"Scraaaah—"
Atop the towering summit of Dragon Mountain, a colossal dragon as black as coal raised its head and let out a thunderous roar, its powerful body trembling as it spread its expansive wings.
With a mighty flap, the dragon dove downward, its green, slit-shaped pupils locking onto the clearing below.
Rhaegar stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his black robe billowing sharply in the wind.
A few meters behind him, a group of bastards dressed in coarse linen huddled together, their expressions mixed as they sought comfort in numbers.
"Scraaaah..."
The gluttonous dragon circled the sky once before folding its wings, descending with a deafening crash onto the earth below.
In an instant, shards of rock exploded, and a cloud of dust rose into the air.
The dragon let out a low growl, using its wings to steady itself as it straightened its massive frame, the savage head obscuring its rider from view.
"Good boy."
Rhaegar chuckled softly, reaching out to rub the dragon's cold, steel-like black scales.
He slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the dozen or so bastards as he spoke indifferently, "Do any of you want a dragon?"
Woosh!
The bastards' breaths hitched, their eyes locked tightly on the massive, mountain-like creature. Desire practically radiated from them.
A dragon!
For bastards born to fishermen or shepherds, it was nothing less than a key to power and wealth.
Usually, this key was something they could only dream of from afar, never within reach.
They didn't even have the right to touch it.
Rhaegar's expression remained calm as he waited for someone to step forward.
Since Tormund had brought these bastards here, they were well aware of what was about to happen.
Sure enough, the first bold soul soon emerged.
"Your Highness, I want a dragon!"
From the crowd, a towering man over two meters tall with broad shoulders and silver hair shoved others aside and strode forward confidently.
The man's face was youthful, his muscular, hammer-scarred arms exposed and formidable.
Rhaegar glanced at him briefly and asked, "What's your name?"
The man knelt respectfully on one knee, his voice rough. "I am Shuv Vyswater, a humble blacksmith from the town."
Rhaegar nodded slightly and turned his gaze back to the group of bastards. "Is he the only one who wants a dragon?"
"Me too!"
A lean man with golden-silver curls shouted as he forced his way through the crowd, his unkempt beard doing little to conceal his desperation.
With him was another pale-haired young man, unsteady on his feet.
Rhaegar studied them briefly and asked for their names.
The wiry man knelt, lifting his somewhat handsome face, and spoke excitedly, "Your Highness, I am Trystan Vyswater. I fought in the Second Stepstones War."
As he spoke, he struck his uneven left leg to emphasize his point. "I got this injury fighting pirate forces from the Three Daughters."
Rhaegar examined him closely, his brows furrowing slightly.
The man was gaunt, reeked of alcohol, and was missing the ring and pinky fingers on his left hand and the pinky on his right. He hardly looked respectable.
Tormund whispered, "A chronic gambler—lost his fingers over debts. He did show bravery on the battlefield, though."
Rhaegar nodded and turned to the pale-haired young man.
"Your Highness, I am Ulf. I also fought in the Second Stepstones War."
The pale-haired man was visibly nervous, swallowing hard as he stammered through his introduction.
Tormund added quietly, "A drunkard who went to war purely for the money."
Rhaegar understood without prejudice.
Regardless of the bastards' character, as long as they could capture the wild dragon Mogul, he would reward them handsomely.
He swept his gaze over the group, then spoke solemnly, "I'm sure you've heard the rumors—our kingdom is about to go to war with the Three Daughters again."
The bastards exchanged glances, unsure whether to respond.
Rhaegar continued without concern, his voice ringing out. "There's an unclaimed Targaryen dragon in Lys. Your task is to capture it and bring it to me!"
If the Three Daughters wanted a "Crimson Harvest," then he'd plant some bastards with noble blood into the mix—bastards who also had a chance of taming Mogul.
After all, the Valyrian descendants of the Three Daughters weren't much different from these bastards.
At least these bastards had some loyalty to the Targaryens, who had once provided them protection and resources.
If they succeeded, they would receive titles and lands.
Rhaegar only needed to wait and see whether any of them returned with a dragon to claim their reward.
There was just one condition: the moment the dragon landed in Westeros, it would be confined to the dragon pit.
The mere possibility of taming a dragon, combined with promises of gold and silver, made the bastards' eyes blaze with fervor.
Not just Shuv and his two companions—every single bastard knelt eagerly, volunteering for the mission to Lys.
Their lives were cheap, and they didn't fear death.
Whoever tamed a dragon would rise to greatness overnight.
It was a gamble worth taking!
Rhaegar's lips curled into a faint smile as he gestured for Tormund to make arrangements. He then climbed onto the dragon's back via a soft ladder.
"Scraaaah..."
The dragon lifted its head and roared, its massive black wings spanning hundreds of meters as it leaped into the sky.
Before the bastards, it perfectly embodied the majesty of a true dragon.
Three days passed in a flash.
The Stepstones, Grey Gallows Island.
"Scraaaah..."
A dragon's roar, loud as a bell, echoed across the entire island.
A massive black dragon soared through the sky, diving down to unleash a torrent of ghostly green flames.
"Dragonfire!"
At the boy's command, the flames poured forth, painting the sky with vivid strokes.
Beneath the blaze, a dozen pirate ships bearing the banners of the Three Daughters were consumed in an instant, green fire raging across their decks.
On the beach, pirates who had landed in advance charged toward the island.
Fortunately, the island had watchtowers and rows of chevaux de frise, which temporarily held back the onslaught under a hail of arrows.
"Dragonfire!"
Rhaegar, mounted on the dragon, gave another cold command.
"Scraaaah..."
The black dragon wheeled around, diving headfirst toward dozens of scorpion bolt launchers.
A single blast of dragonfire turned the iron bolts into molten slag.
A few steel bolts escaped the flames, clanging against the dragon's black scales and bouncing off harmlessly without leaving a mark.
The ghostly green flames swept over the pirate ships, consuming both the scorpions and the pirates manning them.
The dragon's thick tail smashed through a ship's mast, sending it crashing into the sea with a towering wave.
Rising sharply into the sky, the dragon swooped over the beach, unleashing another torrent of green fire to annihilate the remaining enemies.
After a while, they began to clean up the battlefield.
The Glutton descended onto the beach, and Rhaegar sat atop the dragon's back, overlooking the soldiers busily working below.
Robb, clad in silver-gray armor, approached.
Rhaegar asked, "How many men do we have left?"
"Less than five hundred across both major islands," Robb replied grimly.
If not for the crown prince and the Glutton, there was no way such a small force could have withstood wave after wave of attacks from the Three Daughters.
Rhaegar exhaled and said, "No matter. Daemon is raiding Tyrosh, and Lord Corlys is leading the main fleet to strike Lys. We'll have our answer soon enough."
"Let's hope so," Robb said with a firm nod before turning to command the nearby soldiers to move the bodies.
Lys.
The city-state was dominated by white and gray stone buildings, with numerous watchtowers scattered throughout, standing guard vigilantly.
On the western side of the port, a grand arena had been temporarily modified with a domed roof, its bronze gates shut tight.
Inside, however, was a different world.
In the dimly lit, enclosed space, more than a dozen fire pits flickered, casting eerie shadows. Not a single whisper of wind penetrated.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the chamber, sending waves of scorching heat mixed with the pungent stench of sulfur.
At the far end of the space, a massive creature nearly sixty meters long lay sprawled on the stone floor. Its enormous head drooped against the ground, nostrils flaring with heavy breaths.
The beast's body was covered in silver-black scales, its wings shrouded in a misty gray membrane…
And at its front, a massive dragon head adorned with interlocking fangs, a thick tail missing part of its tip, and a pair of robust, backward-curving gray-white horns crowning its skull.
The dragon's head was unnaturally large, densely covered in scales, with jagged protrusions along its lower jaw.
Its terrifying maw, lined with razor-sharp teeth, opened and closed like a massive guillotine, capable of crushing rock and steel alike.
But the enormous silver-black dragon was bound by countless chains.
Shackles gripped its neck and limbs, with chains as thick as a man's arm anchored into the ground. No matter how the dragon struggled, it could not break free.
"Mogul, submit to my command."
A middle-aged man with silver hair trembled as he spoke, cautiously approaching the bound dragon. His back was hunched, his every step deliberate.
In his hands, he held a goat on a leash.
Perhaps he hoped to gain the dragon's favor with an offering before attempting to tame it.
Mogul kept its eyes shut, lying motionless on the ground, ignoring everything around it.
"Good dragon… let me touch you…"
The silver-haired man edged closer, and when the wild dragon remained still, he allowed himself a small smile.
"Meh~"
The goat bleated nervously, scampering back and forth in panic.
"Quiet, you stupid beast!" The silver-haired man flinched and scolded the goat.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him, and the air around him grew unbearably hot.
The silver-haired man froze in place, too terrified even to release the goat and flee. He trembled as he slowly lifted his gaze.
A massive silver-black dragon head hovered above him, its pitch-black slit pupils gazing down indifferently. The beast let out a deep, rumbling breath.
Then—
"Hisss-Gah!!"
The dragon's fanged maw stretched open to its limit, and in the next instant, swirling gray-black flames erupted forth, engulfing the would-be dragon tamer.
Even the terrified goat, which had managed to bolt nearly a hundred meters away, was caught in the inferno, reduced to a charred skeleton.
Mogul let out a low growl and shook its head in irritation, causing the chains wrapped around its body to rattle loudly.
"Such a fierce wild dragon!"
At the entrance of the building, a man and a woman watched the scene unfold, protected by a dozen mercenaries.
The man had dark hair and tanned skin, his rugged features exuding both ferocity and cunning.
Lys' governor—Bambaro Bazain.
Bambaro's expression darkened. "Bring in the next dragon tamer."
A mercenary stepped away, returning shortly with a frail boy with short silver-gold hair.
The boy trembled as he clutched a fresh fish in his hands, his voice thick with gratitude as he stumbled toward the depths of the chamber.
The only woman present turned her head aside and murmured, "Just another snack for the dragon."
She was an enchanting beauty, her curvaceous figure draped in a silk robe that concealed her exquisite form.
Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down to her waist, her fair skin radiant like snow, and her features bore an elegant and pure charm.
Bambaro chuckled. "I never thought the Black Swan had such a soft heart."
Johanna cast him a sidelong glance and said coolly, "The Iron Throne's fleet has split into two forces. The formidable Velaryon fleet is heading straight for Lys—you should be thinking of countermeasures."
Bambaro's gaze turned ruthless as he said in a grave tone, "The city is fortified with scorpion ballistae, and a hundred warships are gathered in the harbor. I've borrowed an enormous sum from the Iron Bank—I must tame that wild dragon!"
He had already paid a steep price to secure control of a dragon.
Seeing that persuasion was useless, Johanna smiled faintly and said, "I'm returning to the Perfume Gardens. The Triarch of Volantis is still waiting for my reception."
"Fine," Bambaro said absentmindedly, waving a dismissive hand.
Johanna curtsied gracefully and strode elegantly out of the building.
Boom—
The bronze doors slammed shut behind her, and faintly, the agonized screams of a young boy echoed from within.
Johanna shook her head lightly and stepped into a luxurious carriage.
Inside, a scantily clad, breathtakingly beautiful woman knelt on the floor, keeping her head bowed.
Johanna reclined lazily against the cushioned seat, idly twirling a black and a white rose between her fingers. She murmured, "Can we get in touch with Dragonstone?"
Johanna Swann.
Before the First Stepstones War, she was kidnapped by pirates.
Her uncle, Lord Swann, refused to pay her ransom, and she was eventually sold into a Lysene pleasure house.
With her beauty and intelligence, she maneuvered through the upper echelons of Lys' society, seizing real power over the city-state.
She was known as "The Black Swan."
Support me by leaving a comment, voting, and visiting my Patreon at belamy20
Support my new story:
Fairy Tail: My Contract System Starts with Erza
Roger never expected to wake up in the world of Fairy Tail. But with him came a mysterious system—one that lets him forge magical contracts with others and share in their powers.
His first contract is with Erza Scarlet, unlocking both Requip and Enchantment Magic. From there, every battle, every ally, and every contract brings him closer to becoming a legend. Magical tools drop from fallen enemies, ranging from bizarre to game-changing—like a pipe that forces the truth from liars, or a crystal ball that blurts out everyone's secrets.
With each contract, his partners grow stronger—and so does he. Lucy unlocks her Star Dress early, turning into a one-woman army. Mirajane consumes endless demonic power to fight gods themselves. Natsu wields both Dragon Slayer flames and God Slayer magic. And Erza… becomes the true Sword Saint of Fairy Tail.
While the guild sees Roger as a comrade, the Magic Council knows him as something far greater—the rising All-Magic King, the hidden hand guiding Fairy Tail's destiny.
A tale of contracts, bonds, and power begins here—starting with Erza.
pat-reon : belamy20