Xiao Griffin's gaze was fixed on Jon Clinton's face, a storm surging within those deep blue eyes.
Confusion, fear, and pleading eventually congealed into a cluster of searing, explosive rage.
The corners of his mouth twitched, not in a smile, but more like a death rattle.
"The real... Aegon Targaryen?" he repeated, his voice sounding like gravel scraping against sheet metal. "Then... what about me?"
He stumbled half a step forward, leaning in as if trying to grasp a final piece of driftwood, his gaze locking onto Jon's eyes with a death grip.
"Lord Griffin, tell me—who am I?"
His voice suddenly rose, cutting through the dead silence of the courtyard.
"Didn't you tell me that I am Aegon Targaryen?!"
He swung his arm, sweeping across the Lysene nobles who were bowing their heads in avoidance, then suddenly pointed back at Jon, his fingertips trembling violently.
"All of you, for nearly twenty years! You all told me I was Aegon!"
His chest heaved violently, and the last shred of his forced composure shattered, leaving only a deathly pallor and a feverish flush after being stripped bare.
"You taught me to write this name, to recite its history, and told me the iron throne was my responsibility, my blood!"
"You said my father was Rhaegar and my mother was Elia, that I was the spark they left behind... the last hope of the Targaryens!"
A sob broke into his voice, but he forced it back down, turning it into a deeper tremor.
"Now, you point at this man." He whipped his head around to glare at Aegon, but flinched when pierced by those cold violet eyes, his gaze fleeing back to Jon's face, filled with desperate accusation.
"Telling me he is the real one? Then what am I? Have these twenty years of mine been a play where I was the only one who didn't know the script?!"
Jon Clinton's face drained of all color under the weight of those blood-weeping questions.
Every breath pulled at his heart, a piercing pain.
He saw the hate rapidly accumulating in the youth's eyes, a hate sharper than any blade, slowly flaying his already tattered convictions.
He opened his mouth, a rattling sound coming from his throat, but he couldn't squeeze out a single word.
How could he explain? Explain the switch that began with political schemes?
Explain the dream that had deceived even himself over the long years?
Explain the collapse of all false supports when the true dragon and thunder arrived?
Any words were as pale as paper before the youth's shattered world.
Finally, he buried his head deeper and deeper, his voice raspy as he ground out the words from his chest.
"Child... I am so sorry."
"But I can no longer... continue to lie to you, to myself, or to this world."
He looked up, his clouded eyes filled with tears that did not fall, and stared fixedly at Xiao Griffin, speaking each word like a final sentence.
"He is the true blood of Rhaegar and Elia."
"You... are a Blackfyre, a descendant of Daemon Blackfyre."
"Blackfyre..." Xiao Griffin murmured the name as if chewing on the inherent curse of inferiority within those two words.
"Targaryens are the true dragons of the throne. What are Blackfyres? Rebels, losers, an indelible stain."
For a distant, hollow claim, he had been stripped of his birth name and dressed in the magnificent costume of "Aegon Targaryen."
Everyone—Illyrio, Varys, Jon—expected him to play the "true dragon" they desired.
No one ever asked if he was willing.
Now, the real one had come.
So what did that make him?
Twenty years of days and nights, the classics he studied so hard, the swords that wore out his palms, the history etched into his blood, the dreams of the iron throne both feared and longed for... had it all become a ridiculous fraud?
Besides a stolen name, what did "Xiao Griffin" have left?
"I am not!" He snapped his head up, a roar bursting from his throat, his eyes exploding with madness after being pierced in his most painful spot.
"Blackfyres also carry the blood of the Conqueror! This name... Aegon Targaryen, I have used it for twenty years! It is my bone! My blood! No one shall take it away!"
His voice grew louder, desperate and reckless.
"A Blackfyre is also a dragon!"
"A dragon?" Aegon, who had been watching coldly from the sidelines, gave a very soft laugh.
The laughter was faint, yet like an icicle, it pierced through all the madness.
Almost simultaneously.
"Boom..."
A low, muffled sound came from deep within the Governors Mansion, and the ground trembled slightly.
This was followed by the crunching sound of something heavy crushing gravel, and a suffocating gale brought by the folding of giant wings.
Shadows descended once more.
A colossal pale-gold silhouette slowly emerged from above the ruins, its three bone-plated heads lowered, six molten-gold vertical pupils looking down coldly.
Ghidorah.
It didn't even need to roar; the pressure emanating from its mere presence made everyone in the courtyard weak in the knees, wanting to kneel.
Xiao Griffin's roar came to an abrupt halt.
He like being seized by the throat, he stared blankly up at the pale-gold beast, looking into those merciless dragon eyes.
"A dragon..." he murmured, dazed. All his anger and resentment were as laughable as dust before such living power.
He snapped his gaze toward Aegon, jealousy and resentment that nearly consumed him welling up in his eyes, his voice trembling and broken.
"On what... grounds... how can you..."
"Because..." Aegon finally turned to face him directly.
His violet eyes were as deep as a cold pool, clearly reflecting that pale, distorted face.
"Dragons only recognize true dragons."
His tone was calm, yet it severed all illusions.
"A Blackfyre is also a dragon?" Aegon tilted his head slightly, as if pondering a childish question, and the corners of his mouth curled into a cold arc.
"Where is your dragon?"
"Died in battle at the Redgrass Field?"
"All dead in the War of the Ninepenny Kings?"
With every question he took a step forward, his voice not loud, but each word like iron, striking the dead air of the courtyard.
"The dragons of Blackfyre have long since turned to bone and dust, reduced to a few failed lines in the history books."
He stopped a few feet in front of Xiao Griffin, raised his hand, and casually patted the cold, hard, pale-gold scales of Ghidorah at his side.
"And my dragon..."
Aegon looked up, his violet eyes seeming to hold the extinction of stars and thunder, leaving only the indifference of one looking down at dust.
"Is right here."
"Living, breathing, and answering only to my command."
"A dragon."
"BOOM!!!"
Ghidorah's middle head reared up and let out a low, majestic roar!
The air vibrated, gravel fell, and several nobles collapsed to their knees.
Xiao Griffin's entire body trembled violently—not from fear, but from the physical tremors of a shattered belief.
The longsword in his hand fell with a clatter, bouncing twice on the stone floor, the sound crisp and ironic.
He looked at the pale-gold dragon scales within reach, at his own insect-like reflection in the dragon's eyes, and then at Aegon's calm yet infinitely powerful violet eyes... He had lost.
A total defeat.
From bloodline to power to existence itself.
Jon Clinton closed his eyes in agony.
This couldn't go on. With every passing moment, despair pushed the boy deeper into madness, until he would either destroy himself or provoke the true dragon, leading to instant annihilation.
He had to do something.
Even if... it meant personally pushing him into another abyss.
Jon snapped his eyes open, his gaze filled with a resolve that was pained to the point of numbness.
He took a step forward, standing between Xiao Griffin and Aegon, however ridiculous it seemed in front of Ghidorah.
He dropped to one knee and said hoarsely and urgently:
"Your Highness! Please... spare his life! He just cannot accept... being deceived for twenty years; he himself is guiltless!"
He paused, and using every bit of courage and ruthlessness he possessed, squeezed out the rest:
"I beg... that he be imprisoned."
"Life imprisonment, in a secluded place where he can spend the rest of his life in peace."
"He will never be able to threaten you again. I swear it on the name of Clinton and the honor of the Eagles Nest."
"Imprisonment? Life imprisonment?"
Xiao Griffin's dull gaze slowly moved from Ghidorah to the back of the kneeling Jon Clinton.
He thought that when everyone else abandoned him, this man who had raised him for twenty years and whom he regarded as a father would at least... put up a weak fight or take him away?
But what did he hear?
Imprisonment. Life imprisonment. To be watched over by him.
"Heh... hehe..." Xiao Griffin began to laugh softly, at first a suppressed airy sound, then becoming increasingly manic.
As he laughed, hot liquid surged from his eyes, mixing with his distorted smile.
"Lord Griffin... no, Ser Jon Clinton," he called out softly, his tone light and possessed of a strange calm that was more chilling than any scream.
"For nearly twenty years, I have looked upon you as a father."
"You taught me to read and hold a sword; you stayed by my side all night when I was sick."
"You said I was the hope of the Targaryens, the meaning of your life, the continuation of Prince Rhaegar's life..."
He raised his hand and wiped the tears from his face with the back of it, scrubbing his skin red.
When he looked up again, the last trace of "human" warmth in his eyes had completely extinguished.
Only cold, hollow, bottomless despair and madness remained.
"Now," he tilted his head, as if observing a stranger, his tone even carrying a hint of innocent confusion,
"You want to lock me in a dungeon? Like chaining up a useless dog that can only bark?"
Before he finished speaking—
"Clang!"
He bent down sharply and snatched up the steel longsword from the ground! The blade hummed from his trembling.
The tip of the sword rose, first pointing at the back of Jon's neck, then suddenly swinging around to point straight at Aegon's heart!
"You are all the same... all the same!" he roared hoarsely, all reason, upbringing, and pretense snapping completely at this moment, leaving only the most primitive and violent desire for destruction.
"Targaryens look down on Blackfyres! Loyalists look down on puppets! But I tell you..."
He glared intently at Aegon, roaring with the last of his strength:
"My name is Aegon! This name has been etched into my bones for twenty years! No one will take it away! Blackfyre is lowly?"
A grin of extreme ferocity broke across his face, mixed with tear stains, like a demon crawling out of hell:
"Then I will use this Blackfyre blood... to stain red your high-and-mighty Targaryen black banners!"
Dear Reader,
A special 60% discount offer available Don't miss this opportunity to enjoy your favorite stories at a greatly reduced price..
The offer is available for a limited time only — grab it before it ends!
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898