Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 491 Cannibal: Do You Know the Value of a Wild Dragon?

"Vermithor, do you want to fight me?"

His voice was calm, his expression arrogant. Rhaegar sat on the back of the black dragon, as if he were a dragon himself.

"Roar!"

Vermithor's pupils turned red with rage. The dragon's head shook violently, pushing outward.

Rhaegar's lips curled up. “Then let's try it.”

"Roar..."

The dragon was awakened from its slumber, and Cannibal walked in into the nest. Vermithor was almost out of his mind, his huge body slamming into the cave, emitting rising heat.

Cannibal raised its head high, its green pupils betraying human-like contempt, waiting quietly for its defeated opponent to break through the terrain restrictions.

The cave where it was located was connected to Vermithor's sleeping cave by a tunnel. It was built for humans, not for a dragon of such enormous size. Cannibal was able to get here because it had previously explored every corner of Dragonmont in order to steal dragon eggs.

"Roar!"

Vermithor roared mightily, soon pushing its neck out of the tunnel, but its broad shoulders and wings remained stuck at the entrance. The entire cave shook violently, as if celebrating the angry dragon's escape. Cannibal let out a hot breath, its green eyes flashing with cunning satisfaction.

"Roar!"

The black dragon's shadow shot out, scratching the ground with its wings, and opened its mouth wide to bite.

Snap!

Scales cracked, flesh and blood flew. Vermithor let out a scream as its thick neck was bitten, shaking back and forth in shock and anger. How dare it attack me!

"Roar!"

Cannibal cried out in excitement, pressing one of its hind legs firmly down on Vermithor's dragon head, relishing the hard-won delicacy. At this moment, its mind was filled with thoughts of tyranny, pride, and arrogance.

Confident in its dominance, the Cannibal enjoyed the struggle of Vermithor. The neck that protruded from the tunnel was a lesson in the art of deception. It was a wild dragon! As we all know, wild dragons will do anything to survive.

"Roar..."

Vermithor was instantly subdued, with a piece of flesh missing from its neck. It spat out a mouthful of searing Dragonfire.

Zila—

Cannibal did not dodge or avoid the Dragonfire, allowing it to burn its hind legs. The pain only stimulated its desire to hunt. Anger rose within the Cannibal. It pressed its entire body against the outer wall of the tunnel, digging its sharp claws into the rock with one hind leg, while its wings spread out above and below, forming a difficult position for climbing upside down.

With one hind leg and both wings supporting it, Cannibal raised its head, swallowed the torn flesh, and stomped hard with its burnt hind leg.

Bang!

Vermithor's black claws slammed down on the dragon's head after a burst of Dragonfire, causing a momentary forced stun. Cannibal, now more rampant than ever, fully embraced its identity as a great evil dragon, lifting and dropping its hind legs with increasing force.

Vermithor had nowhere to go, emitting a low roar of helpless fury. However, its body was stuck in the tunnel, unable to fight back effectively.

Behind the two dragons, Grey Ghost crouched in fear, witnessing such a brutal scene. The big claws stomped on its head. Vermithor, as an adult dragon, was incredibly strong and had unparalleled vitality and defense. If it were Grey Ghost, its head would have been flattened in the first blow.

"Roar!"

Cannibal raised its head and roared, dragon's hot blood dripping from its mouth, making its already terrifying appearance even more hideous.

“Calm down, old friend,” Rhaegar said calmly, watching the one-sided struggle between the two dragons. He had to remember his purpose: to find the young dragon that had been left to fend for itself in the wild.

"Roar!"

Vermithor's head whirled faster and faster, dodging the claws and spitting out a breath of Dragonfire. In an instant, the entire crypt was bathed in a dazzling golden light. The dragonfire splattered like molten lava, not only covering the Cannibal in flames but also nearly hitting the onlookers.

Rhaegar leaned back, and the Dragonfire passed by his hair, igniting a golden flame.

“Damn it!” Rhaegar's upper body was almost completely suspended in the air. He changed his expression and said, “Come on, didn't the dragon keepers feed you sheep and cattle?”

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Cannibal was stunned by the comment but then rose up with a spirit of defiance, opening its mouth wide to bite. It sensed Rhaegar's discontent, interpreting it as a challenge to bite harder.

Rhaegar sensed this emotion and turned his eyes away in disgust. He had expected a furious Vermithor and a thrilling battle, but it turned out to be a reckless dragon with a big body but no brains, being savagely ravaged by the insidious Cannibal.

He had his dragon whip ready. The thought alone caused a change in the situation.

Just as the Cannibal was about to sink its teeth into him, Vermithor lunged back, stretching its neck to try to bite back.

Boom!

Cannibal was no easy prey either, and a burst of dark green Dragonfire erupted.

"Roar!"

Vermithor let out a piercing cry of rage after missing its target. At this moment, something unexpected happened. Vermithor suddenly began to think. Taking advantage of the Cannibal's momentary distraction, it quickly pulled its neck out of the tunnel, despite the burning sensation of the maggot-like bone maggots. It successfully escaped.

Rhaegar glared slightly and reminded him, “Cannibal, the other one escaped.”

"Roar!"

Cannibal was not about to give up so easily. The Dragonfire continued to spew relentlessly, targeting the narrow tunnel. As soon as the Dragonfire touched it, the rock began to twist and deform. In just a few short breaths, the surrounding rock walls melted into magma, quickly expanding into a spacious furnace passage. After a short while, the magma solidified and took shape.

Cannibal's green pupils glowed faintly as it crawled forward slowly but surely.

Step! Tap, tap, tap!

The dragon's claws hooked the ground, crushing the gray layer that had not yet solidified completely, spilling out bright yellow magma. The high temperature scorched the black scales, emitting a shrill sizzling sound. Rhaegar sat on the dragon's back, wisps of white smoke drifting out.

The scales of the Cannibal were reinforced and as hard as Valyrian steel, with super high heat resistance. At the same time, the high temperature from all directions swirled around him. Rhaegar remained calm, only tucking his long silver-gold hair behind his head and holding his breath. In the high-temperature environment, the air was nearly a vacuum. Even if he could breathe, it would be full of harmful substances.

Cannibal crawled slowly, its pupils fixed on the tunnel's end, a dimly lit cave. Rhaegar's body undulated as he lowered his dragon whip to his knees. One man, one dragon, fearless.

...

Driftmark

High Tide, Hall of Nine

Rhaenys stood calmly, her arms resting on a wine cabinet as she stared across the lobby.

"That's the situation," she said.

"Is that true?" Daemon asked, frowning as he sat down in a chair, leaning over to talk to one of the scouts.

The scout, his face as stiff as a board, whispered his report, "Explorers from Volantis have seen dragons in the Smoking Sea."

"Okay, I know," Daemon said distractedly, pulling a bag of gold dragons from his sleeve and handing it over. The scout took the money and left the lobby.

"Another wild dragon has appeared?" Rhaenys asked, her eyebrows raising imperceptibly.

Daemon nodded slightly, his expression grim. "A wild blue baby dragon. I don't know where it hatched."

Rhaenys thought to herself, "The matter of the young dragon could be important. It's best to report it to the royal family immediately." She wanted to report it to Rhaegar, but for fear of offending her narrow-minded cousin, she changed it to the royal family.

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Daemon raised his eyebrows, a hint of dissatisfaction in his eyes. The royal family is full of problems. His brother was bedridden and Rhaenyra was only a woman. In the end, it would fall to his good nephew to take care of it.

During their conversation, a third voice interjected. "Prince Rhaegar is on Dragonstone right now. He should be handling this."

Daemon looked away toward the Driftwood Throne inside the Hall of Nine. The Sea Snake sat upright, his face solemn. "The last time a wild dragon from the Smoking Sea appeared, it triggered a war between the Kingdom and the Triarchy. This time, the wild dragon cannot fall into the hands of others and stir up the royal family's sensitive nerves."

Deep down, he already hated war. He didn't want to pay any more.

Rhaenys glanced at her husband and explained to Daemon, "house Velaryon has sacrificed too much and needs to recuperate."

His words are always so complicated. Why can't he just say what he means?

Daemon chuckled. "I'll report it. Rhaegar must know about this." He had sent out a myriad of spies to find a cure for his brother's damaged soul. Through the map of the Targaryen ancestral estate shared by his good nephew, more than a dozen exploration teams entered the Smoking Sea. Not only did they find traces of what they were looking for, but also news of a young dragon.

Daemon's thoughts drifted away to a courtyard in Tyrosh, where he seemed to see his paramour, Mysaria. That woman was born a dancer, lowly and dirty. But beneath that beautiful face was a heart of gold.

After Mysaria had an abortion, the two had a long period of estrangement. The reason was that Mysaria did not feel safe and abandoned Daemon, the Rogue Prince. To put it bluntly, a whore dumped him.

Mysaria lived in a brothel in Flea Bottom and made a living by selling information. She was once very close to Otto Hightower. When Daemon conquered Tyrosh, he needed someone like a Master of Whisperers and sent someone to find Mysaria. As expected, the old lovers who had not forgotten each other got back together.

Daemon thought of many things in an instant: his brother waiting for his son, his nephew about to ascend the throne, and Laena, who had nearly died in childbirth. Finally, the picture stopped on the pale skin of Mysaria. Sixteen years ago, on a certain night, that woman had accused him of being a coward, afraid of his brother sitting on the Iron Throne, which had caused the miscarriage of their son.

Daemon recalled the past, covering his mouth with his hand to hide a sigh. "I need a son. Sorry," he muttered to himself. "Rhaenyra has retrieved all the dragon eggs, so I will capture a baby dragon." A dark and uncertain light flashed in Daemon's eyes, as if he were complaining about the unfair treatment he had received.

The dragon eggs and the young dragons were all under the control of the royal family. The dragon eggs his two daughters received, were under the control of their foster mother, and the gift was only dependent on Rhaenyra's charity.

He was determined to have a son. He didn't need a gift from the royal family; he would have already saved a dragon for his son.

" I will go to Dragonstone later," Daemon thought clearly. His nephew's movements were unclear, and his behavior on Dragonstone was very strange. There must be a secret. Fortunately, he also had a secret.

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