Under the bright moonlight, the wind swept across the plains.
The white field of severed heads swayed gently in the night.
Inside the tent, Connington was preparing Viserys' body. He remembered what Viserys had been like as a child.
Back then, the boy had looked almost exactly like Aerys II Targaryen.
At the time, Connington had secretly felt relieved that the crown prince was Rhaegar rather than Viserys.
Yet who could have imagined that only a few years later, the next time he saw Viserys, he would already be such a wise and heroic king?
Although Viserys never deliberately placed him in some exalted position, Connington could clearly feel that the young king had always been giving him opportunities and promoting him.
Viserys had truly trusted him.
According to their plans, it would not be long before they launched the war to reclaim the Iron Throne.
But now...
Connington stared at Viserys's face.
The silver hair had become dry and lifeless. His complexion was pale as paper, without the slightest trace of blood.
Gold still covered parts of his neck and cheeks, fused completely into the flesh.
The Targaryens had always practiced cremation. Perhaps only fire could separate the gold from his body now.
Connington did not know what Rhaegar had looked like before he died. Maybe he had looked similar to Viserys.
After all, they were brothers.
Sometimes Connington could still see traces of Rhaegar in Viserys.
Thinking about it now, it was almost ironic.
The elder brother died among shattered rubies. The younger brother died beneath molten gold.
What a fitting end for the bloodline of dragon kings.
A bitter smile appeared on Connington's face.
Fortunately, Aegon and Aemon were still alive. There were still male Targaryens remaining.
Which meant the Targaryen cause could continue.
Compared to Connington, however, Arthur was the one drowning deepest in grief.
Even after Viserys's body had been brought back, Arthur still sat motionless beside the altar atop the Holy Mother Mountain.
Something had used gold to kill his king. It was obviously a carefully planned ambush.
Arthur was still searching.
Searching for whatever it was that had killed his king.
At that moment, Gerold entered the tent, his expression as cold as ever.
"My lord, the fish have all been gathered."
Given the current situation, there was no chance Viserys's body would reach Gohor before decomposition set in.
Once the corpse began to rot, the stench would spread for miles.
The only option was to mask the smell with fish.
"Bring them in."
"Yes."
Very quickly, Gerold's men carried in baskets of fish that were still flopping about.
Together, he and Connington carefully placed Viserys into a temporary coffin fashioned from a large wooden crate.
A king of such greatness could not even be given a proper coffin worthy of his status.
"Pour them in."
The men who had gone fishing with Gerold were Viserys's royal guards. Their eyes were swollen red from crying.
When they heard Connington's command, none of them moved.
"My lord Hand, we cannot let our king lie among these stinking fish!"
"That's right! Give us horses! We swear we'll return His Majesty to Gohor as quickly as possible!"
"My lord Hand—"
After learning that Viserys's final order had been for Arthur not to execute them, the guards were devastated.
At the time, the situation had been incomprehensible to them.
First they saw Drogo's headless corpse rise again.
Then they surrounded it.
After that, their memories simply vanished.
By the time they regained awareness, Viserys had already been drenched in molten gold and was barely alive.
The king's death was their failure.
On their very first campaign, they had allowed the king to fall into mortal danger twice.
Every single one of them blamed himself.
Some were so grief-stricken they coughed blood.
Others had already resolved to follow Viserys into death once they returned to Gohor.
"Pour them in."
Connington ignored their pleas and repeated the order.
They all understood that returning Viserys to Gohor before the body decayed was impossible.
After hesitating for a while, the soldiers at least requested that the fish not be piled directly on top of Viserys.
Connington silently agreed.
That oversight had indeed been his mistake.
So they lifted Viserys out again.
Once the crate had been lined with lake fish whose gills still twitched open and shut, they carefully placed Viserys back inside.
At that moment, an elderly voice sounded from outside the tent.
It was Lothan.
Lothan had learned of Viserys's death shortly before sunset.
At first, he could not believe his ears.
For an instant, it felt as though the sky itself had collapsed.
Not only because he worried about Jona and Jorel, but because he truly mourned Viserys.
Without Viserys, the Rhoynar living along the banks of the Rhoyne would never have enjoyed the lives they had today.
And he himself likely would have died long ago during one of his expeditions to Nasar.
When he heard Gerold was gathering fish, he immediately understood their intention.
"Lord Connington, Ser Georld, please do not disgrace His Majesty's remains like this. I have a way. I truly do."
He raised the Prince's Spear and pressed his forehead against the shaft.
Before long, the blue spear became ice-cold.
"Place this beside His Majesty's body. The Prince's Spear. There will be no problem."
Gerold and Connington both touched it.
Sure enough, the spear felt freezing cold.
Connington ordered the guards to fetch another crate, while the fish were thrown aside.
"What does the Hand intend to do next?" Lothan asked.
"We march tonight under cover of darkness. We leave Vaes Dothrak immediately."
Lothan nodded.
It was indeed the safest course.
As long as the army departed before the Volantenes realized anything, even if suspicions arose later, it would no longer matter.
Once the army safely returned to Gohor and a new king was crowned, Targaryen rule would remain secure.
The king of steel was gone.
But the steel he left behind could still protect Gohor.
"Oh, one more thing, Lord Connington," Lothan added. "We should also take the Valyrian steel statue with us."
"His Majesty said before coming here that once the war was won, he intended to bring the statue back as well."
Connington considered it briefly.
For an army of tens of thousands, transporting a single statue was no burden at all.
Especially now, when beasts of burden were the one thing the army had in abundance.
So he nodded and agreed.
Under Connington's orders, the army abandoned even the tents and carried only food supplies.
The Pentoshi were left behind as a decoy.
Twenty thousand Targaryen soldiers and twenty thousand Dothraki troops departed from Vaes Dothrak.
Beneath the moonlight, tens of thousands marched westward in rapid retreat.
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