"Good!"
Daeron did not say another word, assigning him the task of attacking Storm's End.
Randyll frowned, clearly unable to understand.
Daeron did not offer much explanation, sending Duke Mace away, who was overjoyed.
He was doing this to protect Randyll.
In the Battle of Summer Hall, Randyll had killed twelve thousand men, all of whom were native Stormlanders.
If he were to attack Storm's End as well, it would push him into the center of the storm.
Daeron's expectations for Randyll were not merely to be a famous general.
Randyll had the potential to be a commander-in-chief.
He still remembered Daeron's promise to the "Queen of Thorns," Lady Olenna: after the war was won, he would grant a portion of Stormlands' territory.
In that case, The Reach would become too large.
An expanded Reach could be split into two Riverlands.
Since that was the case, why not simply split The Reach into two pieces?
Upon seeing Randyll fight the Battle of Summer Hall, Daeron had already made a plan on how to utilize Randyll to achieve the splitting of The Reach.
Using Horn Hill as the border, including critical territories like Nightsong and Blackwater from Stormlands, he would carve out the entire Dornish Marches separately.
He intended to appoint Randyll as the "Governor of the Marches."
Nominally, it would still be territory of The Reach, but in reality, it would be autonomous and swear direct allegiance to the Iron Throne.
This way, the Crownlands, Stormlands, and The Reach would become: the Crownlands swallowing most of Stormlands, The Reach annexing a small portion of Stormlands, and the creation of a new Dornish Marches.
Randyll guarding Dornish Marches would not only cause The Reach to lose the natural barrier of Horn Hill but also allow for the integration of the Marches to guard against Dorne.
Rhaegar had married Elia, and House Martell would not give up supporting him.
Daeron had to make plans early.
As for whether Lady Olenna would agree?
By that time, Daeron would have already quelled the rebellion and would no longer need to rely on The Reach.
And I have already given you the territory you wanted, and even appointed a Governor of the Marches for The Reach to guard against a Dornish invasion.
What else could you be dissatisfied with?
Returning to the reasoning of protecting Randyll.
If Randyll wanted to control the entire Dornish Marches, he could not offend Stormlands nobility to the point of no return.
Otherwise, the Marcher lords of Nightsong, Blackwater, and others would not obey his orders.
Pushing the credit to Duke Mace and letting Duke Mace attack Stormlands would help divert hatred.
With Duke Mace's abilities, it was impossible for him to break through Storm's End.
Taking this opportunity, he could also knock him down a peg.
"Prince, perhaps you should go attack Bronzegate?"
Randyll was far from the center of politics, unable to guess Daeron's thoughts, and attempted to adjust the strategy.
Daeron smiled and said: "You go attack Bronzegate and accumulate some military merits."
Dragons were siege weapons; neither Bronzegate nor Storm's End could withstand them.
But Randyll needed military achievements to back himself up.
The credit for the Battle of Summer Hall had been greedily taken by Duke Mace; relying only on the credit for sweeping the rebels in The Kingswood would not be enough for Randyll to command respect.
Bronzegate was the gateway to Stormlands, its importance comparable to Casterly Rock in the West and the Bloody Gate in the Vale.
Once Bronzegate was captured, Randyll would surely become famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
King's Landing.
News of the Battle of Summer Hall traveled back to King's Landing, spreading not just through the streets and alleys, but across most of the continent of Westeros.
Daeron had sung songs of victory twice in one day, defeating Stormlands rebel army led by Robert twice, beating Robert until his forces were routed, and sending him fleeing dejectedly to the Riverlands.
One battle decided the outcome, capturing the fundamental base of Robert's Stormlands.
For the direction of this war, the significance was no less than the "Battle of Harrenhal" during the War of Conquest.
This battle laid the foundation for victory in the war, created a huge advantage for subsequent warfare, and simultaneously deterred the wavering lords of the Seven Kingdoms, urging them to join the Royalists faction as soon as possible.
Red Keep, Throne Room.
"Well done, well done!"
Aerys laughed crazily, clapping his large hands repeatedly, wishing he could clap until his wrists broke.
He had indeed not misjudged his Second Son.
Daeron had the Battle of Fawnton before, and the Battle of Summer Hall after, and it looked like he was about to pacify the entire Stormlands.
Since the rebellion began, Robert had vaguely been the leader of the rebel forces from the four corners, possessing extremely high prestige.
The Second Son had scattered Robert's Stormlands rebel army at the Battle of Summer Hall, practically eliminating half of the strength of the rebel forces from the four corners.
Without Stormlands, the Vale and the North were not worth mentioning.
The Riverlands had strong troops and sturdy horses, but they were not dominated solely by the Tully family.
Victory seemed imminent.
"Hahaha——"
Aerys became happier the more he thought about it, turning on his mockery mode: "Tywin, come quickly and see my good son; he defeated Robert, the very Robert who chased you until you were running helter-skelter."
Tywin stood in the hall, took a deep breath upon hearing this, and closed his eyes, which radiated killing intent.
Being chased by Robert to the point of cutting his beard and robe was a humiliation he would never forget in his life.
Aerys revealing his pain in public undoubtedly touched his reverse scale.
"Damn it, to actually let Robert get away; why didn't he kill him."
Seeing Tywin not retort, Aerys suddenly felt bored and began nitpicking the war report.
"Your Grace, although Robert ran away, Stormlands have already fallen into the hands of the Iron Throne."
Earl Qarlton spoke up with good words.
Aerys was greatly pleased and shouted: "Good, I want to strip House Baratheon of all its castles, fiefs, and titles, and incorporate Stormlands into the royal domain."
The gathered Small Council Members looked at each other, unable to help but feel ashamed.
The King really dared to think big, wanting to incorporate the entire Stormlands into the royal domain.
The Crownlands and Stormlands were separated by The Kingswood, and there was the impregnable Bronzegate guarding the main road.
Given the rebellious nature of Stormlands nobility, they would not allow their territory to be annexed into the royal domain and be subject to the jurisdiction of the Iron Throne.
Seeing the ministers remaining silent, Aerys glared and angrily said: "What, do you not think well of my idea?"
"We dare not, we dare not——"
Qarlton shook his head repeatedly, indicating he couldn't afford to offend him.
Varys slowly stepped out and said softly: "Your Grace, Prince Daeron has achieved another great feat; should we bestow rewards upon him?"
Aerys was stunned and couldn't help but fall into deep thought.
He had already appointed the Second Son as the Grand Marshal of the Seven Kingdoms, commanding all military affairs of the Seven Kingdoms during wartime.
Thinking that once the war was over, this position would be rendered void.
Now that the Second Son had achieved another feat, should he reward him?
Aerys was immediately annoyed.
That brat had territory, castles, and military power; if he were to reward him further, he could only choose between the titles of Regent and Protector of the Realm.
He did not want to give either of these titles.
Aerys put on a sour face and said stingily: "No need, it's just a victory; wait until he pacifies Stormlands before coming to ask for credit."
The ministers frowned, but dared not flare up.
The King's words made sense; they couldn't reward every victory, otherwise, sooner or later, there would be nothing left to bestow.
Then they would wait until Stormlands were pacified before asking for the title of Protector of the Realm for Prince Daeron.
"With the title of Protector of the Realm, Prince Daeron's legitimacy would not be inferior to Prince Rhaegar's."
Qarlton was calculating his own little plans.
Protector of the Realm was already a very high title; often, only the King would bear this title.
Don't even think about Regent.
On the surface, there was already a prince of dragonstone; there was no reason to appoint a new Regent Prince.
Wouldn't that be chaotic?
Time flew by. 283 AC, mid-April. Storm's End.
It was located on the edge of Shipbreaker Bay, shrouded in clouds all year round, with storms raging; good weather was rarely seen.
Today, it was similarly heavily clouded, accompanied by lightning and thunder.
It wouldn't be long before a torrential downpour began.
Rumble!
A bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the surroundings of Storm's End.
Storm's End was located on the edge of a cliff, with only a narrow path leading to the outside world.
At this moment, tens of thousands of The Reach coalition forces were stationed outside the castle, surrounding it completely.
In contrast, at Storm's End, Robert had only left eight hundred men for his second brother, Stannis; the disparity in strength was vast.
Inside Storm's End. Stannis sat alone at the dining table, with only stewed beans and a small piece of black bread on his plate.
Having been besieged for three months, Storm's End was short on food supplies; as the acting Castellan, he could only eat what the farmers ate.
The soldiers inside the castle were even worse off; their daily rations were constantly being reduced, and they were beginning to stir with discontent.
"Stannis, you haven't slept all night again?"
Maester Cressen walked down the stairs, his originally fat body having lost weight, and his complexion had become very poor.
Stannis glanced at him and said nothing.
"Sigh, Robert was defeated, but at least he is still alive, settled in Stoney Sept by Lord Hoster, where Robert's friends are taking care of him."
Cressen, heartbroken for the boy he had taught like a son, looked at the untouched plate and advised: "Eat a little, the food supplies of Storm's End are still enough for us to hold out for a while."
Stannis had no appetite and pushed the plate away: "Save it for the next meal."
He knew exactly how much food was left in Storm's End.
Not a single bit could be wasted.
After thinking, Stannis confirmed again: "Has there been any news from Robert?"
"Still the same."
Maester Cressen shook his head; there was no news at all.
Stannis fell silent.
Since Robert's defeat, no news had come back; in the meantime, Lord Hoster had relayed that Robert was settled in Stoney Sept to recover from his injuries.
But no news from Robert did not mean Stormlands were safe.
Two and a half months ago, Randyll Tarly captured Bronzegate.
Half a month ago, the Dragon Prince Daeron rode his dragon to sweep through The Kingswood, capturing the routed Stormlands army and forcing most of Stormlands lords to submit.
At this moment in Stormlands, except for a few noble lords near the Rainwood who hadn't surrendered, only Storm's End was struggling to hold on.
"Tighten our belts, and we can squeeze out three more months of food supplies."
Stannis calculated every loss, putting a big red deficit in his heart.
Relying on its unique geographical location, Storm's End had held back tens of thousands of The Reach coalition forces for three months.
But the food supplies were severely insufficient and couldn't support the daily consumption of the eight hundred people in the city.
What was even more desperate was that the Dragon Prince hadn't yet entered the field to attack Storm's End personally.
Otherwise——
Stannis felt like he had swallowed a weight, his heart heavy, pressing on him until he could barely breathe.
He slapped his face, forcing himself to calm down.
He had to keep persisting, persisting, and persisting, doing his best to buy time for Robert and hold out until victory in the war.
"I cannot surrender; I must hold out until the end."
Stannis regained his rationality, firming his conviction.
"Skree——!"
Suddenly, amidst the lightning and thunder, a sharp, piercing shriek like an air-raid siren rang out abruptly.
Stannis suddenly lifted his head, following the sound and looking toward the sky.
He had never heard such a sharp, ear-piercing sound.
But such a unique sound already signified—a dragon.
Rumble!
The sky was covered in thick clouds, accompanied by rolling thunder.
A fiery red appeared, weaving through the thick clouds where lightning flashed, flying nimbly above Storm's End, and then landing slowly in the courtyard.
Both sides' soldiers saw this scene.
"Who goes there!"
The sky was dim, and the garrison soldiers rushed into the courtyard, raising their spears at the behemoth.
Crackle!
A bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the inside and outside of Storm's End.
The soldiers were instantly dumbfounded, their spears becoming mere ornaments, standing there blankly, not daring to take a step forward.
Outside Storm's End.
Randyll rode his warhorse, leading the three thousand Stormlands troops he had integrated and gathered, to rendezvous with The Reach coalition forces stationed outside the city.
At this time, it began to rain, the pitter-patter of raindrops creating a noisy din.
"Lord Randyll, where is Prince Daeron?"
Duke Mace ran out of his tent in the pouring rain, asking about Daeron's whereabouts the moment they met.
Randyll sized him up and found him wearing silk finery, his face flushed with the smell of alcohol, looking exactly like someone who had run out in the middle of a banquet.
"I'm asking you!"
Duke Mace was anxious.
He had guaranteed the Prince that he would capture Storm's End within a month; now it had been three months, and there was no progress.
Randyll dismounted and said flatly: "The Prince arrived before me."
"Ah, then where is he?"
Duke Mace followed Randyll, but no matter how he asked, the other party wouldn't say another word.
It wasn't until Earl Paxter learned from the soldiers that a flash of red had landed in Storm's End that he informed Duke Mace of his speculation.
"What, the Prince entered Storm's End all by himself?"
Duke Mace was shocked and immediately wanted to mobilize troops to storm Storm's End.
"Duke Mace, we should trust the Prince."
Paxter stopped him; he had witnessed Daeron conquer the Iron Islands and did not believe Daeron would act impulsively.
Duke Mace was stunned upon hearing this, instantly becoming like a deflated ball.
Meanwhile, Stannis donned his armor, braved the pouring rain, and rushed to the castle's front courtyard.
After taking a few steps, he suddenly realized the garrison soldiers had fallen silent.
"What's going on?"
Stannis felt a chill in his heart, a bad premonition rising.
Rumble!
A flash of lightning appeared, illuminating the dim castle courtyard.
Stannis narrowed his eyes and saw a scene he would never forget in his life.
"Skree——!"
Beneath the towering walls of Storm's End, a behemoth of solid red was coiled; the behemoth stretched its long neck, raised its head, and let out a sharp, long screech.
Caraxes' molten gold slit pupils shone with laziness, its snake-like massive body spread out in a long line, its wide wings like two giant umbrellas, its slender tail flicking back and forth.
After a long time, its size had surged again, reaching a body length of twenty meters.
Placed beneath the towering wall, it was already nearly half the height of the wall.
Pitter-patter——
Daeron stood in front of the Red Dragon, the dragon's wings shielding him from the heavy rain, his long hair fluttering in the wind.
"Gulp——"
Stannis's eyes widened, and he swallowed a mouthful of saliva secretly.
Seeing the man and dragon, stubborn as he was, he could not bring himself to resist.
"Robert, is this your opponent?"
He couldn't take his eyes off them, his body paralyzed by the fear of the giant dragon.
Rumble!
The thunder grew more urgent, and the rain fell harder.
Caraxes' nostrils flared, sniffing the scent of a little insect, turning its wickedly charming dragon head to stare at Stannis, who was struggling to move in the rain.
Daeron, without turning his body, remained at the side of the Red Dragon, locking eyes with the disheveled Stannis.
His expression was calm, without a shred of pride or contempt, simply examining the other party.
Stannis's face went pale, covered by the washing rain, and he couldn't help but take a step back.
Seeing the man and the dragon, he finally realized what it meant to be a Targaryen.
It wasn't just having some dragon blood flowing in one's veins that made one a Targaryen.
Otherwise, House Baratheon also had dragon blood.
The young prince before him, standing beside the giant dragon with such composure, and his calm gaze fixed on him, was the true essence of a Targaryen.
That was the innate nobility brought by conquering a dragon.
Swish!
As the rain fell, Daeron drew Dark Sister, the sword tip pointing down, the blade held flat.
The meaning was self-evident.
Either admit defeat and submit to the law, or lose your life.
Stannis's body trembled slightly, not caused by the cold rain, but the embodiment of his intense inner struggle.
Persist?
Daeron was expressionless, exhaling a puff of mist in the cold rain.
A true dragon doesn't need to consider too much.
Clang!
The next moment, Stannis dropped the longsword in his hand, walked step by step to the front of the man and dragon, slowly bent his knees, and lowered his stubborn head.
"Storm's End, surrenders!"
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