water that can truly sharpen this sword."
Luciana's breath hitched slightly.
She looked at the man before her... the man who had miraculously seized Lys in a short time and almost simultaneously brought Tyrosh into his grasp.
Two Free Cities—achievements many wouldn't dare imagine in a lifetime—seemed... not enough to him?
The blood was not yet cold, the sword not yet sheathed, and he was already planning for a third.
No, it wasn't planning.
His tone was so calm, so natural, as if Myr were already in his pocket and he simply hadn't reached out to take it yet.
She thought of the legend of Aegon the Conqueror across the Narrow Sea. The same name, the same Dragonlord.
This wasn't arrogance.
This was the gaze of one looking down upon a chessboard.
She felt a slight tremor deep in her heart, an unusual ripple.
"I heard Marco's report; his Fleet..." Aegon said indifferently.
"Faster than expected. They've finished organizing in three days and are ready to be deployed."
"That's good."
He looked at Luciana:
"Reply to Jon. You and he will directly discuss the allocation of personnel and weapons."
"Lys has money, Tyrosh has men and iron; let them complement each other."
"Build the framework of the new army as quickly as possible, plug the gaps in the city walls, and repair the Port so it's at least presentable."
"As for the craftsmen..." Aegon's voice remained calm, yet it was like the hardest ice in winter, carrying an unquestionable determination.
"There will be some soon."
Luciana took a deep breath, trying to calm the stormy waves in her heart.
She bowed, her voice half a notch lower than usual, carrying an awe she hadn't even noticed herself:
"Yes, Your Highness. I will see to it immediately."
She turned to leave, her pace slightly more hurried than when she arrived.
Reaching the door, she couldn't help but stop and look back, asking softly, her voice carrying a tremor she didn't fully understand:
"Do we need... to prepare anything in advance? To... welcome the craftsmen?"
Aegon looked out at the growing morning light. The light fell on his silver-white hair and reflected in his deep purple eyes, making his whole being seem to glow.
Not a warm light, but the flashing cold glint of a sword being unsheathed.
"Get the treasury ready."
He spoke indifferently, every word like a piece being placed on a chessboard.
"Clear the berths in the Port. And..."
He paused, a trace of imperceptible coldness entering his voice: "Tell Peck to double the training in the recruit camps. When the craftsmen arrive, what we build will be more than just walls and ships."
Luciana felt her heart skip a heavy beat.
She understood.
Understood completely.
This man didn't just want Myr's craftsmen; he wanted all of Myr.
He wanted to reforge the three Free Cities into a complete sharp sword that belonged only to him.
And she was standing at a turning point in history, witnessing the beginning of it all with her own eyes.
"Yes." She nodded solemnly, this time without any hesitation in her voice.
She turned and left, the hem of her skirt brushing against the floor with a faint sound.
The sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet study, like a countdown to some beginning.
The study returned to silence. Aegon's gaze fell back upon the map.
Lys, Tyrosh, Myr.
These three "daughters" who once belonged to the Valyrian Freehold had gone their separate ways after the fall of the dragons, each struggling, fighting, allying, and betraying in the Narrow Sea.
And now, a new dragon was to make them whole again.
Not an alliance, but true, absolute rule.
Like a sword.
Tyrosh was the sharpened edge, Lys was the wrist that held the sword, and Myr... would be the point of the sword, forged with artisan soul, quenched through a hundred trials, finally piercing through everything.
Now, the two edges were in hand.
Only that final cold glint was missing.
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