Dorne, Southwestern Desert
The wind and sand howled furiously, while the scorching sun baked the land, making the air crackle as if filled with the tormented wails of souls burning.
At the edge of the desert, a long, winding river flowed.
The water was murky green, covered in patches of floating duckweed.
Whenever strong winds blew, the stench of rot spread for miles, making people gag.
This was the Sulfur River, one of the main inland waterways of Dorne that connected to the Summer Sea.
By the riverbank stood a towering and ominous fortress—Hellgate Keep.
A deafening roar split the air.
A black shadow loomed over the yellow sands, moving slowly like a shifting mountain.
The howling winds sent grains of sand clattering like rolling thunder.
The Devourer revealed its true form.
Its vertical green pupils gleamed with a dangerous light, while its fangs unconsciously leaked dragonfire. Its massive body cast a dark shadow over the sand-covered path.
Suddenly, the distant cries of thousands of horses echoed through the desert.
Beneath the creature's massive, pitch-black wings, a cavalry force of five thousand charged at full speed.
Each soldier squinted against the stinging sand, their weathered, sun-darkened faces creased in determination.
"Hellgate Keep!"
At the front of the formation, Monde—his head wrapped in a scarf instead of a helmet—shouted with exhilaration, "We're here!"
"My lord, watch out for traps!"
The surrounding guards, all bearing the sigil of House Hightower, quickly moved to shield their lord.
Monde's joy turned to misery in an instant, his eyes nearly welling with tears. He grumbled, "Seven days of nonstop riding, my ass is practically raw."
After settling tens of thousands of refugees at Prince's Pass and participating in the great victory at Skyreach, they had finally pushed deep into the heart of Dorne—only for the Crown Prince to intensify the campaign.
Donald led fifteen thousand troops to Yronwood, at the end of the Boneway.
Monde, on the other hand, had been forced to lead five thousand cavalry on a relentless march to this godforsaken place—Hellgate Keep.
As he thought about it, he reached down to adjust his trousers, his bloodshot eyes filled with resentment. "I don't even have a son yet. This is just cruelty."
The guards exchanged awkward glances, wisely choosing to remain silent.
Monde wiped the corner of his eye and barked, "I got sand in my eyes! Keep your formations tight—don't let the wind get to me."
"Yes, my lord."
The guards lowered their heads, already used to their lord's arrogance.
Another sharp screech rang out.
A pale blue dragon burst through the swirling sands, cutting through the desert like a spring of clear water.
The soldiers looked up, recognizing the warning tone in the dragon's roar.
Atop the beast, Rhaegar narrowed his eyes in vigilance.
"Devourer, you don't need to guide us anymore," he murmured in Valyrian, his voice barely above a whisper—yet it reached the dragon's mind effortlessly.
The great beast roared in response, eager to let loose. With a mighty flap of its wings, it surged skyward, leaving a whirlwind in its wake.
One Kilometer Outside Hellgate Keep
A mountain of rotting flesh blocked the road leading into the city.
It wasn't made of rock or soil.
Instead, it was a massive pile of flayed cattle and sheep corpses, deliberately stacked into a grotesque, blood-soaked hill.
The mound wasn't bright red with fresh blood.
The flesh had long since decayed, turning into a sickening mix of black and red, congealed and festering.
Even from hundreds of meters away, a swarm of countless flies buzzed over the pile, so thick it nearly obscured the sky.
With a gust of wind, the Devourer landed.
Its descent stirred a powerful gale, sending millions of flies into a frenzy, their buzzing an unbearable cacophony.
Rhaegar's brows furrowed into a deep knot as he suppressed his revulsion at the grotesque sight.
Nearby, Helena descended on Dreamfyre, her thin silken dress fluttering in the wind.
She gazed at the disturbing scene with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, unfazed as she asked, "The Uller family fled. Should we still enter the city?"
Her calm demeanor made it clear—she wasn't disgusted in the slightest.
Just for that, she was braver than even battle-hardened Rhaegar.
"You really don't find this disgusting, do you?"
Rhaegar recalled Helena's childhood fascination with insects and sighed. "Yes, we enter. We won't let House Uller's intimidation tactics stop us."
A mere pile of rotting livestock wasn't enough to shake him.
Helena nodded, tilting her head slightly. "They left all their livestock behind. Our army won't have any food supplies."
This wasn't the first time Dorne had waged war in such a brutal fashion.
Whenever the Dornish abandoned a city, they left nothing behind.
Food? Burned to ash.
Livestock? Slaughtered and left to rot.
Water wells? Poisoned.
Time and again, they resorted to sheer madness.
Rhaegar had already accounted for this. "The Sulfur River connects to the Summer Sea. I already ordered Monde to arrange grain shipments from Oldtown."
Oldtown's merchant fleet frequently traversed the Summer Sea, trading across the known world.
With Monde overseeing Hellgate Keep, the Hightowers wouldn't dare refuse their supplies.
"Come on. Let's secure the city before the army arrives."
Seeing that Helena's doubts were resolved, Rhaegar patted his dragon's dark scales.
The Devourer let out a deafening roar and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire upon the grotesque mountain of flesh, before soaring into the sky.
Helena followed suit, guiding Dreamfyre toward the fortress.
By the time the cavalry arrived, they saw—from miles away—a massive green inferno.
Dragonfire clung to flesh with terrifying persistence, burning as fiercely as a wildfire.
For seven days and seven nights, green flames consumed the flesh—until nothing remained but charred bones.
---
Inside Hellgate Keep
The banners of House Uller—the yellow and deep red flames entwined—were torn down.
In their place, the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen was raised.
The armies of the Reach had arrived, securing every wall of the fortress.
During this process, the people of Dorne within the city stared intently, not making a single sound from beginning to end.
Rhaegar paid a little more attention and found that, just as described in the books, the large town had not a single able-bodied Dornish man in sight.
The people standing on the streets and alleyways were all either women, children, the elderly, or disabled men.
Mund moved closer, gloating. "It looks like House Uller won't take this lying down."
Everyone knew the reputation of that family—
Half mad, and the other half even worse.
Rhaegar remained unmoved. He glanced at Mund sideways and struck him right in the heart. "Helena and I will be leaving soon. The defense of this city will be in your hands."
"Huh?"
Mund was shocked and pointed at his own large nose.
Rhaegar ignored him completely.
"That's right, just like that," Helena said matter-of-factly, clenching her fists to cheer on her dear great-uncle.
Then, under Mund's heartbroken gaze, the siblings walked away hand in hand.
Their destination: House Uller's tower.
…
Along the way, many Dornish women and children stole glances at them, their timid gazes barely concealing a trace of resentment.
With war came disaster.
No food, no livestock, and even the fathers, husbands, and sons they lived with day and night had been forcibly conscripted.
"This is the cruelty of war," Rhaegar accepted it calmly, even considering whether he should slaughter the city.
He had seen far more naked, hateful stares than these.
In such situations, negotiations were useless. The simplest solution was to kill them all.
Helena hung her head, looking absent-minded.
Seeing this, Rhaegar thought about offering some comforting words.
But the little girl suddenly lifted her head, her clear eyes unreadable, and said something baffling:
"Beware the beast beneath the floor!"
"Helena?"
Rhaegar was momentarily stunned and reached out to touch her head.
Helena sidestepped, then walked briskly in a certain direction with her head down.
The siblings had already entered the tower's vicinity.
Rhaegar remained vigilant, ordering additional soldiers to search the tower while keeping pace with Helena.
The little girl bypassed the pitch-black tower and headed toward a barren estate behind the castle.
She moved as if she had been here before, walking familiarly along a stone path and eventually arriving at a deep underground dungeon beneath a windmill tower.
The dungeon lay five meters below ground. The damp walls, covered in condensation, were sparsely lit by a few oil lamps.
"Condensation?"
Rhaegar kept an eye on Helena while brushing his hand across the wet walls.
The moisture was cool to the touch and carried a faint burnt stench.
He recognized the smell instantly. No amount of the dungeon's moldy scent could mask it.
Recalling the windmill tower's location, Rhaegar realized, "The dungeon is connected to the Sulfur River. The walls are damp from the moisture."
"Brother, I found it," Helena suddenly spoke, interrupting his thoughts.
"Found what?"
"I'm not sure… I just ended up here."
Helena stood in the dungeon's interrogation room. The surroundings were dim, with only a single faint oil lamp hanging above.
Rhaegar stepped forward, gently stroking her wavy hair, feeling both concerned and comforted.
She shared a talent similar to his—along with its equally troubling side effects.
Helena's eyes sparkled as she enjoyed her brother's affection, then pointed to a corner of the room. "There's something over there."
"I'll take a look."
Rhaegar waved his hand, summoning a ball of fire to illuminate the eerie interrogation room.
In the corner, two unusually striking objects lay piled together.
One was a tattered, aged suit of women's armor.
It was heavily damaged, with only an intact breastplate and half of a skirt guard remaining.
The breastplate was forged from black steel, its surface painted a bold red and sculpted into the shape of dragon scales.
"Targaryen armor," Rhaegar's eyes widened.
He had seen similar armor before.
His Aunt Rhaenys had worn this type, a combination of Targaryen red and dragon scales, designed as practical protection.
The origin of such armor traced back to Aegon the Conqueror's two sisters—
Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys.
Realizing the armor's history, Rhaegar felt as if a heavy hammer had struck his heart. He immediately turned his gaze to the second object.
In the moss-covered, pitch-dark corner lay a silver-white humanoid form.
"Brother!"
Helena's eyes widened, her expression shifting to astonishment.
"Yes, I know," Rhaegar replied calmly, his eyes locked onto the object.
It wasn't a corpse or anything grotesque.
It was a suit of loose armor, woven together from silver-white dragon scales.
That's right—dragon scales!
Each scale was about half the size of a palm, with holes punched through them and strung together with hemp thread to form the shape of armor.
Rhaegar's mind was a whirlwind as he stepped forward, reaching out to touch both the silver-white dragon scales and the red remnants of armor.
"Exploration quest activated. Objective: Meraxes' scales."
The system notification sound suddenly rang out—unexpected yet not entirely surprising.
The system panel automatically appeared.
[Mirasis' Scales]
Exploration Progress: 0.5%
Rega closed the panel and silently examined the two pieces of armor, his expression unreadable.
Behind him, Helena gazed at him, sensing the turmoil in her brother's aura.
It was as if a long-dormant volcano was on the verge of eruption, seething with deep-seated hatred and fury.
(End of Chapter)