The Narrow Sea.
Screech—
A jet-black dragon streaked across the sky, its massive wings churning up billowing clouds.
The dragon soared over the disputed territory, entering the waters governed by Myr.
"Glutton, slow down."
Rhaegar gazed toward the distant city-state, his expression suddenly growing heavy.
The coastal city of Myr was now engulfed in thick smoke, the stench of burning flesh lingering for miles around.
Roar…
Glutton's cold, green vertical pupils glinted as it dove through the crisp clouds, its enormous body gliding low over the waves.
Its muscular chest grazed the water's surface, sending a cascade of waves splashing outward.
Rhaegar's eyes never left the city of Myr, now within arm's reach.
Upon hearing news of the unrest, he had immediately rushed back.
The discovery of what was suspected to be a Dragon King ruin within the city was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a gift that had fallen from the heavens.
He desperately needed more theoretical knowledge about the ancient Dragon King families and expertise in dragon taming.
He also sought comprehensive texts on blood magic and pyromancy.
At the very least, he hoped to gain a deeper understanding of the ancient Valyrian Dragon King bloodline.
His gradual transformation into a dragonborn had wrought profound changes within him. He urgently required the corresponding foundational knowledge.
---
[Rhaegar Targaryen]
- Talent: Dreamer (Gold)
- Bloodline: Dragonborn (54%)
- Runes: Bronze (Green), Ouroboros (Blue)
- Blood Magic: Blackstone (Blue), Enchantment Spells (Blue)
- Relics: Blood and Fire as One, Dream Vision
Evaluation: "Extraordinary—a hymn of the new era."
---
Silently summoning the explorer interface, Rhaegar couldn't help but feel anticipation.
As his bloodline continually purified, he was transforming further into a dragonborn.
During the ancient Valyrian era, had the leading Dragon King families already unearthed this potential and nurtured dragonborn warriors?
After all, Valyrians were masters of blood and fire magic.
Glutton flew with astonishing speed and approached Myr within moments.
Screech—
A piercing dragon roar echoed through the city-state, filled with rage and warning.
Rhaegar looked up at the sound.
A crimson dragon spiraled through the skies above the city, its expansive wings stirring fierce winds as it frequently swooped down to unleash blasts of dragonfire.
Wherever the flames landed, tattered locals fled in panic.
"The rebellion is still ongoing."
Rhaegar took a glance and quickly grasped the situation.
Merias was circling above a specific area at the city's center.
That was where the Governor's Mansion was located.
"Glutton."
Rhaegar patted the dragon's back, conveying his intent.
Screech—
Glutton immediately understood, roaring as it soared over Myr. A misty, green dragonfire blanketed the once-blue sky.
Whoosh!
In an instant, the entire city boiled over.
Whether commoners or slaves, they all fell to their knees in devout worship.
There was no special reason—just one undeniable fact:
A pair of pitch-black wings that seemed to have crawled out of hell radiated a palpable aura of death.
Glutton refrained from any further displays, circling the entirety of Myr once before leisurely descending toward the central area.
Boom—
The moment the dragon landed, countless Myrians felt their hearts leap to their throats.
Screech—
Glutton let out a roar, its scorching breath blasting away any rebels who hadn't managed to dodge in time.
In an instant, the entire city fell silent, gripped by an inexplicable fear.
Glutton's cold green eyes glared with contempt as its claws gripped the edge of the ruins. It lowered its head, allowing its rider to dismount.
Rhaegar, clad in a black robe with Truefire at his waist, surveyed the devastated city below.
The rebels retreated into the corners, burying their heads and daring not to move.
Though Glutton hadn't breathed a single blast of dragonfire upon them, its mere presence had already instilled terror deep within their hearts.
At the moment of Glutton's arrival, the rebels had still been delusional.
Rhaegar didn't mind reminding them of the horror of Deathwing.
Screech...
Merias roared hoarsely as it beat its wings and landed with a crash.
Amid the swirling dust, Rhaenys dismounted, clad in crimson armor, her face grim with tension.
The arrival of two dragons instantly silenced the chaotic city.
Swish, swish…
The rhythmic sound of running footsteps echoed as hundreds of black-armored Unsullied soldiers sealed off the city.
Standing high above, Rhaegar's gaze fixed on the ruins of the former Governor's Mansion, which had collapsed to reveal a wide, deep pit.
The rebels within the city seemed to be converging toward the pit.
Rhaegar dismounted and turned to ask Rhaenys, "Aunt, what exactly is going on?"
Rhaenys furrowed her brows tightly, her voice filled with indignation. "Someone spread rumors that there's a Dragon King's treasure hidden in the pit."
She then concisely recounted the events.
The old noble class had incited the rebellion, arming the rebels.
Under the cover of night, the rebels had killed a patrolling squad of Unsullied, stolen trebuchets and cannons meant for city defense, and launched a full-scale attack, aiming to destroy the Governor's Mansion along with its defenders and dragons.
Under relentless bombardment, the Governor's Mansion had collapsed, exposing a deep pit buried underground.
Someone among the rebels had spread the rumor that the pit contained treasures of the ancient Valyrian Dragon Kings.
Whoever found it would gain unimaginable wealth and the power to tame a dragon.
Hearing this...
Rhaegar's gaze was unfriendly as he swept his eyes over the hundreds of kneeling rebels beside the ruins.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that the remnants of the Three Daughters had a hand in this city-wide riot.
And as for the supplier of the vast amount of weapons? It could only be a partner far across the Narrow Sea—Braavos.
"Our naval power is still weak."
Rhaegar was dissatisfied with their firepower.
The fleets of Westeros were limited to a few noble houses—Velaryon, Redwyne, and Manderly, among others.
After the battle of the Narrow Sea, the Velaryon fleet had suffered heavy losses and could barely hold Lys.
As for the Hightower, Lannister, and Celtigar fleets, they were struggling to maintain control over the Stepstones.
Overall, their forces were sufficient for defense but lacked the strength for expansion.
Rhaegar sighed softly, then asked with curiosity, "What's the situation in the Deep Pit? Has anyone gone inside?"
"Yes." Rhaenys' expression darkened as she spoke. "Many greedy rebels rushed in, and…"
She suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Her brows furrowed with anger, but the words remained stuck in her throat as if she were reluctant to say more.
Rhaegar frowned slightly and decided to step forward to inspect the Deep Pit himself.
"Roar…"
The green, slit-pupiled eyes of Devourer flashed warily as its tail swept in front of its rider, nudging him back a few steps.
The next second—
"Screech…"
A sharp, piercing cry echoed from the depths of the pit, rippling outward like waves.
RUMBLE—
Amid the chaotic noise, a monstrous, blood-red creature with a long, snake-like neck crawled out of the abyss.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow—he hadn't expected to see Caraxes here.
The dragon's vertical pupils gleamed with cruelty as its jaws tore into fresh, bloodied flesh. Its massive wings flapped, sending thick smoke billowing into the air.
Tap. Tap. Tap…
Through the swirling dust, a figure clad in black emerged, stepping forward at a slow and steady pace.
Rhaegar watched in silence, a cold glint flickering in his eyes.
No wonder Rhaenys had hesitated to speak.
Daemon had slipped inside while no one was watching.
Looks like his grief over his son's death had passed—he was back, eager to make his presence known.
Rhaegar gestured to the nearest Unsullied, and a long spear was placed in his hand.
"Uncle, here's a little gift for you."
Rhaegar's voice was smooth, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
With a powerful flick of his wrist, the spear shot forward like a falling star, aiming straight for the figure in the dust.
Whether he lived or died—that was up to the Stranger to decide.
The Tyroshi weren't reckless enough, yet Daemon had the audacity to cause trouble on his turf.
BANG—
The spear flew fast and true, piercing through the dust cloud.
"Screech!"
Caraxes sensed the danger first, letting out a sharp, ear-piercing cry.
The figure in black dodged at the last second, the spear narrowly grazing past his head.
With a clang, the spearhead embedded itself into the ruins, the wooden shaft splintering from the force.
"Well, well… what a stubborn life you have."
Rhaegar had seen everything clearly and couldn't help but scoff.
Clap. Clap…
A slow, deliberate applause rang out from the dust.
As the haze settled, Daemon emerged, his usual cocky smirk in place.
"Nephew, you nearly took your dear uncle's life," he said with a lazy grin.
A deep gash ran along the left side of his face, fresh blood trickling from the wound.
If he hadn't reacted quickly, the spear would've been lodged right between his eyes.
Rhaegar's expression was one of disappointment. "Uncle, what a shame you're still alive."
He was nothing but a walking disaster—wherever trouble was, Daemon was there.
Why couldn't that spear have pinned him to the ruins?
As they spoke, Rhaegar noticed that Daemon was holding something.
Tucked under his left arm were two thick books, while his right hand dragged along a dragon egg.
Rhaegar's gaze sharpened.
The books looked unremarkable, their covers depicting a red dragon crowned like a king.
The dragon egg was blood-red, its shell covered in a layer of stone dust—long since fossilized.
Noticing his dear nephew's stare, Daemon casually tossed the fossilized egg in his palm.
"Like it?" he mused. "Plenty more where that came from. The rebels have been stuffing them into their coats."
"So the ruins beneath us really are the remnants of a dragonlord's domain?"
Ignoring the teasing tone, Rhaegar focused on what mattered.
Daemon nodded. "That's right. A dragonlord family called 'Fiznik' once ruled half of Myr's lands. This was one of their sanctuaries, though they never got to use it. There's still a lot of valuable stuff inside."
"And you're going to hand it over to me?"
Rhaegar eyed him skeptically, utterly unconvinced.
Daemon chuckled. "Think whatever you like. I've already taken what I wanted."
With that, he swiftly climbed onto Caraxes' back, carefully tucking the two books into his cloak.
Rhaegar's sharp eyes locked onto his uncle's chest.
Daemon had definitely found something valuable.
Experience told him—knowledge was wealth.
"Roar…"
The glutton let out a low growl, its green vertical pupils locking onto Kolakshu, radiating an ominous presence like storm clouds pressing down on a city.
Rhaegar pursed his lips into a faint smile, a hidden danger lurking beneath his expression.
Did they really think they could just take something and leave? What did they take him for?
Kolakshu lowered his neck warily, emitting a warning growl from his throat, ready to defend himself against the dragon beast's possible attack.
The two colossal dragons stood in fierce opposition, the surrounding air seemingly plunging to freezing temperatures.
In the end, it was Damon who relented first. With a reluctant toss, he flung the fossilized dragon egg to his nephew and muttered awkwardly, "Consider the book borrowed. Return it when you're done reading."
Rhaegar effortlessly caught the fossilized dragon egg, the dangerous glint in his smile fading away.
Waving dismissively as if shooing away a fly, he issued a final warning: "Be cautious with the knowledge in that book. Bring it back in seven days!"
(End of Chapter)