Submission on the Dragon's Beach

The expected death did not occur.

Crahas Hal crashed heavily onto the warm sand, his back making contact with the fine grains of sand.

The long-awaited afternoon sun gently shone on his face, carrying a scorching heat. Sweat streamed down his disheveled hair, dripping onto the sand and being instantly absorbed.

The fierce battle had exhausted all the strength he had accumulated in the Dragonstone dungeon. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, his eyes still tightly closed, but the fatal blow he had anticipated was still nowhere to be seen.

Doubt gradually replaced resignation. Crahas slowly opened his eyes, and what came into view was the blinding sunlight, and a tall, elongated shadow cast by it.

Daemon, holding the Blackfyre, remained standing in place, the tip of the sword pointing diagonally at the ground, showing no intention of making a move.

"Why? Why, Blackfyre?" Crahas's voice was hoarse, filled with suppressed anger and resentment. "Why won't you kill me? In your eyes, am I not even a worthy opponent, not even deserving of the death a warrior should have?"

He tried to struggle to get up, but he was too weak to move. He could only lie on his side on the beach, his eyes fixed on Daemon, filled with resentment, anger, and a hint of despair.

"I fought for Myr my whole life, sweeping across the Narrow Sea, pacifying the Stepstones, and defeating Volantis, only to be abandoned by my own homeland and imprisoned in this foreign dungeon, barely clinging to life!"

"What's the point of my life? I'd rather die in a fair duel, at least I can retain the last shred of a warrior's dignity!"

His voice grew louder and louder, filled with hysterical accusations, but then he suddenly burst into laughter, a cold and tragic laugh, as tears streamed down his face, mingling with sweat and sand, leaving streaks on his skin.

This once arrogant Prince Myr, the naval commander of the Triarchy, now resembles a child abandoned by the world, venting all his grievances and pain on this empty beach.

Daemon didn't speak, he just watched him quietly until Crahas ' laughter gradually subsided, leaving only heavy breathing.

He slowly walked to Crahas' side, his Blackfyre stuck in the sand, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the distant Narrow Sea, where the waves still surged, as if bearing the glory and regrets of countless warriors.

"A soldier's dignity should never be about seeking a glorious death, but about having the courage to stand up even in dire straits."

Daemon's voice was steady and powerful, piercing through the sound of the waves, "You have been forgotten by your own homeland of Myr, which you led to independence, and abandoned by the Triarchy that you supported and built, but these are not reasons for you to give up on yourself."

"Are your past exploits of sweeping across the Narrow Sea and the glory of defeating Volantis so insignificant that they deserve to end with your death?"

He turned to look at Crahas, his eyes sharp as swords, yet tinged with pity. "You spent your time in the dungeons of Dragonstone, constantly building up your strength and training every day, not to seek death today, but to prove that you have not been defeated."

You challenged me to a duel not because you wanted to end your life, but because you wanted to find an opponent you respected and give your life a proper ending.

"A dignified end is not dying in the shadow of past glories, but moving forward with the honors of yesteryear."

Crahas froze, staring blankly at Daemon in front of him, his tears gradually stopping.

Daemon's words were like a key, unlocking the shackles that had been sealed in his heart for months. The forgotten grievances and the pain of betrayal seemed to have an outlet at this moment, but new thoughts also arose.

Daemon turned around, facing the Narrow Sea once more. The dazzling golden sunlight shone on him again, outlining his tall and imposing figure. In Crahas's eyes, that figure was even more dazzling than the sun overhead.

His heart was as broad as the Narrow Sea, his gaze as firm as the rocks of Dragonmont on this foreign island, and his innate kingly aura made Crahas tremble.

"You are the person I brought out of the Dragonstone dungeon without prior notification."

Daemon's voice rang out again, carrying an undeniable power, "From the moment you chose to come out of the dungeon with me, your life has belonged to me."

I will not allow you to die so cowardly, because you still have unfinished business and unrealized value.

Crahas slowly sat up, reached out and picked up the longsword stuck in the sand, its blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

He looked down at the sword in his hand, then looked up at Daemon's back, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips, "You're right, but my life was already over the moment I was imprisoned in the Dragonstone."

My homeland of Myr, which led me to independence, no longer wants me; the Triarchy, which I single-handedly forged, has also abandoned me. What value do I have now?

"That Crahas Hal is dead!"

Daemon slowly turned his head to meet his gaze, his deep purple eyes burning with ambition and light. "That former Prince Myr, admiral, and commander-in-chief of the Triarchy Fleet, is dead in the duel just now!"

Crahas Hal, who is still alive today, is a warrior under Daemon Blackfyre, and a future general who will once again roam the Narrow Sea.

Crahas's heart skipped a beat. Looking into Daemon's eyes, he saw the undisguised ambition and the corresponding magnanimity. He felt the trust and expectation in Damon's words. His long-dormant ambition was like dry grass being ignited by a spark, and it was once again burning fiercely.

He stood up, carefully straightened his outfit, held the long sword in his palms, and slowly raised it above his head.

"Then you should also know that Crahas Hal was once able to command thousands of troops and sweep across the Narrow Sea."

His voice regained its usual composure, carrying the pride and loyalty of a warrior. "If you are willing to give me such an opportunity in the future, I will repay you with the rest of my life."

Daemon looked at him and slowly pulled the Blackfyre from the sand. The Valyrian steel sword gleamed with a cold yet magnificent luster in the sunlight.

He raised his hand and gently placed the Blackfyre on Crahas's shoulder; the cool touch of the sword sent a shiver down Crahas's spine.

"In the name of Daemon Blackfyre, and with my Blackfyre, and with my dragon Glutton, I swear that I appoint you as the fleet commander and naval commander of the Prince Blackfyre's Domain, and promise you the future governorship of the Myr Governor's Office under my command."

Daemon's voice was solemn and authoritative, "When I, Daemon Blackfyre, establish the Empire, you will be my Imperial Navy Admiral, commanding the fleet, sailing the seas, to reclaim your glory and create your own new legend."

Crahas Hal silently sensed the boundless ambition and magnanimity displayed by the man before him, as well as the inescapable kingly and dragonly majesty that rivaled it. He lowered his once proud head deeply, his forehead almost touching the hilt of his sword, his voice filled with barely suppressed excitement and loyalty. "Your future Governor of Myr, Fleet Commander, and Naval Commander, the future Admiral of the Empire, Crahas Hal, swears allegiance to His Highness Daemon Blackfyre!"

This is the first time Crahas Hal has not directly addressed Daemon Blackfyre as his former derogatory nickname "Blackfyre," but has instead called him by his full name. This recognition and submission is now heartfelt.

The Blackfyre Sword rested gently on Crahas's shoulder, as if bearing a tremendous weight, but also carrying new hope and glory.

The waves of the Narrow Sea remained unchanged, and the sun over Dragonstone began to slowly set in the west, casting long shadows of the two people that intertwined on the golden sand.

Former adversaries on the battlefield have now become ruler and subject; the will to die has transformed into the flame of new life.

Crahas Hal knew that from this moment on, his life would begin anew, and his battlefield would be far broader than the Narrow Sea.

As Crahas's words of swearing an oath to Daemon faded away, the Narrow Sea wind, carrying a salty, damp scent, swept across the beach once more.

He subconsciously looked up at Daemon, who stood before him leaning on his sword. His gaze inadvertently swept across the other's face, and his pupils suddenly contracted—

In that exhilarating sparring match just now, he had exhausted all the strength he had accumulated in the dungeon for months. Every strike was imbued with a desperate resolve and unwavering belief. Now, he was not only drenched in sweat, but his back was also covered in mud and sand from falling on the beach, and even his palms were red and numb from gripping the sword too tightly. Yet, before him stood his newly sworn follower, Prince Daemon Blackfyre—

At this moment, his face, so handsome as to be almost superhuman, as a descendant of the ancient Old Valyria dragon king, was completely free of sweat. His long, silver-gold hair, like flowing platinum, was untouched by any dust or dirt. His fair skin shone with a delicate luster in the setting sun, and his deep purple eyes, illuminated by the sunset, were more profound than any gemstone, seemingly capable of reflecting the stars.

It was as if Lord Daemon Blackfyre, standing before Crahas Hal, was merely taking a leisurely stroll.

He looked down at his tight-fitting clothes covered in sand, then glanced at the longsword he had taken to his waist after the oath. He recalled being knocked away in the battle just now, the sword stuck not far away on the beach, its tip still trembling slightly. At that time, his breathing had not yet calmed down, and his heavy breathing was particularly clear on the silent beach.

Meanwhile, Daemon, standing beside him, stood upright like a pine tree, his Blackfyre sheathed, his hands naturally resting on the hilt of the sword. He wasn't panting, and not even a strand of his hair was disheveled, as if the fierce attack and defense he had just fought had nothing to do with him.

A complex mix of emotions welled up in Crahas's heart: shock, awe, and a touch of inexplicable absurdity.

He subconsciously rubbed the calluses on his palm, the throbbing pain in his fingertips a reminder of the reality of their recent exchange. A soft, involuntary murmur escaped his lips, "As expected of a descendant of the Dragon King of Old Valyria, truly—a monster."

As soon as he finished speaking, he noticed a surprised look in Daemon's eyes, his deep purple eyes filled with confusion.

Crahas panicked, quickly composed himself, and forced a slightly stiff smile. He changed his words rapidly, "Your Highness, please forgive me! I was simply marveling at how worthy you are of being the mortal warrior among the Andals Seven, representing strength in battle, as described by the Westeros. Your strength and stamina far surpass those of mortals like myself!"

Upon hearing this, Daemon shook his head helplessly, a faint smile playing on his lips, "I never expected that you, with your thick eyebrows and big eyes, the former Myr Mill, and the former Admiral and Commander of the Triarchy, would say such sycophantic things."

Daemon's tone carried a hint of mockery, "I hear Larys Strong say things like that all the time, as King's Landing Lord Bartimos Celtigar, the Earl of Crab Island who is currently serving as my Minister of Intelligence in King's Landing, and Ser Edwyn House Arryn, the patriarch of the House Arryn branch Golden Eagle Gulltown whom I met during my travels."

Crahas quickly memorized the names of the three people Daemon had just mentioned: Larys Strong, Bartimos Celtigar, and Edwyn House Arryn. Since this prince had mentioned them, they would likely have to deal with him in the future.

He quickly bowed and said, "Your Highness is too kind. Every word I said came from the bottom of my heart."

In the exchange just now, Your Highness handled the situation with effortless ease, while I, your subordinate, exerted all my strength but failed to gain the slightest advantage. Such strength is beyond the reach of ordinary people.

As he spoke, the sunlight involuntarily fell on Daemon's face again. The afterglow of the setting sun once more gilded the boy's features with a warm gold, softening the sharpness of his earlier battle appearance and now revealing a hint of—

A trace of youthful beauty still lingers.

A thought suddenly exploded in Crahas's mind like a thunderclap:

He seemed to remember this Prince Blackfyre, whom he had recently followed. According to intelligence from the Triarchy, he was only fourteen years old this year?

This realization made Crahas freeze, and a cold sweat instantly broke out on his back.

He recalled the legendary young Targaryen who had shown promise when they clashed with the Joint Fleet at the Stepstones;

Recalling the sparring session earlier, Daemon's sword swings were effortlessly powerful, yet his parries were remarkably steady;

Recalling the overwhelming force that sent my weapon flying—

How could a fourteen-year-old boy possess such terrifying strength?

Crahas swallowed hard, the same thought echoing in his mind again, but this time replaced by a deep chill and relief. "What a freak—thankfully, I'm no longer his opponent."

He secretly rejoiced that he had chosen to submit. If he had continued to be enemies with such a gifted and unfathomable dragon at such a young age, his fate would probably have been even more miserable than being abandoned by his homeland.

At this moment, the once proud heart of Prince Myr was completely filled with awe and submission, and no longer harbored any disloyal thoughts.

Daemon was unaware of the turmoil in Crahas's heart; his own light had already drifted towards the setting sun in the distance, the waves crashing against the beach, creating layers of golden light.

The feelings he had just experienced during the sparring session flooded back into his mind:

With each swing of his sword, he could feel an inexhaustible power within him, and even when facing Crahas's Storm onslaught, he never felt the slightest bit exhausted;

The black three-headed dragon brand on his shoulder seemed to be slightly warm during the battle, transmitting warm energy through his blood vessels, keeping his mind highly focused and his breathing undisturbed.

He unconsciously raised his hand and touched the brand on his shoulder, his fingertips able to feel the subtle texture beneath the fabric.

After arriving in this world a hundred years ago, this mysterious mark has stayed with him ever since.

At first, I just thought it would allow me to resonate with the dragon, make it easier to communicate my feelings, and attract the dragon to be close to me.

But as time went on, he discovered that the power of this mark was far more than that; after riding the Glutton, his strength and speed increased day by day.

After the Grey Ghost entangled itself, this growth became even more rapid;

Each time he wins a battle, or his bond with the dragons around him deepens, he can feel a warm current emanating from the mark, as if it is constantly strengthening his body, mind, and even his senses.

In the previous match, Crahas's swordsmanship was fierce and ruthless. An ordinary knight would probably have been exhausted long ago, but he remained in control and didn't even break a sweat. This was clearly beyond the physical limits of a normal fourteen-year-old boy.

All of this must be related to the Dragon Mark on his shoulder.

So, besides resonating with the dragon, enhancing physical abilities, and providing near-infinite stamina in battle, what other unknown effects does the unknown black three-headed dragon mark on his right shoulder possess?

Is it able to enhance the power of Dragonfire? Or can it sense danger? Or perhaps...?

Is it related to the lost magic of Old Valyria?

Daemon's thoughts drifted in the sunset, a hint of inquiry and contemplation flashing in his deep purple eyes.

He knew that the secret branded on his shoulder might only be the tip of the iceberg, and the power it contained would eventually become an important asset for him to build an empire and rewrite his destiny.

Seeing Daemon deep in thought, Crahas wisely kept quiet and stood respectfully by his side.

On the beach, Blackfyre still stands in Daemon's hands, while the distant roar of the Glutton Dragon echoes, mingling with the sound of the waves to create a picture of harmonious coexistence between ruler and subject, yet with undercurrents surging beneath the surface.

As the sun began to set over Dragonstone, it brought a temporary end to this period of submission and exploration, but also heralded the beginning of a broader journey.