A period of time passed in a flurry of cleaning, scraping, and counting.
Karl strode past the Skull Squad soldiers, who were still looking at the plate armor with greedy eyes, and came before Aegon, who was seated on a scorched rock.
Bowing to report, a hint of excitement showed on his lean face: "Your Highness, everything has been cleaned and counted."
"Plate armor, exactly five hundred sets, no more and no less."
"Though there is some rust and the plates need re-oiling and maintenance, and the rivets need checking and reinforcing, the main bodies are intact and absolutely usable."
He paused and continued, "We also found many matching weapons; there are about six or seven hundred swords, in fair condition."
"Spears... the spearheads are fine, but the wooden shafts are mostly rotted and unusable. Among the shields, some iron-rimmed round shields and tower shields are relatively intact, but not many, about a hundred or so."
Karl's voice lowered, carrying obvious regret: "The most unfortunate thing is... in the innermost boxes, we found about two hundred military heavy crossbows!"
"Looking at the design, they seem to be from Myr, with excellent craftsmanship, but... the limbs and mechanisms are almost entirely rusted solid by the moisture, and the strings are so rotten they snap at a touch. They're completely ruined."
Aegon listened to the report, his expression calm.
Five hundred sets of plate armor perfectly matched Mogol's last words; this was already the core harvest.
As for the loss of other equipment, it was only normal after being cached for years in the damp and harsh environment along the Narrow Sea.
"To have preserved so many sets of plate armor is already lucky," Aegon said slowly, his gaze sweeping over his core subordinates who were beginning to try on and adjust the armor.
The sounds of cold metal components snapping together rose and fell, heavy and melodious.
The soldiers of the Bloodsworn assisted each other in donning the armor. Soon, a small forest of dark steel rose on the scorched earth. The armor plates rubbed together, reflecting the sky's light filtering down from above the rift, and an air of grim solemnity arose spontaneously.
"Five hundred fully armed plate-clad warriors, on the right battlefield, are enough to become a lever that shifts the balance of victory and defeat," he seemed to be saying to Karl, but also confirming it to himself.
"Especially in urban street fighting, or in narrow chokepoints and passes... they can hold off several, even ten times their number in light or unarmored enemies."
This was the key to his trip.
With this core of heavy infantry, many frontal assaults that would have originally required a huge price now had the foundation to be implemented.
On the other side, the soldiers of the Skull Squad watched longingly as the Bloodsworn members put on the cleaned plate armor one by one, the envy and desire in their eyes almost turning tangible and dripping out.
Many people's Adam's apples bobbed as they subconsciously rubbed their hands, as if that cold metal were already worn on their own bodies.
Even the newly surrendered tyroshi were full of disbelief and regret.
They had hidden in this ghost of a place in fear for so many days, yet they had never discovered such staggering wealth hidden beneath their feet!
Aegon took in everyone's expressions.
"The armor, this is it," he spoke, his voice clearly reaching everyone's ears like cold water, dousing some unrealistic fantasies but also igniting something else.
"Distributed according to merit. The Bloodsworn are the brothers who have followed me the longest; this is what they deserve." He first set the tone, then changed the subject, his gaze sweeping over the expectant Skull Squad soldiers and the newly surrendered.
"The rest depends on your performance in the battles to come. Kill the enemy, earn merit, and prove your value; the armor will naturally be draped upon you."
Simple rules, a clear path.
Desire turned into motivation, and motivation pointed toward battle.
"Our business here is finished." Aegon stood up, his Valyrian Steel armor flowing with a dark red luster under the slanting sunlight.
"Form up, take all the spoils, and return to the fleet."
The order was quickly relayed.
The Bloodsworn needed to adapt to the weight of the armor, while the Skull Squad and the tyroshi prisoners were responsible for carrying the heavy plate armor and other still-usable equipment.
The group took small boats back the way they came, carefully passing through the reef area under the guard of the Bloodsworn to return to the fleet anchored in the open sea.
Stepping back onto the deck of The Quiet, Aegon silently calculated in his mind.
Coming to the Stepstones to sustain war with war, more than half a month had already passed.
Adding his original hundred or so Bloodsworn elites, the nearly four hundred Skull Squad outlaws gathered like a snowball, and the hundred or so tyroshi prisoners just incorporated, the number of combat-ready soldiers under his command was nearly seven hundred.
Among these seven hundred people, there was a loyal and reliable core, henchmen driven by profit, and new blood forced to submit by circumstances.
Though the composition was complex, if they were clad in that plate armor, they would already be a force that could not be underestimated.
The voyage required to return to Lys, plus reserving time for possible accidents... he still had some time.
Perhaps, before finally turning toward Lys and facing that destined storm, he could "snowball" one more time.
Temper this force to be more solid, or larger.
But before that, there was one more thing.
Aegon walked into the captain's quarters, his gaze falling on the sea chart.
His finger moved to the northeast of The Abyss of Torture, toward that larger island—Driftmark.
Previously, when he was riding the dragon and diving toward The Abyss of Torture, at the moment he swept over Driftmark, a golden light had briefly lit up on the system map in his mind, and a prompt to trigger a check-in had appeared.
It was just that his fighting spirit was high at the time, the arrow was on the string, and he had no time to attend to it.
Now, it was time to go and see.
He wondered what he could draw this time.
"Pass the order, the fleet is turning. Target: the southwestern open sea of Driftmark. Maintain distance and advance on alert," Aegon instructed Karl, who had followed him in.
He did not intend to let the fleet directly barge into those chaotic and dangerously unknown waters of Driftmark.
"Your Highness, we're going to Driftmark?" Karl was somewhat puzzled. "The situation there is complex, with various factions intertwined, I'm afraid..."
"We aren't going onto the island." Aegon interrupted him, walking to the window and looking toward the horizon. "I'm going alone. I'll be back soon."
Karl understood something instantly and asked no more, bowing as he withdrew: "Yes, I will arrange it immediately."
When one could fly, who would still take a ship and go slowly, risking complex waterways and potential hostility?
About half an hour later, in the sky over an open stretch of sea still a dozen miles from Driftmark.
Aegon was once again riding on Ghidorah's back, the wind rushing past his ears, the wisps of clouds within reach.
Looking down, the fleet was like toys scattered on a deep blue canvas, and the craggy silhouette of Driftmark was already in sight.
Wielding such great power, traversing between heaven and sea.
Aegon's purple eyes reflected the drifting clouds and sunlight, and that slight curve at the corner of his mouth became increasingly clear.
Some shackles, once broken, would make one never want to return to where they started.
Ghidorah's wings flapped, and its speed increased again, turning into a pale golden stream of light that tore through the sky, heading straight for Driftmark.
He did not choose any harbor or beach on the island where pirates might gather.
Aegon guided Ghidorah to land on a steep sea cliff on the northwestern side of the island, far from human habitation and facing the open sea.
The place was full of jagged rocks, and the waves below crashed into thousands of piles of white foam, the wind wailing.
Aegon leapt down from the dragon's back, his boot soles stepping onto the solid, coarse black rock.
At the moment the specific coordinates perfectly overlapped with the light point on the system map, almost as soon as he stood firm... [Check-in location detected: Stepstones, Driftmark. Check in?]
"Yes."
[Check-in successful! Drawing reward...]
[Congratulations on obtaining: Valyrian Steel sword—dark sisters]
Aegon's brow twitched slightly, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.
A Valyrian Steel sword? And directly the "dark sisters" that had left a heavy mark on the history of House Targaryen?
His luck seemed to be unusually good.
From "Maegor's Gift" to "dark sisters," every check-in reward closely revolved around the history and heritage of House Targaryen.
Was this merely a coincidence? Or was there some unknown connection between this so-called system and his bloodline, and the fate of the Targaryens in this world?
Unlike the previous infusion of combat instincts, this was a physical item.
A clear perception rose in Aegon's heart: as long as he confirmed the collection, this legendary sword would cross some boundary and truly appear in his hand.
And once collected, it could no longer be put back into that unknowable place in the void.
"Collect," Aegon murmured in his heart.
There was no brilliant light, no spatial fluctuation.
Just in an instant, his hollowed right hand felt a slight weight.
A sheathed longsword appeared out of thin air in his palm.
The scabbard was dark all over, deep enough to absorb light, and the material, neither metal nor wood, felt cold and smooth to the touch.
The decoration was minimalist, with only a thumb-sized teardrop-shaped crimson gem embedded in the middle of the crossguard, like a congealed drop of blood, its light flowing inwardly under the gloomy sky.
"Whirr?" Beside him, Ghidorah's left head turned curiously, its molten gold-like eyes drawing close, staring at the longsword that had suddenly appeared in Aegon's hand, its nostrils twitching slightly as if sniffing for something.
The other two heads also turned over, and a flash of human-like confusion and... familiarity appeared in all six eyes simultaneously?
This feeling, it knew it.
It seemed it was "bound" over in just this way back then!
Aegon ignored Ghidorah's curiosity.
Gripping the scabbard with his left hand, his right hand slowly gripped the hilt wrapped in black leather and applied gentle force—
"Clang—"
The sound of it leaving the scabbard was clear and resonant like a dragon's cry, but it seemed even colder and sharper, instantly cutting through the wind and waves on the cliff.
The blade was fully revealed.
It was unlike the broadness of a typical greatsword, and different from the symmetry of a bastard sword; instead, it was extremely long and slender, with lines as smooth as a shadow in the night, gradually tapering from the guard to a sharp point.
The color of the blade was not bright silver, but a unique dark gray, densely covered with fine, twisted ripples—the characteristic forging marks of Valyrian Steel, like ripples spreading across the night.
The light that occasionally filtered through the gaps in the clouds fell on the blade, and the dark patterns seemed to wake up, flowing mysteriously, swallowing light and breathing out brilliance.
The edge condensed into a line of ultimate, sharp brightness, as if it could cut through one's gaze.
Aegon turned the blade slightly.
On the mirror-smooth dark spine of the blade, his silver hair, stern brows, and those deep violet eyes were clearly reflected.
Sword and man resonated silently at this moment.
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