"Hiss—Screech—"
The Devourer dived down, spewing dragonfire as it swept across several towering buildings.
Inside the towers, scorpion ballistae were lined up, their steel-tipped spears glinting with a cold light.
"Aim! Get yourselves together, damn it!"
The garrison officer roared at the trembling soldiers, urging them to mount and fire their ballistae.
Boom!
Before he could finish speaking, a torrent of eerie green dragonfire surged forward, engulfing a tower in flames. The structure snapped in half and collapsed in an instant.
"Oh lolo…"
With strange cries, Dothraki riders leaped over the molten remains of the city walls, brandishing their curved blades as they followed the pitch-black dragon into the city.
Any remaining defenders who dared to resist met a swift end—decapitated by flashing steel.
Their ferocity was savage, like true barbarian raiders.
"Advance! Capture the city's towers!"
The second squad of the Second Sons charged on horseback, with Robb shouting orders as they stormed through the streets.
Every city in the Three Daughters was fortified with dense ballista towers. In any siege, destroying the towers came first.
"Screech—"
More and more cavalry and infantry poured into the city, while four massive dragons split up and dived toward the inner walls, unleashing dragonfire upon tower after tower.
Rhaenys, clad in red armor, raised Dark Sister high, her mature face alight with exhilaration.
The Uncrowned Queen did not fear war.
"Dragonfire!"
Meraxes moved with incredible speed, a crimson streak darting across the city's skyline, releasing torrents of scarlet flames.
Vhagar and Sea Smoke attacked in the same fashion.
Before Myr's defenses could react, they unleashed devastation, shattering the city's defensive line with overwhelming force.
"Screech—"
Grey Ghost flapped its wings erratically, its vertical pupils scanning for movement below. Upon spotting people, it rained down massive fireballs of orange dragonfire, bombarding the city.
In mere moments, the combined flames of the five dragons had reduced a third of Myr's outer districts to ashes.
Rhaegar looked down, his violet eyes reflecting the burning towers armed with scorpion ballistae. His voice was cold and sharp:
"Devourer, dragonfire."
"Screech—"
The Devourer's emerald eyes burned with savage fury as it dived low over the inner city, unleashing a storm of eerie green dragonfire.
The cursed flames clung like a plague—devouring stone buildings and innocent civilians alike, turning everything into ghastly green fuel.
"Aaaah!!"
"Help me…"
The streets filled with screams of agony. Those unlucky enough to be touched by the dragonfire writhed in vain before succumbing to the flames.
With no distinction between target and bystander, the dragonfire turned the city into a living hell in an instant.
"Hahaha, the Black Dragon has returned…"
"The Breaker of Chains…"
Amid the emerald inferno, countless slaves broke free of their iron shackles, falling to their knees in frenzied worship of the pitch-black dragon.
Even after three years, they had never forgotten the black dragon and the silver-haired boy.
—The Breaker of Chains.
This was the title of salvation bestowed upon him by every slave in the Three Daughters.
"Screech—"
The Devourer swung its head wildly, green flames rolling from its maw like a thick mist, while its enormous black form soared unchallenged.
Inside a tall tower, soldiers scrambled in panic, struggling to aim their scorpion ballistae at the black dragon.
The next moment—
A massive, pitch-black wing swept across like a battering ram, smashing into the tower with a deafening boom. The structure crumbled, its spire shattered in two.
"No, no…"
Before they could fire a single shot, the tower shook violently. The stone above collapsed, burying the entire garrison under rubble.
"The Black Dragon has come…"
The long-oppressed slaves rushed into the streets, kneeling in reverence.
Some who witnessed the black dragon's wing shatter the tower cried out in awe:
"Deathwing!!"
"Deathwing…"
One voice called out, and soon, a chorus followed. Thousands of slaves raised their heads to gaze at the one-man, one-dragon figure with godlike reverence.
"Screech—"
The Devourer roared in fury, its right wing throbbing with pain. With a surge of rage, it charged toward another tower, its massive tail smashing the spire to pieces.
Its black wings spread wide, casting a long shadow as green flames rained down.
Rhaegar turned his head. Thousands of cavalry had flooded into the inner city, cutting down the garrison as they carried out a brutal massacre.
His gaze shifted again—toward a section of the inner city marked by towering white stone buildings.
There was no doubt.
A structure of such grandeur could only belong to Myr's ruling administration.
Patting the dragon's back, Rhaegar spoke indifferently:
"Devourer, look over there."
Man and dragon were of one mind. The Devourer turned, locked onto the white stone district, and roared as it soared toward its next target.
During its flight, more than a dozen towers managed to launch scorpion bolts in an attempt to stop the black dragon's rampage.
The Devourer didn't spare them a glance.
The steel spears clattered uselessly against its midnight scales, barely sparking upon impact.
With a single sweep of its tail, it obliterated yet another tower, then dived, bathing the white stone buildings in rolling flames.
"Scorpion ballistae! Take aim!"
Inside the district, over a thousand soldiers scrambled into position, spreading out across the open ground to deploy dozens of scorpion ballistae.
But it was futile.
They were facing a fully grown dragon.
"Screech—"
Dozens of steel-tipped spears shot toward them, but the Devourer spewed a torrent of dragonfire, melting them into molten iron that dripped onto the ground.
With a powerful flap of its pitch-black wings, the massive dragon dived and landed with a thunderous crash, its talons shattering the stone floor, sending a tidal wave of dust into the air.
Its fearsome head rose high, and from its maw erupted an inferno of dragonfire, engulfing the defensive forces, the scorpion ballistae, and the surrounding buildings in an all-consuming blaze.
"Run!..."
"The fire... it's everywhere!"
The eerie green flames spread across most of the white stone district, leaving no escape for the city's defenders or officials. Their agonized screams echoed as they perished in the inferno.
"Heh, pathetic."
Watching the unfolding massacre, Rhaegar smirked, standing tall on the dragon's massive back, surveying the battlefield as if he were taking a leisurely stroll.
Everywhere he looked, men and women were screaming, writhing in the sea of flames, desperately fighting for survival.
At this moment, all resistance was crushed.
With both hands gripping the Truefire staff, Rhaegar guided the mountain-sized Devourer forward. Wherever they passed, despair followed.
A single man and a single dragon—the apocalypse of Myr.
"Charge! Take the Governor's Palace!"
As the dragonfire scorched the city for what felt like an eternity, Grey Worm led 2,500 Unsullied and Fearless warriors through the burning ruins, their faces twisted with battle fury as they stormed the white stone district.
Rhaegar spared them a glance before turning away, letting Grey Worm and his forces butcher the high-ranking officials hiding in the tower.
A deafening dragon roar pierced the sky as Meraxes soared in, landing atop a high tower with an earth-shaking impact, its wings unfurling as it let out a mighty bellow.
Atop the dragon, Rhaenys watched the battle with exhilaration, her eyes locking onto her nephew. She shouted, "Rhaegar, the entire southern district is in ashes! The Vale knights have secured the city!"
Married to a domineering husband, this uncrowned queen had seen little time on the battlefield.
But today, she fought to her heart's content.
And from this moment on, she wholeheartedly believed in her nephew—she yearned to see a Targaryen like him upon the Iron Throne.
Rhaegar nodded slightly, his gaze shifting toward the other two districts.
The northern district had been ravaged by five dragons, with Dothraki riders pillaging whatever remained.
He and the Devourer had conquered the city's core—the battle was all but decided.
Now, it was only a matter of time before Daemon and Laenor burned through the remaining defenses in the east and west. Once that was done, Myr would be doomed.
The Next Day.
At sunrise, golden light bathed the ruins of Myr.
After a night of relentless fire, the city was reduced to smoldering ash, with thick smoke billowing into the sky, heavy with sorrow and madness.
Governor's Palace – Fountain Plaza.
At the heart of the white stone district stood a vast garden filled with lush tropical trees and several gushing fountains.
Now, the fountains had dried up, and the once-thriving greenery was nothing but ash.
The Devourer stretched its long neck, its emerald slit pupils closing as it folded its pitch-black wings against the ground, dozing lightly.
Before it, a dense crowd of captives knelt.
Among them were the two Governors of Myr—one old, one young—alongside the city's slavers, smugglers, and wealthy elite, all bowing their heads in submission.
The dragon had razed the city to the ground, and now they were prisoners.
Watching from the sidelines were many others—Corlys Velaryon, Rhaenys, Daemon, Grey Worm, and the Dothraki riders.
Draped in a black cloak, his silver hair flowing over his shoulders, Rhaegar gazed down at the captives with an indifferent expression.
A debate arose over how to deal with them.
Corlys spoke gravely, "Prince, the Governor must die. But as for the city's merchants and nobles, we should spare some and execute the rest."
The conquest of Myr had been masterful, and he respected the Crown Prince's strategy.
However, it was important to ensure no future threats remained.
Rhaegar, his voice calm, replied, "No need. Myr now belongs to the Targaryen dynasty. We don't need them."
He understood the nuances of power—he didn't need Corlys to teach him.
The best way forward was to kill them all. Only then would Myr become a true colony of House Targaryen.
If he had intended to negotiate, he wouldn't have attacked civilians.
If he wanted allies, the vast enslaved population—half the city's total inhabitants—would suffice.
Shing—
Drawing Truefire from his waist, Rhaegar stepped forward, lifting the longsword high above the two Governors of Myr.
"In the name of Viserys I Targaryen, I sentence you to death by beheading."
With a swift stroke, a dark blur flashed. Heads tumbled to the ground.
Splurt! Splurt!
Grey Worm led the Unsullied forward, their spears piercing through the chests of hundreds of merchants, staining the blood-soaked ground once more.
"HISKAAR—"
At that moment, the Devourer opened its emerald eyes, letting out a thunderous roar.
"HISKAAR—"
"HISKAAR—"
Overhead, Seasmoke and Grey Ghost circled the white stone towers, their cries echoing in unison, as if heeding the command of the King of Wild Dragons.
Then, the two similar-colored beasts playfully darted into the clouds, spewing streams of dragonfire as they went.
Whoosh—
At the peak of the Governor's Palace, a mighty banner unfurled.
A three-headed red dragon on a black field, rippling in the wind above Myr's highest political structure.
Rhaegar turned his gaze toward it.
The once-pristine white stone tower was now scorched black, yet it stood tall. The crimson dragon on the black flag seemed to come to life.
As the sea wind howled, the red dragon's body appeared to writhe, its wings flapping, three fierce heads staring down at him.
A chill ran through him. He stood there, momentarily lost in thought.
Lifting Truefire, he wiped the blood from the blade against his sleeve, the corners of his lips curving into a smile.
Aegon the Conqueror had failed to do this.
But he had succeeded.
From this day forth, Targaryen blood once again claimed a foothold in Essos.
After a long pause, Rhaegar regained his focus.
Corlys, his face tense, stepped forward and said, "Prince, Myr has fallen, but we still need to discuss garrisoning troops and future military actions."
Rhaegar nodded, contemplating, "How many warships are docked in the harbor?"
Since the battle had begun inland, the port of Myr had remained largely untouched, leaving the fleet intact.
At the mention of ships, Corlys's expression darkened. Through gritted teeth, he replied, "There are currently thirty-four warships docked at the port. Some were taken by mercenaries who fled during the battle."
Rhaegar calculated quickly. "With House Velaryon's fleet, we can assemble a force of fifty warships."
"That's correct!" Corlys exhaled sharply, his frustration evident.
In other words, the Velaryon family's warships were reduced to less than twenty.
The fleets divided between Lys and Tyrosh were primarily composed of ships from House Velaryon.
While some managed to escape the Battle of Lys, the Battle of Tyrosh ended in complete annihilation.
It could be said that the successful siege of Myr was heavily reliant on the Velaryon family serving as live bait.
Ignoring the Sea Snake's pain, Rhaegar spoke calmly, "This small force is insufficient to seize Tyrosh. Once Myr is stabilized, we will immediately dispatch troops to reclaim the Stepstones."
He cared little about how many forces the Sea Snake sacrificed in the war.
One of the purposes of the bait was to deplete the Velaryon family's strength.
Compared to gathering all fleets for a direct naval battle, which would result in greater losses, it was better to wear down the well-resourced Sea Snake, preventing him from stirring up trouble during the war.
"Wait."
Suddenly, Daemon spoke up, his gaze fixed intensely on his nephew.
Rhaegar turned at the sound.
Daemon, clad in bloodstained armor, appeared grim.
Beside him stood the Trade Minister of Pentos, Rod, a dark-haired man wearing a gold scale pendant on his chest.
At the same time, the Sea Snake was also watching him, twisting the ring on his thumb.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes slightly and said, "I said we will reorganize the forces and reclaim the Stepstones today!"
Daemon met his gaze in silence.
(End of Chapter)