The Shock of Runestone

Time flew by, and half a month passed.

The Vale, Runestone.

Early morning. The sun had just risen, its light falling across the curtains.

The Prince's bedchamber.

Aemon groggily opened his eyes and let out a huge yawn.

"Morning, everyone."

The sleepy Prince greeted them haphazardly.

This so-called bedchamber was really just the same small room as before.

He had gone to bed late last night, still thinking about the Fish Thief.

For three straight days at sea, every large fish he caught had been stolen, becoming the Fish Thief's all-you-can-eat buffet.

Only after they landed at Gulltown did the matter finally come to an end.

He had failed to catch it, and the Prince was furious.

Still, according to rumors from Gulltown's fishermen, someone had seen a pale grayish-white dragon silhouette in the morning sea mist.

It normally caught fish to eat.

Whenever it saw people, it timidly hid away, as if it were shy.

"Just don't settle down in the Vale. Dragonstone is safer."

Aemon murmured softly, fairly reassured by the little wild dragon whose escape skills were fully maxed out.

Then he looked over the things he had greeted.

The four dragon eggs on the bed, the Dragonbone Bow hanging beside it, and...

Six rust-speckled suits of Bronze Armor on the wall.

Each suit consisted only of a breastplate, engraved with runes and carrying an air of ancient age.

"Little White, get out here and work."

After getting dressed, Aemon called to the Gold-Nosed Rat hiding beneath the bed.

"Squeak, squeak."

The lively Gold-Nosed Rat scampered onto the bed and stuffed three dragon eggs into the spatial pouch in its mouth.

"Good boy, Little White."

Aemon nodded in satisfaction, generous with his praise.

Having space was just handy. It could store so many things.

As for names, they were all just codenames. As long as it understood them, that was enough.

The little rat would not hold it against him.

After getting up, he habitually brought up the Magic Essence Panel.

Aemon Targaryen

Talent: Dreamer (Gold)

Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (23%)

Skills: Riding Skill (Proficient), Archery (Master), Empty Handed (Proficient)...

Magic Cards: Solid as a Rock +1 (Blue), Kingly Demeanor (Purple)

Pets: Gold-Nosed Rat (Blue), White Hart (Auspicious Beast)

Evaluation: "A human cub developing healthily. Its weight is gradually returning to normal."

Aemon gave it a look, then switched to the card panel.

One white card and two green cards. All worthless junk.

Ignored.

His gaze settled beside the golden hourglass: Essence Count: 149.

"Feels great to have money in my pocket."

Aemon was immensely pleased.

Over the past half month, his essence count had steadily risen.

He had also figured out the intervals for many items that produced Magic Essence.

The four dragon eggs were the biggest producers, yielding 12 essence every three days. Including the days in King's Landing, they had accumulated a total of 60 essence.

The White Hart held steady in second place, producing 10 essence every seven days.

Not much, but reliable.

As for weapons like the Dragonbone Bow and Bronze Armor, they generally only produced essence once every half month, and only a pitiful 1 to 3 points each time.

Of the six suits of Bronze Armor hanging in Aemon's room, four had been taken from the Tomb Cellar, while two were antiques from William and Gonsal's homes.

All told, along with the three newly found clumps of Sweetgrass, he had a total of 149 essence.

Aemon said, "I've been poor for too long. I didn't dare spend a single point."

"Squeak, squeak."

The Gold-Nosed Rat was simple-minded. It did not understand why its master was happy, but it was happy along with him, rubbing its head against his palm.

"Come on, let's head out."

Aemon lifted the Gold-Nosed Rat in his hand and gently placed it on his shoulder.

Then he pushed open the door and walked out.

In the hall.

Johanna, dressed in a maid's uniform, stood respectfully beside the dining table with her head lowered.

Aemon had a great appetite and cleaned his plate.

"Prince, it's time for you to go exercise."

Johanna reminded him softly.

Aemon froze at that, his mouth still chewing away.

What did that mean?

His mother had sent her to supervise his meals?

Johanna remained silent. Her surprise at the Prince's unmatched appetite had long since turned to numbness.

She had never seen a child who could eat so much.

"I've already lost weight. Really."

Aemon wiped his mouth and reached down to pinch his slightly rounded belly.

Ever since returning from King's Landing, he had been training diligently under Ser Steve.

Riding Skill, Archery, swordsmanship...

His fair, adorable face had not gotten any thinner, but his little arms and legs were full of strength. He could already draw the Dragonbone Bow a third of the way.

He had not been eating for nothing.

As Johanna cleared the table, she reminded him, "My lady instructed that you take a walk after meals. Every day!"

She deliberately stressed the last two words.

Aemon suddenly understood.

Half a month ago.

After landing at Gulltown's port, he had ridden the White Hart all the way back to Runestone.

That flashy mode of travel, coupled with his title as Prince and status as the designated heir, had already made him a legend known throughout the Vale.

Prince Aemon's name had truly spread.

But people were all different, with different thoughts.

For instance, among House Royce, some were willing to swear loyalty, while others stubbornly remained cold and distant.

But none of that mattered. Time would prove everything.

He was Runestone's heir. No one could change that.

His mother wanted him to take a walk every day so the Royces could grow familiar with and accept him more quickly.

After all, he had not gone out much before and had little contact with them.

"Fine, I'll head out first."

Aemon said, "Thanks for your hard work," then rose and left.

Johanna wore a maid's uniform, but she was his mother's companion. Her status was equivalent to a lord's attendant or cupbearer.

Those were respectable duties reserved for noble young ladies.

Rhaenyra had many companions around her as well, polishing their credentials as companions to a princess.

She deserved respect.

The moment Aemon stepped outside.

"Deer!"

A massive antler slipped between his legs. His body slid smoothly down along satin-like white fur, landing steadily on the hart's back.

Aemon settled into the fitted saddle, stroking the silky white fur as he chuckled. "You were in such a hurry, you gave me a scare."

"Deer!"

The White Hart was gentle by nature. Its powerful body rose, carrying the Prince out.

Aemon said, "A reward!"

The Gold-Nosed Rat's whiskers twitched as it pulled out a handful of Sweetgrass from its mouth, climbed onto the hart's head, and fed it to the beast.

The two white creatures, one large and one small, had long since become familiar with one another.

The White Hart opened its mouth and accepted everything offered.

As Aemon swayed along, his mood improved, and he admired Runestone's splendor with an eye he had never possessed before.

Across the Vale, Runestone was undoubtedly one of the finest ancient castles.

It covered a vast area, and its walls were tall and thick.

The castle tower where they lived stood like a giant chimney, towering into the sky with majestic grandeur.

Its districts were strictly divided, and everyone performed their own duties.

It was morning, and many people were sparring in the Castle Forecourt. All kinds of craftsmen and servants worked diligently. Amid the bustle was a sense of warmth.

"Taking over this place really will be a heavy responsibility."

Aemon shook his head and sighed.

Besides, his mother was still alive. He could not inherit it anyway.

Clang! Clang!

The White Hart moved with elegant grace, stopping before a crude smithy.

"Prince, you're here."

Ser Steve was at the smithy and greeted him warmly.

"Is my sword finished?"

Aemon asked.

The White Hart was highly intelligent. It voluntarily lowered itself, allowing its master to slide down from its back.

That scene fell into many eyes.

Whether members of House Royce or their bannermen and knights, every one of them looked on with envy.

The Auspicious White Hart and the title of Prince combined.

It was simply devastating.

Ser Steve waved him over with a smile. "It's ready. Take a look."

An elderly blacksmith with a grizzled beard and hair stepped out from the smithy.

The old blacksmith was one of the Craft Slaves rescued from the ship, and he had brought along five young apprentices.

"Great Dragonlord, this sword is offered to you."

With a solemn expression, the old blacksmith knelt before the young Prince and held up a two-foot shortsword in both hands as if making a pilgrimage.

He spoke in Valyrian as well.

"Get up. Don't kneel."

Aemon frowned and rebuked him in High Valyrian. "There are no slaves under Targaryen rule!"

The old blacksmith trembled all over and hurriedly scrambled to his feet.

Valyrian also had distinctions of rank.

As a Dragonlord family, the Targaryens systematically learned the refined accent used among upper nobles and lords.

Commoners' speech was a hodgepodge, and it instinctively inspired worship and awe.