Chapter 281: The Uncanny Ruins
"Hiss—Screech..."
The Devourer let out a piercing cry as it swooped down, soaring past the sailing ship. The fierce wind from its wings made the sails flutter violently.
Crash!
The ship rocked wildly a few times. Rega staggered, nearly losing his balance.
Barely managing to steady himself, Rega looked up in confusion. "Devourer, what's wrong?"
Watching the creature circling rapidly overhead, he couldn't make sense of its behavior.
Since entering the Misty Sea, the Devourer had been unusually alert.
After the attack by the Stonefolk, it radiated a restless and agitated aura, visibly enraged.
"Hiss—Screech..."
Sensing its rider's concern, the Devourer shook its massive head and let out another shrill cry, flapping its wings furiously.
Seeing this, Rega's expression grew serious. This was troublesome.
His mind raced as he instinctively glanced toward the distant land and issued an order. "Dock the ship!"
The Misty Sea was a place of misfortune.
Ever since they entered, a heavy gloom had hung over them.
Now that they had finally encountered clear skies, it made sense to take a short break.
"Yes, my lord."
Having endured a volcanic eruption and the attack of the Stonefolk, the sailors and mercenaries were both physically and mentally drained. They wholeheartedly agreed with the decision to go ashore.
Rega took the sea chart from Robert and carefully analyzed it.
In their hasty retreat, they had deviated slightly from their planned course.
However, based on the map's markings, they had actually gotten closer to their destination and had not lost their way.
The ship drifted for half a day before finally approaching land.
As the saying goes, seeing a mountain from afar is easier than reaching it.
Though the land seemed just ahead, the voyage still took considerable time.
The sailors anchored the ship near a cluster of reefs at the edge of the beach.
Splash!
Several small boats were lowered into the water and rowed toward the shore.
"Hiss—Screech..."
The Devourer landed ahead of them, its cold green eyes filled with an eerie hostility as it let out a low, irritated growl.
The moment Rega set foot on the shore, he hurried over, tense with concern. "Devourer, my friend, are you all right?"
Whoosh—
The Devourer tossed its head and exhaled sharply. The foul-smelling breath made its rider stagger.
"Come on, buddy, don't be like that."
Rega covered his nose and reached out with open arms, approaching cautiously.
Having been together for many years, the bond between man and dragon was deep.
The Devourer fixed its gaze on him for a long moment before slowly lowering its massive head, its body shifting into a crouch.
"Good boy..."
Rega, eyes full of concern, wrapped his arms around the dragon's fearsome snout, rubbing it firmly.
His dragon enjoyed such affectionate gestures—it helped calm its emotions.
The Devourer huffed, reluctant but eventually nudging against him in acceptance.
After a while, Rega asked softly, "Buddy, does the Misty Sea make you uneasy?"
The Devourer let out a low growl, a flash of disgust flickering in its green eyes.
"I understand. Let's endure for just two more days."
Rega had a theory—something in the Misty Sea was likely affecting the dragon.
A similar situation had occurred not long after he first tamed the Devourer.
On the Crab Claw Peninsula, the Devourer had refused to enter the Despair Swamp and had shown intense hostility toward a shadow half-dragon that mimicked its form.
Fortunately, their current connection allowed the Devourer to remain rational and obedient.
Time passed, and after half an hour, the Devourer had calmed down. Its eyes remained closed as it lay on the sand, dozing.
Basking in the warm sunlight, it occasionally shifted its body to absorb more heat.
Rega stroked its black scales one last time before stepping away.
On the other side of the beach, mercenaries wielding curved blades pushed back a group of ragged sailors.
As Rega approached, he recognized them—these were the infected from the smuggling ship, those suffering from Gray Scale Disease.
The desperate sailors pleaded for mercy, begging Rega to take them back for treatment.
Unmoved, he said coldly, "Drive them away. Consider this land a gift to them."
Most infected with Gray Scale Disease were simply abandoned in remote corners near the Misty Sea.
Now, these outcasts had found a land with fresh water and vegetation—more than enough for them to spend their final, delirious days in relative peace.
The mercenaries obeyed his command, chaining the infected together and driving them toward the hillside beyond the beach.
Rega ignored them completely and ordered, "We rest here for the night. We set sail at dawn."
"Yes, my lord."
The Next Day
By noon, the sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky.
A massive black dragon sliced through the horizon, its powerful hind claws clutching a large fish, which it casually tossed into its maw.
Behind it, a three-masted sailing ship glided through the waters, navigating into a narrow tributary.
On the deck, Rhaegar gripped the railing, closing his eyes as he faced the sea breeze.
It was unclear how much time had passed when Robert's excited voice rang out, "My lord, we can see the ruins of the Stone Bridge ahead!"
At these words, Rhaegar opened his eyes.
In his view, the tributary was relatively narrow, with ridges covered in vegetation lining both the northern and southern banks. Not far ahead, a massive ruin of scattered giant stones appeared.
The ruins were enormous—immensely so!
Stretching across the sea for more than ten miles between the northern and southern shores, occasional bridge piers jutted out from the water.
However, the bridge had long since collapsed, leaving only the broken remnants on either shore, faintly hinting at its former grandeur.
Seeing the landmark ruins before him, Rhaegar was elated. "Increase speed! We're almost at our destination."
Robert, equally thrilled, shouted eagerly, urging the helmsman and sailors onward.
The sailboat immediately picked up speed, skimming along the shoreline of the Stone Bridge ruins, covering a long distance in its path.
Gradually, a mist reappeared over the sea, obscuring clear visibility.
With the contrast of the previously clear sky, Rhaegar twitched his nose, sniffing the air, and instinctively furrowed his brow.
The mist carried a strong sulfuric odor, mixed with a faint stench.
Under the glow of the firelight, tiny particles seemed to blend with the mist.
Rhaegar's gaze deepened as he murmured, "Harmful minerals left behind by volcanic eruptions."
Taking two deep breaths, he felt a tightness in his lungs.
He vaguely sensed that this might be one of the reasons for the unease among the Gluttonous Beasts.
The mist over the Smoking Sea contained substances that were discomforting—even to dragons.
"Prince, there's an unusual pile of rubble ahead—it might be our destination."
Robert approached, holding a nautical chart, swallowing with excitement.
Reaching their destination also meant that the return journey was near.
By then, he would receive a hefty sum of gold—enough to live the rest of his life in luxury and ease.
"Dock the ship. Make sure to leave some men behind to guard it."
Rhaegar had also spotted the distant pile of rubble, a sight that could only be described as "colossal." He gave his orders with caution.
That pile of ruins was practically a small mountain of stones.
Faint traces of blackened walls could be seen, partially buried under rubble and decayed wood.
The ship anchored along the shore, and Rhaegar led fifty mercenaries ashore, heading towards the rubble pile.
Following the smuggling ship's markings, they quickly located the entrance to the ruins.
It was a pitch-black cave hidden in the heart of the ruins, with only a small portion exposed.
At the cave's entrance, a mess of footprints covered the ground.
Rhaegar frowned slightly, selecting a few of the most skilled mercenaries and ordering, "Go in first and scout the situation."
"Yes, my lord."
Without hesitation, the chosen mercenaries raised their torches and entered the cave one by one.
Men who took on this kind of work valued money over their lives.
With Rhaegar and a dragon watching outside, they dared not refuse.
"Screech…"
The Gluttonous Beast landed, its clawed feet pressing against the rubble, sniffing the air as its head moved back and forth.
Rhaegar found this behavior odd and brushed his boot over the footprints at the cave's entrance.
They waited. After some time, torchlight flickered from the cave, and a mercenary emerged, sweat beading on his forehead. "My lord, there's a deep passage inside, and some… strange things."
Rhaegar considered the words and decisively ordered, "Leave a small squad to guard the entrance. The rest, follow me."
The scouting mercenaries were unharmed; they had only mentioned "strange" things.
That likely meant there was no immediate danger—just something out of the ordinary.
Boom—
Leaping into the pitch-black cave, the scouting mercenaries led the way while Rhaegar, surrounded by his guards, pressed forward.
The entrance was narrow, but the tunnel gradually widened.
It was also remarkably dry, unlike typical underground caves that were damp and cold.
After some time…
About halfway through the tunnel, they encountered the so-called "strange things."
Crunch—
A mercenary accidentally stepped on a bone, breaking it. Looking down, he realized it was a skeleton.
A human skeleton, clad in old, rusted armor.
There were many similar skeletons, scattered across the ground—at least a dozen.
"My lord."
One of the mercenaries, his gaze filled with doubt, picked up a breastplate and respectfully handed it over.
Holding his torch closer, Rhaegar examined the breastplate. The left chest bore the engraving of a roaring lion.
Rhaegar knew that emblem all too well and exclaimed in surprise, "Lannister?"
He inspected the other skeletons, finding the same sigil on their armor.
There was no doubt—these were the remains of Lannister soldiers.
Robert stepped on another brittle bone, clicking his tongue in amazement. "My lord, these bones crumble at the slightest touch. They've been here for ages."
Rhaegar did not respond, his mind drifting to a legendary tale of House Lannister.
Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought.
"No time to waste. Move forward."
Time was of the essence.
"My lord, look! It's this thing!"
Just then, a scouting mercenary hurried back, urgently pointing to a corner of the tunnel.
Rhaegar followed his gaze and saw several unusual corpses.
Their bodies were covered in gray-scaled sores, their limbs twisted unnaturally as they lay sprawled on the ground. Their rancid blood had seeped into the soil.
"Stone Men's corpses… and they're fresh!"
Rhaegar's spirits lifted, and he rushed forward to inspect them.
Each of these Stone Men was emaciated, their lifeless eyes still wide open, their mouths stained with blackened blood.
The fatal wounds were on their chests, necks, and heads.
It seemed as if something had pierced straight through them, leaving chilling holes.
"This isn't the work of a spear."
Rhaegar's eyes flickered with recognition as he made a swift judgment.
He was skilled with a spear and knew exactly what kind of wounds it would inflict.
The wounds on the Stone Men were smooth—eerily so—and unusually large.
As if something had forcefully hollowed out the flesh.
Rhaegar had seen similar injuries before.
Shadow creatures summoned by Shadowbinders—tentacle-like attacks that pierced through flesh effortlessly.
At this realization, his instincts screamed danger. He issued an urgent command, "Keep the torches burning! Light up the tunnel as much as possible!"
The Stone Men's corpses were fresh, their blood barely dried.
Which meant that something unknown—something like a shadow creature—could still be lurking in the tunnel.
And fire was the best defense.
Chapter 282: Excavating the Dragon Egg
King's Landing.
Red Keep, the King's Chambers.
Cough, cough, cough...
Viserys looked pale and weak as he leaned against his bed, struggling through a violent fit of coughing.
Grand Maester Mellos stood by his side, speaking slowly, "Your Grace, you have caught a cold. You should rest."
"How can I? There's still so much to do," Viserys replied, suppressing his cough and breathing heavily. "How are the preparations for the tourney? The northern lords must also be informed—I want to host a grand event that will be remembered across the Seven Kingdoms!"
The tournament was drawing closer by the day.
For his eldest son's coming-of-age ceremony to be truly spectacular, the event had to be magnificent—worthy of being recorded in history.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but you should entrust this matter entirely to the Queen and the Princess," Mellos said helplessly.
"No! They are women. How could they possibly understand the significance of a tourney?"
Viserys rejected the suggestion without a second thought.
Mellos shook his head and sighed. "Even so, you must take care of yourself. I'm sure the prince wouldn't want you to exhaust yourself over such matters."
Viserys clutched his chest and forced a weak smile.
A thought crossed his mind, and he asked with a hint of doubt, "Rhaenyra and the others have returned, but why has Rhaegar been in Volantis for so long? Wasn't his visit supposed to have diplomatic significance?"
It had been half a month since Rhaegar left, yet no word had come back, which was concerning.
Mellos's eyelids twitched slightly as he responded vaguely, "The people of Volantis are very hospitable. I'm sure the prince is being well received."
At that, Viserys let out a helpless chuckle. "That boy rides the mightiest of wild dragons—no one would dare treat him poorly."
He had heard rumors of his eldest son running rampant across the Riverlands.
Just as he was about to continue speaking, a sudden shortness of breath overtook him. His face flushed red as he broke into another uncontrollable fit of coughing.
Cough, cough... "I'll take the medicine later. You may leave for now."
Waving a hand dismissively, Viserys signaled for the Grand Maester to withdraw.
Mellos, knowing the king's condition was not dire, packed his satchel and left the chamber.
Bang—
The door closed, leaving only the sound of coughing echoing from within.
Mellos did not return to his quarters. Instead, he walked through the open-air corridors of the Red Keep.
There, seated on a long bench, was Rhaenyra. Dressed in a flowing red gown, she stared absentmindedly into the distance, lost in thought.
Hearing footsteps behind her, she snapped out of her daze and tightened her grip on a letter.
"Princess," Mellos greeted her with a respectful bow.
"You've worked hard, Grand Maester," Rhaenyra said with a faint smile.
Mellos shook his head. "The King is in stable condition, but he must not overexert himself. You should try to persuade him and help share his burdens."
"I will," Rhaenyra replied, pressing her lips together. After a brief hesitation, she added, "For now, do not inform my father about Rhaegar."
A raven from Volantis had arrived in King's Landing the previous day, carrying a letter personally written by Rhaegar.
Since Viserys was preoccupied with planning the tournament, Mellos had delivered the letter directly to Rhaenyra instead.
After reading it, she had been both anxious and frustrated.
The Smoking Sea was no place for a Targaryen to venture recklessly.
Given her father's fragile health, she decided to keep the matter secret for the time being—better to avoid unnecessary complications.
Mellos understood her intentions. Instead of refusing outright, he pondered for a moment before saying, "The prince wrote that he would return in a month, but the reality may be unpredictable."
As Grand Maester, he was well aware of the dangers of the Smoking Sea.
History recorded that remnants of the Freehold's Dragonlords had once led fleets and dragons back to Old Valyria, only to vanish without a trace.
If Rhaegar was truly venturing into the Smoking Sea, the risk was immense.
Rhaenyra's gaze darkened, and she said firmly, "Rhaegar is not reckless. In his letter, he clearly mentioned having maps and locations of ruins. He will return on time."
"Let's hope so. Legends often come with legendary experiences," Mellos remarked impassively.
Since the Conquest, few had risen to true legendary status.
Yet Rhaegar—who had tamed the King of Wild Dragons, burned the Kingdom of Three Daughters, and was even crowned emperor for a single day—was already weaving his own myth.
Rhaenyra sighed and rubbed her forehead before waving Mellos away.
"I will keep the secret," he assured her before walking off.
Rhaenyra exhaled deeply, murmuring to herself, "Rhaegar, you must return quickly."
King's Landing was like a sieve—secrets never stayed hidden for long.
Since her visit to Storm's End, she had sensed a sinister force stirring within the court.
She couldn't stop it alone. She needed Rhaegar to handle it himself.
Meanwhile…
Mellos left the corridor and arrived at the Queen's chambers.
Knock, knock...
He rapped on the door.
The Smoking Sea, Underground Ruins.
Rhaegar and his party made their way through the dark tunnels, the sound of rushing water echoing in their ears.
"Water source?" Rhaegar tilted his head, listening intently.
Robert whispered, "My lord, there's vegetation on the riverbank—there may be an underground current."
"That makes sense. Let's check it out first," Rhaegar decided.
He led the group forward, their torches illuminating the passage.
Soon, a winding subterranean river came into view.
Rhaegar's gaze did not linger on the churning waters but instead focused on the jagged black rocks along the shore.
Rhaegar bent down and touched the rock—it felt rather brittle.
He crushed some debris between his fingers and brought it to his nose, detecting a faint sulfuric scent.
Glancing around, he noticed that the dark river, as well as the surrounding cavern walls, were entirely covered in the same type of rock. He murmured, "This is solidified limestone from dried magma. There must have been underground lava here once."
"What about this dark river, then?" Robert asked, his mind full of questions.
Rhaegar stood up, clapped the dust off his hands, and mused, "The apocalypse must have altered the tectonic plates. The underground streams started flowing only after the disaster."
Otherwise, there shouldn't be limestone in the cave, nor would the tunnel be so dry.
Determining the right direction, the group followed the dark river downstream.
According to the smuggling ship's intelligence, a broken stone stele had been discovered at the tunnel's end.
However, as soon as they left the cavern, they were ambushed by the Stone Men and forced to flee.
Now, having passed through the tunnel, they had no choice but to explore the ruins on their own.
As they moved forward, the cave gradually widened.
The dark river expanded, winding through a channel filled with limestone deposits.
The sudden increase in space created a stark contrast, bringing a sense of openness.
Rhaegar continued walking while carefully observing his surroundings, a strange feeling creeping up on him.
This cavern reminded him of Dragonstone's dragon lairs.
It also bore some resemblance to the dragon pits beneath the ruins of old dragon dens.
Then, suddenly, massive claw marks appeared on the cave wall.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes and compared them to the marks left by the Devourer in his memory.
"They're dragon claw marks," he muttered.
As he pondered in silence, Rhaegar began to suspect that these ruins were once a dragon lair belonging to House Balerion.
The claw marks on the cave walls were undoubtedly from a dragon, though they weren't as large as those of the Devourer.
Judging by the size, they seemed to belong to an adult dragon about the same size as the Red Queen, Merias.
Korakshu could be ruled out—its species differed from regular dragons, having smaller hind legs and membranous wings, which wouldn't leave such deep scratches.
Clang! Clang!
Moments later, as the group reached a corner, the sound of metal striking stone echoed through the cave.
Rhaegar's senses sharpened. He turned his head slightly and signaled the mercenaries.
Upon hearing the noise, the mercenaries instinctively quieted their movements, silently spreading out along both sides of the corner, gripping their curved blades, and remaining on high alert.
Rhaegar cautiously approached the edge, hiding his torch behind him as he peeked inside.
Thanks to his extensive knowledge and powerful mental abilities, his enhanced senses allowed him to see somewhat clearly even in the dim light.
Beyond the bend lay an open cavern.
Here, the limestone had disappeared, replaced by piles of dark, clumped masses.
Rhaegar recognized the substance immediately—it was dried dragon dung.
During the restoration of Harrenhal, he had plenty of experience having it collected from both Dragonstone and King's Landing. Whether fresh or aged, he knew exactly what it looked like.
Clearly, the dragon dung in this cave had accumulated over many years.
Clang…
Rhaegar took a quick scan of the area before his gaze landed on the source of the clanging noise.
A flickering firelight illuminated a shadowy corner.
Several figures stood there, draped in black robes with shaved heads.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, barely making out the masks covering their faces.
What caught his attention even more was that one of the black-robed figures had raised an arm, chanting an incantation.
A long, writhing shadow serpent coiled around his arm, its flat, eerie head repeatedly slamming against the hardened dragon dung on the ground.
With every impact, chunks of the solid waste shattered, as if they were digging for something.
"My lord… they seem to be Shadowbinders from Asshai, wielding shadow magic," Robert whispered, his voice trembling as he crouched beneath Rhaegar.
"Quiet. I can see that," Rhaegar replied, his expression grim as he signaled the mercenaries on both sides.
Shadowbinders were nothing special—he had killed them before.
Not all of them were as terrifying as the ones they had encountered on the Crab Claw Peninsula.
The mercenaries understood their cue and nocked arrows, taking aim at the flickering firelight.
"Fire!"
With Rhaegar's command, arrows shot forward in unison.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
A volley of arrows rained down, followed by a few faint screams from within.
Rhaegar paid no mind and immediately ordered, "Again!"
No one could withstand a rain of arrows—he had no intention of showing mercy.
Wave after wave of arrows fell until the mercenaries emptied their quivers.
By then, the torches inside had been extinguished, plunging the cave into total darkness.
"Follow me!"
Seizing the moment, Rhaegar unsheathed his dragon-claw sword. Flames erupted along the blade, illuminating the vast cavern.
As a fire sorcerer, he had a natural advantage over these shadowy assassins.
The mercenaries, torches in hand, surged past their employer and charged forward.
Several black-robed figures were shot into pincushions, their bodies drenched in blood as they collapsed to the ground, their limbs twitching involuntarily.
Rega stepped closer to get a better look. Each one wore a painted mask—Shadowbinders, without a doubt.
"Hah… hah…"
One of the Shadowbinders gasped for breath, his eyes locked onto Rega with a fierce glare as if struggling to speak.
"I… curse…"
Slash—
Before he could finish, Rega swung his sword, decapitating him in one swift motion.
Watching the severed head roll across the ground, Rega remained cautious. He thrust his dragon claw weapon into both the head and the corpse, incinerating them into ashes with a burst of flames.
"You dare try to curse me? Do you think you're Death itself?"
Rega let out a cold chuckle. Flames suddenly surged from his dragon claw, illuminating half the cave for an instant.
"My lord, this looks like a dragon egg."
Jobert's eyes widened as he crouched within a pile of dragon dung left by the shadow serpent's impact. He carefully lifted a dusty gray dragon egg with both hands.
Hearing this, Rega turned his head, his gaze locking onto the newly unearthed egg.
"You deceitful wretch! You'll pay the price!"
Suddenly, a Shadowbinder riddled with arrows sprang up, roaring as he lunged at Rega's exposed back.
At some point, he had pulled out a triple-edged dagger from his robes, its cold gleam reflecting in the dim light as he drove it forward.
Rega's eyes narrowed. Instead of dodging, he twisted his dragon claw weapon in his grip and thrust it backward along his waist.
Squelch—
The sword pierced through flesh and bone.
Before the Shadowbinder could even strike with his dagger, Rega's sharp dragon claw had already skewered his heart clean through.
Disbelief flashed in his eyes before his body went limp, collapsing into the pile of dragon dung.
Chapter 283: The Dragon's Remains
"Search the bodies carefully and burn them all."
Rhaegar's expression remained indifferent as he flicked his sword, shaking off the blood.
The mercenaries worked swiftly, stripping the corpses of the Shadowbinders in mere moments, leaving nothing behind—not even their masks or black robes.
Robert, rummaging through a pile of dragon dung, suddenly shouted in excitement, "My lord, there are so many dragon eggs here!"
Rhaegar picked up a dusty gray dragon egg and examined it before shaking his head in disappointment. "It's a dead egg. It's been here so long that it's practically fossilized."
He knocked on the surface, but instead of the crisp, clear sound typical of a healthy dragon egg's scales, it produced a dull, heavy thud—more like striking stone.
Robert's face fell, but he kept digging.
Chunks of dragon dung scattered everywhere as he unearthed five more dragon eggs, each a different color but all long since lost to time.
Rhaegar inspected them one by one, comparing them to the dragon eggs from Dragonstone.
Looking at the fossilized eggs, he became certain—this ruin was once a dragon lair belonging to House Balerion.
What he didn't know, however, was whether the eggs of House Balerion were any different from those of House Targaryen.
Just as he was lost in thought, Robert suddenly cried out, "My lord, there's an empty spot here! A dragon egg is missing from the dung pile!"
Rhaegar's heart tensed. "What do you mean?"
The pile of dragon dung had been broken apart by an impact, leaving it cracked and crumbling.
Dragon dung that had hardened over the years was incredibly tough, and each egg hidden within it left a distinct cavity.
Unbothered by the filth, Robert continued feeling around the pile, muttering under his breath, "One… two…"
He counted a total of six egg-sized cavities, yet only five fossilized eggs had been found.
Robert, ever meticulous, looked up and said, "My lord, there should be one more dragon egg."
Rhaegar's mind immediately turned to the Shadowbinders they had just slain. He frowned. "They must have had an accomplice."
"My lord, we found a flower."
A mercenary who had been dealing with the corpses hesitated before reporting.
"Search again. Make sure there are no hidden dragon eggs."
After issuing the order, Rhaegar stored the five fossilized eggs in his spatial ring and turned toward the mercenaries.
Dragons were the backbone of House Targaryen.
Even if these were merely fossilized dragon eggs, he would not allow them to fall into anyone else's hands.
As he approached the pile of Shadowbinder corpses, the mercenaries stood in a hesitant circle, preparing to set the bodies ablaze with their torches.
One of the squad leaders stepped forward, holding a withered, ghostly blue flower in his hands.
The flower had seven petals, a purple stamen, and a soft stem wrapped in dark-colored leaves.
"An orchid?"
Rhaegar recognized it as an orchid at a glance, though he had never seen this particular variety before.
The squad leader hesitated before speaking. "If I'm not mistaken, this is a Rebirth Orchid. It can fetch a good price in Volantis."
Rhaegar's eyes lit up—finally, some good news.
He carefully took the Rebirth Orchid and smiled. "Well done. This flower will bring you wealth."
Lowering his head, he took a cautious sniff of the nearly withered petals.
The scent was faint yet refined, filling him with a sudden sense of refreshment.
It smelled exactly like the perfume Danerys had been working on.
Upon hearing about potential profit, the squad leader eagerly pulled a piece of yellowed parchment from the Shadowbinder's black robe. "My lord, take a look at this. Does it have any value?"
"You're quite sharp."
Rhaegar chuckled and took the parchment, scanning it.
"Well, my lord?" the squad leader asked expectantly.
Rhaegar read the few lines of tiny, intricate script twice, then frowned. "This isn't the Common Tongue or Valyrian. I can't recognize it."
He was familiar with several widely used scripts, but the symbols on this parchment were foreign and complex.
Robert peered over his shoulder, scratching his head. "My lord, this looks like ancient Asshai'i script."
"You can read it?" Rhaegar turned to him in surprise. He hadn't expected the old sailor to have such knowledge.
"No, no, not at all. I don't even know Valyrian."
Robert shook his head repeatedly, looking embarrassed. "But my old captain was from Asshai. I've seen similar symbols on his ship before."
"Forget it. We'll find an expert to translate it once we're out of here."
Rhaegar didn't dwell on the matter. He tucked away the Rebirth Orchid and the parchment.
The Rebirth Orchid was a rare treasure. It could nourish one's mental strength—something invaluable to both himself and his family.
After personally ensuring that the Shadowbinder corpses were burned to ash and ordering another thorough search of the cave—yielding nothing—Rhaegar finally led his men out.
As they exited the cave and walked along the dimly lit underground river, Robert asked uneasily, "My lord, where are we headed next?"
They had just taken down a group of Shadowbinders who could manipulate darkness and had even uncovered the long-lost dragon eggs.
For the old sailor, the whole experience was a staggering revelation.
Listening to the constant murmur of the underground river, Rhaegar reasoned, "The downstream end leads to a cavern. We'll head upstream instead."
At the ruin's entrance, they had found the remains of Lannister soldiers and the fresh corpses of Stone Men.
Inside the dragon lair, a newly uncovered dragon egg was missing.
It was hard to believe that the only threat within the ruins had been the Shadowbinders they had already defeated.
Moreover, Rhaegar was searching these ruins for lost knowledge belonging to House Balerion.
A few fossilized dragon eggs weren't enough to justify the risks of exploring the Smoking Sea.
Following the river upstream, they soon passed the tunnel leading to the ruin's entrance and continued deeper into the dark caverns.
The sound of rushing water echoed through the passage as the elevation gradually increased and the current became stronger.
After about an hour, the gray limestone beneath their feet vanished, replaced by shattered stone slabs.
The flickering torchlight illuminated a distorted, open space. The walls on all sides were lined with cracked stone plates.
The abrupt change in terrain heightened their vigilance.
Thoughts raced through Rhaegar's mind as he murmured, "Downstream was the dragon pit… so upstream must be the heart of the lair."
Based on the structure of known dragon lairs and nesting grounds, he deduced that before its destruction, this lair must have resembled others of its kind.
From what he had seen so far, this place was likely one of the many dragon lairs once owned by House Balerion.
Though much of it had collapsed into ruin, the sheer scale of the surrounding rubble suggested the original size of the lair.
It was estimated to be about the same size as the Dragonpit in King's Landing.
Analyzing this, Rhaegar's gaze became introspective.
An unimportant dragon lair was unlikely to contain anything significant.
Splash—
A sudden sound of something falling into the water echoed, stirring up a spray of dark currents.
Rhaegar turned his gaze toward the source and murmured, "Stay alert!"
"Hiss—"
A frenzied roar erupted as a figure leaped out of the underground river, flailing toward the shore.
"It's a Stone Man! Prepare for battle!"
Rhaegar caught sight of the figure's grotesque features and immediately shouted.
Splash! Splash!
At that moment, a series of splashes rang out from the underground river. Somewhere in the ruins, there must have been a hidden entrance allowing the Stone Men to infiltrate.
Stone Men had no obvious weaknesses. They used both hands and feet to crawl out of the turbulent river like wild beasts.
Their vicious eyes locked onto the living, and with clawing hands and gnashing teeth, they lunged forward.
"First squad, hold them back! Rotate and fall back in turns!"
Faced with the increasing number of Stone Men, the mercenaries grew flustered but quickly followed their commander's orders to form a defensive line.
Ten men blocked the shoreline, slashing with scimitars to prevent the Stone Men from coming ashore while shielding the main force's retreat.
"Move quickly! Don't get caught up in the fight!"
Surrounded by mercenaries, Rhaegar took long strides upstream.
No one wanted to fight the mindless, disease-ridden Stone Men.
The stone-paved tunnel grew narrower, its fractured walls bearing clear signs of being crushed by immense pressure.
Moments later, two pitch-black tunnel entrances appeared ahead.
"My lord, which way do we go?" The commander, his face pale with panic, hurriedly asked.
Rhaegar's eyes widened, his breathing quickened, and he stared unblinkingly at the two tunnels.
Behind them, dozens of Stone Men continued their relentless pursuit, shrieking as they tore into the mercenaries holding the line.
"Which tunnel?!" Rhaegar's expression flickered with indecision—he had to make a choice immediately.
Based on his rough understanding of the dragon lair's structure, the two paths upstream likely led to higher ground.
That meant they might emerge amid the rubble outside the ruins.
Even so, the two paths should correspond to different sections of the lair.
Perhaps one led to a dragon's living space, while the other was a long-buried exit.
Suddenly, Rhaegar's gaze landed on the right-side tunnel entrance, which was closer to the underground river.
Above it, a large, conspicuous break in the rock suggested something had smashed through.
Rhaegar also noticed scorch marks along the jagged edges, as if they had been burned.
"This way!"
A sudden realization struck him. He pointed at the right tunnel, raised his torch, and charged inside.
He had deduced how the scorch marks were formed.
It wasn't from dragonfire or volcanic heat.
Instead, a dragon had frantically fled, and its iron-hard scales had scraped against the rock, generating sparks that left the burns.
An adult dragon's scales were as tough as steel, and violent collisions could create intense heat.
Earlier, he had seen claw marks left by a fully grown dragon—this break in the rock must have been its doing as well.
During the cataclysm, that dragon had been trapped in the lair. In its desperate struggle to escape, it had crashed through whatever stood in its way.
Its escape route must have been the usual exit it used to fly in and out of the lair.
Rhaegar didn't care whether an exit still existed. He only wanted to follow the dragon's trail.
There might be an opportunity ahead.
"Hurry! Block the entrance once you're inside!"
The group rushed into the right tunnel, and without hesitation, the commander ordered the remaining mercenaries to seal the entrance with rubble.
"Damn it! Let me in—!"
"Roar—!"
As massive chunks of rock piled up, sealing the tunnel, agonized screams of mercenaries mixed with the savage howls of the Stone Men from the other side.
Rhaegar glanced back but made no move to intervene.
Those mercenaries, having fought the Stone Men up close, had inevitably been scratched. The fate of contracting Greyscale was sealed.
A swift death now was better than dying slowly in terror when the disease took hold.
"Move! The cave isn't deep!"
Rhaegar ran his fingers along the damp stone walls and urged the group forward.
Not far ahead, the passage suddenly widened.
Before them lay a massive cavern filled with rubble.
The steady trickle of water echoed through the space.
Above, the cavern ceiling had collapsed, creating piles of jagged rocks. From the gaps between them, streams of water poured down, forming a deep, dark spring that fed into the underground river.
Rhaegar ignored the eerie beauty of the cave, his gaze fixed on the rubble-strewn ground.
Amid the countless broken stones and dirt, an enormous skeletal form lay partially buried.
Curved, gray-white dragon horns.
Massive, razor-sharp talons.
Tattered, shattered wings.
Rhaegar panted slightly, his eyes dazed.
"A dragon of House Balerion!"
Chapter 284: The Binding Spell
Staring blankly at the dragon's remains, Rega felt a hint of disappointment.
"It didn't escape… it died here."
He cherished the life of every dragon.
Surviving as an adult dragon was no easy feat. This one had neither fallen in battle nor lived to see its natural end; instead, it perished in the collapse of its lair.
To Rega, such an end was unworthy of any adult dragon.
"Sir, there's another passage in the corner of the cavern," a vigilant mercenary reported loudly.
Rega stepped down from the dragon's remains and said calmly, "Understood. Scout ahead and assess the situation."
The dragon's remains lay near a deep pool, its pitch-black tail bones dangling into the water.
Agilely climbing over the rubble, Rega came face-to-face with the massive dragon skull, its fangs interlocked in death.
Judging by its features, this dragon must have resembled either Vomisor or Melyas in life.
Its skull bore a dense array of horned crests, with bony protrusions even along its cervical vertebrae.
Gazing at the fearsome skull before him, Rega reached out and placed a hand on it, calm and deliberate.
He wanted to test whether the dragon's remains could trigger an Explorer's Quest.
"…"
After a few seconds, no notification sounded in his ear. With a trace of reluctance, he withdrew his hand.
As expected, the remains of an unknown dragon lacked the necessary significance to be considered an exploration artifact.
"A shame." Rega blinked and measured the skull's size with his hands.
If circumstances allowed, he considered severing the dragon's cervical bones and taking the skull back to King's Landing for his collection.
The dragon was massive—its skull alone was the size of a small bedroom, large enough that even seven or eight people holding hands might not be able to encircle it.
After a while, a scouting mercenary rushed back urgently.
"Sir, I found a man in black robes!"
Rega abandoned the idea of taking the dragon skull and immediately asked, "Are you certain it's a Shadowbinder?"
"I think so. He's wearing a black robe and a lacquered red mask," the mercenary said nervously, swallowing hard.
"Lead the way. Not a single Shadowbinder can be allowed to escape."
Rega leaped down from the rubble and drew the dragon-claw dagger from his waist.
The Shadowbinders were a mysterious group of shadow-worshippers from Asshai, known for their elusive movements.
They wouldn't have entered these ruins by mere coincidence.
With the legacy of the Dragonlords at stake, no outsiders could be allowed to interfere.
Rega took the lead, followed closely by more than thirty mercenaries carrying torches.
One wave of attacks from the stone creatures had already cost them over a dozen lives.
As they entered the stone passage, silence once again reclaimed the cavern.
Splash…
The deep pool suddenly stirred, its dark waters rippling ominously as a shadow spread beneath the surface.
On the other side, Rega walked through the passageway, the distant sound of rushing water reaching his ears.
"There's an underground river ahead," he noted silently.
After advancing a little further, a faint, dim light appeared ahead.
Before Rega could give an order, a series of guttural, foreign whispers—like the murmurs of demons—filled the air.
Raising a hand, he signaled the mercenaries to slow down and carefully stepped toward the edge of the passage.
Beyond the corridor lay a vast stone chamber, resembling a dragon lair's grand hall.
The walls of the chamber were deformed, crushed by external forces, though beneath the dust, dense carvings were faintly visible.
The hall was supported by several stone pillars, but more than half had collapsed, leaving the ceiling partially caved in, exposing the soil above.
The floor had split down the center, forming a deep chasm that extended beyond the fractured walls.
The sound of flowing water originated from an underground river running through the crevice.
At that moment, a thin figure, cloaked in black robes and wearing a red-lacquered mask, stood with his back to the entrance, facing an intact section of the stone wall.
He was chanting in a low, rhythmic tone, as if reciting some strange scripture.
Ignoring the noise, Rega's sharp gaze focused on the man's raised, skeletal hands.
In his left hand, he clutched a green dragon egg, stained with dragon dung.
In his right, he held an aged, yellowed parchment book.
As the Shadowbinder chanted, the book's pages fluttered without wind, releasing tendrils of black smoke that coiled around the wall's carvings.
"So, there was one more rat hiding here," Rega thought, his eyes flickering between the dragon egg and the engraved wall.
From this distance, he couldn't discern the details of the egg, but it appeared no different from the fossilized dragon eggs they had unearthed earlier.
However, the carvings on the wall sent a tremor through him.
The engravings first depicted fourteen simple mountain peaks, followed by images of shepherds and dragons…
A series of historical records unfolded, neatly segmented into pictorial and textual sections.
The lower portion contained inscriptions written in pure High Valyrian.
Due to the distance, most of the text was difficult to read.
But the largest characters at the top were unmistakable.
"Balerion… Dragon Taming… Binding Spell…"
In an instant, Rega's mind surged with thoughts, his eyes gleaming with a sharp light.
As a child, he had studied under the Maesters of the Citadel and learned much about ancient Valyria's lost knowledge.
One theory he encountered concerned the Dragonlords' methods of dragon taming.
The Maesters, through sparse and unverified records, hypothesized that the Dragonlord families possessed some form of magic that allowed them to command dragons.
Ancient texts referred to this magic as the "Binding Spell."
Rega had also studied the ancient texts of House Dayanlygar, which hinted at the existence of a **"Dragon Horn"**—a relic that could control dragons.
Several key passages subtly alluded to the "Binding Spell."
Both House Dayanlygar and House Baleris were among the most powerful Dragonlord families, so it was not surprising that they possessed such potent magic and artifacts.
The only pity was that House Targaryen had never been strong enough to gain access to such secrets.
Taking a deep breath, Rega suppressed his excitement and made a firm decision.
"No matter if it's real or not, I must obtain the Binding Spell."
Even with skilled dragon riders, his family's control over dragons was still far from enough to subdue the people of Westeros—let alone Essos.
But if he could obtain the Binding Spell, House Targaryen might yet reclaim the glory of the greatest Dragonlord dynasties.
"Do we have any arrows left?"
Rega lowered his voice and gestured behind him.
The commander quickly removed the longbow from his back and handed over two arrows, whispering, "Sir, we used up most of our arrows earlier—these are the last two."
Rega took them without hesitation and smiled confidently.
"That's plenty."
He was a master of both swordsmanship and spear combat, and he had never neglected his archery skills.
Steadying his stance, Rega nocked an arrow and slowly drew back the longbow, aiming at the unaware Shadowbinder.
A direct confrontation would be unwise.
A strike from behind was the smarter choice.
Creak—
The drawn bow emitted a faint creaking sound. The Shadowbinder, facing away from the passage entrance, suddenly turned his head. From behind his eerie crimson mask, a thunderous shout erupted:
"Who's there!?"
Swish—
The bowstring quivered, and the iron arrowhead gleamed with a chilling light as it shot forward at high speed.
The Shadowbinder had no time to evade. The arrow struck him directly in the chest, the sheer force hurling him backward until he crashed against the stone wall with a loud thud.
"Kill him!"
Rega shouted coldly, drawing his last arrow and swiftly nocking it.
The mercenaries swarmed out of the passage, brandishing curved blades as they charged toward the Shadowbinder, who was nearly pinned against the stone wall.
"Cough… cough…"
Slumped on the ground, blood seeped from beneath the crimson mask. His murky eyes stared with hatred at the sudden intruders.
"The Lord of Light will never forgive you… You all deserve to die."
The Shadowbinder coughed up a mouthful of blood, wiped it with his hand, and smeared it across his twisted mask.
The second arrow whistled through the air, aimed precisely at his head.
Just before it struck, an eerie change occurred.
The strap of the crimson mask snapped, causing it to slip from the Shadowbinder's face.
Before the mask could even touch the ground, shadows surged from beneath the floor, coiling around it as they lifted it into the air.
In the next instant, the shadows coalesced into a fully-formed humanoid figure, complete with limbs and a head—wearing the crimson mask.
Clang—
As the arrow closed in, the shadowy figure reached into the Shadowbinder's robes and drew forth a massive greatsword. With a swift motion, it cleaved the arrow in two.
"A… a monster!"
"Be careful! It's the Shadowbinder's dark sorcery!"
The charging mercenaries halted in their tracks, gripped by fear.
Since the apocalypse, magic had vanished from the world.
Now, the sudden appearance of this sinister shadow struck terror into even the battle-hardened mercenaries.
"Do not fear! Shadows can't approach fire—kill the Shadowbinder!"
Sensing the hesitation, Rega shouted to rally them.
Wasting no time, he tossed aside his now-useless longbow and strode forward.
Lifting his dragon-claw sword, he scraped it against a nearby torch. Instantly, flames engulfed the blade.
Inspired by their employer's bravery, the mercenaries regained their nerve. Fueled by ruthless determination, they brandished their curved swords and closed in on both the shadow and the Shadowbinder.
Having summoned the shadow, the Shadowbinder seemed to have paid a heavy price. He now cowered beneath his black robes, visibly weakened.
"Kill him!"
The commander roared as he lunged at the defenseless Shadowbinder.
Suddenly, the shadow leaned forward, and from behind the crimson mask came a silent, ghostly scream.
In the blink of an eye, it slid across the ground like a phantom, appearing right beside the commander. The greatsword swung down in a brutal arc.
Slash!
The commander's head flew off his shoulders mid-stride. Blood spurted from his neck like a fountain.
And it didn't stop there.
The shadow flickered through the ranks, mercilessly reaping the lives of any mercenary who dared to approach.
"Use your torches! It won't go near fire!"
Rega urgently commanded, trying to minimize the losses.
The mercenaries snapped out of their panic, huddling together as they swung their torches.
The moment the firelight touched the shadow, it recoiled like a rat faced with a cat. Raising its greatsword to shield its crimson mask, it swiftly withdrew.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
With a fierce shout, Rega rushed forward, his flaming sword sweeping toward the shadow's midsection.
For a brief moment, under the flickering firelight, the shadow stiffened.
Slice—
Like cutting through paper, the dragon-claw sword cleaved the shadow in two.
"Die!"
Ignoring the writhing halves of the shadow, Rega plunged his sword straight into the crimson mask.
His pyromancer abilities activated, rapidly draining the magic from his own blood.
With a roar, flames erupted, engulfing the mask and the sundered shadow.
Sizzle…
The stench of burning oil filled the air as the crimson mask crumbled to ashes. The shadow dissolved into scattered droplets of black liquid, which dried up and disappeared.
Withdrawing his sword, Rega's hands remained wreathed in flame. His eyes were cold as ice.
Under his chilling gaze, the mercenaries trembled, instinctively stepping back.
Breathing heavily, Rega ordered in a cold voice, "Capture the Shadowbinder. I'll interrogate him personally."
These Shadowbinders clearly knew something.
And this one—capable of summoning a shadow—must be of higher rank.
"Yes, my lord!"
The mercenaries wasted no time, hurrying to seize the now-helpless Shadowbinder.
Rega exhaled deeply and glanced down at the greatsword the shadow had wielded.
The blade gleamed with a cold, menacing light, its surface adorned with intricate water-like patterns.
At the base of the hilt, forged from solid gold, was the finely sculpted head of a majestic lion.
(End Chapter 285: The Valyrian Steel Sword—Lightwhisper
"Valyrian steel?"
Rhaegar muttered as he stabbed his dragon-claw sword into the ground and bent down to pick up the greatsword.
The rippling patterns on the blade were a hallmark of Valyrian steel.
This greatsword had just decapitated an enemy as if slicing through butter. He must have been incredibly lucky to find it.
"Exploration mission activated. Target: Valyrian Steel Sword—Lightwhisper."
Sure enough, the moment he touched the hilt, the system prompt rang in his ears.
Rhaegar froze for a moment, surprised. "Lightwhisper?"
He had heard of Lightwhisper's legendary name.
This Valyrian steel greatsword once belonged to House Lannister as their ancestral blade.
Before the Conquest, Westeros was rife with conflict, with each of the Seven Kingdoms ruled by its own king.
A century before the Doom of Valyria, the King of the Rock from House Lannister spent a fortune purchasing Lightwhisper from Valyria.
It was said that the gold used to buy the sword could have funded an entire army.
As time passed, King Tommen II Lannister led a grand fleet—the Golden Fleet—to explore the ruins of Valyria after the Doom.
His sword was none other than Lightwhisper.
Legend has it that Tommen II's fleet made a stop in Volantis for supplies before vanishing completely.
The rulers of Volantis at the time attempted to search for him, but their efforts ended in failure.
From that moment on, Lightwhisper, along with its last known owner, Tommen II, became an unsolved mystery.
House Lannister lost their precious ancestral sword forever.
"Tsk, tsk. A legendary Valyrian steel greatsword... and now it's mine."
Rhaegar smirked, running his hand over the broad blade, feeling an invigorating thrill.
He pulled up the system interface.
[Lightwhisper]
Exploration Progress: 0.3%
Sheathing the greatsword, Rhaegar took out a rope and slung it across his back, ensuring that the exploration would not be interrupted.
Thump, thump—
He patted the hefty greatsword twice, unable to suppress his grin.
House Lannister had spent years searching for their lost ancestral blade, hoping to restore their family's glory with it.
But now, the sword belonged to him.
Glancing at the lion-headed pommel of Lightwhisper, Rhaegar mused, "I'll take it to a smith in Qohor for reforging."
Though the sword once belonged to House Lannister—
That was in the past.
Now that it was in Rhaegar's hands, there was no way he was giving it back.
It now bore the name of House Targaryen!
"Milord, there's something wrong with the shadowbinder."
Two mercenaries dragged the limp shadowbinder over, their faces filled with unease.
Rhaegar's smile faded, and he replied calmly, "Let me see."
An arrow was lodged in the shadowbinder's chest, and his black robes were soaked in blood, dripping onto the stone floor.
One of the mercenaries, suppressing his fear, pulled back the shadowbinder's hood, revealing his face.
Rhaegar's stomach churned at the sight.
The shadowbinder's skin had been stripped away, leaving only raw, bloody tissue.
His exposed eye sockets still held bloodshot eyeballs, barely attached by strands of sinew.
And yet, the shadowbinder was still alive, emitting hoarse, wheezing sounds, his slack jaw drooling mindlessly.
"Milord, I think he's gone mad," one of the mercenaries hesitated.
Rhaegar glanced at the grotesque figure before quickly looking away. He turned and gestured with his hand. "Bring me the dragon egg and the parchment."
In this state, the shadowbinder was useless for interrogation.
This was likely the price he paid for summoning a shadow.
After all, shadow magic was a dark and eerie craft—not something one could wield without consequences.
A terrible curse must have accompanied its use.
The mercenaries, understanding his intentions, dragged the shadowbinder away and bound him tightly.
Then, they presented the green dragon egg and the parchment.
The moment Rhaegar touched the dragon egg, his gaze flickered.
He weighed it in his hands, silently pressing his lips together.
On the surface, he remained expressionless, but his mind was racing.
"It's alive!"
Rhaegar took a deep breath and thought to himself, This dragon egg still has life in it.
The egg was green, covered in dragon-scale-like patterns, and stained with remnants of dragon dung.
At first glance, it looked no different from the fossilized dragon eggs he had unearthed before.
But Rhaegar had seen and touched many dragon eggs.
With his fire magic talent, a mere touch of the eggshell was enough for him to determine if the egg could still hatch.
Whoosh—
Blowing away the dragon dung residue on the shell, Rhaegar felt his heart pounding with excitement.
House Targaryen was not lacking in dragon eggs.
As far as he knew, Dragonstone held a vast collection of unhatched dragon eggs.
But this green dragon egg—
It came from House Balerion, and he had retrieved it from the Smoking Sea.
Perhaps… it could hatch.
Determined, he decided to place it in the dragon hatchery upon his return, exposing it to high heat for incubation.
Tear—
Ripping off a large piece of cloth from his robe, Rhaegar carefully wrapped the dragon egg and secured it to his belt.
A living dragon egg couldn't be stored in his spatial ring, so he had to carry it with him.
Suppressing his excitement, Rhaegar walked toward the stone wall while flipping through the parchment.
Carvings covered the stone wall—various patterns accompanied by inscriptions in High Valyrian.
He scanned the four walls, taking in the depictions of Valyria's rise and the history of House Balerion.
But the truly valuable information lay in the inscriptions on the main stone wall.
"Dragon lairs… the art of dragon taming… flight…"
Rhaegar meticulously translated the inscriptions on the stone wall.
He was certain.
This ruin was indeed a dragon lair belonging to House Balerion.
According to the inscriptions, this dragon lair was private property of House Balerion in the Land of Long Summer, used as a temporary shelter for dragons.
The lair contained two magical elements.
The first was the broken stone stele at the entrance.
It was actually a magical stele placed outside the dragon's nest, engraved with a pacifying spell to prevent dragons from becoming agitated.
The second was the inscription wall before him.
While the stone wall itself was not magical, it recorded a special dragon-taming spell known as the "Binding Incantation."
Or rather, a portion of it.
The incantation originated from the earliest Dragonlord families.
The ancestors, using High Valyrian as a foundation, infused it with blood magic to create a more effective method of controlling dragons.
According to the inscriptions, the Binding Incantation consisted of three key words, paired with over a dozen dragon-riding techniques.
"The Prohibition Spell..."
Rhaegar's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he brushed away the dust on the stone wall, carefully examining every detail.
The three key words of the Binding Incantation, in order, were "Flight," "Dragonflame," and "Prohibition."
Each symbolized a different aspect of dragon mastery: taming, riding, and pacification.
The Flight Incantation helped dragon tamers approach and train their dragons more effectively.
The Dragonflame Incantation encompassed several offensive techniques, useful in war and dragon combat.
The Prohibition Incantation could also be translated as: "Landing," "Silence," or "Submission"—
A spell capable of calming a dragon's fury, ensuring obedience, and strengthening the bond between dragon and rider.
The inscription on the stone wall recorded only a portion of the Binding Incantation—specifically, the key aspects of the "Prohibition" spell.
Given that this was a dragon lair, every member of House Balerion had to be proficient in using the Prohibition Incantation to properly tend to their dragons.
That was why the spell had been engraved on the lair's stone walls.
"Now it belongs to me."
Rhaegar could barely contain his excitement, memorizing every word.
He had risked everything to explore the Smoking Sea, all for the sake of this precious knowledge.
A simple Prohibition Incantation would allow House Targaryen to command their dragons more effectively, eliminating the dangers of losing control.
Having committed the incantation to memory, Rhaegar pulled out a parchment and began flipping through it.
The pages were densely packed with Asshai'i script and strange doodles.
Reaching the final page with legible text, he found an inscription in High Valyrian.
A quick glance told Rhaegar everything he needed to know.
It was a direct copy of the Prohibition Incantation and its explanations from the stone wall.
Rip—
Rhaegar smirked, decisively tearing the page from the book and tossing it into the fire, watching it burn to ash.
Then, he stored the parchment inside his spatial ring.
He suspected the book contained other useful information—just as valuable as the Prohibition Incantation itself.
With the incantation removed, he would have the rest of the book translated later.
"A shame I couldn't figure out how the Shadowbinder found this place."
Rhaegar's eyes flickered coldly as he gave an order to his mercenaries. "Kill the Shadowbinder and burn the corpse with fire."
It didn't matter. Cutting off loose ends was enough.
Shadowbinders were too enigmatic—fire was the only way to be sure.
"Yes, my lord."
The mercenaries acted immediately, slitting the Shadowbinder's throat and dousing the body with oil before setting it ablaze.
Rhaegar didn't spare it a glance. He simply drew his greatsword, Brighthowl, and spun it lightly in his grip.
Clang!
With a single mighty stroke, he carved a chunk of the engraved stone wall away.
His expression was sharp, focused. Sword strike after sword strike, he tirelessly erased the inscription containing the Prohibition Incantation.
This dragon-taming magic was for House Targaryen alone.
There was no need to leave even the slightest trace for some "fated one" to stumble upon.
Before long, Rhaegar halted his swings. The Shadowbinder's corpse had been reduced to charred remains.
"Let's move. There's still a tough fight ahead."
Strapping Brighthowl to his back, he picked up a torch and strode out of the great hall, dragon claw in hand.
He hadn't forgotten—outside, a horde of Stone Men awaited.
...
The group emerged from the hall, traversing an underground cavern before reentering the tunnel they had come through.
Whoosh—
No one noticed the dense, mist-like substance seeping out from the Shadowbinder's charred corpse, slithering into the stone floor.
Like an unnoticed rat, it silently slipped out of the great hall.
Eventually, it reached the underground cavern's dark waters.
Sploosh...
The pool trembled violently, water bubbling as if boiling—before settling once more into eerie calm.
...
At the same time—
"Charge! Don't stop to fight!"
Rhaegar's voice echoed through the ruins, his dragon claw wreathed in flame as he tore through the enemy ranks.
Under his onslaught, the Stone Men were swiftly scattered, their hoarse shrieks trailing behind the retreating mercenaries.
Suddenly, a ray of light shone ahead—the exit was within reach.
Rhaegar licked his dry lips and shouted, "The exit is just ahead!"
With that, he pushed off the cavern wall and darted through the opening.
Whoosh—
Darkness faded, replaced by the misty sky overhead.
Rhaegar lifted his gaze, breathing heavily.
One by one, the mercenaries clambered out of the cave, Stone Men snarling and clawing at them from below.
About a dozen men had escaped when the creatures finally blocked the entrance, dragging down the stragglers.
Screech!
From above, a massive black dragon descended, its throat glowing ominously.
With a deafening roar, it unleashed a torrent of eerie green dragonflame upon the entrance.
"Aaaargh!"
The dragonfire spread with terrifying speed, its sickly green light consuming the ruins. Agonized screams and guttural howls echoed through the air.
Under the dragon's flames, the surrounding rocks melted into molten slag, sealing the entrance completely.
"Well done, Devourer."
Rhaegar collapsed onto the ground, exhaling deeply.
(End of Chapter)