Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
Northeast of Lanark Island, nearly fifteen hundred laborers moved about in an orderly manner, their bustling figures resembling a swarming colony of ants.
Divided into several work teams, some were tasked with digging tirelessly, others managed the transportation of soil, while another group ensured that logistics and support remained in place to keep the operation running smoothly.
Among them, soldiers from Bloodstone patrolled with nine-tailed whips in hand.
Whenever they spotted a worker slacking off or hesitating, they would lash out without mercy. The sharp crack of the whip sliced through the air, leaving raw, bleeding welts and echoing cries of agony in its wake.
Not far from this intense scene of labor, a raised section of ground had been cleared, and a weather-resistant canopy had been erected to block the wind and shield against rain.
Beneath it, Prince Jacaerys reclined comfortably on a couch, his eyes closed in repose. His head rested gently on the lap of a dusky-skinned Myrish girl, voluptuous in figure, who massaged his temples with soft, rhythmic motions using her delicate fingers.
Beside him, another girl of equally striking appearance form peeled grapes with practiced grace, feeding them into his mouth one by one. At his feet, two more Myrish girls knelt by either leg, their small fists working in unison as they massaged his thighs with quiet precision.
These young women were the daughters of wealthy Myrish merchants whom Jacaerys had captured during his recent raids.
He had yet to fully indulge in their charms, not out of scruple, but simply because he did not wish to prematurely strain a body that was still growing.
At the very least, he planned to wait until he was fifteen... no, perhaps fourteen would be a more appropriate age.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps shattered the stillness of the afternoon.
CLACK CLACK CLACK!
Jacaerys opened his eyes at once and turned toward the sound. Approaching with a beaming face and hastened steps was Urd, the governor of Lanark Town, who had surrendered willingly some time ago.
"Your... Your Grace the King!" Urd called out, excitement thick in his voice. "A new pitch well has been discovered! And... and this one yields more than all the previous ones combined!"
Jacaerys sat up immediately, his interest piqued and energy renewed. "Lead the way," he commanded.
"At once, Your Grace!"
As Jacaerys rose to his feet, the Stone Squad, which had been standing silently nearby, fell into step behind him without a word.
Before long, a pungent, acrid odor began to fill the air.
As he approached the newly discovered pitch well, Jacaerys immediately recognized the sharp, familiar stench clinging to the thick fumes rising from the site.
At the edge of a roughly one-and-a-half-meter-wide pit, surrounded by more than a dozen workers, a pool of thick, bubbling green liquid steadily oozed upward on its own.
With a single glance, Jacaerys could tell that Urd had been modest in his report. This was not a minor improvement. It was a dramatic leap in output. The sheer abundance of pitch gushing from the earth made it clear that this site held far more than any of the previous wells.
Before, every pitch well they had discovered would yield less and less with each day of extraction, forcing workers to dig deeper and take greater risks.
Laborers often lost consciousness in those ever-deepening, half-enclosed pits, overcome by fumes before collapsing into the toxic wildfire pitch itself.
With a constant stream of casualties and replacements, maintaining steady output had become nearly impossible.
This well, however, was different. Its depths were saturated with wildfire pitch. Judging by the current flow, it would likely continue to produce at this rate for some time before any sign of depletion appeared.
The scene reminded Jacaerys of an oil well from his past life. It was shallow yet rich in resources, bursting with raw energy just waiting to be harnessed.
He had once speculated whether wildfire pitch might be a unique form of oil. But after observing several newly uncovered wells, it had become apparent that the two were fundamentally different substances.
In the media of his previous world, crude oil drawn from beneath the earth appeared black or dark brown, like molten asphalt under searing heat. And while it burned, it lacked the terrifying fury of wildfire pitch.
Still, this was the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. It was a land of dragons, White Walkers, sorcery, and even gods. That wildfire pitch carried a mystical element came, in hindsight, as no surprise.
"You've done exceedingly well," Jacaerys declared with clear approval in his voice. "Urd, allow the work team that discovered this well to rest for three days. During their break, reward them with a feast each day. Give them meat and ale, as much as they can handle."
A sudden cheer erupted from the workers nearby.
"Long live the King! Thank you, Your Grace!"
Though Jacaerys had not spent a single coin on them, his simple promise of rest and hearty meals was met with overwhelming gratitude.
In truth, they were toiling in conditions dangerous to both body and soul. Yet a few kind words and scraps of luxury had won their loyalty.
If the capitalists of his previous world had seen this, they would no doubt have rejoiced at the efficiency of such control.
Having given the necessary instructions, Jacaerys handed further management of the site over to Urd. The governor, who had voluntarily submitted early on, was proving to be both clever and capable.
He understood that the more useful he made himself, the higher his chances of survival would become. Perhaps even the possibility of promotion lay ahead.
Just as Jacaerys returned to his shaded resting area, he noticed that someone had arrived in his absence.
It was Coleman, waiting silently under the canopy, his expression brimming with suppressed excitement.
He brought unexpected and thrilling news. Rudy, who had been sent over a month ago to Astapor to purchase Unsullied, had returned.
The moment Jacaerys heard Coleman's report, excitement surged through him.
After all, the Unsullied were among the finest and most disciplined military forces in the Known World.
However, since the pitch well was located some distance from Lanark Town's harbor, reaching it would take time.
Without hesitation, he summoned a thought. From a nearby open field, Vermax, who had been dozing lazily in the sunlight, lifted his great emerald head. With a powerful sweep of his wings, the massive dragon rose into the sky and landed beside his rider, his tail sweeping the ground like a whip.
Mounting the saddle, Jacaerys guided the great beast into the air. He soared high above the earth, leaving Coleman and the Stone Squad below, their eyes following him with a mixture of helplessness and admiration.
Only a few minutes passed before Jacaerys, flying low atop Vermax, spotted Rudy's fleet approaching the harbor.
There was one large warship, accompanied by five smaller escort vessels, drawing steadily toward the docks. It was exactly the number they had been missing since the sea battle at Lanark.
Hundreds of Unsullied, clad in matching armor, were disembarking from the ships in perfect order. Their lines were flawlessly straight, their discipline absolute.
Even as Vermax soared overhead, an immense emerald dragon blotting out the sky, they showed neither fear nor confusion. Their formation never wavered. Their movements remained steady and precise.
Watching this, Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, a smile of deep satisfaction curving his lips. These soldiers were exactly what he needed.
He brought Vermax into a gentle arc, guiding the dragon down to land gracefully on an open patch beside the harbor. His cloak fluttered in the wind as he dismounted to greet the arrival of his elite new army.
The moment his boots touched the ground, Rudy rushed forward and dropped to his knees.
"Your Grace," Rudy said, his voice filled with remorse, "please forgive my incompetence. With the treasure you entrusted to me, valued at twenty-two thousand golden dragons, I was only able to purchase seven hundred Unsullied."
Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly, waiting for Rudy to explain further.
"Due to the chaotic nature of currency exchange across Essos, especially in Astapor, there were many complications. Although by conversion rates we should have secured around seven hundred and thirty soldiers, the Good Master of Astapor shamelessly withheld thirty of them as a so-called 'handling fee.'"
Jacaerys' expression darkened slightly, but it quickly softened. He stepped forward and laid a hand on Rudy's shoulder.
"You've done well, Rudy. You've returned safely with a formidable force, and that is what matters most. But remember that slaver's name. Etch his face into your memory. When we march upon Astapor, I want you to be the one to bring me his head."
Rudy's eyes gleamed with purpose, and he nodded solemnly. "As you command, Your Grace."
Then, with both hands, Rudy presented a golden whip to Jacaerys. Its handle was crafted in the shape of a harpy with outstretched wings. It was the Harpy's Fingers, the symbol of authority over the Unsullied.
Jacaerys accepted the whip, examining it for a moment before turning toward the soldiers now assembled before him.
In High Valyrian, his voice rang out with commanding clarity.
"Unsullied! Attack the dragon!"
Without hesitation, the seven hundred warriors snapped into motion.
Clad in fitted leather cuirasses, their heads protected by spiked helms, they raised their shields, lowered their spears, and advanced in perfect lockstep toward Vermax.
The sound of synchronized footsteps echoed across the stones.
CLANG!CLANG!
Not one of them hesitated. Not one flinched.
Vermax, surprised and irritated by the sudden threat, let out a guttural snarl that grew into a roar. His great jaws opened, the unmistakable glow of dragonfire beginning to flicker deep in his throat.
"Stand down," Jacaerys shouted, both aloud and within his mind, sending a sharp mental command to Vermax.
At the same time, he raised his hand and barked the order to halt in High Valyrian.
The Unsullied froze mid-stride. Their weapons remained raised, their expressions unreadable beneath their helms.
Jacaerys released a breath he had not realized he was holding. Two hundred and twenty thousand golden dragons' worth of elite soldiers—he did not want them reduced to ash by Vermax.
But even so, he couldn't help but feel deeply impressed —and immensely pleased.
Such obedience. Such unflinching courage. These soldiers would face the Others without blinking. Would march into wildfire itself if commanded.
He toyed with the whip in his hand for a few more moments, then tossed it back to Rudy with casual ease.
His personal guards had already received basic instruction in High Valyrian. They would be more than capable of issuing battlefield commands to the Unsullied when needed.
In a true war, when his full attention would be on riding Vermax and devastating his enemies from above, the Unsullied needed a commander he could trust—someone strong, loyal, and competent.
Rudy was the obvious choice.
Today had proven to be a day of triumph. Not only had they discovered a rich new deposit of wildfire pitch, they had also secured an elite force to guard and expand their growing domain.
Jacaerys looked out across the port, eyes sharp with ambition.
And yet, this day of joy and gain was not without its burdens.
Later that very afternoon, a letter sent by Baelor finally reached his hands.
..
..
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst
Extra Content Already Available