The Golden Company's camp, the training ground outside the main tent.
Harry Strickland practically burst through the tent flap, followed by over a dozen officers whose faces were equally filled with shock and haste.
The afternoon sun was somewhat blinding, making him squint instinctively. Then, his gaze was seized by a small group of riders at the edge of the training ground.
Over twenty knights in black silently guarded two people in the center.
One was Jon Clinton.
Harry was very familiar with that face—Lord Griffin, the most important bridge between the Golden Company and that Prince.
And beside Lord Griffin, the young man sitting tall on a powerful black horse... Harry's heart skipped a beat.
A black cloak with the hood pulled low obscured most of his face, leaving only a sharp, cold jawline visible, along with a few strands of silver-white hair escaping the hood's edge—hair that remained dazzlingly bright even amidst the dust.
Was this "Prince Aegon Targaryen"?
He seemed somewhat different from the blue-haired boy he had met once years ago in Pentos... but as years had passed, it was normal for a boy's features to change as he grew.
Although the hood covered most of his face, preventing a closer look.
And this silver hair... was it because there was no longer a need to hide, so he stopped dyeing it blue?
"Commander!"
Just then, Mallos saw Harry and hurried forward, saluting by striking his chest with his right fist. He spoke quickly, "We encountered Lord Griffin and... the Prince on the road."
He quickly reported the situation.
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at Jon in surprise, "Such a coincidence?"
Jon Clinton urged his horse forward half a step and spoke in a steady voice, tinged with the hoarseness of a long journey, "Commander Harry, it's been a long time."
"The Prince's itinerary was a secret, so we did not announce it in advance. I hope you can forgive us."
He turned slightly toward the figure on the black horse, lowering his voice, yet making it loud enough for everyone around to hear, "The Prince has caught a slight chill and should avoid the wind, which is why his face is covered by the hood."
A chill? Harry Strickland's gaze fell upon the black hood once more.
No wonder he's covered up so tightly... The slight doubt in his heart caused by the sudden arrival began to dissipate.
After all, given his noble status and being unwell, it was only natural that he wouldn't want to show his sickly appearance.
"Harry Strickland, the current Commander of the Golden Company, at your service, Your Highness!" Having received Jon's confirmation, Harry stepped forward without further doubt and stopped before Aegon's horse to salute.
He looked up, his voice clear and earnest, "I did not know of Your Highness's arrival and failed to welcome you in time. Please forgive me."
"If Your Highness is unwell, please enter the tent to rest. We will arrange a welcoming banquet immediately."
Jon Clinton's gaze swept over the dozen or so officers behind Harry, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.
Not enough people.
Although there were a few familiar faces who were the backbone of the Blackfyre faction, most were ordinary officers of insufficient rank.
The most crucial ones—the deputy commanders and key commanders—were absent.
Jon Clinton silently exchanged a look with Aegon and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, indicating that now was not the time.
He had to ensure all the targets were in the net; none could be allowed to escape, or there would be endless trouble later.
After receiving Aegon's nod, Jon Clinton spoke, "We appreciate your trouble, Commander Harry."
"The Prince does indeed need rest. As for the banquet... it would be better to wait until tonight, when all the commanders are available, to welcome the Prince together."
"And let the Prince meet the talents of the Golden Company."
Harry's eyes lit up at those words.
Lord Griffin was helping the Prince establish authority, and also giving him time to gather everyone!
He nodded immediately, "Lord Griffin has thought of everything! I will send men at once to notify the commanders of each camp. Tonight, I will ensure every qualified officer is present to swear fealty to His Highness!"
He paused, his face showing a mix of shame and indignation, "I simply didn't expect the Prince to encounter bandits on the road, let alone that His Highness would have to take action personally... This is a failure of the Golden Company's security. I ask for Your Highness's punishment!"
"It matters not," a calm, slightly deep voice came from beneath the hood.
Harry's spirits lifted; this was the Prince's first time speaking! He quickly focused his attention.
"A few petty thieves, already dealt with," Aegon's voice drifted out from the hood, sounding even more distant and cold. "However, the Magistrate of Myr's gifts seem to have been startled as well."
Only then did Harry remember the carriages and what Mallos had just hurriedly reported.
He said quickly, "Rest assured, Your Highness, the gifts have been properly received. The Golden Company is deeply grateful for the Magistrate of Myr's kindness."
His eyes darted around as he lowered his voice, "Among them is a... special gift. I will have it sent to Your Highness's tent. Your Highness has traveled far; perhaps it will help ease your fatigue."
Aegon did not respond further.
Harry didn't mind; the Prince was unwell and naturally cold, which was normal.
He led the way attentively, guiding Aegon, Jon, and the twenty silent Bloodsworn guards toward a lavish tent hastily prepared deep within the camp.
Along the way, many Golden Company Soldiers and officers stopped to watch and whisper. Most of their curious gazes were focused on the heavily guarded cloaked figure.
That was the Targaryen Lord Griffin served.
He seemed... a bit too low-profile.
"Your Highness, we are here." Harry stopped at the entrance and personally lifted the heavy wool curtain. The tent was large, covered with thick Myr carpets, and a low table in the corner held fruit and a wine flagon.
Aegon still did not remove his hood. He simply gave Harry a slight nod and stepped inside.
Jon Clinton said to Harry, "The Commander should go about his business. The Prince needs rest. Ensure the banquet is properly arranged."
"Rest assured, Lord Griffin! I will invite every single qualified officer in the company without exception!" Harry promised, thumping his chest. He took one last look into the tent before hurrying away, his mind filled with excitement and calculation.
He had to arrange the banquet immediately and think of how to better show his loyalty to the Prince. Oh, and that sword... The tent flap fell, cutting off the light and noise from outside.
Aegon walked to the center of the tent before raising his hand to slowly remove his hood.
Silver hair cascaded down like a waterfall. In the dim light of the tent, his purple eyes calmly swept over the simple but well-prepared surroundings.
There was no fatigue from the long journey on his face, only a cold stillness like a deep pool.
Jon Clinton walked to his side and whispered, "Your Highness, less than thirty percent of the Blackfyre core officers have arrived, and they are scattered. Acting now would alert the enemy."
"Mhm," Aegon grunted. He walked to the wooden table, picked up a glass goblet to inspect it, and then set it back down. "Then we wait until tonight."
...The sun sank in the west, staining the scorched earth and tents of the Golden Company's camp a dark red.
The tent flap was lifted again. Harry Strickland came personally to respectfully invite "Prince Aegon" and Lord Griffin to the main tent for the banquet.
Aegon had put his hood back on to cover his face. Jon Clinton followed at his side.
The twenty Bloodsworn guards wanted to follow, but Jon kept them outside, claiming it was an internal meeting between the Prince and the Golden Company and unsuitable for outsiders.
However, their positions were perfectly placed to guard the tent's several exits.
The main tent was several times larger than the one where Aegon rested, and it had now been arranged for a feast.
Long wooden tables were laden with roasted meat, black bread, stews, and barrels of ale, their scents mingling.
More torches were set into the walls, illuminating the interior brightly.
Fifty or sixty people had already gathered inside, nearly all of them officers.
They stood or sat according to their rank or closeness, talking in low voices, their eyes frequently darting toward the head of the table.
As Harry led Aegon and Jon inside, all conversation ceased instantly, and countless gazes turned toward them in unison.
Curiosity, scrutiny, appraisal, eagerness, doubt... a myriad of expressions were present.
Under Jon's guidance, Aegon walked straight to the seat of honor but did not sit down immediately.
He stood there, his gaze calmly sweeping over everyone in the tent from beneath his hood.
Jon Clinton stood beside him, his eyes like a hawk's as they quickly scanned every face.
This time, everyone was here.
The deputy commanders, the commanders of various units, the key core members... especially those faces from deep within his memory who had once sworn fealty to the Blackfyre cause, were nearly all present.
Most of them stood near the front, their eyes burning as they gazed at the silver-haired figure at the head of the table.
Harry Strickland stood beside the seat of honor, his face flushed with excitement and a hint of nervousness.
He took a deep breath and clapped his hands loudly.
"Everyone!" his voice echoed in the silent main tent. "Tonight is a moment in the century-long history of our Golden Company that deserves to be remembered forever!"
He turned to face Aegon, struck his chest heavily with his right fist once more, and bowed deeply. Then he straightened up and spoke in a voice as solemn and resonant as possible:
"Let us, with the utmost respect, welcome our true commander, the rightful heir to the iron throne, 'Prince Aegon Targaryen'!"
The tent fell silent for a moment, then erupted into uneven but loud cheers and the sound of fists striking chests.
Many officers, particularly those of the Blackfyre faction, had a fanatical light in their eyes.
Harry was pleased with the effect. He waited for the noise to subside slightly, then stepped forward and solemnly took a sheathed, ancient-looking longsword from a personal guard beside him.
Blackfyre.
Holding the sword level with both hands, he walked toward Aegon step by step, then knelt on one knee and raised the longsword high above his head.
"Your Highness!" Harry's voice trembled slightly with emotion. He looked up at the blurred face in the shadow of the hood, using all his strength as if to pour the loyalty of four generations of his family into his next words:
"This sword is named 'Blackfyre'! It is a sacred relic that my strickland family has secretly guarded since Aegor Bittersteel! It is also the symbol of Lord Daemon Blackfyre's glory and bloodline!"
"Today, I, Harry Strickland, in the name of the Commander of the Golden Company and the name of strickland, here, witnessed by all my colleagues, present this sword to you—Prince Aegon Targaryen!"
As Harry's words fell, the tent became deathly silent.
Blackfyre.
Beneath the hood, Aegon's gaze fell upon the sword held high.
A hint of surprise crossed his mind—another ancestral sword of the Targaryens, and one of extraordinary significance.
His target had been the Golden Company, yet he had unexpectedly gained this weighty "gift."
The corners of Aegon's mouth curled upward, forming a dangerous arc.
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