After spending several days in Torturer's Deep, Lo Quen returned to Jawbreak Island with Jaelena and Chai Yiq.
Having become a Flame Knight, Chai Yiq could now command five hundred Dragon Soul Guards with her Magic. Torturer's Deep lacked enough corpses for her to raise, but Jawbreak Island still held many that had yet to be burned.
As soon as they arrived, Lo Quen and Chai Yiq went straight to the corpse storage. Chai Yiq looked over the cold bodies as her Magic spread outward from her like a tide.
The stacked corpses suddenly convulsed, as if gripped and lifted by some unseen giant hand. Bones snapped with a sickening crack as they were forced upright.
In the suffocating silence, five hundred corpses completed their horrific transformation from decay to "life," rising to their feet in perfect unison.
Chai Yiq's face turned pale as paper, her body swaying slightly. Such a mass resurrection was a crushing strain on her newly gained powers. Yet when she beheld these silent warriors, a flicker of awe still crossed her eyes.
The Valyria armor and weapons prepared long beforehand were picked up and donned by the Dragon Soul Guards one by one.
Chai Yiq stared at the death legion she had forged in an instant. She felt the cold bond that tied them to her soul, the shock of it all nearly stealing her breath.
They were no longer lifeless corpses, but true instruments of war—fearless blades that belonged to her and Lo Quen alone.
She clenched her fists unconsciously, her nails biting into her palms.
With this, the total number of Dragon Soul Guards under Lo Quen's command reached fifteen hundred. Three hundred elites remained at Torturer's Deep, while twelve hundred now garrisoned Jawbreak Island, becoming the strongest foundation of the pirate stronghold.
Meanwhile, the army of the living was also taking shape under Jorah's training. Beyond the five hundred elite pirates under Janice guarding Torturer's Deep, Jawbreak Island now held a thousand pirates under Roro, five hundred hardened pirates under Hal, and two thousand directly commanded by Jaelena.
Together, the Dragon Soul Guards and pirates numbered a staggering forty-seven hundred.
But this growing army brought Lo Quen not only power, but also crushing pressure. Each day, maintaining this vast war machine was like pouring gold into a bottomless pit.
Warships needed constant upkeep, Dragonbone reinforcement, new sails. Ballistae and catapults devoured costly timber and metal. More than four thousand mouths needed food; cheap ale and salted fish were the bare minimum to keep morale from crumbling.
Weapons had to be replenished. Lo Quen even clenched his teeth and paid for sturdy leather armor for pirates who had once worn only linen. When these rough men first donned their matching gear, a faint sense of military discipline flickered through the once-chaotic ranks.
After a few months, his treasury of some seven hundred thousand golden dragons had shrunk to just over five hundred and fifty thousand.
...
Dust filled the air over the training grounds.
Jaelena wielded a blunt practice sword, her movements sleek and predatory like a panther, her long hair whipping with each fierce slash and swift dodge. Her opponent was Chai Yiq.
"Strength isn't everything."
Jaelena's voice was clear, steady, sharpened by years on the battlefield. "Look at your footwork—it's too heavy."
Her sword point darted like a viper, striking precisely at the opening Chai Yiq left beneath her guard. The controlled thrust made Chai Yiq grunt and stagger back.
Chai Yiq bit her lip, sweat trailing down her temple.
The Flame Knight's contract was reshaping her body, slowly but surely. Strength stirred deep in her blood like molten rock beneath the earth, every heartbeat sending a stronger surge through her veins. But that power needed honing—skills forged by tireless training to truly control it.
Jaelena's teaching was sharp and efficient, imprinting blood-tested battlecraft into Chai Yiq's muscles, stroke by stroke.
Jaelena pressed forward again, her blade flashing down like rain, forcing Chai Yiq into retreat, parrying frantically. A sudden low sweep knocked her balance, sending her sprawling forward, Jaelena's sword point poised firmly at the back of her neck.
Chai Yiq gasped, lying in the dirt. Her eyes held no defeat—only burning determination.
She pushed herself up, brushed dust from her lips, and said firmly, "Again."
...
Not far away, in another yard, Ser Jorah Mormont hurled a burly pirate to the ground, drawing laughter and crude cheers.
The former Lord of Bear Island now wore an expression of severe focus. He barked corrections, fixing the pirates' clumsy grips and chaotic formations. These outlaws might have fought often, but true discipline and coordination were still foreign to them.
Lo Quen stood with arms crossed at the edge, his gaze calm.
Months ago, when he first met Jorah, it had taken dozens of moves to bring him down. Now, the knight who had once won Westeros's great tournament and remained battle-hardened even in exile could not last three rounds against him.
Jaelena's relentless, hands-on guidance had transformed his swordsmanship at a staggering pace.
With every swing of the sword, it seemed to slice the air itself, precise and deadly.
The sea breeze carried its salty tang across the training ground, lifting swirls of dust.
Lo Quen watched intently as Jorah drilled a group of pirates in a simple shield wall advance. Clumsy crashes of wood and iron mingled with coarse shouts and curses.
Roro and Hal came hurrying up, arriving almost at the same moment behind him.
The sly grin that usually lingered on Roro's face was gone, replaced by a tense, weighty look. Hal's brow was tightly furrowed, his fingers unconsciously rubbing at the hilt of the blade on his hip.
"Lord..."
Roro lowered his voice. "Our eyes on Bloodstone report Salladhor's fleet has moved."
Lo Quen turned slowly, the wind tugging strands of black hair across his brow. "They're sailing here?"
"Yes!" Roro nodded sharply, his tone urgent.
"Nearly a hundred warships, a black mass blotting out the horizon. Their sails fill the sky—they've left Bloodstone's harbor and are headed straight for Jawbreak Island."
Lo Quen gave a grave nod. "We proceed according to plan."
His gaze swept over Roro and Hal. "All ships, fully supplied. All hands to stations. Prepare to weigh anchor."
"Aye!"
The two men answered together, eyes flashing with suppressed battle fire and a trace of unease. They turned and sprinted away, and almost at once the dock erupted with shouts and orders.
At that moment Chai Yiq approached, her face still glowing with the sweat and flush of training.
She looked at Lo Quen's taut profile, then at the sudden storm of activity breaking over the dock. After a brief hesitation, she asked softly, "Lord, are we going to war?"
Lo Quen's gaze settled on her face.
The Princess of Carcosa still possessed a beauty that stole the breath, but the eyes that once held only the sorrow and confusion of a fallen kingdom now glimmered with something steadier—resolve.
He nodded, his voice firm as steel. "Yes. The key to conquering the Stepstones lies in this battle."
Chai Yiq's heart stirred.
These past days she had watched Lo Quen steadily bring order to chaos—how he consolidated resources with precision, trained soldiers with ruthless efficiency, and forced even the wild pirate chiefs into obedience.
A daring thought began to take root.
If Lo Quen could conquer the Stepstones and gather greater power, might he also help her reclaim Carcosa—and perhaps even restore the long-fallen Yellow Dynasty?
The thought clung to her mind, refusing to fade. Yet she also knew Lo Quen's nature would never allow such a plea—unless...
Her gaze lingered on the sharp line of his jaw. Her lips parted slightly, as if words were about to spill forth.
But in the end, a thousand thoughts sank into a single silent sigh, her secrets hidden beneath lowered lashes.
Lo Quen seemed entirely unaware of her inner turmoil. His whole being was fixed on the storm to come, as clear, precise commands continued to flow from his lips.