Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 439: The Wild Dragon of the Summer Sea

Chapter 439: The Wild Dragon of the Summer Sea

Boom!

The golden dragonfire descended like a pillar of fire and crashed into the cargo ship. Aegon, clad in silver armor, looked down arrogantly and laughed. "Burn them all! Drunkards and good-for-nothings!"

"Roar..."

Sunfyre, glowing golden, soared through the sky and delivered a devastating blow. The cargo ship, unarmed with scorpion crossbows, was helpless, a sitting target for the attack.

House Velaryon's warships lowered their rams and slammed into the freighter, crushing its cabin.

Woo-hoo-hoo!

A celebratory horn sounded. Soldiers jumped through the rams onto the enemy ship, initiating a lopsided massacre. In moments, the battle was over. The cargo ship burned violently, and bodies sank into the sea.

The Sea Snake watched impassively, his deep eyes cold and unreadable.

"My lord, we have captured a Braavos merchant and are interrogating him," the deputy officer reported, his tone serious.

Feeling the familiar salty sea breeze on his face, the Sea Snake closed his eyes briefly and replied, "Interrogate him harshly."

Dorne and Braavos were allies, and any cargo ship could carry information.

"Yes, my lord."

"Sail on to the Greenblood River!"

"Yes!"

After the adjutant left, the Sea Snake fell into a contemplative silence. His earlier leniency had allowed the Dornish soldiers to regroup in the Stormlands. If he had pursued them relentlessly from the start, perhaps Laenor would not have been killed.

"Roar..."

As the cargo ship sank completely, Aegon rode Sunfyre ahead, exploring the Greenblood River, leaving the fleet behind. The Sea Snake let Aegon take the lead, finding more comfort in his competence than in the reckless Prince Aemond.

Lost in thought, the Sea Snake's mind began to empty. The fleet slowly sailed through The Summer Sea.

Suddenly, a mist rose from the water, blocking out the scorching sun. The Sea Snake opened his arms, inhaling the salty sea air he had known all his life. A hint of nostalgia crossed his dark face.

"Roar..."

A melodious wailing drifted through the layers of fog, echoing across the ocean. The Sea Snake's eyes snapped open, searching for the source of the sound.

A light silver dragon burst through the mist, disappearing in an instant.

The Sea Snake stood dazed, eyes red and lips trembling. "Laenor!"

The dragon was searching for its rider.

The fog obscured his vision, and a wave of sadness welled up within him, making his breathing irregular. When he first heard of his son's death, he felt not grief but anger—anger at the treachery, anger at his son's failure, and anger at his own misjudgment.

Now, seeing Seasmoke searching for his master, the Sea Snake's heart was deeply touched. The emotions he had buried exploded, and he could no longer hold back his longing for his son.

A tear rolled down his cheek, shattering on the silver-gray breastplate.

The Sea Snake closed his eyes, then opened them again, his expression hardening back to its cold demeanor. The sorrow buried in his heart nourished the seeds of revenge.

Crunch, crunch...

His clenched fists creaked, and a murderous intent gleamed in his eyes. "Dorne, House Martell, House Velaryon will not forget," he muttered.

"Roar!"

As if in response to his vow, a majestic dragon roar echoed across the sea. In an instant, the sea breeze blew wildly, and the thick fog dissipated.

The Sea Snake stared into the depths of the fog, eyes wide with shock. A massive creature stirred, then soared southward towards The Summer Sea.

He tried to discern its shape, but the thick fog limited visibility. Soon, the beast disappeared, leaving only a vague impression of its enormous size and dragon-like form.

A moss-green claw briefly broke through the clouds.

"Laena?" The Sea Snake looked around in confusion, thinking it was Vhagar. His gaze followed the creature’s departure, further south than the Summer Isles, towards the vast continent of Sothoryos.

"Forget it. The important thing is to capture the Greenblood River." Shaking his head, the Sea Snake refocused on the task at hand.

After a long time, the fleet emerged from the fog, revealing a land covered with tropical trees to the north. The forest bordered a wide river mouth, where turbulent waters flowed into the sea.

The adjutant stepped forward and reported, "Lord, Lemonwood is just ahead. If we follow the river upstream, we will reach Planky Town."

"The Lemonwood garrison is loose. Tell the fleet to attack directly!" The Sea Snake ordered.

The fleet moved at his command, plunging into the estuary. In the Lemonwood, a noble family and a Dorne cavalry unit were stationed along the coast. Their lord, Andrey Dalt, resided in a wooden castle.

"An unidentified fleet has entered the Greenblood River. Send a message to Sunspear immediately for support!" Andrey panicked, his beard trembling with fear.

His subordinate rushed to inform the Maester to release the ravens.

"Roar..."

A dragon descended from the sky, its pale pink wings flapping, releasing fierce Dragonfire onto the wooden castle. Boom! The wood caught fire, turning into the best kind of firewood.

"Sunfyre, block the fleeing soldiers!" Aegon's eyes widened, and he was in perfect form.

"Roar..."

Sunfyre soared through the lemon grove, displaying its magnificent form. The golden scales shimmered and shone like a second sun in the sky, boosting the morale of their troops.

The Sea Snake followed up the attack, brandishing a long-handled curved knife and shouting wildly, "Attack! Straight to Planky Town!"

The calm Greenblood River was stirred up by the winds of blood and fire.

...

The Prince's Pass

On the cliffs of Kingsgrave, the sun stood high, scorching the land. The cliffs cracked from the heat, and the air shimmered with distortion. The terrifying dragon roars had ceased, and the two dragons and the Targaryens were nowhere to be seen.

Kingsgrave, the crypts

Thousands of people - men, women, and children - huddled in the dark underground space, seeking refuge.

"Damn it! Damn the Reach, damn the Targaryens!" A grumpy voice ranted, filled with anger and abuse. The speaker, a man in armor, had thick black curls, olive skin, a small frame, and piercing green eyes. He was Lord Mors Manwoody, Lord of Kingsgrave.

House Manwoody, an ancient noble house of Dorne, guarded the middle passage of the Prince's Pass. Their family crest, a crowned skull, honored their founder, who killed an ancient king of the Reach.

Mors inherited his family's pride and stubbornness. His shouts frightened the old and weak huddled in the cellar, who remained silent and terrified. Even his wife, in a state of shock, sat dazed.

Exhausted from shouting, Mors called for a guard. "Where is the dragon? Isn't it supposed to spit dragon fire and burn down my castle?"

"I don't know," the guard stammered, looking away.

Mors' eyes narrowed. "Tell your Lord what you are hiding!"

The guard looked at Lady Manwoody and bowed his head. "We were in a hurry to hide in the cellar and couldn't find Lady Lysa. Ser Dickon went into the back garden to look for her."

"What!?" Mors roared in anger. "I have a son and a daughter, and you just ran off and lost my daughter?"

The guard's face turned pale. "There are still soldiers in the tower and the tunnel. They should be able to find her."

"You're full of shit!" Mors kicked the guard away, then turned to his wife and slapped her. "You can't even watch the children. I'll deal with you later." Ignoring the guards' attempts to stop him, he rushed out of the crypt.

Back Garden

The so-called garden lacked the fragrance of grass and flowers, hosting only a few roughly planted colorful blooms. The garden was small, without a pool or pavilion. High, thick city walls cast large shadows, befitting the structure of the steep castle.

Mors, his heart pounding with worry and rage, scanned the garden for any sign of his daughter.

Giggle...

In the otherwise ordinary garden, a silver bell-like laugh suddenly rang out.

By a willow tree with a thick trunk and drooping branches stood a stone bench made of polished bluestone. Seated beneath the tree was a handsome young man with silver hair, dressed in a black robe, teasing a little girl of about two or three with a candy.

The little girl had black curls, fair skin, and a small face that hungrily eyed the candy. Sugar was a luxury item, and many noble families could hardly afford it.

The silver-haired boy smiled, dangling the candy in front of her. The little girl reached out to grab it, but he lifted his hand higher. She pouted, her eyes showing disappointment. Then, the boy lowered his hand, and the little girl, undaunted, jumped to try and catch it. Again, he pulled his hand back, causing her to miss.

When her face wrinkled and she was on the verge of tears, the boy finally placed the candy in her mouth, replacing her sadness with a sweet, sticky delight.

"Sweet-toothed little girl," he said, smiling as he bent down to pick her up.

Under the willow tree, another boy, with black hair and olive skin, stood nervously watching. The silver-haired youth glanced at him and asked, "Do you want some too?"

"No, I don't," the boy replied, his face changing as he took a fearful half-step back. He glanced to the left, cold sweat running down his back.

As far as the eye could see, a terrifying black dragon with green vertical pupils loomed over the castle, its gaze indifferent and imposing.

The three children and the dragon seemed to coexist peacefully, a sight that made Lord Mors Manwoody's head spin as he hurried into the garden.

What was even more terrifying was that the silver-haired youth noticed his arrival and slowly removed his black robe, smiling warmly. His demeanor was not that of an enemy, but rather like an old friend after many years.

"Gulp..."

Mors's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed involuntarily. The youth's smile was as bright as the sun, complementing every plant and flower around, yet it made Mors feel as if he were facing a formidable enemy. Beneath that gentle appearance lay a dangerous aura, making him feel like a thorn was pressed against his back.