The Throne Room was deathly silent and heavy; the torchlight in the alcoves flickered soundlessly, casting Aegon's rising figure as a waking dragon shadow upon the black stone walls.
He stood up from that black stone throne.
The firelight fell upon his silver hair, reflecting a cold and stern profile, yet failing to penetrate those bottomless violet eyes.
There was no anger there, no mercy, only an icy calm that looked down upon all living things.
He lowered his gaze, looking down the steps.
Barristan Selmy, the "Bold" of old, now knelt on one knee with his head bowed low, holding up his longsword with both hands—a blade that symbolized honor and oaths, yet was also engraved with betrayal.
The Old Knight's posture was like that of a sacrificial lamb, offering his neck for slaughter, seeking only a final judgment that could liberate his soul.
Aegon's thoughts spread out silently in absolute calm, sharp as a valyrian steel sword scraping across bone, devoid of any personal feeling, leaving only pure analysis and judgment.
Barristan Selmy.
the Bold white knight. A hero sung of in the Seven Kingdoms. A guardian deity in the eyes of the commoners. A man who had carved chivalry into his very marrow.
Aegon saw through him with absolute clarity.
This man, throughout his life, what he was loyal to and what he upheld was never a blind following of the Targaryen name or bloodline.
What he was loyal to was the set of chivalrous morals and beliefs in his own heart that could not be defiled or shaken.
He was loyal first to the weak, to the innocent, to the welfare of the people and the basic order of the realm, and then, perhaps, to the legal tradition of the kingdom symbolized by the iron throne.
Only at the very end did it come to the specific family, the specific name, sitting upon the throne.
To the millions of commoners in Westeros struggling to survive like grass amidst the strife of lords and the changing of dynasties, such a knight who placed protecting the weak above loyalty to a monarch was undoubtedly great—a rare light in the darkness, a legend to which hope could be pinned in troubled times.
His existence itself was a pure interpretation of chivalry, transcending the narrow barriers of family and dynasty.
But to House Targaryen...
To a family that had once personally draped the White Cloak, symbolizing the highest honor and trust, over his shoulders, bestowing upon him the glory and mission of the Kingsguard;
He was a traitor.
He had once sworn an oath to Aerys to protect the king and his bloodline with his life.
But when the Targaryen fell, he bowed his head to the usurper and donned Robert's White Cloak.
No matter how noble the reason, no matter how many innocents were saved, in the face of an oath, it was a breach of faith.
Once an oath is sworn, there is no way back.
Once a choice is made, there is a price.
This was the iron law.
Aegon slowly walked down the black stone steps.
The soles of his boots met the smooth stone surface, making a slight but exceptionally clear "tap, tap" sound that echoed in the deathly silent hall. Step by step, unhurried, like the questioning of fate, he slowly approached the kneeling elder.
Oberyn Martell still leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed, his deep red robes looking like congealed blood.
The habitual sneer on his face faded, leaving only a cold-eyed scrutiny. In those dark brown eyes, something stirred quietly.
Aegon stopped in front of Barristan, looking down from above, silently gazing at this weather-beaten Old Knight whose eyes were filled with shame and determination.
After a long while, Aegon finally spoke.
His voice was flat, yet cold as a winter wind from the deep sea, piercing into everyone's ears.
"All your life, you have taken the way of the knight as your bone and the protection of the weak as your heart."
He stated, as if reading an objective record from a history book.
"The people respect you, the world praises you, calling you the Bold."
Pausing slightly, his violet eyes, like the purest amethysts, reflected the flickering flames but failed to mirror any warmth.
"To them, you are great."
"But to Targaryen..."
"You are a traitor who abandoned the White Cloak, abandoned the bloodline, and abandoned the oaths sworn before gods and men."
There was no roar, no questioning, just the calm statement of a fact.
And this fact, more than any fierce accusation, caused Barristan to shudder. The hand holding the sword trembled imperceptibly, and the color drained completely from his aged face.
He had thought he was prepared to endure any insults or even torture, but he hadn't expected this calm sentence to be heavier than any rage, and more... indisputable.
"You live for your morals and fight for your conscience. This is your choice; I have no place to interfere, nor do I intend to judge right or wrong."
"I will not grant forgiveness because of your guilt today, nor will I be moved by your blunt admonitions."
"Your sin will not vanish with your death; the blood debt of the Targaryen is not something the life of one man alone can repay."
He lowered his gaze to the longsword held up by the Old Knight with his life, awaiting the final judgment.
The blade reflected the firelight, as if flowing with memories of blood and fire.
"You seek death to find peace of mind, to preserve your reputation, and to serve as an admonition."
Aegon shook his head slightly, his movement carrying an almost cruel insight.
"But unfortunately, Ser Barristan. The debts borne by House Targaryen and the sins accumulated on this land of Westeros are far from being easily wiped away by one man offering his neck for slaughter."
"Your death is of no benefit to the overall situation, no supplement to the old debts, and to me... it is of no value."
As his words fell, the stone floor felt icy, and a chill seemed to spread from beneath their feet, seeping into their marrow.
Barristan's hands holding the sword suddenly stiffened, his knuckles turning pale from the force of his grip.
His aged face trembled slightly, his lips moved, but he could not make a sound.
He had thought that death was the end, the conclusion of his atonement, the last and only thing he could give to this returned true dragon, to House Targaryen.
He hadn't expected that this young prince would not even deign to give him this final, ritualistic "decent" ending.
What he negated was not Barristan's life, but the self-defined "redemption" that he attempted to complete through death.
To the side, Oberyn Martell's dark brown eyes suddenly contracted, and the posture of a cold bystander he had maintained showed an extremely subtle crack.
He had thought Aegon would be like most ambitious monarchs—either showing magnanimity by pardoning and winning over this legendary knight to gain a reputation, or temporarily suppressing his anger to use him for practical considerations; at the very least, he would give a relatively "honorable" end after a reprimand.
After all, who would dare to easily refuse, or even so coldly belittle, the "death admonition" of a hero renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms who symbolized a certain moral standard?
But Aegon did not. He neither pardoned nor utilized him, nor did he even grant an "honorable death."
He simply used an almost cruel calmness to state the bloody core fact hidden beneath countless halos and "noble reasons"...
You, Barristan Selmy, may be a great knight, a hero who fights for the commoners.
But to House Targaryen, you are first, and will always be, a White Cloak who abandoned his oath.
Blunt, cold, merciless, without a hint of hypocritical tolerance or utilitarian recruitment.
In the depths of Oberyn's heart, beneath the slight dislike arising from Aegon's appearance and the protective urge born from Elia's blood relation, something deeper was touched.
This kid's tone, his way of looking at things, his way of handling problems... was not at all like a teenage exiled prince who had suddenly gained power.
In fact, he was unlike any monarch he had ever seen.
Aegon's gaze fell back upon Barristan, who was stiff all over and seemed to have aged ten years in an instant; his violet eyes were bottomless, as if they could swallow all light and hope.
"Barristan Selmy."
He called out softly. His voice was not harsh, yet it carried a true dragon's pressure originating from bloodline, power, and an unshakable will, descending heavily upon him.
The Old Knight shuddered violently, as if waking from a frozen state. He looked up with difficulty, only to meet a pair of violet eyes so cold they were almost bone-chilling, as if they could see through all the soul's pretenses and weaknesses.
"Do you think..."
Aegon asked back indifferently, his fingertips brushing seemingly at random against the edge of the scabbard at his waist, producing a slight but clear metallic friction sound.
"That I will be like the Mad King, consumed by rage and hatred, returning blood for blood, burning cities with fire, using even more cruel tyranny to avenge past atrocities, and ultimately dragging myself and the entire kingdom into the abyss?"
He shook his head slowly, the movement slight but carrying a categorical denial.
"No."
He looked up, his gaze seeming to penetrate the thick stone walls, crossing the turbulent Narrow Sea, and casting toward a more distant, broader world.
His voice carried a detachment that transcended the present and hatred... and a heart-palpitating grandeur.
"What I intend to do is more far-reaching than the Mad King."
"More real than Rhaegar."
"Greater than any Targaryen in the history of Westeros."
He paused, withdrawing his gaze and letting it fall back upon Barristan's shocked face, and seemingly sweeping over Oberyn, whose pupils had suddenly contracted. His voice was as soft as a sigh, yet as heavy as the basalt foundation of Dragonstone, crashing into everyone's hearts:
"So what if the Seven Kingdoms all rebel?"
"So what if the nobles unite?"
The corner of Aegon's mouth curled into an extremely faint, yet glacially cold arc.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
"The Seven Kingdoms... what are they?"
Each word was soft, yet heavy as black rock, carrying an indifference like that of looking down upon ants.
Oberyn's crossed arms dropped unconsciously; the mocking expression he had maintained froze completely on his face, his brows shot up, and for the first time, a look of near-astonishment appeared in his dark brown eyes.
Such arrogance! Such wild ambition!
He doesn't even care about the Seven Kingdoms? Does he know what he is saying?
The three-hundred-year foundation of House Targaryen, the iron throne, the vast lands of Westeros, and the millions of people... in his words, they were dismissed with a light "what are they?"
But the next second, it was as if lightning had struck through Oberyn's mind; a thought he had subconsciously ignored, or rather, had never considered from this angle, suddenly exploded!
...The Seven Kingdoms?
He snapped back to his senses, his heart skipping a beat, as if struck by a cold iron hammer.
Wait.
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros include Dorne.
In Aegon's words... Dorne is included as well.
Not an ally, not kin, just a part of the old era.
This boy, he even counted Dorne in?
Oberyn was completely stunned.
He had anticipated various reactions from his nephew: perhaps he would be eager to win over Dorne, perhaps he would be angry at Dorne's wait-and-see attitude, or perhaps he would hold goodwill because of Elia...
But he never expected that Aegon's vision, or rather his ambition, had long since transcended the scope of restoring the Targaryen Dynasty, reclaiming the iron throne, or even taking revenge on his enemies.
He didn't treat Dorne as a "uncle's house" that needed special treatment, nor did he even care about the inherent structure of all of Westeros.
On his chessboard, whether it was Dorne or the other six kingdoms, they all seemed to be... merely a part of the old order, waiting to be changed.
This boy... he really hides nothing. His ambition is terrifyingly large, and also... terrifyingly straightforward.
Meanwhile, Barristan, kneeling on the ground, was struck as if by lightning.
His azure pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks, his entire body trembled uncontrollably, and his hands holding the sword could no longer support it...
With a "clang," the longsword that had accompanied him for most of his life, witnessing countless glories and shames, slipped from his grasp and fell, striking the black stone floor with a dull, jarring sound.
In his life, he had seen the mad Aerys, the heroic Rhaegar, the Bold Robert, the cunning Tywin, and all sorts of ambitious men, conspirators, madmen, and warlords...
But he had never, never heard such... such subversive words from anyone, such disregard for all inherent order, such wild talk of trampling the entire known world underfoot!
The Seven Kingdoms... what are they?
This went beyond arrogance; it was simply a total negation and contempt for the rules of the entire world!
Aegon ignored the violent shock to their souls; he just continued to look at the distraught Barristan with those cold purple eyes, his tone as indifferent as if he were ordering a trivial matter:
"I kept you, Barristan Selmy, not to show magnanimity by taking you as a knight, not to use your reputation to win hearts, and certainly not because I have forgiven your broken oath."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, but every word was like an ice pick, piercing the Old Knight's eardrums and heart:
"I want you to rise. As the most ordinary, most humble guard, stay on Dragonstone, stay by my side."
"I want you to watch every day. With these eyes of yours that have seen the rise and fall of dynasties, seen the glory and betrayal of knights, seen the joys and sorrows of the commoners, watch closely..."
"Watch how I take the feudal system of nobility that has continued in Westeros for eight thousand years, and inch by inch, pull it out by the roots and grind it into dust."
"Watch how I sweep those self-proclaimed noble bloodlines, those castles that have entrenched themselves for thousands of years, and those self-righteous games of power, completely into the dustbin of history;"
"Watch how I build a..." Aegon paused, seemingly searching for the most appropriate words, and finally, he slowly uttered, "...a great undertaking that the world cannot even begin to imagine."
"A world where no lord can arbitrarily decide the life and death of the people, where there are no family wars to devastate the living, and no child is destined to be a slave or servant because of their birth."
"Perhaps it is not perfect, perhaps it needs to be watered with blood, but its direction is fundamentally different from the fragile knightly honor you defend, which is attached to the old system."
He watched the shock, bewilderment, and a trace of instinctive fear of the unknown churning in Barristan's eyes, and continued in that cold tone:
"You once lived for the empty name of a knight and fought for the narrow-minded commoners in your heart. Then watch well. Watch how pale and powerless the morality you defended your whole life, which clings to the old world, is in the face of the new order I am about to create."
"Watch how the betrayal you suffered for half your life and viewed as the stain of your existence, in the face of the torrent of the times and true change, ultimately... counts for nothing."
Barristan gasped sharply, his chest heaving violently, like a fish out of water.
He wanted to say something, wanted to refute, wanted to shout, wanted to ask if this boy was crazy... but all the words were stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single syllable.
Aegon's words, the picture Aegon painted, and the immense power and determination behind that picture that would completely overturn everything, were like an invisible hammer, smashing the beliefs, values, and understanding of the world he had held onto all his life to pieces.
His pupils dilated, leaving only a vast emptiness, a shock and helplessness from having his cognitive boundaries forcibly torn open.
Oberyn was also completely stunned; his crossed arms had long since dropped, and his fingertips were curling slightly, unconsciously.
His gaze toward Aegon's back had changed from the initial scrutiny and surprise into something deeper, mixed with disbelief, a faint tremor, and inquiry.
This boy's ambition was not about revenge, not about restoring the Targaryen Dynasty, and not even about simply conquering the Seven Kingdoms or ascending the iron throne.
It was to change the world.
It was to use the terrifying Fleet in his hands, his shocking policies of abolishing the nobility, and his thinking and will that could not be measured by common sense...
To completely shatter all of Westeros—no, perhaps an even vaster world—and then, according to the blueprint in his heart, reshape an unprecedented new world.
Madness. Absolute madness.
But beneath this madness, there was a chilling, almost absolute calmness and certainty.
He was not sleep-talking; he was stating a future he was certain would come.
Aegon slowly raised his hand, not to take the sword that symbolized everything of the past, but reached out and used his fingertips to gently push Barristan's hands, which were still maintaining the posture of holding it up but had already become stiff and numb.
"Rise."
He commanded, his voice not loud, even light, but the unquestionable will contained within it made Barristan shudder; like a marionette, he involuntarily and slowly loosened his hands that had long been unable to hold on tightly.
The longsword completely slipped from his grasp, colliding with the cold ground and emitting a hollow, light sound.
The Old Knight seemed to have exhausted all his strength, slowly and struggling, attempting to stand up from his kneeling position.
His back, once straight as a spear, symbolizing the spirit of knighthood, though still trying to maintain its form, could no longer support the pride and majesty once called "the Bold."
He stood there, on the cold black stone floor of the Throne Room, under Aegon's calm yet abyssal gaze, in Oberyn's complex and indecipherable stare, atop the ruins of his collapsed faith, like an old, bewildered soul that had just been stripped of everything.
Aegon did not look at him again, nor did he look at Oberyn. He turned slowly, walking steadily, along the black stone steps he had come from, step by step, back to the black stone throne.
His back, in the flickering firelight, was calm and straight, yet carried a kind of lonely, distant, and indifferent air, as if he were completely out of place with the whole world.
Oberyn looked at the silver-haired boy who had sat back on the throne, as if he had just handled a trivial matter, and then looked at the Old Knight Barristan, who stood distraught, as if all his spirit had been drained away in an instant.
In his dark brown eyes, the last trace of disgust and estrangement caused by Rhaegar quietly melted away, like residual snow under the sun.
In its place was a brand new, unprecedented shock and... a burning curiosity and desire for inquiry that even he had not anticipated.
This boy...
He repeated silently in his heart.
Really, compared to Rhaegar, that madman immersed in his own tragedy...
Completely different.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898