From the center of the courtyard as the origin, a ghostly green dragon flame poured in all directions.
Countless Dornish soldiers only saw a flash of green above their heads before they were instantly reduced to ash.
At the Tower Gate:
The dragon's flames dripped and scattered, engulfing dozens of masked figures attempting to slay the dragon.
The thieving dragon, with its tail stretched taut and forceful, inadvertently thrust it into the blaze.
Suddenly—
"Shriek!!"
A piercing screech exploded as the thieving dragon exerted twice its normal strength, frantically pulling back its caught head.
"Thieving dragon!"
Aemond was terrified, thinking the creature had been injured.
Pain flickered in the dragon's slit pupils as its shrunken head repeatedly slammed against the walls.
Boom!
The thick walls fractured inch by inch, crumbling into rubble.
The thieving dragon swiftly yanked its head free, shrieking as it scrambled backward.
Its wings flailed wildly as it crawled in disarray, thrashing its tail to extinguish the flames before lifting its head in resentment.
It wanted to see—who dared burn its tail?
Its slit pupils widened in fury, locking eyes with a pair of green ones.
"Shriek—!"
Beneath the bright full moon, a gluttonous dragon hovered in midair, flapping its wings. Its ferocious head loomed over the entire castle.
The thieving dragon met its gaze—a pair of green, abyssal eyes stared back.
Greedy, cunning, brutal...
All the terms synonymous with evil were well-deserved here.
"Shriek..."
The thieving dragon immediately lowered its head and abandoned its fury, turning instead toward the tiny insects crawling in the courtyard. It opened its jaws and spewed dragon flames.
It was here to rescue its rider—and it would burn these pests first.
Roar—
The gluttonous dragon's eerie green eyes flickered as it descended forcefully into the front courtyard, dragon saliva dripping from its jaws.
Rhaegar cast a glance at it and leaped from its back.
The man and the dragon shared a mutual understanding.
The gluttonous dragon sensed his fury, and he felt the dragon's bloodlust.
"Prince, His Majesty is in the tower," Arik shouted as he burst through the crowd, his blood-stained armor clanking as he staggered forward.
In the front courtyard, the two massive dragons wreaked havoc on either side. Green and brown flames surged into the sky.
The Dornish soldiers were like newly-hatched chicks—slain by a single bite or swept to death by the dragons' wings.
Rhaegar moved coldly and indifferently, walking toward the tower through the wailing and flames as though he were alone.
At the base of the tower, piles of rubble formed mountains.
Among the scorched corpses, Harmon was engulfed in green fire, writhing and screaming as he rolled on the ground.
Rhaegar noticed the family crest on his chest, a cold gleam flashing in his eyes as he stepped on Harmon's head to cross the threshold.
The hall was a chaotic mess, thick with the stench of burning flesh.
At first glance—
Rhaegar saw his father unconscious in Elric's arms. Rage surged through him as he rushed forward.
"Father!"
Reaching them, he turned and demanded, "What happened? The castle was almost taken by the Dornish!"
After securing control of Sunspear, he had hurried nonstop to Ironwood Castle, fearing that Blackhaven's insufficient forces might endanger his father.
But he hadn't expected the Dornish to go to such extremes—daring to plot regicide.
Elric, weak and ashamed, said, "There's a secret passage in the city. If not for Prince Aemond, His Majesty would have met a grim fate."
The timing of the Dornish attack had been unnervingly precise.
Arik was out leading patrols, and Cole was guarding the gates.
They had set a fire to lure the defenders away, striking precisely during a moment of vulnerability.
No one had anticipated that the Dornish would directly attempt to assassinate the king.
Rhaegar seethed with fury after hearing this. He touched his father's countless wounds and began using Ouroboros healing magic.
The capture of Sunspear had only just occurred, and news of Kaoron's death had not yet spread.
Even with these circumstances, the Dornish dared to openly commit regicide. Their audacity knew no bounds—absolute lawlessness!
After confirming that his father had no other injuries, Rhaegar sighed in relief but suddenly remembered Aemond.
Turning his head—
Aemond stood alone at the edge of the ruins, watching anxiously.
One eye flickered with guilt, while the other...
Rhaegar froze slightly, unable to look away.
A scar ran vertically across Aemond's freckled face, slicing through his left eye, which remained tightly shut. The wound revealed soft flesh, blood flowing down his face.
Trembling from pain, Aemond exuded a sorrowful air.
"Aemond!"
Rhaegar's expression shifted, nearly losing focus on his healing magic.
Aemond, like a lost child who had finally found someone to rely on, revealed a stubborn glint in his right eye. He said softly, "I didn't run away. I stood in front of Father the entire time."
His voice was faint but carried deep emotions.
Rhaegar's chest tightened as he realized what his father and brother had just endured. His lips moved slightly:
"Come here."
"Brother!"
Tears welled up in Aemond's right eye as he lunged forward.
Rhaegar forced a smile, embracing his valiant brother.
Looking around the hall, the ground was littered with corpses.
Elric was drenched in blood, his gaze dimming as if on the brink of death.
Aemond's back was covered in blisters, and he had paid the price of losing his left eye.
Only the father had no new wounds—he was well protected.
"Hiss!"
As Aemond threw himself into the embrace, the movement pulled at his left eye and back, causing him to cry out in agony.
He hadn't felt much pain before, but the moment he saw his older brother arrive, his whole body was wracked with unbearable pain.
"Well done."
Rhaegar ruffled his hair, resting Aemond's head against his shoulder, his expression serious. "Aemond, from tonight onward, you are a true man."
Facing a horde of enemies yet daring to protect one's family—this is what it means to be of Targaryen blood.
"Mm…" Aemond choked back tears.
At that moment, the unconscious Viserys furrowed his brows, murmuring faintly.
"Aemond… Rhaegar… help him quickly…"
"Aemond… my child…"
Even as he called their names, his body trembled uncontrollably.
"Father, I'm here."
Rhaegar quickly intervened, letting the ouroboros consume the dark energy from his wounds while soothing his terrified father with a gentle voice.
His father was never… a perfect man.
Riding dragons to personally lead the campaign against Dorne had been one of the bravest decisions of his decades-long life.
Now, he had suffered an assassination attempt. Given his frail body and fragile spirit, Rhaegar wasn't sure if he would survive.
Hearing his eldest son's voice seemed to calm Viserys, and he gradually fell back into a deep sleep.
Rhaegar patted Aemond, then turned to the gravely injured Erryk. "Hang in there."
He needed to take care of their father first—then he would tend to the others.
---
Outside the Tower.
The rogue dragon, filled with malice, threw itself into the ranks of Dornish soldiers, lashing out in vengeful fury.
Its scales were unnaturally tough, impervious to even the sharpest blades and axes.
Some tried to strike its eyes, but the towering dragon head, standing dozens of feet tall, was impossible to reach.
The Dornish soldiers were nothing more than ants crushed underfoot. Their screams and curses filled the air, but all they could do was await their gruesome deaths.
"Hiss—screech!"
The gluttonous beast spewed a sweeping blast of dragonfire, engulfing most of the courtyard in eerie green flames.
Its massive body loomed as tall as the surrounding towers—one casual impact against a wall sent stone and mortar crumbling under its overwhelming force.
"Hiss—screech!!"
Beyond the castle walls, an enraged roar erupted.
The rogue dragon slowly turned its head, its emerald eyes piercing the darkness, reflecting the raging golden flames in the distance.
Whoosh—
Glancing one last time at the infernal massacre below, it spread its wings and took flight.
Its rider's will called to it, instructing the beast to calm down.
---
Inside the City.
Fires raged on all sides, thick smoke choking the night sky.
Some fires were deliberately set, but most came from the wrath of the dragons.
"Don't fall behind! Slaughter every last Dornish bastard!"
In a narrow alley, Ser Cole glared fiercely as he led his soldiers against the Dornish forces.
The Dornish troops were numerous, scattered throughout the town's key locations.
Fortunately, the city's defenders had shaken off their initial panic and were gradually regrouping.
"Don't get caught up in the fight! Archers, get ready!"
A voice shouted from a low brick building above the alley.
Ser Cole's heart sank as he looked up.
It was a brothel—three stories tall.
The windows flew open, revealing Dornish archers who immediately loosed a volley of crossbow bolts.
The tide of battle shifted in an instant.
"Find cover, now!"
Cole bellowed, stabbing an enemy through the gut before raising his sword over his head and dashing for safety.
He was highly skilled, strong—but he couldn't save the ordinary soldiers.
In mere moments, over a hundred of his men were cut down, and the casualties were only rising.
"Hiss—screech!"
Just as Cole found himself at a loss, a piercing dragon cry echoed through the night.
"Dragonfire!"
A cold female voice rang out, seething with fury.
In the next instant, a crimson dragon shadow flashed past.
A surge of red dragonfire struck the brothel with the speed of lightning.
The Dornish archers barely had time to react before the flames consumed their upper bodies, charring them to the bone.
"Hiss—screech!"
The crimson beast swooped down again.
This time, its fire licked along the brothel's walls, pouring through wooden windows, filling the rooms with flames until the entire building was ablaze.
"Hiss—screech…"
Suddenly, another dragon's roar thundered across the sky. A massive pale-blue dragon approached from afar.
Helena's expression was tense as she surveyed the burning city below.
She lifted her head—just in time to see a massive crimson dragon flying straight toward her.
Meraxes stretched out its horned, crown-adorned neck, revealing the rider seated atop its saddle.
Rhaenys' face was cold and indifferent. Upon seeing her niece after a long time, her expression softened slightly.
"I just saw Rhaegar heading over," she said.
Without waiting to see if the other party understood, she urged her dragon forward and rejoined the battle.
Helena was momentarily stunned but soon issued a command.
"Dreamfyre, burn all the Dornishmen along the way."
---
A vast, endless desert.
Under the night sky, a Dornish force of several hundred men fled in panic.
Olivier Yronwood, his face blackened with soot, stumbled near the front of the group.
Behind them, flames engulfed Yronwood Castle, and several massive dragons circled the sky.
Running was their only option.
Olivier had barely made it inside the castle when a bronze dragon sprayed a torrent of fire at him. He had narrowly escaped death by sheer luck.
Killing a Targaryen? Fine, but losing the ancestral Yronwood Castle? Unacceptable.
For now, fleeing was the only priority. He considered heading south to Sunspear or north to the Boneway.
As for that lunatic Harmen Uller?
Their families had been mortal enemies for generations, wishing only for each other's complete extinction.
As they ran, Olivier noticed something wrong. He hesitated and then stopped.
The soldiers behind him also halted, confused by his actions.
The lieutenant asked, "What is it?"
Olivier's expression darkened visibly. He took a deep breath, his sharp sense of smell detecting something unusual.
Boom—
A heavy thud echoed from a distance.
Olivier stiffened, raising his head in terror. His eyes widened as he gazed into the darkness.
A massive figure slithered forward like a serpent, its silhouette looming ominously.
"Hiss… Graaah..."
A piercing screech tore through the air, drilling painfully into their eardrums.
Suddenly, a flash of red light appeared out of nowhere.
A monstrous crimson beast, serpent-like in shape, emerged. Its scales glistened like blood, and its vertical pupils gleamed with cruelty as it crawled forward step by step.
Olivier's back turned icy cold as he stared blankly at the silver-haired figure atop the dragon.
Daemon's expression was aloof and haughty. He surveyed the scene with disdain before speaking in the dragon-taming tongue he had recently learned.
"Leave none alive."
Caraxes obeyed without hesitation, unleashing a torrent of scarlet dragonfire.
In the desert, flames burst forth, illuminating the night sky.
The screams of the Dornishmen vanished, leaving only the bloodcurdling screeches of the fearsome beast.
(End of Chapter)