Chapter 306 291: Western Expedition Overture

Jon Connington recorded Aegon's orders point by point.

Before the ink was even dry, he looked up at Aegon:

"Your Grace, for this Western Expedition, who shall serve as the commander of this army assembled from the Stormlands and The Crownlands?"

Aegon's gaze swept across both sides of the long table.

Oberyn leaned back in his chair, a faint excitement on his face, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

Jon's brows were slightly furrowed, his expression serious.

At the moment, the main generals under Aegon's command were all in The Riverlands.

The commanders of the Golden Company, the Ash Company, and the Bloodsworn were all there.

Here in King's Landing, there was truly no suitable candidate to command this newly assembled force of twenty-five thousand.

"This time, I shall command it personally," Aegon said. "I will lead this army, marching along the Gold Road, into the West."

Jon nodded, but his face showed hesitation: "Your Grace... marching to war is different from those previous battles."

"At Dragonstone, Your Grace waited for Stannis to attack; in The Riverlands, Your Grace let the two armies engage before deciding the outcome by riding a dragon."

"This march covers a long distance, and as the commander of an army, one must manage provisions, encampments, scouts, formations, morale... these are vastly different from the way Your Grace is accustomed to fighting."

Aegon raised a hand: "I know. This time, I will travel with the army the entire way."

Jon thought of another issue: "Then, Your Grace's safety—"

"You need not worry about that," Oberyn interjected. "I will personally lead the Kingsguard and stay by his side."

Aegon nodded: "That is correct. For this campaign, the Kingsguard will accompany us the entire time. I will command this army and march forward."

He gave a final summary: "The meeting is adjourned. Accelerate the troop assembly; in half a month, I want to see the army gathered beneath the walls of King's Landing."

In the blink of an eye, half a month passed.

Inside the Red Keep, in Aegon's bedchamber.

He put on that set of pitch-black valyrian steel armor, the plates showing a deep, matte luster, with a dark red cloak draped over his shoulders.

Attendants carefully fastened every strap for him and adjusted his gorget and bracers.

He stood before a bronze mirror, looking at the silver-haired, purple-eyed figure clad in black armor and a red cloak.

He reached out to pick up his dragon-wing helm, tucking it under his arm, and took the valyrian steel sword "dictator" from the sword rack, hanging it at his waist.

The scabbard clattered against the armor plates, emitting a crisp metallic sound.

He turned and walked out of the bedchamber.

In the courtyard outside the Red Keep, Oberyn was already waiting.

His brand-new gilded Kingsguard armor gleamed in the sunlight, the gold trim outlining smooth lines.

A snow-white cloak hung behind him, fluttering gently in the morning breeze.

Behind him, five hundred Kingsguard Soldiers stood in solemn formation.

They were dressed in uniform black armor, wearing iron helmets, holding spears or shields, with swords at their waists.

These were the elites Aegon had personally selected from the various armies.

At this moment, they stood in silence, like a wall of black.

An attendant brought over a snow-white warhorse for Aegon. Aegon took the reins and swung into the saddle.

"Depart."

He gently nudged the horse's flanks, and the white steed stepped forward.

Oberyn waved his hand and followed closely behind with the five hundred Kingsguard.

The procession passed through the streets of King's Landing and exited through the Gate of the Gods.

The commoners on both sides of the road stopped, their faces showing awe as they watched the black-armored, red-cloaked force slowly pass by.

Some recognized the silver-haired figure on horseback and whispered to each other, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Once outside the Gate of the Gods, the view suddenly opened up.

The temporary camp in the distance spread out in the morning light, like a miniature town made of canvas and wood.

Over the past half month, the armies from The Crownlands and the Stormlands had arrived one after another, and now they were all in place... over twenty-five thousand men.

Aegon rode his horse to the parade ground in front of the camp.

The army of twenty-five thousand had already finished forming up and stood solemnly on the field.

He reined in his horse, his gaze slowly sweeping across the sea of black formations before him.

These men were the first batch of Soldiers to belong entirely to the Crown, rather than to any individual lord, following the implementation of the new system.

Only thirty percent were armored, but they all wore the uniformly issued black surcoats and were equipped with short swords and shields.

Even if they couldn't be fully armored, they at least possessed a standard-issue iron helmet and iron gorget.

Compared to the vassals' private armies of the old feudal system with their myriad flags, these twenty-five thousand men were uniform in attire, and everywhere the eye looked was a solemn expanse of black.

The edges of their swords and shields glinted with cold light in the sun.

Three commanders came forward together and bowed to Aegon.

Count Caron, Commander of the Marches; Count Buckler, Commander of Bronzegate; and Count Bar Emmon, Commander of Sharp Point.

The three briefly reported on the assembly and equipment status of the troops.

Aegon gave a brief address; his voice was not loud, but it clearly reached every person's ears on the quiet morning parade ground.

He did not give a long speech, only telling these Soldiers: they would march west to end the resistance of the Lannister.

The Targaryen banner would fly over Casterly Rock.

After the address, Aegon raised a hand and waved it forward.

"Depart."

Beneath the sun, the Targaryen banner—the three-headed dragon in red on a black field—was raised, fluttering fiercely in the wind.

Aegon's central command standard was also raised.

The force of twenty-five thousand began to move slowly westward along the Gold Road.

Aegon rode his white horse, traveling in the middle of the formation.

Oberyn, with the five hundred Kingsguard, protected him on all sides like stars surrounding the moon.

Hooves trod on the solid road, kicking up faint dust.

The army's march was not fast.

The infantry formation of twenty-five thousand, coupled with the accompanying supply and baggage wagons, could not advance quickly.

But Aegon was not in a hurry.

He gazed toward the mountain silhouettes faintly visible on the western horizon.

That was the direction of the West.

This march was destined to be a long journey.

Looking up, one could faintly see a massive, pale golden shape flashing in and out of the high clouds.

Aegon would travel with this army as commander, while Ghidorah followed in the sky.