Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 593: Firewyrms and Fire Ore

Chapter 593: Firewyrms and Fire Ore

Rhaegar was speechless, overwhelmed by what he saw. It was the first time he had encountered so many dragon skeletons, and it felt as though he had stepped into a graveyard filled with death and silent wailing.

"Your Grace, there are small inscriptions here," Sea Snake said quietly.

Rhaegar, still dazed, slowly approaching the ruins. The inscriptions were carved into a stone wall, dark and seemingly made of Dragonstone. Although the wall had been broken into several pieces, it was thick enough to have endured the passage of time.

Rhaegar rubbed his brow, focusing on the small text. It was written in High Valyrian, mixed with some local dialects from the Lands of the Long Summer. As he translated, the words began to form a narrative: "Dragonlord... Daeryon... marriage..."

Rhaegar's heart skipped a beat when he reached the name "Daeryon." The space bracelet given to him by his good uncle had once belonged to a descendant of House Daeryon. Among the forty Dragonlord families, House Daeryon's power had been formidable.

His eyes flashed with recognition as he deciphered the remaining text, focusing on a series of vague incantations at the beginning. He realized they were the opening words for learning a binding spell.

Crack!

Rhaegar picked up a piece of gravel and scratched at the stone, recognizing the incantation as one that top Dragonlord families might carve in important places like the Dragonpit to teach their children about dragons.

Sea Snake, more interested in the final paragraph, read aloud, "Family marriage, mixing of blood."

On the wall was a simple mural of a volcano, with a totem of two entwined dragons on the left. The right side of the mural was conspicuously empty.

"This must be the Daeryon family's building," Rhaegar speculated, "and the totem is their family symbol." As for the blank space on the right, it likely belongs to a lesser-known Dragonlord family, one without a stable line of dragons or a dedicated totem. Such families, including House Targaryen, were considered impoverished compared to the native nobles of the Lands of the Long Summer or the powerful seafaring families with their fleets.

Sea Snake, well-versed in his ancestors' traditions, cried. "Perhaps the family they were marrying into was yours or mine. The surnames of our three families were deeply intertwined in ancient Valyria. It's possible that two of these families were branches of the same bloodline. After all, the people of Valyria were originally a nomadic group. It wasn't until they mastered the dragons of the Fourteen Flames that they rose to power."

But Rhaegar was in no mood for humor. After the Doom, Valyria had fallen like a shooting star, with ninety percent of its culture and heritage buried beneath the magma. The Targaryens, the last of the dragon blood, remained but a shadow of their former glory.

"I'll take a look around, Lord Corlys," Rhaegar said somberly. He tied the small dragon skull to his belt and walked over to the dragon skeletons scattered among the ruins.

As a pure-blooded Valyrian, Rhaegar had always felt a special connection to dragons. He never regarded them as slaves, tools, or even cold-blooded animals. To him, dragons were sacred, the last vestiges of ancient Valyria's magic.

"Lord Corlys, help me cut off these dragon skulls," Rhaegar requested in a low voice, drawing his Truefyre and striking the spine of the dragon lying at the base of the wall. He intended to give the skulls a proper burial.

"Yes, Your Grace," Corlys replied, understanding the depth of Rhaegar's feelings. Just as the Velaryons loved their ships and the sea, Rhaegar’s bond with dragons was profound. Corlys waved his hand, ordering the sailors to assist.

Clang!

Rhaegar swung his sword, and the blade lodged in a gap between the dragon’s vertebrae, spitting out sparks. Years spent in the Dragonpit had taught him persistence, and he didn’t pause, using the hilt of his sword to pry at the stubborn bone.

After a dragon fell, cleaning away the scales, flesh, and sinew was a laborious task. It was easier to cut through the spine and preserve the dragonbone intact.

Clang! Clang!

The sailors joined in, hacking at the dragonbone with their machetes. Rhaegar paid them no mind, his focus entirely on the skeleton before him. A rough count revealed at least five dragon skeletons scattered throughout the ruins. The largest lay in the center, while the smallest now hung from his belt as a grisly keepsake. The rest were strewn across the site, their bones shattered and crushed by time and decay.

Bang!

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed as he intensified his efforts, each strike growing more forceful. Gradually, he became absorbed in the task, losing himself in the rhythm of the blows.

Bang!

A shard of bone flew off, sending sparks in every direction. Rhaegar instinctively raised his elbow to shield himself, but suddenly his vision blurred.

“Roar!”

In a trance, a pained dragon’s roar echoed in his ears. His body stiffened, a sense of weightlessness flooding over him.

[This exploration mission is now open. The target is the remains of the dragons] announced the system’s prompt, marking the beginning of an explorer mission.

Rhaegar frowned as the roar faded from his ears, and control of his body slowly returned.

“Hoo!”

He exhaled deeply, glancing around to ensure no one had noticed anything unusual. Satisfied, he opened the explorer panel.

[Dragon Remains] Exploration progress: 0.2%

Rhaegar stood before the dragon skeleton, his sword, Truefyre, still lodged in the gap between the vertebrae. He glanced down at the ground, spotting a small, unremarkable piece of black bone residue.

“Do you wish to rest in peace as well?” Rhaegar murmured, his voice a mix of relief and helplessness. The dragons buried here were not just remnants of the past; they embodied the sorrow and defiance of creatures that had fallen from greatness.

The eruption of the Fourteen Flames, the very heart of Valyria that Rhaegar had once revered as his sanctuary, had come without warning—bringing with it true helplessness and despair.

Bang!

Rhaegar had no more words. He simply resumed the repetitive motion of swinging his sword, his thoughts heavy with the weight of history and loss.

...

Night fell, and the sky was dotted with stars. It was hard to believe that a patch of land in the Smoking Sea could offer such a clear view of the sky.

"Roar..."

The ground trembled softly beneath their feet, the sound of shifting earth echoing around them. In the distance, Firepeak loomed, its jagged silhouette piercing the night sky. At first glance, it was several times larger than Dragonmont on Dragonstone, yet it possessed an even more awe-inspiring presence.

"Roar!"

A black dragon silhouette soared overhead, disappearing into a cave on the mountainside. Moments later, it emerged, agitated, and flew off in search of another cave, where volcanic ash had settled.

Over two hundred years ago, these caves had all been dragon nests. But after the Doom, the flowing lava sealed them off, restoring Fourteen Flames to its original, impenetrable form.

...

Fourteen Flames, underground mine.

Click!

A cluster of torches flared to life, casting flickering light on the dust-laden tunnel, where cobwebs hung thick in the air.

"Fourteen Flames, living up to its name," Daemon muttered, covering his nose and mouth, his eyes sharp as an eagle's. He had initially scouted the caves on the mountainside, but Caraxes's enormous body couldn't fit inside, so he settled for exploring the underground mine instead.

During the Freehold Empire, the Fourteen Flames had been a hellish realm for slaves, who were forced to dig day and night, their lives treated as expendable. Historical records spoke of several uprisings, and it was here that the faiths of Braavos and the Faceless Men had their origins.

As Daemon ventured deeper into the mine, he encountered a grim sight—scattered bones, brittle and dried with age. Most were human, though a few belonged to sheep and pigs. The bones crumbled at the slightest touch, a testament to the years they had lain undisturbed.

Daemon remained vigilant, quietly drawing Dark Sister from his belt. He had something to prove—to show his nephew that he was the right man to hold the title of a “Targaryen Prince.” He was determined to rid himself of his brother’s disapproving gaze.

The deeper he went, the wider and higher the tunnel became, which struck him as unusual. He had no idea how long he had been walking when suddenly, a bright light ahead blinded him. Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on Dark Sister.

Turning a corner, his view expanded, revealing a vast chamber. The stone walls were embedded with various ores, gleaming brightly in the dim torchlight. But what truly caught his attention made his expression change.

A dragon!

Or rather, the skeleton of one. The enormous remains sprawled across the cavern, so vast that he couldn't take in its entire form at a glance. It resembled a dark fortress, a testament to its once-mighty presence.

Daemon cautiously approached, examining the skeleton with care. The bones were slender, suggesting the dragon might have resembled Sunfyre or Silverwing in life. At a rough estimate, it measured over 150 meters long, even larger than Vhagar. In the history of House Targaryen, only Balerion the Black Dread and the Cannibal could compare in size.

"An unfortunate old dragon," Daemon murmured to himself, lowering his guard as he drew nearer. The skeleton, curled up in an uncomfortable position, seemed to bear the scars of many battles. One of its wings was completely shattered, as if it had been torn off by another dragon. Its head, chest, and tail bore deep scratches, evidence of countless fierce encounters.

Daemon felt a wave of ancient, indifferent power emanating from the dragon’s remains, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. Scattered on the dusty ground beneath the skeleton were a few bronze scales, each the size of a palm, reflecting a dull light.

He bent down, picked up one of the scales, and carefully slipped it into his pocket.

“Roar...”

Suddenly, a piercing dragon roar echoed through the cave, filled with menace and fury. Startled, Daemon whipped his head around. "Caraxes!?"

Without hesitation, he abandoned the cavern filled with ore and dragon bones, retreating swiftly through the tunnel in search of his dragon.

...

Underground mine.

The dark red ore all around radiated an oppressive heat, filling the air with a sense of despair.

“Roar…”

Caraxes clung to the stone wall, his body coiled like a serpent, radiating pure murderous intent.

Gurgle...

The uneven ground began to bulge as a thin red liquid oozed from the cracks. Suddenly, with a sharp pop, the ground split open, and a massive, red creature resembling a giant python emerged.

“Sssss…”

The monstrous beast opened its lamprey-like mouth and lunged at Caraxes, spitting red saliva everywhere.

Boom!

Caraxes's pupils flared with fury as he unleashed a torrent of dragonfire.

“Ssshhhh…”

The creature pushed through the flames, its scarlet body shimmering with a strange, moist luster as it writhed in agony. The beast was eyeless, earless, and noseless, its body covered in fine scales. It looked like a snake, but it wasn't—a grotesque, twisted, rotting thing, defying easy description.

"Roar!"

Caraxes roared and spread its wings, lunging at the creature. With a thunderous crash, the two beasts collided and crashed to the ground. Though massive, the monster was only the size of a young dragon, no more than ten meters long.

Puff! Puff!

Caraxes's eyes burned with ferocity as its powerful jaws snapped down on the creature's flexible body. Its claws tore into the beast with brutal efficiency, as if confronting a natural enemy. The scene was terrifyingly savage.

Plop!

The monster was ripped to shreds, collapsing into a mass of soft, rotten flesh.

“Roar…”

Without hesitation, Caraxes's claws crushed the putrid remains, reducing them to a pulp as red fluid seeped out.

Crack!

Caraxes snorted, its nostrils flaring with hot air as it leaned forward and bit into a piece of the red ore embedded in the stone wall. With a few crunches, it crushed it and swallowed it down.

Its pupils narrowed slightly, a hint of satisfaction in its gaze. Finally, Caraxes settled against the stone wall, resting after the brutal encounter.