In the intervals of movement, the friction of worn armor sounded exceptionally clear in the silent rift, punctuated only by the crackle of burning torches and the heavy breathing of the Mercenaries.
He was slightly taller than Karl, and standing straight now, his gaze fell levelly on the other's face with a scrutiny that held an almost cold calm.
Karl subconsciously straightened his back, as if awaiting some kind of judgment.
"Karl," Aegon began, his voice not loud, yet striking like cold jade, piercing through the background noise.
"I hate many things."
"Like these damned Valyrian Ruins."
"And those vulgar Ironborn who only know how to burn, kill, and pillage wherever they go, carrying that salty, fishy stench."
Aegon leaned forward slightly, his gaze like an awl, stabbing straight into the depths of Karl's eyes. "But what I hate even more is betrayal."
"It's like the toxic fumes here; it corrodes everything from within, making the strongest castles crumble and the bravest oaths a joke."
His words held no intense emotion, only a cold, calm certainty.
This was more heart-stopping than a roar.
"You said you'd sell your life to me," Aegon continued, his gaze not wavering for a second. "Fine, but the things I accept come with my rules."
"If you choose to pledge your loyalty, you are no longer a Mercenary for hire."
"We are voyagers on the same boat. When the storm comes, we either reach the other shore together or end up in the bellies of fish together."
"There is no possibility of jumping ship halfway. Do you understand?"
Karl's Adam's apple bobbed. He nodded heavily, his voice dry. "Understood, boss."
"Good," Aegon's voice was decisive. "I accept your life."
"Remember these words today."
Aegon pressed his hand heavily on Karl's shoulder, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
"Your choice won't be a mistake."
After speaking, Aegon gestured for Karl to rest nearby and recover his strength for the journey ahead.
He himself sat down again.
On the surface, Aegon remained calm, but only he could feel the heart beneath his chest pounding forcefully.
This feeling was completely different!
The group of Mercenaries behind him was a ragtag bunch, gathered temporarily under his banner out of fear of the ruins' dangers and the Ironborn's blades.
They would disperse once the profit was gone and scatter like birds once the crisis was over.
But Karl was different. He was the first person to see the situation clearly and proactively place his fate in Aegon's hands.
This was not forced dependence, but a clear-headed allegiance.
This meant that he, Aegon Targaryen...
...after fifteen years of wandering, finally had a real cornerstone of his own.
Though this cornerstone was so unremarkable—just a slick Mercenary.
But this was his breakthrough from zero to one, the beginning of his reconstruction of everything.
Henry returned after passing the message to the Mercenaries and Ironborn behind.
Seeing the relationship between the two that seemed to have undergone some qualitative change—a hint of something called "reverence" that he had seen in the presence of knight lords back in his hometown—he scratched his head in confusion but didn't ask further.
He found a spot near Aegon, set his hammer down with a 'thud', and began to rest... The rest didn't last long; in the oppressive silence, it was hard to judge the passage of time.
Perhaps only an hour, perhaps longer.
Until Aegon was the first to stand up, brushing the dust off his armor.
"Let's go."
The group moved forward in silence again.
The skeletons beneath their feet grew sparse, and the passage began to slope upward.
Finally, at the edge of the darkness illuminated by the torches, that eternal gloom vanished.
An indescribably magnificent sight slammed into everyone's vision.
They stood at the exit of the rift, as if on the edge of a giant beast's ribs, looking down at a massive, unimaginably tall architectural ruin surrounded by pitch-black mountains.
Clusters of architectural remains were scattered like the toys of a giant god. Even in ruins, their scale far exceeded any city-state a mortal could build.
All the buildings were a blackness that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Broken stone bridges spanned the canyon, and the rolling magma at the bottom of the abyss-like canyon was faintly visible.
Twisted towers were snapped in the middle yet still soared into the sky, their protruding sub-tower platforms wide enough for dragons to land.
No, perhaps they were originally for dragonriders returning on their dragons.
Every architectural line exuded an extreme arrogance and nobility.
Even in ruin, one could still see how magnificent and majestic it once was.
An unspeakable sense of pressure, stemming from the weight of ages and the utter silence of a civilization, made everyone hold their breath.
Before these architectural ruins, they were less than ants, merely dust that had accidentally stumbled into a graveyard of gods.
Even as the foul air, thick with the smell of sulfur, hit them, it failed to wake the crowd from the visual impact of this spectacle.
"Lord of Light above, I... have I entered your divine kingdom?" a Mercenary murmured, stunned by the sight.
Judging by his clothing and the faith he spoke of, he likely came from the Red Temple in Volantis.
Aegon, however, knew that this was no divine kingdom of the Lord of Light. All the buildings here were cast from dragonstone.
Furthermore, these architectural styles had nothing to do with the Red Temple. The city walls meandered like a dragon's spine, covered in pitch-black tiles like dragon scales that glinted coldly in the firelight.
Torch stands were stone carvings in the shape of dragon claws, and dragon-headed drainage spouts seemed to roar silently.
Everything was built around the element of dragons.
It was likely an architectural site of the former Valyrian Freehold.
While Aegon and the others were immersed in this spectacle, the sound of messy footsteps and the clanking of iron armor came from the rift behind them.
Crows Eye emerged from the rift with his band of Ironborn, followed by Corleone, who was surrounded by a group of guards.
Crows Eye narrowed his single eye, his sinister gaze scanning the surroundings. His previous visits here hadn't been this 'peaceful.' His blue-stained nails unconsciously rubbed the hilt of the blade at his waist.
"Euron," a raspy voice called out. It was the Ironborn missing an ear, his tone filled with the flattery of a survivor. "These sheep from the Green Lands have truly had the drowned god's luck."
He smacked his lips as if savoring something.
"The last two times we came to wade through this salt water, the drowned god's invitation wasn't so gentle."
"How many brothers were invited to the Watery Halls to drink eternal mead..." he said, touching his empty earlobe with lingering fear.
"This time we let these landlubbers scout the reefs for our ship, and it turns out to be smooth sailing."
"If you ask me, the drowned god must have calmed his anger and taken a liking to us again."
"Euron, you were a bit disrespectful to the drowned god before, but we are his own sons raised on salt water after all. Could he really hold a grudge against us for a lifetime?"
Crows Eye stopped, slowly turning around. His single eye glinted with a dull light like a dead fish in the dimness. His blue-purple lips parted, emitting a low, slimy voice: "It seems I was wrong."
The earless Ironborn showed joy, thinking he had spoken to Euron's heart. "I told you, we Ironborn—"
"I was wrong," Crows Eye's voice was terrifyingly soft, cutting him off, "in not cutting out your tongue while we were still on the ship."
"What..." The earless Ironborn's smile froze.
Crows Eye didn't even need to wave a hand; with just a glance, two of his trusted Ironborn stepped forward and seized the earless Ironborn from both sides.
"No, you can't!" The earless Ironborn finally reacted, struggling in terror. "I followed you from the Iron Islands! I abandoned my salt wives and salt concubines for you! You can't do this to me!"
A slight commotion rippled through the Ironborn crowd. Someone hiding in the back deliberately lowered their voice and shouted, "Yeah, Crows Eye, he's one of our own. Don't let the brothers lose heart."
These words were like a spark falling into a barrel of wine.
Crows Eye's gaze, which had been merely cold, instantly ignited with a morbid, excited flame.
"Wait," he waved to stop his men.
The earless Ironborn breathed a sigh of relief.
But then he saw Crows Eye slowly pull a boat hook, covered in rust and dried blood, from the waist of an Ironborn nearby.
The hook glinted coldly in the torchlight.
"You're right... one of our own," Crows Eye murmured, taking a step forward. "So I'll use another method... to make you remember when to shut your filthy mouth."
Before his voice even faded, under everyone's gaze, Crows Eye suddenly thrust the iron hook into the earless Ironborn's belly and pulled downward! The movement was as practiced as gutting a fish.
A shrill scream, unlike anything human, tore through the silence of the ruins.
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