"Your Grace, we beg you—please send those fire mages away!"
As soon as Viserys stepped out of Rhaella's chambers, the four Kingsguard dropped to one knee before him in unison.
"Ser knights, rise."
"Not unless Your Grace promises us!" they insisted, still kneeling stubbornly.
"Why must I drive them away?" Viserys asked calmly.
The question struck them like a blow to the chest. Gerold, already prepared to give his life, felt a cold weight settle over him. Was it truly time to correct a king's error with blood?
"Your Grace…" he began.
"I intend to kill them myself."
"Your Grace… what did you say?" Arthur blinked, stunned, as did the others. For a moment, they thought they had misheard.
Hadn't he been hesitating only moments ago? Why this sudden shift?
Viserys helped each of them to their feet, then quietly spoke his mind.
"I've thought it over. These fire mages are nothing but a plague upon the realm. Their use is outweighed by the danger they bring. Time and again, my ancestors were deceived by them, and yet the lesson was never learned."
"Your Grace…" The four of them looked at him, visibly moved.
"I will kill them with my own hand, to show you the strength of my resolve."
Hearing that, the Kingsguard's anxiety transformed into admiration and renewed purpose.
"Your Grace, allow us to handle such a minor task!" Arthur said, hand resting on his sword.
But Viserys shook his head.
"No, Ser Arthur. As king, I hold the right to pass judgment upon any man. But if I do not face death directly, if I do not look my condemned subjects in the eye and hear their last words, I fear I may one day lose respect for life itself.
If I am to order executions, I must at least have the courage to watch them die—and ensure my conscience is clean."
Those words left the Kingsguard awestruck.
To them, he was no longer just a king—he was the very ideal they had longed to serve.
If all their pain under Aerys, all the sorrow of losing Rhaegar, had been to lead them to this moment… then it was worth it.
…...
The waves crashed violently against the cliff face, roaring as white foam lashed upward like a hungry beast, waiting for something—anything—to fall.
Forty fire mages had been bound and hauled to the edge of the cliffs, suspended by ropes.
All Viserys needed to do was sever the lines, and they would drop into the sea below like a string of grapes falling from a vine.
Killing them one by one would have been far too troublesome.
Some of the fire mages had tried to shout curses or threats at the king in their final moments, but their mouths had already been gagged.
They had spent their brief time on Dragonstone plotting how best to gain the king's favor.
They believed their power over past Targaryen kings had come from one truth: their hunger for dragons.
They had planned to begin with the dragon eggs, to prove their worth and win Viserys's trust.
But this young king had no intention of listening. He'd simply ordered their mouths sealed.
Now, Viserys unsheathed his sword and cut the ropes.
The mages dropped like fruit from a tree, their bodies plummeting toward the jagged rocks and foaming sea.
Some bounced against the cliff face, some spun midair.
For an instant, the scene reminded Viserys of nature documentaries from his old world—lambs and rabbits snatched by eagles, carried high into the sky, then dropped to their deaths.
The white waves surged forward, swallowing the falling bodies whole. Within moments, there was no trace of them left.
The Kingsguard, watching in silence, finally gave approving nods.
"A pity the so-called High Priest of Flame wasn't among them," someone muttered.
In the original timeline, there had been a fire mage in King's Landing named Thoros of Myr.
Thoros had been the real deal. His resurrection magic had been potent—though whether it worked for all people remained a mystery.
System message appeared in Viserys's mind:
[Essences acquired: Apprentice Fire Mage x29, Fire Mage x8, Flame Sorcerer x3]
"Flame Sorcerer? That sounds powerful."
Viserys did not intend to store the essences. He fused them on the spot and gained six full Flame Sorcerer essences.
The moment he absorbed them, a strange sensation rippled through his body.
It felt as if a new sense had awakened—one he had never known before. Even with his eyes closed, he could now perceive things beyond the ordinary.
He slowly turned his head toward the castle—more precisely, toward the volcanic mountain of Dragonstone.
There, he could feel fire magic swirling, leaking into the air from the volcanic vents.
But the fire magic felt thin, too sparse to use effectively.
"Is this why, after Aegon III's time, Targaryen dragons stopped hatching? Has the fire magic of Dragonstone grown too weak?"
"Why did Daenerys's eggs hatch in fire, while Aegon V only brought tragedy at Summerhall?"
"If it's about sacrifice, didn't more people die at Summerhall than at Daenerys's pyre?"
The questions filled Viserys's mind, but there were no answers—not even in the memories of the fire mages he had consumed.
Still, he had gained something.
He now understood how to create wildfire.
To his surprise, one of the main ingredients was dragonglass—obsidian. Even more crucial than the ingredients, however, was the incantation itself.
With the knowledge from six sorcerers, Viserys believed he could now produce a more stable version of wildfire.
He had also learned basic fire magic.
He could now imbue weapons with flame.
Though the effect would not last long—because of the low ambient fire energy, he would need to draw heavily from his own reserves.
As for high-level spells like a "Flame Staircase," he was not yet capable.
Another peculiar thing—he now sensed a latent ability to see the future through fire.
But he dared not use it.
After the events surrounding Lyanna and Rhaella's childbirth, he had no doubt that hidden forces were at play.
And if such entities truly existed, then what he might see in the flames could just as easily be lies they wanted him to believe.
He had no intention of becoming another red priestess.
As he and the guards made their way back, a steward named Alaric approached, "Your Grace, emissaries from the Iron Bank have arrived requesting an audience."
"The Iron Bank?"
Viserys blinked in surprise.
He could not imagine why the Iron Bank of Braavos would come seeking him now.
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