---
[System Status Update - Tournament Morning]
> [Lord System - STATUS MODULE]
Name: Vaeron Velaryon
Age: 18
Titles: Heart of the Ocean
Lord Talent: COMMANDER'S WILL (Passive, Permanent)
Attributes:
Strength: 12 +152.2% = 30.264
Agility: 13 +152.2% = 32.786
Durability: 11 +152.2% = 27.742
Mental Strength: 16
Intelligence: 18
Skill:
Swordsmanship: White Bronze Rank - Level 4
> (Each level provides +26% permanent increase to Strength, Agility, and Durability based on base stat)
Abilities: Locked
Pets: None
Army: 100-men company (Driftmark Elite)
Inventory: Active
Mission Module: Active
Army Benefits:
All members receive 20% boost to Strength, Agility, and Stamina
20% faster recovery
Experience Sharing (Perfect Training):
Lord gains 40%
Captains gain 10%
Members gain 50%
---
The sun climbed over the battlements of King's Landing, casting golden light over the tourney grounds. The royal pavilion stood tall, adorned with the banners of House Targaryen and their allies. Thousands had gathered to witness the grand royal tournament celebrating Prince Viserys' reign, and whispers filled the air of one name in particular: Vaeron Velaryon, the eldest son of the Sea Snake.
POV: Rhaenys Targaryen
From the elevated stand reserved for high lords and ladies, Princess Rhaenys Velaryon sat beside her husband, Corlys, her violet eyes never leaving the tilting yard.
He had grown into a storm.
Gone was the quiet, curious boy. Now he stood armored in polished Valyrian steel with sea-green enamel and silver trimming—an echo of his house colors. But more than that, it was the way he moved: confident, deliberate, like a dragonborn prince of old.
She watched him mount his destrier, his grip steady on his lance. The crowd roared as he passed, yet his gaze remained steady. Not once did he seek approval from the crowd.
"He does not ride for their cheers," she whispered to Corlys. "He rides to win."
Corlys chuckled, pride radiating from him. "Our son will show them what Driftmark has bred."
And in her heart, Rhaenys knew something else. She had seen him train alone, meditate before the sea, speak to the waves as if they answered him. There was something divine in him now. Something more than mortal.
---
POV: Prince Daemon Targaryen
Daemon Targaryen watched from the shadows of the royal dais, clad in black and crimson. His lean frame rested casually against a pillar, but his eyes were sharp.
He had heard the rumors. Everyone had. That the Velaryon heir had taken to battle training with a fury unmatched, that he'd formed an elite company on Driftmark. That he moved like a shadow and struck like a tempest.
So far, he had dispatched three knights with such efficiency that Daemon found himself surprised. No wasted movements, no showboating, just ruthless technique and clever use of angles. Swordsmanship honed not just through repetition—but something deeper.
Daemon smirked. "A storm from the sea. Let's see how it crashes against fire."
He stood. He would ride in the next tilt.
---
POV: Vaeron Velaryon
Three victories. One against Ser Harwin Strong. Another against Ser Criston Cole. The last against Lord Mooton's bastard son.
Now came the true test.
His body felt light in the armor, his reflexes sharp. The system within him glowed like a silent flame, enhancing his every motion. Swordsmanship Level 4 wasn't just a number. It was precision. It was power.
The gates opened.
And Prince Daemon Targaryen rode forth on a black stallion, dark armor gleaming with ruby accents. The Rogue Prince, warrior of renown, dragonrider of Caraxes.
Their eyes met.
And something unspoken passed between them.
---
The Duel Begins
Trumpets blared.
In the first pass, their lances shattered—Vaeron's hitting Daemon square on the chest while Daemon's scraped his helm. The crowd gasped.
Second pass—Daemon leaned lower. Vaeron adjusted his angle mid-charge, a split-second calculation. His lance twisted under Daemon's guard and clipped his shoulder hard.
Third pass—both lances missed.
They dropped their splintered weapons and drew swords.
Daemon struck first, sweeping low and then high, testing Vaeron's reactions. The younger warrior parried cleanly, his blade angled perfectly to deflect. They exchanged a flurry of blows—steel on steel, the ring of combat echoing across the yard.
Daemon grinned. "You're not bad, boy."
Vaeron didn't respond. His focus narrowed. Every movement flowed from skill and instinct—a dance he had practiced for months.
He rolled beneath Daemon's swing, kicked his leg, and drove forward with a rising slash.
Daemon parried, but just barely. He spun away, eyes alight with fire.
"You trained for this," Daemon hissed.
Vaeron's violet eyes gleamed. "No. I was born for it."
He lunged.
The final exchange came in a blur. Vaeron feinted left, pivoted, and drove his pommel into Daemon's side. The older prince stumbled.
Vaeron swept his leg again and brought his blade to Daemon's throat.
Silence.
Then an eruption of cheers.
---
POV: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen
From her seat, Rhaenyra had watched every movement. Every calculated strike, every poised dodge.
He moved like a dragon in human form.
Her heart thundered.
Not from fear. But fascination.
She had danced with boys at court. Flirted with knights. But none had made her lean forward with eyes wide like Vaeron Velaryon.
He did not look to her. Not even once.
Which made her burn.
---
POV: King Viserys I Targaryen
Viserys rose to his feet, clapping slowly.
"The heir of Driftmark fights like the gods crafted him with purpose."
He turned to Rhaenys and Corlys.
"After the tournament, let him claim a dragon. He's earned it."
---
End of Chapter 5