Chapter 78: Establishing a Foothold

"Something terrible has happened!"

Bessie and Mille, two young boys, had been traversing the hilly forests for years and were naturally quite familiar with the terrain.

Their strong, agile bodies allowed them to sprint through the woods at a breakneck speed. They soon burst through the forest and returned to the village, shouting loudly.

The commotion caused by the two boys quickly alerted the adult inhabitants of this Andal village. Men wielding shovels and pickaxes rushed out, only to see Bessie and Mille.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"What happened?"

A group of adults surrounded Bessie and Mille, who were still holding makeshift weapons in their hands.

The nearby Andal villages were often subject to raids by bandits and the Brotherhood, and sometimes even attacked by Norrey villages near the Lhoren River.

As a result, every village had its armed forces, spontaneously organizing to protect their homes.

They had assumed that the shouts of the two boys signaled the arrival of more raiders or members of the Brotherhood, but nothing seemed to have happened yet.

"We... we saw a group of them in the North Hills..."

Bessie, the young boy marked with a seven-pointed star, was panting heavily from running, but hurriedly began to explain.

"A group of... uh..."

However, at this point, he faltered, unsure of how to proceed.

These people were well-equipped and uniformed, clearly not members of any Brotherhood. Their armor and shields bore the emblem of a three-headed dragon. Bessie felt a vague sense of familiarity, as though he had heard of it somewhere.

But for the moment, he couldn't recall which noble's coat of arms it was.

"Hey, kid, what exactly did you see?"

"Wolves?"

At that moment, a tall man pushed through the crowd and approached, his arm also marked with a seven-pointed star.

This was an Andal custom, dating back to when the Andals sailed west from Essos and arrived in Westeros. They landed on the Fingers and launched their invasion into the Vale.

Andal warriors would paint or carve the seven-pointed star, representing the Faith of the Seven, onto their skin.

Meanwhile, just outside the noisy village.

The sound of hooves approached...

Several knights on horseback led the charge, arriving at the village's main entrance.

One of them held high a banner bearing the Targaryen three-headed dragon emblem, while the others tightly gripped their weapons.

Among the knights was the rare sight of Prince Oberyn in full armor. Although Dragonstone was primarily a naval stronghold with few warhorses, there were still a couple hundred mounts available, including draught horses. About half were warhorses, given to the knights with riding experience.

Following the knights were hundreds of Targaryen soldiers, wearing neat light armor and wielding short swords and shields, as well as double-edged battleaxes and bows and arrows.

Whoosh—

The Targaryen soldiers surrounded the village, drawing their shining swords from their sheaths and raising their shields.

The villagers, witnessing this scene, were thrown into chaos. Adults cried while children wailed, not understanding what was happening.

"Hey, can someone tell me what's going on?"

"Who are they?"

If it had been just a dozen bandits or members of the Brotherhood, the villagers might have mustered the courage to resist.

But now, they were surrounded by hundreds of fully-armed Targaryen soldiers, and even a few knights clad in armor from head to toe.

Their crude weapons and farming tools could not penetrate the knights' armor, leaving them without even a shred of courage to resist.

Prince Oberyn sat astride his horse, one hand holding the reins and the other gripping a long spear.

A pair of pitch-black eyes gazed at the nearby Andal village, appearing somewhat indifferent.

"My lord."

At this moment, a respected elder from the village finally came forward to speak.

Although this Andal village was relatively isolated, there were still merchant caravans passing through, bringing news from the outside world.

Some recognized the banner as that of House Targaryen, the royal family from across the Narrow Sea in the Seven Kingdoms.

For a moment, they thought the king from across the Narrow Sea had come to conquer this land.

...

"I must remind you, a castle cannot be built overnight, even if it is only made of wood at the moment."

"Your Grace."

Viserys, dressed in neat clothes and wearing a crown adorned with red gemstones, stood on a nearby hill, looking at the castle under hurried construction.

The felled trees were brought over, tied with ropes, and hoisted up with the laborers' calls.

At this moment, Viserys heard a voice from behind him.

The young king slightly turned his head; the wind on the hill was strong, scattering his silver-gold hair. The speaker was none other than Maester Gunther, who had recently joined House Targaryen.

At this moment, the young maester wore a thin gray robe, standing on top of the hill, shivering a little from the cold. His nose was a bit red, and he couldn't help but sneeze.

Nevertheless, even in this condition, Maester Gunther felt he must clarify some matters with the young king to prevent the lord he served from straying, especially since Viserys was still a child.

He would not allow himself to witness the birth of a future 'Mad King' with his own eyes.

"Of course I know, Maester."

"A castle cannot be built overnight, which is why I have paid such a high price."

Viserys glanced at the shivering Maester Gunther, then looked away, pulling on his deer-hide gloves and speaking calmly.

"Paid such a high price?"

Maester Gunther, upon hearing Viserys' words, nearly had his nose bent out of shape in anger.

"Your Grace, do you think allowing your soldiers to plunder the surrounding villages is paying a high price?"

"Is the price paid the physical exertion of your soldiers?"

The young maester, who looked to be in his twenties, argued with the eight-year-old king, creating a somewhat comical scene.

However, Viserys, upon hearing the maester's words, rarely hesitated for a moment, then turned his head, sizing up the other party seriously before speaking.

"Maester Gunther, do you think I allowed my soldiers to plunder the surrounding villages?"

Viserys asked in return.

"Otherwise, what?"

Maester Gunther did not back down, his gray-brown eyes filled with seriousness. He believed that admitting one's mistake was not terrible, as it could be corrected. He was now trying to persuade his lord to follow the right path.

"Who are they?"

Then, the maester pointed at a group of ragged workers wearing chains not far away. If they slackened in their work, the overseeing soldiers would not hesitate to whip them.

Smack—

After falling to the ground, the worker groaned for a while, seemingly cursing the soldier, only to receive a second lash before finally getting up again.

"No."

Viserys shook his head.

"Maester Gunther, I'm afraid you misunderstand. These people are members of the bandits and Brotherhood that were exterminated recently."

"These people... once harmed the region. Having them build the castle now is already letting them off easy."