The next day.
Early in the morning, Myr was immersed in the work of repairing the city.
West Coast, Harbor.
Gentle ripples spread across the sea as several three-masted ships lay anchored, their broad sails billowing in the wind.
On the docks, a squad of Fearless warriors clad in black armor and armed with spears stood tall and unmoving.
Rhaegar maintained a calm expression as he gazed at the hundred-odd members of the Second Sons standing before him.
"Prince, we are grateful for your generosity. We will not disappoint you."
A young man, whose breastplate bore the insignia of a silver trout, spoke solemnly, his voice full of youthful vigor.
Beside him stood several other young knights.
Their armor bore no noble house sigils, indicating they were either bastards or commoners—landless knights.
Rhaegar smiled slightly and instructed, "Return and communicate properly with old Tully. Inform him of the Iron Throne's loan arrangements."
As he spoke, he looked at the rest of the Second Sons and gave them the same instructions.
Among them, thirty were of noble birth, having received land grants, and they sought to recruit their lower-born comrades as helpers.
The young Tully nodded firmly, his expression serious. "Rest assured, we will do our utmost to convince the family head to support this."
"Very good."
Rhaegar gave an approving glance and said, "This war will not end quickly. You have plenty of time."
After a few more words, the members of the Second Sons, their faces full of gratitude, pounded their chests in salute before boarding the large ships bearing the three-headed red dragon banner.
The Purpose of Their Journey
Establishing a new territory required more than just financial support from the Iron Throne.
Their return to Westeros aimed to secure aid from their families—knights, skilled farmers, blacksmiths, and craftsmen.
Even a certain amount of armor, weapons, and warhorses.
Only with these resources could they truly be considered proper lords.
As the waves gently lapped the shore, two large ships sailed out of the harbor.
Rhaegar stood in silent contemplation, his violet eyes filled with deep thought.
The land grant decree was an excellent means to address the surplus of slaves and cultivate disputed territories.
But it did not seem to be enough.
In all free trade cities, slave owners seized land outside the city for personal use, cultivating orchards and farms.
Interrogating the executed slave masters revealed that these lands yielded abundant harvests annually.
Rhaegar pondered in silence.
Orchards and farms were crucial, an inseparable part of the city.
Previously controlled by slave owners, they relied on enslaved labor for cultivation.
Now, with these lucrative estates in his hands, there was great potential.
A New System for the Estates
As he was lost in thought, a group of figures approached—an elegantly dressed, alluring woman, a rotund commoner, and a ragged elderly slave.
Rhaegar's ears twitched as he turned to face them.
The group immediately lowered their heads in humility.
His gaze darkened as he fixed his eyes on the middle-aged fat man and commanded, "Sandro, clear out the estates outside the city and reassign work to the landless people."
He was considering reforming the estate system.
A different kind of labor arrangement—a new way of distributing wages.
The Iron Throne would appoint estate overseers to allocate different agricultural tasks, with workers earning equivalent points for their labor.
After each harvest season, these points could be exchanged for supplies or money.
This system would benefit the workers, preventing resentment from oppression.
By not paying direct wages, the workers would be less likely to strike, ensuring steady labor throughout the season.
Sandro, his face stern, responded promptly, "Yes, Prince. I will restore order to the estates as soon as possible."
Rhaegar nodded and then turned to the elderly slave, gazing at his weathered face. "Select landless laborers with families. Both the estates and the frontier lands will need them."
The Stability of Family-Bound Slaves
In Myr, commoners and slaves made up a third of the population.
The city's operations depended heavily on slaves, many of whom had families.
Compared to solitary slaves, those with familial ties were more stable.
The elderly slave, his murky eyes brimming with wisdom, spoke in a deep voice, "Many landless people in the city are unemployed. They would be eager to serve."
He was a sage among the slaves, fluent in multiple languages and knowledgeable in astronomy and medicine, chosen as one of their representatives.
Securing a Loan from the Iron Bank
After speaking with the commoner and slave representatives, it was the nobility's turn.
The alluring woman was called Lady Carl—she had deep olive skin and sensual red lips. She dutifully reported, "Several bankers have already set out for Braavos to seek a loan from the Iron Bank."
"How much can they borrow?"
Rhaegar was not well-versed in financial matters.
Carl's beautiful eyes blinked thoughtfully. "Roughly twice their own bank's reserves. The merchants of Braavos are no fools; Myr's bankers will likely only secure that much."
The Iron Bank had long been renowned, even conducting transactions with ancient Valyria before the Doom.
They were willing to lend to warring factions because they were confident in their ability to collect.
However, that did not mean they would lend recklessly—demonstrating repayment capability was crucial.
Hearing this, Rhaegar's mind turned, and he chuckled. "That's enough. The reserves of these banks are no small sum."
Any one of them held wealth rivaling the treasury his great-grandfather and father had accumulated over decades.
With such a substantial loan, not only could he develop the disputed territories, but he could also alleviate the strain of rebuilding the Stepstones, Myr, and Lys.
Rhaegar continued, "Stretch the loan term as long as possible—preferably the maximum of sixty years."
The Iron Bank's longest loan term was sixty years.
His great-grandfather Jaehaerys had taken a similar long-term loan to build the Kingsroad and had repaid it within a few decades.
However, Rhaegar had no intention of repaying it at all.
The Iron Bank's Might and Rhaegar's Confidence
Carl's expression shifted slightly, and she offered a kind reminder, "Prince, the Iron Bank is not to be underestimated."
With enough money, even ghosts could be made to dance.
The Iron Bank's wealth was vast enough to turn the tides of half of Essos against a debtor.
Rhaegar's violet eyes glinted as he let out a quiet laugh. "The Targaryen dragons have returned to Essos. Do you think I care?"
Repay the debt?
Only if Braavos changed Sea Lords and shifted from hostility to allegiance with the Iron Throne.
"Otherwise, don't even think about getting half a copper star back!"
Karl's eyes darkened, and he fell silent.
A businessman was not suited for bloodshed.
"Prince, there's news from the Prince's palace!"
As they spoke, Grey Worm hurried over with his team, looking slightly anxious.
Rhaegar's expression sharpened as he stepped forward to take the letter.
The red wax seal bore the image of a roaring lion—the sender was Tyland Lannister.
Rhaegar swiftly broke the seal and carefully read the contents.
Tyland resided at the Prince's palace, acting as his eyes and ears in the borderlands of Dorne.
With Dorne invading the Stormlands, the Vulture Mountains were a prime hotspot for trouble.
The letter was written in Tyland's meticulous handwriting:
"Unrest in the Vulture Mountains—large numbers of refugees are flooding in, invading through the Boneway and the Prince's Pass..."
Additionally, it detailed the recent movements in Sunspear.
A small fleet from Braavos had crossed the Narrow Sea, slipping past the patrol ships of the Stepstones, and was deploying a significant number of mercenaries ashore.
After reading the letter, Rhaegar exhaled. "Dorne is getting serious."
Strategically, the Stepstones should send forces to blockade the sea routes leading to Sunspear, cutting off Braavosi reinforcements.
However, the Stepstones were severely under-defended, with most of their naval power tied up in the disputed lands where the three city-states clashed.
A full-scale, around-the-clock blockade was impossible—there would always be gaps.
Braavos was exploiting this weakness, sending small, mobile fleets to support Sunspear.
After careful consideration, Rhaegar instructed Grey Worm: "Myr is stabilizing. Just maintain order and remind Rhaenys and Daemon to be wary of Braavosi ambushes."
Jeyne's letter warned of an attack on Pentos, but who was to say they wouldn't redirect their forces toward Myr?
Feints, blitz tactics...
They were all strategies frequently employed by their adversaries.
Grey Worm nodded repeatedly. "Yes, Prince."
Rhaegar's eyes flickered as he turned away from the port.
At this moment, the challenges of launching an overseas campaign against the Three Daughters were becoming evident.
Reinforcements were slow, forces were scattered, and the rear lines were unstable.
Fortunately, the three city-states were now relatively secure, allowing some troops to be withdrawn to reinforce the home front.
---
Meanwhile...
The Stormlands, Eastern Coast.
"Screeeech..."
A massive, pale silver dragon soared through the sky, weaving through the thin clouds.
Below, the endless sea stretched to the horizon.
The golden sands of the shore shimmered under the morning sun, while the tide washed crabs and shellfish onto the beach.
Tap, tap…
Two figures strolled side by side, enjoying the early morning walk.
Lanino wore a troubled expression and sighed in frustration. "It's been so many days, and Aemond still refuses to march."
"The Swann family has offended him before."
Cole, walking barefoot on the cool sand, responded absentmindedly.
Even the refreshing touch of the wet sand couldn't lift his spirits.
Lanino let out a long sigh and complained, "This is a battlefield, not a child's game. If he keeps this up, things will go wrong."
Cole remained indifferent, casually replying, "He's a prince, after all. With a king as his father, he has the luxury of being willful."
Lanino was taken aback. "Cole, are you even listening to me?"
This didn't sound like the gentle and considerate partner he knew.
Cole's expression stiffened as he quickly explained, "I just mean that the Dornish are weak—our victory is only a matter of time."
His words came quickly, but they weren't particularly convincing.
Lanino furrowed his brows but chose not to press the issue.
He could tell that his companion was distracted and not in the right state of mind to discuss the battlefield.
With a quiet sigh, he decided to let it go and continued walking.
For a while, the two, who once shared everything, now walked in silence.
After some time, Cole stopped in his tracks and hesitated before asking, "Lanino, how are things with Celyne?"
After a pause, he added in a lower voice, "Lord Corlys values his bloodline. He must be pressuring you to have children."
"Celyne? Why are you asking about her?"
Lanino was caught off guard.
Celyne Velaryon—the wife he had married at the end of last year.
Not long ago, her father, Lord Bartimos of Crab Isle, had been caught smuggling goods and was sentenced to death by the Iron Throne. He had even written to Lanino, begging for clemency.
Cole remained silent, waiting for an answer.
Lanino sighed deeply and smiled bitterly. "If I could look at my wife the same way I look at you, I would have had children by now."
Cole's eyes flickered as he remarked, "I've noticed you've been going out frequently. I thought you were returning to Driftmark."
"No, my friend, you're mistaken."
Lanino chuckled, shaking his head.
"Then where have you been going?"
Cole looked up and asked directly.
Lanino's smile faltered, his gaze evasive as he explained, "People keep inviting me for drinks—I can't refuse."
(End of Chapter)