"Wormisol, do you want to fight me?"
The voice was calm, but the expression was arrogant.
Rhaegar sat atop the back of a pitch-black giant dragon, as if he were a dragon himself.
"Roar!"
Wormisol's vertical pupils glowed crimson as rage overtook him. His massive dragon head thrashed violently, trying to force its way forward.
Rhaegar smirked. "Then let's try it."
"Roar..."
The slumbering beast was disturbed—the dragon-devouring species had entered the lair.
Wormisol nearly lost all reason. His massive body slammed against the cavern walls, radiating an ever-increasing heat.
The Glutton lifted its head high, its green vertical pupils filled with a human-like contempt, waiting patiently for its defeated prey to break free from the terrain.
The cavern it occupied was connected to Wormisol's sleeping chamber by a tunnel.
This tunnel was meant for human passage, not for a dragon of Wormisol's massive size.
The Glutton had only reached this place because, in the past, it had sneaked through Dragon Mountain to steal dragon eggs, learning every corner of its layout.
Boom!
Wormisol let out a furious roar and forced his thick neck through the tunnel. His broad shoulders and wings, however, were stuck at the entrance.
The entire cavern trembled violently, as if celebrating the enraged dragon's impending escape.
The Glutton exhaled a searing breath, a flash of cunning satisfaction flickering through its green eyes.
"Hiss-gah—"
With claws digging into the ground, the shadow of the black dragon shot forward in an instant, its saliva-dripping maw opening wide to bite down viciously.
Rip—
Scales shattered, flesh tore apart.
Wormisol let out a pained scream as the Glutton's fangs sank deep into his thick neck. He thrashed in a mix of shock and fury.
How dare it ambush me?!
"Hiss-gah—!"
The Glutton screeched excitedly, pressing one hind claw firmly onto Wormisol's head, relishing the hard-won feast.
At this moment, its mind—consumed by brutal instinct—was filled with nothing but pride and satisfaction.
Allowing Wormisol's head to emerge from the tunnel had been a calculated move—it was convinced of its inevitable victory.
Attacking the moment Wormisol squeezed through? That was just teaching him a lesson in deception.
After all, it was a wild dragon!
Everyone knew that wild dragons would do anything to survive.
"Roar..."
Wormisol was quickly overpowered. A chunk of flesh was missing from his neck, and in retaliation, he spewed a blast of scorching dragonfire.
Sizzle—
The Glutton didn't dodge. It let the flames scorch its hind leg, the pain only fueling its insatiable hunting instincts.
With a thought, its killing intent surged.
It pressed its entire body against the cavern wall, sinking a sharp claw into the rock. One wing spread upward, the other downward—
A high-difficulty, inverted climbing position.
With one hind claw and two wings supporting it, the Glutton lifted its head, swallowing the torn flesh in its maw while ruthlessly stomping its burned foot down.
Boom!
As Wormisol finished breathing fire, the Glutton's obsidian claws came crashing down onto his skull, stunning him for a brief moment.
"Hiss-gah—!"
One hit landed—so the Glutton grew even more arrogant, fully embracing the role of a monstrous villain.
Its hind claws stomped down again and again, each strike heavier than the last.
Wormisol had nowhere to escape. Trapped in the tunnel, he could only endure the relentless trampling, letting out furious but helpless roars.
Behind the two battling dragons, a gray figure crouched low, trembling as it watched the merciless scene unfold.
Those massive claws were relentlessly slamming onto Wormisol's head.
If it had been in his place—if it hadn't been an adult dragon with unparalleled resilience and defense—its skull might have been flattened from the first strike.
"Hiss-gah—!"
The Glutton threw its head back in a triumphant roar. Dragon blood stained its snout, making its already terrifying visage even more sinister.
"Easy, old friend," Rhaegar said calmly, watching the one-sided slaughter unfold.
He had to remember his objective.
A young wild dragon lost in the outside world.
"ROAR!!"
Wormisol frantically shook his head, trying to evade the relentless stomping. He gathered more flames in his throat and unleashed another breath of dragonfire.
In an instant, the entire cavern was bathed in a dazzling golden light.
Molten fire splattered chaotically—not only striking the Glutton, but nearly hitting Rhaegar as well.
Rhaegar leaned backward just in time, the flames brushing past his hair and igniting a small golden ember.
"Damn it!"
Now half-suspended in midair, Rhaegar's expression shifted. "Come on, put in some effort! Did the Dragon Guards not feed you enough cattle and sheep?"
"Hiss-gah—"
The Glutton froze for a second, then bristled with defiant energy. It opened its maw to bite again.
Did this foolish rider think it wasn't being ruthless enough?!
Absurd!
Rhaegar sensed its irritation and rolled his eyes.
At first, he had thought that Wormisol, in his rage, would put up a thrilling, hard-fought battle.
But in reality, he was just a big, brainless brute.
Easily toyed with by the cunning and vicious Glutton.
Rhaegar had even prepared his dragon whip in anticipation.
Just as that thought crossed his mind—something shifted.
The Glutton lunged for another bite, but this time, Wormisol fought back with all his strength, stretching his long neck in an attempt to counterattack.
Boom!
The Glutton wasn't about to let that happen. It instantly spewed forth a blast of eerie green dragonfire.
"ROAR!"
Wormisol missed his bite and let out a chilling, rage-filled howl.
And then—something unexpected happened.
Wormisol suddenly started using his brain.
Taking advantage of the moment when the Glutton exhaled its fire, he endured the searing pain and quickly yanked his trapped neck out of the tunnel.
He had escaped.
Rhaegar's eyes widened slightly. "Glutton, your opponent fled."
"Hiss-gah—"
The Glutton wasn't willing to give up so easily. It continued breathing dragonfire, aiming at the narrow tunnel.
As the flames licked the rock, the surrounding stone began to warp and melt.
In mere moments, the walls had transformed into molten lava, rapidly expanding into a spacious, fiery corridor.
After a brief moment, the magma solidified into form.
The green-eyed Glutton crawled forward slowly but resolutely, step by step.
Thud!
Thud-thud!!
Its hooked dragon claws dug into the ground, crushing the still-forming ash crust and splashing bright yellow magma droplets.
The scorching heat seared its black scales, creating an ear-piercing sizzling sound.
Rhaegar sat upright on the dragon's back, faint wisps of white smoke curling into the air around him.
The Glutton's reinforced scales, as tough as Valyrian steel, were highly resistant to heat.
Meanwhile, waves of intense heat surrounded them from all directions.
Rhaegar's expression remained unchanged as he simply tied back his silver-gold hair and held his breath slightly.
In such high-temperature environments, the air was practically a vacuum.
Even if breathing was possible, it would only draw in harmful substances.
The Glutton crawled forward at a steady pace, its vertical pupils fixed on the dimly lit cavern at the end of the tunnel.
Rhaegar's body moved rhythmically with the dragon's motions, the dragon whip resting at his knees.
One man, one dragon — fearless.
---
High Tide Island.
High Tide City, Nine-Walled Hall.
Rhaenys stood calmly with her arms crossed, leaning against the wine cabinet, her gaze fixed on the opposite side of the hall.
"That's the situation," she stated plainly.
"Is it true?"
"Ninety percent certain."
Daemon, frowning, sat hunched in a chair, his head tilted as he conversed with a scout.
The scout, face tense, whispered his report: "There's a dragon in the Smoking Sea. Valyrian explorers saw it."
"Got it," Daemon said irritably, pulling a pouch of gold dragons from his sleeve and handing it over.
Catching the pouch, the scout withdrew from the hall.
"A new wild dragon has appeared?"
Rhaenys raised an intrigued eyebrow, her curiosity subtle yet evident.
Daemon gave a slight nod, his expression grim. "A wild blue hatchling. No idea where it came from."
Hearing this, Rhaenys contemplated aloud, "A hatchling could be a big deal or nothing at all. Best report it to the royal family immediately."
She almost said report it to Rhaegar but changed her words to "the royal family" to avoid provoking her thin-skinned cousin.
Daemon raised an eyebrow, a barely perceptible flicker of dissatisfaction in his eyes.
The so-called royal family.
His brother lay bedridden, and Rhaenyra was merely a woman.
In the end, everything still fell to his capable nephew.
Their conversation was interrupted by a third voice.
"Prince Rhaegar is currently on Dragonstone. He should handle this matter."
Daemon turned to look at the Driftwood Throne inside the Nine-Walled Hall.
The Sea Snake sat stiffly, his expression solemn. "The last time a wild dragon appeared in the Smoking Sea, it triggered a war between the realm and the Three Daughters."
"This time, we can't let another wild dragon fall into foreign hands and provoke the royal family's fragile nerves."
Deep down, he was weary of war and unwilling to bear further losses.
Rhaenys glanced sideways at her husband and explained to Daemon, "House Velaryon has already sacrificed too much. We need peace to recover."
Men always spoke in circles, never straightforward.
Why couldn't they just say what they meant?
Daemon chuckled dryly. "I'll report it. Rhaegar has to know about this."
He had sent scouts to the Smoking Sea primarily to search for medicinal stones to treat his brother's mental affliction.
Guided by an ancestral Targaryen map shared by his nephew, over a dozen exploration teams had ventured into the Smoking Sea.
Unexpectedly, they not only found clues about the medicinal stones but also news of a hatchling dragon.
Daemon's thoughts drifted to a courtyard in Tyrosh, where he seemed to see his former lover, Mysaria.
That woman, born a dancer, lowborn and filthy—yet beneath that beautiful face lay a shrewd and cunning mind.
After her miscarriage, there had been a long period of estrangement between them.
Mysaria had left him, claiming she felt unsafe with the reckless prince.
To put it bluntly, a whore had dumped him.
She had hidden in Flea Bottom's brothels, surviving by trading information and once maintaining close ties with Otto Hightower.
When Daemon captured Tyrosh, needing someone akin to a master of whispers, he sent for Mysaria.
Predictably, the two old lovers rekindled their relationship.
In an instant, countless memories flashed through Daemon's mind.
His brother, who had longed desperately for a son; his nephew, about to ascend the throne; Laena, who had nearly died in childbirth...
Finally, his thoughts settled on the pale-skinned Mysaria.
On a certain night sixteen years ago, that woman had angrily called him a coward, accusing him of fearing his brother, who sat on the Iron Throne, and causing their son's miscarriage.
Lost in thought, Daemon subtly covered his mouth with one large hand and let out an almost imperceptible sigh.
"I need a son. I'm sorry," he muttered quietly to himself.
Lowering his head, he whispered, "Rhaenyra reclaimed that dragon egg — so I'll capture a hatchling."
A flicker of dark emotion flashed in Daemon's eyes, as if harboring resentment over his perceived mistreatment.
Both dragon eggs and hatchlings remained firmly under the control of the royal family.
The two daughters' dragon eggs still recognized their adoptive mother and relied on Rhaenyra's charity.
He was convinced that he would have a son.
He didn't need gifts from the royal family; he would secure an unclaimed dragon for his future son through his own efforts.
"Go to Dragonstone a bit later," Daemon thought clearly to himself.
The good nephew's movements were unclear, and his trip to Dragonstone seemed rather peculiar.
There was definitely a hidden secret.
Coincidentally, he had a secret of his own now.