Oberyn looked like a mischievous child who had just stolen sweet dates from someone else's orchard.
With a shout, he quickened his pace.
The wind swept past his ears, lifting his black hair.
He could no longer contain his desire for the Prince's Spear.
When he learned that the Prince's Spear symbolized the resistance of the Prince of Nasar against the Dragon King, it was as if the weapon had lodged itself deep into his heart.
In Dorne, there is a river called the Greenwater River, and upon it lies a settlement known as Planktown.
The people there are pure-blooded Rhoynar, quietly using the Rhoynar language and script for a thousand years.
They call themselves orphans of the Greenwater.
Oberyn could clearly imagine it — if he could bring the Prince's Spear back to Dorne, back before those so-called "orphans," and make them swear allegiance to Sunspear, what great honor that would be.
The more he imagined it, the more excited he became.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished into the ruins of Nasar.
"...???"
His sudden departure startled many.
What was he thinking? Wouldn't it be safer if they all stayed together?
"Leave him," Viserys said at the bow of the ship.
He had never assigned Oberyn any tasks from the start. He simply treated him as a passenger catching a free ride.
After all, the man had fought for him on the battlefield. Charging him for travel would be petty. If he died in there, well — Viserys still had Jona and the others as witnesses.
He had long known Oberyn was a man who craved attention.
He even knew about his copied maps. Let him go.
A ruin is still a ruin — stare at it long enough, and it makes anyone uncomfortable.
Clement, seeing Arthur and Viserys walking in the middle of the group and drifting a bit far from him, spoke to the Jorel sisters who were leading at the front:
"Jona, tell us more about the Old Man of the River."
Given the sisters' limited strength, they had been allowed to sit on the wagon.
Seeing them bored out of their minds, he figured if they didn't have work to do, they might as well tell a story.
At Clement's request, the sisters looked a little annoyed. Jona even rolled her eyes.
"The Old Man of the River is a giant turtle, guardian of all water creatures in the Rhyone River."
"That's it?" Clement asked. "What about the part where he defeated the Crab King?"
"If you already know it, then why make us say it again?" Jona said irritably.
"Didn't you say it was to entertain everyone? If not a story, you could always sing."
Their playful bickering drew soft laughter from the group, easing the tension. But after only a few steps, Viserys suddenly felt something was wrong.
"Everyone, stop!"
"Stop! Stop!"
No one knew why, but the royal guards still obeyed, passing the command down the line.
Soldiers gripped spears and swords. Shields in front, pikemen behind, archers in the center, surrounding Viserys protectively.
But nothing happened.
Arthur looked around warily. The Jorel sisters were ready to mock him for overreacting, when suddenly they heard a deep, thunderous roaring — like crashing waves.
"How can there be waves here? Aren't we far from the Rhyone River?" Massos asked nervously.
"The Prince's Roar."
Jorel's voice trembled slightly. She lowered her head and whispered to her sister.
Two years ago, she had entered Nasar alongside Lothan. She knew exactly what this was.
Their luck was terrible.
Lothan had come to Nasar seven times and only encountered it twice.
Viserys had met it on his very first journey.
Before they departed, Lothan had warned them: the moment they heard the Prince's Roar — run. Maybe half of them could live.
From this moment on, every second of hesitation would cost a life.
But unless Viserys gave the order, his soldiers would not retreat. They didn't know what the Prince's Roar meant.
They didn't know — but those sent by Lothan did.
After the thunder-like roar faded, everyone's eyes turned toward Viserys.
"Five hundred heartbeats... that's about five to six minutes. The diameter of the magic mass should be around fifty meters," Viserys calculated silently while scanning the surroundings.
Would he retreat or continue forward? He should retreat. There was no reason to go deeper.
Jorel stared at him, her eyes fixed on his violet gaze.
She knew Lothan's plan.
Whether Viserys found the real Prince's Spear or not, they would declare he had succeeded.
They even had a replica of the spear on the ship already. As long as Viserys turned back now, they would hand him the fake Prince's Spear.
In some ways, it was better if he never found the real one.
No hunger. No bloodshed.
In truth, the Jorel sisters and Lothan's loyal followers had one more task — to keep Viserys safe.
To make sure he returned alive to Gohor.
And to stop him if he acted on impulse.
But she did not expect Viserys's next words.
"Move forward."
His decision made Jorel and the Rhoynar tense.
He could predict the arrival of the Prince's Roar — the moving sphere of magic — four to five minutes in advance.
Jorel walked to his side. After receiving his permission, she whispered in his ear:
"Why go forward? Did you forget my grandfather's warning?"
Viserys didn't want a second Martell rising in Gohor's future. So this time, he would either find the real spear — or return empty-handed.
"Didn't you realize I can sense the Prince's Roar before it arrives?"
He said that, then strode forward under the anxious eyes of Jorel and the Rhoynar.
"Jorel... should we follow him?" a man around thirty asked.
To them, going forward was no different from suicide.
"Did you forget your duty? Protect him. If he dies, our people starve."
These Rhoynar had been raised by Lothan himself. Dying to repay him was not too much to ask.
They grit their teeth and followed Viserys.
As they approached the central zone, the ruins around them became more dense — more collapsed walls, more broken towers.
With men left behind to keep fires burning as markers, their group had grown smaller.
"There's someone in that castle up ahead!"
Mathos, watching through a spyglass, suddenly shouted.
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