Roro Uhoris' chestnut eyes widened in shock as he stared at Lo Quen in disbelief.
The master he served intended to swallow the entire Stepstones whole.
Suppressing the storm in his chest, he cautiously advised, "Lord, the Stepstones are a chain of islands. To fight the pirates who have entrenched themselves there for years, we need more than just sailing ships. Those may serve well on long ocean voyages, but they're far too clumsy for fleet battles. Naval warfare demands oared ships."
He counted on his fingers. "We currently command nearly twenty oared vessels, but only three large ships—taken from Crab Claw—can truly be called 'warships,' sturdy enough to withstand ramming."
Roro's voice was heavy with worry.
Lo Quen already knew this well.
In this world, ships fell into two main types.
The first were sailing ships, powered primarily by wind—flat-bottomed ships, galleons, swan ships. These were excellent for ocean voyages and trade, capable of carrying large amounts of cargo.
The second were oared ships, powered by rowers, better suited for coastal combat.
The strength of such ships depended largely on the number of oars.
Most had only a single bank of oars, but double-banked ships could serve as the backbone of any fleet. The most formidable were triple-banked galleys—massive yet astonishingly agile, able to maneuver through the seas with ease.
Salladhor Saan's flagship, the Valyrian, was one such triple-banked behemoth, with no fewer than three hundred oars.
These oared ships still carried sails, though in coastal combat the crew would haul them down, relying entirely on the oarsmen. If the winds turned favorable, the sails would be lowered, combining mast and oars for even greater speed.
The larger the ship, the more soldiers it could carry and the more scorpions and catapults it could mount.
Naturally, the cost rose just as steeply.
"How many gold dragons would it take to build a fleet to rival Salladhor's?" Lo Quen asked.
At the words "build a fleet," Roro reacted like a cat with its tail stepped on, clutching his head with a cry. "Gods above! Lord, do you know what the 'Prince of the Narrow Sea's' fleet of over twenty warships is worth? The hulls alone cost no less than a million gold dragons."
The number struck Lo Quen like a hammer blow to the chest.
The merchant ships he had bought in Volantis were worth a mere fraction by comparison.
"Why so expensive?" he pressed, brow furrowed.
Roro drew a deep breath, ticking off each point on his rough fingers.
"First, the materials. A warship is no merchant vessel. The keel and ribs must be made from the toughest, most resilient hardwoods, strong enough to endure collisions yet not so heavy as to sink the craft. Such timber costs a fortune.
Second, the weapons. A hull alone is just an empty shell. Heavy scorpions and counterweight catapults must be forged of fine iron, and those don't come cheap.
Third, the upkeep. A warship isn't some ornament. Once afloat, it becomes a gold-devouring beast. Each month, maintenance includes inspecting the hull, replacing ropes, applying tar, paying sailors, feeding oarsmen… At least several hundred, often nearly a thousand gold dragons. And that's not even counting the repairs after battle."
Lo Quen did the sums in his head and drew in a sharp breath. "So you're saying Salladhor's fleet consumes more than twenty thousand gold dragons every month?"
"At least!" Roro swore. "And those massive triple-banked giants cost even more."
Only then did Lo Quen truly grasp what a bottomless pit of coin it took to keep a fleet strong.
His thoughts turned to the Iron Throne's royal fleet of two hundred ships, and to Lord Redwyne's equally vast fleet from the Arbor. Without the taxes of the Seven Kingdoms, or a monopoly on the wine trade along the golden routes, who else could afford such a thing?
Wealth was the foundation of rule at sea.
He considered his own fortune.
The treasure he had carried from the ruins of Valyria, even after deducting what he had spent in Volantis, came to a little over four hundred thousand gold dragons.
Enough to raise a strong medium castle in Westeros and command respect in its region.
But for building a fleet, it was a paltry sum.
The pitiful hoard plundered from Torturer's Deep amounted to less than a hundred thousand—no more than a drop in the ocean.
No money?
Seizing is better than toiling.
The old ways of the Ironborn flashed through Lo Quen's mind.
"Roro," Lo Quen quickly gathered his thoughts and gave a decisive order. "Withdraw funds from the treasury and repair every ship that can still sail. Make sure they're ready for battle at any time. Also, though our Swan is only a sailing vessel, arm her as well. Mount heavy scorpion crossbows and catapults along her sides. You know where to buy the materials."
"Spear Handle Village," Roro replied at once. "It's the largest black market in the Stepstones. With enough gold dragons, there's no weapon or timber you can't find there."
After Roro departed, Lo Quen summoned the sisters, Jaelena and Janice.
The damp, sea-carved cave was crude and primitive, yet it had finally become their first foothold in the Stepstones. Compared to drifting endlessly at sea, this was far more secure.
Ever since Lo Quen had taken the sisters as Flame Knights, he had revealed the secrets of magic and ghost grass to them. Now he had called them to discuss the matter further.
"Janice, do the Valyrian texts record any methods for cultivating ghost grass?"
Janice shook her head slightly, her fine brows knitting. "Since leaving Valyria, I've searched whenever I wasn't training, but I found nothing. There are no mentions of ghost grass at all. It was as if it appeared out of thin air after the Doom."
Lo Quen mused aloud. "The bloodmage once had you gather ghost grass outside Tyria. That means he knew something of its properties. Perhaps you can search his old manuscripts or notes. Or even try planting some in the soil to see what happens."
Janice nodded in thought. "I'll look for any manuscripts, and I'll test planting some."
Jaelena's cool voice broke in then, carrying a faint, uncharacteristic urgency. "Must we really wait years for magic to return?"
Lo Quen had already told them his conjectures about the Red Comet and the Tide of Magic.
He nodded slowly, his gaze deep. "It's only my own rough theory—that when the stars bleed, magic will revive. I can't say whether it will come to pass. But for now, with no source to replenish our magic, it's best not to use it recklessly. Jaelena, your reserves are already low. In last night's fight with those pirates, you didn't need to awaken the magic within your Valyrian steel blade."
"I understand," Jaelena replied, her fingers unconsciously brushing the hilt at her waist.
At present, only Lo Quen and Jaelena possessed weapons and armor inscribed with runes. Lo Quen's reserves far outstripped hers; as long as he didn't use dragon-transformation magic, he still had enough to draw on.
Softly, Janice added, "We brought nearly a thousand bundles of ghost grass from Tyria. Not all of it has to be used as seed. It can also serve to replenish our magic."
Lo Quen fell silent. He knew well that ghost grass could restore magic, but he had another purpose in mind. "Do you remember the nine dragon egg fossils?"
Janice's violet eyes lit up at once, sparks of excitement flashing within them. "You can hatch them?"
A flicker of emotion stirred in Jaelena's eyes as well.
"To be precise, awaken them," Lo Quen explained. "I can infuse magic into the stones to awaken the dragons within. They won't hatch right away. Instead, they'll grow and develop inside the eggs until they are ready to break free. But this requires an immense amount of magic."
He glanced at the system panel. Awakening a single dragon egg fossil demanded seventy thousand units of magic. With his [Dragonbond Lineage], he could awaken four.
The choice before him was clear: expend vast amounts of ghost grass to awaken the fossils now, or wait until he found a stable source of magic...
Four fossils would require 280,000 units, roughly nine hundred bundles of ghost grass—nearly all of their stores.
He hesitated only briefly before deciding.
Some of the dragon egg fossils had to be awakened.
Jorah Mormont's slave-trading scandal broke in 293 AC. He had since fled Westeros, stayed in Braavos for a time, and then gone on to Lys. That meant the current year was at least 293 AC, likely 294 AC.
The main events were drawing close. He had to hatch dragons as soon as possible.
Seeing the anticipation flickering in the sisters' eyes, a firm smile tugged at Lo Quen's lips.
"Go on. Choose the eggs you desire. In a few days, right here, we will awaken the sleeping dragons."
...
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