Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Aemon opened his personal interface:

[Aemon Targaryen]

Talent: Dreamer (Gold)

Bloodline: Valyrian Dragonlord (41.5%)

Skills: Binding Spell "Residual" (Mastered) Archery (Sharpshooter) Sleight of Hand (Proficient)

Magic Cards: Sturdy Body (Blue) Steadfast as Stone - Intermediate (Purple) Regal Aura (Purple)

Equipment: Valyrian Steel Daggers (Dual) Sapphire Amulet (2/3) Bronze Shield

Pets: Gold-Nosed Rat (Blue) White Stag (Sacred Beast)

Assessment: "Steady bloodline progress. Advanced dragon-riding techniques now attainable."

Aemon sighed. No significant updates, though steady progress was better than none.

He turned to the golden hourglass on his card interface:

[Essence: 2,197]

The aftermath of killing Cannibal had earned him 100 magical essence points, while the four dragon eggs and the White Stag added 67 points. After spending 250 points on the Bronze Shield, he was left with 2,197 points.

However, there was one lingering regret:

Cannibal's death hadn't increased his bloodline purity by 5%.

"Dragon blood loses potency after death," he muttered, rubbing Gray Ghost's head. The young dragon tilted its head expectantly, clearly awaiting a reward.

"Not today," Aemon said, shoving the greedy dragon away.

While walking back to the camp, Aemon gave orders:

"Make sure Ser Lyonel at Seagard is prepared to receive the next shipment of materials."

"Yes, Prince," Johanna replied.

The building materials weren't conjured out of thin air. According to the card mechanics, they arrived via a foreign merchant ship, discreetly docked at Seagard and transported through the Vale's rugged mountain trails.

Fortunately, the card ensured secrecy, shielding the operation from prying eyes. The only challenge was navigating the treacherous roads.

"Prince!" Maester Muqin greeted him with excitement. "Come look at this—slaked lime has set into an impressively hard state."

Picking up a rock, Muqin struck a low wall made from slaked lime.

Clang!

The rock split in two, leaving only a shallow dent in the wall's surface.

Aemon pressed his hand to the lime-bonded structure. It felt damp and cool—still curing. Fully hardened, it would be even stronger.

"Impressive," he said.

Muqin nodded, relieved the prince recognized the material's potential. "If you're satisfied, we can calculate how much slaked lime the palace will require."

"How many workers would it take to keep up with demand?"

"A crew of 500 could handle lime production, but the supporting labor for quarrying and firewood would require an additional 1,500 people," Muqin explained.

Aemon's smile faltered.

Between the 1,000 orphans from King's Landing and the 509 new settler households, he was still short of manpower.

Johanna leaned close and whispered, "We have coal mines, Prince."

Aemon snapped his fingers. "Of course! Coal can replace firewood."

With that revelation, a complete production chain formed in his mind:

Miners to extract coal and stone. Laborers to burn lime.

Two teams working in tandem would make the project feasible.

Aemon strode confidently toward the settlers' temporary village by the lake.

"What's your plan, Prince?" Johanna asked, walking beside him.

"To show these people a future worth fighting for."

The commotion of his arrival drew the settlers from their huts. Men, women, and children gathered at the village edge, wary of their dragonlord.

These were simple folk from the impoverished northwest, unfamiliar with grand titles or dragons. All they wanted was land to till and fewer taxes to pay.

"Citizens of the Vale, welcome to your new home!" Aemon called out, spreading his arms wide.

The villagers exchanged nervous glances. Some elderly men pulled children to their knees in a gesture of submission.

The atmosphere was cold and uneasy until Ser Steffon stepped forward, his voice booming:

"You stand before Prince Aemon of House Targaryen—the Bronze and Fire Reborn, Heir of Runestone, and Dragonslayer!"

The declaration rang across the lake, startling the gray dragonling fishing nearby.

"Screech!"

Gray Ghost's cry echoed as black swans scattered from the lake, their flight a striking spectacle.

Awestruck, the settlers fell to their knees en masse.

"Dragonslayer Aemon!"

"Long live the prince!"

The cries grew louder, though some still called him "lord" instead of "prince."

Aemon, accustomed to such displays, raised a hand. "I ask for your loyalty, not your knees. Rise."

Hesitant but obedient, the villagers stood.

Steffon stepped aside. "Prince, please address your people."

"Thank you," Aemon said, before speaking in a clear, authoritative tone:

"Welcome to the Vale! As your new lord, I promise to provide you with land to call your own."

"What!?"

The settlers gasped in shock, their hope ignited. Aemon had hit their greatest desire squarely.

"Not only that," he continued, "but I will also build a home for us all—a grand town for our future!"

This left them baffled. Why would their lord live among them?

Aemon added the final touch:

"Work hard, and you will earn wages for your labor!"

"Long live the prince!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their doubts and fears momentarily forgotten.

Aemon raised his hands to quiet them. "We have much work ahead. Who among you are the village leaders?"

Seven elderly men and three middle-aged representatives stepped forward, explaining they were the heads of their respective villages or groups.

"Your people will have work," Aemon promised. "Those who work will be paid in coin or equivalent goods."

"What tasks will we do, and what will we earn?" one elder dared to ask.

"Lime burners will earn 28 copper stars per month. Quarry workers will earn 3 silver stags. Miners will earn 6 silver stags."

The leaders gasped. These wages, though modest by urban standards, were unheard of in rural areas.

"Do you doubt me?" Aemon asked.

"Never!" Steffon barked, silencing any hesitation.

The leaders quickly agreed, overwhelmed by the prospect of fair pay.

"Prince," Johanna interjected, "how will you keep these people motivated long-term?"

"I'll offer land," Aemon declared. "Each settler will receive six acres per person."

The crowd's enthusiasm surged, especially among the orphans from King's Landing.

Aemon grinned. "And once the town is built, every family will receive a home!"

This promise sealed their loyalty. Both settlers and orphans erupted in chants of "Long live the prince!"

"Organize them," Aemon commanded. "Women and children will burn lime. Older men will quarry stone. The strongest will mine coal."

He paused, then added, "Select a team to handle meals. Feeding workers is just as important as the work itself."

Johanna's sharp gaze softened in admiration. For all his recklessness, Aemon was proving adept at leadership.

Meanwhile, the enslaved members of the Fire Tribes watched enviously, their resentment growing as they labored without pay.

Aemon called out to Gray Ghost. "Let's show them how to build a lime kiln!"

"Screech!"

The young dragon bounded over, oblivious to the complexities of human ambition.

"Maester Muqin," Aemon said, turning to the bewildered scholar, "pause foundation work and double the area. Use a mix of lime, sand, and clay to strengthen it."

Muqin's expression was one of resigned disbelief. "Understood, my prince."

As Gray Ghost playfully nudged him, Aemon couldn't help but laugh. "Even dragons must work for their keep."