Morning light pierced through the mist, painting the study of the Governors Mansion in pale gold.
Aegon stood by the window, holding a scroll of intelligence that had arrived overnight.
Luciana's handwriting was neat and restrained, listing in detail the unusual movements inside and outside Lys over the past day.
"Has it all been suppressed?" Aegon asked without turning his head.
"The Soldiers of the Skull Squad arrived faster than the rumors could spread."
Luciana, standing by the desk with her hands down, replied in a low voice. Her pale purple eyes showed fatigue, but they also sparkled. "Seventeen were captured, six were killed on the spot, and the rest..."
"Throw them into the dungeon and send someone to interrogate them," Aegon interrupted, tossing the scroll back onto the desk. "I want to know who is behind this, not the confessions of these small fry."
"Yes."
"Those secret agents of yours," Aegon turned around, his gaze falling on her face, "it's time to expand them."
"The Disputed Lands, Tyrosh, Myr... I want eyes, as many as possible."
Luciana's breath hitched slightly, then she bowed. "I will make the arrangements."
"Go," Aegon waved his hand.
Luciana's gaze was complex, with some different emotions flickering in her pale purple eyes, but in the end, she didn't speak. The door was closed softly.
Aegon walked back behind the desk, his fingertips brushing over an open register. It was a list of heirs and private Soldiers "offered" by the surrendered nobles.
Two thousand three hundred people.
He silently recited the number.
If the shadow of Ghidorah did not still loom over this city, and if the scorched gullies in the Governors Mansion banquet hall that night did not still burn in every noble's nightmare, these two thousand-plus blades would never have been held so submissively in his hand.
As for where these blades should be placed... Aegon frowned slightly.
Throwing them together with those outlaws of the Skull Squad who rolled in blood and bounties? Not appropriate.
Pirates would be softened into useless trash, while fledglings might be stained into vultures.
When he returned from the Disputed Lands, he made a mental note: the Skull Squad must be reorganized.
There must be military discipline, hierarchy, and something other than bounties to bind them.
A group of pirates who only knew how to plunder could not support a Targaryen dynasty.
These noble private Soldiers, on the other hand, could be used to form a new army.
As for those young masters and ladies sent to be "squires"... they would stay in the Governors Mansion for now.
Under the "protection" of the Unsullied themselves.
Aegon looked out the window. Lys was turning with difficulty under the rules he had established.
Luciana's intelligence seeped into every alley like spider silk, and disturbances were often quelled before they could even surface.
The Roagar Family was like the most precise abacus; every copper coin that flowed through their fingers had to leave a mark.
The remaining seats on the Magisters' Council were empty. The surviving nobles looked on eagerly, but Aegon did not grant them.
It wasn't that he trusted Hain or Rojar.
It was just that they were now tied to the same rope as him; if the ship capsized, everyone would drown together.
Simple binding of interests was more reliable than loyalty.
In the afternoon, Aegon took a group of personal guards to the streets of Lys to inspect the city-state he had just conquered.
The sunlight made the cobblestone roads hot, and the air was mixed with the smell of sea, spices, and a faint scent of burning—the lingering smell of the corpses burned the night before.
As the sun rose higher, the market was desolate. Occasional pedestrians passed by in a hurry, and those normally bustling Pleasure Gardens were exceptionally quiet now.
Turning a corner, the sound of looms came from ahead.
It was a textile workshop facing the street. The storefront was shabby, but now the doors were wide open.
Over a dozen women sat at looms, busy. Shuttles flew back and forth, and large rolls of freshly dyed fabric were piled on the floor.
The workshop owner was a scrawny old man who was directing people to unfurl a newly finished banner.
On a pitch-black background, a fierce three-headed red dragon was embroidered in the center with red thread.
Seeing Aegon, the old man's legs went weak, and he was about to kneel.
"Stand and speak," Aegon raised his hand to stop him, his gaze falling on the banner. "Well embroidered."
"Th-thank you for your appreciation, Your Highness!" The old man's voice trembled, yet it was filled with excitement.
"M-my workshop was almost out of business... Myr's fabrics are more exquisite than ours, with more patterns, and during Governor Dorian's time, the caravans were always encountering pirates..."
"B-but since I took the order for your military banners, the work we've done in this past half-month is more than most of last year!"
Aegon looked at the busy female workers and then at the mountain of black fabric piled in the corner.
"Can production keep up?"
"It c-can! I've hired twenty more female workers, working in two shifts day and night!" The old man rubbed his hands and said cautiously, "It's just... Your Highness, how many more of these banners do you roughly need? So I can prepare the materials in advance..."
Aegon didn't answer.
He just looked at the three-headed red dragon banner fluttering slightly in the wind.
The black swallowed the light, and the red thread was dazzling in the sun, like something waking up.
"Make five hundred more," he said.
The old man gasped, and then a smile of near ecstasy broke out on his face. "Yes! Yes! I will certainly..."
Aegon had already turned and left.
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones. The captain of the personal guards asked in a low voice, "Your Highness, isn't five hundred too many? Between the Bloodsworn and the Skull Squad, we only have about a thousand men now..."
"Soon it will be more than that," Aegon said calmly.
He thought of those pirate ships cruising the waters of the Stepstones, of the Golden Company he was about to meet, and of the war that would surely ignite on that continent across the Narrow Sea.
Banners must always be a step ahead of the pace of conquest.
Upon returning to the Governors Mansion, Karl was already waiting outside the study; as usual, he was there to report on the security situation in Lys.
"Your Highness."
Quite different from before, today Karl's armor was polished to a shine, his back was straight, and the way his hand rested on his sword hilt made him look more like a knight.
Seeing Aegon return, he quickly stepped forward two paces, his right fist striking his left chest plate with a heavy "thump" in a formal salute.
Aegon swept an interested glance over his brand-new appearance and interrupted calmly, "Let's talk inside."
Entering the study, Aegon sat straight back into the high-backed chair, picking up the quill on the desk. The tip hung over the blank parchment, representing unfinished official business.
He looked up and gestured for the other to speak. "Go ahead."
"The city is basically stabilized," Karl stood a few paces from the desk, his voice coarse and raspy from days of sleep deprivation. "Hain's and Rojar's people are working hard; those who should be killed are killed, those who should be arrested are arrested. Yesterday there were only a few small disturbances, not senseless rioting, but... for food."
He paused, seemingly weighing his words.
Aegon's pen tapped on the paper. He already knew about this from Luciana's report, and he didn't look up. "Continue."
"A grain merchant named Solo has four large granaries under him, all filled to the brim."
"Grain prices on the market have tripled in three days and are still rising. In some poor alleys, people have started looting shops—not for money, but for food."
Karl's pace quickened slightly. "The Skull Squad went to suppress it and arrested a few looters, but without cutting off the source, this can't be kept down."
"I think... this isn't something that should be handled privately."
The room was quiet for a moment, save for the scratching of the quill across the paper.
Aegon finished the last word, set the pen down, and looked up. "The old laws of Lys can't handle it?"
Karl took a deep breath.
Ever since he followed His Highness in taking Lys, he had begun to painstakingly study those tongue-twisting legal articles and tedious city administration procedures.
He knew that for those of them who had crawled out of the Valyrian Ruins, their fortunes had truly soared.
To hold onto their positions, just knowing how to kill wasn't enough; they also had to understand how to manage people.
He quickly went over those words in his mind before speaking in a cautious tone: "Your Highness, these laws of Lys... are as frivolous as their customs."
He paused, seeing that Aegon had no intention of interrupting, and continued: "Executing according to the old laws would be nothing more than an itch for those wealthy merchants... as long as they are willing to pay. As for those who are truly looting food because of hunger, it's one thing, but I suspect some among them are plundering under that guise, because those shops are losing more than just food."
"In other words," Aegon's voice was calm, "as long as those merchants are willing to pay, the law can't touch them?"
"...Yes." Karl lowered his gaze.
Aegon was silent for a moment.
Morning light slanted in from the window, illuminating half of his face clearly while the other half remained in shadow.
There was no expression on that young face, only in the depths of those violet eyes, it seemed as if something cold was slowly freezing.
"It was my oversight," he suddenly spoke, his voice still steady, yet it made Karl's spine stiffen slightly.
"Heavy punishments for chaotic times." Aegon rose from his chair, walked to the window, and with his back to Karl, looked down at the gradually awakening market. "That grain merchant named Solo—hang him."
"Hang him in the most prominent place in the center of the market, along with his grain that's sitting there rotting."
"At noon today, set up stalls in the West Square to release grain at a fair price, limited to three pounds per person per day. Tell the Rojar family to handle it. If they don't do it well, the next one hanging up there will be from their family."
Karl's throat felt dry, and he nodded heavily. "Yes!"
"And," Aegon turned around, his gaze falling on Karl's face, "from this day forward, Lys shall implement a new law."
"For theft: for the first offense, cut off a finger; for the second, a hand. For robbery: let them choose—keep a hand or keep a foot."
"For rape—"
His tone was entirely flat, as if he were speaking of the most ordinary matter:
"Cut it off directly."
Karl's eyelid twitched. He instinctively wanted to say that in a place like Lys, no one would likely commit that crime, but the words died in his throat.
He just gave a low grunt of affirmation. "Understood. I'll go arrange it now and post the new laws all over the city."
"Go," Aegon waved his hand.
Karl struck his chest with his fist again and turned to stride away. His heavy boots thudded on the carpet, the door opened and closed, and the study returned to silence.
Aegon sat back in his chair, picked up the quill, and looked at the pile of official business, lost in thought. Perhaps he should consider having Jon Clinton take office earlier; this was only one city-state... Three days later, early morning.
The Shy Maid slowly sailed away from the Lys docks.
The sails were full, and the bow plowed through the azure sea, leaving a white wake.
Aegon stood on the aft deck, wearing black commoner's clothes with a matching black cloak. His hood was not up, and his silver hair fluttered slightly in the salty sea breeze.
He did not ride his dragon directly to the Golden Company's base; the performance had to be complete. At the very least, he couldn't alert the enemy. Ghidorah only needed to appear at the most critical moment.
Behind him stood twenty Bloodsworn personal guards disguised as Jon's protectors, their hands on their sword hilts and their gazes vigilant.
Jon Clinton stood half a step behind him to the side, wearing worn travel attire. His face was still somewhat pale, and the shadows under his eyes were deep, but his back was straight as he looked steadily at the shrinking city of Lys.
"Worried?" Aegon suddenly spoke.
Jon was silent for a moment. "Your Highness is only taking twenty men. Although there are two thousand garrison troops left in Lys, their hearts are not yet won. The Skull Squad is made of outlaws; the Bloodsworn can suppress them for a time, but if Tyrosh or Myr were to attack now..."
"Sa Melis should have arrived in Tyrosh by now," Aegon interrupted him, his gaze still on the receding coastline. "She will tell those people that the current master of Lys has a dragon."
"And a dragon... doesn't take long to fly back."
He paused, a trace of very faint mockery in his tone.
"As for internal strife, Luciana is watching the nobles, Rojar is managing the purse strings, and the Skull Squad holds the blades. The Unsullied only listen to the command of the whip, and the whip is in my hand."
Jon's pupils constricted slightly, then he lowered his gaze. "Your Highness has thought of everything."
Was it thoroughness, or paranoia?
Aegon didn't explain.
He just raised his head and looked at a spot high in the sky, where there was nothing but drifting clouds.
But Ghidorah was up there, circling and following above the clouds, beyond the reach of the naked eye.
A dragon doesn't need to be seen all the time.
It only needs to be known that it could appear at any time, in any place.
That is enough.
"Let's go inside," Aegon turned and walked toward the cabin. "Go over the latest intelligence on the Golden Company with me once more."
"Yes."
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