Baelon Number One

I was Baelon, you were Baelon, everyone was Baelon!

Then how were all these Baelons without surnames supposed to be told apart?

"From now on, he can call himself-Baelon 'Number Two'!"

Baelon Targaryen laughed, his face alight.

"I'm Baelon 'Number One.'"

He winked slyly as he said it.

Today, he was going to start a whole new page in House Targaryen's Baelon genealogy!

A decision that defied his ancestors?!

Sorry, he had done it on a whim.

From this day onward, starting with him, the name Baelon would be passed down, from Number One all the way to Number Ten Thousand!

The sturdy woman was overwhelmed with delight, her round eyes widening.

"Baelon 'Number Two'!"

She had never expected to be granted a noble family name, and her strong arms began to tremble.

The middle-aged woman's knees went weak, and she nearly prostrated herself on the ground.

Her face beamed with joy as she declared in a loud, powerful voice, "Prince Baelon, I swear I'll pray to the Seven for you day and night."

"May the Seven bless you!"

Without needing to bend down, Baelon gently helped the woman up and politely thanked her.

He looked around.

Quite a few pairs of eyes in the crowd were watching him intently.

Baelon nimbly climbed onto the carriage shaft.

He raised his arm and shouted, "From this day onward, in the name of Baelon Targaryen, I grant all the people of Westeros permission to use this name!"

The watching crowd erupted in excitement.

A bard excitedly pulled out his lute, ready to compose a song about the scene on the spot.

"Then I can call myself Baelon 'Number Two' too?!" a thin man shouted.

The sturdy woman drove an elbow into him and roared, "What the fuck are you talking about? My child is 'Number Two'!"

Most commoners were not very good with numbers, and quite a few began arguing over which "number" they or their children were.

Baelon waved his hand, and the carriage slowly moved forward.

He remained standing on the shaft, smiling and waving to everyone.

This time, no matter how the crowd shouted his name and reached out to him, the horses did not stop.

The carriage crept forward. The Mud Gate was right there, yet it took a full half hour to reach it through the packed crowd.

Once they passed through the gate, the road widened, and the fine horses stretched their legs and picked up speed.

The noisy crowd gradually fell behind the horses, dispersing in twos and threes.

A lavishly dressed man with a blue wool cloak and a goatee stood beside the road, gazing after the departing carriage for a long time.

A column of imposing knights gradually receded into the distance.

Baelon tossed the purse back to Ser Uther.

Ser Uther caught it and laughed. "Prince, you now owe me three silver stags, seven copper stars, and three copper pennies!"

"Put it on my tab. I'll pay you at the end of the month!"

There were few times or occasions when Baelon needed coins, and he did not like carrying a purse.

The Iron Throne's current credit was not enough to issue paper money, and the people of Westeros were accustomed to metal currency.

A bag of gold dragons and silver stags clinked inside its purse, whether hung at the waist or stuffed into a boot.

It would always knock against his belly or calf, making him uncomfortable.

So whenever he occasionally needed money, he could simply borrow some from the knights guarding him.

"However, Prince." Ser Uther frowned, his voice full of worry. "Once word of today gets out, I'm afraid those lords will talk about you behind your back."

The life of a sellsword knight meant moving from one castle to another.

He had served no fewer than five minor lords and knew very well that nobles and knights were not noble at all.

Sometimes they were crueler and more terrifying than wild beasts.

They would storm into farmers' homes, slaughter cattle and sheep at will, steal chickens and ducks, rape the farmers' wives and daughters, and, at the slightest resistance, stab the entire family to death, hang them, strangle them, and so on.

Once they had eaten and drunk their fill and had nothing to do, they would freely discuss the scandals of those nobler than themselves.

A great lord's daughter pregnant with a bastard, their liege's cowardice... and the most enduring, most popular topic of all-the Targaryens.

The adulterous, incestuous Targaryens, the Targaryens who spawned countless white-haired abominations.

Ser Uther could practically imagine their tone.

"The lowborn are all greedy, ignorant, and ill-mannered. The prince is so weak with them. He's a disgrace to the nobility!"

Baelon smiled indifferently. "Just rats who can only wag their tongues in secret."

"For as long as I can remember, no one but my uncle has ever uttered a single unpleasant remark to my face."

"I don't care about them."

In truth, there was nothing worth Baelon's concern.

His life had gone incredibly smoothly.

His legitimate claim to the succession was beyond reproach.

His mother, Aemma Arryn, was the daughter of the previous lord of the Eyrie.

The new Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, was his older cousin, and to consolidate her rule, Jeyne Arryn had to ally with the Iron Throne.

The Vale would undoubtedly stand behind him.

And his marriage alliance with Laena Velaryon had won him the support of the Velaryons and Baratheons.

The Vale, the Crownlands, and the Stormlands, all three united-south of the Neck, more than half of Westeros stood behind him.

And together, Dragonstone and High Tide controlled the shipping lanes through the Narrow Sea to King's Landing.

There was also an even more important force: dragons.

Baelon closed the window and counted them off, finger by finger.

There were not many dragons he could currently be certain would stand on his side.

The largest and oldest dragon, Vhagar.

The fastest dragon, the "Red Queen," Meleys.

Two dragons that were not very large.

His sister Rhaenyra's Syrax, and Laenor's Seasmoke.

Only four dragons.

One more than Aegon "the Conqueror" had possessed when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon...

Daemon's cold, dissatisfied, mocking face flashed through Baelon's mind.

Daemon would not be an asset to him, but he was also unlikely to become his enemy.

Not much of a problem.

If all else failed, he would goad Viserys into banishing Daemon to Harrenhal.

He would just have him spend an entire season AFK in Harrenhal and let Harrenhal keep him crowd-controlled.

Most importantly, he still had his cheat!

Defeating three white wolves in the first stage had earned him such a powerful buff. Once he tamed Vermithor, he and the dragon would head straight into the trial space and slaughter everything.

He would grab every buff he could in one go and steamroll everything.

Baelon firmly believed it.

If he were the protagonist of a novel, he would definitely be the invincible male lead of a wish-fulfillment story on a certain Lu website.

Everything was going too smoothly!

The more he thought about it, the more his blood boiled. Convinced he was an invincible protagonist, Baelon set himself a modest goal.

First, he would make Westeros and Essos take his shape.

He would reshape this world according to his will.

Knock, knock-

Ser Uther knocked on the carriage door.

"Prince, we've reached the dragon paper mill!"

Baelon pushed open the door. "How many times have I told you?!"

"It's toilet paper! Toilet paper!"

"Don't slap 'dragon' on everything I invent!"

Especially paper used to wipe asses, shit, and piss!