The flames spread from the top of the paper downward along the creases, turning the ink on the letter and the paper surface into curled ashes. After he released his fingers, the last few remaining pieces of paper ashes fell on the table, and were swept into the waste paper basin at the corner of the table with the back of his hand.
He had already prepared for the worst.
If Rhaenyra fails in this battle and is pushed down from the position of crown prince by Viserys or Otto or others, then he will directly take over the situation the next time he returns to Westeros.
At that time, he will no longer use her as an intermediary, and will no longer let her retain any actual power in order to maintain her status as heir. He will directly take the dragon group and fleet to complete the switch in the most direct way, and clean up those families who are still waiting and wavering at once.
At that time, his son or daughter was still too young to sit in King's Landing himself to deal with the temptation and solicitation of the nobles, but that chair had to be sat on by someone close to him. If anyone wanted to change the name on Iron Throne during his absence, he would let them know the true cost of changing the word when he came back.
When it was still dark the next day, Douglas was already standing at the edge of the port, with the oil lamp in his hand casting a circular light spot that was shaking on the ground.
The outline of the battleship gradually emerged in the dark blue morning light. The ropes of the sails and the tops of the masts were soaked with dew, giving them a vague moist sheen in the dim light.
In order to make up for the gap, Douglas ordered the slaughter of some war horses that night, and asked the slave army to roast the horse meat overnight into dried meat and bacon pieces that could be stored for a long time.
Several large makeshift iron pots were set up on the pier. Salt and spice powder were mixed on the surface of the meat and roasted repeatedly. When the fat dripped into the fire, a burst of white smoke with a burnt aroma would rise.
The meat of two hundred horses was turned into a batch of tight biltong with the support of iron forks and wooden frames, which were packed into canvas bags and stuffed between the wooden barrels originally used to store grain at the bottom of the cabin.
When it was still dark, he was still watching the roasting progress of the last batch of dried meat by the fire. Now those canvas bags had been neatly stacked in the cargo hold, making a slight creaking sound from the wooden planks on the bottom of the cabin.
On the trestles on both sides of the battleship, sleepy sailors were lining up to board the ship and carry the remaining canvas and cables onto the deck.
The skyline above the port transitioned from dark blue to light blue, and a few thin clouds were dyed orange by the rising sun. The sea surface was as calm as a mirror, with only some fine ripples disturbed by the ship's hull in the area near the shore.
When Redd walked onto the deck, Douglas was standing at the bow of the ship, holding an oil lamp and a final supply confirmation sheet before departure, and checked with the supply officer on shore to check the last few items before sealing the cabin.
Seeing Redd's figure appear on the side of the ship, he put down the list, stepped forward quickly, and quickly reported how the supply gap was filled with the horsemeat last night.
With the dried meat of two hundred war horses, plus some miscellaneous grains and salted fish previously mobilized from other channels, the food compartments of the first batch of twenty warships have now been filled, at least until they reach the first docking point outside Valyrian Peninsula.
Douglas spoke at an even pace during the report. He did not emphasize that he had not slept all night, nor did he deliberately exaggerate the difficulty of filling the gap. He simply said at the end, "There are currently no new gaps."
When the sun fully rose from the horizon, the sails of the first battleship were fully stretched.
The wind blew from the southeast, not strong, but enough to make the canvas bulge into a full arc.
The hull began to move slowly, and the ripples on the water surface in the small section between the bow and the pier gradually expanded, turning into a white water line that separated from the bow to both sides.
The warships behind set sail one after another, arranged in a loose column, and slowly sailed out of the port along the waterway illuminated by the morning light.
The slaves and construction workers on the dock returned to their respective posts one after another at sunrise. Some were cleaning the traces of grease on the slate floor, some were carrying the materials unloaded last night, and some were using wheelbarrows to clean out the remaining ashes from the baking area.
No one looked up at the twenty ships that were retreating, and no one cast an extra glance at the shadows gathering overhead - because at this moment, everyone was doing their assigned tasks, and none of those tasks included looking up at the darkening sky above.
Because the sky is getting dark.
Redd stood on the bow of the ship, not looking back at the retreating port, but he could feel the shadows on the deck getting thicker, gradually covering them from the stern to the bow.
That layer of shadow did not come from the clouds, because the clouds above the sea were still thin, showing gaps of morning light.
King Ghidorah climbed out of Dragonpit.
It first poked out one head, then the second, and the third, and all three heads turned to the sea at the same time, and its golden eyes were locked on the slowly sailing battleships from above.
It let out a low, long roar. The sound passed through the morning fog and sea breeze, and when it fell over the fleet, it had transformed into a dull tremor that lasted for several breaths.
After that roar, Ehm emerged from Dragonpit, followed by those sub-adult Demon Dragon - one, two, and three. Their outlines emerged from the dark cracks at the exit of Dragonpit, spreading their wings in the morning light, and the colors of their scales showed different lusters and shades in the rising sunlight.
They formed an ever-expanding formation behind King Ghidorah, spiraling up along the arc outside the Black Wall, then adjusting their direction and moving from the air along the route of the fleet. When the three hundred sub-adult Demon Dragon spread their wings, the sky above the port darkened.
The shadow spread from the edge of the city wall, past the cargo accumulation area, across the trestle, over the heads of the slaves who were loading and unloading supplies, and extended to the edge of the port, shrouding the entire dock area in a layer of moving darkness.
The sailors did not raise their heads. Some of them grasped the ropes tightly, and their eyes fell on the fixed iron rings and wooden stakes on the deck. They tried to keep their breathing at a frequency that did not require too much tension, as if they could pretend that those huge wings did not exist by keeping their eyes level.
Among the crowds far away from the port, some of the slaves had already squatted down, while others lowered their heads and hugged the handle of the trolley, using the touch of the small piece of wood to confirm that they were still stepping on solid ground.
Redd stood at the bow of the ship and looked back from the position above the ship's side.
Those Demon Dragon are lowering their flying altitude, keeping in line with the sailing direction of the fleet, slowly adjusting their distance from each other in the morning light, forming a loose aerial formation.