Viserys observed the "person" appearing in the faint black mist, wandering like a lost child.
Perhaps he was trapped here, pacing in endless circles out of habit.
When Viserys sensed no movement from the Face-Worms, he signaled his men to advance.
Valyria had once been prosperous, with dragon roads stretching in all directions and towers piercing the sky.
Though the Dragonlords were tyrannical, enslaving the world through force, they had undoubtedly pushed technology and magic to their zenith.
Even in ruin, Viserys could glimpse the former glory in the remnants of architectural wonders and wide avenues.
He approached the undead knight. Along the road and in the rubble, he saw many skeletons lying in disarray—the ancient dead.
Their swords had rusted away, their armor consumed by the corrosive power of the Doom.
But this undead knight, clad in tattered red armor, was different—a creation akin to a "fire wight."
"Cover me. I'll take a closer look," Viserys said.
"The Undead Army, followers of the Dragonlord Aurion Belaerys." As he drew closer, Viserys saw Valyrian glyphs tattooed above the flame patterns on the wight's skin.
During the Doom, Aurion had been visiting Qohor.
He had raised an army from the Qohorik colonists, declared himself the first Emperor of Valyria, and marched into the ruins to reclaim what remained. He vanished without a trace.
It was known only that he was a Dragonlord; now it seemed he was of House Belaerys.
Viserys felt a spark of joy. Aurion's Undead Army. That meant Aurion's main force and perhaps his corpse were nearby.
Even if he couldn't find a great dragon lair, he could still loot this lost army.
Viserys noted the wounds on the undead knight. A deep, fatal gash across the throat revealed clotted blood and raw flesh.
Most of the knight's golden hair had fallen out, leaving wisps like dry grass. His skin was a terrifyingly pale white.
His face was a ruin—pocked with holes, some crusted with dried blood, others exposing bone.
Like Lady Stoneheart and Beric Dondarrion, revived by the red priests, fire wights did not heal.
A ruby the size of a quail's egg embedded in the knight's forehead glowed with an eerie red light.
"The power of the blood-ruby," Viserys thought. He had assumed only the slaves in the mines were subjected to this—forced to work even in death.
Slaves from all over the world had toiled like ants deep in the volcanic mines, digging for red gold, yellow gold, and silver.
The rock was too hot to touch, the air thick with sulfur that burned the lungs. Even thick-soled boots melted, blistering feet.
Some tunnels were so low slaves had to crawl.
Sometimes, breaking a wall released steam, boiling water, or lava. Worst of all were the firewyrms.
Viserys hadn't expected blood and fire magic to be used on soldiers.
Clearly, after a loyal knight died, the Dragonlord used the ruby and spell arrays to raise him to fight again.
Crack! As Viserys approached, the undead knight reacted instinctively, swinging his longsword and charging.
Not only the ruby, but the flame tattoos on his body glowed faintly.
The sword was not Valyrian steel, but it was magically treated and remained sharp.
The knight had forgotten everything but the primal urge to kill.
Viserys raised the Spear of Garin the Grey. Steel clashed with steel, sparking a storm of metal.
High, low, left, right—Viserys's spear struck like a viper, each blow a perfect fusion of power and technique.
The undead knight had been an elite warrior in life. He moved with astonishing speed, tireless and impervious to pain.
His sword was of fine quality, holding up against several strikes.
But Viserys's stats were overwhelming. With a burst of power, he knocked the knight to the ground.
Then the silver spear pierced the knight's chest, pinning him to the earth.
His men cheered. Following a King who was brave and understood magic and the rules of Valyria gave them confidence.
Without such knowledge, venturing here was suicide.
But moments later, the red light on the knight's forehead flared again. His hands trembled as he grasped the silver spear.
Like Beric Dondarrion, fire wights rose again. Ordinary physical attacks were ineffective.
Beric had his head crushed, an eye put out, his throat crushed, and his chest pierced, yet he was revived by the Lord of Light.
"Give me a piece of dragonglass," Viserys said.
Dragonglass, or frozen fire, littered the ruins.
Aggo handed him a shard. Viserys drove it into the knight's chest—to no effect.
The knight continued to struggle, numb to pain despite two holes in his chest.
Viserys drew his longsword.
With a powerful swing, the cold blade severed the knight's head.
Then, using his dragonbone dagger, Viserys quickly pried the ruby from the knight's forehead. Only then did the wight truly die.
Before long, the body would naturally decay.
The blood-ruby felt warm in his hand—exclusive Dragonlord technology.
Viserys noted his findings: ice wights feared dragonglass, but fire wights did not. To stop a fire wight, you had to remove the head or the ruby.
Perhaps ice or water magic would work too. Water and fire were symbiotic yet opposing forces.
"Why did he keep living, Your Grace?" Aggo wiped sweat from his face.
"The gem," Viserys explained.
The blood-ruby and the tattoo arrays acted like a battery, drawing power from the abundant blood and fire essence of the ruins to revive the dead.
"This sword is yours," Viserys tossed the knight's sword to Aggo.
It was a red blade with a dragon-shaped crossguard. Though slightly rusted, once polished, it would be sharper than common steel.
Viserys scanned the blade with fire and water magic to ensure it was clean. It was the only valuable thing on the knight.
"This sword... I will forever remember Your Grace's kindness. I name it Dragonguard. Aggo exists to protect the True Dragon, loyal forever."
Viserys patted Aggo's shoulder and looked at his men. "Following me here is the greatest loyalty."
They continued, encountering only a few isolated fire wights, which they dispatched for their rubies.
It seemed Aurion hadn't created many Undead Guards.
Passing through a corridor shrouded in black mist, they arrived at the foot of a ruin hill.
Before the hill lay a small plaza between two mounds of rubble. A massive formation of soldiers stood before them.
Thousands of grey-white figures stood frozen like statues. The sight of such an army, preserved for centuries, was breathtaking.
They held various weapons—spears, axes, swords.
"There are more under the rubble, Your Grace," Aggo said.
Aurion had rushed in while the Doom was still unstable. The volcanoes were still erupting, sealing their fate.
Many were buried, but these soldiers remained on the plaza.
Their bodies seemed turned to stone, but it was just a thick layer of hardened volcanic ash.
Beneath the ash shells lay rotted bones.
These were ordinary soldiers. Even a Dragonlord couldn't escape such a cataclysm; they were powerless against it.
Their dragon-winged helmets identified them as the remnants of the great army.
"What is that?"
"A dragon corpse." Viserys looked up.
On the ruin hill to the right of the formation lay the massive skeleton of a black dragon.
The skeleton was over a hundred meters long—a true leviathan.
Because dragonbone is light, it hadn't crushed the ruins beneath it over the centuries.
It seemed Aurion had tried to escape the lava, toxic gas, and ash, but couldn't abandon his army.
Or perhaps Aurion himself was injured and couldn't fly.
Viserys saw a glint of light on the dragon corpse. It looked like a massive, twisted horn.
"Dragonbinder?" A guess formed in Viserys's mind.
Dragonbinder wasn't for taming dragons to fly; it was for binding them to one's will through pain, and perhaps boosting the morale of an army.