Night ca quietly to Dragon-Tongue Farm.
Daeron stretched out on his bed, the red gleam of the furnace still flickering through the window.
"What a day."
He yawned, his muscles pleasantly sore.
Through the open shutters he could see the lines of orange-gold where the four furnaces burned. After bidding farewell to Lord Owen, he'd spent the entire afternoon in the mines.
With Neptune's Greatsword in hand, he'd carved his way down to Level 25—and, thanks to his Lucky Ring, the ores had practically rolled to et him.
Copper, coal, stone, quartz—piles of it.
On the table lay his newest discoveries from treasure chests:
Leather Boots: 1 Defense / 1 Immunity
Steel Rapier (Lv. 1): 4–8 damage, 0.02 crit rate, 2 Speed
Rewards from the 10th and 20th floors.
"Not bad," he murmured, satisfied, already planning how to use them.
After a long day of labor, sleep claid him quickly.
"Ti to rest."
He set the dragon egg beside his pillow and drifted off.
---
2:00 a.m.
The farm was silent. The ovens cooled with a final hiss.
Then—
flutter-flutter…
A soft shimr approached from the darkness: a dancing mote of light.
"hee-hee."
A tiny sprite fluttered down over the strawberry field, waving a silver wand. Sparkling dust fell like dew, glimring on the newly planted seeds.
At once, the soil shimred with green light, life bursting beneath the surface.
With a giggle, the sprite vanished into the wind.
---
Spring 14 — Sunday — Windy — 6:30 a.m.
"Ah~ slept like a baby."
Daeron stepped outside and… froze.
"What in the Seven—did I trigger a fairy event again?"
Instinctively, he touched the Lucky Ring on his finger.
A third of his strawberry patch—previously just sprouts—now blood with lush green vines and ripe, ruby-red fruit.
No hesitation.
Hat on, basket in hand, the farr-prince sang as he worked.
"Strawberry harvest~ strawberry harvest~ strawberry harvest~"
The refrain bounced through the field as his hands moved swiftly, plucking berry after berry, each as big as his fist, fresh and glossy with dew.
Ding!
His panel flashed:
> You might want to reflect on so things today.
Farming Level Up — Level 4
Daeron grinned. "One step closer to the realm's richest man."
---
When he finished, he had 16 strawberries:
13 common
3 silver-star quality
The yield was low for a miracle crop—but he had no complaints.
By schedule, strawberries weren't due until the 21st and 25th of Spring, two harvests per season.
But this secret third batch changed the math completely.
At this rate, they'd regrow on the 18th, 22nd, and 26th of the month—three more harvests before the season ended.
16 plants × 4 harvests = 64 berries
At a base price of 120 gold each—nearly 8,000 gold.
Enough to build a barn (6,000 gold 350 wood 150 stone) and buy a cow (1,500 gold).
Spring would end with the farm self-sufficient and wealthy.
Daeron laughed aloud. "Perfect!"
The remaining 29 plants would mature later, their first harvest adding another 7,000 gold by month's end.
Plenty to upgrade tools.
He scribbled the numbers:
Copper Pickaxe: 5 Copper Bars 2,000 gold
Iron Pickaxe: 2 Iron Bars 5,000 gold
A basic pick barely worked past Level 40; an iron one could reach Level 120.
"The future's bright," he told the field. "No slacking now."
He set aside the three silver-quality strawberries—for family and himself—and stored the others for later sale.
Once he hit Farming Level 5, he'd choose his first profession:
> [Rancher] — Livestock products 20% value
> [Tiller] — Crops 10% value
He would pick Tiller, obviously. A short-term profit booster.
Then he'd sell everything at a premium.
---
King's Landing — Silk Street Tavern
In a dark corner over mugs of ale, a conversation began that might one day change the City Watch.
Ser Aliser Thorne sat alone in black leather, nursing a cup of rye beer when a big-shouldered man plopped down opposite him.
"Aliser, word is you paid Owen rryweather a fat bribe. What did you buy yourself—ruin?"
The speaker was Ser Jerimy Rykker of Maidenpool, loud, broad, and as subtle as a warhamr.
Aliser barely glanced up, then took the man's second mug and drank it without asking.
"Jerimy," he said flatly, "you understand nothing."
Rykker laughed. "Everyone knows Owen's an idiot with coin. You feed him silver, he feeds you dust. What next, you'll sell your spurs too?"
He ant no harm—just had no filter—a trait that had already earned Tywin Lannister's scorn.
Aliser ignored him and savored his drink.
Rykker leaned forward. "You're too quiet. We served together at Crakehall. What's the plan—you staying in the capital or chasing so debt?"
Aliser smiled slowly. "I already found a lord worth serving."
"What?" Rykker blinked.
"I t Prince Daeron Targaryen," Aliser said, his voice low but full of pride. "The rumors are true—Owen rryweather and the Prince work closely. I followed that path and earned an audience."
Rykker seed ready to envy him to death.
"The Prince fed fish," Aliser continued dreamily, "a fish so rich with life energy that just a bite made feel awake for the first ti in years."
Rykker slamd his palm on the table. "Then introduce ! You must! He's the future, Aliser!"
House Rykker of Duskendale was loyal to the crown, and Jerimy was no fool politically—the Mad King raved, Rhaegar hid on Dragonstone, but the younger prince was busy doing.
And in King's Landing, action was everything.
"You want the Prince's favor?" Aliser stood, his new steel rapier catching torchlight. "Then earn it."
"Join the City Watch."
Rykker hesitated. "The Gold Cloaks?"
"Exactly." Aliser's eyes shone. "There are more like us—n of talent and nothing else—who need a future. Daeron will rebuild them in his image. Let the leeches and cowards rot. We'll take their place."
With that, he walked away.
Rykker watched him go, mouth half-open, muttering the words as if tasting fate itself.
"The City Watch…"
---
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