The victory at the Battle of Fawnton spread quickly across the Seven Kingdoms, greatly encouraging the loyalists of the Iron Throne.
This was also the first time the lords of the Seven Kingdoms truly witnessed the power of dragons.
They finally understood the saying: "A Targaryen with a dragon is the closest thing to a god."
Following this, Daeron's reputation soared.
The title of "Young Dragon Lord" Daeron became the strongest spiritual pillar for the Royalists.
Tumbleton.
Daeron arrived with his troops to gather the scattered Crownlands army.
Robert had succeeded in a surprise attack and scattered the Crownlands army, but he had not wiped them out.
When Daeron arrived on dragonback, displaying the three-headed Red Dragon banner of the House Targaryen, the small groups of remnants hiding in the shadows quickly rallied, coalescing into a new army.
At the same time, Tygett received a revelation and finally found his missing eldest brother, Tywin.
The two returned to Tumbleton to rendezvous with Daeron.
Dragon Square.
The largest square in Tumbleton after its reconstruction, it had once displayed the skulls of the three dragons, Vermithor, Seasmoke, and Tessarion, drawing attention from across the Seven Kingdoms.
After the royal family reclaimed the three dragon skulls, this square became the largest gathering place for merchants.
Daeron stood on a high platform, with the residents of Tumbleton, who had been affected by the war, below.
Two soldiers stepped forward, dragging Lord Fudley up.
"Prince, spare me."
Lord Fudley had wet his pants in fear, constantly making excuses and begging for mercy, claiming he was forced into it.
Daeron's gaze was calm as he said: "I know it was Tywin who let his troops pillage, forcing you into rebellion."
Long before arriving at Tumbleton, his scouts had informed him of the whole story.
"Yes, Prince."
Lord Fudley's eyes flashed with hope as he tried to elicit sympathy: "Spare me, my liege lord is the House Tyrell, and I myself am a loyal subject of the Iron Throne; I did not rebel intentionally."
Daeron shook his head: "I understand your plight, but that is no excuse for colluding with the enemy."
"Prince, I didn't mean to!"
"The Iron Throne does not care."
Daeron drew Dark Sister, held it tightly in both hands above Lord Fudley's neck, loudly declared his crimes, and then swung the sword cleanly.
With a thud, the head fell to the ground.
Daeron waved his hand, sending men to drag the corpse away and hang it on the city walls as a display.
Lord Fudley was not worthy of sympathy.
He could have reported Tywin's atrocities to the Iron Throne or requested help from his liege lord, the House Tyrell.
But he chose neither, instead colluding with the rebels and letting the enemy into the city.
He deserved to die!
The civilians below let out gasps; men, women, the elderly, and children alike shared a common hatred, showing disgust and hostility toward Daeron and the Royalist army.
Daeron scanned their faces one by one, not blaming them.
These civilians were suffering.
What they loathed was not Daeron personally or the Iron Throne, but the natural human aversion to war after being caught in its crossfire.
They were war-weary.
"Everyone!"
Daeron opened his arms, using his bright, handsome young face to regain the attention of the civilians.
He said: "Some have pillaged you, and the war has affected you. This is not suffering you should have to bear, and for this, I feel deep sympathy."
It was sympathy, not an apology.
He was, after all, a beneficiary of the feudal system; he would not blindly show kindness to the commoners and make himself look foolish.
But he was human.
Amidst the wary and puzzled gazes of the civilians, Daeron raised Dark Sister above his head and loudly declared: "I, Daeron Targaryen, son of Aerys II of the House Targaryen, declare once again."
"To let Tumbleton rest and recover, and to compensate the suffering people in the city."
"Starting from today, all merchants, farmers, and tenant farmers in the city are exempt from taxes for one full year. No taxes of any kind need to be paid."
Gasps!
The civilians widened their eyes, discussing the policy of one-year tax exemption.
Daeron continued: "Those merchants who were pillaged can record a list. The Iron Throne cannot pay for everything, but we will compensate you for one-third of your losses."
The merchants were incredibly excited, seeing hope to resume business.
Daeron hit the key point: "Those households whose women were humiliated can report to me. I will grant you a two-year tax exemption and provide shelter for the humiliated women. If needed, I will arrange husbands for them."
This truly struck a chord with the commoners.
Many civilians were moved to tears; men held their wives, women hugged their children, and families wept together.
Everything was fine, then their property was looted, and their womenfolk were humiliated.
It was one thing for married women; if they could overcome the psychological trauma, they could still muddle through life.
But for unmarried young girls, losing their virginity made it difficult even to get married.
Many poor families would even cast young girls out of their homes just to save face and rations.
By providing them with shelter, Daeron was saving them from the Stranger.
As for arranging husbands, it would depend on whether there were any unmarried, suitable young men among the Royalist soldiers.
Not every soldier was a nobleman's son.
Most soldiers were farmers' sons.
When they were summoned by their lords, carrying hoes and their own rations, they might not have been married yet.
After the war ended, Daeron was willing to arrange wives for them.
"Prince Daeron—!"
"Wuu wuu wuu—"
Most of the civilians were sobbing uncontrollably, looking at the silver-haired prince who could ride a dragon, looking at that young face, calling his name from the bottom of their hearts, and sincerely supporting him.
A prince who could exempt them from taxes, a prince who could provide them with shelter.
At this moment, he was warmer than the Seven carved from stone.
Outside the military camp.
Daeron pushed his way out of the crowd of civilians and hurried back to the main camp.
His expression was expressionless, his aura chillingly gloomy.
From the eyes of those civilians, he could see that they didn't ask for much—just a stable life.
They didn't even ask for fairness, justice, or wealth—
But there were always people who thought they were better than others, who didn't view others as human, and who casually destroyed the hard-won peace.
Daeron began to reflect.
Perhaps he shouldn't have stationed troops in Tumbleton, and even more so, he shouldn't have trusted his teacher, Tywin.
In war, sacrifice is inevitable.
But innocent lives should not be subjected to unprovoked disaster.
"Prince, do you want to see Lord Tywin?"
Tygett had just returned to the camp and met the aggressive Daeron head-on.
Daeron glanced at the Lannister grand tent behind him, snatched a helmet from a soldier, and walked straight toward the puzzled Tygett.
"Prince—"
Tygett's pupils constricted, sensing something was wrong.
Without a word, Daeron raised the helmet and smashed it onto Tygett's head, making a dull thud.
Tygett fell to the ground.
"See? See who!"
Daeron straddled Tygett, not afraid of killing him, and kept smashing his head with the helmet, cursing as he hit: "What face do you have to see anyone? What kind of scum! Asking to see scum?"
First there was killing the chicken to scare the monkey, now there was beating Tygett to scold Tywin.
Daeron grew more vigorous as he hit, leaving the man bloody and several times on the verge of fainting.
"Prince, Prince, stop!"
Lord Caron and others rushed over and quickly pulled him away.
Daeron dropped the helmet, which hit Tygett's head and bounced to the entrance of the Lannister grand tent.
He couldn't confront Tywin.
Tywin was the Hand of the King, the Duke of the Westerlands, and his prepared black glove.
Beating Tygett was fine, just venting his anger.
If he confronted Tywin in person, the situation would change immediately.
Regardless of status, position, or face, Tywin could not endure criticism from others.
Even if he was reluctant to give up the position of Hand and still wanted to marry his daughter Cersei into the royal family, for the sake of his and House Lannister's face, he would have no choice but to resign.
Daeron wouldn't let him run away.
Many things still needed Tywin to do. Many pots still needed Tywin to carry.
"Prince, calm down."
Lord Caron and the others held Daeron back, signaling the soldiers to drag the unconscious Tygett away.
Fortunately, Tygett was a warrior of the Gem Sequence, and he had absorbed the yellow gemstone that enhanced defense.
Anyone else would have been smashed to death long ago.
Daeron shook his arms, shaking off Lord Caron and the others, and continued to look for his target.
Under the wrong commander, there was no shortage of evil beasts.
"This is the territory of House Lannister!"
Before Daeron could really look, the beasts jumped out themselves.
"The Mountain" Gregor Clegane arrived upon hearing the news, blocking the entrance to the grand tent. Standing over eight feet tall and fully armored, he was literally an iron mountain.
Behind him followed a group of Lannister officers and soldiers.
They were all those who had luckily survived the Battle of Tumbleton.
Daeron looked up, staring straight into the gloomy eyes visible through the gaps in Gregor's full helmet, and sneered: "Seeing is believing, are you the famous Gregor Clegane?"
"That's right, it's me!"
Gregor's voice came from under his full helmet, muffled and heavy, like the sound of grinding stones.
Daeron didn't like to waste words, stating clearly: "During the three days of pillaging, you raped over a dozen innocent women and killed three men who were protecting their wives and daughters."
"Did I do it?"
Gregor was incredibly arrogant, slightly lowering his body, full of violent aura: "Even if I did, it was under the orders of Lord Tywin Lannister."
Except for Tywin, who held the power of life and death, he obeyed no one.
"Well done, you deserve to die even more than Amory Lorch."
Daeron laughed and stepped back a distance.
Gregor didn't understand, his brain filled with violence not allowing him to think too much.
Lord Caron and others watched closely, vaguely sensing something.
"Skree—!"
Suddenly, a Red Dragon appeared on the high hill behind the camp, its massive body moving slowly, emitting a sharp, warning screech.
Gregor trembled, staring blankly at the giant Red Dragon.
"Fight me, or fight it."
Daeron gave the choice, holding Dark Sister in his right hand and red rain in his left.
Gregor took a step back, drew the greatsword he carried on his back, and assumed a one-on-one dueling stance.
What a joke.
Even a fool wouldn't choose to single-handedly fight a dragon.
"Very well!"
Daeron's eyes sharpened, injecting the energy of the Life Seed into his whole body, and quickly flashed to the side of the big beast.
"Get away from me!"
Gregor's movements were not clumsy; noticing Daeron's action, he swept his door-sized greatsword horizontally.
Daeron jumped back to dodge, and taking advantage of the opening created by the opponent's wide swing, he took a big step forward and closed in again.
Gregor's full heavy armor was as brittle as paper in front of a valyrian steel sword.
Dark Sister thrust forward, piercing his lower ribs.
Gregor was instantly enraged, switching to holding the sword with one hand and swinging his fist with the other.
Daeron's footwork was agile; red rain thrust downward into the ground, he used his toes to kick off for leverage, and the blade sliced the big beast's left Achilles tendon.
"Ah!!" Gregor howled in pain, dropping to one knee.
"I won't spare you."
Daeron kicked him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
He then pressed forward, pinning his left arm with Dark Sister and his right arm with red rain, nailing him firmly to the ground.
He was not the Red Viper, who liked to show off and get his head crushed.
Lord Caron and the others watched in terror, not expecting the Prince to be so ruthless, nailing a man alive.
And this was just the beginning.
Daeron pulled out Dark Sister, stepped on the thick arm spurting blood like a fountain, and pressed the tip of the sword against the big beast's helmet between the eyes.
Gregor's eyes widened, finally feeling fear.
"No!"
Daeron shook his head, the sword tip sliding all the way down, passing the big beast's mouth, throat, heart, and lower abdomen, finally reaching his crotch.
"Ugh——!!"
Gregor understood what was happening and struggled violently, but with one arm pinned down and the other seemingly stepped on by a dragon, he couldn't break free at all.
"Say goodbye to your tools of the trade."
Daeron greeted him, and Dark Sister plunged down, piercing through the codpiece armor and cutting off the dirty, filthy thing.
"Ah!!"
Gregor's body went rigid. Excruciating pain, accompanied by the humiliation and fear of losing a part of his body, made him wish he were dead.
Daeron curled his lips, feeling that the big beast's screams were even more pleasant than the howls of wild dogs on the roadside.
Not to mention the dozen or so girls who had been victimized by him in Tumbleton.
In the original story, he was the one who killed Elia's children, and then, using hands stained with blood and brains, raped and murdered Elia.
Elia and her children could no longer be described as innocent.
But Gregor, a beast by nature, was the first to pay for his crimes.
"Prince, he is a man of House Lannister."
Lord Caron feared the Prince would offend Tywin.
"Does House Lannister get to harbor beasts?"
Daeron wasn't afraid of Tywin; the other party had evidence in his hands now, and honestly shrinking back in the grand tent was the only way for him to maintain his dignity.
Caraxes felt the rider's emotions and flapped a pair of wide fleshy wings, landing in the camp.
Daeron still stepped on Gregor, saying calmly: "Dragonfire!!"
"Prince!?"
This time, not only Lord Caron, but even the surrounding officers and soldiers were terrified, wanting to step forward to stop him.
Whether Gregor lived or died didn't matter, but the Prince was still within the range of the Dragonfire.
Boom—
Caraxes, sharing the same mind as its rider, spewed Dragonfire from its maw, striking the open ground above Gregor's head.
Although not a direct incineration, it was less than half a meter away.
The heat and impact of the Dragonfire existed simultaneously.
In the blink of an eye, the air distorted from the high temperature, and a pitch-black crater erupted in the sandy soil.
Gregor, being near the Dragonfire, saw his helmet heat up rapidly, becoming a scorching hot iron that clung to his flesh.
Sizzle!
Accompanied by the harsh sound of roasting flesh, a burnt, foul odor wafted out.
"Kill me! Let me die!"
Gregor was about to be driven mad by the torture, emitting screams a hundred times more shrill than the girls he had raped, as the helmet fused perfectly with his head.
Daeron stood in place, the Dragonfire spraying diagonally closer to him, yet it did not affect him in the slightest.
"By the Seven!!"
Lord Caron and the others' pupils shook, all showing expressions of having seen a ghost.
Daeron glanced back, his silver-gold hair stained with sparks, with tiny flames burning at the tips.
This did not affect his image.
The young prince stepped on the screaming giant, with the crimson Dragonfire overhead, yet his fair skin was undamaged, and the two valyrian steel swords glowed in the firelight.
The flames igniting his hair tips and the Dragonfire, one weak and one strong, existed within three feet of him, forming a stark contrast.
At this moment, Daeron transcended the category of humans, already infinitely close to a god.