[ GOT / ASOIAF : Magic Network ] Chapter 146 - 150

Chapter 146 - Contract Achieved

The great hall of Rain House stood undamaged amid the ruin.

Bathed in the intense glow of light magic, its stone walls and timber beams appeared more magnificent and radiant than ever, transformed into a palace where victors might gather to celebrate their triumph.

Yet the atmosphere was anything but jubilant.

Outside the hall, soldiers who had landed and entered the city still searched through the rubble, their voices calling for survivors rising and falling like the tide, occasionally pierced by screams of agony.

Within the hall, Joffrey sat high upon the lord's seat, claiming it as his own by right of conquest.

A cluster of generals and courtiers stood silent below the dais, their eyes fixed upon a mother and son who stood alone in the center of the hall.

Bran Stark, clad in mail and hardened leather, a cloak bearing the six-pointed star fastened at his shoulders, performed his duties as cupbearer, offering fine wine to the seated king. His gaze, too, drifted involuntarily toward the pair below.

This war was nothing like what Bran had imagined.

There were no gallant cavalry charges, no decisive clashes of steel against steel—only the terrible booming of ship's cannons filled with mysterious, terrifying power.

Bran's boyhood expectations lay shattered like the walls of Rain House.

Yet from another perspective, what he witnessed was even more awe-inspiring than he had originally envisioned, possessing a strange allure that was difficult to describe—more captivating than any view from a tower window or clash of swords.

Knights, magic, magic knights.

Bran knew he had climbed a higher tower than ever before and glimpsed a more distant world.

That world was full of the unknown and the magical, with endless treasures waiting to be explored and countless stories and legends yet to be written.

Bran could not turn away from such a future.

Indeed, he had formed an even grander dream: to become a Kingsguard whose deeds would fill the pages of history, to forge the name of a mighty magic knight, one that would echo even more resoundingly than that of the "Dragon Knight" himself.

Aboard the warship, Bran had believed this with all his heart.

And yet...

What Bran had seen and heard after entering Rain House City had cast a shadow over his soul.

The shattered stones and castle-shaking explosions were not all that the ship's cannons had wrought. There were scenes more terrible still, which men would be reluctant to recall in the years to come.

Bran was no stranger to blood.

He had watched his father's greatsword "Ice," dark as smoke, swing down to sever the head of a Night's Watch deserter. He had seen the man's blood splash across the snow, red as the summer wine that filled the cups of lords. Bran had stared unblinking at those crimson stains.

His martial training, his lessons in horsemanship and archery, the historical tales he had been told—all had taught him something of combat and death, preparing him to understand and accept the nature of dedication and sacrifice.

Bran knew well that war claimed lives—many, many lives.

Men would fight for their sworn liege lords, for the beliefs they held dear, for king and faith, for family and loved ones.

Death was worthy of fear, yet men had always found the courage to take up arms.

Such was the way of humanity.

Stories were born from war, history was forged in steel, and families rose to greatness through conflict.

But Bran had only now learned that when ship's cannons roared, castles and warriors alike were reduced to rubble—shattered in ways so ugly, so devoid of dignity.

War had changed.

Castles were no longer impregnable fortresses, the formidable obstacles described at length in countless wars and epic tales. They had become graveyards for their defenders, mere targets for the ship's cannons.

The very stones should weep at this truth.

Knights no longer died with longswords in hand, falling bravely with noble regret. They became mixtures of steel and flesh, heaps of mottled red mud, stripped of all emotion.

Such death was surely the most terrible of all.

Bran found his thoughts turning to Winterfell, wondering how many such attacks the ancient stronghold and its tenacious defenders might withstand.

Thankfully, it was but an idle fancy. Winterfell stood not as an enemy to these terrible weapons, and Sansa was to marry King Joffrey.

Rain House City was simply too unlucky—House Wylde had drawn the wrong lot.

Bran recalled the heraldry lessons of Maester Luwin: Wylde bore a blue-green whirlpool upon a field of gold, and their words were "Call the Wind and Rain."

Unfortunately, what had come this day was no ordinary storm, but an unprecedented deluge that had swept all before it.

Bran looked upon the mother and son in the hall with quiet pity.

Joffrey turned to the Hound and asked, "Sandor, has the late Lord Wylde no other heirs?"

The Hound glanced toward the doorway. "They're all dead."

Ser Garth Wylde, now castellan, added, "Apart from his cousin's family, the next in line is young Rickard."

Garth looked at the boy cradled in his mother's arms, his voice betraying the slightest tremor.

"Young Rickard's father perished in the earlier bombardment."

"Fortunately, Lady Alysanne Valping remains safe and sound. With his mother's careful guidance, young Rickard will surely grow to become a worthy lord, serving His Grace with unwavering loyalty."

The woman in the hall bowed with perfect respect, her movements neither too deep nor too shallow. No trace of resentment marred her features.

Joffrey knew this first step must be taken with smooth precision and careful forethought. Any misstep would inevitably spark more intense resistance and chaos.

Castellan.

Garth was of direct Wylde blood. Had he not joined the Kingsguard, he himself would now inherit the lordship of Rain House.

By naming him as the first castellan of Rain House City, voices of protest would be somewhat muted.

Similarly, Alysanne Valping's family, House Valping, dwelled far away in the Riverlands and wielded almost no influence over Rain House City.

As a widow with a fatherless child, bearing the taint of rebellion, it was already fortune beyond measure that they might retain their titles and wealth without being stripped of everything. How could they possibly demand true power to rule?

At least until Rickard came of age, this mother and son would never dare raise objection.

Five years would be ample time for Joffrey to achieve his aims.

Only a ceremony remained to seal the arrangement.

Joffrey looked down at the plainly dressed Alysanne Valping. "Lady Alysanne, do you consent to Ser Garth temporarily holding the title of 'Castellan' and administering the affairs of Rain House City on behalf of House Wylde?"

Alysanne Valping's tone was respectful. "It is an honor for young Rickard and Rain House City to have so worthy a man as Ser Garth to preside over our affairs."

Joffrey nodded faintly. "Good. House Wylde may live in peace, and Rain House City shall continue to function, fulfill its obligations, and assist in quelling the rebellion. I am satisfied."

This was Joffrey's design.

The nobility who had inherited their positions through generations would need only enjoy their wealth and honors, while castellans appointed directly by the crown would carry out royal decrees and guide the common folk.

For now, of course, it remained but a plan.

Given the inevitable backlash from entrenched powers and the abundance of talented men among the nobility, most new castellans would still be drawn from the houses of various lords.

Yet the most crucial change would remain:

The rulers would no longer be determined by the internal workings of individual houses, but by the will of the Iron Throne!

"Lord Rickard Wylde."

Joffrey beckoned to the boy of eleven years. "Step forward, accept your investiture, swear your oath, and secure the future of House Wylde."

Lady Alysanne encouraged her dazed son with a gentle look.

Rickard moved forward alone, approaching the king step by hesitant step. He knelt upon one knee, reciting the oaths he had heard others speak, binding himself and his house in a sacred contract.

Joffrey placed one hand upon the crown of the boy's head, letting it rest there for a long moment before withdrawing it.

"Contract achieved."

Chapter 147 - Combined Fleet

"As of now, we have rescued three hundred and seventy-five souls from Rain House City, with a total of one thousand four hundred and thirty-nine currently housed within the walls. All have been implanted with divine grace. Six hundred and twenty-one are fit to be incorporated into the auxiliary troop ranks."

Inside the great hall of Rain House, the quartermaster of the Logistics Bureau delivered his report with crisp precision.

"In addition, we have secured three hundred warhorses and military mounts, seven hundred pack oxen and horses, more than five thousand tons of wheat, grain, fish, and preserved meats, over three thousand weapons of war, one hundred sets of plate armor, and approximately two thousand other pieces of armor..."

Hundreds or thousands.

Joffrey had anticipated these numbers. The count of captives was hardly satisfactory, yet entirely normal for this era.

Sturdy stone castles, after all, seldom accommodated more souls than necessary.

To allow fortresses to operate with independence, maintain self-sufficiency, and reduce the consumption of stored provisions and wealth, the population of a castle was kept strictly functional.

Servants, grooms, cooks, maesters, septons, guards.

Under the premise of ensuring basic defensive capability, the fewer people within the walls, the longer a castle might withstand siege and the greater its chance of survival.

Were it not for the planned reinforcement northward, the population within Rain House City would have been smaller still.

As for the other spoils...

Weapons and armor scarcely warranted mention, fit only to serve as raw materials for the sorcerers' forges.

Horses and livestock were strategic assets in any war, yet they represented but a drop in the ocean for the massive force aboard the fleet—and were, in truth, somewhat antiquated.

Only the five thousand tons of grain held true value, sufficient to appease the smallfolk and win their loyalty.

In any age, common folk concerned themselves only with survival. Only when their most basic needs were met might they spare thought for who sat upon a throne or wielded authority in their name.

The people of Rain House City proved no exception to this rule.

Joffrey cast his gaze downward.

The newly appointed governor, Garth, stood beside the mother and son, plainly intent on smoothing relations.

Young Lord Rickard remained somewhat restrained and ill at ease, yet he showed no particular dislike for Garth, who shared his blood, and indeed seemed rather drawn to him.

Lady Alysanne, widowed by the assault, maintained a polite yet distant demeanor.

How interesting, Joffrey thought.

A Rain House City, a governor with the king's backing, a young lord with legitimacy, and a mature, comely noblewoman.

What an intriguing combination of characters.

Joffrey could almost foresee the complex grievances and entanglements, the love and hatred, the exquisite drama of power and emotion that House Wylde would endure in the years to come.

Yet none of it truly mattered.

The curtain of change had already risen. Garth's struggles and those of Rain House City would prove futile in the end. They could only become pawns advancing into battle, dedicating all their strength to the throne.

House Wylde of Rain House was the first, but it would not be the last.

More governors would soon be born throughout the realm.

Joffrey surveyed his generals, his eyes sharp. "Now we shall deploy the next phase of our battle plan."

All present stood straighter, their faces grave.

Silently, a dazzling light blossomed from nothing, and a map of Westeros appeared upon the floor of the Rain House hall.

At the far end of the chamber, young Lord Rickard Wylde gazed in blank astonishment at the magical, exquisitely detailed rendering. Unconsciously, he glanced toward his mother who stood beside him.

Lady Alysanne Valping struggled to maintain her composure and courtly manners, offering her son a reassuring smile.

As though he had received some manner of shield against fear, little Rickard turned his head with renewed confidence, curiously searching for Rain House City upon the map.

With the aid of words and symbols etched in light, Rickard found it swiftly.

On the eastern side of the entire map, upon the southern shore of a great bay, a small model of Rain House City stood at the northeastern corner of a large, jutting peninsula.

"Lord Valerian."

Hearing the king's summons, Munford Valerian stepped forward with a respectful bow.

Joffrey extended one finger and drew a line near Rain House City, bypassing Dorne to the south, directly to the Arbor in the southwestern corner of the map.

"The entire Third Fleet, reinforced by one thousand men from the Tenth Regiment of the Guards, shall express our friendship to Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor with all possible haste. You will secure his alliance and form a joint fleet to defend the realm's peace."

A joint fleet.

To eliminate hidden threats and strengthen naval power with the greatest speed—to deter both the lords of the Seven Kingdoms and powers across the Narrow Sea—Joffrey had long set his sights upon the Arbor.

Clearly, with the abilities of the sorcerers, the only factor that might restrict the fleet's development was the matter of skilled sailors and commanders.

Where might such talent be found in abundance?

Among existing fleets, of course.

And in present-day Westeros, only two formed and standardized naval forces existed: the Iron Fleet of the Iron Islands and the Redwyne Fleet of the Arbor.

The choice narrowed to these two powers.

The Iron Fleet remained hesitant in its allegiances, its loyalties unclear. It lay far away upon the Sunset Sea on the opposite side of the continent, holding the barren Iron Islands with their unruly, rebellious people.

From the perspectives of both threat and benefit, the Iron Fleet could not claim high priority.

By contrast, though the Redwyne Fleet of the Arbor had not yet participated in the war—restrained only because the Redwyne twins were held hostage in King's Landing—its political stance had always aligned with Houses such as Tyrell, Hightower, and Rowan. This represented a far greater potential threat to the throne.

At the same time, the discipline of the Redwyne Fleet surpassed that of the Iron Fleet by considerable measure. They were accustomed to obeying orders and thus more suited to incorporation within the battle formations of the Royal Fleet.

The influence and territory of House Redwyne also held more strategic value than the Iron Islands.

To subdue the Redwynes and claim their elite fleet would vastly increase the strength of the Royal Fleet. The entire coastline of Westeros would fall under royal control, and none would dare contemplate rebellion.

A joint fleet.

Joffrey was determined to secure it.

"Lord Valerian, your mission is of paramount importance. Do you have confidence in its success?"

Munford Valerian did not hesitate for even a heartbeat, offering his guarantee with fierce eagerness. "Your Grace, I assure you, I shall facilitate this alliance within a month's time!"

Lord Valerian seemed already to envision victory and glory beckoning.

Indeed, he had every reason for confidence.

The Third Fleet and the Tenth Regiment of the Guards might not sound particularly impressive to the uninitiated, but Lord Valerian knew the formidable strength of these forces intimately.

The expanded Royal Fleet had been divided into six sub-fleets. Excepting the Sixth Fleet, which remained stationed at Dragonstone, the remaining five fleets each comprised sixty elite warships, all equipped with ship-borne cannons.

Munford Valerian commanded the Third Fleet.

It boasted a total tonnage of twenty thousand, with three thousand crew members including six hundred sorcerers, one hundred priests, three hundred Holy Fire and Holy Shield warriors, and two hundred ship-borne cannons.

With this fleet alone, Munford Valerian felt confident he could reduce the Arbor to smoldering ash.

Not to mention the Tenth Regiment of the Guards.

During their time at sea, all members of the Guards had been granted the power of divine grace.

In practical terms, having the Tenth Regiment meant having one thousand holy warriors capable of landing operations.

How could the Arbor possibly resist? Munford truly could not imagine it.

Joffrey turned his gaze upon the Redwyne twins, one of whom wore a white cloak.

Chapter 148 - Summer Sea Guardian

The Redwyne twins looked remarkably alike, both with bright orange hair cropped short and square faces liberally dusted with freckles.

Yet all present could tell them apart with ease.

Clad in a white cloak and bearing a pure white shield emblazoned with the royal sigil, the Kingsguard among them was unmistakably Ser Hobber Redwyne, raised as the second son.

Horror Redwyne, whose breastplate bore the engraving of a purple grape cluster, bowed deeply.

"We await your commands, Your Grace."

Joffrey smiled faintly. "You two have lingered in King's Landing long enough. Why not journey home with Lord Velaryon and look upon your family seat once more? You can convey my warm regards to Lord Paxter."

The meaning could not have been plainer.

The Redwyne twins were being released!

To surrender such valuable hostages meant relinquishing important leverage. The king's decision should have shocked many present, prompting whispered counsel or silent doubt.

Yet none showed any strong reaction—not even Hobber and Horror themselves.

All understood the truth of matters.

The mighty fleet that rode the waves carried more weight than a thousand words, more direct and powerful than any hostage or promise.

Compared to the two hundred cannons of the Third Fleet, the Redwyne twins' personal inclinations were insignificant, and the attitude of the Arbor equally so.

After all, the Arbor's castle would prove no more difficult to breach than Rain House had been.

The Redwyne twins bowed as one. "We thank Your Grace for this consideration. Our father will surely recognize the Crown's sincere goodwill, come to his senses, and pledge his loyalty to the true king."

Joffrey nodded. "That would be best."

Having demonstrated power, it was now prudent to demonstrate grace.

Joffrey spoke generously: "Once the two fleets are joined as one, you brothers shall continue to command the ships that originally belonged to the Arbor. The island itself will become a permanent port for the Royal Fleet."

The Royal Fleet permanently stationed at the Arbor? Hobber and Horror remained silent, uncertain whether to express gratitude or voice their doubts about the feasibility of such an arrangement.

True, House Redwyne might be defeated and compelled to surrender, but could they truly accept a foreign fleet anchored in their waters?

The brothers could not say with certainty whether their father would tolerate such a presence.

Joffrey, however, felt confident in the generosity of his terms.

It was, after all, merely a matter of garrisoning troops.

Having witnessed the devastating power of the ship's cannons, Lord Paxter would naturally accept these conditions.

Moreover, should House Redwyne straighten their course and ally themselves firmly with the Iron Throne, this arrangement would cease to be a constraint or punishment. It would instead become a coveted reward and symbol of royal favor.

Yet to achieve this "should," some difficulty remained.

This "should" required House Redwyne to make their own choice between "king" and "liege lord."

Such decisions never came easily.

Joffrey understood well that before the gods bestowed their grace, no universally correct answer existed to the question: "Which holds greater sway—the king or the liege lord?"

Furthermore, the great houses of the Reach had long intermarried. In terms of affection, shared history, ancient contracts, and common interests, House Redwyne's first loyalty could only lie with House Tyrell, which stood for the Reach in its entirety.

How might the Reach—the most fertile and populous region in all the Seven Kingdoms—be sundered from its natural alliances?

It must be divided and conquered, each house broken down one by one.

The Arbor, isolated beyond the sea, presented the ideal point of breach in the Reach's defenses.

Joffrey continued: "All have witnessed the contributions of House Redwyne. They have cleared the waters of pirates, guarded vital trade routes, made the Summer Sea a thoroughfare to the south, and brought prosperity to all the people of the Seven Kingdoms."

The Redwyne twins knew not why he spoke thus, yet they recognized these words as mere prelude. What followed would reveal the king's true purpose.

Joffrey produced a rolled parchment sealed with crimson wax.

"The Crown shall not overlook lords who render such meritorious service. I hereby decree the title of 'Guardian of the Summer Sea' to Lord Redwyne, commissioned to guard our sea frontiers, defend against foreign enemies, and protect vital shipping lanes."

Hobber and Horror stood momentarily stunned. Many in the hall could not help but shift uneasily where they stood.

The Summer Sea extended eastward to the southern coast of Essos and southward to the northern shores of Sothoryos.

Westeros, Essos, and Sothoryos—the Summer Sea that lay between these three continents was vast and prosperous. Its waters might well match the entire continent of Westeros in area, if not exceed it.

What might the title "Guardian of the Summer Sea" truly signify? Did House Redwyne now lay claim to the entire Summer Sea and all its bounty?

All eyes turned to the king.

A question hung unspoken in the air: the Summer Sea belonged neither to Westeros nor to the Iron Throne.

Joffrey tossed the letter of appointment toward the twins. The Redwyne brothers hastened to catch it, nearly dropping the scroll in their eagerness.

Joffrey pointed to the center of the hall, where the map upon the floor had somehow transformed to depict the entire known world.

"Not only the Summer Sea," he declared. "With the grace of the gods, the Royal Fleet shall traverse every sea—the Narrow Sea, the Shivering Sea, the Jade Sea, the Sunset Sea, and realms more distant and unknown still."

"Before long, I fear we shall struggle to fill all posts as guardians of these waters."

All present suddenly realized the truth: who indeed could resist such an invincible fleet? The vast oceans of the world were about to fall under the dominion of the Seven Kingdoms!

The Redwyne brothers looked up at their king, expressions blank with wonder.

Joffrey spoke with clear command: "The position of 'Guardian of the Summer Sea' carries immense importance. You must persuade Lord Paxter to accept this appointment without delay, integrate our fleets as swiftly as possible, secure the seas, and proclaim our sovereignty over those waters."

The expressions in the Redwyne brothers' eyes spoke their answer more clearly than words.

Joffrey felt deep satisfaction. He had demonstrated his might with cannons and bestowed grace with dominion over the Summer Sea. How could House Redwyne possibly refuse such an offer?

The alliance of the Reach would soon begin to fracture.

Meanwhile, the changes wrought in the Stormlands would prove even more rapid and thorough.

Joffrey's will shifted, and the map upon the floor returned to depict only the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

The Redwyne twins retreated to the ranks of onlookers.

Joffrey traced new lines upon the map—south from Rain House, then westward, the lines half-encircling Cape Wrath before turning inland toward the west.

All present traced the path with their eyes.

The first location they passed was Greenstone on Estermont, the ancestral home of the king's grandmother's family.

Next came the Weeping Town held by House Whitehead, situated on the southern coast of Cape Wrath adjacent to the Sea of Dorne. As the largest trading settlement in the Stormlands, its wealth and prosperity made it well worth the effort to secure.

West of Weeping Town stood Stonehelm, where the Red Mountains met Cape Wrath, its castle guarding the mouth of the Slayne River.

Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard hailed from House Swann of Stonehelm.

West of Stonehelm lay Blackhaven, the stronghold of Lord Beric Dondarrion—a military fortress guarding the Boneway that led to Dorne.

And west of Blackhaven, marking the end of the projected route, stood Harvest Hall, the seat of House Selmy.

"Ser Barristan."

Joffrey turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who stood silently at his side.

"The entire Fourth Fleet under Lord Sunglass, together with the combined might of the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Regiments of the Guard, shall be placed under your command, Ser."

The spoils of victory would be one-third of the Stormlands.

Chapter 149 - King's Schedule

One-third of the Stormlands—or perhaps the whole of it.

Joffrey had not personally led this expedition merely to quell Renly's rebellion.

The Stormlands represented the sweetest prize of all.

Great destruction, great construction.

Though the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros endured periodic upheaval, their systems and hierarchies had long remained stable—rigid, even—and could scarcely be described as "greatly destroyed."

Consequently, any "great construction" proved equally difficult to achieve.

Even if Joffrey insisted on reforms, challenged the lords' authority, and overturned centuries of tradition, such actions would inevitably trigger prolonged turmoil and deepen divisions within the realm.

True, the Holy War Army's military might and the illumination of the Divine Grace Aura could ensure the suppression of any rebellion or conspiracy.

But they could not convince every heart.

Should matters progress along such a path, Joffrey's rule would grow ever more troublesome: either beheading malcontents day after day, or engaging in endless battles of wits with courtiers skilled in masking their true thoughts.

Similarly, if power remained dispersed, the path to expansion and conquest would inevitably meet delays—or worse, stagnation.

That would be insufferably tedious.

By fortunate coincidence, the Stormlands and the Reach had launched their rebellion, creating the perfect opportunity to shatter the status quo.

War would bring great chaos.

Great destruction, great construction.

The lords of the Reach would not resist to the bitter end—the region remained, after all, the granary of the Seven Kingdoms—making it ill-suited for wholesale devastation. Joffrey's plan for the Reach involved gradual disintegration and division.

The elevation of House Redwyne and his designs against Houses Tyrell, Hightower, and Rowan served as prime examples.

The Stormlands, however, presented a different case entirely.

Not only did the Stormlands lie closest to the Crownlands, but Joffrey himself stood as rightful heir following Renly's inevitable demise.

With justice on his side and irresistible force at his command, how simple and satisfying would it be to reform these lands? Who could question his authority?

After all, both Lord of the Stormlands and King of the Seven Kingdoms would be one and the same: Joffrey Baratheon.

Though the contracts between lord and vassal still imposed many limitations, allowing lords to maintain considerable independence and resist even powerful overlords...

In name, at least, Joffrey's right to intervene remained significant—and conveniently ambiguous.

Add to this the special conditions of wartime, alongside overwhelming military force and the vast power of divine grace.

Past traditions and systems would prove vulnerable indeed.

Great destruction, great construction.

The future imperial system would first take root in the Stormlands, gradually spreading outward until it encompassed all Seven Kingdoms of Westeros—and perhaps the wider world beyond.

To achieve this grand vision, Joffrey had formulated a comprehensive plan with precise timetables.

Secure the entire Stormlands within a month.

Control every castle and town within two months, establishing a new system of governance.

Before year's end, implant the Divine Grace Core in every soul in the Stormlands, using this to monitor population movements, extend the intelligence network, and eradicate rebels and bandits.

Within a year, transform both Crownlands and Stormlands beyond recognition.

By then, the reborn Stormlands would serve as template and benchmark for all Seven Kingdoms: powerful, prosperous, stable, and harmonious. The lords would bow in fearful respect, while common folk across the realm would yearn for similar transformation, embracing change with open arms.

By then, Joffrey's centralization and reforms would no longer appear as mad fantasies out of step with the times, nor arrogant defiance of fate itself.

They would represent the unstoppable tide of the future—destiny made manifest!

The solid foundation for realizing this vision lay in the rich harvest of magical knowledge and popular support that Joffrey had cultivated these past months.

At present, no fewer than four thousand sorcerers operated within King's Landing. Various departments—the Research Institute, Logistics Bureau, Engineering Bureau, and more—functioned at full capacity, building new fleets, developing equipment, stockpiling materials, implementing projects, and training fresh troops.

The King's Landing that greeted its citizens each morning appeared more magnificent and glorious than the day before. Commerce flourished; food, clothing, shelter, and transport grew ever more abundant and convenient.

Beggars, gangs, bandits, and vagrants had vanished from King's Landing's streets.

Children and youths learned in schools established under the Divine Grace Aura or the Ministry of Education, without payment of tuition. Those who signed contracts to serve the royal family received three meals daily.

People with skills could join various departments or industries under royal authority.

Once selected, they received not only wages but also food and lodging. Meals were unlimited, and accommodations stood tall and spacious as castles, housing thousands.

Those possessing only physical strength could still find places in the Logistics Bureau, Engineering Bureau, or Army Department—guaranteeing, at minimum, basic necessities.

Even the disabled or gravely ill needed only sign a contract, and priests from the palace would heal them completely. None need worry about their future livelihood. Adults received proper placement; they need only obey and set aside their concerns.

People had never beheld such a King's Landing. So long as one worked diligently, starvation became impossible!

The Holy Mother is merciful!

Gods bless us all!

The populace believed wholeheartedly in their God-chosen king, grateful beyond measure.

And yet, such a King's Landing represented merely the beginning.

Construction of the Holy City continued without pause. Magical creations emerged with increasing frequency. Merchants and travelers arriving at the gates found themselves entranced, reluctant to depart for fear of losing such a beautiful dream.

The port outside the city walls stood piled high with timber. In the blink of an eye, exquisite new warships took shape from scattered wood, sliding steadily into waiting waters.

In mere days, a new Royal Fleet had nearly materialized.

Without question, once sufficient sailors could be trained, warships would soon fill the entire Blackwater Rush. Renly's rebels would abandon all thought of crossing—not a single man would dare.

Of course, most believed the new fleet would never see combat.

After all, the God-chosen king himself led the invincible fleet to sea.

Having witnessed the power and magic of Divine Grace, most residents of King's Landing had shed their worries regarding Renly's rebellion, pledging firm support to the Iron Throne and dedicating themselves wholeheartedly to its cause.

The hearts of the people belonged to the royal family.

In matters of magic, though the Holy War Army in King's Landing could not expand further during Joffrey's absence, other developments continued apace.

Ten warships maintained constant connection between King's Landing and the fleet, traveling back and forth daily.

Joffrey received newly created rune energy from the capital in timely fashion, while sending various magical creations in return: Wishing Stones, Monitors, Information Modification Devices, and more.

Thus, the number of those Blessed by Divine Grace in King's Landing grew steadily.

Key equipment for each department remained sufficient.

Broadly speaking, King's Landing thrived: safe, prosperous, powerful, and resolute—more than capable of supporting the transformation of the Stormlands.

Meanwhile, the Royal Fleet would pioneer these changes across Storm's End and its tributary lands.

Three hundred warships, a thousand rune-engraved cannons, nearly twenty thousand crew members, and ten thousand magical guards.

This represented both vast fortune and overwhelming force.

Each day, the rune energy generated by sorcerers aboard the fleet sufficed to create thousands of Wishing Stones, supplying tens of thousands of Divine Grace Cores.

After transforming twenty thousand crew members into Holy War Army soldiers, this number would double.

Such abundant rune energy would more than suffice to provide Divine Grace Core infusions for the millions dwelling in the Stormlands before year's end.

The sole premise: seize and control the Stormlands. Advance, occupy, and complete the conquest.

Joffrey cast his gaze over the assembled crowd below.

Chapter 150 - March to Storm's End

"Ser Barristan Swann."

Joffrey called forth one of the white-cloaked Kingsguard from the assembled ranks.

Several members of the Kingsguard had accompanied him on this expedition.

"I appoint you Castellan of Stonehelm. You shall sail with the Fourth Fleet to appease House Swann and its people, and persuade Lord Gulian Swann to see reason."

Joffrey's instruction came gentle but firm. "Try to avoid bloodshed, on both sides."

The burly Barristan Swann possessed a face both loyal and youthful despite his years. He bowed with unexpected grace and composure.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Following the unexpected death of Ser Arys Oakheart, Barristan Swann—who had remained at the Red Keep in service to the royal family—had taken his place among the sacred seven.

After the Kingsguard's expansion to seventy-seven, Barristan Swann had risen with the tide, promoted to squad leader with command of ten noble-born companions.

These were fortunes beyond imagining.

Yet the times changed too swiftly, too unexpectedly. Barristan Swann often felt adrift in unfamiliar waters.

He could only fulfill the ancient duties of the Kingsguard: protect, remain silent, and maintain unwavering loyalty. He would watch with his eyes and listen with his ears, never speaking or expressing opinions of his own unless the king directly commanded it.

Though his career as a Kingsguard had been brief, he had already learned much, understood much, and buried even more questions within his heart.

Now, he understood something else as well:

His father had likely foreseen all this when he had urged him to serve at the Red Keep.

Thinking of his elder brother Donnel, now serving in Renly's war tent, and of the terrible cannons and Holy Warriors that served the king, Barristan Swann did not know whether to rejoice or despair at his fortune.

A further doubt gnawed at him:

Could even seventy-seven Kingsguard truly satisfy the king's ambitions?

Barristan Swann's inner turmoil remained invisible to those around him. The king's voice continued, steady and resolute.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion."

"I appoint you Castellan of Blackhaven, to appease its people, administer its governance, and care for House Dondarrion."

The words seemed somewhat redundant.

Yet this was Joffrey's will, and more would follow.

"From this day forth, half the annual tax revenue shall remain at House Dondarrion's disposal, while the other half shall serve the needs of the castellan and various administrators."

"Other castellans shall follow this example."

The king's pronouncement sent immediate shock through all who heard it. Another upheaval in the making!

All eyes darted toward Beric Dondarrion. The Lord of Blackhaven had already pledged allegiance to the king, yet now he would serve as castellan as well, and tax revenues would be divided in two.

Gods...

Even eleven-year-old Rickard Wylde clutched anxiously at his mother's sleeve.

Lord Beric Dondarrion's expression remained resolute. "House Dondarrion shall ever be loyal to Your Grace. I am grateful for Your Grace's trust in entrusting me with the important duty of castellan. I shall certainly do all within my power to instruct the people and manage these lands in Your Grace's name."

Joffrey nodded with evident satisfaction. "With Lord Beric's loyalty and ability, I can rest easy indeed."

He looked around the hall, smiling at the respectful faces of those assembled. "Loyal and capable men shall all find suitable positions."

The crowd exchanged thoughtful glances.

"Lord Beric has proven both loyal and capable. He is hereby specially appointed as 'Lifetime Castellan of Blackhaven.' All territorial affairs shall be managed by the castellan until his final resignation."

Beric Dondarrion offered a calm salute of gratitude. "I shall not hesitate in Your Grace's service."

Castellan. Lifetime Castellan. Beric Dondarrion could scarcely imagine what waves these brand-new titles might cause in years to come.

At the very least, Blackhaven might find stability.

Might it truly? Beric stepped back into the ranks, studying the king's face yet finding himself unable to discern the true intent behind that measured smile.

Joffrey turned to his left.

"Ser Barristan, you shall serve as commander-in-chief of this force, and also as Lifetime Castellan of Harvest Hall."

Barristan Selmy's face grew grave, his brows furrowing as though he meant to speak. Joffrey raised a hand to forestall him.

"Ser, pray do not decline. Your great contributions and outstanding abilities are evident throughout the realm. None could possibly find fault with a knight of your stature governing Harvest Hall."

"Besides," Joffrey indicated the six-pointed star upon his cloak.

"With the Grace of the Gods light screen, you may manage the affairs of Harvest Hall from the Red Keep without neglecting your duties as Kingsguard."

Barristan Selmy found himself at a loss for words. Should he plead with the king to spare the rebellious Selmy family?

Harvest Hall.

Am I to govern Harvest Hall?

Memories surged unbidden through Barristan Selmy's mind.

In his youth, he had surrendered his right to inherit Harvest Hall, given up the woman to whom he had been betrothed, and chosen to join the Kingsguard.

The lordship had passed to his cousin, and House Selmy had continued.

For decades now, he had won countless honors and become known as one of the greatest knights the realm had ever produced.

He had earned the glorious epithet "Barristan the Bold," respected throughout the Seven Kingdoms, with songs sung of his deeds.

He had never regretted his choice.

And yet, he had missed his family. The current head of House Selmy would have to call him "Great Uncle," and now he would return to Harvest Hall as its governor?

Should I refuse?

Would the king accept such refusal? Or would he simply appoint another castellan? And if so, who?

Many potential candidates stood present, yet Barristan Selmy could not believe any of them qualified to govern Harvest Hall and care for House Selmy.

In the end, he held his tongue.

"Ser Barristan, your specific tasks are as follows." Joffrey gestured to the map upon the hall's floor.

The marching route glowed brighter as the king spoke.

"Greenstone, on Estermont, faces the sea directly. Station warships there to coordinate supplies. House Estermont should not refuse."

All present understood the cruel consequences should they do so.

"Weeping Town, held by House Whitehead, boasts prosperous trade and a spacious harbor. The Fourth Fleet shall be stationed here, transferring personnel, conveying supplies, overseeing trade, and providing combat support."

The bright spot upon the route moved to Stonehelm, farther west.

"Stonehelm stands at the mouth of the Slayne River. Send warships northward along the river, bringing the Seventh Regiment of the City Watch close to Crow's Nest and Mistwood."

The commander of the Seventh Regiment was Theon Greyjoy.

"The Eighth and Ninth Regiments shall follow Ser Barristan and Lord Beric to garrison Blackhaven and Harvest Hall, organize these territories, and mobilize resources. Prepare to strike southward at Nightsong and northward at Haystack Hall, threaten Highgarden, and monitor the rebel army at Bitterbridge and intelligence from the Grassy Vale."

At last, all understood the king's design. These territories formed an east-west line that effectively divided the Stormlands, isolated Dorne to the south, and drove a blade into the Reach to the west.

Besieged on all sides.

Yet with Holy Warriors as the spearpoint, this strategy represented a direct thrust into the enemy's heart.

"Ser Davos Seaworth, the Fifth Fleet and the Sixth Regiment shall sail along this route." A new pathway appeared upon the map.

Jon Snow, hearing mention of his Sixth Regiment, observed the map with renewed attention.

This route sailed westward from Rain House, traversing the entire northern shore of Cape Wrath before terminating at Griffin's Roost. Combined with Ser Barristan's route, it neatly encircled all of Cape Wrath.

"Garrison Amberly of House Rogers along the way—Ser Davos's family castle—as well as Griffin's Roost of House Connington. Be certain to secure the transportation routes, subdue these castles, and then stand ready at Griffin's Roost."

"You depart at dawn."

"The remaining warships and City Watch shall follow me." Joffrey rose to his feet.

"We march on Storm's End."