Fleets thunder on the Narrow Sea, undercurrents stir

The morning light at Dragon's Roost Port, carrying the salty dampness unique to the coastal area, quietly penetrated the dock roof of the naval base and fell on the newly polished, gleaming ship decks of the fleet, giving them a cold, sharp light.

Crahas Hal rose early at dawn, dressed in the dark naval uniform specially tailored for him by the port tailors after Daemon returned on his Glutton. The longsword Daemon had given him on Dragonstone was at his waist. He strode towards the dock. Today was his first day officially taking over naval affairs. The blueprints for the improved warships had been completed overnight, and he only needed to finalize the details with the port's craftsmen.

The dock was already bustling with activity. The local craftsmen from Myr, along with artisans and apprentices from various ports in Westeros, were busy working around several fast ships that were awaiting improvement. The sounds of the Anvil striking, wood cutting, and ropes pulling mingled together, creating a powerful symphony of labor.

Colin Celtigar and Little Horas Oliver Redwyne Jr. were already waiting beside Daemon's flagship fleet's main ship, the Blackfyre.

Today, Little Horas's elder brother Alyn Redwyne, along with his friend Mace Florent and Olaf Florent, the eldest of Daemon's core followers (excluding the second oldest Mace), are leading a fleet of Olyvar ships from Dragon's Roost Port and the entire Crab Claw Peninsula on a voyage.

Having left his "annoying" brother and declined his friend Rickard Rowan's invitation to go to the fields, Little Horas, who rarely had time to be alone, held a thick book of sketches in his hands, his eyes full of anticipation. Colin, on the other hand, held the list of warship material losses compiled yesterday, his expression calm.

"Lord Crahas."

Upon seeing Crahas approach, Colin stepped forward first, bowed, and handed over the list. "This is the current damage situation of the fifteen warships in the Peninsula Fleet. Among them, the hulls of three fast ships were scratched by reefs during the previous anti-piracy patrols. In addition, the ballista mounts of five ships need to be reinforced, and the sail rigging of two ships is severely worn."

Crahas took the list, his fingertips quickly tracing the words on it. His gaze swept over the hull of the "Blackfyre," and he reached out to stroke the wooden planks of the ship's side. "These losses are all expected; sea voyages inevitably cause significant wear and tear."

He turned to look at Little Horas, "Have you finished drawing up the blueprints for the improved stern rudder I told you about yesterday?"

Little Horas immediately handed over the sketch, the pen still damp with ink. "As you requested yesterday, all the pulleys have been replaced with hardwood wrapped in iron, the rudder has been shortened by 30%, and diagonal reinforcing beams have been added. Do you think this is feasible?"

Crahas bent down to examine the drawing closely, his fingertips tracing the lines. Occasionally, after consulting with the foremen Myr and fellow craftsmen working nearby for their professional insights, he would mark the lines for further modification. "Here, the angle of the reinforcing beam needs to be adjusted by another five degrees to better distribute the impact force."

Also, reducing the spacing between the pulleys by half a foot makes operation easier.

He looked up at the foreman of the Myr artisans directing the operation, speaking in Low Valyrian (also known as Myr dialect) with a Myr accent.

(In Myr Valyrian) he instructed them, "Following these revised blueprints, prioritize upgrading Prince Daemon's Blackfyre and the other four main fast ships. This must be completed within three days; I want to personally test their performance."

The head craftsman of Myr bowed and replied, "Yes, sir. Before we broke free from our shackles and came here during the Battle of the Stepstones, we were Myr's best servant shipwrights in the Triarchy Fleet. We will certainly guarantee to complete the task as required."

Crahas nodded and turned to walk towards the training area on the other side of the dock.

There, Lyonel Corbray was selecting two thousand new recruits, as Daemon had instructed the day before, to prepare them for specialized training in naval amphibious operations.

These recruits, drawn from all over the Crab Claw Peninsula or from all over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros because of Damon's call to arms, wore uniform leather armor, carried short swords and shields, and stood in neat rows, their eyes filled with nothing but tension and excitement.

"Sir Lyonel," Crahas strode forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with the still-inexperienced Lyonel, "How are these recruits' close-combat skills?"

Lyonel, wielding the "Lady Forlorn," the scabbard clanging crisply against his armor, said, "These are mostly elites who have undergone three months of basic training. They are proficient in slashing and parrying, but their shipboard combat and naval coordination still need refinement."

He paused, then added, "How do you need my cooperation?"

"Today we'll begin with a boarding raid. Lady Forlorn's leadership in leading the assault during the previous Battle of the Stepstones is still fresh in my mind."

Crahas pointed to the simulated warship model not far away, "Divide the recruits into two teams, one team as the defenders and the other as the attackers, and focus on practicing climbing the ship's side, deck fighting, and crossbow cover coordination."

I will personally guide them on how to utilize the structural advantages of warships to maximize their combat effectiveness.

Lyonel nodded, then turned to the recruits and loudly ordered, "As Hal just instructed, divide into two teams and assemble beside the simulated warship in fifteen minutes!"

The recruits responded in unison, their voices echoing across the training ground. Crahas watched their busy figures, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. These young soldiers were full of vigor; with further systematic training, they would surely become elite troops capable of conquering the world.

He recalled the time when he first led the Joint Fleet of the Triarchy, and his soldiers were just as full of fighting spirit as they were today. But his comrades from that time had long since scattered to the ends of the earth. Now, these people in Dragon's Roost Port would become his new comrades.

While Crahas was focused on training, Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron were secretly discussing something near the market on the other side of the camp.

Once again, Ellyn wore his signature bright yellow brocade robe, but today he had deliberately changed to a simpler style, yet it still couldn't hide his greasy appearance;

Maester Maron held a scroll, his face feigning composure, but his eyes frequently darted towards the naval base, revealing a sleazy, opportunistic air about him, even if he were to recapture the strong sense of self-interest he had during his time studying at the Citadel.

His scholarly air couldn't be concealed.

"Are you sure the ' Crabfeeder ' would be willing to see the two of us?" Maester Maron deliberately lowered his voice, his tone inexplicably tinged with deep unease. "I've heard he's violent by nature; back in the Triarchy, he killed anyone he didn't like without a second thought."

"What's there to be afraid of!" Ellyn patted his chest, clutching a heavy bag of gold dragons in his hand. "We're going to talk trade with him this time, to give him some benefits. He has no reason not to see us."

Besides, he's just submitted to Black Dragon and definitely needs manpower and resources. We can take this opportunity to win him over and extract information about Black Dragon's expansion plans.

The two men thought their plan was meticulous, but little did they know that behind a stone wall not far away, two Shadow Guards were recording their every move on parchment.

Last night, Daemon gave orders to let them test Crahas, which would be a good opportunity to spread false information and confuse Otto in King's King's Landing.

Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron even straightened their robes and walked calmly toward the Crahas mansion next to the naval base.

The guards at the mansion glanced at them with disdain, but still went in to report.

Crahas had just finished his morning training and was polishing his longsword in the mansion when he heard from his servant that Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron had come to visit. He frowned slightly, then a cold smile crept onto his lips.

He already knew the two guys' background from Larys Strong's probing last night and his conversations with Colin and others today, and he was taking this opportunity to see what tricks they were up to.

"Let them in." Crahas silently sheathed the longsword he was wiping, sat down on a wooden chair in the hall, his expression cold and stern.

As soon as Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron entered the hall, they saw Crahas in his sharp attire, exuding an imposing aura, and instinctively straightened their backs to project confidence.

Ellyn Beesbury spoke first, his face plastered with his signature obsequious smile, "Your Excellency Hal, I have long admired your name!"

We are Ellyn Beesbury, the treasurer of Dragon's Nest, and Citadel Maron, selected and dispatched to Dragon's Roost Port by the Small Council of the Iron Throne. We have come today to discuss a trade with you, my lord.

"Trade?" Crahas raised an eyebrow, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the hilt of his sword. "I'm merely the naval commander of Dragon's Roost Port, entrusted by His Highness Daemon to manage fleet affairs. As for trade, you should consult Lord Rayford Rosby, or Lord Alyn Redwyne, who is in charge of that."

"My lord, you are unaware of this." Ellyn Beesbury quickly took out the bag of golden dragons from his bosom and gently placed it on the table. "We only heard this morning that you are going to apply to His Highness the Prince for improvements to the warships, which will inevitably require a large amount of hardwood and iron."

We know of many trade routes along the coast of the Sunset Sea, which can procure the best supplies for you at the lowest prices. We only hope that you will speak well of us to His Highness in the future.

Maester Maron quickly added, "Yes, sir. We've also heard that you're leading an expedition to the Summer Isles this time?"

The area is rich in gemstones and hardwoods, and we'd like to benefit from your resources, perhaps by doing some small business and providing you with intelligence, such as which tribes are friendly to Your Highness and which are hostile.

Crahas glanced at the golden dragon on the table, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes.

He knew perfectly well that the two men's purpose was simply to find out about the expedition plan and pass it on to Otto Hightower, the former Master of Laws whom Daemon had specifically instructed him to do the previous night, who was far away in King's Landing.

He pretended to ponder for a moment, and then said, "Since you two are so sincere, I will give you a chance."

I do need hardwood and iron, but the price must be 20% lower than other suppliers in the Reach, and I need it delivered to the naval base within a month.

Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron exchanged a glance, their faces immediately lighting up with ecstatic joy. "No problem! Absolutely no problem!"

As for intelligence—

Crahas then changed the subject, "The Jhala tribe in the Summer Isles is very friendly to Your Highness, Racallio has already established a base there;

The tribes on Walano are allied with the Ironborn Gorne and harbor deep hostility towards Dragon's Roost Port. Our plan is to take Walano first, and then gradually control the entire archipelago.

He deliberately revealed false information, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable certainty.

Ellyn Beesbury quickly pulled out his ledger and began writing rapidly, while Maester Maron, not to be outdone, began scribbling furiously on his previously treasured tomes. Neither of them noticed the mockery in Crahas's eyes as he sat across from them at the opposite table.

"Alright, you two can leave now."

Crahas waved his hand. "Once the supplies arrive, someone will notify you to collect your reward."

Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron were overjoyed. They bowed deeply, took the account books and books, and hurriedly left the mansion.

As soon as they left, a Shadow Guards emerged from behind the screen, bowed, and said, "My lord, as His Highness instructed, I have recorded their conversation. I will replace the false information with their own record later and send it to King's Landing."

"Well done." Crahas nodded. "Tell His Highness that, according to our plan last night, these two have taken the bait, and we can proceed as planned."

The Shadow Guards acknowledged and quietly withdrew. Crahas glanced at the golden dragon on the table, a cold smile playing on his lips. These golden dragons would be perfect for improving the crew's meals and boosting morale.

Crahas picked up the bag of golden dragons, weighing its heavy weight in his fingers, his mockery growing stronger.

He nodded silently in the direction the Shadow Guards had left, already clearly understanding that the bag of gold coins was both bait thrown by Lord Otto, who was far away, and a trap they had set. And those two fools, Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron, were nothing more than two pawns for His Highness to pry open the chaotic chessboard of King's Landing's Landing.

The sea breeze wafted through the mansion's windows, carrying with it the sounds of the Anvil from the dock and shouts from the training ground, filling the hall with a salty, damp scent, as if foreshadowing the storms that were about to rise over the Narrow Sea.

Crahas tossed the golden dragon to his attendant and said in a deep voice, "Take this as a ration supplement for the crew. Tell the kitchen to add a roasted leg of lamb to the training party tonight."

The attendant bowed in agreement and turned to leave, just as he brushed past a Shadow Guards who was walking briskly towards him.

The Shadow Guards knelt on one knee, presenting a sealed roll of parchment with both hands. "My lord, His Highness has sent word from the council chamber in the harbor, inviting you to come immediately to discuss important matters concerning the unusual activities of the raiding fleet under King Gorne of the Iron Islands."

Crahas's eyes sharpened, and the longsword at his waist seemed to sense the impending battle, trembling slightly.

He grabbed the cloak from the back of the chair and quickly stood up, the hem of the cloak sweeping across the dust on the ground, leaving a clean trail.

As I strode out of the mansion, the night had already spread out like thick ink. The lights of Dragon's Roost Port swayed in the evening breeze of the Narrow Sea. The sound of the Anvil in the dock gradually subsided, with only the echoes of the training ground still reverberating in the air, intertwining with the roar of the waves crashing on the shore to form a nocturne that concealed deadly intent.

The sea breeze, carrying an even stronger salty and fishy smell, mingled with a faint hint of dragon's breath—the mark left by the Glutton as they circled over the hills. In the distant sky, the figure of Dreamfyre flickered like a dark star, guarding this rising port.

He looked up toward the temporary castle, where the council chamber was brightly lit, like a lone star piercing the darkness. Prince Daemon's summons, Gorne Greyjoy's unusual movements, and Otto Hightower's schemes—all the undercurrents would converge in that hall, solidifying into a crucial step that would determine the fate of the Narrow Sea.

The stone path beneath his feet was coated with a layer of frost by the moonlight, and Crahas's steps became more and more hurried. The longsword at his waist clinked slightly with his movements, making a deep sound, as if responding to the impending war drums.

He knew that tonight's council chamber held not only His Highness Daemon's ambition, Larys Strong's cunning, and Rayford Rosby's schemes, but also His Highness's first move to conquer the Summer Isles and intimidate the Iron Islands. And now, the navy in his hands was the key force to make that move.

As night deepened, every light in Dragon's Roost Port resembled a star on a chessboard, while the light in the council hall awaited the entry of this key player. A battle for Guan Ping's honor and disgrace, ambition and survival was about to officially unfold amidst the lights and shadows.