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Arthur remained at the Guild of Smiths until the sun dipped below the horizon. He held nothing back, explaining the essentials of the "triple-laminate" forging technique to the master smiths. He personally guided them through the practical application of forging Dragonglass swords, a weapon far superior to crude obsidian blades.
However, the triple-laminate technique required incredibly harsh control over the heat. The blade wasn't cast as a single piece; it demanded an exacting standard of hammering skill. Even the guild's top smiths, including Karl and Baker, found that their finished Dragonglass swords either cracked along the spine or ended up looking like three-pronged forks.
"Have the masters of the guild practice the triple-laminate technique relentlessly. Make forging a Dragonglass sword part of the final trials for master status. Anyone who passes gets a fifty percent raise in their wages," Arthur said solemnly to Karl, who was seeing him off.
"Find a way to produce as many Dragonglass swords as possible. Beyond that, continue researching methods to smelt and mold obsidian. Consider this the Guild of Smiths' primary directive!"
The Summer Islanders nearby were still deep in thought, mentally tracing the folding patterns of the technique. Hearing Arthur's stern tone, Karl immediately snapped to attention. "As you command, my Lord. I will make the production of Dragonglass swords the guild's highest priority."
Arthur took one last look at the statue of the smith, which bore his own likeness, before lightly spurring his horse through the great stone archway.
He was so fixated on obsidian weaponry because of the looming threat of the Others and the wights. Compared to dead men who could walk and swing swords but didn't need to eat or farm, he felt that living people were much easier to deal with.
Although he wasn't yet sure how effective these Dragonglass swords would be against the Others and their thralls—whether they could match the lethality of Valyrian steel or pure obsidian daggers—it was better to be prepared than caught empty-handed.
---
The next day.
After breaking his fast, Arthur set out for Starfall Port with Jerry, Penrose, and the others.
He was scheduled to take a ship from Starfall Port to Lighthouse Fort (Beacon Rest) to inspect the harbor construction, the warships, the fleet, and the various manufactories.
"The docks aren't as crowded as they used to be," Arthur noted upon arrival, seeing many empty berths. It was a far cry from the days when he had announced the million-dragon bounty, which had packed the harbor to bursting.
Jerry, who had spent the last year coordinating the various projects, explained, "A large part of that is due to the new port at Lighthouse Fort. The river shipments of Amber Peach Wine and other vintages from the Orchards don't need to transfer here anymore, which diverted a lot of the traffic. Most of the ships here now are local transports, people coming to the Torrentine territories to make a living, or merchant cogs buying weapons, tools, textiles, and handicrafts from the artisan district."
Beside him, Penrose looked at the shipyard where they used to build the hundred-oar galleys and asked in confusion, "Wait, isn't the four-hundred-oar flagship being built here?"
Hearing this, Arthur realized that the old shipyard was mostly deserted, save for piles of seasoning timber.
"The flagship and the two-hundred-oar warships are being built at Lighthouse Fort, not here," Jerry answered. "Eton said that constructing ships of that size requires dry docks and a specialized shipyard for proper construction and maintenance."
He suddenly pointed toward a vessel approaching Starfall Port at high speed. "My Lord, look there. That's our two-hundred-oar class warship, the Violet."
Arthur followed Jerry's finger. In the distance, a warship with a snowflake-and-peach sigil on its square sails was rapidly growing larger in his vision.
Two hundred oars cut through the air in perfect unison, drawing arcs before plunging into the river. They kicked up white spray and propelled the Violet with immense power.
Cycling rhythmically, the ship surged upstream against the current with impressive speed, gliding into the berth right in front of Arthur.
Compared to the previous hundred-oar galleys, the Violet featured a double deck and a much larger hull. The gunwales were lined with over a dozen scorpions, and the prow mounted a modified "trebuchet."
In reality, this "trebuchet" was a "Deck-Breaker" installed at Arthur's request.
It operated on the same leverage principle as a trebuchet, but while a trebuchet flung pitch barrels and stone shot at distant targets, the Deck-Breaker used a massive lever hammer to smash targets at close range.
Arthur never had much faith in the accuracy of naval catapults. The Deck-Breaker was more direct; its downward smash was designed to crush enemy decks. While a ship's hull and keel were made of the hardest timber, the deck was usually softer pine—the most fragile part of the vessel.
His vision was simple: The ship would rush in, lock onto the enemy with the ram, and then use the Deck-Breaker to smash their deck—a devastating one-two punch.
As Arthur observed the ship, sailors quickly laid down a gangplank from the side.
"My Lord, please come aboard for inspection!"
Before boarding, Arthur knocked his knuckles against the dark brown hull of the Violet. It was pieced together from rare hardwood imported from the Summer Isles. The wood let out a dull thud-thud, sounding more like stone than timber. It was worth every copper of the exorbitant price.
When Arthur stepped onto the deck, Jimmy and Eton were already waiting.
"My Lord, how do you find the Violet?" they asked in unison, their voices full of anticipation.
"From the coordination of the rowers to your handling of the vessel, and the finish of the onboard facilities... it is all exceptional," Arthur said, affirming their year of hard work. "You know I faced a lot of pressure investing such vast resources into this fleet. But looking at the result, the price was worth paying. You haven't let me down."
On the way to the port at Lighthouse Fort, Arthur listened to Jimmy and Malik Davos present the fleet's organization and crew training. Meanwhile, he watched the salt pans along the coast through the cabin window.
The Violet's height gave Arthur a clear view of the coastline without needing a spyglass.
The salt pans were distributed in the low-lying areas flanking the beacon towers. Wooden sluice gates were built facing the sea to control the intake of brine. Inside the crystallization pools, workers took advantage of the cooler hours to clear impurities from the bottom with wooden shovels and rakes.
Near the beacon towers on higher ground, farmwives sat in the shade, using willow baskets to filter the salt. Beside them, piles of salt were covered with palm leaves, draining the last of their moisture.
Seeing that the operations at every beacon tower and salt pan were running smoothly, Arthur turned his attention back to Jimmy and Malik's naval tactics.
To Arthur, naval tactics didn't need to be overly complex. Especially at sea, it was much like Stannis commanding the Royal Fleet: divide into battle lines and smash straight into them. In an era without rapid-fire scorpions or dragonfire, the "full frontal charge" tactic still held a lot of weight.
That was why Arthur's ship designs prioritized close-quarters impact.
"My Lord, we... we've arrived at Lighthouse Fort!" Penrose called out from the deck, his voice thick with surprise.
Arthur was looking forward to seeing the development here. If the Torrentine River region—which wasn't even his main focus—was changing day by day, what sort of spectacle would Lighthouse Fort be, given it was the center of so many of his plans?
Arthur stepped out of the cabin and looked into the distance.
In the U-shaped bay washed by the currents, near the fort itself, a stone pier extended into the sea like a giant's open hand. It was designed for deep-draft ocean-faring vessels to dock and offload cargo.
The berths were occupied by the swan ships of the Summer Isles, purple-sailed hulls from Braavos, fat-bellied wine cogs flying the Crowned Stag, and a few exotic galleys from the Free Cities of Essos. Dockworkers swarmed like ants, moving goods between the ships and the pier.
Along the shallower parts of the beach, countless wooden jetties accommodated smaller vessels.
To the left of the beach's center stood a massive, semi-open structure. It covered an area as large as the deep-water pier, straddling the line between sand and sea, effectively dividing the harbor into an East and West section.
Workers were busy inside, and Arthur could see the silhouette of a massive keel—the flagship—under construction.
"That structure isn't finished yet," Eton explained. "It's planned to house several shipyards and dry docks. According to Quentin, he's modeling it after the Arsenal of Braavos. Currently, only the outer shell and one functioning shipyard and dry dock are complete. The flagship and the two-hundred-oar ships are being built there."
"What is a dry dock for?" Penrose asked, puzzled. "If you drive a ship in there, won't it run aground?"
He knew docks were for repairing and building ships, but a dry dock? How do you get a ship in without water?
"The ship sails into a narrow channel within the dock," Eton said. "Then, the water is pumped out. The ship settles onto stone supports, allowing the shipwrights to repair and maintain the hull with ease."
As they spoke, the Violet sailed into the secluded harbor on the right. Aside from the ships out on patrol or training, more than a dozen warships were anchored here.
The forest of masts all flew the purple flag bearing the snowflake and peach. Since becoming the Guardian of the Red Mountains, this had become Arthur's distinct personal sigil.
On the pier, Quentin the Builder and Maester Hubert, the acting castellan of Lighthouse Fort, were waiting expectantly.
"You've combined the shipyard, the trade port, and the Summer Sea Fleet anchorage beautifully," Arthur praised Quentin the moment he stepped off the Violet. "You've met the requirements of all three plans almost perfectly. Tell me, what reward do you desire?"
Quentin smiled, not bothering with false modesty. "My Lord, this place now gathers wine, salt, glass, and shipbuilding in one location. Its potential is limitless. It could become a regional trade hub. I want a larger budget to expand the port and build housing, markets, and facilities along the coast. Given time, this place could rival Oldtown."
Faced with the grand blueprint Quentin painted, Arthur fell silent. He knew Quentin wasn't just dreaming; he truly believed it.
Honestly, Arthur believed it too. If he kept pouring gold dragons into it, it was possible.
But the prologue to the Game of Thrones was nearing. Chaos was coming. Arthur's focus had shifted to armaments, not infrastructure. As the saying goes, 'If your neighbor stores grain and you store swords, your neighbor's grain is yours.' In the coming collapse of order, only military might would matter. Otherwise, he'd just be building a paradise for someone else to conquer.
After some thought, Arthur said to Quentin, "A city isn't built in a day. We must proceed step by step. I will approve an additional thirty thousand gold dragons for your budget this year. As for the future..."
Arthur turned to Maester Hubert. "From now on, allocate half of the port's tax revenue directly into the construction budget."
"As you command," Maester Hubert replied instantly.
"And later, I will carve out a piece of land from the Lighthouse Fort territory to grant you as a fief, a reward for your service!" Arthur patted the shoulder of a slightly disappointed Quentin. "Building a city is a long river to sail; take your time."
"Thank you, my Lord! I will not fail you!"
Quentin had been crestfallen that the budget wasn't as high as he hoped, but the promise of a lordship and land revitalized him. Among the many guilds, he was one of the few to receive such an honor.
---
Over the next two days, with a "since I'm already here" attitude, Arthur toured the port, the salt works, the glassworks, the winery, and the orchards surrounding Lighthouse Fort.
At the salt works, workers washed the raw salt from the pans in brine pools to remove the bitter magnesium taste.
The furnaces at the glassworks burned day and night, turning sea sand dug from nearby beaches into a stream of glass products.
The winery and orchards needed no introduction. Arthur tasted several new vintages; some were unique, though none could match the Amber Peach Wine.
These three major industries had absorbed a massive number of workers. These people built houses along the factories, forming streets that eventually connected into a district.
The Amber Peach Wine, the fine salt, and the glass attracted a swarm of merchant ships and caravans. Inns, taverns, and hostels sprang up to serve them.
In the harbor, the numerous wooden jetties provided convenience for local fishing villages to dock and resupply. It allowed them to sell their catch and repair their nets and boats. Consequently, a vacant lot in the port was quickly designated as a fish market.
The new streets were bustling with people, songs drifted from the taverns, and the fish market was loud with haggling.
As Arthur walked through it all, the phrase 'thriving with life, all things competing' felt incredibly real.
"Let's call it Amber Port," Arthur announced in the small hall of the main keep at Lighthouse Fort. "It produces Amber Peach Wine, and the fine salt and glass are both crystalline, which is close enough to amber."
Quentin, his ambition burning, asked, "My Lord, please give the future city a name as well!"
Arthur thought for a moment, finding a name for this 'city' that currently lacked walls or a city watch.
"Summer City."
Quentin's eyes lit up, and he muttered the name to himself. "Summer City? Does it mean the city located on the Summer Sea?"
"You could interpret it that way," Arthur replied.