"Syracuse can breathe dragonfire! I can help you, Baelon."
Rhaenyra's face was full of pride. She puffed out her chest slightly, as if presenting her worth.
Syracuse, her young dragon, was as robust as a calf, golden scales glistening under the sun, and eyes bright with youthful vigor. In a few years, Rhaenyra would be able to ride her freely through the skies.
Baelon surpassed her in almost every way—academics, martial training, and charisma. Only with dragons could she feel she had an advantage over the "genius" Baelon. Here, she could finally experience the dignity of being an older sister, the feeling of being needed.
She longed for the day Syracuse could truly show off her skills, so she could prove her value.
But Baelon's next words shattered her fantasy like a sword through thin glass.
"Thank you, Rhaenyra. But refining oyster sauce doesn't require Vaghar to remain on Dragonstone all the time. A thousand catties of oyster sauce only takes one breath of Vaghar's dragonfire. What matters most is the spell."
He and Viserys turned back to discussing the details of the oyster sauce business. Baelon then instructed a silver-armored knight to notify the island's fishermen to gather in front of the castle the morning after tomorrow for a recruitment announcement.
The knight glanced at Viserys—who was savoring the oyster sauce with great relish—nodded in understanding, and withdrew respectfully.
Baelon noted silently that he still lacked trusted confidants. Without them, certain actions would always be inconvenient.
After finalizing their plans, Baelon leaned back and patted his full stomach. "Everything is ready. Now, we just wait for Grandfather to arrive at Dragonstone."
"I hope he brings the saplings I asked for," Baelon added.
Viserys raised an eyebrow. "Saplings? What for?"
"To plant trees on Dragonstone, of course," Baelon replied with a grin. Then he rose from his seat. "Enough talk. I'm going hunting for Vaghar!"
He dashed off toward his room to fetch his sword. Viserys, watching him disappear down the hall, quickly called for a knight to follow and protect him.
"Hunting!" Rhaenyra cried excitedly, hopping down from her chair. She turned to run off and change into something more comfortable. "I'm going too!"
But her mother, Emma, caught her by the arm. "No, Rhaenyra. Come to my chambers instead—we'll read together."
"Father!" Rhaenyra looked pleadingly at Viserys. He was about to speak on her behalf, but one sharp look from Emma stopped him.
"Rhaenyra is a girl," Emma said firmly. "She can't be running around with swords all the time."
Viserys sighed and gave Rhaenyra an apologetic look.
---
Meanwhile, Baelon was already out on the black stone beach, bow in hand, eyes sharp as a hawk. A small flock of gray-fleeced sheep were scattering in panic.
The wind lifted a strand of his silver-gold hair as he released his bowstring.
Whizz—
The arrow flew like lightning, striking a sheep clean through the neck. Blood spattered the dark stones. The sheep gave a short, sharp bleat before collapsing.
A moment later, Baelon saw something strange—one large purplish-red piece of meat and three bundles of wool appeared near the sheep's body.
[Magic Power - 1]
He glanced at the nearby knights and attendants. None of them reacted; it seemed only he could see these "drops." But the reduction in his magic power… that was new.
Was this a price for obtaining loot?
He didn't let his thoughts show. With smooth precision, he drew another arrow and downed another sheep. One by one, they fell.
---
A slow round of applause sounded behind him.
"Prince, your archery is becoming truly exquisite," a knight praised.
Baelon acknowledged the compliment with a nod and strode to inspect the carcasses. Each sheep was intact, but when the wool was sheared, it yielded both the normal wool and extra loot—double the gain.
After the hunt, his inventory was already filling up:
Large Meat ×8 (Restores 25 fullness raw)
Wool ×8 (For warm clothing)
Sheep's Milk ×5 (Restores 10 sanity and 5 health)
[Magic Power: 92 / 100]
Hunting eight sheep had cost him eight points of magic power. It wasn't the injury that triggered the loss—it happened only after the drops appeared.
Was my magic being converted into matter?
The thought was absurd, yet oddly logical. In science, the law of conservation of mass said matter could neither be created nor destroyed. Could the same apply here? If so, gravity, steam engines, and even electricity might also exist in this world.
The problem was… Baelon had studied humanities in his past life. After high school exams, he'd promptly "returned" all his scientific knowledge to his teachers. At university, his appetite and sleep thrived, but his IQ and academic skills plummeted.
He vaguely remembered that the steam engine had been invented during the first industrial revolution by… someone with a short name—maybe Watt? The second industrial revolution was the age of electricity, but the details escaped him.
No matter. In this world, all those inventions will be credited to the great inventor Baelon.
Still, industrial progress might weaken Targaryen rule. But then again… with his current knowledge level, building a steam engine was probably impossible.
Shaking off those thoughts, he instructed attendants to restrain the remaining sheep and bleed them into barrels, using a slaughter method from his past life. The blood was saved, the wool sheared, and the meat preserved in seawater.
When one attendant performed the killing blow, the loot still dropped—confirming that he only needed to land the final strike himself. Baelon rewarded the man with a silver stag for his cooperation.
---
With the sheep hunt complete, Baelon decided to test smaller creatures.
Spiders dropped Monster Meat (bad for health and sanity), Spider Glands (+12 health), and Spider Silk. Mice yielded Small Meat (12 fullness, -10 sanity), and fish gave Fish Meat (25 fullness, +8 health).
Soon, his Magic Power hit zero—and the drops stopped entirely.
He glanced into the knight's bucket, now full of spiders, mice, fish, and other oddities. To the knight, it probably looked like garbage. But to Baelon, this was treasure—perfect for Vaghar's diet once roasted in dragonfire.
---
By sunset, his inventory brimmed with the day's harvest:
Large Meat ×18
Wool ×18
Sheep's Milk ×10
Monster Meat ×36
Spider Gland ×21
Spider Silk ×19
Small Meat ×6
Fish Meat ×40
Baelon gazed up at the volcano where dragons slumbered. If a dragon died… would it drop something? And what about gods?
His thoughts turned to the mysterious Green Prophet, able to watch the entire world through the Eldertree, seeing past, present, and future. Such constant surveillance was a violation of privacy. As the future Protector of the Realm, Baelon would oppose it—on principle, of course.
---
"Baelon!"
He turned to see Rhaenyra running toward him in a fitted outfit, longsword in hand, eyes alight with excitement.
"You snuck out again?" he asked, scanning for guards and finding none. He frowned. "That's dangerous. There are still three giant dragons on the island."
"I want to hunt too! If I don't sneak out, Mother will never let me," she pouted.
Baelon sighed. "Fine. But stay with me, and don't run off."
"Okay!" Her eyes sparkled. "What are we hunting?"