GOT: Molten Crown Chapter 28: Rewards

Paxter, curious about the "old veteran's" response, perked up his ears and listened closely.

"We might not win," the old soldier said, "but the Targaryens are definitely going to lose."

The younger soldiers clearly didn't understand what he ant.

With a cunning and smug look, the seasoned man swept his gaze over the group and added, "There's no one in the Seven Kingdoms who still supports the Targaryens.

Even their closest vassals, the Velaryons, have already pledged allegiance to King Robert. "

"An entire continent going after one island— even if we fail to take Dragonstone this ti, or the next ti, the ti after that— the Targaryens won't be able to hold out forever.

Ti is not on their side."

In truth, the old veteran's thoughts mirrored Paxter's perfectly.

The only difference was that the old soldier believed that glory and honor belonged to the lords.

While Paxter believed glory and honor belonged to Robert. Eliminating the Targaryens— that was Robert's business. It had nothing to do with him.

The upcoming battle was just a formality.

As for those two thousand n Robert had cramd into the fleet, Paxter had plenty of ways to keep them from finding fault with anything.

.....

anwhile, on Dragonstone, similar conversations were taking place.

Though the soldiers of the island's fleet believed they could win the coming battle— after all, they had the Sword of the Morning, and now not three but four Kingsguard leaders— the long-term outlook was grim.

Pitting the strength of one island against the might of the Seven Kingdoms-- Unless the Targaryens could once again summon three dragons like during Aegon the Conqueror's ti.

And not just any dragons, but ones large enough to swallow a wagon whole— they didn't stand much of a chance.

Even without considering dragons, Viserys's situation was worse than Aegon's ever was. Aegon had faced a fractured Westeros. Viserys now faced a united alliance.

"It's Ser Gerold Hightower!"

"The White Bull! It's the White Bull Gerold!"

"The Sword of the Morning! The Sword of the Morning!"

"And Ser Oswell too!"

Under the escort of Gerold and the others, Viserys arrived at the harbor encampnt.

Yet compared to the young king himself, it was the renowned Kingsguard that drew everyone's attention. No one truly wanted to be led into battle by a child barely past the age of milk.

Even if he was the king.

Gerold and Arthur flanked him on either side, while Oswell followed behind, carrying the black banner of the three-headed dragon.

The three of them ford a triangular formation, protecting Viserys in the center.

He could feel the doubt in the soldiers' eyes.

But there was nothing he could do— not everyone could be blessed with the stature of an eight-year-old built like a grown man.

He didn't plan to say much.

Just laying out the rewards and punishnts for the coming battle would be enough. They made their way to the main camp, and soon the captains from each warship arrived to report.

Though they were respectful in attitude, Viserys knew it was largely due to the presence of Gerold and the others.

Clearing his throat, he began:

"Captains, the usurper Robert is about to invade Dragonstone. Forr allies have turned into enemies.

But it doesn't matter. The Dragonstone fleet is the most powerful navy in Westeros. Our stores are plentiful— enough to last ten years.

And I've sent you outstanding commanders like Ser Gerold. We will drive back the usurper's forces!"

As he gave his speech, Viserys suddenly rembered the tis he gave pep talks to his students when he was a teacher— before exams or before sports day. Always focus on strengths, not weaknesses.

"Long live His Grace! We will win this war!"

"Drive back the usurper!"

"Yes!"

The captains' responses weren't enthusiastic, but they were passable.

Gerold snuck a glance at Viserys. Everyone here was at least three tis his age— even the youngest among them.

For him to speak clearly in front of all these people was impressive in itself. What was more surprising was that he had even managed to lift morale, if only a little.

Arthur felt the sa.

He thought to himself that if Rhaegar could see Viserys now, he would be comforted. Then again, since Rhaegar could see dreams, maybe he was watching even now.

Viserys continued:

"Captains, I want your word— I will not be stingy with rewards.

I want you to inform your n: for every enemy killed, the reward is ten gold dragons. Sink or capture an enemy ship, and the captain will be granted the title of landed knight!

Those who already hold knighthood— I'll grant them a second fiefdom, one their sons can inherit!"

Knighthood for killing enemies?

Over a hundred captains instinctively swallowed hard.

Many of them looked at Viserys as though he were a naked, irresistible temptation. As if the doors to a higher class had just swung wide open before them.

This reward system was sothing Viserys had worked out in advance with Gerold and Rhaella.

At present, the Targaryens had almost no resources left.

The only thing they could still offer was the power to bestow titles. And a landed knight was the lowest rank of nobility. Handing out a few ant very little.

So even believed that after three hundred years, the Targaryens couldn't possibly collapse overnight.

What they didn't understand was how terrifying a reward system based on military rit could be. If they had, neither Rhaella nor Gerold would have allowed Viserys to unleash this beast of war.

"Your Grace, what if I manage to sink two enemy ships?"

A captain in his early forties spoke up. His scalp was bald, but his face bore no wrinkles.

"Then I'll give you two knighthood fiefs."

"And five ships?"

"In that case, I'll grant you a barony."

"What about ten?" soone jeered from the crowd.

Gerold shot the man a sharp glance, and he imdiately lowered his head.

Viserys looked coldly at the heckler and asked:

"What's your na?"

The man who had been joking felt a chill run down his back. His heart pounded in panic. Those nearby quickly distanced themselves from him, realizing he had just offended the king.

He suddenly felt as if he were a brittle weed caught in a winter wind— completely alone.

"I said, what's your na?"

Viserys asked again, his tone emotionless.

Gerold glanced at the king, thinking that making an example of one captain might not be a bad idea.

The brown-haired man, who looked no older than thirty, stamred nervously:

"Your Grace… I… I'm Ock Waters."

Waters— the surna of a royal bastard from the Crownlands.

"Ock, is it? Then let tell you— if anyone dares claim they'll sink ten ships, I'd rather they just get lost. I can't stand braggarts!"

No one had expected the king to suddenly curse. They were stunned for a mont— then burst into laughter.

anwhile, Gerold and the others looked at Viserys with newfound admiration.

[Objective: Repel the Redwyne Fleet]

[Participation: 65%]