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No!
I must get to the bottom of this. If I don't, it will severely hinder my ability to keep accumulating trait points!
Jacaerys stroked his smooth chin, his mind replaying every moment of the execution of the twenty surrendered soldiers, analyzing each frame with meticulous precision.
Then, a particular number surfaced in his thoughts.
This time, I received six fewer entry points…
If I recall correctly, six of those surrendered soldiers had fallen to their knees, wailing and begging for their lives.
The more Jacaerys thought about it, the more something felt off.
Back when he had been tallying the battle losses on both sides, he had made a rough mental estimate.
Vermex had incinerated five large warships. Setting aside the nearly two hundred Velaryon soldiers aboard them, at least six hundred enemy troops had perished directly or indirectly in the dragonfire.
Additionally, with the pursuit and destruction of the fleeing warships from the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, even a conservative estimate would place the death toll at another two hundred.
That should have amounted to at least eight thousand trait points.
Yet, in reality, he had received only a little over five thousand.
Could it be that… the definition of "enemy" was not as absolute as he had assumed?
If they lost the will to fight or no longer harbored hostility… were they no longer considered enemies?
Hmm... There's no point in just speculating.
The only way to verify a theory is through experimentation.
And right now, he had four to five hundred test subjects at his disposal.
For the second round, Jacaerys once again selected twenty surrendered soldiers.
However, this time, he temporarily excluded eight of those who had fallen to their knees, pleading for mercy.
WHOOSH!
Blazing dragonfire illuminated the night sky, and Jacaerys gained 120 trait points.
For the third round, ten of the surrendered soldiers kneeled and begged for mercy—resulting in 100 trait points.
For the fourth round, fifteen surrendered soldiers knelt and pleaded—yielding 50 trait points.
For the fifth round, all twenty surrendered soldiers begged for their lives...
After they were all burned to death... he received not a single trait point.
The results from these five rounds of experimentation had confirmed his hypothesis beyond any doubt.
Moreover, over the course of these trials, the remaining four hundred and thirty-some captives had been utterly broken. Any will to resist—any lingering hostility—had completely vanished.
Jacaerys had initially intended to continue his experiments, pushing further to see if he could somehow turn these captives back into "enemies" capable of granting him more trait points.
But just then, Baela stepped forward, gently tugging at his hand. Leaning in close, she whispered something softly into his ear.
Jacaerys glanced around and noticed the expressions of the Velaryon soldiers standing near the execution platform. Some looked uneasy, others hesitated, and a few showed outright fear.
To be honest, even without viewing things through a detached, game-like perspective, Jacaerys would not have shown mercy to these enemies.
As the saying from his past life went:
"Those who kill shall be killed in turn."
The moment these surrendered soldiers had picked up their blades and joined the Kingdom of the Three Daughters' army, their fates had already been sealed.
Perhaps it was just human empathy at work.
Had these prisoners been executed by fellow men rather than burned alive by dragonfire, the soldiers might have found it easier to stomach.
Suddenly losing interest in further experimentation, Jacaerys handed the follow-up matters to Baela.
The day after the night raid ended, he mounted Vermax and left alone.
---
At the heart of the Stepstones, on an unnamed island controlled by the Pirate Alliance…
Vaemond Velaryon, who had not been subjected to any mistreatment, was resting in his cell when suddenly, a group of pirates stormed in.
Without a word, they tied him up and covered his head with a black cloth.
As he felt himself being dragged onto a ship, a deep sense of dread crept in. Struggling against his bindings, Vaemond shouted,
"Where are you taking me?! The Velaryons are the wealthiest family in Westeros! What do you want—gold dragons? Beautiful women? Let me go, and I swear you'll live the rest of your lives in luxury!"
Yet, no matter how much he tried to tempt or curse them, the men on the ship remained silent, rowing steadily through the waters.
THUD!
After what felt like an eternity, Vaemond was violently thrown onto a sandy shore.
Hearing the sound of the ship departing, he frantically groped around in the sand until his fingers found the sharp edge of a broken seashell.
Using all his strength, he began sawing at the ropes binding his wrists.
The moment his hands were free, the first thing he did was rip off the black cloth covering his head.
The sudden glare of sunlight made him squint and instinctively raise a hand to shield his eyes.
But in the next moment, he realized his actions were unnecessary—because a massive shadow had already enveloped him.
"Heh, I was actually planning to untie you myself."
A familiar voice, tinged with amusement, rang out.
"But seeing how hard you were struggling to free yourself, I figured I'd let you finish the job!"
As his vision adjusted to the light, Vaemond looked up—and froze.
Perched atop Vermex, Jacaerys gazed down at him, a smirk playing on his lips.
"In light of the fact that you've come personally to ransom me, I'll pretend I didn't hear what you just said. Hurry and take me back to Driftmark."
Vaemond quickly scanned his surroundings, realizing he had been abandoned on a desolate island. Suppressing the fury rising within him, he forced himself to speak calmly.
Jacaerys chuckled softly.
"Heh, ransom you? No, no, no. Vaemond Velaryon, listen carefully."
His voice was light, almost casual, yet every word struck like a blade.
"It was I who used my grandfather's seal to issue a false military order. It was I who sold Queen Rhaenys to those pirates. And as for why I did all this—you should already have a pretty good idea."
Vaemond was no fool.
The moment he heard those words, his face drained of color, turning a sickly shade of pale.
He swallowed nervously, his voice trembling as he stammered, "You… you mean to kill me? But… why? Is it just because I spoke against you before?"
"Why kill you?" Jacaerys mused, tilting his head slightly as if considering the question.
"Perhaps it's exactly for that reason. Or maybe it's because you're too ugly, and I simply find you unpleasant to look at. Or perhaps…" His lips curled into a smirk. "…it's just because I don't eat beef."
WHOOSH!
As Jacaerys spoke, Vermex seemed to sense his killing intent. The dragon lowered its massive, fanged maw toward Vaemond, releasing a blast of scorching, foul breath that blasted directly into his face.
THUD!
Vaemond didn't know whether it was sheer terror or the sudden pressure on his legs, but he collapsed to his knees, unable to remain standing.
"Prince Jacaerys, please… I beg you to spare my life!" Vaemond pleaded, his voice breaking. "I was a fool before! I constantly opposed your wise decisions, and—worse still—I even questioned your birth in private. I swear upon the Seven, from this day forward, I will forever swear fealty to you!"
Hmm?
Just like that, his hostility had vanished?
No, this wouldn't do—how could he earn trait points like this?
Jacaerys pondered briefly, then smirked, deciding to provoke him further.
"Heh, Vaemond, you know what? You weren't wrong after all. There isn't a single drop of Velaryon blood in the veins of me or my brothers."
"But so what?"
"Luke will soon be Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark. As for me? I will use your Velaryon fleet and family wealth to claim the Iron Throne."
He leaned in, voice low and dangerous. "The rest of the Velaryon bloodline can remain intact… But your bloodline, Vaemond?"
"I swear, I will ensure every last one of your descendants perishes through a series of most unfortunate "accidents." This is the fate of those who oppose me!"
As expected, Jacaerys' words shattered Vaemond's composure completely.
"You bastard-born son of a whore!" Vaemond screamed, his eyes wild with fury. "You demon, cursed by all the gods! Even if I fall into the deepest pits of the Seven Hells, I will curse your name for eternity!"
Ah, perfect!
Now this was the kind of state that earned Jacaerys trait points!
No matter how small a mosquito is, it's still meat!
"Vermex, time for a snack."
CRUNCH!
Receiving the command through their mental link, Vermex snapped its enormous jaws shut—
And Vaemond, still spitting curses, had the upper half of his body instantly devoured.
[Trait Points +10]
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[IMAGE]
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[Chapter End's]
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