"Good gods—this little thing of yours, when it didn't hatch, it sat there like a damned rock for years without a hint of movement, making your father here anxious."
Kal muttered tiredly as he looked at the little gold dragon—its head tucked beneath its wings, its tail curled, sleeping soundly in the circular pit he had casually stacked together with stones—unable to resist reaching out to poke its soft, chubby flesh.
"And now you pop out only to grow as if someone dumped a sack of compounded fertilizer on you?"
It had already been half a month since they left King's Landing, and Kal's group of four—plus one dragon—had been heading west all the way.
As for this half month, the little gold dragon Robert had done nothing but sleep and eat along the way.
As soon as it woke up, the first thing it did upon seeing Kal was cry out loudly for food.
Aside from presenting the perfect picture of a ravenous dragon roaring, there was not much else it knew how to do.
And after eating its fill, it naturally went straight back to sleep—so deeply that it did not even know how to defecate.
The little gold dragon Robert was somewhat different from Daenerys Targaryen's three dragons in the original work.
This little fellow—who knew if it was because the food Kal arranged for it was simply too powerful, or because, back when it was still an egg, it had spent several years inside the game world and even gone through version updates.
Its slim, heron-sized body at birth had, in only half a month, grown to the size of a large yellow mutt—or even a sheep—despite being curled up.
To say it without shame, this little fellow's once slender physique had already grown a small belly, and its head, when squeezed, had become even softer and squishier, very elastic—and of course, burning hot to the touch.
Other than Kal, no one could possibly touch it; this little fellow only recognized Kal.
Its growth rate had exceeded Kal's imagination; one could say it changed from one day to the next.
And it was not only its growth rate—its appetite was also growing larger with each passing day.
As a result, these past few days Kal had to return to the game world every night to earn "dragon feed" for it.
In order to dig out some dragon eggshells, Kal not only had to endure Artessa's "exploitation", but also had to shoulder a pickaxe and bury his head in work, chiseling away at the crater of the volcano.
If not for the "unburnt" talent in his bloodline—belonging to House Targaryen and strengthened who knew how many times—he would never have been able to remain at the crater.
The temperature used by the dragons under that DND worldview to incubate their eggs was anything but simple.
As for how many dragon eggshells there were in the volcanic flames, Kal did not know what the original game had been like; in any case, besides waiting for eggshells to be carried to the surface by the movement of the lava, he could also actively dig them out with tools.
Just to earn some food for this little bastard of his, every time he had to let Artessa squeeze him dry before this female dragon would allow him to ride on her back and fly to some place Kal still did not even know what it was, to collect eggshells.
If he did not ride Artessa, he simply would not be able to find this volcano at all.
It was as if this volcano existed only as a separate map.
But no matter what, this little bastard he had raised with all his painstaking effort still made him feel gratified in the end.
Giving the soundly sleeping Robert a few more light pats—smack, smack—Kal finally stood up despite the weariness in his eyes and raised his head, looking toward a hill and the sea faintly visible in the distance.
The now-not-so-small little gold dragon, however, did not care in the slightest about its doting father's slaps; after two soft grunts, it buried its head even deeper.
Kal listened to Robert's snuffling as he gazed into the distance.
He could not help but let out a sigh. "Damn it, if I weren't in such a hurry on the road, I reckon my horse would already hardly dare to carry you anymore."
With that said, he walked down from this small hillside and came to the camp tent that the three white knights had set up for him.
"Your Grace, we will arrive at Casterly Rock tomorrow," said Ser Arys Oakheart, who, aside from Ser Barristan Selmy, was currently the most senior of the Kingsguard; thus, along the way, he had been the one taking the initiative to speak with Kal.
As Arys spoke, he reached out and handed over a waterskin.
All along the way, because they had been hurrying on the road at a fast pace, they did not have many supplies, and all of them were carried by their spare horses.
Only recently, as Robert's precocious growth continued and the natural aura of a great dragon on its body grew ever stronger, they had been forced to buy a cart from a farmhouse along the road to carry it; the horses assigned specifically to haul it had even taken up three mounts so they could be rotated each day.
Hearing these words from Arys Oakheart, Kal—who had been so busy of late that even his sleep had to be snatched in the game world whenever he found the time—could not help but let out a long, relaxed breath.
Then he took the waterskin Arys handed over, opened it, and gulped it down until it was empty.
After a satisfied sigh, Kal said, "We can already see the seaside. I just don't know how well Tyrion and the others have tidied up Casterly Rock for me."
Kal had been this busy recently not only because he had to hurry along the road and raise his "child" to earn its rations, but of course also to free up room for the situation in the Westerlands to come.
Because, barring any surprises, things on Tywin Lannister's side certainly would not be as peaceful as Eddard Stark imagined.
If he really had been the one to pay the price to hire the Faceless Men to assassinate Robert, then he definitely would not sit and wait for death.
Even if he had not, at the very least he would be in the know, or rather a participant, and under such a premise he would certainly make some sort of move as well.
Therefore, what had to be done next was to stabilize the Wall first, so as not to let the wildlings and the White Walkers beyond it sense anything.
Since he himself could not spare the time now, he could only pin his hopes on Robb Stark, far away in Winterfell, being able to give the response he ought to after receiving his warning and sort out things on the Night's Watch's side.
As for his own side, he also had to settle the Westerlands quickly; in troubled times heavy measures had to be used, and Kal was already prepared to enforce only one policy: those who followed him would prosper, those who opposed him would perish.
Anyone who refused to submit to him would not be given another chance: he would purge them directly and replace them with someone obedient, or simply with his own people.
With the earlier Lannister rebellion and his own lawful claim now added on top, even if Kal acted somewhat extreme, no one would really be able to say much about it.
And only after he had consolidated the "support" and strength he could obtain would Kal truly be able to free up his hands to deal with Renly Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon.
Even now, despite having a dragon as his trump card, Kal was not as optimistic as Eddard Stark—having thoroughly read the original A Song of Ice and Fire, Kal knew exactly what those two were like.
When they had no opportunity, they would behave as obedient princes of House Baratheon.
But once a chance to seize power, to grasp the Iron Throne, appeared before them, they would absolutely never give up such an opportunity.
And Kal—who currently had no foundation—was the best opportunity they had right now.
Even Kal himself saw it this way.
Because if they did not fight for this chance, then Renly and Stannis would never again have another opportunity in their lifetimes.
As for Kal—who had now secured his footing, was strong both in governance and war, and had brought a dragon back into the world—he would become the undisputed king of the Seven Kingdoms.
Kal believed they would certainly be able to see that.
Unless they could truly make up their minds to abandon everything now.
But abandoning was easy—would the ones standing behind them really be willing to see them give up?
Whether it was the Lord of Light, or the Tyrells, or even others besides them.
Only those people were Kal's true enemies—Kal had known this from beginning to end.
On the surface, they were the enemies; in the shadows, it was the Citadel, the Faith, the interests of the nobles—or even the so-called gods.
And this was precisely why he had hurried back so urgently: to stabilize the situation in the Westerlands, secure his footing, and plan step by step.
Bringing a dragon back into the world might be a good thing—but it might not be a good thing.
Just like how he himself had taken the throne in such haste.
As for the Tyrion Lannister and others His Grace had mentioned, Arys Oakheart did not know them well, so he maintained the silence befitting a Kingsguard.
Only when the king they served had finished his meal did Arys Oakheart step forward again and say, "Tonight I shall keep watch for the first half of the night for Your Grace, and Ser Balon Swann will take over the second half."
"Ser Meryn Trant will stand guard over Your Grace's dragon; during the second half of the night, I will relieve him."
As night gradually approached, Arys Oakheart arranged the watch schedule.
Ever since Robert's funeral, the recent days had been unusually dry with no rain, so Kal's party had made rather smooth progress.
But even so, Arys Oakheart still fulfilled his duty.
Because of the addition of a dragon, Kal had no choice but to assign someone to keep watch over it.
So in truth, not only Kal felt exhausted—these three Kingsguard were not much different.
As for the reason they had to watch it, naturally it was to worry that it might get hungry, and the rest was to prevent it from disturbing him.
Kal did not want Arys Oakheart and the other two to discover his secret.
"Then thank you for your hard work, Arys. Once we arrive at Casterly Rock tomorrow, I'll give the three of you a break, and quickly select the remaining three Kingsguard to assist you."
After eating and drinking his fill, Kal casually exchanged a few words with Arys Oakheart before turning and entering the tent.
Because of his order, the three Kingsguard would not enter the tent unless he came out on his own.
These past ten-some days, every night when they were not on the road, Kal had done the same—he needed to return to the game world to work, rotate supplies, and prepare for war.
After another night of busy work, it was only when dawn broke that Kal stepped out of the tent, his face weary.
Although he could sleep in the game world and use energy potions, the mental fatigue was not so easily dispelled.
Balon Swann was standing guard at Kal's door, nodding despite himself even while on his feet.
"Go rest. We'll depart again in four hours—there's no need to rush today."
Kal moved without a sound; not until his palm landed on Balon Swann's shoulder did he startle awake.
"Forgive me, Your Grace—I—"
Kal waved his hand, not letting him finish. "Go."
With that said, he walked toward the small hill used to block the wind and came to Robert's temporary nest.
With a single glance, Kal sharply noticed that Robert had grown again; the pile of stones he had arranged perfectly for it yesterday had shifted out of place in several spots.
But Robert still maintained the same posture as yesterday, sleeping deeply, faint wisps of heat rising from its nose and mouth, warping the air.
"Your Grace!" Arys Oakheart did not drift off like Balon Swann; even though he had stood watch the entire night until dawn, he greeted Kal immediately when he saw him awake.
Because he stayed beside the dragon, he needed no campfire and did not feel cold.
"Go rest. We'll set out again in four hours—I've arranged things for Balon and the others as well."
"Yes, Your Grace." Arys Oakheart truly was exhausted, so he did not stand on ceremony and simply nodded in response.
Only after he had left did Kal look toward Robert, curled up in the pile of stones.
Whether it was because it sensed Kal's presence or not, it slowly lifted its head from beneath its wings, raised it, opened its eyes, and immediately saw Kal.
Just like a dog, this little fellow—still not even a month old—sprang up at once; its mouth opened, and sparks sprayed uncontrollably out from between its jaws.
To keep his clothes from suffering the same fate as before, Kal raised his hand and, before Robert's mouth could open fully, pinched it shut in one swift motion.
"Shut it!"
"Eat first!"
"We'll train your dragonfire and flying later—my horse already barely dares to pull you!"
With that, a large chunk of bear meat appeared in Kal's other hand, sprinkled all over with crushed dragonshell.
Seeing food the moment it woke, Robert immediately forgot about acting spoiled; it stuck out its long tongue to lick Kal's face—taking advantage of that instant, Kal shoved the meat into its mouth.
The special substance within the dragonshell, that aura of volcanic flame, made Robert unable to stop.
Clamping down happily on the meat pushed into its mouth, it lowered its head and pinned it with its claws, tearing into it.
"Eat well, little fellow—and you need to grow faster."
"Your father here can deal with any enemies on land for now, but if those enemies come from the sea, that would be troublesome."
"But speaking of that… should I be giving the Iron Islands some sort of 'opportunity'?"
"Otherwise, where am I supposed to get that many ships and war galleys?"
Watching the little gold dragon Robert bury its head and gnaw at the bear meat in complete satisfaction, Kal crouched down, stroked its head, and muttered softly.
And Robert, as if it could understand what Kal was saying, scraped clean the last of the dragonshell crumbs from the bear meat with quick motions of its tongue, then lifted its neck and breathed a burst of dragonfire onto the remaining chunk.
After that, it raised its head toward Kal, baring its teeth with a proud, approving look.
Kal was very pleased by its reaction, and several more scorching-hot dragonshell fragments appeared in his hand.
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