With the land tilled, the labor set, and the name Vaelar beginning to ripple across Lys's merchant circles, I knew I had only secured one half of power—production. The next, and perhaps most fragile pillar, was protection.
A farm without guards is a feast for raiders. A house without blades is a coffin waiting to be nailed shut.
I had the food. I had the land. But now I needed steel.
Sowing the Future
Using the Mori Mori no Mi, I generated what I now referred to as super seeds—enhanced strains of wheat, barley, and oil-rich flax, all imbued with stronger roots, resistance to rot, and faster growth. Some of them even produced a faint golden sheen on their husks, giving the illusion of value before they were ever touched by trade.
I handed the seeds to the overseers, along with strict schedules for planting, watering, and rotation. The agricultural slaves had already been broken in. Now they worked like a well-oiled system—under strict oversight and with looming threats of punishment should anything be wasted.
I divided the estate into seven planting zones, each monitored by a team of twenty workers under a foreman. This gave me modular control. If any group faltered, I could isolate the problem without interrupting the whole machine.
To ensure this system didn't collapse under incompetence, I hired two estate managers:
Cleyos Vann, a former logistics officer from Myr who had experience running river trade estates. Sharp eyes, quick with numbers, and lacking moral concerns.
Talya Marr, a shrewd woman from Tyrosh with a background in grain transport and a reputation for squeezing profit out of sand.
Neither asked too many questions. I paid them well and made clear their continued employment depended on results, not loyalty.
Staff and Schooling
Daenerys, for all her youth, could not be neglected. She was the only other Targaryen alive—at least, the only one that mattered. She was both my ward and my asset.
I hired three people solely for her care:
Neria, a soft-spoken tutor from Lys who had once served in a noble household. She was fluent in several languages and had a talent for shaping noble girls into courtly women.
Betharo, a Summer Islander nursemaid who had raised four children of merchant princes. She was disciplined but gentle, and she understood when not to speak.
Malco, a mute ex-bodyguard to a brothel madam, now repurposed as Dany's personal shadow. He didn't need to talk. His blade spoke plenty.
I didn't give Dany the freedom to roam as she pleased. She was too important, too vulnerable. I ordered her lessons in history, manners, and Valyrian. She was allowed to play only within the walled gardens or under guard supervision.
She didn't complain. She trusted me, even as her childhood began to take shape behind marble and stone, behind order and structure. That was fine. I wasn't raising a girl.
I was shaping a queen.
Security and Steel
With hundreds of slaves, thousands of acres, and now valuable produce, security was no longer optional—it was critical.
I increased my estate guard from the initial dozen Lyseni swords to a private detachment of forty, composed of:
Ten archers, stationed in watchtowers and along the river trail.
Fifteen infantry guards armed with spears, leather armor, and shields.
Ten patrol riders with light mail and fast horses for inland surveillance.
Five enforcers stationed inside the villa—my personal guard, and the estate's iron hand.
I paid all of them three times the usual wage and handpicked them myself, using the Transparent World technique to read each man like parchment. The moment I saw treachery or fear, they were discarded. Some quietly. Some not.
Still, I knew better than to trust mercenaries for life. Coin could buy loyalty—but only for as long as the coin flowed.
I needed something better.
The Unsullied
The thought had been seeded in my mind ever since I began reading local Lyseni ledgers. Every noble household that feared assassination or political rivals turned to the same source eventually—the Unsullied.
Perfectly trained. Unflinching. Slave-soldiers bred for discipline, not ambition. No desire, no rebellion, no hesitation.
In a world where betrayal was currency, they were an investment worth more than gold.
But they were not sold in Lys. They were bred and broken in Astapor, across the Narrow Sea in Slaver's Bay.
I couldn't purchase them through intermediaries—at least not yet. The best units were sold directly, often in batches of one hundred or more. I needed to travel there myself, examine the options, and negotiate directly with the Good Masters.
But I couldn't leave my growing empire unattended.
Departing Lys
I assembled a small traveling guard of ten sellswords and six personal attendants. I told the Lyseni authorities I was expanding House Vaelar's trade into the east—looking to purchase new exotic goods and slaves for elite service and plantation expansion. This wasn't uncommon. Many merchant houses ventured into Slaver's Bay to increase their standing.
I left Cleyos in charge of the estate's operations. He answered directly to Talya, who had veto rights over purchases and discipline. The two were paid well enough to be motivated, and feared me enough not to betray me.
Daenerys remained behind in the estate. She was protected by:
Her personal guard Malco.
Four veteran guards stationed solely around her villa.
A blood-sealed ward I had placed using Valyrian magic to trigger alarms if any unapproved individual crossed the perimeter of her chambers.
Before leaving, I took Dany's hand.
"You'll be safe here," I said.
She nodded, trying to look brave. "Will you be gone long?"
"Not long. But when I return, I'll bring soldiers who will never let anyone hurt us again."
The Road Ahead
My destination: Astapor.
My purpose: to purchase Unsullied.
Not a handful—but hundreds. Enough to form the backbone of my private army. Loyal to me, tied to no nation, and bound by command and coin.
I didn't care how they were made. I didn't care what it cost. I only cared that they could fight, kill, and die on command.