Mund watched helplessly as the Sky-Piercing Tower crumbled. His knees gave out, and he collapsed, his face blank with shock.
This feeling of powerlessness was no less than when he had all the resources of Oldtown at his disposal, yet he couldn't save his wife from dying of childbirth complications.
Mund tilted his head back, staring in despair at the crumbling stone debris.
It was as if he were watching his wife, tortured beyond recognition, slowly and painfully take her last breath.
"The Sky-Piercing Tower!"
His bloodshot eyes widened as he let out a heart-wrenching roar, teetering on the edge of collapse.
For over a thousand years, the Hightower family had maintained the Sky-Piercing Tower. It had withstood the Andal invasion, survived the First Men's conquest, and endured the Age of Conquest.
Just moments ago, it had been standing tall.
Now, its peak—symbolizing both war and power—had been reduced to ashes by a black dragon's flames.
But alas, human sorrow is never shared.
The Devourer circled lazily around the stone steps, its green slit pupils fixed on the burning tower tip. Its nose twitched, sniffing the air.
"Buddy, smell something magical?"
Rhaegar, riding leisurely on the dragon's back, was curious about the beast's behavior.
At a height of eight hundred feet, even if Mund screamed himself hoarse, Rhaegar wouldn't hear a thing.
Not that he would care.
The Hightower family was indeed powerful. They had built Westeros' largest port, their trade spanning two continents.
More importantly, they knew when to kneel.
No matter which conqueror arrived in the long river of history, the Hightowers had always bowed at the right time and with perfect precision, presenting their knee to the one crowned king.
Even Aegon the Conqueror and the Black Dread, Balerion, had spared the Sky-Piercing Tower and the Hightower family.
But this time, they had offended Rhaegar.
And they had kicked an iron wall.
Since the Hightower name made them untouchable, Rhaegar would simply dismantle their ancestral tower piece by piece and use it as building material.
The Devourer shook its massive head, its vertical pupils flashing with disdain as it flapped its wings and descended slowly.
No magical scent.
Perhaps there had been once, but now it was long gone.
Rhaegar ran a hand over the Trueflame at his waist and the dragon whip at his side, uncharacteristically silent.
The Hightower name was ancient, noble, and shrouded in mystery.
Unlike other native noble houses, the Hightowers had seemingly appeared in Westeros out of nowhere.
But so what?
No matter how noble their bloodline was, could it surpass that of Valyrian dragonlords?
Rhaegar stroked the dragon's back, looking down at the nearly broken Mund, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
The name Targaryen meant blood and fire.
The dragons gave him privilege.
His father lay bedridden, with Alicent tending to him.
Rhaegar was eager to see what tricks the Hightowers of Oldtown could pull.
"Screech!"
"Screech…"
Sheepstealer and Sunfyre arrived one after another, soaring straight toward the flaming Sky-Piercing Tower.
"My lord, we should fall back!"
Seeing Mund in utter despair, his knights warily pulled him toward the great hall's entrance.
Boom!
Just as they stepped back, the Devourer landed.
Its powerful claws sank deep into the soft grass, its massive black wings fanning searing heat waves, instantly snapping the surrounding flowers and plants.
"Screech—"
Not stopping there, the Devourer's green eyes gleamed coldly as it let out a deafening roar at the dumbfounded reception party.
"Protect the lord!"
The knights had never faced such a sight before. Their hands trembled as they drew their swords, standing between Mund and the dragon despite their fear.
What did it matter if it was a prince and his dragon? Their duty was to protect their lord.
"Roar?"
The Devourer bared its fangs in a mocking grin. With its wings bracing against the ground, its thick tail shot forward like lightning.
Smack!
A knight's sword was sent flying, spinning through the air before embedding itself into the grass a hundred meters away.
As for the knight himself…
With a flick of the dragon's tail, he was nearly turned into a bloody mist, his body torn apart, pieces falling into the lake.
The once-clear waters turned red as fish and shrimp eagerly swarmed to feed.
Mund's eyes widened in shock.
How dare he?!
Right in front of Oldtown's lord, he had killed one of his sworn knights.
This was blasphemy against the Faith of the Seven!
"Devourer, behave yourself!"
Rhaegar's voice turned cold as he gave the dragon a light but firm rebuke.
Then, looking down at the petrified Mund, he spoke casually:
"Apologies, Lord Mund. The Devourer is naturally violent and does not tolerate provocation from the weak."
"You—!"
Mund, trembling with fury, took a step forward to argue.
"Screech…"
Aegon descended on Sunfyre, landing just a few meters behind the Devourer's right side, his dragon's golden scales shimmering brilliantly.
"Screech!"
Sheepstealer followed closely behind, landing about ten meters to the Devourer's left. Its withered head swayed back and forth as it swallowed a live mountain goat from who-knows-where.
The sudden arrival of two more dragons silenced Mund.
He took in the scene.
Three dragons, their gazes fixed on the Sky-Piercing Tower, each with a Targaryen prince seated atop.
Three Targaryens, all still in their youth, the eldest no more than sixteen.
Led by Rhaegar, each of them exuded an air of arrogance, their condescending stares accustomed to looking down on others.
From Mund's perspective, these weren't just three Targaryens.
They were three living volcanoes, ready to erupt and obliterate Oldtown at any moment.
Three princes, three dragons—unmatched and unstoppable.
"Gulp."
Swallowing unconsciously, he held back the curses that almost escaped his lips.
A single thought repeated frantically in his mind:
The other side has a dragon!!
Rhaegar looked down at the fuming but silent Mande, smiling without saying a word.
Since he didn't speak first, Aegon and Aemond dared not overstep their bounds, obediently waiting atop their dragons.
Mande glanced around, trying to communicate with his two grandsons through eye contact.
Aegon turned his head away, pretending not to see.
Aemond touched his left eye—he didn't even bother pretending to see.
Mande: …
Cold sweat ran down his back.
Sensing the perfect moment, Rhaegar leaned forward slightly and said with a smile, "Lord Mande, the Dornish raided Oldtown's farms. I took the liberty of lighting the beacon atop the Hightower for you. You don't mind, do you?"
Aegon and Aemond froze for a moment, then instinctively looked up.
They hadn't noticed before, but now they saw the top of the Hightower was burning.
Their gazes drifted to the menacing beast beside Rhaegar, and their hearts skipped a beat.
Aside from Vhagar and Vermithor, there were hardly any Targaryen dragons that could match the wild beast known as the Devourer.
Sheepstealer and Sunfyre had both suffered brutal encounters with the beast before.
"Gah!"
Sunfyre, recalling unpleasant memories, silently retreated ten meters to maintain a safe distance.
Sheepstealer, ever the sly one, spread his broad brown wings, ready to flee at any moment.
Wild dragons were born survivors.
Even two dragonriders hesitated before Rhaegar and the Devourer—let alone a mere mortal like Mande.
Forcing a smile more painful than crying, Mande said, "Of course not. The three princes have traveled far—please, do come inside and rest."
Damn that Otto!
This wasn't him, a mere lord, giving the crown prince a show of power—this was clearly the crown prince making a grand display of his power.
Rhaegar didn't answer right away.
Aegon and Aemond were exhausted from riding their dragons and would love nothing more than to dismount and enjoy a comfortable night.
But since Rhaegar hadn't spoken, they simply rested their chins on their hands, patiently waiting.
If they moved without permission, they'd get beaten for sure!
Clap, clap, clap…
Just as Mande found himself in an awkward silence, applause echoed from within the Hightower.
Rhaegar shifted his gaze.
Dressed impeccably, Otto Hightower stepped gracefully out of the hall, carrying a tray of bread and salt.
"Otto?"
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes slightly, surprised.
According to Mande's raven reports, Otto had been hiding in the Red Keep, with only Alicent left to maintain the royal court.
So, he snuck back to his old home in Oldtown.
Otto's expression remained amiable as he greeted Rhaegar with a bow. "Your Highness, it is truly a blessing for the realm to see you safe and well."
Then, turning his attention to Aegon and Aemond, he assumed the posture of a doting grandfather, scolding them lightly, "And you two, still sitting up there? Oldtown is your second home. Your mother was always happy whenever she returned."
Aegon and Aemond hesitated, visibly wavering.
Their grandfather's authority still held weight over them.
As children, they had often been scolded and taught by Otto, filled with his teachings and ideals.
Rhaegar's gaze darkened, his eyes flashing with displeasure.
Well played, Otto.
He truly was a schemer to his very bones—even his words were an artful manipulation.
A gentle start, then a subtle jab.
Praising him while belittling his younger brothers, sowing division with just a few words.
And with his elder status, Aegon and Aemond couldn't refute him.
Mande's expression recovered, and he quickly added, "I've prepared a grand feast to welcome the three of you."
Aegon's eyes lit up, clearly interested in the feast.
Aemond remained silent, unwilling to get involved in a struggle between his elder brother and his grandfather.
One was his blood brother, the other a powerful family ally.
He didn't want to offend either side, nor could he help either.
Rhaegar didn't want to put his younger brothers in a difficult position, so he cut straight to the point. "No need. There's time for a feast later—I have more pressing matters to attend to."
Otto frowned slightly. "Your Highness, it would be improper for House Hightower not to host you."
"No rush."
Rhaegar dismissed him outright, pointing toward Oldtown's second-tallest building after the Hightower. "My father is unwell, and Dorne remains in rebellion. I must meet with the High Septon and seek guidance from the Seven."
He could see right through Otto's little game.
The old man wanted to use family ties to bind his grandsons to House Hightower, distancing them from their eldest brother.
Weakening Rhaegar's potential power base to create a political counterbalance.
But Rhaegar only shook his head.
He had no time to play such petty power games.
With his brothers still united, this was the perfect moment to suppress the Faith of the Seven and undermine the Citadel's influence.
It would solidify their rule and benefit future generations.
He had no interest in lowering himself to Otto's level, playing by his rules.
Because in Otto's game, no matter how skilled Rhaegar was, there was never a path to victory.
But in his game?
Rhaegar was the one who made the rules.
He wants to play? Then only Otto gets to play.
He doesn't want to play? Then Otto has to get off the table obediently.
Otto's expression changed slightly—he hadn't expected the crown prince to be so brazen.
Reigar said, "I've heard that the Haetal family has close ties with the Church of the Seven. I'll have to trouble you, Lord Monde, to lead the way and introduce the High Priest to me."
Monde's mouth twitched, his mind in turmoil.
The faith of the Seven and the monarchy were supposed to be equals.
Introduce the High Priest—to meet you?
The High Priest's status was already equivalent to that of a king, a servant chosen by the Seven.
Reigar tilted his head. "Any objections?"
Go ahead, say it. I'd love to hear it—with the Glutton beside me.
"Roar…"
The Glutton let out a deep, thunderous growl, its voice so powerful it made Monde's eardrums ache.
Monde tensed instantly and responded at once, "Please wait a moment, I'll have the carriage prepared immediately."
"Much appreciated, Lord Monde."
Reigar smiled politely, his demeanor refined and courteous.
"Screech—"
The Glutton threw back its head and roared, spreading its massive wings and shaking its enormous body.
"Screech…"
The Sheep Thief and Sunflame, not understanding the situation, instinctively roared in response, flaring their dragon wings in a show of intimidation.
(End of Chapter)