After the grand wedding ceremony of the Targaryen dynasty, the entire kingdom quickly shifted into a tense rhythm as the drums of war began to beat.
Across the Narrow Sea, the rulers of the nine Free Cities had already taken notice of the Targaryens' blatant ambitions for conquest. But in the face of the Targaryen dynasty's overwhelming strength and relentless advance, they found themselves helpless.
In truth, efforts to unite the nine Free Cities had long been underway. However, the unique conditions of this era made things difficult—standing armies were rare, and many kingdoms didn't even possess one. This made it impossible to gather a unified defense force for an extended period.
The sluggish conscription systems only added to their troubles. They couldn't predict when the Targaryens would strike. What if they managed to raise an army, only for the enemy to delay the invasion indefinitely?
Between great nations and small ones, the scales of fate were never balanced.
To be born in a mighty realm was to be favored by destiny, shielded by fortune.
But those born in smaller realms were doomed to endure greater suffering and sorrow.
In the days of the Valyrian Freehold, the nine Free Cities had already wallowed in the mire of colonial rule, humiliated and subjugated. Now, with the Targaryen dynasty rising as the new world hegemon, the freedom of the nine Free Cities was once again hanging by a thread. It felt as if the wheels of history were rolling over them all over again.
Aenys publicly denounced Aegon's war against the western continent of Essos, claiming it was driven by personal greed and a lust for domination—that it was an unjust war.
But Aegon scoffed at such accusations.
To him, opening the nine Free Cities was of immense strategic value. On one hand, it would allow the Targaryen dynasty to export its surplus goods across the Narrow Sea, generating substantial foreign currency. On the other, it would help solidify the golden dragon's position as the dominant currency in the global monetary system.
Furthermore, it was a crucial step for the Targaryen dynasty's immigration initiative for Valyrian descendants.
In Aegon's grand strategy, territorial expansion was the ultimate remedy for internal societal stagnation. As king, he understood one core truth: the best way to resolve internal strife was to expand the dynasty's domain, increase the total wealth of the realm, and then redistribute it wisely through well-crafted policies.
Expanding the kingdom's territory had always been the most effective solution to internal friction.
Only by doing so could he ensure a broader future for his descendants—a foundation on which they could sustain and grow the kingdom.
Thus, in Aegon's heart, the conquest of western Essos wasn't just a grand ambition. It was a mission—one he was determined to fulfill.
Thanks to Aenys's persistent persuasion, Aegon agreed to temporarily set aside his plan for a full-scale conquest of western Essos. Instead, he decided to first strike at the three Free Cities governed by the Federal Council.
But that didn't mean he was going to let the remaining six Free Cities go unpunished.
Even if direct rule wasn't feasible, establishing a tribute system was non-negotiable.
Aegon's envisioned tribute system was far from the deceptive kind—where worthless goods were exchanged for true wealth. He intended for each Free City to present genuine gold and silver in return for the protection of the Targaryen dynasty.
...
As the chill of autumn settled in, the nineteenth year of the Conquest Calendar arrived quietly.
The Targaryen dynasty, like a mighty dragon awakened from slumber, began to stir.
The kingdom's two most elite legions—the Targaryen Army and the Seven Gods Holy Crusade—set off across the sea, bound for the east.
According to the latest strategy devised by the kingdom's military council, the campaign across the sea would proceed on three fronts:
The eldest son, Aenys, would lead the Holy Crusade from Storm's End, setting sail for Lys.
The second son, Maegor, would command the Targaryen army departing from the ferry crossing at King's Landing, marching toward Myr.
Aegon himself would lead another Targaryen force from Sunspear, taking the route through the Stepstones and striking directly at the Kingdom of Volantis.
The contest between the two princes for the title of heir was now clear—it would all come down to who could conquer their assigned Free City in the shortest time.
Aegon's army advanced more smoothly than expected.
Aerion, chairman of the Free City Council, commanded a force of around two thousand men in Volantis. Using a clever ruse, Aegon disguised his fleet as merchant ships and quietly slipped into the harbor.
With Aerion's forces aiding him from within, wagons loaded with weapons arrived at Volantis's gates without incident.
Once they blocked the gate, the Targaryen soldiers lying in ambush launched their surprise attack and seized control of the entrance in one swift move.
Aegon, mounted on Balerion, soared in from the horizon, quickly arriving above the skies of Volantis.
Balerion's immense form loomed like a mountain, casting a heavy shadow as he circled high above the city.
Dozens of siege crossbows fired up at him.
Yet, when the bolts struck his scales—hard as stone—they merely bounced off like ants trying to shake a tree. Nothing could pierce his hide.
Panic swept through Volantis.
With multiple gates already under firm Targaryen control, the defenders inside found themselves trapped, unable to escape.
As Targaryen troops poured into the city from the warships like a rising tide, the battle tipped further in Aegon's favor.
The garrisons from the nine Free Cities stared in despair at the Black Dread above.
Aegon, riding Balerion, dived toward the military barracks.
Torrents of jet-black flames spewed from the dragon's mouth, cascading like a waterfall, incinerating military structures in a blazing inferno that lit up the sky in crimson.
With Aerion acting as an inside agent, Aegon had complete knowledge of Volantis's defenses.
Balerion's assault was not just devastating—it was a calculated show of force.
As Aerion urged surrender, the soldiers of the nine Free Cities, recognizing that resistance was futile, dropped their weapons one after another.
Members of the Free City Council were dragged out, bound like lambs to the slaughter, and handed over as captives to the Targaryens.
Thus, the Free City Council, which had existed for over a decade, met a quiet and ignoble end on the world stage.
...
Looking ahead, Aegon planned to incorporate Volantis, Lys, and Myr into the realm, establishing them as the first provinces of the Targaryen dynasty.
These three cities would form the foundation of the Western Protectorate.
Following the victory, Aerion would retire with honors, and Maegon—the bastard son of Aegon and Sharra, the Flower of the Mountain—would take on the task of governing the Western Protectorate.
He would be stationed in the Stepstones and along the southern coast of Essos, a region of immense strategic value.
In future plans, the Western Protectorate would play a crucial role in establishing a Silk Road across the Narrow Sea, linking the economies of the two continents while ensuring protection and convenience for Targaryen merchants and travelers.
Maegon had long been trained within the Targaryen army and maintained a close friendship with Orys.
He was highly capable in military affairs, though admittedly lacking in administrative skill.
Aegon, fully aware of his son's shortcomings, arranged for several seasoned administrators to assist Maegon in his new duties.
...
While Aegon's campaign had gone smoothly, Maegor encountered some difficulties.
Myr, being close to Tyrosh, left his fleet vulnerable. During the journey, it was intercepted by a powerful joint naval force from Tyrosh and Myr.
During the Century of Blood, Volantis had once launched a brutal invasion against Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys.
At that time, many nobles were slaughtered, and the shared suffering gave rise to sympathy and solidarity among the different groups.
The three Free Cities had since found common ground, shared goals, and collective hopes.
Throughout their years under the Free City Council, they had repeatedly rebelled against the council's decrees.
At one point, the locals even dreamed of uniting the three cities into a new kingdom.
The ruling elite had already chosen a name—"Triarchy," also known as the "Kingdom of the Three Daughters"—a reference to their origin as colonial "daughters" of the Valyrian Freehold, yearning to break free and gain independence.
However, the idea was fiercely opposed by Aerion, and in the end, the Triarchy was stillborn, never brought into existence.
The Targaryen dynasty's invasion this time was massive and swift.
Only Aegon's fleet, cleverly disguised when departing Sunspear, avoided detection by the nine Free Cities.
The fleets led by Maegor and Aenys, however, were spotted, and their routes discovered.
Still, the Targaryen dynasty had already committed to war.
They did not fear the resistance of the nine Free Cities.
Both princes brought King-tier Dragons to protect their fleets, and even their mother joined them, riding her own dragon to accompany her sons.
When Maegor, atop Cannibal, spotted the fleets of Tyrosh and Myr in the distance, he let out a triumphant roar, then charged ahead, leading the attack with reckless bravery.
Green dragonfire erupted from Cannibal's maw, slicing through the sky—unleashing its terrifying glow upon the battlefield of men for the first time.
The large warships in the enemy fleet were equipped with dragon-hunting crossbows. The bolts, over a meter long, howled through the air toward the Cannibal, but they only tore its skin before sinking deep into its solid muscles. Unless the Cannibal was unlucky enough to be hit in the eye, these attacks couldn't even cause it minor injuries.
"Shaoo!!~~~~"
The Cannibal's roar was like a demon's whisper—chilling to the bone.
Maegor rode on its back, unable to contain his excitement, shouting wildly,
"Woohoo!!! Hahahaha!!"
By now, the Cannibal was covered in bolts like a giant porcupine, yet it wasn't even slightly wounded. The faint sting was no more than a dragonfly bite, which only further provoked the dragon's ferocity.
It rampaged through the enemy fleet, diving down to tear through ships, snapping up humans in its gaping maw, then soaring skyward, unleashing bursts of green Dragonfire like a torrential storm.
The Cannibal's Dragonfire was fiercely corrosive—many ships were eaten through by large holes after being touched by even a small burst of the green flame.
Visenya, riding Vhagar, looked on as Maegor and the Cannibal unleashed their true nature upon the enemy fleet. She shook her head helplessly.
No one knows a child better than their mother.
Visenya knew her son had a flaw—Maegor easily fell into bloodthirsty frenzies during battle.
When Maegor was eight, Visenya had taken him to wipe out a pirate stronghold in the Stepstones to build his courage. That was the first time she saw him go berserk—fighting like a madman until the last enemy fell. After the battle, Maegor even lifted a pirate's severed head and drank its blood, looking as savage as a beast.
Visenya had never told anyone about what she saw that day—she knew the Targaryens would never accept a beast as their king.
Now, sensing that Maegor was on the verge of losing control again, Visenya didn't hesitate—she urged Vhagar into a sharp dive toward the Cannibal.
To her, the enemy fleet was nothing. Adult dragons were nearly immune to all cold weapons; to them, these ships were little more than toys.
"Maegor, snap out of it!"
Visenya flung open the skylight on the dragon saddle, shouting with all her might.
Maegor was grinning fiercely, clutching the reins, preparing to dive again—but at his mother's voice, his expression froze. Moments later, the frenzy in his eyes faded, and his breathing steadied.
He inhaled deeply, calming himself.
"I'm fine, Mother. Don't worry."
Seeing her son regain his composure, Visenya quietly let out a breath of relief and nodded to him.
If Maegor was a beast in battle, then Visenya was the chain and shackle around its neck. As long as she was there to call his name, Maegor would never lose himself completely.
The two adult dragons then launched a full assault on the enemy fleet.
It was a crushing victory—a one-sided slaughter. In this world, dragons were like nuclear weapons. Their power was beyond anything ordinary men could resist.
After this battle, the strait to Myr was clear.
Maegor and his mother returned to their flagship to plan their next move.
Maegor spoke first.
"Mother, my brother's fleet won't face any resistance at sea.
Lys is an island city-state, long caught between two stronger neighbors—Tyrosh and Volantis. Its navy has always been small, and after over a decade of weakening under the rule of the Free City Council, it's weaker than ever."
Visenya mused,
"So you think Aenys will reach his target first?"
"Exactly. We just fought through a blockade, and we still have the long route through the Sea of Myr ahead. Our journey is already longer than his voyage to Lys. If we stick to the original plan, we'll definitely lose."
As he spoke, Maegor traced their planned course on the map with his finger, then followed the route Aenys would take. Confidence filled his voice.
Visenya watched her son with pride. Maegor's military instincts were sharp—he always pinpointed the key to a battle, and his command in war was exceptional.
"So what should we do?" Visenya asked.
With a sharp smack, Maegor slammed the piece representing his fleet onto the city of Tyrosh on the map.
"First, we take Tyrosh. Then we seize Myr!
If we capture one more Free City than my brother, the heir's title will be ours!"
"Good. I'll support you with everything I have," Visenya replied with a smile.
...
Lys was known as "Lys the Lovely" by the people of the Disputed Lands. It was a small city perched atop rock, surrounded on all sides by a sea frequently ravaged by storms.
As Maegor had predicted, the Holy Crusade led by Aenys sailed smoothly from Storm's End, encountering no obstacles along the way. The Targaryen fleet reached the port of Lys without facing any resistance. The Holy Crusaders captured the port with ease.
Rhaenys dismounted from Meraxes and walked to Aenys with a hint of concern.
"I wonder how Maegor's army is doing."
Aenys was dressed in long priestly robes of the Seven Devouts. The silver-white fabric trailed along the muddy ground of the Lys port, stained gray-black by the filth, but he didn't care in the slightest.
He smiled at his mother.
"I told you long ago—this war to conquer the Nine Free Cities was destined to be my stage alone. You don't need to worry, Mother. See? We've already taken the first port."
Rhaenys frowned, watching her son closely. With that robe, he didn't look like someone heading into battle, but more like someone preparing to preach. It made her doubt whether Aenys could really triumph over his brother.
"Are we starting the siege now? With Meraxes, it shouldn't be difficult to break through," she asked.
Aenys gently shook his head.
"I have a better plan."
Rhaenys looked at him, puzzled, as Aenys turned to a disciple.
"Tell the faithful inside the city to act. I'll be staying in the Magister's residence tonight—to perform baptisms."
"As you command, Holy Son."
The disciple bowed respectfully and began organizing the Holy Crusade's archers into formation.
Rhaenys watched curiously as the archers raised their bows and fired into the air. Each arrow carried a slip of parchment tied to it, inscribed with writing.
"You have agents inside the city?" she asked.
Aenys nodded, calm and composed.
"Ever since I finished compiling the New Testament, I've been sending missionaries of the Seven to all Nine Free Cities. My followers aren't only in Lys. Every city has zealots devoted to the Seven—that's where my confidence comes from.
Lys is heavily reliant on the slave trade. The ratio of slaves to free citizens is three to one, making it the most deeply corrupted city among the Free Cities—saturated with the influence of the Seven's missionaries."
Not long after the arrows carrying the messages landed inside the city, chaos erupted. Flames ignited almost instantly. On the city walls, soldiers began fighting one another. Many wore white cloth tied around their foreheads, with crosses hanging from their necks.
Moments later, the gates of Lys creaked open.
Blood-soaked believers flooded out of the city. In unison, they laid down a snow-white carpet stretching from within the city all the way to Aenys's feet at the port.
They knelt reverently along both sides of the carpet, clutching their crosses, prostrating themselves in prayer, chanting passages from the New Testament of the Seven Gods.
Aenys stepped forward with calm resolve, his expression serene as he walked onto the snow-white carpet. The black mud on his shoes left a sharp, dark trail across the pristine fabric.
Rhaenys watched her son, his figure divine and holy, and couldn't help but smile in satisfaction.
So this is what it feels like to hold victory in your grasp.
She immediately called out to the Maester accompanying the army.
"Send a message to the king. Tell Aegon that my son has captured Lys in just a month and a half."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The Maester quickly pulled out a pre-prepared letter and filled in the date of Lys's capture in the blank space.
...
[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]
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