Seeing the Mercenaries successively untie their ropes and gather together, supporting one another, their faces still showing the confusion and hesitation of surviving a disaster, Aegon stopped his mental communication with Xiao Laki.
The trace of ease quickly faded from his face, replaced by his usual composure, like a deep pool of water that instinctively drew the panicked hearts seeking reliance.
Henry dragged his injured arm, his gaze shifting back and forth between Aegon and the pale gold "little beast" squatting quietly nearby, its three small heads curiously looking around. He seemed hesitant to speak.
Karl stepped forward, his face still showing shock, his eyes complicated: "Boss, you…"
Aegon raised a hand to stop him.
His gaze calmly swept over the crowd.
A rough count showed that over a hundred people were still alive.
They were ragged, mostly wounded, their eyes mixing fatigue, fear, and deep reverence for the "miracle" they had just witnessed.
Monster attacks, infighting, falling from high altitudes, the death threat from Crows Eye, and finally, that world-destroying terror that suddenly vanished... those who survived until now might possess varying levels of ability, but their courage had certainly been tempered; they had "seen the world."
Aegon's thoughts raced.
His identity.
Should he reveal it now?
Should he use the lingering prestige of the pressure he exerted just now to completely subdue this group, making them his true first batch of retainers?
The benefits were obvious.
He needed manpower to transport the spoils of war, and even more, he needed a force.
These people had just crawled back from the brink of death; their psychological defenses were at their weakest, and they were most likely to follow an entity that demonstrated "extraordinary" power in desperation.
But what about the risks?
The Targaryen identity was a double-edged sword; exposure meant endless trouble.
Pros and cons flashed through his mind.
Finally, he made his decision.
Hiding and concealing meant remaining an exile forever.
To reclaim what belonged to him, he had to step forward and raise his banner.
This current group of "rabble" might just be the most rudimentary cornerstone.
He took two steps forward and stepped onto a slightly higher pile of rubble.
The Valyrian Steel armor shimmered with a dark luster under the dim light, his silver hair flowed loose, and his purple eyes were calm.
Just the act of standing still, an invisible pressure spread out, causing the whispers to quickly subside.
All eyes involuntarily focused on him.
"Look at me." Aegon spoke, his voice not loud, yet clearly reaching everyone's ears. "I know what you are thinking. Ruins, monsters, slaughter, betrayal... We are trapped here, many have died, and the future is uncertain."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over faces that were either numb or tense.
"But we are still alive. If we are alive, there is a path forward. And this path requires a new way of walking—no longer being used as cannon fodder and bait, but for ourselves."
He took a deep breath, and his voice suddenly rose, carrying an unwavering decisiveness:
"My name is Aegon Targaryen. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, the rightful heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms."
A dead silence fell.
Most Mercenaries looked bewildered. Targaryen?
The name sounds familiar... the iron throne? Didn't a king with that surname rule before?
Henry suddenly gasped, his fat face flushed red, and his eyes widened.
He came from the Riverlands; even as a commoner, he grew up listening to the tales of the Usurper's War!
Targaryen! The Dragon Family!
The family that once rode dragons to rule Westeros! And Aegon... Prince Rhaegar's son?!
Karl was also stunned.
He had lived in the Disputed Lands, knowing only fragments of the power struggles in Westeros, but he understood the weight of the words "Targaryen" and the "iron throne."
This silver-haired young man before him was actually an exiled Prince?!
"Targ...aryen?" A Mercenary muttered softly, struggling to remember.
"They were the former masters of the iron throne!" Henry couldn't help but explain excitedly in a low, trembling voice. "They are the Dragon King Family! The true royal bloodline! He, he ought to be King!"
"King?" The Mercenaries stirred, and their gaze toward Aegon instantly changed.
An exiled Prince? This identity was extraordinary!
Aegon took in the reactions of the crowd. He raised his hand and pointed at Xiao Laki, who was tilting its head at his feet, its six golden eyes "sizing up" the crowd.
"What you just saw, what you felt," Aegon's voice carried undeniable majesty, "that was not merely a 'miracle.'
That is the power of my bloodline, proof that the Targaryen line is one with dragons! Although it is dormant and young for reasons..." He deliberately skipped the details. "But it is here! A true Dragon! And I am its only master!"
Xiao Laki seemed to sense it was mentioned; its middle head lifted, emitting a low hum inconsistent with its size, and a peculiar pressure, extremely faint but originating from a higher life form, flashed and vanished.
This subtle sensation, combined with the lingering shadow of the world-destroying pressure from before, was more convincing than any words.
The Mercenaries' eyes, when looking at Xiao Laki, changed completely, filled with awe, curiosity, and even a hint of fanaticism.
"Now, we stand deep within the Valyrian Ruins!" Aegon spread his arms, his voice loud and carrying a fervent allure.
"Buried here is the legacy of the Dragon King Family! Valyrian Steel weapons, armor, lost techniques, and countless forgotten treasures! What Crows Eye and Corleone were looking for is right beneath our feet!"
The immediate profit instantly reignited the light that had dimmed in the eyes of the survivors.
"But this is only the beginning!" Aegon changed his tone, the flames of ambition burning in his purple eyes. "I, Aegon Targaryen, promise you here! Swear allegiance to me, follow this banner, and you will no longer be Mercenaries living hand-to-mouth, ordered around in the Free Cities!"
"We will leave these ruins, taking the wealth and power found here! We will return to Westeros and reclaim the iron throne that belongs to the Targaryen family! And you—"
His gaze was like a torch, sweeping over every person.
"—You will become my first batch of Knights, Sers, and Lords! Use your swords and loyalty to earn yourselves land, castles, titles, and supreme glory!
Let your names be etched into the epic of the reclaimed Kingdom! Let your descendants never again have to live hand-to-mouth, licking blood from blades in the mud of a foreign land, as you have!"
Land! Castles! Titles! No longer Mercenaries!
This blatant and tempting promise slammed hard into the hearts of a group of desperate men who had just crawled back from hell and were despairing of the future.
The treasures before them, future splendor, an exiled Prince possessing a "True Dragon"... what could be more worth staking their lives on?
"I, Henry, swear by the name of a warrior and by the Mander River," Henry was the first to push away the person supporting him. Ignoring his arm injury, he dropped heavily to one knee, his voice trembling with emotion. "I offer my life and loyalty to you, Prince Aegon Targaryen! I will follow you this life, until death!"
Karl took a deep breath, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes replaced by shrewdness and determination.
He immediately knelt after Henry, his voice clear and firm: "Karl, an old soldier good for nothing except decent eyesight, is willing to dedicate the rest of his sword and eyes to you and your Dragon Banner. I only ask, Your Highness, for a path forward with a visible end, and a little... hope worth fighting for."
With the first ones taking the lead, the Mercenaries who already felt gratitude or awe toward Aegon hesitated no longer.
One, two, ten... more and more people dragged their injured bodies, kneeling on one knee among the ruins and corpses, facing the silver-armored, silver-haired figure standing on the rubble pile, accompanied by the strange golden beast.
"We pledge to follow Your Highness!"
"Fight for the Targaryen!"
The shouts were initially chaotic, but gradually converged into a low tide of sound filled with the desperate desire for survival.
The allegiance of over a hundred people, on this blood-stained ruin that had just witnessed a Battle of Gods and Demons, carried a sense of tragedy and rebirth.
Aegon stood quietly, accepting this allegiance, which was ragged but carried sufficient weight.
There was little excitement in his heart, only icy clarity and a heavy sense of responsibility.
The retainers, he had managed to gather a preliminary group.
Though crude, though weak.
"Rise," he said deeply. "I accept your allegiance."
"From this moment forward, you are no longer rootless Mercenaries; you are the first warriors of Aegon Targaryen."
His gaze turned toward the collapsed palace and the wider ruins.
"Now, take stock of everything we have."
"Search this area for anything valuable—weapons, armor, books, intact artifacts, especially Valyrian Steel items. Be careful and look out for one another."
"Henry, take a team and be responsible for the east side."
"Karl, take your men and check the west side, especially the areas of previous fighting and collapse. Focus on gathering supplies and intact equipment."
"Yes, Your Highness!" Henry responded loudly, standing up despite the pain.
"Understood, Boss... Your Highness." Karl also accepted the order briskly, his eyes glinting shrewdly as he began calculating where valuables might be hidden.
The surviving Mercenaries quickly sprung into action; although exhausted, their eyes held the light of purpose.
Above the ruins, for the first time, the clamor of "their own people," filled with hope, began to sound.
Aegon, holding Xiao Laki, who had become quiet again and seemed uninterested in this group of "new two-legged beasts," walked toward the entrance of the underground ruins.
Beside Crows Eye's corpse, the dragon horn, wrapped in red gold and dark black steel, still lay quietly on the ground.
His journey had just begun.
And the first "spoils of war" he needed to deal with seemed to be quite troublesome.
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