As the mercenaries untied their ropes one after another and gathered together, supporting each other, their faces still dazed and uncertain after their narrow escape, Aegon stopped his mental exchange with Little Laki.
The trace of ease on his face quickly faded, replaced by his customary composure, like a pool of deep water that unsettled hearts instinctively sought to lean on.
Henry held his injured arm, his gaze shifting between Aegon and the pale-gold "little beast" sitting quietly beside him, its three small heads looking around curiously. He hesitated to speak.
Carl stepped forward, the shock still lingering on her face, her eyes conflicted. "Boss, you..."
Aegon raised a hand to stop her.
His calm gaze swept over the crowd.
A rough count showed that more than a hundred were still alive.
Their clothes were in tatters, most were wounded, and their eyes held a mixture of exhaustion, fear, and profound awe at the "miracle" they had just witnessed.
A monster attack, slaughtering one another, a fall from the sky, Crow's Eye's death threats, then that world-shattering terror that had vanished without warning...
Those who had survived this far might have differed in ability, but their courage had certainly been forged in the ordeal. They had seen something of the world now.
Aegon's thoughts raced.
My identity.
Should I reveal it now?
Use the lingering force of that overwhelming presence to win these people over completely and make them my first true followers?
The advantages were obvious.
He needed people to carry the spoils, but even more than that, he needed a force of his own.
These people had just crawled back from the brink of death. Their mental defenses were at their weakest, and in such desperate circumstances, they were most likely to follow someone who had demonstrated something extraordinary.
But what about the risks?
His Targaryen identity was a double-edged sword. Revealing it meant endless trouble.
The benefits and drawbacks flashed through his mind.
At last, he made his decision.
Keep hiding, and I'll always be an exile.
To reclaim what belonged to him, he had to step forward and raise his banner.
This rabble before him might just become his earliest foundation.
He took two steps forward and climbed onto a slightly higher pile of rubble.
His Valyrian steel armor gleamed darkly beneath the dim daylight, his silver hair hanging loose, his violet eyes calm.
Simply by taking his place there, he sent an invisible pressure spreading outward, swiftly silencing the whispers.
Every gaze focused on him involuntarily.
"Look at me," Aegon began. His voice was not loud, yet it reached every ear clearly. "I know what you're thinking. Ruins, monsters, slaughter, betrayal... we're trapped here. Many have died, and we don't know what lies ahead."
He paused, his gaze passing over faces that were either numb or tense.
"But we're still alive. As long as we're alive, there's a way forward. And we need to take a different path now-not as someone else's cannon fodder or bait, but for ourselves."
He drew a deep breath, his voice suddenly rising with resolute force:
"My name is Aegon Targaryen. I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, and the rightful heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms."
Dead silence fell.
Most of the mercenaries looked bewildered. Targaryen?
The name sounded vaguely familiar... the Iron Throne? Hadn't the kings once had that name?
Henry sucked in a sharp breath, his plump face flushing red, his eyes widening.
He came from the Reach. Even as a commoner, he had grown up hearing stories of the War of the Usurper!
Targaryen! House Targaryen!
The family that had once ruled Westeros astride dragons! And Aegon... Prince Rhaegar's son?!
Carl was stunned as well.
She had spent her life in the Disputed Lands and knew little about the struggle for power in Westeros, but she understood the weight carried by "Targaryen" and "the Iron Throne."
This silver-haired young man was an exiled prince?!
"Targar... yen?" a mercenary muttered, struggling to remember.
"They used to rule from the Iron Throne!" Henry could not help explaining in an excited whisper, his voice trembling. "House Targaryen! The true royal bloodline! He-he should have been king!"
"King?" A stir ran through the mercenaries, and the way they looked at Aegon changed instantly.
An exiled prince? That was no ordinary identity!
Aegon took in all their reactions. He raised a hand and pointed at Little Laki, who was tilting its heads at his feet, six golden eyes studying the crowd.
"What you just saw and felt," Aegon said with unquestionable authority, "was not merely a 'miracle.'
"It was the power of my blood, proof that the Targaryens stand with dragons! Though circumstances left it slumbering, and it is still young..." He deliberately skipped the details. "It is here! A true dragon! And I am its only master!"
As though aware it had been mentioned, Little Laki raised its middle head and let out a deep hum wholly at odds with its size. An exceedingly faint yet peculiar pressure, born of a higher order of life, flickered and vanished.
That faint sensation, combined with the lingering memory of the world-shattering pressure from before, was more persuasive than any words.
The mercenaries' gazes changed completely as they looked at Little Laki, filling with awe, curiosity, and even a trace of fervor.
"Now, we stand deep within the Valyrian Ruins!" Aegon spread his arms, his ringing voice charged with fiery enticement.
"The legacy of House Targaryen lies buried here! Valyrian steel weapons and armor, lost crafts, and countless forgotten treasures! What Crow's Eye and Corlyon sought lies right beneath our feet!"
The prospect of immediate gain rekindled the light that had nearly faded from the survivors' eyes.
"But this is only the beginning!" Aegon shifted his tone, the flames of ambition burning in his violet eyes. "I, Aegon Targaryen, make you this promise! Swear loyalty to me and follow this banner, and you will no longer be mercenaries living from one day to the next, ordered about at everyone's whim in the Free Cities!"
"We will leave these ruins with their wealth and power! We will return to Westeros and reclaim the Iron Throne that rightfully belongs to House Targaryen! And you-"
His piercing gaze swept over every one of them.
"-you will become my first knights and lords! With your swords and loyalty, you will win yourselves lands, castles, titles, and supreme glory!
"Let your names be etched into the epic of a kingdom reclaimed! Let your children and their children never again have to live as you have, struggling through the mud of foreign lands and risking death to survive!"
Lands! Castles! Titles! No longer mercenaries!
Those brazen, seductive promises struck hard at the hearts of desperate men who had just crawled out of hell and lost all hope for the future.
Treasure before their eyes, future riches and honor, an exiled prince with a "true dragon"... what could be more worth staking their lives on?
"I, Henry, swear by the Warrior and the Mander River," Henry declared, the first to push away the person supporting him. Ignoring his wounded arm, he dropped heavily to one knee, his voice trembling with excitement. "I offer my life and loyalty to you, Prince Aegon Targaryen! I will follow you all my life, faithful unto death!"
Carl drew a deep breath, the last hesitation in her eyes replaced by shrewdness and resolve.
She knelt immediately after Henry, her voice clear and firm. "Carl, an old soldier with nothing to offer but a decent eye, pledges her sword and her sight to you and your Dragon Banner for the rest of her life. All I ask, Your Highness, is a path to survival that leads somewhere, and a little... hope worth risking my life for."
With someone taking the lead, the mercenaries who already felt gratitude or awe toward Aegon hesitated no longer.
One, two, ten... more and more dragged their wounded bodies through the ruins and corpses, kneeling on one knee before the silver-haired figure in silver armor atop the rubble, with the strange golden beast beside him.
"We will follow Your Highness!"
"For House Targaryen!"
The cries were scattered at first, then gradually gathered into a low wave of sound filled with the longing to survive.
Here in these bloodstained ruins, which had just witnessed a battle between gods and demons, the pledges of more than a hundred people carried a hint of tragic grandeur and rebirth.
Aegon stood quietly, accepting their uneven but weighty declarations of loyalty.
He felt little excitement, only cold clarity and a heavy sense of responsibility.
The beginnings of a following were in place.
Crude though it was. Weak though it was.
"Rise," he said gravely. "I accept your loyalty."
"From this moment on, you are no longer rootless mercenaries. You are the first warriors of Aegon Targaryen."
His gaze turned toward the collapsed palace and the wider expanse of ruins.
"Now, take stock of everything we have."
"Search this area for anything of value-weapons, armor, books, intact objects, especially anything made of Valyrian steel. Be careful and look out for each other."
"Henry, take a group and handle the eastern side."
"Carl, take your people west, especially to the places where the fighting and collapse occurred. Focus on gathering supplies and intact equipment."
"Yes, Your Highness!" Henry answered loudly, enduring the pain as he stood.
"Understood, boss... Your Highness." Carl promptly accepted her orders as well, her eyes gleaming as she began calculating where valuable things might be hidden.
The surviving mercenaries quickly set to work. Though exhausted, their eyes now shone with purpose.
For the first time, the ruins rang with the hopeful bustle of people who belonged to him.
Holding Little Laki, which had grown quiet again and seemed uninterested in this group of "new two-legged creatures," Aegon walked toward the entrance to the underground ruins.
Beside Crow's Eye's corpse, Dragonbinder, bound with red gold and dark steel, still lay quietly on the ground.
His journey had only just begun.
And the first piece of "loot" he needed to deal with already seemed troublesome indeed.
Before you continue