Disputed Lands, Crown Town.
After four months of construction, the once desolate land had been completely transformed.
Nine sturdy stone piers now lined the harbor, and a newly built lighthouse stood proudly at the end of the breakwater. To tame the roaring sea, craftsmen had stacked massive granite blocks into breakwaters and jetties along the coast. The slopes by the shore had been reinforced and neatly paved with stone slabs.
Most striking of all were the towering rows of warehouses and storage yards rising along the waterfront, filled to the brim with mountains of grain. Dockworkers hurried back and forth between the piers and the warehouses, loading and unloading cargo, while barges and small boats bustled through the waterways, filling the entire port with vibrant life.
From the bustling heart of the harbor, a new avenue stretched straight eastward—thirty feet wide and paved entirely with smooth white marble. It led directly to the distant hills, where the rising Conquest Keep stood against the sky.
Lo Quen rode his horse along the marble road, the crisp echo of its hooves compelling one to straighten unconsciously. He gazed toward the hills. The outline of Conquest Keep was now clearly visible.
Two towering gatehouses—outer and inner—stood tall. On both sides, workers were busy raising the high curtain walls, while the circular tower bases had already been laid, waiting to be built upward. The white stone walls of the main keep were more than half complete, revealing its massive foundation and the beginnings of its grand form.
Inside the central hall, the sight was particularly awe-inspiring. Massive oak beams supported the emerging framework of a ribbed vault, carefully placed by stonemasons working high on the scaffolding. On either side, flying buttresses stretched outward to bear the immense lateral thrust of the walls.
From the foot of the hill, the growing white colossus seemed to come alive—an enormous beast of stone, turning Lo Quen's vision into reality. Pride swelled in his chest.
He reined in his horse, pausing briefly before guiding it around the hillside and into the hidden river valley camp where Janice and Archmaester Marwyn resided.
Outside the camp perimeter, Dragon Soul Guards stood watchful at every vantage point and narrow pass.
The moment Lo Quen's horse hooves echoed along the gravel path at the valley entrance, a streak of blazing red tore through the dappled forest light, rushing toward him.
"Blooddancer!"
Lo Quen called out with a smile.
In four months, the blood-red young dragon had grown considerably. It now measured close to three meters, its sleek body covered in layers of crimson scales that gleamed like rubies under the sunlight filtering through the trees. Its long, powerful neck moved with fluid grace, and its amber eyes fixed affectionately on Lo Quen as it let out a low, rumbling growl.
The most noticeable changes were its wings and hind legs. The wing membranes had become broader and tougher, the hind muscles knotted and strong, and the claws that joined the membranes looked fierce and capable.
With a deft twist midair, it kicked off with its hind legs and wings, landing lightly atop the tallest cabin in the camp. From its perch, it surveyed the valley below with a mix of grace and power.
Almost as Blooddancer settled, Jaelena and Janice emerged from the trees beyond the camp.
Janice's radiant, molten-silver hair was neatly coiled atop her head, secured by a simple wooden pin that accentuated the elegant curve of her neck. Their companions followed closely behind.
Jaelena's dragon, Silverfall, shimmered with scales that gleamed like flowing mercury under the sunlight. Janice's Duskshadow, on the other hand, bore a deep, dark violet sheen that caught the light only at certain angles, flashing with faint amethyst hues.
Both young dragons were noticeably smaller than Blooddancer—barely two meters long. Their flight still carried a touch of youthful awkwardness, requiring more frequent wingbeats to keep up with Blooddancer's pace.
Janice looked up at Blooddancer perched on the rooftop and laughed.
"Your Grace, Blooddancer is growing much faster than Silverfall and Duskshadow."
Though Janice hadn't attended Lo Quen's coronation in Tyrosh, word had quickly reached her.
At her remark, Lo Quen recalled the writings of Brother Barth he had brought back from Oldtown. According to the Septon's work, a dragon's growth depended on three key factors: food, space, and war—or training.
Dragons required vast amounts of food to sustain their bodies, and feeding them generously could accelerate their growth. As for space, they could not thrive in confined quarters but needed open, natural environments to develop properly. And finally—war and training.
The dragon, having endured countless wars, grew larger with each battle—wounded and healed, its body constantly expanding. Moreover, without proper training, a dragon's combat strength and growth rate would both be hindered.
Yet these three young dragons showed no essential difference in those aspects. Lo Quen couldn't discern the reason—perhaps Blooddancer was simply born to grow faster. Even if Silverfall and Duskshadow didn't grow as quickly, their growth was still astonishing. Within a year or two, they would likely reach a size fit for riding.
The three lingered a while longer, teasing the young dragons and feeding them several fresh, plump fish. Blooddancer grew impatient, letting out a low, urging growl before flapping its wings and soaring toward the dense primeval forest deep within the valley. Silverfall and Duskshadow followed close behind. The three dragon silhouettes circled above the canopy a few times, then dove downward like arrows loosed from a bow, disappearing into the vast green sea of leaves.
Moments later, the forest erupted with the panicked cries of beasts and the excited roars of the young dragons. The entire river valley was tightly guarded by loyal Dragon Soul Guards—watchtowers rose high, patrols crossed paths, ensuring the young dragons' complete safety. Lo Quen therefore felt no concern for them.
Surveying the camp, Lo Quen asked, "Where is Archmaester Marwyn?"
Janice smirked and pointed toward a low wooden hut on the camp's edge. "The archmaester's shut himself in that hut, turning day and night upside down with his Valyria magic books. He's probably still asleep right now."
Lo Quen walked over and found Marwyn lying on his bed. The room was cluttered with Valyria texts and piles of handwritten notes—utter chaos. He shook his head helplessly.
Were all scholars this messy?
Deciding not to disturb the archmaester, Lo Quen went to look for Qyburn instead. Unlike Marwyn, Qyburn maintained a strict routine. By day, he managed the construction site; by night, he conducted his experiments, retiring to rest only at midnight.
Lo Quen found him amid the clamor of the armory workshop. The former Maester of the Citadel wore a clean gray linen robe—dusty from labor but still neatly kept. With hands clasped behind his back, he inspected the various work zones with focused attention, occasionally pausing to issue calm, precise corrections to the craftsmen or jotting quick notes in his small notebook with a charcoal pencil.
"Maester Qyburn, how is the progress of the Armory's construction?"
Qyburn immediately turned and gave a respectful bow. "Your Grace, everything is proceeding according to plan. The first weapon forging workshop has officially begun production."
He pointed toward a massive shed belching thick black smoke and echoing with rhythmic clanging. "One hundred master smiths recruited from Tyrosh and five hundred nimble apprentices are already in place. We're currently testing operations using a structure of one master smith leading five apprentices. Preliminary efficiency reports indicate that each group can produce two military-grade longswords every five days."
His gaze shifted toward a nearby zone crowded with scaffolding. "The main structure of the armor and protective gear workshop has been completed. The forging furnaces and quenching pools are under construction and expected to begin production early next month."
One smith and five apprentices producing two swords in five days meant that the first weapons workshop could output around two hundred swords in the same period—a solid result. Production efficiency for polearms like spears and halberds would be even higher.
However, Lo Quen caught a faint shadow crossing Qyburn's expression as he finished speaking.
"Maester Qyburn, continue."
Lo Quen's tone deepened.
Qyburn drew a long breath, his voice heavy with unease. "Your Grace, although the armory's progress is swift, we've encountered a serious problem—an iron ore shortage."
"Iron ore?" Lo Quen's brows furrowed.
"Precisely." Qyburn nodded gravely. "Neither Tyrosh nor the archipelago possesses major iron deposits. Our supply of pig iron has always come from the Grey Mountains mining region in the Disputed Lands, controlled by Lys merchants. But recently, the Lysene have imposed a de facto embargo and blockade on us. The amount of pig iron we can obtain through normal channels has dropped by over seventy percent.
"And those greedy merchants have seized the chance to extort us—the price of pig iron now rises several times a day, more than doubling since last month. This is no market fluctuation, Your Grace."
Lo Quen's expression darkened instantly, his face grim as storm clouds. He had yet to make time to deal with his troublesome neighbor, Lys, and now they dared to strike first.
It seemed his earlier denial of the dragon's existence had been taken by the Free Cities as a sign of weakness.
"Good. Very good..."
Lo Quen's voice was low and cold. "I am aware of this matter, Maester Qyburn. Focus solely on the construction of the workshops and the optimization of production. I will take care of the iron ore problem."
After inspecting the armory, Lo Quen spurred his horse toward the training grounds, with Jaelena following closely behind.
The seven thousand soldiers under her command now appeared completely renewed. The vast training field was filled with dust and noise, yet everything moved with precise order. Thanks to the fine equipment seized from prisoners of the Seven Kingdoms, the soldiers were no longer the ragtag force they had once been.
Under the sunlight, thousands of chainmail suits, leather armors, and even pieces of plate armor gleamed with a cold metallic luster. The thunderous shouts of drill commands, the synchronized stomping of boots, and the ringing clash of weapons merged into a surging torrent of steel and discipline.
The spear formation was the primary focus of training. Under the booming orders of officers and the direction of brightly colored signal flags, the soldiers moved in perfect unison.
At the command, "Raise spears!", thousands of glinting spearpoints instantly angled forward, forming a daunting forest of death. When the order "Advance!" followed, the entire formation surged forward as one, heavy boots striking the ground in rhythm, spearheads maintaining flawless alignment and spacing.
"Turn! Defend the flanks!"
At the shift in command, the formation pivoted swiftly and seamlessly. Soldiers on the flanks redirected their spears to create a defensive barrier.
The archers' line on the opposite side was equally imposing. Following their officer's commands, they performed each motion—nocking arrows, drawing bows, and firing—in perfect coordination.
A commander raised his signal flag high.
"Nock!"
In an instant, thousands of arrows were set upon bowstrings, the motion so uniform it seemed as if executed by a single body.
"Draw!"
The strong bows bent like full moons, their taut strings humming together in a low, resonant rumble.
"Release!"
The signal flag dropped, and the bowstrings thrummed as one. A dense rain of arrows sliced through the air with sharp whistling sounds before slamming into the distant target field with a rapid "thud-thud-thud."
Next came precision shooting drills. Soldiers stepped forward one by one, aiming at targets a hundred paces away, competing to strike the bullseye. The air buzzed with cheers and groans of disappointment.
Watching this army, transformed beyond recognition in such a short span, Lo Quen's eyes reflected rare approval.
Since Jorah Mormont's imprisonment in the dungeons, the responsibility for training had fallen entirely to Jaelena and the other officers. Jaelena commanded seven thousand soldiers and four hundred Dragon Soul Guards stationed in the Disputed Lands.
Roro led two thousand soldiers garrisoned in Tyrosh to defend the harbor and city walls. Hal commanded a thousand soldiers stationed on Bloodstone Isle, with another five hundred spread across Jawbreak Island, Torturer's Deep, and Weeping Reef.
Chai Yiq, meanwhile, oversaw five hundred Dragon Soul Guards and five hundred soldiers in Tyrosh, managing the city's internal affairs.
Janice commanded five hundred soldiers and three hundred Dragon Soul Guards, while another three hundred Dragon Soul Guards remained as Lo Quen's personal guard.
Jaelena's legion was, without question, the core of his military might—the force he relied on most.
After the inspection was complete, Lo Quen set off back toward Tyrosh.