Although Old Crab was well aware of Viserys's plans, he still thought the wages being offered were far too generous.
"Your Grace, I believe we could reduce the pay to twenty iron coins. That's already more than they earn growing grain," Old Crab advised cautiously.
"No," Viserys replied, "I've done the calculations.
Thirty iron coins is just enough to attract the Rhoynar from farther away to come build our city. Any less, and some of them might decide it's more worthwhile to go back to farming."
"Sigh… But seeing cart after cart of coins leaving the treasury—I just can't bear it."
Old Crab clutched his chest as if someone were cutting into his heart.
Viserys couldn't help but chuckle at his performance.
He asked, "Ser Adrian, let me ask you: suppose there are three kings. The first locks away all his wealth in a vault. The second entrusts his wealth to those he trusts. The third spends his wealth on his land. Tell me, which of these three kings is the richest?"
"Well…" Old Crab thought for a moment. If it were up to him, without a doubt he'd choose the first.
He didn't even trust his own nephews when it came to counting the treasury. Letting others manage it was out of the question.
Even when money was hidden in a cellar, Old Crab would still check on it regularly—let alone leave it exposed.
Seeing the hesitation on his face, Viserys continued, "I'll tell you. It's the third one.
Gold, by itself, has little value. Only when it circulates does it become meaningful.
Once spent, gold can become canals to irrigate farmland, sturdy castles, clothes on children's backs, weapons in soldiers' hands…
With irrigated farmland, more crops will grow. Castles will protect lives. Clothed children will grow into laborers. Well-armed soldiers won't fear invasion.
Over time, the wealth of the first two kings will inevitably become the property of the third."
Old Crab nodded, half-understanding.
But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. After all, that's exactly how he'd lost his own money.
Seeing that he was still a bit reluctant, Viserys patted him on the shoulder and added, "Don't worry. Right now, we're buying grain from Pentos and Braavos at low prices.
When famine hits, the Rhoynar will have no choice but to buy it from us at high prices. One way or another, the money will come back to us."
In truth, the wages Viserys had paid out so far didn't even amount to ten thousand gold dragons.
It only looked like a lot because they were being converted into iron coins.
And besides, he never planned to profit from the poor.
Among the Rhoynar, the five great families had been entrenched here for centuries. Their accumulated wealth was bound to be substantial.
From his investigations, Viserys had discovered that the so-called elder families of the Rhoynar exploited the common folk harshly.
They may have seemed more civilized than the Andal raiders, but the people under their rule were still suffering bitterly.
The dual titles of Liberator and Savior would be more than enough to cement House Targaryen's rule in these lands.
If he had enough troops, Viserys wouldn't bother with such roundabout methods.
A direct assault would be much simpler.
But he had to look after both Gohor and Dragonstone for now.
Recently, Braavos had followed through with their agreement and purchased forty warships, bringing Viserys nearly three hundred thousand gold dragons.
Of course, he couldn't sell off too many at once. On one hand, they were needed to transport people and supplies; on the other, Dragonstone's defenses also depended on them.
Viserys had to ensure that Dragonstone had at least four to five thousand soldiers stationed there.
Once the Rhoynar issue was resolved, he would accelerate the relocation eastward.
There were still around fifty thousand people on Dragonstone, along with all kinds of supplies. Even with multiple trips, moving everything would take half a year at minimum.
Robert might not be in a position to invade Dragonstone directly, but if he caused trouble during the transfer, it would be a huge problem.
Viserys had to manage this balance carefully.
Once he finished "lecturing" Old Crab, the two of them went outside to inspect the progress of the city walls.
From a high vantage point, the outline of the wall was already taking shape.
A long rectangular "frame" had begun to appear on the ground.
Inside the frame stretched rows of tents.
Whether soldiers or the civilians brought over from Dragonstone, everyone was still sleeping in tents for now.
As for grain, gold, weapons, and other important resources, Viserys had ordered them hidden away in caves behind the mountains.
He didn't yet see the need to construct houses.
"Once we've dealt with the Rhoynar, we'll build an inner wall inside this one. After we've completely taken Gohor, we'll add an even larger, though slightly lower, outer wall."
"Huh? Three walls? Is that really necessary? We've got the Little Rhoyne and Upper Rhoyne protecting us. This place is safe."
Walls meant spending money, and spending money was the last thing Old Crab wanted to hear.
"It's necessary. Because by then, we'll be facing an even stronger enemy."
"Who?"
"The horselords."
Viserys looked westward as he spoke.
It was now the 284th year since Aegon's Landing. According to his memory, in less than five years, this world would enter a summer that lasted over a decade.
And summer was when the grasslands were at their lushest.
The strong and well-mounted Dothraki would inevitably start raiding in all directions.
Though Gohor was surrounded by rivers, it still stood directly between Pentos and the Dothraki Sea.
It was sure to tempt the Dothraki.
And more importantly, Viserys had no intention of stopping at Gohor.
The Rhoyne was vast and wide. He had no plans to be satisfied with just two of its tributaries.
To prepare for the Long Night and the threat of the Others, he would need much more land and many more people.
And then there was the most important reason of all—dragons.
He didn't yet possess a single dragon egg, but Viserys had already begun plotting how to hatch one.
What he didn't know was that to hatch a dragon, one needed the blood of a khal.
He only had one sister, and he couldn't bear to throw her into the fire. But those so-called khals? He wouldn't blink an eye at burning ten of them.
So even if the horselords didn't come for him, he'd eventually go for them.
His rise may have started in Gohor—but it would never end there.
King of Gohor? That wasn't enough.
At the very least, he would become…
Warlord of the Rhoyne!
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