Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 453: Oldtown Should Fend For Itself

Rhaegar tied back his long hair and reminded them, "Without my help, you'll have to get involved."

His men had very little experience with magic. Tru was in Oldtown, and it was hard to discern loyalties in Lys.

Aemond was the first to raise his hand, saying enthusiastically, "I'll do it. Dorne should remember blood and fire." Dorne was his greatest enemy, and he had paid the price of an eye for it.

Helaena raised her hand silently, avoiding the sight of the corpses.

Aegon glanced at his siblings and smiled as he stepped forward. How could he miss out on such an opportunity?

Daemon and Rhaenys exchanged a glance, nodding in agreement. They recognized that the battlefield in Dorne was not under their control, and their nephew's request carried more weight than any reprimand from Viserys. Besides, Dorne needed a lesson.

Rhaegar nodded with satisfaction as he looked around. "Very good. In the next few months, let Dorne feel the full aftereffects of the Dragon's Wroth."

At his command, a large number of corpses were transported into the city. Rhaegar shared the Dragonstone Spell with them, enlightening each one to feel the magic in their blood.

The idea of teaching this magic had been around for a long time, but it had been delayed for various reasons. Conquering Dorne presented the perfect opportunity.

The Targaryens had never been so united, transforming into a full-fledged Dragonlord House. How can a Dragonlord who doesn't know the ways of a bloodmage be called a Dragonlord?

...

Yronwood, a Month Later

Time had flown by, and Yronwood, once a bustling city, was now a desolate wasteland covered in rubble and corpses. At first glance, it resembled a vision of hell.

Outside the crumbled city walls, a large number of soldiers from The Reach gathered to guard a camp that stretched for miles along the Boneway.

"Roar..."

"Roar..."

On this day, six dragons flew out of the camp, chasing each other and snorting. The black wings covered the sky, the scarlet dragon was as fast as lightning, and the pale blue scales blended into the blue sky. Among them, an ugly mud dragon stood out against the backdrop of the other magnificent and fierce dragons. It was unmistakably unique.

The dragons slowly descended, resembling six mountains of different sizes taking root.

Six figures in red robes stepped down from the backs of the dragons and gathered together. One of them removed his hood, revealing a delicate, paper-pale face.

Rhaegar, in his Dragonborn form with a horn protruding from his forehead, took out a glass candle as he always did.

"It's been almost a month since the first round of Dragon's Wroth ended. It's time to give the people of Dorne some memories," he said, inserting the Truefyre at his waist into the ground. The red heart of flame at the end of his sword's hilt glowed in unison with the glass candle.

"Let's get started," Daemon said impatiently, removing his hood, his eyes full of curiosity. He had learned the binding spell early on and didn't want his nephew to know more. Dragonstone was a strategic-level blood magic.

Rhaegar's expression was indifferent. He took one last look at Yronwood and said to himself, "Next time we meet, we'll call it the Dragonlord Altar."

He placed the glass candle at his feet.

Pop! The glass wick of the candle emitted a flame, swaying in a strange arc. As if receiving a signal, the dragons became instantly restless.

"Roar!" Cannibal's green pupils were menacing as it soared into the sky, spitting Dragonfire at the ruined town. The other five dragons followed suit, hovering over the ruins and spewing Dragonfire in unison.

Boom! Boom! Wood and oil had been placed in the ruins beforehand, and after detonation, the fire intensified. In the blink of an eye, the entire ruined town was engulfed in flames again, repeating the tragedy of the dragons burning the city.

Rhaegar's eyes shone brightly as he silently recited a strange incantation. Daemon and the others did not hesitate, gathering together to chant after him.

From a high vantage point, the six of them looked less like the royal family of the Targaryens and more like a group of red sorcerers from beyond the Narrow Sea.

A magical scene unfolded. As the incantation was spoken, the stone lit by the Dragonfire melted into a liquid, engulfing the remains of the Dornish nobles and knights that had piled up, solidifying into black Dragonstone. Wherever the Cannibal passed, the dark green Dragonfire engulfed everything, and the materials changed in composition at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Truefyre was planted diagonally in the ground, and the fiery red heart at the end of its tail absorbed the fire magic, causing the flames to grow. The glass candle glowed with a rainbow of colors.

Before they knew it, the sky darkened. The pungent smell of ashes filled the air, and the scorching wind blew. Rhaegar remained calm, using his abundant fire magic to control the formation of the black Dragonstone.

The fire spread, engulfing the entire town. Gradually, it became night. The fire illuminated the darkness, and the smell of sulfur spread for miles.

...

Seven Days and Nights Later

The weather was clear, and clouds drifted lazily across the sky.

At the exit of the Boneway, the once-majestic city of Yronwood had transformed into something out of a dream.

"Roar!"

A black dragon soared through the sky, circling around a conspicuous coal-black mountain. Behind it, several dragons of various colors followed, surrounding the "coal mountain."

It was a towering, steep, grotesque peak. Black and ominous, it stood alone in the desert, its shape resembling a crouching dragon, its surface covered with rough black stone that looked like obsidian scales. At the base of the mountain were the remnants of the original castle, now dwarfed by the towering formation that reached a height of 1,500 feet. At the top, a dragon-like neck stretched out, topped by a ferocious dragon head.

At that moment, the black dragon slowed down, flapped its wings, and landed, gripping the steep mountain with its hind legs. The dragon's neck stretched out, and its head rested just above the black stone dragon's head.

"Cannibal, you're blocking the view," Rhaegar smiled, sitting on the edge of the Blackstone Dragon's snout, the cool wind whistling around him.

Helaena, wrapped in her loose red robe, lay sleeping on her brother's lap. Aemond, full of envy, leaned back against Rhaegar, taking out his dagger and showing it off to Aegon, who looked down on him with contempt. Daemon and Rhaenys, the elders, dodged the sudden downward pressure of the Cannibal and stood on the horned throne, looking down.

"It's like a miracle, if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes," Rhaenys said, still in a daze, unable to recover from the shock of shaping a giant mountain.

Rhaegar pinched Helaena's cheek and said with a smile, "Compared to building a castle, a Dragon Mountain is much simpler. All you need to do is prepare the supplies, and you don't have to worry about planning."

"Roar..." A shrill neighing came from the mountainside. Caraxes's snake-like neck stretched out as it slowly crawled out of a cave. All over the mountain, large and small holes were exposed, forming a natural dragon's lair. From the outside, it looked like a giant black dragon had fallen to earth and turned into a giant peak to feed its offspring.

In both substance and appearance, it far surpassed the Dragonpit in King's Landing and the Dragon's Lair on the Isle of Faces. It was a truly amazing work that transcended the ages.

Daemon's eyes lit up, and he mused, "This is just the tip of the iceberg of ancient Valyria. What a great place it must have been in its prime."

When he and Laena traveled around the Free Cities, he had delved into the libraries to read about the Dragonlords of ancient Valyria. Thousands of dragons, forty Dragonlord families. During the War of the Rhoyne, 300 dragons burned the Rhoyne, known as the "Mother River," to a cinder.

Rhaegar smiled and said, "The Targaryens will have magic from now on. As long as there are no problems within the family, Valyria's glory will be restored sooner or later."

It took the forty Dragonlord families thousands of years to conquer the western part of the continent of Essos. House Targaryen has no competitors, and now they have the entire continent of Westeros. All they need is stability and long-term development.

Daemon's smile was filled with ambition. "I can't wait to get started." After seeing the resources of the top Dragonlord family, his horizons had quickly broadened. A small Tyrosh no longer seemed as satisfying as it had at first.

As he spoke, a commotion erupted on the Dragon Mountain.

A messenger, sweating profusely, clung to the steep Blackstone Dragon's neck, his words laden with urgency: "Prince, news from Oldtown: Starfall and Blackmont are attacking the defenses of The Arbor, with the intention of striking Oldtown itself."

Rhaegar remained silent, glancing at Daemon.

Daemon, with a knowing smile, said nothing, his hands clasped in front of his chest as he observed the scene. His eyes lingered teasingly on his niece, wrapped up like a red caterpillar.

"Oldtown?" Before Rhaegar could respond, Aegon interjected, his face turning red with irritation. "We haven't overlooked Oldtown. What's the rush?"

The messenger looked embarrassed and replied, "The Castellan of Oldtown sent a message. Lord Ormund requests that the royal family destroy Starfall and Blackmont to ensure the safety of Oldtown."

Aegon, extremely irritated, retorted, "The war in Dorne is already chaotic, and my father hasn't even addressed it. Now Oldtown wants to complicate things?"

Rhaegar, surprised, thought to himself, "Has my brother finally grown a backbone?" Then he remembered Hightower's forced marriage to Aegon and understood his anger.

The messenger, frightened, fell silent.

Rhaegar waved his hand dismissively, "Go on. I will protect Oldtown if it comes to that."

Having personally burned Starfall and Blackmont, Rhaegar knew the reality. Oldtown would hold out for a while longer. He would intervene at the crucial moment.

The relieved messenger descended the mountain as if pardoned.

The first wave of Dragon's Wroth had swept across Dorne, and the crown prince had used the remains of the Dornish people to build a monstrous peak, darkening House Targaryen's reputation.

The name Rhaegar Targaryen was now known throughout Dorne, instilling fear and respect.

"Hmm..." Helaena, awakened by the noise, curled up and said, "Brother, the news of Dragon Mountain will spread back to Dorne."

Rhaegar tugged at her cheeks. "And?"

"You might be branded a cruel man," she mumbled, half-asleep.

Rhaegar laughed. "Dragon's Wroth was the conqueror's first act. Don't forget how many died in those flames of anger."

History is written by the victors. Maegor was called cruel not just for his insane behavior but because he lost his life. Rhaegar intended never to lose.

He patted Helaena's waist. "Wake up. The people of Dorne haven't learned their lesson and are ready for the second wave of Dragon's Wroth."

The gentleness in his tone contrasted sharply with his intentions.

Helaena shivered and quickly got up.

Rhaenys interrupted, "What about Oldtown? Lord Ormund has already asked for help."

"I will step in when the time comes," Rhaegar replied, revealing his plan. "My father was attacked and is still recovering. Dorne hasn't paid enough."

He wanted to continue the killing until no one in Dorne could resist, until the mention of the Iron Throne made their knees weak.

"Let's go," Rhaegar commanded, riding on the Cannibal. "There have been movements in Boneway and Sunspear. If we don't act, resistance will burst forth like a spring."

Oldtown, you should fend for itself. Next time I visit, I'll settle some old

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