"Exactly. If the Iron Fleet and the fleet of Lannisport do not take part in the war, then Stannis's fleet becomes insignificant!"
Obode glanced back at the Grand Maester with gratitude, then continued explaining to the scholars who had fallen into a misconception.
The maesters did not truly understand the concept of sea power, but they still knew that the fleet of Tarth must not be allowed to monopolize the coasts of Westeros.
Unlike Galladon, who hoped to seize absolute naval supremacy in one decisive move, the maesters understood all too well the cunning and intelligence of the Old Lion. They merely hoped that the proud Lord Tywin would take the initiative and come to Oldtown seeking an alliance.
Only then could they fight for greater利益—greater benefits!
Who would have thought that their potential ally, the Old Lion, would see through their intention of merely watching from the sidelines? Without a word, he withdrew from the game and went off to open a brand-new map of his own. The fact that the maesters hadn't already cursed him with a mouthful of "local specialties" was proof enough of their remarkable self-control.
One maester shook his head and objected.
"Stannis isn't a fool. Even if Tarth deliberately exposes a weakness, he won't stupidly jump into the trap."
"Exactly! His military talent is no worse than Randyll's. He won't cross the Strait of Tarth."
"I think he'll turtle up in the harbor of Harvest Hall, watching and waiting for Varys's little~ pieces of information!"
"..."
This statement won widespread approval. The maesters nodded and resumed their heated discussion.
As for the fleet of Arbor Island, the maesters all chose to ignore it.
The Redwyne family of the Arbor had always been on good terms with the Hightowers of Oldtown, and the Arbor itself had long served as Oldtown's forward naval outpost.
There was no reason to scheme against their own people.
The military exercises of Tarth Island caused a tremendous stir across the Narrow Sea. The Citadel, the Free Cities, and certain figures in King's Landing all dragged out their chairs, watching this grand spectacle hosted by Tarth with the air of veteran experts conducting academic research.
Galladon had no intention of hiding anything. Loras was one thing, but around the Stepstones there were countless slaving ships and merchant vessels. The strength of the First Legion and the Fleet of Tarth could not be concealed anyway—better to display it openly and proudly.
"Hmph! If the strength Tarth reveals is too great, our Hunter King will definitely fly into a rage. When that happens, things won't be up to him anymore!"
Maester Verlyn, known privately as the Vinegar Maester, let out a cold, mocking snort. From the look on his face, his disdain for Robert was undisguised.
Obode's eyes curved into narrow slits as he exchanged a glance with the Grand Maester.
Verlyn had truly hit the nail on the head!
As long as Pycelle altered the wording of his letters and sent out a few more ravens, Stannis would never be able to withstand the pressure!
The thoughts in the two men's minds were uncannily aligned—use Robert to apply pressure on Stannis.
The benefits of forcing Stannis into battle were simply too great. Most importantly, as Master of Ships and a member of House Baratheon, the Royal Fleet could "disappear" in the Narrow Sea—but Stannis absolutely could not!
"I remember that Tarth's taxes haven't been audited for several years. Have Stannis cross the Strait of Tarth under the pretext of escorting tax officials."
"To avoid another mysterious disappearance like the Royal Fleet's, we should station several longships far behind the main fleet and observe with Myrish lenses."
"Better yet, have the fleet sail against the wind. Lower the sails and assign more oarsmen. The moment anything seems wrong, retreat immediately back to Harvest Hall."
"..."
The maesters were all learned men. With collective wisdom, the plan was quickly refined and perfected.
"Very good. Then it's settled."
Obode tapped the table decisively. The maesters were qualified to attend meetings of the Small Council, but it was ultimately the Steward's Office that would carry out the decisions.
"Next topic—how do we restrain the development of Tarth?"
Inside the Steward's Chamber, the moment he raised this topic, the previously noisy room fell deathly silent.
He could even hear the heavy, ragged breathing of several elderly maesters nearby.
This topic was raised at every council meeting. Over the past three years, not a single effective solution had been proposed.
Yet after three years of confrontation, the Citadel knew one thing with certainty: no matter what secrets Tarth Island was hiding, its growth had to be curbed.
The logic was simple.
If whatever lay hidden on Tarth posed no threat to the Citadel, then why would House Tarth guard itself against the Citadel like paranoid thieves warding off robbers?
And then there was the disappearance of Maester Reed. Without a maester's assistance, how was House Tarth governing its lands?
A deeply terrifying suspicion lingered in the hearts of the maesters—a thought no one dared voice aloud, just as the Small Council dared not acknowledge the truth of Tarth's attack on the Royal Fleet.
"Well then… the next topic..."
Late at night.
Heavy clouds blanketed the sky. Not a single star was visible, and one could not see even an outstretched hand.
On Raven Isle of the Citadel, Grand Maester Ambrose held a candle as he followed familiar wooden signposts, making his way alone toward the Raven Tower.
Moss and creeping vines covered the tower's walls, and an ancient weirwood tree dominated nearly the entire courtyard. The ravens loved to roost in its branches.
At last, Ambrose collapsed onto the stone steps before the weirwood, gasping for breath.
"My lord… we cannot allow Tarth Island to continue developing so steadily."
In the darkness, Ambrose screamed toward the pitch-black air, as though his very life were being threatened.
"We must disrupt their rhythm—even if it means provoking a war ahead of time!"
From beginning to end, the courtyard echoed with nothing but Ambrose's hoarse voice.
"Blasphemer! One who does not exist! Heretical abomination! Bastard filth that should not be allowed to live! He hides in the Narrow Sea, beyond our reach—oh great one!"
"I beg you, take action! For the sake of the countless years the Children of the Forest and the trueborn sons of the First Men have worshipped the Mother Goddess!"
"..."
The wind howled as it tore at the clouds, mixing with the shrill screams that pierced the air. Countless ravens perched upon the weirwood opened their eyes one by one, glowing like little lanterns in the darkness, forming a courtyard as eerie as if gods or demons were about to descend.
"I understand."
Only when Ambrose's throat burned like fire and no sound could escape his mouth did a voice—utterly devoid of emotion—resound within his mind.
"I pay my respects, my lord!"
He trembled as he prostrated himself on the ground, not daring to lift his head for a long, long time.
...
Half a month later.Military Harbor, Tarth Island.
Galladon stood tall atop the harbor lighthouse, clad head to toe in silver armor. A jet-black, gold-trimmed cloak snapped violently in the sea wind.
"The wind has risen~!"
Facing the gusts head-on, he gazed toward the combined legions gradually disappearing into the line where sea met sky, sighing softly.
"Colin, hasn't the wind been strong all day?" Cade lifted his visor behind him and nudged his companion's arm. "What does the commander mean?"
"Hmm~! A brain is a good thing," Colin shot him a glance, then pulled his visor back down. "If you don't have one, then don't speak. At least that way, people won't immediately see how ignorant you are."
"Y-you—!"
Cade pointed at Colin, so furious he couldn't get the words out, stomping his feet repeatedly.
His massive body stood over two meters tall, like a giant. With his armor, he weighed nearly a thousand jin. Add to that his natural strength—and now he was stomping on the top floor of a wooden lighthouse...
Galladon leapt first, springing out of the swaying structure. Using a horizontal support beam, he chained two jumps in midair, light as a feather in the wind, and landed gently on the ground.
The moment he touched down, the two knights followed, leaping out after him. With several bounding steps, they smashed into the earth.
"Boom—!"
The more than twenty-meter-tall lighthouse collapsed with a thunderous crash. Dozens of naval patrols stationed at the harbor came running from afar.
"Hehe~! Commander, huh? This lighthouse's quality isn't very good!"
Galladon shot a fierce glare at Cade, who still had the nerve to argue while his legs were buried in the soil.
"Colin, let's go!"
Galladon was already used to Cade's reckless nature and couldn't bear to punish him over something so trivial.
"Cade, since you think this lighthouse is poor quality, then build a better one yourself!"
At those words, Cade's face twisted in misery. He was so anxious his tears were nearly falling.
Demolition?That he could do!
Building a house?
Heh~!
"Colin, you'll supervise!"
Very quickly, something even more despair-inducing happened.
Cade pitifully looked toward his companion, only to be met with the back of a steel helmet.
The other two knights, White-haired Nick and Hawkeye the Divine Archer, had already set sail with the combined legions. This was Galladon's added safeguard for the coalition force.
Compared to the Four Knights, even the Sword of the Dawn was nothing special!
No matter how divine his swordsmanship became, he was still only a mortal!
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
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(End Chapter)