The morning air of Claw Isle carried a heavy scent of the sea. Sunlight filtered through the castle's arrow slits, casting dappled shadows on the breakfast table and illuminating the face of Lord Bartimos Celtigar, piled with smiles.
He personally filled Daemon's cup with wine, the silver crab sigil on the pitcher gleaming in the light. "Prince, I heard you, like Lord Corlys, have a keen interest in 'voyages'?"
Bartimos's tone held just the right amount of curiosity, as if mentioning it casually. "The world across the Narrow Sea is truly a place of hidden dragons and crouching tigers. Back then, before contending for the Iron Throne, King Maegor I also sought to establish a great legacy there, didn't he?"
Daemon picked up a piece of smoked cod with a silver fork, the corner of his mouth curling imperceptibly.
Sure enough, this old crab couldn't hold back and started using Maegor's story to probe him.
Thinking that to avoid the future Dance of the Dragons, he needed every bit of strength available, good or bad...
Daemon set down his cutlery, wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and calmly met Bartimos's gaze. "Lord Bartimos speaks truly. I do indeed have thoughts of venturing across the Narrow Sea. Westeros is large, but the world does not end here."
Bartimos's eyes lit up instantly, like a crab spotting prey. He pressed on eagerly: "When does the Prince plan to depart? Does he need ships from House Celtigar? We have trading partners in Braavos and Myr and can pave the way for the Prince."
"The time is not yet right," Daemon said lightly. "For now, I will complete the tour of the Seven Kingdoms first."
Bartimos's enthusiasm didn't diminish in the slightest. He began chattering about the customs along the Narrow Sea coast, from the luxury of the Free Cities to the mysteries of the East, as if he had personally measured every inch of that land.
Gael ate her breakfast quietly, occasionally looking up at Daemon with trust in her eyes.
Mysaria remained vigilant throughout, especially when Bartimos's daughters tried to approach Daemon; she would always casually block their way.
The afternoon sun grew scorching, and the beach of Claw Isle was covered in golden sand.
Daemon's followers spontaneously gathered here to spar. Rayford Rosby, Mycah Rivers, Jarmen Waters, Rupert Crabb, and others stood on two sides, surrounded by Celtigar servants watching the excitement.
The Cannibal and Dreamfyre dozed on distant reefs. Their massive dragon bodies cast large shadows, adding an imposing air to this martial display.
"Come on! Let me see if you've improved these past few days!" Rayford took off his outer tunic, revealing lean arms, and beckoned to Mycah.
Mycah accepted the challenge with a smile, drawing the longsword gifted by Rayford. They went back and forth, the sound of clashing blades ringing crisply on the beach.
Gael and Mysaria sat under a parasol, chatting and watching, occasionally exclaiming at brilliant moves.
Just then, Bartimos walked over with a youth. He was about sixteen or seventeen, tall and straight, wearing black leather armor with a longsword at his waist, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"Prince," Bartimos laughed, "this is my nephew, Corlin. Skilled in archery and horsemanship since childhood, passable with sword and spear, and quite a good sailor. I wonder if the young heroes following the Prince would do me the honor of giving him a chance to demonstrate?"
Daemon nodded. Rayford immediately sheathed his sword and made a "please" gesture to Corlin. Corlin didn't stand on ceremony, drawing his sword, the tip pointing straight at Rayford.
They exchanged only a few moves before Rayford became flustered. His experience was clearly less ample than his opponent's; he was better at coordinated team combat than this kind of one-on-one duel.
Corlin seized an opening, flipping his wrist to knock the sword from Rayford's hand.
"You let me win." Corlin sheathed his sword and stood straight, expressionless.
Rayford scratched his head in annoyance.
Seeing this, Mycah stepped forward immediately. "I'll take you on!" Mycah was clearly stronger than Rayford, his longsword swinging with the sound of wind. Initially, he indeed suppressed Corlin.
But Corlin's footwork was more agile, like a fish darting through waves, always dodging Mycah's attacks by a hair's breadth.
After a few rounds, Mycah's flaws gradually showed. Corlin seized the chance, leaning back sharply as the longsword swept past Mycah's neck, while Mycah's sword stopped above Corlin's head.
"You lost." Corlin's voice was calm and rippleless. Mycah's face flushed red instantly, his hand holding the sword trembling slightly.
In the retinue, Jarmen Waters, the one-eyed bastard of House Buckwell from Antlers, wanted to step forward but was stopped by Daemon raising a hand.
"It was already very good." Daemon walked to Mycah and patted his shoulder. "How many days have you been learning the longsword? If you used a hammer, the outcome might be different."
Mycah's expression softened, and he smiled sheepishly.
"Rupert, you go," Daemon signaled. Rupert drew his longsword and gave Corlin a standard knightly salute.
The duel between the two was more brilliant. Rupert's swordsmanship was steady and solid, while Corlin was agile and swift. The sound of clashing blades was dense as raindrops.
Finally, Rupert exploited Corlin's eagerness to win. A feint tricked his opponent, and with a flip of his wrist, his longsword rested on Corlin's shoulder.
"I lost." Corlin admitted defeat crisply. Rupert sheathed his sword and reached out to help him up.
Unexpectedly, after standing firm, Corlin suddenly picked up his sword again, looking at Daemon with burning eyes. "Prince, this junior is bold enough to ask for a few pointers from you."
Bartimos's face changed. Before he could recover from the joy of his nephew defeating two people in a row, he was plunged into shock that his nephew was defeated by a "half-savage" from the hated House Crabb of Crackclaw Point.
Finally, the old crab was scared witless by his nephew's "treasonous" words, fearing the Prince would get angry and have the black dragon burn the island. He quickly tried to scold: "Insolent!"
But Daemon took the sword from Rupert and smiled. "Alright."
The two stood in the center of the beach, sea breeze lifting their robes. Corlin attacked first, his sword moves sharp, carrying a refusal to admit defeat.
But Daemon's swordsmanship had been perfected since his past life. With only slight movements of his body, he easily dodged Corlin's attacks. The longsword in his hand seemed alive, every strike perfectly timed.
In just three rounds, Daemon caught Corlin's wrist and flicked lightly. Corlin's sword flew out, landing on the sand with a clang.
Corlin froze, face dark, a flash of unwillingness in his eyes.
He bent to pick up the sword and gripped it tight again. Everyone thought he was going to fly into a rage from shame; Bartimos's heart was in his throat. Unexpectedly, he simply knelt on one knee, holding the sword high: "Corlin Celtigar, wishes to follow the Prince with this sword until death! I beg the Prince to take me in!"
Daemon looked at the determination in his eyes, then at the dumbstruck Bartimos, and took the sword. "I accept your allegiance." He handed the sword back to Corlin. "From today on, follow Rupert. He will teach you what you need to learn."
"Yes, Prince!" Corlin responded respectfully, finally smiling.
Only then did Bartimos recover, quickly putting on a fawning smile. "To see the Prince's superb martial arts and have my unworthy nephew enter the Prince's service, I could die happy!"
At dusk, dinner was held again in the castle's Great Hall.
Bartimos continued to serve Daemon and Gael attentively, asking seemingly casually: "Prince, the next leg of the journey should be to the Vale, correct? From Claw Isle to the Vale, there are two sea routes: one along Crackclaw Point, past the Bay of Crabs to Gulltown; the other along the edge of the Vale, passing Runestone, Ironoaks, and Old Anchor..."
He paused, adding with implied meaning, "However, I heard that Prince Daemon Targaryen, second son of Crown Prince Baelon and your namesake cousin, doesn't have a very happy relationship with his wife from Runestone..."
Daemon naturally understood his meaning. This old crab hadn't given up, trying to incite him to rope in the Regent House Royce of the Vale, who was at odds with Daemon Targaryen, wanting him to fight directly for the Iron Throne.
But Daemon had no fondness for Rhea Royce's "blunt" face, and knew clearly that the Royces were as stubborn as their runic bronze armor—once decided, they would never change easily.
"Gulltown is closer," Daemon said lightly. "I heard the port commerce there is very developed; it's a good time to see it."
Bartimos froze, then immediately put away his smile and said respectfully, "The Prince speaks truly. Though House Celtigar's ships cannot compare to the Sea Snake's fleet, they are among the best in the Seven Kingdoms, guaranteed to make the voyage comfortable and pleasant for the Prince and Princess."
Daemon nodded and said no more. He knew Bartimos's calculations wouldn't stop here, but as long as he firmly held the initiative, this old crab couldn't stir up any waves. And his tour of the Seven Kingdoms had to continue.
Outside the window, the night on Claw Isle grew deeper. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks was like a ceaseless song, flowing slowly with the ambition and calculation on this island.
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