Daemon Merryweather's estate was larger than Raymond had anticipated. White walls and red tiles nestled against rolling low mountains, and the meticulously sculpted gardens bloomed with exotic flowers and plants, clearly imported from the Free Cities. A crumbling stone statue of an ancient Valyrian god, its arm broken, stood in the center of the fountain pool.
When Shira descended with a whistling rush of wind outside the estate, her sharp dragon claws mercilessly crushed half of a rose arch entwined with intricate ironwork.
Witnessing this destructive entrance, Daemon Merryweather, who had ridden up on horseback, showed no regret. "Your esteemed Highness, you see, this place is spacious enough to serve as a home for a dragon!"
"Indeed, it's not bad," Raymond's steady voice came from the dragon's back as he dismounted with practiced ease.
Shira flicked her long tail, covered in hard bone spikes, and slowly ambled towards the nearby coast, then suddenly turned her head, her massive dragon eye casting a cunning glance at Daemon, who stood beside Raymond.
Old Daemon stumbled backward in surprise, retreating three or four steps before he managed to steady himself, his voice a little strained: "It… it can understand its master's words?"
"Dragons are far more intelligent than mortals imagine," Raymond said calmly. He surveyed the estate and asked directly, "So, has the location for the dragon's lair been decided?"
"There! Your Highness!" Daemon hastily pointed to the desolate, shrub-covered hilltop behind the estate and said, "Your servant has observed it for a long time! That barren mountain is exposed rock, remarkably dry and sheltered from the wind, making it most suitable for a dragon's lair!"
"Good!" Raymond nodded in approval. Before he had finished speaking, Shira let out a low dragon roar, her powerful wings suddenly beating, instantly shrouding a large portion of the sky.
She circled twice above the barren mountain, then folded her massive wings and plunged down! Blazing dragon fire erupted from her mouth, like scorching magma pouring into a glacier, piercing fiercely into the mountain! A deafening roar instantly erupted, as if the earth was groaning in pain, and scorching rocks, like wild birds startled by an explosion, shattered and rolled down the slope, while small animals lurking in the bushes let out terrified whimpers and fled in panic.
"Gods above…" Daemon stared at the mountain rock ravaged by dragon fire, his mouth agape in shock, "Is… is this the true might of a dragon?"
Raymond remained silent, pulling out an ancient-looking, heavily worn parchment booklet from his embrace— "Dragon and Fire: Baelerys' Dragon Taming Notes." His long, strong fingers slowly caressed the ancient, "black dragon"-shaped pattern on the cover.
By then, the once solid mountain had been melted by Shira's terrifying flames into a deep, enormous cave. The edges of the cave entrance, freshly scorched by dragon fire, were unusually smooth, gleaming with a cold, ethereal light like precious obsidian. Shira was contentedly sprawled in her newly created home, her massive, flexible dragon tail swishing leisurely, her lazy, comfortable posture resembling a house cat that had finally found a warm, soft cushion.
"My Lord—!" The urgent thud of hooves approached, breaking the echo in the valley. The merchant Roman Bilis galloped up on a chestnut horse, his corpulent body bouncing with the horse's movements, making the saddle creak. "I heard Your Highness has arrived… Your humble servant has specially brought freshly slaughtered bulls!"
Raymond raised an eyebrow and eyed him askance: "How many did you slaughter?"
"Five!" Roman quickly wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, adding breathlessly, "They are all the most robust, fattest bullocks from the ranch!"
"Heh, you do understand some rules." Raymond showed a faint smile, his gaze turning to Daemon, asking meaningfully, "Did you arrange this?"
Daemon hastily bowed, with just the right amount of deference and a hint of seeking credit: "Yes, Your Highness, your servant thought… Your Lordship's status is no longer what it once was, and you will always need a few… hmm… quick-witted and capable subordinates…"
"Roman Bilis!" Raymond's voice suddenly rose, his gaze like an arrow piercing the merchant still on horseback, "Are you willing to swear fealty to me?!"
Roman was momentarily stunned, the fat on his face solidifying into a bewildered expression: "My… My Lord?"
The merchant's Adam's apple bobbed up and down tensely, as if he were swallowing a momentous decision. With a heavy "thud," he knelt on the damp grass, his knees mercilessly crushing the glistening morning dew on the blades. He pressed his hands to the ground, his voice trembling slightly with emotion, yet imbued with a desperate resolve: "I, Roman Bilis, hereby swear by my blood, that the Bilis family shall serve Raymond Targaryen, my Lord, for generations! May the spirits of my ancestors bear witness, this oath shall never be forsaken!"
"Rise." Raymond's tone returned to normal. With a flick of his wrist, an exquisite badge arced through the air with a silver flash, landing precisely on Roman's muddy robe—it was a lifelike dragon head badge, with a silver lightning pattern, symbolizing power and speed, prominently engraved in the center of the dragon's forehead. "From now on, you are the steward of this estate. It is called 'Silver Dragon Manor.'"
Roman clutched the badge tightly in his hand, grasping this ticket to the pinnacle of power, his face instantly beaming with a smile: "Yes! Your humble servant will go arrange the kitchen immediately! We will surely prepare the grandest welcome banquet for Your Highness…"
"Wait," Raymond called out to the corpulent merchant who was about to leave, "Go fetch Vera. The estate's kitchen will be under her charge." He turned to Daemon, adding with an unquestionable tone: "Be quick about it."
A glint flashed in Daemon's eyes: "At once! Your servant will send the fastest carriage…"
"No need for such a fuss," Raymond frowned, interrupting his slightly exaggerated reaction, "Be discreet, just bring her here safely… Also," his gaze returned to Roman, throwing out the next instruction, "Begin training a personal guard force for me. Select the candidates and report them to me. As for weapon supplies… you only need to ensure you can obtain enough iron ore to forge armor and weapons for eight hundred men…"
"Your Highness!" Daemon interjected before Roman could answer, his voice carrying the inherent confidence of his family, "No need to purchase ore separately! The Merryweather family's mines are sufficient to supply it! Your Highness only needs to command the quantity needed!"
"Very good," Raymond nodded in satisfaction, unconsciously stroking his chin, as if pondering something, "Then, find me a group of skilled and trustworthy blacksmiths. I need them to… assist me in a forging task."
"Why would Your Highness trouble himself!" Daemon's tone was filled with bewilderment and a hint of eager dissuasion, "Let the recruited blacksmiths handle these rough tasks, they…"
Raymond's gaze suddenly became sharp and profound: "What I am forging is top-tier steel capable of reaching the threshold of Valyrian steel! It requires the assistance of Shira's dragon fire…"
Daemon instantly understood the immense value hidden behind this, and his expression immediately became incredibly solemn: "Understood! Please rest assured, Your Highness, your servant will do his utmost to scour the Free Cities for the most skilled master craftsmen!"
…
"Silver Dragon Manor" was officially renamed, and Vera arrived with a simple bundle.
The merchant Roman fully entrusted his family business to his eldest son, while he himself solemnly changed into a crisp, pure black butler's uniform.
This meticulous Fat Man soon demonstrated his astonishing administrative abilities—the entire estate was managed by him in an orderly fashion, and he even arranged for special servants to clean the outer perimeter of Shira's immensely imposing dragon lair from a distance.
On the other side, Daemon Merryweather led the most outstanding of his family's nephews and nieces to quietly take up residence in the ancillary buildings surrounding Silver Dragon Manor.
He was like an invisible yet resilient net, subtly weaving connections and paving paths among the Tiger faction nobles in Volantis.
Some astute Tiger faction councilors, learning that Daemon had allied himself with a "Dragonrider" who possessed a terrifying living dragon, immediately sprang into action—fragrant wines, dazzling jewelry, and gifts arrived at the manor in an endless stream.
Even the Elephant faction nobles, who had always been at loggerheads with the Tiger faction, began to humble themselves and send messengers, tentatively extending invitations to high-society banquets to Raymond.
"Your Highness, currently nearly a third of the councilors from both factions have chosen to submit to you…" Daemon was reporting on the visitors of the past few days.
"They never submitted to me," Raymond stood alone by the railing of the highest terrace at Silver Dragon Manor, his deep gaze piercing the night, looking out at the distant, star-like flickering lights of Volantis harbor, his voice low but incredibly clear, "It's Shira! It's the Targaryen name! They know I have a dragon, but they're not sure of my relationship with the Iron Throne…"
Vera lightly walked to his side, carrying a plate of small cakes emitting a rich aroma of butter and sweet honey.
"Why bother with those buzzing flies? Your Highness, just do what you need to do. Come, try some. My hand trembled, did I put too much sugar?" Her voice was as warm and soothing as the aroma of the cakes.
The sweetness of the cake was indeed a bit excessive, so cloying it almost stuck to his teeth, but Raymond ate it quickly, each bite seeming particularly serious, as if he were performing some necessary ritual.
From the depths of Shira's enormous cave not far away, a low, satisfied dragon roar echoed, harmonizing with the characteristic deep tolls of Volantis's bells in the distance.
Raymond put down the empty plate, still bearing cake crumbs, and carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with a clean napkin, his thumb unconsciously caressing the smooth, ancient dragon-hide whip handle at his waist—that whip seemed to contain a strange power; each touch filled his heart with determination.
It was time to step into that arena woven from ambition, lies, and desire.
As for overt and covert struggles, compromises, alliances of interest… Heh! The "Shadows" had thoroughly investigated the color of those people's underwear.
From the day the dragon returned to Volantis, they had no capital to bargain with Raymond.
"Tomorrow, come with me to the Tiger faction's council estate." Raymond's voice was calm and unruffled, yet carried an undeniable power. His gaze turned to Daemon Merryweather, who stood by his side, "It's time to make those old fools face reality."
Daemon repeatedly assented, an uncontrollable gleam of excitement and anticipation bursting in his eyes, like a shark that had smelled blood.
In the more distant horizon where sea met sky, a large merchant ship, adorned with a magnificent elephant head crest, was slowly sailing towards the port of Volantis.
Its white sails, enveloped by the cold moonlight, gleamed with an almost ethereal paleness, like a silent white flag of surrender slowly rising in the night wind before an unknown, powerful force.
The salty sea breeze, mingled with the rich fragrance of exotic flowers and plants in the courtyard, gently brushed Raymond's cheek.
He leaned against the railing, gazing at the dreamlike summer sea under the moonlight, faintly hearing the soft clinking of servants carefully clearing silver platters behind him.
Suddenly, a low yet incredibly penetrating dragon roar echoed in the silent night sky, followed immediately by a burst of orange-red dragon fire erupting from the mouth of Shira's lair, shooting straight into the heavens, instantly illuminating the distant mountains and half of the deep night sky nearby as bright as day!
"Shira's dragon fire is silver-white, so… is she learning to spray fire now?" Looking at the towering pillar of flame, Raymond grew even more expectant of how strong she would become after fully digesting the power of Laesirram.
Amidst this shocking interplay of light and shadow, Raymond's lips slowly curved into a cold, sharp arc—Volantis's seemingly balanced and complex struggle between two tigers?
Heh heh, what a huge joke. Under absolute power, the so-called "players" only ever had two choices. Either prostrate themselves, or… turn to ash. At this moment, as the chessmaster, he possessed the ability to overturn this chessboard at any time.
"Ellie, inform Shadow One… to spread some half-truths and half-lies to Westeros, to interfere with their judgment on whether I possess a dragon."
"Yes, Your Highness!" the maid, whose presence was usually very low, replied. She was one of the slaves Raymond had rescued, and her entire family had been settled in Raymond's properties. She herself was also very capable, and besides her ordinary appearance, she was easily overlooked.