"Roar..."
With both wings broken, Mogul could no longer restrain its cries and completely lost the ability to fly.
Its massive body plummeted uncontrollably, yet its jaws remained tightly clenched around the Devourer.
The two dragons wrestled midair, their entangled forms descending lower and lower, their fall accelerating rapidly.
"Hiss—Crack..."
Caught in the downward spiral, the Devourer flapped its wings in an attempt to slow its fall. Its emerald slit pupils gleamed with cruelty.
With a swift motion, its powerful claws shot forward, digging precisely into Mogul's chest, piercing through its scales and sinking deep into its flesh.
In an instant, Mogul's chest was torn open, and crimson dragon blood gushed out in a violent spray.
"No! Mogul, run!"
Suspended in midair, the red-robed Baelor howled in anguish.
Though his method of taming the dragon had been despicable, Mogul had given him a chance to change his fate.
As long as this dragon lived, he had a reason to exist.
"Roar..."
Mogul paid no heed to its rider's desperate cries.
The black and silver-black dragons plunged downward, their massive forms intertwined like two tightly fused obsidian gemstones.
From hundreds of meters high, they plummeted at terrifying speed, the wind screaming past them.
Rhaegar clung to Mogul's back, panting heavily, his entire body flushed as red as blood.
Upon closer inspection, his black robes were scorched, nearly burned away, leaving him almost completely bare.
His exposed skin was drenched in searing dragon blood, wisps of white steam rising from his body.
"Hu... Hu..."
Rhaegar's gaze was vacant, his chest heaving more violently with each breath.
The dragon blood flowing over him came from both the Devourer's gushing wounds and Mogul's pierced heart.
Unknowingly, the mingled blood of two mighty dragons seeped into every pore of his body.
"So hot... My blood is burning..."
Rhaegar's mind went blank, as if he were about to be consumed by flames.
"Roar!"
Mogul let out a final agonized cry as torrents of dragon blood erupted from its chest, drenching Rhaegar completely.
The Devourer's claws had finally torn into its chest cavity, crushing its enormous dragon heart.
At that moment, Mogul lost all strength. Its life force drained rapidly, and it ceased all struggle and resistance.
Only one thing remained.
Its enormous jaws locked onto the Devourer's shoulder and neck, refusing to let go, driven by sheer willpower.
Splatter!
Like a torrential downpour, dragon blood drenched Rhaegar from head to toe, invading every crevice—ears, nose, eyes, and mouth—leaving him looking as if he had been pulled from a pool of blood.
"Mogul..."
Dazed, Rhaegar rose unsteadily from the sticky saddle.
The two dragons were now falling one atop the other, with Mogul's face turned skyward, its massive head directly facing him.
Its ferocious maw tore away a chunk of its own blood-soaked black scales, and in its dark, slit-pupiled eyes, an indescribable emotion flickered.
It was resolute—determined to die.
Rhaegar's spirit surged. He locked eyes with Mogul.
As Mogul's life ebbed away, its jaws finally loosened, releasing the torn flesh, its body tumbling like a reed in the wind.
Sizzle... Crackle...
Rhaegar's eyes widened. A wisp of black fire leaked from the corner of his eye, flickering like a drifting firefly.
Boom! Boom!
Dragon blood continued to seep into his skin, his heart pounding like a war drum.
His silver hair whipped wildly around him, while his violet eyes took on an eerie green dragon pattern. A deep, ancestral power erupted from within his very bones.
In the next instant—
A burst of black flames engulfed his entire body, wrapping around his crimson-stained form.
Within the raging fire, Rhaegar appeared godlike, his left temple adorned with a patch of jet-black dragon scales.
"Hiss—Screech!"
Sensing the shift, the Devourer abandoned Mogul's lifeless remains and raised its head, letting out an ear-piercing roar.
Its emerald eyes reflected Rhaegar's fiery figure.
"No! No!"
As Mogul's body plummeted, the red-robed Baelor screamed in despair from the dragon's back.
Hearing this, Rhaegar lowered his gaze, his eyes growing icy.
With a flick of his wrist, the spear Dawn appeared.
He had understood Mogul's final wish.
This dragon longed for freedom. It had wanted to return to the Smoky Sea, to live in solitude, rather than be subjected to human cruelty and forced submission.
Attacking the Devourer had been both an act of vengeance and a desperate attempt at mutual destruction.
Rhaegar sighed softly and murmured, "I will grant you freedom."
With a swift flourish, he raised Dawn high, its Valyrian steel tip gleaming with chilling light.
In a split second, he hurled it—
The spear tore through the air like a lightning bolt, its deadly trajectory locked onto the red-robed figure clinging to Mogul's back.
"Mogul, don't die!"
Baelor's tear-streaked face twisted in despair as his hands desperately clutched the dragon's silver-black scales.
Thud!
The spear struck true, piercing straight through his forehead, shattering the back of his skull before embedding halfway in.
His body went rigid, his rough hands loosening their grip, and he tumbled from Mogul's back.
It all happened in the blink of an eye, a fleeting moment like a flash of light.
Boom!
Mogul's lifeless body crashed heavily to the ground, first smashing into a towering structure before collapsing in a ruined heap.
Its tattered wings lay limp, its mighty head slumped against the earth, its ravaged body reduced to a bloody mess.
Rumble...
The high tower, struck by the impact, crumbled into rubble, its stones burying the dragon's remains.
Only a single colossal dragon head remained exposed, its mouth full of blood, its dark pupils slowly losing focus.
"Roar..."
Mogul's fading gaze fixed upon a distant point, its throat quivering with one final, sorrowful cry.
Perhaps it was calling to the Dragon's Nest.
Or perhaps... to the distant, endless Smoky Sea.
"Hiss—Screech!"
The Devourer threw its head back and roared, its massive black wings unfurling as it circled high above Lys.
Rhaegar remained silent, his face calm as the black flames receded, revealing smooth, porcelain-like skin beneath.
He reached up and touched his left temple—
A patch of jet-black dragon scales, the size of a baby's fist, now adorned his forehead.
Rhaegar Targaryen
Talent: Dreamer (Gold) Bloodline: Dragonborn (+53%) Runes: Ouroboros (Blue), Bronze (Green) Blood Magic: Blessing Spell (Blue), Prohibition Spell (Green)... Relics: Blood and Fire as One (Flame Resistance +100%), True Dragon's Blood (Fire Element Affinity +100%)... Evaluation: "An ancient bloodline resurfaces, the original dragon lineage."
Rhaegar's clear eyes flickered as he murmured, "My bloodline has changed."
The ancient Valyrian Dragon King bloodline had now evolved into "Dragonborn."
Its concentration had also surged from (+49%) to (+53%).
Thoughts racing, Rhaegar silently speculated, "Does the name change once the concentration surpasses half?"
Upon closer inspection, the talents "Pyromancer" and "Longevity" had vanished without explanation.
Meanwhile, the relics "Blood and Fire as One" and "True Dragon's Blood" had both increased from (+50%) to (+100%).
"It seems… a complete transformation."
Rhaegar felt a mix of joy and unease, slightly bewildered by the changes in his body.
Nowhere in the Targaryen family history was there any record of "Dragonborn."
Dianlygar's ancient texts contained a few mentions of it, but they were more metaphorical than informative.
The only thing certain was that this transformation was most likely due to Mogul's Life Blood.
A gust of sea wind brushed past, making his now-heated body feel the temperature difference.
Rhaegar looked down—his skin was pale and unblemished.
"Ahem…"
He coughed awkwardly and retrieved a black robe from his spatial bracelet to cover himself.
Sensing an unusual sensation on his forehead, Rhaegar took out a mirror to examine it—there, a diamond-shaped, pitch-black dragon scale had emerged.
With a mere thought, the scale silently receded, seamlessly blending into his skin.
"Good. No need to worry about exposure."
A chuckle escaped his lips as he tore off the bloodstained saddlecloth and climbed back onto his dragon's back.
"Screech!"
Glutton turned its head, glancing at its rider. Its once-hungry green slit pupils now seemed as deep as an abyss.
Rhaegar's transformation had also triggered some kind of change in it.
"Dragonfire!"
Looking down at the tower still launching scorpion bolts, Rhaegar's cold, youthful voice rang out.
"Screech—"
With a deafening roar, the coal-black dragon dived, unleashing its flames upon the defiant tower.
Man and dragon alike had seemingly forgotten the fallen Mogul.
Lys, Governor's Mansion
Bambaro lay flat against the floor-to-ceiling window, his expression one of utter shock—he looked like a complete fool.
Having just witnessed Mogul's demise with his own eyes, he felt his fate was sealed.
It took him a long while to recover and close his gaping mouth. Then he muttered, "We need to leave! If we don't, that Targaryen lunatic will kill us next."
If he could so easily slay a dragon, what else was beyond his reach?
"Milord, where are you planning to go?"
A deep, slightly amused voice suddenly rang out from behind him.
Bambaro's nerves tensed as he turned around with extreme caution.
Standing there was a small, brown-haired, brown-skinned man with a sword at his waist, draped in a black robe.
"Who sent you?"
Bambaro's eyes darted around in disbelief. What had happened to the mercenary guards stationed outside?
"You don't need to know that."
With an elegant bow, Xiluo calmly stated, "All men must die."
As soon as the words fell, a dagger appeared in his hand, slitting Bambaro's throat with swift precision.
"Gurgle…!"
Bambaro's eyes widened in horror as he clutched his throat, blood gushing between his fingers. He collapsed lifelessly.
Xiluo bowed once more, smiling. "All men must serve."
Similar scenes unfolded all across Lys.
The first targets were the watchtowers of the city's garrison.
As crossbowmen carefully aimed their scorpion bolts, their supposed comrades behind them drew blades and slit their throats.
Within mere minutes, a third of Lys's towers fell, consumed by internal betrayal and chaos.
The turncoat mercenaries all wore black-and-white rose-patterned cloths tied around their collars.
The Domed Dragon Pit
"Run! The Dragon Guard will catch up soon!"
Two silver-haired figures bolted across the scorched open ground, shoving each other as they squeezed into a narrow alleyway.
"Screech—"
Above the city, a jet-black dragon spewed fire, setting vast sections of Lys ablaze.
Tristan hobbled along, clutching a sack overflowing with gold coins. Between ragged breaths, he asked, "What are you hiding under your cloak?"
Hugh looked visibly nervous, tightly wrapping his rough wool robe around himself. His belly bulged into a suspiciously round shape.
At first glance, he looked like a tall, pregnant woman.
Seeing that Hugh ignored him, Tristan's eyes gleamed mischievously as he provoked, "What, did you go into the dragon pit just to steal dragon shit?"
"Screw you! I should be asking what you're hiding!"
Hugh's eyes widened in anger, like a dog that had just had its tail stepped on.
Tristan chuckled awkwardly, gave Hugh a once-over, then kept running in silence.
The two picked the least crowded streets, heading for the western district.
The western district had just been scorched by the jet-black dragon, and its defenders had been completely wiped out.
For two small-time thieves, it was the safest place to be.
Boom!
After running for a while, a crumbling tower above them suddenly collapsed, sending a rain of stone crashing down.
Tristan was blown backward by the force, rolling several feet before stopping.
When he looked up, his vision blurred for a moment.
A gigantic, two-story-high, menacing dragon head loomed before him.
"Ahhhh!"
Tristan shrieked, kicking wildly as he scrambled backward.
As his panic subsided, he squinted, taking a closer look…
The dragon's head drooped lifelessly, its slit-pupiled eyes tightly shut, long since devoid of breath.
Tristan's eyelids twitched, and his heart nearly leaped out of his throat.
Silver-black scales, exposed thick fangs, and a pool of dragon blood flowing from its jaw.
"It's… dead…"
Tristan swallowed hard, trembling as he struggled to his feet.
Shuff also crawled out from the rubble, his coarse linen robe torn open, revealing a familiar silver-black sheen underneath.
"Can you still run?"
Shuff held his bundle tightly, his eyes darting occasionally toward Tristan's arms.
Tristan glanced at Shuff's bundle in return and asked in shock, "You stole a dragon egg?"
No wonder Shuff had risked his life to charge into the dragon's lair amidst the chaos of war.
Exposed, Shuff grinned and said, "That bastard Baelor hid this treasure in a pile of dragon dung, but I overheard him."
Puffing out his chest, Shuff exaggerated, "Once this dragon egg hatches, we'll be rich!"
"You think it'll hatch just because you say so? And even if it does, where are we supposed to go with it?"
Tristan was dumbfounded, clutching the coin pouch in his arms as he asked.
Shuff snorted, "You've got money, don't you? We can just hide away in some small town in Essos. Sooner or later, the egg will hatch."
Tristan was speechless.
No wonder Shuff had dragged him along—he had his eyes on his money all along.
Feeling smug, Shuff glanced up at the massive black dragon circling in the sky and said in a low voice, "Quit dawdling. Are you coming with me or not?"
Tristan hesitated, his mind in turmoil as he repeatedly glanced at the black dragon above.
Should he follow Shuff… or—
His gambler's instinct kicked in, and Tristan made up his mind.
Quickening his pace, he caught up with Shuff and whispered, "Brother, let me count my money to see how long we can last."
With that, he pulled out a pouch nearly a foot long, bulging with gold coins at the bottom.
Shuff kept walking without turning back, sneaking through the alleyways as he scoffed, "What's the rush? We'll count it once we're out of Lys."
"I don't have a choice."
Tristan replied before suddenly changing his tone, "You want money? Then here you go."
With that, he swung the heavy pouch in a wide arc, the weight of the gold inside crashing down onto the back of Shuff's head.
Bang—
Blood splattered, and gold coins scattered across the ground.
Shuff's eyes rolled back as he collapsed stiffly, his limbs twitching sporadically.
Cold sweat poured down Tristan's back as he picked up a rock and smashed Shuff's head, then reached into his robes and pulled out the dragon egg.
The egg's silver-black scales shimmered ominously under the sunlight, identical to Mogul's.
Ignoring the pile of gold on the ground, Tristan clutched the dragon egg tightly, gazing at the black dragon in the sky as he muttered, "A fortune beyond imagination… I'm going to be a baron for sure."
(End of Chapter)