"Spend too much time trying to get people to love you, and you'll end up the most popular dead man in town."
— Bronn of the Blackwater
…
Year 289 AC.
The Jade Sea. Unnamed Archipelago.
Up close, the tower looked stunning. The black stone from which it was built had no joints or seams. It created the impression that some sculptor had decided to carve a massive citadel from a monolithic piece of marble and succeeded. The entire surface was cut with various ornaments, mostly depicting dragons.
The structure itself radiated a subtle, barely perceptible power. That is, if you did not focus specifically on the citadel, it felt like a light breeze, even though there was no wind inside the walls at all. But if you concentrated all your attention on the tower, there was a feeling of standing before something truly ancient, mighty, and unshakeable. As if a sleeping volcano stood opposite you, millennia old, yet ready to pour down a rain of lava and ash upon the entire area at any moment.
"It's like standing before the Wall in the North," one of the Praetorians broke the silence.
"Have you ever been in such a remote place?" his comrade scoffed in disbelief.
"What! I'm the bastard of Hother Umber, the uncle of the current Lord of the Last Hearth. How could I not have been near the Wall!?" the tall, bearded man waved his arms indignantly.
"How should I know who the Umbers are or what arse-end of the world they live in?" the white-haired Praetorian sneered.
Paying little attention to the quiet bickering of the bodyguards, I approached the gates, which were also made of black stone. Something similar belonged to one of the thirteen rulers of Qarth, though there, it was a round door more like a large safe door.
I placed my palm on the door and listened to my own senses. Nothing. Hmm, I had been hoping for intuition. In the dream, my consciousness simply flew through the barrier, so the method for opening the mechanism was unknown.
There was the fantasy trope of smearing the doors with my own blood, but the chances of success were extremely small. This estate didn't even belong to the Targaryens. And such a method of opening is very unreliable. Someone could simply kill a member of the House and use their blood for the 'key.'
No, the method must be different. It can't be that the Gods of Valyria gave me the location of what is essentially a treasure chest but forgot to hand over the key. Right?
"Or perhaps they did forget?" I muttered with a wry smile and began to think. The Praetorians, seeing my contemplative expression, grew quiet and moved slightly aside, spreading out around the perimeter.
Right, what do we have? The gods sent a vision of how to reach an island full of treasures belonging to a Dragonlord House. I also received a sense of danger, which gets better with every sparring session and, especially, every real fight. Experience from duels, battles, and dragon flights, which I still haven't fully mastered and which haunts my dreams in fragments every night. A magical reserve and stronger Valyrian blood.
Which of these can help in this situation? A sense of danger is purely a combat ability. Battle experience and blood don't play a significant role in opening a door either. All that remains is magic. Which is quite logical. Since the gates have no keyholes or handles, they must have been opened by an alternative means. But the knowledge of magic was not part of the package.
The Pits! What is to be done? Cursing in the local manner, I let my gaze wander over the ornamentation on the door.
The floral pattern spiraled in smooth lines, forming various whorls and leaves that covered the entire surface like a vine. In one place, just below the center, most of the flourishes met and formed a complex geometric figure.
Perhaps I really should try blood? Valyrian blood mages and all that? I scoffed, drew the dagger from its sheath, made a small cut on my palm, and pressed it against the figure. Nothing. Zero reaction. How does this bloody door open?! Was the entire journey here utterly pointless?
The realization of the situation filled me with rage. So many plans! A kick. So many hopes! Another kick. And all this just to admire ancient buildings?!
Angrily kicking the door, causing the metal cap on the toe of my boot to clang plaintively, I spun on my heel and walked away.
"May the demons tear these accursed gates! All my plans ruined!" I cursed out loud now, stomping my feet and nervously fiddling with the hilt of my sword.
"Tribune! Are you deciding to enter later?" The perplexed voice of the Praetorian commander reached me from behind.
"Deimas, may all the demons of the Pits lodge in your arse, open your eyes, this do—" I spun around, ready to rail against my bodyguard's stupidity, but stopped midsentence.
The door had been pushed inward slightly. By a mere few centimeters, but the thing had yielded!
"I commend your attention, Decurion." Smiling with satisfaction, I inwardly chastised myself for lashing out at my subordinate, and almost ran back. "Come on, lads, lend a hand!"
We pushed the slab, which someone had mistakenly installed instead of a door, for a good five minutes. But finally, the barrier gave way, and the passage inside was open.
Inside was a corridor, lit by torches from my dream, burning with a blue flame. The carpet covering the floor had completely rotted away and was covered in dust. But I didn't care about the mystique or other oddities. The proximity of the treasures was intoxicating.
"Oh, the Seven, what kind of demon magic is this!?" My escorts, however, were not so calm. "The Old Gods, we have trespassed where we should not have." The black-bearded Northerner tensed up and grasped his sword.
"Calm yourselves!" the Decurion roared. "It's only flame of an unusual color. Are you, motherfuckers, Praetorians or sniveling whores!? The Tribune isn't afraid, so neither should we be."
"I gave no order to pray to the gods out of fear. So calm down and move forward." Calmly rebuking the overly superstitious men, I was the first to step inside.
I had to set an example for my men. The medieval times are like that—mystical. Especially in a world with magic. If they got too scared now, they might refuse to go in at all. Am I supposed to haul the entire treasury out on my own back?
Various paintings were hung on the walls along the corridor, but unfortunately, most of them were ruined. The few surviving ones depicted men and women with silver-gold hair and violet eyes against a backdrop of dragons. Most were dressed in trousers and robes, though occasionally some were in armor.
Reaching the end, I again ran into double doors of black stone. Fortunately, this time they yielded easily, and I was given a view of a large hall.
The floor was made of polished red granite. White columns supported the ceiling, on which a battle was depicted.
Dozens of dragons rained fire upon the straight ranks of warriors in identical armor. They resembled legionaries somewhat, except the colors were different, and the shields were not scutums but round hoplons, like those of the Spartans and other ancient Greeks. Recognition came in a flash. The Second Ghiscari War. The Battle of the Skahazadhan River. Five Ghiscari legions were burned to ash that day. After ferrying their main forces across the river, the Valyrians besieged Meereen, and the city was soon taken and plundered. I remember this war as if it had only just ended.
But that was about four and a half thousand years ago. The gift of Vhagar, the god of war, had unexpectedly come in handy. The battle was depicted in great detail and accuracy... could this tower truly be over four millennia old? Astonishing!
"Those warriors look somewhat like our Burning Legion," one of the soldiers remarked, craning his neck at the ceiling.
"Ha! We look like those soldiers. Those are the famous legions of the Ghiscari Empire that shook the world dozens of centuries ago," the Decurion chuckled, surveying the hall.
"There's a lot of armor and weapons here. Cleaned, oiled, and with the damaged parts replaced—you could arm a centuria of Praetorians right now," Deimas noted, approaching one of the suits of armor lining the walls.
"We'll take it out and inspect it later, lads. For now, something more valuable awaits us." Paying little attention to the decorations, I headed straight for the staircase leading upwards. As I got closer, I nodded at my own thoughts. An inconspicuous hatch was found beneath the winding staircase. It had no handles, but a small groove was visible. Drawing my sword, I slid it into the notch and pried it open. With difficulty, the path to the lower floors was opened.
A wooden staircase had surely led down before, but it had now completely rotted away. The distance to the floor was not very great. Grasping the edge with my hands, I swung down. Then I released my fingers, and a moment later, cursing, I was climbing out of a heap of wooden debris.
"Take off your armor, and then jump down as I did. Breaking your legs is a truly wretched business," I instructed.
The bodyguards often wore their protection. Ordinary soldiers might only put it on for battle. For the Praetorians, the fight began the moment they started guard duty and ended with the new shift. Who knows, perhaps traitors have infiltrated the legionaries and might try to stage a mutiny or kill me? In a Game with such high stakes, it's better to be overly cautious.
While the men descended, I looked around. I found myself on a landing. Wide steps led down, lit by the same magical torches burning with a blue flame.
When the bodyguards were ready to continue, we began the descent. A group of three fighters went ahead, and seven others followed behind me. We had to walk for quite a long time, but finally, we were met by another set of gates. This time, they were exactly like the ones belonging to one of the Qartheen Elders who hosted Daenerys in the canon.
Thank all the gods that I didn't have to search for a key. The round mechanism piece was already set into the slot. Turning it clockwise, I heard a distinctive click. The door slowly began to creak open.
A draft of cold, stale air greeted us, and the passage opened into the Holy of Holies of any castle: the treasury.
The round chamber was illuminated by twenty magical torches held by obsidian statues. Opposite the entrance, at the far end, stood a throne of white marble, upon which sat a robed figure carved from the same material. The hands of the man on the throne were spread wide, pointing to two cabinets flanking him, filled with scrolls.
In the center of the room, mannequins were arranged in a semicircle, clad in Valyrian steel plate armor, their hands resting on the guards of swords also made of the sorcerous metal. The central figure had two swords kept in sheaths, while the other four held a mix of greatswords and two-handed swords.
Surrounding the mannequins was a rectangular pedestal with twenty indentations. Just like in my dream, only fourteen of them were filled. But even that was more than enough. Fourteen dragon eggs!
"The Old Gods and the New, it's Valyrian steel!"
"May the Storm God eat my guts!"
"May the Stranger fuck me!"
Seeing the contents of the room, the Praetorians began to compete in wit.
I approached the pedestal and carefully ran my fingers over the scaly shell of a blue-colored egg. It was as hot as sand at midday. Taking a step sideways, I touched the cold metal of a breastplate. I joyfully squeezed my eyes shut. This was not a fever dream that I'd had after being poisoned, after all.
Now I had a real chance to fulfill the request-command of my benefactors. As well as to realize the dream that was unattainable in my past life.
Reading the biographies of some emperor or king, I always imagined myself in their place. How powerful and wonderful a state could be created, knowing the history of the rise and fall of so many kingdoms and empires? If everything works out, I will be able to answer that question at the end of my life.
"Tribune, should we carry everything out as you instructed us?" Deimas interrupted the chorus of delighted exclamations.
"Get the bags and cloths. Wrap everything carefully in fabric and put it into the saddlebags. The eggs and scrolls with special diligence." After giving the order, I got to work along with the rest. We had to sweat profusely to carry all the goods to the upper floor. Ropes and two cabinets, utilized in an utterly vandalistic manner as a makeshift ladder, helped with this.
I think the fading of magic in the world over hundreds of years caused all the security systems and locks to open spontaneously; otherwise, we would have remained stuck before the first door. We failed to find any gold or silver. But I wasn't discouraged. It's quite possible that all of that is stored on the other floors of the tower.
"We found about three dozen skeletons and a large barrow dug in the wasteland; I think it was a tilting yard or something similar before," Zirarro reported to me, standing nearby.
We were standing in front of the citadel entrance, and slightly to the side of the steps, the legionaries were stacking money, jewelry, and other small valuables. It was decided to move all of it into the tower, count it, and enter it into lists.
Four fighters, led by one of the naval officers, had already been dispatched to row a boat to the ship and transmit the order for a full-scale landing. The sailor had memorized the route, so they shouldn't crash onto the rocks. Only the necessary minimum crew would remain on the galley, monitoring the Sea Panther in shifts. I planned to spend at least three or four months here. We had plenty of provisions for that. This time should be enough to study the scrolls and awaken the first dragon.
That's right, I intended to acquire my fire-breathing monster as soon as possible. No one would be able to react quickly to the emergence of a new danger, and they would hardly want to.
In the Seven Kingdoms, Balon Greyjoy's rebellion has either just ended or is still ablaze. By the time the first rumors of a dragon appear, the troops will have been disbanded and sent home, and they will be thoroughly battered. The Crown's treasury, which was already low, will have been further depleted by suppressing the rebellion. And Varys will be able to dismiss all of it as another fabrication by smallfolk. Although the eunuch is self-serving, he is currently acting on my side.
As for the Free Cities, the war between Myr and Tyrosh against Lys has significantly hit the purses of all those merchants. Not all were involved in the conflict, but the most ambitious and powerful ones financed one side or the other.
Yes, behemoths like Braavos and Volantis would certainly have enough strength to wage war against me, and they might even win. Although the Burning Legion is strong, there are serious groups in Essos like the Golden Company, the Windblown, the Stormcrows, and the Unsullied. Considering that I only have a couple of legions, and the former colonies of Valyria have enormous amounts of money and tons of supplies—the war would undoubtedly be lost, even if we were victorious in every battle. The merchants would simply wait for the day when I ran out of money, food, and gear for the legionaries. The war would effectively end right there.
However, there is a nuance. These conclusions are only valid for a scenario where the Burning Legion has no lands or cities of its own. And I intended to solve that problem within the next year.
"Lord Tribune, all floors of the tower have been inspected. A strange mechanism was discovered, which Snow recognized as a cage lift, a device for rapid movement to great heights. According to him, something similar exists at the Wall. Unfortunately, it is either broken, or we simply don't know how to operate it; pulling the lever had no effect on the mechanism," Deimas reported as he approached.
"Are the rooms fit for living?"
"Unfortunately, most of the furniture did not withstand the test of time. But the rooms themselves are dry and cool, so spending the night in them is quite possible. Not all rooms have been checked yet, but it can be said with certainty that most of them resemble those in that huge building you called the Flesh Pit."
"All found records must be delivered with special care to a room of your choosing, Deimas. And set a guard there. A reinforced post of legionaries will be more than enough. What about our basement finds?"
"Everything is in full order. They have been brought up to the fourteenth floor and are being guarded by a dozen legionaries, commanded by Snow. He's more accustomed to it; after all, before leaving for Essos, he served in the household guard of a Lord of the Sunset Kingdoms."
"Excellent. No one is to be allowed above the thirteenth floor. The only exceptions are you, me, and Zirarro." Thumping his fist on his chest, the Praetorian bowed and stepped aside.
"I'm already eager to see the treasures you found. I don't even know what's in there, but I've already been ordered to keep my mouth shut," the Ghiscari said with a smile, popping another date into his mouth.
"Our future is in there, Zirarro," I replied, clasping my hands behind my back.
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