Senira coughed softly from the side, breaking the brief moment of warmth.
"Since you're back…" She reverted to her usual flat, document-reciting tone, "The Bysbury's ballroom has been reserved for you; those… nobles want to speak with you.
Honestly, I disdain relaying messages, but… they paid a price sufficient enough for me to speak.
So…"
"Speak about what?" Raymond interrupted her unceremoniously.
"Speak about how they mocked me? Speak about how they suppressed my business? How they extorted me, forcing me to sell my core technology for a pittance?
A bunch of shameless wild dogs!" His tone carried icy sarcasm.
Aidan's face instantly turned liver-purple, and he roared in exasperation, "You! Don't forget your place!" Despite his yelling, it was hard to hide the feebleness beneath his bluster.
"My place?!" Raymond let out a short, cold scoff, and at the same time, unhesitatingly gave the dragon an order: "Dracarys!"
Hela's reaction was as swift as lightning.
Blinding silver-white dragon flame roared, striking a corner of the sturdy city wall of the port, and the hard stones exploded like fragile balls of flour, sending dust and debris flying!
The crowd erupted in even more terrified screams.
"My place is to make all the high and mighty noble lords of Volantis kneel before me, trembling," Raymond's voice was not loud, but it pierced through the chaos as clearly as an ice pick, every word carrying the force of thunder.
His gaze swept across Aidan like a sharp blade, finally resting on the faces of the other two, "Naturally, that includes you too."
Joffrey burst into tears, and Ulen frantically clapped a hand over his mouth.
Senira's thick eyelashes fluttered imperceptibly.
She turned her head, her gaze fixed on the vast sea: "A qualified Targaryen… if it were in Westeros…" The latter half of her sentence dissolved into a sigh of unclear meaning.
"Let's not talk about Westeros," Raymond interrupted her unceremoniously, "Compared to the distant Iron Throne, I'd rather know—since you left me in a brothel instead of sending me away back then, but then for years and years, you neglected me, letting me fend for myself like a wild weed… what exactly… were you thinking?"
The sea breeze, thick with the smell of fish, suddenly swirled up, disheveling the silver hair at Senira's temples.
She remained silent, the time so long that even the bustling sounds of the port seemed to quiet down.
After a long while, she finally spoke in a voice so faint that only Raymond could hear it, "I don't know, but at that time, Vera was just a slave, not qualified to receive wages… and you… also didn't have a… powerful father to rely on…"
Raymond stared intently at her perfect yet frozen profile, then suddenly grinned.
There was a hint of relief in that smile—slaves didn't get wages, but Vera always received enough pay to support herself and Raymond, even enough for Raymond to learn to read… until he started his business.
Perhaps Senira just didn't want to face it… Raymond had expected a surge of vengeful pleasure at this moment, sweet as honey.
However, his heart felt empty, even tinged with bitterness.
"Indeed," he murmured, as if making a final conclusion to an already understood theorem, "All Targaryen are mad.
They are either emotionally obsessive and extremely controlling, or inherently cold and indifferent, treating everything as nothing.
I shouldn't have asked you this question… perhaps you truly 'don't know'?
After all, as far as I know, the root cause of the tragedy of King Jaehaerys's daughters wasn't his damned obsession and controlling nature, was it?"
Senira did not get angry, nor did she even look at him, merely responding in a detached tone, as if discussing the weather: "If you ever have the chance, you should say those words yourself to the one on the Iron Throne.
Perhaps… it might truly make him feel guilty, and then he'll presumptuously decide to compensate me, and casually grant you a prince's title to play with…"
Raymond replied indifferently: "Perhaps.
I should go, this place…" He looked around at the chaotic and dirty port, "There's no suitable place for Hela."
He wasn't sure if "Shadows" would still be trustworthy after he left, and even if they were… he didn't plan to expose them.
He turned and walked towards his companion.
The midday sun poured unhindered onto Hela, her silver-white scales shimmering and flowing, their edges reflecting a brilliant, molten gold light.
Just as he was about to mount the dragon's back, a commotion broke out in the crowd, and a middle-aged man in the distinctive red robe of the Tiger Party scrambled out.
He was of average height, with silver hair and regular features, a delicate gold-rimmed monocle perched on his nose, and a daggers hilt carved with a fierce tiger head at his waist.
Ignoring his balding head… he was quite a handsome uncle.
He rushed up to Raymond, dropping to his knees with a thud, gasping, "My Lord! My esteemed Lord! I am Daemon Merryweather, a councilor of the Tiger Party!"
Raymond paused, looking down at the panting middle-aged man.
"Shadows" had prepared a file on him as well.
He raised an eyebrow: "Is there something you need?"
Daemon eagerly pulled open the collar of his ornate robe, revealing a lightning-shaped, strangely glowing blue tattoo on his chest, his voice trembling with excitement: "My ancestors… were once fortunate enough to follow the great Baelery family!
This armor of yours… is the legendary 'Black Lightning,' and the sword at your waist… is 'Skybreaker,' which shatters all illusions!
My great-great-grandfather once fought alongside the Dragon King of the Baelery family through blood and fire…"
Before he could finish, Raymond suddenly felt a faint but clear burning sensation from inside his heavy black armor.
He focused his gaze on Daemon's lightning tattoo on his chest; deep within those blue lines, some kind of homologous power seemed to be faintly resonating.
"Contract magic passed down through bloodline?" Raymond's heart was stirred.
"As expected of a top Dragon King family daring to use the name of a deity as their surname… so deeply hidden, and so well preserved… a natural retinue has arrived!
As long as 'Black Lightning' remains, they cannot betray."
Seeing the change in his expression, Daemon immediately seized the opportunity, "My Lord! I… I have a manor nestled against the mountain in the north of the city!
The location is excellent! I am willing to offer it to you, My Lord!
I humbly request that you allow me to follow you, to continue the unfinished loyalty of my ancestors!
The Merryweather family… for generations…"
"I accept the manor," Raymond interrupted his torrent of pledges of allegiance, his voice returning to calm, "And your fealty is acceptable.
But with me, do not speak of the glory or debts of ancestors, much less empty words of loyalty."
His sharp gaze fixed on Daemon, "I only look at you—what you can do in the future.
If you satisfy me…" He slowed his pace, leaving a tempting void, "You will receive compensation far beyond your imagination."
Daemon was ecstatic, repeatedly kowtowing, his forehead hitting the rough ground with loud thuds: "Yes, yes, yes! I understand! I will bear it in mind! I will not disappoint you, My Lord!"
Raymond said no more, turning and agilely climbing onto Hela's broad back.
From up high, the entire port was visible.
The clamor continued, Senira's figure had already shrunk into a distant pale dot; among the crowd, only Vera was still gazing at him persistently, waving her hand vigorously, a simple, hopeful, relieved smile on her face.
A strange, yet incredibly familiar emotion surged in his chest.
Raymond patted Hela's thick neck, feeling the immense power beneath her scales.
"Change of plans, Hela.
For now… we're not leaving." His voice was low and clear, as if speaking to the dragon, and yet also declaring to all of Volantis, "Perfect… to find a comfortable place to settle down.
And while we're at it—let those 'lords' of Volantis, with their noses in the air, open their eyes wide and clearly see…" A look of disdain for all living beings appeared on his lips, "Just how much of a storm the 'Brothel Prince' they speak of can stir up in this land!"
As if understanding his resolve, Hela raised her head and let out a long, powerful dragon roar, her massive wings suddenly spreading, stirring the air with a terrifying whoosh, kicking up a sky full of dust!