The setting sun struggled to sar its final streak of crimson across the wasteland on the southern shore of the God's Eye, intertwining with the dark-red bloodstains that had soaked deep into the soil. The entire world felt desolate and heavy with killing intent.
The once-noisy battlefield gradually fell silent. Only the groans of the wounded, the boisterous shouts of the victors clearing the field, and the ominous cawing of crows beginning to gather remained.
This was war—a real war. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, red, white, black… the stench of blood hung in the air like sothing solid.
Casualty figures were quickly tallied by Arthur and several newly appointed scribes, then presented to Luke.
On the coalition side, more than six hundred had died on the spot. Another three hundred or so succumbed to mortal wounds or were killed during the pursuit, for a total of nearly one thousand enemy dead.
Fewer than one hundred were taken prisoner—mostly wounded n who could not flee or soldiers whose spirits had been completely broken.
As for the nobles who had joined the coalition, Count Harroway and two other barons were captured alive amid the chaos. Most of the lesser lords and knights had died in the rout; only a handful managed to slip away.
The Jaqenion side had also suffered serious losses.
The rcenaries took the heaviest casualties: more than two hundred dead or too badly wounded to fight again, plus another hundred lightly injured.
These battle-hardened cutthroats had fought without fear for the promise of gold dragons, but they had paid in blood.
The Jaqenion Family Guard, on whom Luke had placed high hopes, perford far better than expected in their first real bloodbath. Their discipline and tenacity held firm, yet they still lost more than forty dead and over a hundred wounded. Most of the rest suffered only light injuries thanks to their excellent plate armor.
The kill ratio reached 1:25… the foreign rcenary legion was not counted in the "core" losses. If they died, they died. They were not true insiders, lacked any real sense of honor or belonging, and were ultimately expendable.
Compared to the enemy numbers and the outco, these figures were already miraculous. Yet every single life lost still weighed heavily on Luke's modern heart.
He was not a man who reveled in slaughter…
On a hastily cleared patch of ground, several bound and bloodied nobles—armor askew, faces sared with dirt and terror—were roughly dragged before Luke.
Luke had already removed his bloodstained golden helt, but the rest of his armor was still covered in dark-red gore. Under the setting sun it had lost its forr brilliance and now radiated the suffocating aura of soone who had walked straight out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
He looked like a living god of slaughter.
Count Harroway was a far cry from the commanding figure he had been earlier. He knelt on the ground, his fat body trembling, tears and snot streaming down his face as he kowtowed desperately. "My lord Baron! Lord Luke! Spare ! I was wrong! I was blind! I offended you! I will make ands! I will pay ransom! Any amount! Just spare my worthless life!"
Beside him, Baron Willow seed to have suffered a ntal breakdown. His eyes were vacant as he muttered over and over, "Demons… magic… they're all demons… one flash and n die… demons…"
"You are the demon!"
Baron Loren's face was deathly pale, teeth chattering. He stared at Luke as though looking at a man-eating beast.
Luke walked forward slowly. His cold tal boots stopped right in front of Count Harroway.
He said nothing. He simply lifted one foot and pressed the blood- and mud-caked sole of his boot lightly onto the count's tear-streaked, dirt-covered fat face, applying just enough pressure.
"Ugh…"
Count Harroway let out a muffled grunt but dared not struggle. The fear in his eyes was about to overflow.
"Want to die," Luke said, his voice low yet as cold and hard as the tal under his boot, piercing straight into the man's soul, "or want to live?"
Those simple words made Harroway's soul tremble.
He could clearly sll the blood and dirt on the sole, feel the icy tal against his skin, and sense the naked killing intent behind every word.
"I want to live! I want to live! My lord! I want to live!"
Count Harroway almost scread the words, kowtowing frantically, his forehead striking the ground with dull thuds.
"I will give you anything! Ransom! Compensation! My lands, my wealth, everything! Just na your price! Only spare my wretched life!"
Looking at Luke's impossibly young face—now carved from ice—and the undisguised mocking smile at the corner of his mouth, Count Harroway's last psychological defenses shattered completely.
He clutched at the final straw and blurted out a secret he would never have revealed under normal circumstances:
"My lord! None… none of this was my idea! It was Petyr! It was the Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish!"
"He… he hinted to that you were filthy rich and far from King's Landing—a fat piece of at… He said if I took the lead, contacted a few houses, and applied pressure to force you to share the profits, he would speak for us before the king afterward. He even… even hinted that so of your lands might… be divided among us! I… I was bewitched by him! My lord, you must see the truth!"
Luke's eyes narrowed slightly. He laughed coldly in his heart.
Petyr Baelish—"Littlefinger"—really had been pulling strings behind the scenes.
This had been both a test of whether Luke could still be controlled after leaving King's Landing and a calculated move to kill with a borrowed knife while taking a cut of the spoils.
If it succeeded, Petyr could indirectly control or influence this rising fief and its "magical" profits.
If it failed, he would lose only a few greedy fools, weaken so disobedient lords through Luke's hand, and perhaps even deepen the conflict between Luke and the Riverlands/Crownlands nobility, allowing him to profit from the chaos.
A truly masterful sche.
But Luke had no ti to dwell on Littlefinger right now.
He needed to settle the imdiate situation first.
"Ransom?"
Luke lifted his foot, tone flat. "Of course you will pay. You and these two…"
Westeros had a very special custom—the "ransom culture." Defeated lords could buy their lives with gold.
Luke did not particularly approve of this "ransom culture." As a man from the Dragon Kingdom, he carried a deep-seated ruthlessness that favored "better to shatter as jade than remain whole as tile."
He pointed contemptuously at the other two shell-shocked nobles. "Each of you will pay one hundred thousand gold dragons, or goods of equal value—grain, iron, horses. You have one month. Your families will deliver it. Paynt received, you go free. If you miss the deadline or try any tricks, you will remain here forever—as fertilizer for the fish in the God's Eye."
"One hundred thousand?!"
Count Harroway sucked in a sharp breath. Even if he sold his entire family, it would not be enough!
…
It was still not the right ti to march on their hos and give them the "nine-clan elimination" package… otherwise the Tullys, Arryns, and the Crownlands lords would certainly use it as an excuse to pressure him jointly. Better to collect a round of "ransom" first.
After dealing with the prisoners, Luke imdiately moved to fulfill the promises he had made before the battle.
He knew that credibility was the foundation for winning hearts and maintaining morale.
A man without trust cannot stand!
In front of the entire army—including the rcenaries—Arthur and his clerks publicly counted out and distributed the gold dragons.
Ten gold dragons for every man who fought, ten more for every confird kill, double battle rits and triple death benefits for the guard…
Heavy sacks of gold coins were handed over or recorded in the nas of the fallen families.
For the families of the dead guards, besides generous compensation, Luke additionally promised priority allocation of the first batch of standard houses being built in Draco, plus a dium-sized plot of farmland for each household with taxes waived for the first three years.
These promises were announced aloud and recorded officially.
The soldiers who received their gold bead with joy; their fatigue and wounds seed lighter.
The rcenaries in particular, staring at the gleaming coins in their hands, felt that the battle—however brutal—had been worth it.
Their respect for Lord Jaqenion's "word is law" and generosity grew even deeper.
That night, Luke ordered a grand feast for the entire army.
Large quantities of Blue Star at and even fresh vegetables and fruits were taken from the mysterious space, combined with locally slaughtered livestock, and turned into a lavish spread.
Even more intoxicating, barrels of the "magic series" wines—worth their weight in gold on the market—were brought out and served without limit!
"Long live the baron!"
"For Jaqenion! For gold dragons!"
Bonfires blazed across the camp. The aroma of at and wine filled the air. Cheers, songs, and boasts rang out endlessly.
The joy of victory, the excitent of surviving, and the anticipation of future rewards blended together.
Even the grief for the fallen seed temporarily washed away by the festive atmosphere.
With tangible wealth and enjoynt, Luke quickly healed the wounds of war and turned the fruits of victory into even stronger cohesion.
However, this battle on the southern shore of the God's Eye—though not massive in scale—had been strangely decisive. Its impact spread like a boulder dropped into a still lake, sending ripples across the entire Seven Kingdoms.
Ravens carrying urgent ssages flapped away in every direction.
Spies planted by nobles, rchant guilds, and even the Citadel in the Riverlands or those monitoring the situation sent the news back at the fastest speed.
The timing of each house receiving the report varied according to distance.
In the Red Keep of King's Landing, the small council eting had just ended.
Petyr Baelish toyed with a gold coin as he listened to his trusted agent's quiet report. A flicker of sothing unreadable passed through his gray-green eyes, quickly turning into an amused smile.
"Oh? Resolved so quickly? And in such a… peculiar manner? Interesting. It seems our little friend is far more intriguing—and far more dangerous—than expected. Still, that fool Harroway really was useless."
He flicked the coin into the air and caught it neatly, as if weighing new chips.
At Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister read the letter with an expressionless face, but a glint of appraisal flashed through his cold erald eyes.
"Defeating a coalition ten tis his size with minimal losses… so tricks were used, but the equipnt, organization, and morale were all first-rate. This Jaqenion cannot be underestimated. Continue monitoring his movents—especially those 'thods' that can kill many n in an instant."
He gave the order to the maester standing beside him.
Luke's rise and the "magical" power he had displayed had now truly entered the vision of the Lion of the West.
At Highgarden, Lord Mace Tyrell—"the inflated fish"—was discussing the Riverlands situation with his son Willas. "Little Rose" Margaery Tyrell listened attentively nearby.
Willas analyzed, "Father, this Baron Jaqenion appears to be a new variable. He defeated the Harroway coalition and displayed both strength and… so unknown weapon? We need to reassess the balance of power in the southern Riverlands. Perhaps… we should attempt contact? His 'magical goods' bring astonishing profits."
The Knight of Flowers, Loras, was more interested in the lord himself—the one rumored to be "invulnerable to blades, superhumanly strong"—and his elite guard.
Far away beside the God's Eye, Luke suddenly felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine for no apparent reason!
At Winterfell, Lord Eddard Stark received the news just after dealing with a wildling raid.
He frowned deeply. "Defeating a much larger force in self-defense is one thing, but the slaughter was excessive. Those descriptions of 'magic' and strange deaths… I hope he did not resort to dark ans. The Riverlands seem troubled as well."
"Winter is coming."
The most morally upright lord in the Seven Kingdoms was more concerned about the kingdom's growing tensions and King Robert's failing health.
At the Eyrie, Lysa Tully remained lost in Littlefinger's sweet words and her mourning for her late husband, paying the matter little attention.
Other Vale lords, however, were shaken—especially the family of the defeated Baron Willow, who now lived in fear of reprisal.
In Sunspear, Prince Doran Martell listened to the report in silence, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his wheeled chair.
"Another ambitious upstart… good. The more chaotic the Seven Kingdoms beco, the greater the chance for the Red Viper in the Water Gardens."
Dorne's plans for revenge had never stopped.
On the Iron Islands, King Balon Greyjoy was plotting his next reaving raid and sneered at the southern "softfoots" and their internal squabbles.
Yet the rumors of Jaqenion's wealth made the eyes of so of his captains gleam with greed.
"We do not sow!"
At the Citadel, the archmaesters argued heatedly over the reports.
So dismissed it as exaggerated rumor; others felt uneasy and curious about the descriptions of "magic" and "strange weapons," demanding that more specialized maesters be sent to "observe" and "record."
At the Faith, septons debated the claims of "divine blessing" surrounding Luke Jaqenion with similar unease and curiosity.
The High Septon had already dispatched missionaries and septas.
The reactions across the Seven Kingdoms differed, but one consensus gradually ford:
The newly risen "magic rchant" baron on the southern shore of the God's Eye was not only rich—he also possessed considerable military strength and… possibly held so dangerous and powerful secret.
He was no longer a "fat sheep" that could be squeezed at will, but a potential power that required fresh evaluation and cautious handling.
Luke knew this perfectly well—or perhaps simply did not care what the great powers thought…
While rewarding the army and fulfilling his promises, he imdiately issued new orders.
"Lucas, select two of the best-performing hundred-man companies and station them at the eastern White Ridge Pass and the northern Greywood Town."
Luke pointed at the detailed map he had drawn using drone surveys.
"White Ridge Pass controls the throat of our route to the Kingsroad. Greywood Town sits on the key northern lakeshore road leading to Harrenhal. Build simple fortifications at both locations and set up toll stations and checkpoints. I want complete control over every entrance and exit to our lands!"
"Yes, my lord!" Lucas acknowledged.
Controlling these two points was equivalent to installing gates on the land routes leading into the Draco region.
To the south lay dense, difficult virgin forest and even more complex southern mountains—large armies would find passage nearly impossible, so safety was temporarily assured there.
The sun finally sank below the horizon. Night fell over the land.
The camp on the southern shore of the God's Eye remained brightly lit and noisy.
Yet the new master of this land had already turned his gaze toward the distant future.
The first battle to establish his authority had been won, but greater challenges and opportunities were quietly approaching, carried on the multicolored gazes now fixed upon him from across the Seven Kingdoms.
The foundation stone of Draco had been cast even harder, tempered by the blood of both enemies and his own n.
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