The first meeting of the Black Swan and the Black Dragon

The golden-red afterglow of the setting sun spilled onto the surface of the Narrow Sea, dyeing the outline of the Stepstones with a molten gold hue.

The dark red reefs of Bloodstone Island and the rugged cliffs of Grey Gallows stand facing each other, like two giant beasts lurking in the Narrow Sea, silently telling the story of this place's dangerous past as a pirate's lair.

The blue and white sails of Redwyne's fleet unfurled in the twilight, the grape emblem bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Glutton and Dreamfyre hovered above the fleet, the shadows of Black Dragon intertwining with the pale light of blue dragons, like two moving protective clouds. This caused Iron Islands longships and Dorne patrols attempting to approach to keep their distance. After all, no foolish force dared to provoke them under the intimidation of two dragons.

"Your Highness, look to the northwest!" Alyn Redwyne's voice came from the Watchtower of the "Arbor." The orange-haired boy pointed to several ship silhouettes on the distant horizon. "Those Lys merchant ships... something's not right!"

Daemon walked to the bow and looked in the direction Alyn pointed. He saw three ships flying the flag of the Lys Silks sailing close to the edge of Grey Gallows. The ships appeared to be fully loaded with cargo, but their draft was unusually shallow. Moreover, despite seeing the dragon shadow of the Redwyne fleet, they did not stop to show goodwill like other merchant ships. Instead, they tried to bypass the fleet's route and veer towards Essos.

Big Horas Redwyne, gripping the helm, frowned. "Something's not right. Lys merchant ships usually approach our fleet, trying to hitch a ride and avoid pirates. These ships seem to be avoiding us." Leonno Strong beside him nodded, the hem of his black robe brushing against the sawdust on the deck. "The sails are definitely Lys, but the speed is too fast. Ordinary merchant ships don't have this speed, and their crew are all holed up in the cabins. There's not even a lookout—it's all too unusual."

Colin Celtigar leaned closer, the Blue Crab pattern on his silver armor gleaming dimly in the twilight. "When I was on Tidehead Island, I saw the Lys merchant ships with my uncle. Their cargo hold vents would smell of spices. These ships—I can't smell any spices at all, instead, there's a faint musty smell."

Daemon's gaze darkened, and the three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder throbbed slightly— Daemon knew this was a warning of approaching danger. He raised his hand and called to Alyn, "Have the fleet slow down, approach slowly, and don't alert them."

The sails of Redwyne's fleet were lowered slightly, the blue and white fabric swaying gently in the wind, seemingly adjusting their course leisurely, but actually quietly closing the distance with the "merchant ships".

The closer they got, the more suspicious the other party's reaction became. The boat, which had been trying to maintain a steady speed, suddenly accelerated and the sails were quickly raised, clearly indicating that it wanted to escape.

"There's definitely something wrong!" Daemon hissed, turning to walk toward the ship's side. The Glutton seemed to sense its master's intention, swooping down from the sky, its massive claws landing on the edge of the deck, sending up a cloud of wood chips. Daemon stepped on the claws, flipped over, and leaped onto the dragon's back. The Black Dragon let out a deep roar, its wings flapping violently, carrying him toward the "merchant ships."

"Colin, signal everyone! Have everyone grab their weapons and prepare to board!" Daemon's voice carried on the wind to the "Arbor." Colin Celtigar immediately received the order and scrambled to the lookout tower. He coordinated with Alyn Redwyne Big Horas to relay the signal, gesturing to the captains of each ship—a clear and distinct gesture of drawing a silver sword. The crew reacted instantly, grabbing spears, longswords, and even harpoons, their eyes filled with vigilance.

The Glutton were incredibly fast, catching up with the "merchant ships" in the blink of an eye.

Daemon patted the Black Dragon's neck, and the Glutton suddenly rose higher, spewing out a ball of pitch-black Dragonfire. The flame did not hit the ship directly, but landed on the sea in front of the "merchant ship," stirring up a splash several feet high, like a black barrier blocking their path.

"Stop! Or burn your entire fleet!" Daemon's roar echoed across the sea through the dragon's cry. The crew of the "merchant ships" finally panicked. Some tried to jump into the sea, while others frantically searched the decks. Only a man in a silk robe on the flagship remained composed, waving in Daemon's direction. "Misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding! Your Highness, we are merchants from Lys. We were just afraid of encountering pirates and wanted to leave as quickly as possible!"

Daemon sneered, piloting the Glutton to the deck beside the main ship. Although he didn't lower his wings, the weight of the Black Dragon gripping the ship still caused it to tilt slightly, and his breath sprayed onto the deck, making the wood chips sizzle.

A man in a silk robe hurriedly stepped forward, holding a silver teacup filled with pale red fruit wine, his face plastered with a fawning smile, "Your Highness, please calm your anger. I am the captain of this fleet, my Pero. This is the finest fruit wine from Lys. Please try it, Your Highness, as an apology."

The surrounding crew members echoed this sentiment, some offering fruit, others moving chairs, trying to create the illusion of an "enthusiastic businessman."

Daemon, noticing the fleeting glint of calculation in Pero's eyes, deliberately reached out to take the teacup— Pero's face immediately lit up with joy, as if he had breathed a sigh of relief. But just as the teacup was about to touch Daemon's fingertips, Daemon suddenly twisted his wrist and splashed the fruit wine fiercely across Pero's face!

"Ah!" Pero cried out in pain, his silk face soaked with wine, looking utterly disheveled. Just then, several crossbow bolts suddenly shot out from behind the deck, aimed straight at Daemon's back—with astonishing speed!

"Clang!" The Blackfyre was already drawn, and the Valyrian steel blade accurately struck the crossbow bolt, cutting it in two. Then, Daemon's sword flourished, cleanly deflecting and splitting the other stray arrows.

Daemon stepped forward, his left hand gripping Pero's throat, the tip of his Blackfyre pressed against his chest, his voice as cold as the ice of the Narrow Sea: "Still pretending? Speak! Who are you people? What's hidden in the cargo hold?"

Pero's face turned bright red as he struggled to call for help, but Daemon's grip prevented him from speaking.

Seeing this, the Glutton spewed a small ball of Dragonfire toward the edge of the deck. The flames burned the hem of a crew member who was trying to draw his sword. The man screamed in terror, dropped his weapon, and collapsed to the ground.

At this moment, Colin Celtigar and Alyn Redwyne, along with Rayford Rosby, Rupert Crabb, and others, also boarded the flagship.

Rayford held his longsword to the neck of another person who seemed to be the ship's second-in-command, while Myles, the moment he boarded the ship, used his battle axe to cleave open the door of the cargo hold where the disturbance had occurred. As soon as the door opened, a suppressed sob came out.

Everyone peered over and saw that the cargo hold was packed with people, including elderly people, women, and several teenagers, all of whom were bound with thick hemp ropes, gagged with strips of cloth, and their eyes filled with fear. Below them were also injured men who looked like sailors or crew members.

Some children, frightened by the light, shrank into a corner, while some women sobbed excitedly, trying to break free of their ropes.

"You damned bastards! You—you are slave traders!" Alyn Redwyne, his orange hair standing on end. "By the Seven, by the Iron Throne, and by the laws of Westeros, the buying and selling of people is forbidden! You bunch of Lys animals!"

Pero continued to argue, "No! We were just—just helping people transport 'goods,' and these people were all volunteers!"

"Voluntary?" A clear but trembling voice rang out. From the crowd, a black-haired girl slowly walked out—she was about fourteen or fifteen years old, wearing a worn-out, gorgeous blue dress, the hem stained with seawater and dirt, and tear tracks on her cheeks, yet her delicate features were still undeniable, especially her eyes, which, though red and swollen, shone with a stubborn light.

The girl approached Daemon and bowed respectfully. "Your Daemon Daemon Blackfyre, my name is Johanna Swann, and I am the niece of the Earl of Stonehelm. I was traveling by ship to visit relatives at Cape Wrath when, while passing the Stepstones, I was kidnapped by these human traffickers. My uncle, the Earl of Stonehelm, refused to pay the ransom, so these traffickers conspired to sell me to the Perfume Gardens of Lys! They are utterly despicable devils!"

Johanna's voice grew increasingly choked, but she didn't cry out, "They locked me in the very back of the cargo hold. I heard Pero tell his men that once we crossed the Stepstones, they would sell us off in batches to Lys ' brothels—if it weren't for His Highness saving me, I—"

The other captives chimed in, "I was a tenant farmer near Mistwood. Our lord owed the people of Lys money, so he sold me and several other tenant farmers!"

"I am a sailor from Estermont. They hijacked my ship and captured me!"

"They also killed those who resisted and threw their bodies into the sea to feed the fish!"

Indignant voices echoed in the cargo hold, Daemon's followers gripped their weapons tighter, their eyes filled with rage as they looked at Pero and his men.

Daemon looked down at Pero, the tip of his Blackfyre thrusting forward again, tearing through Perot's silk robe. "What else do you have to say for yourself?"

Pero trembled with fear, his teeth chattering. "Your Highness, spare me! It was all an order from the Kingdom of the Three Daughters! It was Crahas Hal who ordered us to capture slaves to supply their army—"

Daemon ignored his nonsense and turned to Rayford, saying, "Bring the remaining Lys under control. Kill any who resist." He then looked at Leonno, "Sir Leonno, please have someone take inventory of the hostages, register their identities and the stolen goods. I will have Redwyne's fleet take care of sending them home. The remaining loot and available ships will be paid to Redwyne's fleet as fare. However, we need to change our route to Stonehelm first."

"To Stonehelm?" Gael walked over, her pale purple eyes filled with doubt.

"Of course." Daemon's gaze fell on Johanna, then swept over the hostages accusing the lord. "Since someone dares to sell their own people to slave traders, then I must ask the Lord of Stormlands if he has forgotten his oath to 'protect his people.'"

Upon hearing the words "Stonehelm," Johanna trembled slightly, but she still raised her head and said firmly to Daemon, "Your Highness, I'll go with you! I want to ask my uncle myself why he would rather watch me be sold into a brothel than pay a single ransom!"

Daemon nodded, reaching out to tidy Johanna's disheveled clothes and hair. "Alright, I'll take you. But first tell me, how do you know I'm Prince Daemon Blackfyre, my beautiful lady?"

As the stunningly handsome young man in the setting sun drew ever closer to her face, Johanna blushed. "Among the Dragonknight of the Seven Kingdoms today, only two are young, Prince Daemon: one rides a red dragon, and the other rides Black Dragon."

As the sun completely sank below the horizon, night gradually enveloped the Stepstones.

The lights of Redwyne's fleet lit up like stars scattered on the sea.

The controlled Lys slave ship was tethered to the rear of the fleet. The hostages received food and water, and the fear on their faces gradually faded, replaced by gratitude in their eyes as they looked at Daemon.

Johanna sat on the deck of the "Arbor," Gael helped her comb her messy black hair. Mysaria, out of some shared experience, handed her a freshly baked wheat cake. The girl took it and ate it in small bites, but her eyes were looking in the direction of Stonehelm, with a complicated emotion in them.

Daemon stood at the bow, gazing into the darkness. Glutton and Dreamfyre hovered above the fleet, and dragon breath condensed into white vapor in the night sky.

He knew that the questioning in the Stormlands would not be easy—the lords of the Stormlands were always arrogant, but he also knew that if this kind of "selling people into slavery" was allowed to continue, more and more people would become the goods of slave traders in the future.

"Set off to change course first thing tomorrow morning," Daemon instructed Alyn, his voice carrying an unwavering determination.

Alyn nodded vigorously and turned to adjust the fleet's course. Leonno walked to Daemon's side and whispered, "The lords of Stormlands won't admit their mistakes easily, and you'll likely need the Iron Throne Storm's End's permission to judge them. Be prepared."

"I know." Daemon gripped the Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel patterns on its blade gleaming coldly in the lamplight. "But as long as they remember that the people of the Iron Throne are not commodities to be bought and sold at will, it's all worth it, no matter how difficult."

The Stepstones fell silent in the night, with only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the murmur of ships sailing by.

Johanna gazed at Daemon's retreating figure, then at the two giant dragons overhead, and a glimmer of hope suddenly arose in her heart—perhaps this prince with Dragonfire could truly help her obtain justice, and prevent more people like her from becoming prey for slave traders.

Meanwhile, in the distant Stonehelm, the Earl of Stonehelm was unaware that a Storm he had started was slowly approaching his territory, following the course of Redwyne's fleet, and gradually sweeping across the lords along the entire Stormlands coast.