Chapter 276: The One-Day Emperor of Volantis
Boom!
A torrent of eerie green dragonfire surged forth, engulfing the troops defending the Black Wall.
In an instant, agonized screams filled the air as the seemingly indestructible Black Wall was set ablaze.
One blast of dragonfire was not enough.
The gluttonous beast unleashed another wave, incinerating soldiers on both sides—above and below the Black Wall—without discrimination.
"Run! It's the demon dragon for real!"
"The demon dragon's fire will burn Volantis to the ground!"
As the dragonfire swept through, the troops on both sides were utterly terrified, their will to resist completely shattered.
"That's enough, Devourer."
After a round of destruction, Rhaegar gazed down at the chaotic battlefield, where soldiers flailed desperately in the sea of flames. He clenched his fist in silence.
The dragon, Devourer, sensed its rider's will. It circled the Black Wall twice before slowly descending onto the fortress's massive gate tower.
Standing before the mighty beast were the two Triarchs of the Elephant Party, desperately trying to flee under the protection of their mercenaries.
Rhaegar's gaze darkened. He reached out and patted the dragon's back.
No words were needed. Devourer lowered its massive head, blocking the path of the fleeing officials. Its maw opened, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs.
Thud!
One of the Triarchs, overcome with terror, collapsed to his knees, trembling so violently that even those attempting to support him failed.
"Your Majesty, Volantis has always pursued peace! We never intended to provoke the demon dragon!"
The official pleaded, his voice quivering with fear. A sudden warmth spread down his legs, soaking his loose-fitting trousers.
"Devourer."
At Rhaegar's command, the dragon closed its mouth, suppressing the flames it had been gathering. Rhaegar unsheathed the dragonbone dagger from his waist and stepped onto Devourer's massive snout.
Standing between its curved, ashen-white horns, he looked down coldly at the crowd below.
"Malaqyo was my friend. You murdered him without cause!"
With his dragon soaring over Volantis, Rhaegar knew he had to act decisively.
The assassination of the Tiger Party's Triarch was the perfect pretext.
As expected, upon hearing Malaqyo's name, the two Elephant Party Triarchs turned pale with shock.
They had vaguely known that Malaqyo had been corresponding with a Targaryen.
But they had dismissed it as inconsequential.
Given Malaqyo's boastful nature, if he had truly secured the support of a dragonlord, he would have proclaimed it across all Nine Free Cities.
The silver-haired Triarch trembled uncontrollably and stammered, "Your Majesty, we had no idea about your friendship with Malaqyo! Please, do not be angry—give us a chance to make amends!"
Even as he spoke, his eyes darted nervously between Rhaegar and the massive black dragon looming inches away.
Sensing the man's scrutiny, Devourer snorted in irritation.
A wave of scorching, sulfurous air blasted forth, nearly toppling the group in front of him.
The Triarch recoiled in terror, blurting out, "Your Majesty, I—I have some connection to House Targaryen! Please, spare me!"
Rhaegar's expression turned ice-cold as he studied the man's Valyrian features.
A memory surfaced—Gaedor's complaints from the brothel.
That bastard son of an Elephant Party Triarch had left the brothel after his father abandoned the aging Senylla as his mistress.
A smirk curled Rhaegar's lips.
"Oh? You actually dare to bring that up?"
His voice dripped with contempt as he patted Devourer's rough horns.
"Devourer!"
The next moment—
"Screech!"
Devourer's slit pupils gleamed with malice. With a deafening roar, its massive jaws shot forward, snapping down on the Triarch, its fangs piercing through half his body.
Shoving aside the useless mercenaries, the dragon lifted its head high, tossing its prey like a rag doll.
"NO! Spare me!"
The Triarch, his body mangled yet still clinging to life, let out a bloodcurdling scream, his voice thick with agony and terror.
Crunch!
After toying with him for a few moments, Devourer's maw snapped shut. Shredded flesh and bone disappeared down its throat.
Rhaegar watched the scene unfold with cold detachment, a smirk of satisfaction curling his lips.
A mere Elephant Party official dared to take a Targaryen princess as his mistress—then had the audacity to bring it up in front of him?
His death was well deserved.
"Mercy! Please, Your Majesty, spare me!"
The remaining Triarch, having just witnessed his colleague devoured alive, broke down completely. He collapsed, weeping in terror.
He was merely a moneylender who had bought his way into office through freeholder votes.
Profit, not war, was his priority.
Fighting against a dragon was never part of the plan.
Not just him—the mercenaries, too, were paralyzed with fear. Their weapons clattered to the ground as they fell to their knees, trembling.
Rhaegar ignored them.
He directed Devourer's gaze toward the Tiger Cloaks gathered below the Black Wall.
The dragon's maw parted slightly, green fire flickering within.
The Next Morning
At the break of dawn, the golden sunlight illuminated the rushing currents of the Rhoyne, casting a glow over the city of Volantis.
Beneath the Black Wall.
A massive black dragon lay sprawled at the base, its thick tail curled under its chin, its colossal wings draped like a curtain.
Perched upon the beast's fearsome head was a young man clad in black, seated cross-legged between the dragon's towering, pillar-like horns.
Before him, an enormous crowd had gathered.
Layers upon layers of people encircled the Black Wall, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Lavishly dressed merchants, armored warriors, modestly well-off commoners, and slaves marked by their tattoos—
Tens of thousands stood in silent awe.
All eyes were fixed on the dragon and the young dragonlord seated atop its head.
"My lord, the prisoners have been brought forward!"
The crowd stirred slightly as the Red Priestess led a group of the Hands of R'hllor, dragging a chain-bound group of people out of the masses.
The crowd instinctively parted, clearing an open space before the great dragon.
Observant onlookers would notice that the detainees were all prominent figures of Volantis — influential moneylenders, merchants, and slave masters.
There was even a Triarch and a fierce officer with a tiger tattoo on his face among them.
When the silver-haired youth atop the dragon's head remained silent, the Red Priestess took a deep breath and boldly stepped into the clearing.
"Fellow citizens of Volantis…"
Drawing upon her persuasive skills honed in spreading the faith, the Red Priestess delivered a fiery and impassioned speech.
The core message was clear: the Elephants' Triarch had unlawfully incited war and orchestrated the assassination of the Tigers' Triarch.
Those detained were all villains complicit in this treachery.
The Dragon King of House Targaryen, a friend of the assassinated Tiger Triarch, had come to Volantis as a peaceful visitor.
By sheer chance, he encountered the city in chaos and, with the aid of his dragon, quelled the unrest, saving the suffering people from calamity.
Guided by the Lord of Light, justice would now be served upon the wicked.
She spoke of the newfound friendship between Targaryen and Volantis, highlighting the Dragon King's compassion and heroic deeds, embellishing them with mythical elements.
The civilians and slaves, having endured looting and terror for an entire night, were captivated and deeply convinced of the Dragon King's righteousness.
After all, the dragon's role in ending the turmoil was undeniable, witnessed by countless people.
"Long live the Dragon King! Long live the dragon!"
The deafening shouts of the civilians and slaves pushed the atmosphere under the Black Wall to a fever pitch.
At the front of the crowd, a group of Volantene aristocrats and warriors exchanged glances before reluctantly joining in the chants.
Even members of the Elephants faction — lenders, merchants, and slave masters — echoed the cries in tandem with the people.
Following the dragon's subjugation of both the Tigers' and Elephants' forces,
Volantis's elite were summoned to a grand council inside the Black Wall under the watchful gaze of the dragon.
By the meeting's end, those in agreement stood among the crowd.
Those in opposition now stood shackled in iron chains.
As the cries subsided, the Red Priestess smiled broadly and waved her hand.
The Hands of R'hllor brought forth a towering pile of firewood, setting it ablaze until a great flame roared to life.
Grabbing a torch, the Red Priestess lit it from the fire and waved it fervently before the crowd, shouting passionately, "Fellow citizens! The Dragon King will now judge the hidden evils of Volantis. We must grant him the highest authority!"
The crowd erupted in discussion.
Whispers spread about electing the Dragon King as Triarch.
Of course, these were mainly the voices of civilians and slaves.
Representatives from the Tigers and Elephants, two respected figures from each faction, silently stepped forward into the clearing.
The Tigers were represented by an elderly, dignified noble and a fierce young man with a tiger tattoo on his face.
The elderly noble trembled as he knelt before the dragon, fumbling inside his robes to produce a golden crown.
The crown was forged from gold, with a pigeon-egg-sized ruby embedded at its peak.
Upon closer inspection, one could see numerous intricately carved dragons along the crown's edges, their forms fierce and fiery.
Under the watchful eyes of all, the elderly noble raised the crown with both hands and solemnly declared, "Honored Dragon King, this coronation crown from the era of the Freehold is dedicated to you, of noble blood."
The representatives of the Elephants also knelt, their voices trembling, "We humbly ask you to become the highest Triarch of Volantis and restore the glory of the Freehold."
As their words fell, the black-robed figure atop the dragon's head finally moved.
Rhaegar woke from his feigned slumber, remaining seated as his gaze settled on the ancient crown.
The crown appeared slightly worn, its carvings weathered by time, exuding an air of antiquity.
Shifting from his cross-legged posture, Rhaegar straightened his back and calmly stated, "This is an imperial crown — one that should only rest upon an emperor's head."
The ancient Valyrian state was called the Freehold Empire.
However, the empire had no emperor or king; instead, forty dragonlord families elected a supreme Triarch.
Rhaegar's words were deliberately misleading.
The elderly noble raised the crown higher and earnestly proclaimed, "You are the Emperor of Volantis!"
Without revealing his thoughts, Rhaegar scanned the crowd without offering an immediate response.
Sensing the moment, the Red Priestess fell to her knees with a dramatic thud and urged passionately, "Your Highness, please accept your coronation under the gaze of the Lord of Light!"
Seeing someone take the lead, the numerous civilians and slaves quickly knelt, echoing the plea in unison.
The members of the Tigers and Elephants factions, though seething with resentment, also knelt reluctantly.
Rhaegar observed it all, suppressing a laugh.
Everything had been prearranged.
He would serve as Volantis's supreme Triarch for one day, during which he would judge the remaining adversaries.
Under the threat of the dragon, the Tigers and Elephants were compelled to cooperate fully.
In return, Rhaegar would step down after one day, appointing three new Triarchs to assume power.
Through this exchange of interests, Rhaegar secured fame and the people's support.
Additionally, he ensured the rise of at least one Triarch loyal to him, gaining influence over Volantis's governance.
As he looked at the people fervently begging for his coronation, Rhaegar felt a wave of emotion and smiled faintly.
"Malakyo, I owe your death my thanks."
Had it not been for the assassination of this Tiger Triarch, he wouldn't have had a legitimate reason to sweep through Volantis.
Dusting off his tattered black robe, Rhaegar slowly stood up.
With a swift motion, the dragon-claw sword at his waist was drawn.
The gleaming Valyrian steel sword caught the morning sun, radiating unwavering resolve.
The crowd beneath the Black Wall fell into a stunned silence as tens of thousands of expectant eyes fixated on the silver-haired youth atop the dragon.
"Thank you all for your trust," Rhaegar declared, his calm purple gaze sweeping across the crowd.
"But I come from Westeros, where a true kingdom awaits my rule. I cannot fully devote myself to safeguarding Volantis."
Disappointment flickered in the eyes of the people, who began murmuring among themselves.
Who wouldn't want to live under the rule of a strong and benevolent Dragon King?
"But!"
Rhaegar expertly seized control of the crowd's emotions, his powerful voice commanding their attention once more.
The dragon-claw sword gleamed coldly as he pointed it forward, one hand pressed firmly against his chest. His voice boomed like thunder:
"Here and now, I will become your Emperor and rid this land of its villains!"
Chapter 277: The Precious Magic Spell
Clap, clap, clap…
As Rhaegar finished his declaration, a thunderous applause erupted from the crowd of tens of thousands. Cheers and celebrations spread through half of the eastern district of Volantis.
To the commoners and slaves—
Even if the Dragon King agreed to rule for just one day, he was still the Emperor of Volantis.
In this elective city-state, the ruling Triarchs were chosen annually through elections anyway.
"Before the sun sets today, I will oversee all affairs of Volantis."
Seizing the moment, Rhaegar made a bold promise: "Regardless of status, whether noble or lowborn, I will administer justice fairly!"
Hearing this, the commoners and slaves were overjoyed.
They were not powerful elites. In this so-called equal-opportunity city-state, they had never truly received fair treatment.
But the Emperor had vowed to judge with impartiality—he would not bend the law for anyone.
Under the gaze of tens of thousands of eager eyes, Rhaegar took a deep breath and pointed his sword at the prisoners bound in chains on the open ground.
The Red Priestess's eyes sparkled with excitement, and she hurriedly spoke: "Your Majesty, these are criminals who have disrupted the peace of Volantis. Please, carry out the highest form of judgment!"
On the ground, the Elephants' ruling Triarch and the officers of the Tiger Cloaks frantically shook their heads, screaming in terror.
But their mouths were stuffed with filthy rags, allowing them to make only muffled, incoherent noises.
Rhaegar swept his gaze over the crowd, his dragon claw shimmering coldly as he declared in a chilling voice, "I sentence you all to be consumed by fire!"
Sensing the determination of its rider, the great dragon, Glutton, abruptly opened its slitted pupils, a savage gleam flashing across its emerald-green eyes.
Its throat trembled with a low growl, and its massive body swayed slightly as it supported itself with its wings.
Standing on its hind legs, the dragon's ferocious head slowly lifted.
Perched between its curved horns, Rhaegar stood tall, his silver hair flowing in the wind as he commanded with authority: "Dracarys!"
The pure Valyrian High Speech echoed in the ears of every Volantene present.
Glutton flared its nostrils, bared its pitch-black fangs, and roared—"Skaaa!"
The sheer force of the dragon's roar sent the prisoners tumbling to the ground, rolling in terror.
Before they could even scream, a mist-like torrent of eerie green dragonfire followed.
Sizzle…
A thick, acrid smoke rose as the dragonflame scorched the ground, leaving behind nothing but a charred pit and scattered fragments of bone.
With the execution complete, an unprecedented grand procession began.
Bearing the title of Emperor, Rhaegar donned a tattered black cloak and a golden crown, parading through both the eastern and western districts of Volantis under the gaze of countless citizens.
He refused to be carried in a slave-borne palanquin.
Instead, the common folk found him a rare and majestic mount—
A towering white elephant with gleaming skin and long, curved tusks.
Seated atop the elephant's broad back, cushioned by a red carpet, Rhaegar was flanked by a hundred elite warriors of the Hand of the Sacred Fire.
Above them, a massive black dragon soared through the sky, roaring intermittently and unleashing streaks of eerie green fire across the heavens.
As the procession moved, the white elephant stopped frequently.
Many commoners, slaves, and even merchants approached Rhaegar, seeking justice for their grievances.
An elderly fisherman had his boat stolen by a local thug. A prostitute was brutally beaten by a violent client. A merchant had paid his taxes but was denied docking space for his ships…
Rhaegar upheld his promise.
No matter their status—be it noble, commoner, or even a slave or prostitute—he ensured that each case was heard and judged fairly.
Throughout the journey, he received numerous petitions.
The most common complaints concerned the security and sanitation problems in the western district.
Rhaegar had personally witnessed the dire conditions there on his first day in Volantis.
After a brief moment of thought, he made a solemn pledge: "I will implement a restoration plan for the western district. Even if I step down tomorrow, the newly appointed Triarchs will be required to carry it out."
"Thank you, Your Majesty!"
The petitioners knelt, overwhelmed with gratitude.
Who wouldn't want to live in a city that was safe and clean?
The Dragon King's willingness to listen and enforce change made the citizens see him as a wise and just ruler of Volantis.
Time was precious, slipping away like sand through fingers.
The sun gradually dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of crimson.
The procession left the western district, heading back toward the mouth of the Rhoyne River near the Long Bridge.
Rhaegar, atop the white elephant, rode leisurely into the sunset.
His violet eyes were as calm as still water, and a faint smile played at the corner of his lips.
For one day, he had ruled as Emperor.
In doing so, he had carved a reputation for wisdom and strength into the history of Volantis.
His name would undoubtedly be spoken with new reverence across the Free Cities.
Behind him, the Red Priestess followed on horseback.
She was not alone.
Three other individuals, surrounded by the crowd, walked beside her—
An elder nobleman who had presented the crown, a fierce young warrior with a tiger-striped facial tattoo, and a handsome middle-aged man with distinct Valyrian features.
These three were the ones Rhaegar had handpicked to be the next Triarchs of Volantis.
The elder noble represented the aristocracy and had played a crucial role in brokering the agreement with Rhaegar.
The fierce young man, Tesrio, was a rising star in the Tiger Cloaks, a warrior of exceptional strength.
The moment Rhaegar appointed him as a Triarch, he swore his absolute allegiance.
The final man, the handsome middle-aged Valyrian, had a unique background.
His name was Varos—the third bastard son of Senira and the son of the now-executed Elephants' Triarch.
Being a bastard, Varos had never received much recognition from his father, and their relationship had been distant.
Thus, when Rhaegar executed his father and elevated him to replace him as a Triarch, Varos was utterly grateful.
Without hesitation, he pledged his undying loyalty.
By the time the sun fully set, the new Triarchs of Volantis had officially taken office.
The elder noble and Tesrio were both aligned with the Tiger Cloaks, while Varos represented the weakened Elephants faction.
This arrangement was intentional on Rhaegar's part.
The Tiger Cloaks were closer to the Targaryens, making them more valuable allies for the future.
Varos stabilized the remnants of the Elephant Party, and the old nobles along with Taesrio were able to control the situation in Volantis.
Rhaegar reaped the benefits without lifting a finger.
...
The White Elephant passed through the bustling harbor as the procession moved forward slowly.
Suddenly, a commotion reached Rhaegar's ears.
Turning his head, he saw a scuffle break out aboard a ship docked at the port.
"Restrain him quickly! He's infected with greyscale! We can't let him come ashore!"
"Throw him into the sea! Be careful not to touch him..."
Hearing the mention of greyscale, Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and said, "Go and see what's happening."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ten Hands of the Sacred Flame ran toward the ship.
After the death of the elder priest, the Temple of R'hllor was now led by a Red Priestess.
The Red Priestess, seeing an opportunity to promote the faith of the Lord of Light, strongly supported Rhaegar.
Before long, the Hands of the Sacred Flame returned, bringing with them the ship's captain, sailors, and a broken black stone tablet.
After receiving a detailed report, Rhaegar learned the whole story.
It was a smuggling vessel that had encountered a violent storm half a month ago, inadvertently straying into the Smoking Sea near the ruins of Valyria.
In the perilous waters of the Smoking Sea, they found a coastal underground cave and discovered a relic there.
They had brought back the broken stone tablet, which was engraved with inscriptions.
However, before they could explore further, they were attacked by Stone Men and fled in panic.
Stone Men were monstrous beings infected with greyscale, their bodies covered in sores, stripped of humanity and reason.
Several sailors had been scratched by the Stone Men during their escape and became infected with greyscale.
When the smuggling ship docked at the port, the strange condition of the sailors was quickly noticed, and they were barred from coming ashore.
The Red Priestess rode up on a white horse, her expression cautious. "Your Majesty, greyscale is extremely dangerous. They should be expelled immediately."
Both Westeros and Essos shared a common practice for dealing with greyscale: sending the infected to the inhospitable Smoking Sea to perish on their own.
After a moment of thought, Rhaegar said solemnly, "Detain them for now and assign strict guards."
He then instructed the Hands of the Sacred Flame to bring the broken stone tablet closer.
The tablet was made of black dragonglass, badly damaged and worn.
It appeared to be a rectangular slab that had fractured in the middle, with its edges crushed and shattered.
The surface bore several lines of faint inscriptions in the Valyrian script.
Rhaegar examined it carefully, silently reading: "Balerion... Tower... Lair..."
The weathered stone had long rendered most of the text illegible, leaving only a few discernible words.
When he recognized the most crucial word, Rhaegar's expression shifted slightly. He was shocked. "The House of Balerion!"
During the era of the Freehold, there had been forty dragonlord families living on the Fourteen Flames.
The Balerion family was one of them.
Moreover, they were a particularly powerful dragonlord family, far more formidable than the Targaryens, who ranked in the lower tier.
Glancing around, Rhaegar noticed that many eyes were fixed on the stone tablet.
He didn't want any unnecessary complications and commanded, "Take the tablet away. I will handle it personally."
Matters concerning dragonlord families required careful handling.
The sun was gradually setting.
Everyone looked skyward, their emotions varying between disappointment, regret, and joy.
Rhaegar, however, was at peace. He had already gained plenty.
Clinging stubbornly to the title of Emperor of Volantis would only bring more trouble.
...
Night fell.
Inside the Black Wall, within the former residence of the ex-Tiger Party governor.
The property had now been requisitioned by the Dragonlord.
In a pavilion within the courtyard, dense steam billowed through a window that had been pried open.
The sound of flowing water echoed.
A tattered black robe hung by the bathroom door, symbolizing the identity of the person within.
The bath was lined with smooth pebbles, with flowers and plants arranged in the corners. Scalding water flowed through bamboo pipes, filling the elegantly crafted pool.
Rhaegar was completely naked, his entire body submerged in the hot bath.
On the edge of the bath lay the broken stone tablet, its surface wiped clean of dust.
Rhaegar rested his head against the side of the bath, his face relaxed and tranquil, gently snoring.
After a day and night of weariness, it was time to rest for a while.
Without realizing it, he fell into a deep sleep in the pool.
His long hair spread out in the water, and he listened to the gentle flow of the stream by his ear.
A glass candle was held in the hand resting on his chest.
Even in sleep, he hadn't forgotten to explore the relics.
As the night grew deeper, a prompt sound suddenly rang out.
"This exploration is complete. Please collect the lost treasure."
Rega, still sound asleep, furrowed his brow slightly but did not open his eyes.
He was indeed exhausted, and the sound did not wake him.
The system panel automatically appeared.
[Blood Witch's Secret Candle]
Exploration Progress: 100%
At the same time, a purple light orb suddenly appeared and dropped into the water.
Rega seemed to sense it, shifting his body slightly. His arm brushed against the purple light orb.
Splash~
The orb dispersed on contact, scattering a few glowing sparks that dove into his hand.
"Relic collection successful. Analyzing…"
"Analysis complete. Determined to be an Epic Relic, the Blood Witch's Treasure."
The prompt sound continued, and Rega instinctively covered his ears, unwilling to break free from his dream.
The glass candle was still in his hand, pressed against his ear.
The system's prompt sound came once again.
"Congratulations, the Blood Witch's Treasure has been activated. You have obtained…"
[Enchanting Curse]
Level: Excellent (Blue)
Effect: Used in conjunction with the glass candle, it enhances the power of the bloodline and strengthens the magic cast.
Evaluation: "A rare curse developed jointly by fire sorcerers and blood witches."
Chapter 278: Dream of the Misty Sea
The exploration mission in the outside world had come to an end.
The knowledge of the Blessing Spell seeped into Rega's mind, surfacing silently.
"Haah~~"
Every time knowledge was infused into him, a shudder ran through Rega's very soul, causing him to let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure.
His hands dropped naturally to his sides as he sank into an even deeper sleep.
Gradually, Rega drifted into a peculiar dream.
In the dream, the sky was shrouded in mist, fine dust particles floating through the air, reducing visibility to a bare minimum.
Amidst the haze, a lone boat floated on the calm sea.
Seated in the narrow wooden boat, Rega held the oars, slowly drifting along a winding tributary.
On either side of the stream lay land, lined with lush shrubs that added a touch of color to the dim surroundings.
"Where is this?" Rega muttered, looking around in confusion, paddling aimlessly.
Unaware that he was dreaming, his consciousness remained momentarily muddled.
Suddenly, a massive collapsed stone bridge appeared ahead.
Rega was slightly surprised but didn't react much.
The bridge, originally an arch, had crumbled over time. Only the skeletal remains of its frame clung to either shore, while the central portion had long since caved in, leaving behind nothing but the ruins of a once-majestic structure.
As the wooden boat drifted beneath the abandoned archway, Rega curiously examined his surroundings.
Crack—
Without warning, a bolt of lightning tore through the murky sky, illuminating everything for a fleeting moment.
Drip, drip…
Moments later, rain began to fall, growing into a torrential downpour.
Rega sighed helplessly, rowing his boat without direction. In no time, he was soaked to the bone.
And just like that, the scene before him shifted drastically.
Thick smoke rolled in, billowing like a great flood.
Wiping the rain from his face, Rega suddenly realized he was sweating.
For some reason, an unbearable heat swelled around him, making it difficult to breathe.
Looking back, he saw several volcanoes had appeared on the once-familiar land, spewing molten lava like raging mudslides.
Rega gasped in shock, finally understanding the source of the suffocating heat.
But the nightmare wasn't over yet.
Heavy rain, dense smoke, volcanic eruptions…
And now, yet another catastrophe unfolded.
From within the swirling smoke, scattered red lights pierced the haze, flickering with an eerie glow.
Rega looked up at the sky, murmuring in confusion, "What is that?"
Boom—
A crimson meteor burst through the smoke, streaking across the darkened sky before plummeting into the sea with a deafening crash.
The red glow—meteorites.
Rega's eyes widened in shock as he watched countless fiery streaks dot the heavens, resembling a celestial firework display.
In just a few breaths, the meteor shower intensified.
Blazing fireballs rained down, drawing ever closer to the previously tranquil ocean.
At that moment, Rega pinched his cheek.
He felt no pain.
Instantly, he realized—this was a dream.
The moment he became aware of it, the dream world began to tremble, fracturing bit by bit.
Reluctantly, Rega reached out, unwilling to wake up just yet.
"I still don't understand what this dream is trying to tell me!"
Muttering in frustration, he felt a pang of disappointment.
The meteors continued to crash down, stirring violent waves. The wooden boat rocked wildly.
The dream began to fade.
Closing his eyes, Rega quietly awaited the moment of awakening.
"Screeeech!!"
In the final second before the dream shattered, a deep and resonant dragon's roar echoed through the sky, filled with an overwhelming sense of danger.
"A dragon?"
Rega's heart clenched. Instinctively, he tried to open his eyes—
Crash!
A massive wave surged forward, swallowing the boat in an instant.
The Waking World
Splash…
Rega's eyes shot open as he abruptly sat up, his long hair whipping around and splattering water across his face.
"Huff… Huff…"
Panting heavily, his heart pounded wildly in his chest. In a daze, he muttered, "There was a dragon…"
At the end of his dream, he could swear he heard a dragon roaring within the thick mist.
"This isn't normal."
Running a hand over his face, Rega mumbled to himself.
As his emotions settled, his gaze landed on a broken stone tablet nearby.
It had been retrieved from the ruins of the Misty Sea—apparently, an artifact once belonging to the Bellerys family.
Shaking his head, Rega muttered with doubt, "What you think about during the day shapes your dreams at night."
He had interrogated the smugglers aboard that ship.
The ruins were discovered within the Misty Sea, supposedly located in what was once the land of Eternal Summer.
That region had long been veiled in thick mist, making navigation nearly impossible.
Fortunately, no unknown monsters or dangers had ever been recorded within the fog.
After the smuggling ship mistakenly entered the area, the old sailor on board barely found the way using an ancient Valyrian sea chart.
If there was any real danger, it was only one thing—
The Stone Men lurking within the Smoking Sea!
The Stone Men were completely devoid of reason, cruel, and bloodthirsty.
Like wild beasts, they knew the terrain of the Smoking Sea intimately, hunting down any ships that strayed in or dared to explore.
Had it not been for an attack by the Stone Men, the smuggling ship would not have suffered any casualties.
Weighing the risks and rewards, Rhaegar hesitated. The ruins of House Balerion… they're far too tempting.
No Valyrian dragonlord family was ever simple—
Especially not a powerful house like the Balerions.
Even the ancient texts of House Daynlyga that Rhaegar had read in his youth, though they lacked magic and dragon-taming secrets, had benefited him immensely.
If he could explore the ruins of House Balerion and by some stroke of luck acquire even a fragment of dragon-taming knowledge—
House Targaryen would rise to even greater heights.
"I need to plan carefully. The Valyrian ruins are perilous, and the expanse of the Smoking Sea should not be underestimated."
Rhaegar licked his lips, recalling a figure from the annals of his family's history—
Aerea Targaryen.
She was the niece of his great-grandfather, Jaehaerys, and the daughter of the Black Bride, Rhaena Targaryen.
Aerea was the third rider of Balerion the Black Dread.
The first time she mounted Balerion, they took off into the skies and vanished from the world's sight.
A year later, Balerion returned to King's Landing, gravely injured, carrying Aerea, who was barely clinging to life.
By then, Balerion's left wing bore jagged, gaping wounds nearly nine feet long.
His massive body was riddled with deep gashes, some exposing the bone, others barely healed over with thick scars.
Aerea's condition was even worse—skeletal, her skin raw and bloodied.
That very night, she perished.
According to legend, she had encountered some kind of cursed, terrifying creature that burned her alive from within.
Her body was found writhing with monstrous parasites known as firewyrms.
Grand Maester Benifer speculated that Aerea had failed to truly command Balerion, and the dragon had taken her to its homeland—
The ruins of Valyria.
There, both dragon and rider had faced unspeakable horrors, resulting in her death and Balerion's severe injuries.
Because of this, for many years afterward, King's Landing forbade any ships from sailing to or near the ruins of Valyria.
Rhaegar remained silent, calculating the risks and rewards.
The tale of Aerea and Balerion was indeed terrifying—
But based on his own reasoning, Rhaegar believed that they had ventured too deep into danger, which led to their tragic fate.
The fall of the Freehold had turned the Land of Long Summer into the Smoking Sea—
But that did not mean the land and waters were entirely lifeless.
At the very least, several peripheral cities still had inhabitants.
And there were many fishermen near the Smoking Sea, along with occasional expeditions.
The ruins of House Balerion were located in the Smoking Sea, but it was not an absolute death trap.
As he pondered, Rhaegar idly swirled the water, revealing a glass candle beneath the surface.
Suddenly, he recalled the strange disturbances in his dreams.
With a thought, he pulled up his personal status panel.
[Rhaegar Targaryen]
Talents: Dreamer (Gold), Pyromancer (Purple), Longevity (Green) Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (47%) Runes: Ouroboros (Blue), Bronze (Green) Blood Sorcery: Empowering Enchantment (Blue), Dragonstone (Blue) Relics: Blood and Fire, True Dragon's Blood, Dreamer's Sight…
Evaluation: "An ancient bloodline stuck at the threshold—perhaps more fire and magic could push it forward."
Rhaegar examined the panel and murmured, "A new ability… Empowering Enchantment."
He glanced at the activation requirements for Blood Sorcerer's Gift—
He only needed to ignite the glass candle.
It seemed that even in his dreams, he had triggered his explorer's gift and gained a blood sorcery spell: Empowering Enchantment.
"A rather practical spell."
His eyes lit up. Gripping the glass candle, he channeled his Pyromancer talent.
Whoosh—
The glass candle in his left hand flickered to life with a phosphorescent glow, while flames suddenly erupted from his right palm, growing stronger by the second.
"Let's give it a try."
The fire crackled. Rhaegar locked onto a crumbling stone tablet, then flicked his right hand forward.
The flames surged forth, their intensity weakened midair, but they still struck the stone tablet with a dull impact.
The fire scattered, leaving a scorched mark on the stone's surface.
Rhaegar clicked his tongue in mild dissatisfaction. "The fire is stronger by several times… I can finally throw fireballs, at least."
Casually tossing fireballs—this was the kind of "advanced magic" that only existed in dreams.
Before this, he had possessed the Pyromancer talent but lacked any actual spells to use.
He scrutinized the mark left on the stone tablet, unimpressed. "Looks flashy, but the power is mediocre."
One fireball had drained nearly a tenth of his magic.
It was probably strong enough to burn an ordinary person to death—
But Rhaegar's verdict was that swinging a sword was still more effective.
Turning the glass candle in his hands, excitement bubbled within him. He decided to launch a few more "fireball spells."
Fire magic was still fire magic—who knew, maybe it was among the strongest of its kind in this era?
Aiming at the crumbling stone tablet, he unleashed several fireballs in quick succession.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Explosions rang out.
Not long after, Rhaegar's vision blurred, and his head buzzed with dizziness.
His legs gave out, and he slumped weakly into the water.
He recognized this sensation—gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Mental exhaustion."
Casting magic required not just mana, but also immense mental fortitude.
Using Empowering Enchantment and too much fire had drained his reserves.
Creak—
The bathroom door suddenly swung open.
Daenerys hurried in, scanning the room anxiously. "My lord, I heard strange noises from downstairs—is everything alright?"
The sound of his fireball practice had startled the girl resting below.
Startled by the intrusion, Rhaegar quickly turned his back to her, awkwardly saying, "It's nothing. Leave me be."
As he spoke, he shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness.
"My lord, you don't look well."
Daniella's large eyes were filled with worry as she tiptoed closer.
After taking two steps, she didn't forget to close the bathroom door behind her.
Rega had no mind to pay attention, pressing a hand against his forehead and vigorously massaging his temples.
"Sir, let me help you," she offered.
Rega's headache was unbearable, and his irritation grew.
A voice came from behind him, accompanied by a faint, youthful floral scent that seeped into his lungs.
As he caught the fragrance, his furrowed brows instinctively relaxed, and he sniffed curiously.
The floral aroma filled his nose, seemingly easing his headache.
Rega's eyes were dazed as he realized the scent might aid in restoring his mental strength.
Just as he was about to ask, a pair of cool, delicate hands touched his head, gently massaging his temples.
Chapter 279: The Sudden Appearance of Daemon
"My lord, let me help you relax."
With a serious expression, Danira knelt by the edge of the bath, using both hands to massage him.
Rhaegar hesitated for a moment but did not refuse her kindness. Instead, he asked directly, "What is that fragrance on you?"
The floral scent seemed to ease his headache—most likely, it had a restorative effect on his mental energy.
"A fragrance?"
Danira blinked her bright eyes and answered honestly, "It's a perfume powder I made myself. The ingredients include a very beautiful orchid."
Rhaegar, ever eager for knowledge, immediately asked, "What kind of orchid? Where can it be found?"
"I think it's called the 'Revival Orchid'—sounds a bit dramatic, doesn't it?"
Danira revealed the name of the flower, then lowered her head in silence before murmuring in a small voice, "A patron gave it to my mother as a gift, but she found it useless and passed it on to me."
Saying this made her face burn with shame.
Deep down, she resented both her grandmother and mother.
Even as a bastard, she had never wished to be born in a brothel, let alone grow up in such a chaotic environment.
As if realizing something, Danira quickly added, "The Valyrians called it the 'Revival Orchid.' It supposedly grows in the Smoking Sea, and sometimes, exploration teams bring it back as a rare souvenir."
The Revival Orchid she had once possessed had been an accidental find from years ago.
She had ground it into powder and stored it in an old perfume case discarded by her mother.
Because it was so rare—and she couldn't afford other perfumes—Danira had always been reluctant to use it.
Rhaegar listened in silence, feeling his headache subside under the combined effects of her massage and the floral scent. After some thought, he said, "Bring me the remaining powder later. I'll compensate you with a pouch of gold coins."
The Revival Orchid was hard to find but clearly useful.
He couldn't let her suffer a loss—he would buy the remaining powder from her.
Danira shook her head repeatedly. "My lord, you saved me. I can't accept your money."
The powder might have been one of her few personal possessions, but how could it compare to the debt of gratitude she owed him?
Rhaegar didn't insist. "As you wish."
Danira smiled and redoubled her efforts, pressing her fingers more firmly into his muscles.
Time passed.
A wave of drowsiness washed over Rhaegar, making it difficult to keep his eyes open.
Just then, he heard a faint rustling behind him.
The next moment—
Something soft and warm pressed against his back.
Rhaegar didn't react immediately, his eyes opening in confusion.
Soon, the sensation began to shift—gentle, teasing, intoxicating.
Stunned for a moment, he instinctively tried to move away.
But before he could, a pair of small hands slid down from his shoulders, wrapping around his strong waist to hold him in place.
"My lord, let me serve you as you rest."
Danira's face was flushed red as she whispered shyly.
Rhaegar's eye twitched as he responded, speechless, "Let go. I'm not that tired."
There was a fierce she-dragon waiting for him back in King's Landing—he wouldn't dare fool around outside.
The lesson of Jeyne still lingered in his mind.
But Danira refused to let go, her voice trembling. "My lord, you are a noble dragonrider. Please don't despise me for my lowly birth."
This was the first time in her life she had seen a real dragon, and it was ridden by a true dragonlord.
In her heart, she believed she should offer herself in exchange for his favor.
As the scent of the Revival Orchid filled the air, Rhaegar felt a complicated mix of emotions and leaned slightly backward.
Splash…
The water in the bath rippled gently.
Three days later.
At the port of the Rhoyne River, a beautifully crafted three-masted ship was docked, flying a banner bearing the sigil of a three-headed red dragon.
Sailors loaded supplies onto the vessel, while a hundred well-equipped mercenaries maintained order.
On the shore, Rhaegar stood dressed in black, gazing out at the vast blue sea.
"Prince, we will strictly handle the affairs you've left behind."
"The Smoking Sea can be dangerous—please be careful…"
The three newly appointed governors stood behind him, respectfully reporting and offering their warnings.
The old nobleman maintained a stern expression, his sharp eyes fixed on the ship, flickering with shrewd calculation.
Tesrio remained expressionless, like a menacing wooden statue.
Varys, ever the sycophant, hovered around Rhaegar with endless flattery, making it clear he didn't want him to leave.
After several days of deliberation, Rhaegar had finally decided to explore the ruins in the Smoking Sea.
To ease any concerns from King's Landing, he had sent a raven explaining his plans.
At the latest, he would return within a month.
He was confident because he had made all the necessary preparations.
For safety, he had hired the best pilots and sailors from Volantis, along with a company of elite mercenaries.
Half of them had been to the Smoking Sea before—and lived to tell the tale.
With such a team, the risks of this journey would be significantly reduced.
Before long, the cargo was fully loaded, and all preparations were complete.
"My lord, please return safely. I will be waiting for you."
Danira lowered her head shyly, her voice barely above a whisper as she bid him farewell.
Leila held her hand, her eyes slightly red and swollen.
The two sisters had received great kindness and did not wish to part from their savior.
Rhaegar smiled gently and said softly, "Take care of yourselves. The voyage won't be long."
With that, he turned to the three ruling officials and bid them farewell one by one.
The governance of Volantis would now be entirely in their hands.
Rhaegar boarded the sailing ship and ordered the mercenaries to escort the sailors infected with greyscale into the lower deck.
Greyscale patients could not remain in the castle; they would be sent off into the Smoking Sea along the way.
"Screech..."
A dark dragon shadow flashed across the sky, sweeping past with the gusting wind that billowed the sails, then soaring into the high clouds.
On the deck, Rhaegar gazed at the silhouette of the Devourer, feeling assured.
The Smoking Sea was dangerous; he had no intention of charging in recklessly with just himself and his dragon.
Instead, he took the ship into the Smoking Sea, following the method of ordinary fishermen and exploration teams.
The Devourer patrolled overhead, ready to provide support at any moment if danger arose.
By splitting up, man and dragon reduced their risks to the minimum.
The ship set sail and disappeared from sight.
That very night, under the veil of darkness, a great fire erupted in Volantis.
The blaze originated from a renowned brothel.
The entire establishment was engulfed in flames, leaving no chance for either the prostitutes or the patrons to escape.
The fire quickly spread, drawing the attention of the Tiger Cloaks, who rushed to extinguish it.
A mile away, inside an unassuming attic, a cloaked figure stood by the bed, gazing at the distant inferno.
Panicked cries filled the air. The cloaked figure chuckled, "Well done. You burned it all clean."
It was clear—the fire had been meticulously orchestrated, and he took great satisfaction in it.
"My lord, Varys was also in the brothel. By morning, he may be discovered among the dead."
Another voice echoed within the attic.
The cloaked figure turned his head, calmly regarding a fierce-looking young man with a tiger-patterned tattoo on his face.
It was none other than the new Tiger Party magistrate, Tesrio.
After a moment of scrutinizing him, the cloaked man remarked with disinterest, "You should leave now. The commander of the city guard ought to be seen at the fire, helping with the rescue efforts."
Tesrio hesitated briefly before nodding. "Yes, my lord."
Without further delay, he turned and stepped out of the attic.
As he exited, a fleeting shadow of malice passed through his eyes.
The cloaked figure watched him descend the stairs, then raised a hand to remove his hood.
Under the faint glow of the fire, Daemon's striking features were revealed.
"A dog that cannot be truly tamed... but still somewhat useful."
His eyes were cold as he gave his assessment of Tesrio.
Daemon had dealings with Malacho and had secretly interacted with his subordinates long ago.
Malacho was dead. Tesrio had taken his place.
Daemon knew him well—an avaricious, lust-driven madman, easily manipulated.
It was no surprise that Rhaegar, pressed for time, had chosen his magistrates without careful screening.
Of course, Daemon never intended to fully control Volantis. He was only interested in taking what benefits he could.
Tapping his fingers lightly against the stone window ledge, he smirked. "A one-day emperor. Just a child's game of playing kings and castles."
In a trade city like Volantis, where power and wealth reigned supreme, trust was nonexistent.
A dragon's presence could instill fear for a day, but eventually, it would leave.
Daemon had no illusions—he simply wanted to exploit Volantis for what it was worth, taking advantage of the chaos.
"Put out the fire... Help!"
"..."
Outside, desperate cries tore through the night, while inside, the attic remained eerily silent.
Daemon refocused his gaze on the burning brothel, his expression one of contempt.
"Whores who disgraced the Targaryen legacy..."
Time passed swiftly. Ten days later.
A vast expanse of sea stretched endlessly. Thick mist shrouded the sky, obscuring the scorching sun.
A lone three-masted sailing ship drifted forward.
Standing on the deck, Rhaegar gazed at the foggy heavens, his brow slightly furrowed.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the air seemed to carry fine specks of ash.
Breathing felt slightly uncomfortable.
"My lord, we have entered the Smoking Sea."
A stocky, one-eyed middle-aged sailor approached.
Rhaegar gave a slight nod and cautioned, "Robert, lower the ship's small boat. Send a few mercenaries ahead to scout the area."
"Understood, my lord."
Robert thumped his chest in affirmation and barked out orders in his booming voice.
He was one of the finest sailors in Volantis, having survived numerous storms at sea.
Thanks to his exceptional leadership and enthusiasm, he had earned Rhaegar's trust.
Splash—
A small wooden boat was lowered into the sea. A few mercenaries leaped aboard, holding torches as they rowed forward.
Rhaegar watched silently, saying nothing.
It was a crude method, but an effective one.
The Smoking Sea was perpetually veiled in thick fog, severely limiting visibility.
Sending scouts ahead was far safer than blindly sailing into the unknown.
Noticing Rhaegar's concerns, Robert grinned and reassured him, "My lord, I've been to the Smoking Sea before. As long as we follow the right course, there won't be any mishaps."
"Let's hope so," Rhaegar responded coolly.
With that, he pulled out a rough sea chart, locating a red X marked on it.
That was where the smugglers had indicated a ruin.
The first landmark would be the remains of an ancient stone arch bridge stretching far into the sea.
Following the ruins for a while, they would reach a secluded rocky shoreline.
The location of the ruins was inside a cave on a rocky shore.
Two hours later.
A flicker of firelight emerged from the thick haze as the scouting boat slowly returned.
Robert, unable to contain his eagerness, leaned over the railing and asked, "Any signs of trouble ahead?"
"All is well, but the smoke is too dense," a mercenary responded, waving a torch and shouting back.
Robert's face lit up with relief. He turned and said, "My lord, shall we set out?"
After confirming there was no immediate danger, Rega pondered for a moment before replying, "Let's sail for an hour first and get an accurate position on the nautical chart."
The Smoke Sea wasn't vast, but the real danger came from the ruins of Old Valyria on both the northern and southern shores.
The ruins were marked near the northern shore, most likely on a fractured landmass—meaning there was no need to explore the mainland itself.
Chapter 280: The Ghost Ship Incident
Time passed second by second.
Amidst the billowing mist of the vast ocean, a three-masted sailing ship drifted slowly, like a fallen leaf carried by a river.
Gurgle, gurgle~~
After sailing for about two hours, the grayish sea underwent a bizarre transformation, bubbling and churning like boiling water.
Scalding steam, thick with the smell of sulfur, rose into the air, occasionally splashing out scalding water.
The mercenaries on the small boat couldn't withstand the heat and scrambled back onto the ship for shelter.
Leigar leaned against the railing, observing the strange changes on the sea's surface.
"My lord, the original location of the Smoky Sea was the Fourteen Flames region, so many volcanoes and magma chambers lurk beneath the waters," Robert explained, drenched in sweat as he removed a coat.
The climate of the Smoky Sea was unpredictable and unlike any other ocean in the world.
Beneath the waters, active volcanoes erupted from time to time, and tectonic movements were frequent.
Because of this, the Smoky Sea was perpetually shrouded in mist, and some areas of the sea seemed to boil.
Leigar had memorized these key details before coming here, so he wasn't too surprised.
He simply sighed inwardly, lamenting the loss of the Fourteen Flames as a natural dragon lair.
If not for the Doom of Valyria, the Freehold Empire wouldn't have perished.
Who knows? Westeros and Essos might have both fallen under the rule of dragons.
"Screeeech…"
A piercing cry echoed from afar, and a pitch-black dragon silhouette tore through the layers of mist, gliding over the ship.
Leigar was jolted from his thoughts by the dragon's roar, his eyes narrowing. "Stay alert! Something is moving nearby!"
Swish, swish…
The mercenaries on deck quickly gathered, instantly going on high alert. Each one gripped a torch, staring warily into the fog-covered waters.
Robert jumped in fright, his voice tense. "My lord, the dragon roared—what's happening?"
The black dragon, which had been circling above the ship, had suddenly descended and let out a cry.
"I'm not sure. Anything can happen on the Smoky Sea," Leigar frowned, unsure of the situation.
The Glutton was responsible for scouting from a distance to prevent the ship from colliding with unavoidable disasters.
From its cry, Leigar could detect a warning.
Something in the vicinity had caught its attention.
Boom—
Just as he was thinking about it, a thunderous explosion echoed from afar.
Leigar looked up in shock and saw, through the thick mist, a pillar of fire shooting into the sky, scattering like fireworks.
Obscured by the fog, the flames were hazy, appearing more like a torch's glow.
But Leigar knew—it was a volcanic eruption!
"My lord, it's an active volcano! A volcano is erupting in the distance!"
Robert trembled all over, his one remaining eye widening in shock.
Leigar quickly pulled out a nautical chart, comparing their surroundings to determine their location.
A moment later, he secretly let out a breath of relief and said in a deep voice, "This active volcano isn't on our route. It must have erupted by coincidence."
Observing the eruption from afar, he estimated that the volcano was dozens of miles away from their ship.
If not for the sheer power of the eruption, with magma breaking through the sea's surface and flying sky-high, they might not have been able to witness it with their own eyes.
"Screeeech…"
A gust of wind swept past as the Glutton dived down again, its screech sharp and urgent.
The wind made the ship sway slightly. Leigar reacted quickly, gripping the railing just in time to keep himself steady.
The cry echoed in his ears, and he was suddenly alarmed. He shouted, "Stay alert! We have enemies!"
The Glutton's usual roar was deep and heavy. It rarely made such sharp screeches.
Whenever it did, it meant an unidentified enemy was approaching.
Volantis.
The free citizens of the entire city-state gathered beneath the Black Walls in the eastern district.
Ten nights ago, the newly appointed Triarch of the Elephant Party, Varos, perished in a sea of flames.
Under the leadership of the two Tiger Party Triarchs, the city-state convened its annual election assembly.
The assembly lasted ten days, during which free citizens with assets cast their votes.
Finally, on the tenth day, the Elephant Party elected a plump, beaming middle-aged man.
His name was Dofas Bassoro.
Already a member of the Elephant Party, he swiftly secured the support of many free citizens who revered the "One-Day Emperor" and was elected as the new Triarch.
After the election, Dofas stood atop a makeshift stage and raised his arm, declaring, "Fellow citizens, I will uphold His Majesty the Emperor's will and improve the order and infrastructure of the western district!"
"Good…"
The free citizens erupted in cheers, favoring a Triarch who followed the Emperor's will and committed to improving the lives of commoners.
After the declaration, slaves brought barrels of wine, fruits, and meat, offering them freely to all present.
This was a tradition in Volantis.
Ten days of voting, followed by ten days of revelry and celebration.
Dofas mingled with the crowd, enjoying the festivities.
On the high platform, only the old noble Triarch of the Tiger Party and Tisrio remained.
The old noble leaned back in his chair, speaking softly, "Has the mastermind behind the fire left?"
"Yes," Tisrio said lazily, crossing his legs while enjoying a massage from a slave girl. His eyes were half-closed. "Upon learning of His Majesty the Emperor's whereabouts, they set sail in pursuit."
"Sigh… With the Dragonlords watching over us, Volantis will never know peace."
The old noble sighed, full of worry.
He was an old man who only wanted to wield power and amass wealth, avoiding personal risk.
Tisrio abruptly opened his eyes, sneering. "It's precisely because of people like you that Volantis has declined for so long. Now, with the support of two Dragonlords, what is there to fear?"
His thoughts were simple.
Volantis had the potential to conquer other Free Cities, lacking only an opportunity and a powerful ally.
Now, both opportunity and ally had arrived.
The Smoky Sea. The three-masted sailing ship came to a halt, no longer drifting sideways. The deck was crowded with battle-hardened mercenaries.
Rhaegar stood among them, his hand gripping the hilt of his dragon-claw sword, idly rubbing it.
Woo—woo—woo—
Across the chaotic sea, a deep and rhythmic horn sounded, carrying an eerie sense of impending slaughter.
Rhaegar's gaze remained cold as he locked onto the direction from which the sound originated.
It was coming from the ship's rear flank.
Splash…
The mist surged and billowed. A massive silhouette emerged, slicing through the boiling seawater, slowly approaching.
"It's a ship—a warship!"
A sharp-eyed sailor shouted in alarm.
Rhaegar ignored the commotion and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the large, shadowed warship in the dim light.
"An exploration party?"
The warship was coming from the entrance of the Smog Sea. Rhaegar silently speculated.
After a moment's thought, he ordered, "Raise the banners and sound the horn!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Several mercenaries moved quickly, hoisting the three-headed red dragon flag of House Targaryen and blowing a horn to signal a warning.
In the perilous waters of the Smog Sea, skirmishes and battles over resources were all too common.
It was best to avoid unnecessary conflict if possible.
Unfortunately, the warship seemed deaf and blind, sailing directly toward them with unwavering intent.
From a distance, Rhaegar sharply noticed the ship lowering its ramming prow—an unmistakable sign of aggression.
He let out a cold chuckle. "They dare target me? Fools."
His mind reached out, ready to summon the Devourer to unleash a breath of dragonfire and annihilate the threat.
Woo—woo—woo—
The warship drew closer, near enough that the sailors blowing its horn could be seen clearly on deck.
Above, the Devourer circled, poised to strike.
Then, as the warship finally broke through the dense fog and revealed itself in full, Rhaegar's eyes widened in shock.
The ship was in ruins—its hull battered with deep gashes from blades and axes, its tattered sails riddled with gaping holes.
The rotting deck was packed with grotesque figures, their crimson eyes locked onto the sailing ship.
These creatures had cracked, gray, stone-like skin, their limbs stiff and joints twisted unnaturally. Their faces were expressionless, void of emotion or reason.
Rhaegar immediately recognized them.
Stone Men!
"Now! Get the ship away from them!"
He sucked in a sharp breath and shouted the command.
There were already a few people aboard afflicted with greyscale, waiting to be exiled once land was found.
If these drifting Stone Men managed to board the ship, none of the crew would escape unscathed.
Hiss—Screech!
The Devourer let out a piercing roar and swooped down, unleashing a torrent of eerie green dragonfire.
Boom!
The incoming warship was instantly engulfed in flames. The deck was swallowed by the sticky, spreading dragonfire, consuming everything in its path.
"Roar—!"
"—"
The Stone Men aboard shrieked like wild beasts, their inhuman cries of agony ringing through the air as they writhed within the ghostly green inferno.
They were mindless creatures, driven only by primal instincts and a desperate fear of death.
"Shoot! Now—fire the arrows!"
Robert, eyes wide with horror, urged the mercenaries to loose their bows.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The ruined warship was swarming with Stone Men. Some, having miraculously avoided the dragonfire, leaped into the sea in a desperate bid for survival.
The seawater churned violently as they splashed down, their bodies thrashing in the boiling waves, howling in confusion and pain.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The mercenaries lined up along the ship's side, methodically loosing arrows at the escaping Stone Men in the water.
Above, the Devourer continued its assault, raining down relentless blasts of dragonfire upon the doomed warship, determined to reduce it to nothing but cinders.
"Conserve your arrows! Set sail—now!"
Rhaegar remained vigilant, his unease growing as the eerie green flames flickered over the misty sea.
A warship packed with Stone Men appearing out of nowhere—it was far too strange.
Retreating was the wisest choice.
At his command, the ship swiftly changed course, sailing away along its intended route.
The surviving Stone Men splashed and flailed in the water, desperately chasing after the ship.
Some, faster swimmers, had already latched onto the hull, clawing and growling as they tried to climb aboard.
The mercenaries spread out along the rail, taking precise shots to eliminate these monstrous creatures.
At last, after a tense battle, the ship left the boiling sea behind and disappeared into the distance.
With the immediate danger past, the crew exhaled in relief, their nerves finally easing.
When Rhaegar looked up again, he was surprised to find the sky had cleared—the sun now hung bright and high above them.
Turning back, he could still see the Smog Sea in the distance, a gray, fog-shrouded expanse.
Robert approached, gripping a nautical chart, his voice brimming with excitement. "My lord, the Smog Sea's mist patterns are scattered! We must have entered a safe zone."
The Smog Sea was originally a landmass that had collapsed into the ocean.
Naturally, some areas—rivers, underground streams, and regions far from volcanic activity—had less fog.
In such zones, the mist dissipated, and the waters became calmer.
Rhaegar let out a long breath and gave a wry smile.
That unexpected encounter with the Stone Men had truly caught him off guard.
The ship sailed on for a while longer.
Then, in the distance, land came into view.
Faintly, they could make out beaches, slopes, and lush greenery.
(End of Chapter)