After fifteen days and nights of torment, the Laughing Lion finally entered the land abandoned by the gods.
The seawater boiled and churned without pause, releasing a pungent, sour-and-rotting stench.
Thick, unbroken pale mist rose from the Sea of Smoke, coiling around the hull and blotting out the light.
The air was scorching and heavy; every breath felt like swallowing hot sand.
"The Sea of Smoke..."
One sailor's teeth chattered, his face drained of color.
Deep in the mist, hulking shapes writhed in the pale gloom, like toppled spires or the bones of colossal beasts.
From time you'd hear shrill, bone-chilling cries echo from mist-shrouded islands, piercing your eardrums and fraying your nerves.
Guards' spears quivered in their hands; archers' fingers gripping bows were bloodless.
Even Scarface Lenned, whose gaze was normally cold and cruel, showed flickers of uneasy shadows in his eyes.
A few days later the plague struck.
Several sailors grew pale as drowned corpses, their skin flushed an eerie shrimp-red, lips swollen purple, eye sockets hollow, dark veins snaking under the skin.
They burned with fever, vomited, suffered endless diarrhea, reeking of sweet, steamed blood; despairing moans echoed in the hold.
"Throw them over!"
Gillian Lannister didn't glance at the horrifying scene before issuing the order.
The infected were cast into the boiling yellow-gray sea, swallowed by churning foam in a blink.
The crew dwindled; survivors looked on with numbness or the edge of madness.
Only Leon silently watched the numbers on his panel:
[Mana: +10...+15...+25...]
As he'd expected, the Valyrian Ruins brimmed with mana; its density far exceeded the outside world, a natural cradle for magical life. The deeper into the Sea of Smoke, the faster the numbers climbed!
On the tenth day the figure stabilized:
[Mana: 450/500]
At dawn on the eleventh day the anchor finally dropped onto a reef-studded shallows.
Gillian L-annister narrowed his eyes at the hazy shore and shattered the last of the crew's hopes: "Lower boats—make landfall!
As his feet touched the slick, scalding ash-brown "beach," Lenned could bear the fear no longer.
From the first step into the Sea of Smoke a giant hand had clutched Aedn000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 Dragon Road, paved by massive slabs, still displayed a divine craftsmanship that mocked the crumbling traces of later civilizations
Along the road, warped withered trees stabbed at the ashen sky; gray-veined marble ruins lay half-b
Only the stink of sulfur and ash hung in the1
Li Qian kept to the rear, cold eyes sweeping every direction, every step on a stretched nerve.
A trace of bloodline granted him sharp senses; he felt something moving in the mist, greedy eyes licking their backs, yet holding back.
He stayed alert; he was certain that if a grotesque monster burst from the forest he'd be the first to step back, using others as a shield.
Less than half a day in, Gillian and Lenned halted the party and ordered camp.
As expected, trouble struck.
While pitching camp, a Lhazarene slave vanished into mist at the edge of the Withers Woods.
A companion howled in Lhazaric, pleading for a search, but Gillian coldly refused.
Lenned edged closer, voice quavering: "Gillian, you feel them, right? They're following us—the things in the Withered Woods. They've been tailing us since we landed.
"They're either too few or too weak to strike,"
Gillian replied, blue eyes glinting with steady confidence.
Lenned's smile froze; inwardly he cursed Gillian's arrogance. Voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation, he said, "Sometimes I can't tell if you're one hundred percent confident or just shooting your mouth off. These guys are clearly sizing up their prey. Think about it—are these clever beasts wolves or lions? Can you swear you'll escape from their jaws?
"Is that right, Lenned? A pack of hungry beasts has the Marcher eagle wetting himself? Let me tell you, the treasures of Valyria are worth a little risk. If they're wolves, I'll roast them for dinner. If they're lions, I won't mind bringing home some premium pelts to my brother at Casterly Rock.
"Are you content to pick at scraps around the ruins? Don't you want to see Valyria itself—see what power could wipe out that mighty civilization in its prime? We might find fine weapons, maybe even a dragon egg, and become the talk of every tavern between the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities.
Lenned had no answer. He knew his strengths were on the battlefield or in the arena—steel and skill—not trading barbs with Gillian.
Still, Gillian's words stoked the hunger inside him.
Greed tugged at him, urging him toward Valyria's hoard.
Gold, gems, weapons—even dragon eggs—he wanted it all.
Night fell quickly, forcing the column to halt.
Gillian forbade campfires; any extra light might draw unwanted attention.
Yet barely had darkness settled before a piercing, inhuman shriek tore through the camp.
A sailor burned with a strange yellow flame; his flesh melted like wax, sizzling in the fire.
He rolled across the ground like a living torch, painting the tents in hellish light.
Gillian raced to the scene and bellowed, "Put it out—now!"
His order was drowned by the man's screams.
The sound was so terrible every soul there shivered.
No one dared approach; one of Gillian's bodyguards told him what had happened.
An old sailor, while pitching his tent, had suddenly burst into flames from the inside.
The story darkened Gillian's face.
Among the onlookers, Leon realized this resembled what had happened to Princess Aerea.
When the fire died, only a blackened husk lay smoking, stinking of roasted flesh.
Silence fell—then a rasp, hiss... came from the corpse.
Pop!
A red larva, thick as a baby's arm, pushed through the charred ribs.
Its slick skin bore a face twisted in silent weeping,
Below the face, four tiny limbs pawed at the bones, slurping greedily.
Then a second, a third—"Filth!"
Lenned's mind snapped at the sight; he drew his blade and hacked in fury.
Steel flashed, severing one larva; lava-thick scarlet pus sprayed out.
"Stay back, you idiot! Stop!" Gillian's warning came a moment too late.
Splashed by the blood, the larvae's wailing faces twisted into pure hatred.
They reared, their hiss rising to a glass-cutting shriek.
Just as Lenned felt a flicker of triumph—
Whoosh!
A volley of pale-yellow fire shot from the larvae's mouths, drenching his face.
"Ahhh—!!"
A second human torch writhed in the night.
He clawed at his cheeks, flesh blackening and peeling to bare white bone.
Staggering, he staggered toward the calm Gillian, pleading.
Guards hesitated, unable to help.
Gillian stepped back, eyes ice-blue: "Loose!"
Whir—thunk!
Arrows rained down, pinning the larvae and Lenned's charred body to the scorched earth.
The maggots twitched as their blood soaked the soil.
Unseen, a dozen tiny red motes rose and drifted to Leon, vanishing into his chest.
dragon spirit +140! Dragon bloodline purity 0.06%! Mana cap raised to 640. Current mana: 460/640
The icy prompt exploded inside him; Leon bit back a roar, nails digging into his palms.
Before the echoes died, another shift happened.
At a cold glance from Gillian, Lenned's guards were cut down from behind.
The bodies were dragged to the Withered Woods, burned, and left to the thirsty ground.
"Their lord is dead; they might take our ship," Gillian told the others.
His gaze swept the silent slaves and sailors, a wordless warning.
Leon stayed hidden, joy over the new dragon spirit mingling with curses for the Lannister.
This Lannister is ruthless, without scruples—Tywin couldn't have done it better.