Chapter 56: I Want Your Absolute Loyalty

Aegon reached for two training iron swords, then tossed one toward his whipping boy, Orys.

This boy, who had grown up at Aegon's side, was the same age as him and possessed a natural talent for combat. In their past sparring matches, Orys could always hold his ground for quite a while—by common standards, he was already considered exceptional.

The two took their stances, shouted aloud, and charged at each other like wild tigers.

The clang of colliding iron swords rang sharply through the training yard.

But it wasn't long before Orys began to falter. With a powerful strike, Aegon knocked the sword from his hand—it clattered loudly to the ground.

Ancient Valyrian military swordsmanship emphasized sweeping, forceful movements. When an opponent lacked comparable strength, they were easily overpowered.

"Your Highness, I didn't expect your swordsmanship to improve so much... I used to be able to hold out for dozens of rounds..." chubby Orys said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

Aegon gave him a quick once-over, thinking to himself, This pudgy fellow actually has a bit of presence to him.

Orys wore his thick, jet-black hair cropped short. His coarse, dark-gray training uniform bore faint signs of wear from constant use. The sleeves were slightly rolled up, revealing his thick, powerful forearms.

"Enough. Go practice some more. Then fetch Teacher Salen—I want to spar with him a bit."

Aegon spoke calmly as he continued practicing his two-handed sword strokes, adjusting his grip and balance.

Orys bent to pick up his fallen sword. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up with hesitation and called out loudly, "Your Highness, I... I actually know another sword style. Maybe... maybe it'll impress you."

Aegon paused mid-swing, turned to him with interest, and smiled. "Oh? Let's see it, then."

This boy had grown up with him—both a close companion and the one who often bore the brunt of Aegon's temper. The bond between them ran deep.

Since Orys was eager to prove himself, Aegon didn't mind giving him the chance.

He was about to assume power in House Targaryen, and talented, loyal people were exactly what he needed. Orys was more than suitable on both fronts.

Orys nodded firmly, gripping the sword in his right hand. He then jogged over to the weapon rack, grabbed another iron sword, and returned with one in each hand.

Aegon's smile froze in place the moment he saw Orys's stance—this wasn't an ordinary dual-wielding form.

Orys held the left-hand sword in a reverse grip, while the right-hand sword was held forward in standard fashion. The left blade was angled low, guarding the flank. His body leaned forward slightly, like a predator ready to pounce, exuding a fierce, oppressive aura.

"Valyrian Inverted Cross Dual Blades..." Aegon narrowed his eyes, quietly naming the style.

Seeing Aegon recognize the technique—and noticing that he didn't resume his own training—Orys lit up with excitement. Grinning wide, he said, "Your Highness, you really are learned! This sword style was passed down to me by my father—our family's legacy."

Aegon frowned slightly, thoughts turning over. Something's off. The Inverted Cross Dual Blades was developed by Gaemon, and the manual should be locked away in House Targaryen's vault. Could Orys be Gaemon's descendant? Why does his name sound so familiar... but I just can't place it right now...

He gave a small gesture, and Orys obediently approached. Aegon's smile returned as he raised a hand to lightly pat Orys on the shoulder.

"Not bad. That's quite the technique to have mastered."

He immediately activated the chip and began scanning Orys's data.

[Orys Baratheon:

Base Stats – Politics: 75; Strategy: 62; Military Command: 81; Willpower: 69; Vitality: 65/92

Talents:

[D-Tier – Stronghand: Your grip strength and forearm power are 125% that of the average person.]

[True Dragonblood – Dragonblood: …]]

The Valyrian Inverted Cross Dual Blades required significant wrist strength, and with the "Stronghand" talent that enhanced palm and forearm power, it was no surprise Orys could handle Gaemon's technique.

Wait… Baratheon?!

Aegon's heart gave a jolt. In a flash, he realized what had been nagging at him. He couldn't recall exactly which house bore the name Baratheon, but something deep within screamed that this family name was critically important.

Seems like the Destiny Value of this reincarnated "Living Saint" wasn't high enough. Some memories didn't fully carry over into this life, Aegon thought.

Just then, the silver Dreamtrace on his forehead began to heat up. His body shuddered violently, as though struck by divine insight. A surge of images flooded into his mind.

[Ding~]

[You've sensed a clue tied to your past memories. Apocalypse Dreamtrace talent activated. You've received glimpses of the future through foreknowledge.]

Flashes of imagery strobed through Aegon's mind like a flickering lantern slide.

In the first, Orys was practicing the Inverted Cross technique under the instruction of Aegon's father, Aerion.

In the second, Orys was leading a campaign to conquer the Stormlands—and founding House Baratheon at Storm's End...

'So Orys's dual sword technique was taught by Father... he's Father's bastard?'

Aegon exhaled softly.

Good thing Daenys's Dreamtrace can reveal glimpses of the future—otherwise I'd be at a serious disadvantage.

He tapped open [Apocalypse Dreamtrace] again and reviewed its details carefully.

[C-Rank – Apocalypse Dreamtrace]

Through the Dreamtrace on your forehead, you can randomly receive premonitions of the future. The frequency and clarity depend on your mental state.

I suppose I'm halfway to being a Dragon Dreamer now, Aegon mused.

"Anyway, that family heirloom dual blade technique of yours... seems awfully familiar, haha!"

Aegon didn't particularly care about Orys's true parentage, but he couldn't resist teasing his childhood companion.

Orys opened his mouth, clearly flustered, but said nothing in the end. He likely realized he had just revealed more than he should have.

Aegon turned back to the weapon rack, picked up another training sword, and assumed the stance for the Inverted Cross Dual Blades. He tilted his chin toward Orys and raised a brow.

"Come on then, let's keep going. Let's see whether your family's 'ancestral' version of the Inverted Cross is any better than the one that actually came from mine."

Orys hesitated briefly, but under Aegon's sharp gaze, his long-standing instinct to obey kicked in. Without a word, he mirrored Aegon's movements and got into position.

The two dual-blade fighters launched toward each other almost simultaneously.

Their footwork and movements matched as if choreographed, swords flashing in near-perfect synchrony.

The essence of dual swordsmanship was speed. With two blades moving in relentless succession like a storm, the style overwhelmed defenders, forcing them onto the back foot until a gap appeared—and then, one lethal strike ended it.

The clang of metal rang out through the training yard again, sharp and rhythmic like hammer blows in a forge.

Orys's skill was clearly formidable. Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled under the pressure of Aegon's flurry, but even as he staggered backward, he refused to fall.

Unnoticed by them, Aerion—Lord of House Targaryen—stood silently on the balcony of the Wing Tower, watching the two young men with furrowed brows, lost in thought.

In the yard below, Aegon had driven Orys into a corner. There was nowhere left to retreat.

Just as Orys braced for defeat, Aegon abruptly eased the pace of his assault. Guiding Orys's momentum, he gently shifted their positioning back to the center of the training yard.

"Valyrian Inverted Cross Dual Blades," Aegon began.

"It originated with Gaemon, one of House Targaryen's ancestors. He refined the three primary strikes and twelve variations of Valyrian military swordsmanship, splitting them into six techniques for each hand—one set for standard grip, the other for reverse."

"Orys. You're lucky to have learned such a powerful technique."

Orys bit down on his lower lip, struggling to match Aegon's rhythm. He knew full well—Aegon was feeding him moves, correcting the flaws in his form.

Aegon went on.

"With the right sword in normal grip, focus on slash, thrust, rake, stab, and the like. The reverse grip in the left emphasizes draw, rip, cleave, and slice..."

Up on the balcony, Aerion watched his son instruct his bastard brother with generosity and patience. A faint, proud smile formed on his face.

Well done.

Orys was just one of Aerion's many bastards—but he was by far the most talented. For that reason, Aerion had arranged for him to grow up at Aegon's side, fostering a bond.

He was meant to become one of Aegon's most trusted companions. And now, Aegon had shown the tolerance and magnanimity of a future king—choosing not to scorn Orys's origins, but to accept him, and even pass down the essence of Targaryen swordsmanship.

Back in the yard, the two boys dueled for the better part of half an hour before finally coming to a stop, both panting from the effort.

Orys was gasping for air, half-kneeling on the ground, both swords braced in his hands. His face was drenched with sweat—the extended sparring session had nearly drained him of strength.

He looked up at Aegon, who stood with both swords slung across his shoulders. Aegon's chest rose and fell steadily, but he was clearly far from exhaustion.

The setting sun bathed him in red-gold light. His silver hair caught the glow, and the perfect lines of his face took on an almost divine radiance—as if touched by something holy.

Aegon tossed both swords aside, crouched slightly, and extended a hand.

"Come on. Get up, brother."

Orys stared at him in shock. He hadn't expected Aegon to acknowledge his identity—it left him speechless. After all, Aegon wasn't just heir to House Targaryen anymore. He was also a dragonrider—a tamer of a King-tier Dragon.

Orys looked up, then slowly shook his head. Dropping to both knees, he raised one of his swords high over his head with both hands.

Bowing his head with solemn determination, he said:

"Your Highness... I am not worthy to be your brother. That would only tarnish your honor.

But if you truly favor me, then let me become your sharpest blade—clearing your path and cutting down all who stand in your way."

Aegon looked down at him, understanding immediately—Orys wanted to be sworn in as his bannerman.

This one's clever, he thought. Strong, loyal, and quick to seize the moment.

He took the raised sword and gently placed the flat of the blade on Orys's shoulder.

"In the name of Vhagar, I charge you to be brave."

The blade shifted from right shoulder to left.

"In the name of Meraxes, I charge you to be just."

Back to the right.

"In the name of Meleys, I charge you to protect the weak and the innocent."

Then once more to the left.

"Orys, my squire. I ask only one thing of you—loyalty. Absolute loyalty."

Aegon kept his expression stern, his voice solemn.

This was his first time officially taking a subordinate. He didn't know the exact rites, so he borrowed from the knightly traditions of Westeros, swapping the Seven for the gods of Old Valyria. In the end, both were constructs of belief—there was no real difference.

Orys responded with reverent formality:

"In the name of loyalty, I swear fealty to you, Aegon. Let the gods of Old Valyria bear witness.

From this day forth, I shall be known as Orys the Loyal."

Aegon smiled with approval, nodded, then tossed the sword back onto the rack. Gripping Orys's shoulders firmly, he pulled him to his feet.