Dragon Port flourished, and fools "lurked"

As the morning light of Dragon's Roost Port just began to shine over the newly cultivated terraced fields, the dew still clinging to the ridges dripped from the tips of the tender rice seedlings, splashing into the damp soil and creating tiny water droplets. The tranquility of this morning was completely awakened by the powerful shouts of boatmen coming from the docks inside the port.

On the newly paved bluestone road, the sounds of horses' hooves and the friction of wooden planks being dragged mingled together. Recently recruited refugees, bandits, and native Wildlings were working together to carry sturdy timbers transported from all over the peninsula. Sweat slid down their dark cheeks, leaving small wet patches on the stone slabs.

The scholars who "visited" the Citadel were also seen moving about in their grey robes. Some held blueprints and discussed things in hushed tones with the craftsmen, while others squatted by the fields to record the growth of the crops. They contrasted with the private soldiers in bright armor and with sharp blades at their waists from the Crownlands, creating a busy yet orderly and prosperous scene.

Daemon stood on the high platform of the castle foundation, looking at the rows of newly built houses, the endless stream of people, and the ships docked at the pier in the distance. His fingertips unconsciously stroked the hilt of the Blackfyre, the dark gold patterns flowing on the hilt, as if echoing the rising vitality of Dragon's Roost Port.

The momentum from the recent crackdown on bandits and pirates has not yet dissipated, and the remnants of those defeated evil forces are still hiding in the shadows of the mountains and forests, stubbornly resisting.

However, Daemon was happy to heed the advice of the elders, such as Earl Crabb, to keep them around and send them to dangerous places like swamps and forests, so that they could not plunder and could only be forced to "clear the land" for Daemon. The Crownlands's private army could also use them for "training" from time to time.

Therefore, today's Dragon's Roost Port is not only not shrouded in shadow, but is gathering strength at an even faster pace, like a giant dragon awakening.

"Your Highness, Lyonel has returned from his inspection with the House Royce brothers." Jarman Waters's voice came from behind, his one eye sweeping across the distant forest path.

Daemon turned his head and saw Lyonel Corbray wearing silver armor, the "Lady Forlorn" at his waist gleaming coldly, followed by the twin brothers Arad House Royce and Jorvik House Royce, who were still dressed in dark, tight-fitting clothes as usual, their longswords at their waists held straight, their steps steady as pine trees.

They had just returned from the depths of Black Hill, where they were tasked with surveying the resettlement of the Wildlings, and their faces still bore traces of dust from their journey.

"How are things settled?" Daemon stepped forward, his gaze falling on Lyonel. The somewhat traditional Vale Knight's silver armor was covered in grass, indicating that he had been trekking through the forest for a long time.

"The Black Hill Tribe has settled according to the plan, and the old chief is willing to lead his people to cultivate the eastern wasteland."

Lyonel bowed and replied, his voice carrying the distinctive sense of honor of Vale Knight, "The House Royce brothers have set up guards around the tribe's perimeter, and our Shadow Guards report no unusual activity in the area."

Arad House Royce added, "We've marked three concealed outposts along the route so that we can relay messages immediately if there's any unusual activity."

Jorvik House Royce then handed over a scroll of map, on which the locations of tribes and outposts were marked with neat ink lines.

Daemon took the map and pointed to the eastern wasteland. "Have Rickard and his men take people there and teach them how to grow salt-tolerant crops."

Lyonel, it's been hard on you staying at the training grounds to help Rupert train his private army. Your swordsmanship will be a good opportunity for the new recruits to develop their courage.

"Yes, sir." Lyonel responded, turning and walking towards the training ground. His silver armor gleamed coldly in the morning light, and the scabbard of "Lady Forlorn" clashed against the armor, producing a crisp sound.

Just then, the sound of sails billowing came from the direction of the dock. Alyn Redwyne and Little Horas Redwyne Jr. stood at the bow of a fast ship, the grape emblem on the hull particularly eye-catching.

This morning, the House Redwyne's fleet delivered another shipment of wine and grain, fresh from Arbor, along with the latest news from the Reach.

"Your Highness! The wine from Arbor and the wheat from the Reach have been unloaded!" Alyn strode over, his light green robe damp with seawater. "My father asked us to convey that most of the Reach is willing to establish long-term trade with our Dragon's Roost Port, and will send more farm tools and seeds next time."

Little Horas Oliver Redwyne. followed behind his brother, carrying a roll of trade documents, his face radiating youthful energy. "We've also mapped out the reef routes on the eastern side of the Narrow Sea, making merchant shipping much safer from now on."

Daemon flipped through the list, his eyes sweeping over the words "three thousand barrels of wine" and "five thousand bushels of wheat seeds," and nodded, saying, "Have Rayford register them in the warehouse, distribute the wine to the soldiers and refugees, and give the wheat seeds to Rickard, prioritizing the replanting of the western terraces."

Alyn, you stay in port with the fleet to assist Colin in patrolling the Narrow Sea; Little Horas, you are needed to go to the workshops and learn shipbuilding from the Myr craftsmen, Dragon's Roost Port needs more fast ships.

The two brothers responded in unison. Alyn turned and walked towards the dock, while Little Horas, unusually shedding his feigned "maturity," skipped and hopped towards the workshop like any other child his age, muttering, "We'll build a ship faster than Arbor."

On the ridge of a field not far away, Rickard Rowan was leading several refugees to clear the ditch. He was about the same age as Little Horas, and today he was wearing a light green outfit, with agricultural tools hanging from his waist. His face was covered in mud, but he still smiled gently.

Seeing Daemon approach in person, he quickly stepped forward to greet him, "Your Highness, the soil testing in the eastern wasteland is complete. It's suitable for planting salt-tolerant rye and peas. As long as the irrigation canals are dug, we can start planting next month."

"Lyonel and his men just returned from Black Hill, and the tribe is willing to assist with the reclamation," Daemon said. "Take plenty of tools with you, teach them patiently, and don't rush them."

Although Rickard was young and the youngest son of the family who was not valued, he had learned to manage the land and cultivate the land from his equally neglected uncle since childhood. His experience was no less than that of some scholars, and the experience he had learned from the old farmers of the Reach was certainly not inferior.

"Don't worry," Rickard nodded with a smile, "Brother Olyvar is also coordinating things over there. He's familiar with how to communicate with vassals and farmers in the Reach, and those tribal chiefs trust him a lot."

Daemon followed his gaze and saw Olyvar Ochhatt standing at the end of the field, talking with the old chief of the Black Hill Tribe. He was wearing a dark brown robe, his posture was calm, and he nodded from time to time, obviously listening patiently to the tribe's demands.

This second son of the Reach noble was mature and prudent. Since arriving at Dragon's Roost Port, he had been responsible for coordinating the local lords and foreign forces without ever making a mistake.

"How's Tommen House Peake doing?" Daemon asked, thinking of the Reach squire who had studied under Rayford and was now quite skilled in writing.

"Tommen seems to have finished compiling the recent government documents as well," Rickard replied. "Including statistics on troop numbers, resource consumption, and trade transactions of the surrounding families, all neatly arranged by date and with key points marked for Your Highness's convenience."

Just as Daemon was about to speak, Mace Florent walked in with Lucas Tyrell.

Mace was wearing steel armor, the red fox emblem on his chest gleaming, and he held a longsword in his hand, clearly having just finished inspecting the port's defenses;

Lucas Tyrell was dressed in a light green jacket and carried a scroll of writings by historical Reach, along with what appeared to be several maps.

However, this young scion of the House Tyrell, upon seeing Little Daemon, who had once easily defeated him and subjected him to ridicule in the Reach for half a year, displayed a touch of natural shyness on his face.

"Your Highness, the port defenses have been fortified, and the ballistae on the west side have been set up." Mace bowed and replied, his voice steady. "Lucas brought several books from his family's collection, including a few volumes of herbal illustrations from our Reach. Several herbs listed there have similar effects to those found locally; perhaps they can replenish the medical station's supplies."

Lucas handed over the diagrams and whispered, "My father and Martyn both told me to study with His Highness, saying that reading more books will definitely be of help to His Highness."

Daemon took the atlas, flipped through a few pages, and saw annotations on the morphology, medicinal effects, and growing environments of the herbs, written in neat handwriting, "Give this to Maester Marvin, and let him study it with Alys Rivers. Lucas, you can also learn farming from Rickard. Don't think it's useless; your Reach's agricultural techniques are perfect for Dragon's Roost Port."

The branch of House Tyrell, specifically Lucas's lineage, was renowned for its fertile farms in the Reach.

Lucas nodded and followed Rickard to the edge of the field, not minding that Rickard was younger and less experienced than him.

After all, once he was defeated by Daemon, whom he thought was too young, he no longer dared to be presumptuous or judge people by their appearance. He would occasionally ask questions about salt-tolerant crops out of curiosity.

Budimir Tarth entered from the document room, carrying documents compiled by Tommen House Peake. His white robe swept across the floor as he walked briskly. "Your Highness," he said, "The documents Tommen House Peake helped Rayford compile are all here, along with a secret report from Larys's spies in King's Landing, saying that King's Landing are currently no unusual developments there."

Daemon took the document, turned to one of the pages, and surprisingly, it recorded the recent activities of Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron.

Besides "checking accounts" and "teaching literacy" every day, the two also frequently walked around the camp, seemingly trying to find out something.

"Are they still behaving themselves?" Daemon raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes as he looked at these two self-important guys.

"They're behaving themselves quite well," even the usually serious and earnest Budimir couldn't help but laugh. "It's just that lately those two have been hanging around Miss Bethany Hightower all the time; I wonder what they're plotting."

These words were overheard by Jarman, who was passing by. A cold glint flashed in his one eye. "The brothers of the Shadow Guards are keeping an eye on them every day. The two of them have met privately a few times, whispering to each other, as if they are discussing something important."

Daemon put down the documents and looked in the direction of the medical station— Bethany was squatting by the herb garden, discussing something with Alys Rivers, her notebook filled with dense writing. Occasionally, she would look up towards the castle, a kind of fanaticism in her eyes that Daemon both recognized and feared.

He knew perfectly well that these two fools sent by Otto Hightower probably thought they were "one of their own" again, considering Otto's own niece, Miss Bethany.

Sure enough, in a corner of the camp in the afternoon, Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron secretly gathered under an old pine tree and talked in hushed tones.

Ellyn Beesbury, dressed in a bright yellow brocade robe, clutched an account book in his hand, his face radiating self-satisfied shrewdness;

Maester Maron, dressed in a grey robe, held a scroll in his hands, his brow furrowed deeply.

These two cunning and sly individuals thought their infiltration was flawless, unaware that disguised Shadow Guards were watching them just steps away.

These two idiots, trapped in Damon's de facto house arrest, are sometimes so stupid that Damon, Larry, and Jarman discuss whether to waste the valuable manpower of the Secret Service to monitor them.

"Are you sure you saw it clearly just now? Are you sure that Miss Bethany Hightower is from the House Hightower? Otto's niece? The way she looked at the Black Dragon was strange!" Ellyn Beesbury asked in a low voice, glancing towards the direction of the medical point.

Maester Maron nodded, his tone carrying a scholarly certainty. "Of course, what? You, young man, still believe that Miss Bethany is truly one of the Black Dragon ' people?"

Miss Bethany is the eldest daughter of our esteemed Earl Hobert Hightower, the Voice of Oldtown, and Lord Otto is her uncle.

Her sudden visit to Dragon's Roost Port must be arranged by Lord Otto. She's probably here, like us, to infiltrate the Black Dragon's inner circle.

"That's good!" Ellyn Beesbury breathed a sigh of relief and a smug smile appeared on his face. "I knew it. How could such a noble young lady from the House Hightower come to this wild land where Wildlings and 'half- Wildlings ' gather, as well as bandits, river bandits, and pirates, for no reason?"

Thinking about it now, that look in her eyes just now was definitely cryptic. I guess Miss Bethany probably wants to condescend to use her beauty and knowledge to conquer that ruthless Black Dragon. The two of us can work together to help her!

Maester Maron frowned and said, "That's true, but what you said about her gaze earlier doesn't seem unreasonable. That young lady seems more interested in the witch who taught her herbs and the enigmatic Daemon Blackfyre, rather than in what you said about conquering the ' Black Dragon.'"

"What do you know!" Ellyn Beesbury patted him on the shoulder, his tone smug. "Just knowing dead knowledge, that's called strategy! First, get close to the Black Dragon's inner circle, use your extensive knowledge to attract the Black Dragon's attention, then slowly use your charm. Once you have completely gained the Black Dragon's trust, you can find out all the Black Dragon's secrets."

Moreover, did you even see the way Miss Bethany looked at the Black Dragon? It was as if she wanted to devour him whole. That's what people call a masterful feigned indifference!

L

Maester Maron nodded, seemingly understanding, but still somewhat puzzled. Yesterday, Miss Bethany Hightower had asked him to find a book on ancient Old Valyria runes, claiming she wanted to study the "connection between herbs and runes"—utter nonsense! What did it have to do with "conquering" men?