On the way back, Mond observed the nightscape of the old town, muttering to himself, "Otto must be kept at a distance. The family cannot be dragged down by him and Allison."
The prince's blade was raised above Haitar's head—potential threats had to be eliminated.
Lost in thought, Mond walked on until the towering Sky-Piercing Tower came into view.
He stepped onto the stone arch bridge, making his way back to his family estate.
A small boat that had set out earlier returned along the same route, docking at its original spot.
On the empty dock under the night sky, a dozen figures in black robes stood in a row.
Otto pulled his hood back over his head, stepping onto the damp dock with a deep voice: "Follow me."
The black-robed figures remained silent, following him like puppets on strings.
The sky was dimly lit by sparse stars and a faint moon. A gust of night wind swept through, rustling the hoods of the cloaked figures, revealing pale, gaunt, and expressionless faces.
Some had only one eye, others bore scarred and disfigured features…
They were criminals from the dungeons of King's Landing, remnants of White Maggot intelligence network.
Now, they were under Otto's command.
Dark clouds veiled the moon's glow.
Inside a hidden passage of the Sky-Piercing Tower—
Click.
A black-robed figure carefully emerged. The passage led directly to the food cellar.
"Move quickly. Avoid unnecessary trouble," Otto ordered coldly as he found the barrels of oil he had prepared in advance.
The black-robed figures hoisted the barrels and set to work immediately.
Dodging the night guards, they spread the flammable oil in the cellar, kitchen, and stables.
One of them tried to pour oil at the front gate, but a companion punched him, snatched the barrel, and hissed, "Get lost. Don't act smart."
From the shadows, Otto observed and gave a barely perceptible nod.
He was going to set fire to the Sky-Piercing Tower—but he wouldn't cut off all escape routes.
The crown prince planned to make a move?
Then Otto would strike first, burning the entire tower to avoid any false accusations.
No one would suspect him. They would only assume it was the reckless work of the crown prince.
Taking one last look at the familiar towering structure, Otto turned and slipped back into the passage.
"Light it up," he ordered.
The black-robed figures pulled out torches and set fire to the oil-drenched areas.
Instantly, flames erupted across the Sky-Piercing Tower.
By the time the guards and servants noticed the fire, Otto and his men had already disappeared.
"Someone! Help put out the fire!"
"The kitchen is on fire! Get water!"
"Fire! Fire!"
Servants ran in all directions, throwing the entire tower into chaos.
At that moment, another group of masked individuals slipped out of the Sky-Piercing Tower, boarded a small boat on the lake, and swiftly fled the scene.
Boom!
At the tower's main entrance, an inferno suddenly blazed, cutting off the frantic guards who were rushing to douse the flames.
"Damn it! The fire has blocked the door!"
The fire raged, making it impossible for anyone to get close.
Suddenly, someone shouted in horror, "I smell oil! Get to the lord!"
Panic spread instantly. Guards wrapped themselves in water-soaked blankets and charged inside.
Mond lay in his soft bed, dressed in silk nightclothes, fast asleep.
Sizzle…
Fire spread through the hallway outside, and thick, acrid smoke seeped through the gaps in the door, invading the room.
His head felt heavy as he twisted and turned, catching whiffs of smoke.
It wasn't until the loud cries of "Fire!" echoed through the tower that he finally stirred from his dreams.
Mond's eyes snapped open. His darkened room was filled with choking black smoke, the heat rising like an oven.
"Damn it! What's going on?!"
Any trace of sleep vanished. He cursed, leaping from bed to escape.
Bang!
He kicked the door hard, but it didn't budge.
Panic set in. He pounded the door with his fists. "Bastards! Who locked me in?!"
Flames engulfed the hallway, climbing the walls and ceiling. The decorative pinewood beams became perfect fuel, crackling as they burned.
Each breath Mond took was filled with searing smoke. The distant shouts and crackling flames sounded like eerie whispers in his ears.
The smoke thickened. The fire reached the door.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
His punches grew weaker. His breath was labored. The violent coughing wracked his chest as if his lungs would burst.
"S-someone…"
"H-help me…"
Despair clouded his eyes. His throat rasped like a broken bellows. His limbs turned weak and numb.
With a thud, he collapsed to the floor.
His eyes remained locked on the door. Just a simple wooden door—yet it had become the unbreachable divide between life and death.
Boom!
The fire reached the bedroom ceiling. The beams could no longer hold, snapping and crashing down.
Mond's breath nearly ceased. His bulging eyes reflected the burning timber falling toward him.
In his final moment, a surge of primal fear overtook him. He let out a desperate scream—
"No!!"
Otto, having boarded the ship once more, suddenly turned his head as if he had heard something. His gaze locked onto the towering Spire, engulfed in thick, rolling smoke.
The Spire stood eight hundred feet tall, an unmistakable landmark in the flat terrain of Oldtown.
The night was deep, making the flames all the more visible.
The fire raged from the base of the Spire, with thick smoke billowing from several floors. Through the windows, tongues of flame occasionally flickered out.
Otto's eyes flickered with uncertainty, and his mind was in turmoil. "Why has the fire grown so much?"
He dipped his hand into the seawater, gauging the night wind by feel.
A gentle breeze drifted by—it wasn't the strong wind that would have fanned the flames.
Otto furrowed his brow, silently contemplating. "Regardless, I can't stay in Oldtown for long."
He had already made the choice—sacrificing his brother and family in order to ensure the safety of his daughter, the queen, and secure his family's future.
There was no room for hesitation.
Turning his head, he stepped onto the deck of the small vessel and urged the sailors to hasten their departure.
Splash, splash…
The sailors rowed with all their strength, the waves unknowingly growing more turbulent.
Otto joined in the rowing, and soon, the ship vanished into the darkness.
### Half an Hour Later
The ship sailed out of the harbor, reaching the mouth of Whispering Bay.
Otto sat in a daze, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance.
At some point, a hazy silhouette of a ship emerged on the sea.
The sailors, alarmed, craned their necks in an attempt to make out its details.
Otto, drawn by their voices, squinted and looked ahead.
The two vessels drew closer, and the foggy outline gradually sharpened.
It was a small warship, known for its agility.
Otto's heart skipped a beat, and a restless twitch flickered in his eyelid.
The two ships slowly aligned.
Otto tilted his head, gazing at the figures on the warship's deck and the long sail it bore.
Upon the pale purple canvas, a sword crossed with a shooting star.
"The Dayne family…"
Otto's mind went blank—he couldn't believe his own eyes.
At that moment, the figure on the warship looked down at him, a mocking smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
With a wave of his hand, soldiers drew their bows and took aim at the sailors and cloaked figures aboard Otto's ship.
"Fire!"
---
### The Starry Sept
Rhaenyra had yet to sleep. She stood by the inner hall window, gazing out into the night, dressed in a long beige nightgown.
"Waaah~"
Little Aemond, clad in baby clothes, lay in his mother's arms, fussing and squirming restlessly.
Rhaenyra supported his tiny bottom with one hand and cradled his back with the other, leaning slightly backward.
She ensured the child wouldn't fall and that his spine was protected.
Creak—
The door pushed open from the outside as Rhaegar stepped in quietly.
Looking up, he saw Rhaenyra rocking the baby under the moonlight.
After a brief hesitation, he whispered, "Is Baelor asleep?"
Rhaenyra turned slightly and sighed helplessly. "He's been asleep for a while now—this little rascal is the only one refusing to settle down."
"Baelor truly lives up to being the eldest—he knows how to ease his parents' worries."
Rhaegar chuckled and stepped forward, taking the little Aemond from her arms.
The tiny boy's violet eyes sparkled with excitement as he smacked his lips, as if trying to argue with his father.
He looked utterly adorable.
Rhaenyra let out a soft humph, rocking the cradle beside her as she gazed fondly at the sleeping Baelor. She countered, "Older children are always more well-behaved—they learn to take care of their younger siblings."
As she spoke, her eyes drifted to Rhaegar's strikingly handsome face, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Such a handsome young man—and she had raised him.
Rhaegar couldn't hold back his laughter, nodding in agreement. "That's true—who wouldn't want a gentle and caring older sister?"
"Waah-luu~"
Feeling ignored, little Aemond let out a dissatisfied babble and stretched out his tiny hands, bumping into Rhaegar's firm chest.
The soft little baby bounced slightly from the impact, drool spilling from his mouth.
Their "heartless" parents burst into laughter, playfully teasing the poor child.
---
"Rhaegar."
Just as the warm atmosphere settled in, Rhaenyra suddenly spoke up.
Rhaegar hummed in response, looking at her with concern.
Rhaenyra leaned against the window, her eyes fixed on the towering flames consuming the Spire, and asked bluntly, "Was that your doing?"
"Tch, nothing gets past you."
Rhaegar clicked his tongue, playfully biting little Aemond's chubby cheek before answering truthfully. "Otto started the fire. I just helped fan the flames."
"Really?"
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly.
"As real as it gets." Rhaegar put on his most innocent expression.
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and warned, "The Hightower family is as powerful as any of the great houses. They're also Queen Alicent's maternal family. Don't act recklessly."
Westeros had laws protecting noble families.
No matter the crime, unless a house committed outright treason, even a king couldn't simply erase a noble bloodline.
Since assuming his position as crown prince, Rhaegar had already wiped out two ancient noble houses—House Bracken of the Riverlands and House Uller of Dorne.
While both had committed grave offenses and their extermination was justified, such actions still sent shockwaves through the noble circles, painting him with a ruthless reputation.
Throughout history, rebellious nobles had been countless, yet no great house had ever been wiped out entirely.
Rhaegar's repeated annihilation of entire bloodlines was enough to strike fear into anyone.
After some thought, Rhaenyra suggested, "The Spire has already suffered heavy losses from the fire. Let's leave for King's Landing tomorrow."
The Dornish rebellion was still ongoing, and the battlefield still needed House Hightower to contribute.
With Alicent stripped of her status as queen and Otto under control within the Small Council, House Hightower posed little threat.
To Rhaenyra, the most important thing was raising her children alongside Rhaegar and staying by their father's side.
Rhaegar lifted his eyelids slightly, considering the situation before making his decision. "Alright. Tomorrow, everything will become clear."
House Hightower had deep roots—it wouldn't fall so easily.
He had made several preparations, which should be enough.
...
The next morning.
The island at the heart of the lake, where the Sky-Piercing Tower stood, had turned into scorched earth. The once-white tower was now blackened by the fire that had raged through the night.
Rhaegar and Rhaenyra arrived on dragonback.
They arrived just in time to see the guards clearing the entrance of the tower, carrying out charred corpses on stretchers.
"Hiss—screech..."
A sharp cry drew the attention of those present.
Sunfyre and Sheepstealer arrived late, carrying two Targaryen boys who had hurried to the scene.
Aegon looked completely bewildered, glancing around at the stone tower, now reduced to ruins.
He had just spent the night taking Aemond to the brothels—had his mother's family estate really burned to the ground in that time?
Aemond was even more stunned. His one remaining eye widened in shock as he jumped off his dragon and ran toward the tower.
"Aemond, don't be reckless!"
Rhaegar was already standing in front of the tower, reaching out to stop him.
At that moment, two knights clad in armor emerged with sorrowful expressions, carrying a stretcher.
A white cloth covered the body on the stretcher, but a charred, coal-blackened arm hung limply over the side.
Rhaegar held Aemond back, watching as the stretcher passed before them.
A melted and solidified lump of gold clung to the corpse's thumb, encasing an emerald gemstone.
Both brothers recognized it instantly.
It was the emerald signet ring that Ser Mont Hightower often wore.
"Brother..."
Aemond muttered blankly.
"Yeah," Rhaegar murmured beside him.
"It's over now."
Aemond dropped his head in despair and shook it.
"Father... wuuuu..."
Amid their conversation, a panicked wail suddenly rang out—a child's cries.
A young boy, not much older than a toddler, emerged from the tower under the protection of the knights, sobbing.
Mont's only son, Leonor Hightower.
(End of Chapter)