Chapter 8: The Baptism of Stone and Salt

Chapter 8: The Baptism of Stone and Salt

The departure of the Unseen from the shores of Essos was not a clandestine affair. It was a spectacle of power. Three Myrish-built dromonds and a dozen heavy cogs, all flying the stark banner of the bisected eye, flanked the three jewels of Valerius's new fleet. The 'Whisper' and the 'Bastion' were impressive enough, but it was the flagship, the 'Leviathan', that drew every eye.

The 'Leviathan', born from the heretical genius of Master Valerius, was a monster. It was longer and broader than a war dromond, its hull plated with thin sheets of iron that shimmered darkly in the sun. It possessed no oars and few sails, relying instead on the great, armored paddle wheels housed midship. As it pulled out of the harbor, a team of Valerius's new Tempest legion, the waterbenders, stood on the stern platform. At their command, the sea churned, and the paddle wheels began to turn with a relentless, powerful rhythm, pushing the behemoth forward at a speed that left traditional sailing ships in its wake. On its deck stood repeating ballistae with strange, tension-coiled springs, and the dark maws of covered catapults hinted at an even greater power. It was a ship from another age, a declaration in iron and innovation.

Aboard its command deck, Valerius stood with his inner circle, the coast of Essos receding behind them. He was twenty years old, dressed not in silks but in black, functional armor of boiled leather and steel plates, his Qohorik sword strapped to his back. The salt spray misted his face, but his gaze was fixed on the horizon, toward Westeros.

"The reports from King's Landing are confirmed," Lyra said, her voice crisp and professional. She had traded her fine clothes for a practical leather jerkin, a brace of throwing knives strapped to her thigh. "Robert Baratheon has evaded the King's men at Gulltown and returned to Storm's End to call his banners. The war has truly begun."

"They will clash first in the Stormlands and the Reach," Jax mused, his one good eye scanning the fleet arrayed behind them. "The Royalists will try to contain Robert, while the rebels try to consolidate their forces. It will be bloody and chaotic. A good time to slip in unnoticed."

"We will not be slipping in," Valerius stated, turning from the rail to face them. "Our arrival must be as impactful as the 'Leviathan' itself. We will not be landing in Westeros. Not yet." He unrolled a large chart across the main strategy table, a map of the chain of islands that lay scattered between the two continents. "Our first objective is here. The Stepstones."

Silas, the fleet's captain, stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "The Stepstones? My Lord, it is a nest of pirates and cutthroats. A thousand tiny islands, a dozen self-styled Pirate Kings. It's a morass. To pacify it would take years."

"Years for a conventional army," Valerius corrected him. "For us, it is a crucible. And a tollbooth."

He laid out his strategy. The war in Westeros would disrupt trade, but it would not stop it. Ships would still sail between the Free Cities and the Seven Kingdoms, carrying grain, steel, wine, and gold. And the most direct route for much of that trade lay through the Stepstones.

"The pirates who rule these islands see only plunder," Valerius explained, his finger tracing a path through the archipelago. "They are disorganized, fighting each other as much as their prey. We will not fight them on their terms. We will land on the largest island, Bloodstone, the seat of the most powerful of their so-called kings. We will depose him, seize his fortress, and establish a new order. We will eradicate piracy and in its place, we will implement a toll. Any ship wishing safe passage through our waters will pay for the privilege. The Stepstones will not be a drain on our resources; they will become our treasury. And this campaign," he looked from face to face, "will be the final test for our new army. It will be their baptism of stone and salt."

The primary target was a man who called himself Kraznys the Red, a brutal pirate lord who had cobbled together the largest fleet in the islands and ruled from a formidable sea-fortress on Bloodstone called the Wreckage. Kraznys was infamous for his cruelty, his fleet a collection of stolen ships crewed by ruthless killers from a dozen nations.

The Unseen fleet arrived in the Stepstones under the cover of a dense, unnatural fog that Valerius summoned. Their initial landings were on the smaller, uninhabited islands surrounding Bloodstone, securing forward positions and supply caches without alerting Kraznys. It was during one of these scouting missions that Lyra's intelligence network achieved its first coup. Posing as the envoy of a nervous Volantene merchant prince, she contacted the secretary of a minor lord in the Reach, offering a substantial sum for the Unseen to 'deal with' the pirate Kraznys, whose raids were disrupting the lord's shipping. The contract was eagerly accepted.

Lyra returned to the 'Leviathan' with a triumphant smile. "Lord Rowan of Goldengrove will pay us ten thousand silver stags to eliminate Kraznys the Red," she reported to Valerius.

Jax chuckled. "Getting paid by the sheep to kill the wolf that's already in your trap. You've got a wicked mind, boy."

"War is the most expensive business in the world," Valerius replied. "It's only prudent to have your enemy's future customers finance your operations."

The assault on the Wreckage was planned with surgical precision. The fortress was a jagged collection of towers built from the petrified remains of ancient shipwrecks, perched on a high cliff overlooking a narrow, treacherous bay. A direct naval assault was suicidal.

Valerius's plan had three phases. Phase one began at dusk. The Spectres, the Unseen's stealth legion, were landed on the far side of the island under Roric's command. Their task was to infiltrate the island's interior, sabotage Kraznys's watchtowers, and create diversions.

Phase two was the main assault. As night fell, the 'Leviathan' and the 'Bastion' sailed directly towards the mouth of the bay. The pirates, seeing only two ships, laughed. Their own fleet of twenty mismatched vessels moved to intercept, their crews howling for blood and plunder.

This was the moment Valerius had been waiting for. On the deck of the 'Leviathan', he gave the command. The covers were thrown off the catapults. But they were not loaded with rock or wildfire. They were loaded with massive, empty clay spheres.

"Tempest Legion, advance!"

His small unit of benders stepped forward. The earthbenders slammed their fists onto the deck, and stone projectiles, perfectly shaped and sized, erupted from prepared bins. The firebenders stood ready.

"Launch!"

The catapults fired. But as the clay spheres reached the apex of their arc, the firebenders unleashed focused jets of flame, superheating them in mid-air. The spheres exploded violently above the pirate fleet, showering them not with fire, but with razor-sharp, red-hot shrapnel. It was a primitive flak barrage. Sails were shredded, decks were set ablaze, and crews screamed in agony and confusion.

Simultaneously, the 'Leviathan's' repeating ballistae, crewed by the Unseen's most disciplined archers, opened fire. They didn't aim for hulls; they aimed for masts and rudders, crippling the pirate ships with relentless, accurate volleys. The pirate fleet, expecting a brawl, found themselves in a long-range slaughter.

As chaos consumed the enemy fleet, phase three began. The Sentinels, the heavy infantry, boarded a dozen smaller, faster cogs. Valerius stood at the prow of the lead ship, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He looked towards the cliffs of the Wreckage.

"Silas, get us to the base of the cliff. Jax, lead the men. Secure the beachhead."

As the ships neared the cliffs, arrows and rocks rained down from the fortress above. Valerius stepped forward. He entered a controlled version of his Avatar State, his eyes glowing with a soft white light. He raised his hands. The sea before them rose up, forming a massive, solid wall of water that caught the projectiles harmlessly. He then bent the water into a dozen churning waterspouts that slammed into the lower defenses of the fortress, washing men from the walls.

Under this incredible cover, Jax and the Sentinels landed. They formed a shield wall on the narrow beach, a disciplined, unbreachable wall of iron and courage. They were no longer the street rats of Myr. They were a legion.

Valerius landed beside them, the Avatar State receding, leaving only the sharp focus of a commander. "The fortress is ours for the taking," he said, his voice calm amidst the chaos. He drew his sword, the Qohorik steel seeming to drink the dim light. "The Tempest is with me. We will break their gates."

What followed was a brutal, vertical battle. Valerius and his ten benders became a spearhead of impossible power. The main gate was made of iron-reinforced wood. Valerius simply touched it, and the iron twisted into knots, the wood splintering as he bent the metal within it. He led the charge into the courtyard, a whirlwind of elemental fury. An earthbender stomped his foot, and a section of the wall collapsed, creating a new breach for Jax's Sentinels to exploit. An airbender sent pirates flying with concussive blasts of wind. A firebender created a wall of flame to block reinforcements.

Valerius moved through the battle like a phantom of death. His Observation Haki allowed him to anticipate every attack, his Armament-Haki-infused sword cutting through armor as if it were silk. He was a blur of motion, his four elements a seamless dance of destruction. He would parry a sword strike, then kick the ground, sending a shard of stone into his attacker's chest. He would dodge an axe, then whip a lash of water from a rain barrel to smash his foe against a wall. It was a fighting style no one in this world had ever seen, and there was no defense against it.

He finally cornered Kraznys the Red in the fortress's main hall. The pirate king was a mountain of a man with a great red beard and an axe stained with the blood of hundreds. He was surrounded by his elite guards, a dozen hulking killers.

"Demon!" Kraznys roared, hefting his axe. "You fight with sorcery! Face me like a man!"

Valerius simply smiled, a cold, deadly thing. "You mistake me for a man who values your opinion." He raised a hand, and the very stone floor beneath the guards erupted, encasing them up to their chests in solid rock, immobilizing them completely.

He was left alone with Kraznys. He did not use his bending. He walked forward, his sword held loosely at his side. The pirate charged, his axe swinging in a deadly arc aimed at Valerius's head. Valerius didn't even seem to move. There was a faint shimmer around his body. The axe struck an invisible barrier—a shield of pure Armament Haki—and bounced off with a loud clang, sending a jarring shock up Kraznys's arms.

The pirate stared in disbelief. Before he could recover, Valerius moved. His speed was preternatural. He stepped inside the pirate's reach and struck him with an open palm to the chest. It didn't look like a powerful blow, but Kraznys flew backward as if hit by a battering ram, a focused pulse of air and Haki sending him crashing through his own oaken throne.

Valerius stood over the gasping, broken pirate. "This fortress is mine. This island is mine. These seas are mine," he said, his voice soft but carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Your reign is over." He then cleanly and efficiently ended the pirate king's life with a single sword thrust.

Within a day, the Wreckage was secured. The remnants of the pirate fleet had surrendered or been sunk. Valerius stood on the highest tower of his new fortress, the banner of the Unseen now flying where Kraznys's bloody axe sigil had once been.

In the week that followed, he cemented his rule. He offered the surviving pirates a choice: swear fealty to him and become part of his new order, enforcing his tolls and protecting the sea lanes, or be executed. Most chose to serve. The Stepstones, for the first time in history, were united under a single, ruthlessly efficient ruler. The Wreckage was renamed 'Aegis Point', and it became the Unseen's forward operating base. The tolls began to flow in, a river of silver and gold that made their already impressive treasury swell to legendary proportions.

He addressed his victorious army in the main courtyard of Aegis Point. Two thousand soldiers, their armor dented, their faces grimed with the dirt of battle, stood in perfect formation. They had been tested by fire, and they had not broken.

"Look around you!" Valerius's voice boomed, amplified by his power. "This fortress was built by pirates and plunderers! Today, it is a bastion of order! These islands were a haven for thieves! Today, they are the bedrock of our new nation! You were sellswords, orphans, and outcasts! Today, you are legion! You are the Unseen!"

A unified roar answered him, a sound of absolute loyalty.

"The pirates of the Stepstones were our first test. You passed," he continued, his voice dropping. "But our true test lies across the water. While we were forging our own small kingdom here, the dragons and wolves have been bleeding. The Battle of Summerhall has been fought. Robert Baratheon was wounded, but his rebellion survived. The war rages on."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "We now have a home. We have an army. We have a treasury. We control the throat of the Narrow Sea. We are no longer mercenaries. We are a power. The lords of Westeros will hear of our victory here. They will come to us, seeking our aid. And we will be ready."

He turned and looked towards the west, towards the unseen shores of Westeros. He was now Lord Valerius, the Master of the Stepstones, the Shadow of the Narrow Sea. He was a king in all but name, of a kingdom born from violence and vision. His foothold was secure. Now, the real game for the Iron Throne could begin.