The terrain of Tarth Island rose and fell in gentle succession—mountain ridges, lakes, and waterfalls intertwined with highland pastures and shadowed valleys.
Facing west toward the continent of Westeros, the towers and watchtowers of Evenfall Hall were covered in the sigils of House Tarth. The quartered banners—golden sun upon a rose-colored field, white moon upon a sky-blue field—snapped loudly in the sea wind.
House Tarth was the only noble lord upon the island!
For generations, they had sworn loyalty to House Baratheon of the Stormlands!
Galledon strolled onto the battlements of Dawnlight Tower in the eastern castle, gazing down from on high toward Evenfall Hall's First Dock.
Merchant ships moved back and forth upon the sea in long rows, their countless colorful sails spreading across the ocean's blue as far as the eye could see. On the docks, the horns guiding the ships never stopped sounding for even a moment.
Such prosperity made his lips stretch wide with excitement. He lingered there, savoring the sight, before finally turning toward the family's banquet hall.
Originally, three male servants—Little Bug, Lien, and Ruitai—had followed behind him. After saluting his retreating figure as he vanished around the courtyard corner, they broke into a run, chasing after the three little ones who were charging recklessly toward the castle's small pier like wild pups set loose.
They would be responsible for overseeing the three little ones' hunting activities, while also keeping the crowds away from the small pier!
Unlike the nobles of this world, Galledon had never grown used to having attendants hovering at his side.
Once the three servants departed, those who followed him instead were four knights stationed at the castle gates—fully clad in Valyrian steel plate, heavy crossbows in hand, blades sharp, with only a pair of keen eyes visible through their armor.
"Zhìnǎo, it is now 295 AC. Twelve years have passed since the War of the Usurper."
As he quickened his pace, Galledon communicated with the system in his mind.
At the Citadel, using a harmless outward disguise, he spent two full years. Only upon reaching the age of ten did he finish consulting and absorbing the Citadel's stored knowledge.
Afterward, he spent more than three years leading fleets across the entire world, searching for the most suitable skinchanger companions.
Four years ago, he returned to Tarth Island to settle down, persuading his father—Count Selwyn, the former Evenstar—to relinquish full authority and allow him to govern the island.
With the help of Zhìnǎo and the attendant corps that followed him, Galledon carried out sweeping reforms across Tarth Island.
The prosperity seen at the docks earlier was merely a small reflection of Tarth Island's economic surge.
By today, the number of ships docked at Tarth's harbors and the daily volume of trade had already surpassed that of any Free Trade City—including Braavos.
[Yes. Theoretically, in 297 AC—two years from now—the world's main storyline will officially begin. Due to the host's interference, there is a 95% probability that the Seven Kingdoms' storyline will unfold ahead of schedule.]
The crisp mechanical voice echoed once more in his mind, and a powerful sense of anticipation rose within Galledon.
"All the better! With the invasion of the Others, the wildlings marching south, and the birth of dragons less than three years away, we must seize enough time and population to develop!"
He had always been glad to have transmigrated into House Tarth. As long as the sea routes were controlled, Tarth Island could be completely isolated from the outside world.
And the overlord his house swore fealty to—House Baratheon—would be the first to be eliminated in this game of thrones.
Perfect!
Simply delightful. Truly something to celebrate across Tarth.
After all, no one wished to bear the infamy of betraying their liege, be spat upon by others, and forever guard against their own subordinates—
Just in case someone decided to say, "If you could do it, why can't I?"
Look at that certain noble knight who once saved King's Landing. Not only did he gain no honor, he was instead branded the "Kingslayer" and cursed ever since.
Mm. Truly tragic.
[It is recommended that the host split the shipyards to accelerate shipbuilding speed.]
"Exactly."
With a clear plan forming in his mind, relying on the technologies Zhìnǎo could provide—those achievable under this era's level of productivity—he established the Eight-Factory, Three-Field system on Tarth Island.
Among them, the most profitable remained the salt pans, wineries, papermaking and printing workshops, and sugar refineries. Salt, wine, sugar, books, and paper together formed the foundation of Tarth Island's economic prosperity.
However, heavy industries such as shipyards and steelworks still required enormous investment from him, and even then, results and profits could not be realized immediately.
Four years was still far too short.
Just as he was about to enter the banquet hall, he saw one of his intelligence officers—"Iron Palm" Gley—waiting for him outside the doors.
"Greetings, Commander. Iron Palm Gley stands ready to serve you at all times!"
The moment he saw Galledon, Iron Palm stepped forward and performed an impeccably proper knight's salute.
"There's no need for formalities between us. Speak—what is it?"
Compared to the three servants, Galledon felt far closer to Iron Palm. He smiled warmly and stepped forward to help him up.
Five years ago, after returning from the Citadel, he selected fifty-four children on Tarth Island with relatively active brainwaves and quick, perceptive temperaments to form an attendant corps.
These fifty-plus attendants followed him across the world, encountering countless dangers along the way.
Galledon had saved every single one of their lives. To them, he was a unique presence—both teacher and friend.
At the same time, ten unfortunate children had once resolutely sacrificed their lives to protect him. Their loyalty was beyond doubt.
Iron Palm Gley was one of those attendants. He now served as an administrative officer of the Second Knight Order, while also acting as Galledon's eyes and ears within it.
Gley glanced around, confirming that the nearby servants were far enough away, before leaning close to Galledon's ear and reporting the intelligence he had gathered in a lowered voice.
Galledon's brows drew together slightly. What Iron Palm reported was not difficult to deal with.
Every reform gave rise t rotten, outdated vested interests—who failed to see the greater trend and foolishly attempted to block the chariot like a mantis.
He paid them no mind. The overall momentum was on his side. Under the surging tide, such petty figures would be ground into dust.
This was precisely where Zhìnǎo's value shone.
Much like in the Marvel films of his previous life, when Hydra used the Zola Algorithm to monitor the world and then deployed helicarriers to preemptively eliminate threats—
Zhìnǎo did not yet possess that level of computing power, but by analyzing the vast amounts of basic data accumulated during administrative work,
it could predict who was most likely to rebel, and also identify the most suspicious candidates among infiltrating island spies.
After all, the island's population was only a little over a hundred thousand. Infrastructure still lagged behind, but the systems themselves were becoming increasingly refined through constant adjustments.
What came next was simple—deploy tight surveillance and wait to close the net.
The only complication was that those Iron Palm reported were connected to his father, Count Selwyn, which caused the knight enforcement unit of the Military High Court to hesitate.
Galledon said sternly,"I have only one sentence: No soldier or civilian of Tarth may violate the Provisional Military Decree. Violators will be punished without exception!"
"Yes, sir!"
Gley understood immediately. He straightened his chest and slammed his right fist heavily against it.
After bumping fists with four close-guard knights—also former members of the attendant corps—he departed at a brisk pace.
Galledon entered the banquet hall. The main members of House Tarth were already seated around the long table, which was covered with a lavish breakfast.
"Father, Mother, good morning. May the morning light be with you!"
Following proper etiquette, he first nodded to his father, Count Selwyn—gray now at the temples—who sat at the head of the table, then greeted his mother beside him.
Before Count Selwyn could respond, the two little girls sitting obediently beside Galledon's mother—faces rosy like porcelain dolls—could no longer sit still.
"Brother~!"
"Brother~!"
They leapt down from their chairs and ran toward him on their short little legs. In the blink of an eye, two adorable "pendants" were clinging to his legs.
The smile on Galledon's face deepened. He scooped up the ultra-cute "pendants," one in each arm.
"The morning light of Tarth—my glory. Come, sit down. It's time to eat."
Count Selwyn folded the Tarth Daily in his hands and passed it to Lyon, the castle steward standing nearby. Watching Galledon tease his sisters, he said,
"You slept late again today. The family has loyal and reliable knights—you should delegate some of the tedious administrative matters to them."
Galledon smiled and shook his head. In truth, the one handling administrative affairs through the night was Zhìnǎo.
At such times, he would enter the consciousness of the three little ones and train his skinchanging abilities.
Galledon carried the two sisters—whom he had only just managed to reclaim from the Old Gods—and placed them beside his mother, Lady Mary.
With a flick of her red hair, she scolded sharply,"Arienne, Alysanne—you are ladies. Remember your manners!"
The corner of Galledon's mouth twitched. What could seven-year-old girls possibly understand? His mother was clearly scolding one thing while targeting another.
"B-Brother… good morning."
Sure enough, the timid greeting from Brienne, seated opposite her, was much softer.
"Good morning, Brienne."
Galledon smiled gently, sat down opposite Count Selwyn, raised his cup, and drank large mouthfuls of sweet milk.
"Mother, I actually think our etiquette is far too cumbersome."
Even though Galledon had begun eating before his father—which was extremely disrespectful—Count Selwyn's smile only grew broader.
Unlike his original fate, Galledon had not drowned. Count Selwyn no longer had to worry about the continuation of the family line, and so he bore no resentment toward Brienne. Instead, he felt pity for his daughter's misfortune.
Lady Mary shot a glare at her son, whose sitting posture had gone crooked. Galledon shrugged helplessly, set down his empty cup, and turned his gaze toward the tallest person present—his half-sister Brienne.
She was only thirteen, yet looked nothing like other fair-skinned, delicate girls.
Her body was tall and imposing, her skin dry and rough. Her features bore seven or eight parts resemblance to the tall knight Brienne seen in Game of Thrones.
But unlike the actress, what made her appear even less attractive were her protruding, uneven teeth, and her yellow hair growing wildly in all directions like weeds.
As a result, she had long been saddled with sarcastic nicknames such as "Brienne the Beauty" and "The Maiden of Tarth."
In this regard, it truly was his old man's harem catching fire—a headache even Galledon found troublesome.
House Tarth had as many as twenty-seven countesses. If not for the rule of mother honored by son, Lady Mary would never have been allowed to sit at the table.
Count Selwyn took a new wife every year, yet still lived well into his fifties. His vitality remained astonishing, his body exceptionally healthy—Galledon could not help but admire him deeply, a strong sense of anticipation rising in his heart.
Such overwhelming "boyfriend power"—he should have it too, right?
Yet even if countesses were treated cheaply, they were still nobles. The power backing them was terrifying.
Lady Mary herself came from a great merchant family. When Galledon rose to power and absorbed the merchant guilds through carrot and stick, his maternal grandfather, Kennedy, was appointed chairman of the Tarth Chamber of Commerce.
To them, these were merely harmless jokes—common knowledge. No one would criticize them, and no one cared what kind of psychological harm that little girl might suffer.
No one—except Galledon.
His concern for Brienne was no less than for Arienne and Alysanne.
As he carefully recalled the history of House Tarth, the family seemed particularly fond of merging noble bloodlines through marriage alliances.
Even Brienne herself was rumored to be a descendant of a true knight—Ser Duncan the Tall, the legendary Kingsguard.