"Hiss—screech..."
Korakshu let out a sharp cry, its crimson body swaying like a serpent as it carried its rider away from Myr.
Rhaegar watched calmly, his gaze following the departing rider and dragon.
From Daemon, he had learned that the two books contained the "Fiznick" family's history.
Their contents included, but were not limited to, dragon taming and breeding.
Similar to the family chronicles of the Daynlygas, but with a more detailed account of blood sorcery, family lineage, and the art of taming dragons.
Seeing Rhaegar remain silent, Rhaenys stepped forward to console him. "Ever since Laena died in childbirth, Daemon has developed a deep interest in magic, especially in the Dragonlords of ancient Valyria."
The riot had come too suddenly, forcing the Fearless and the Knights of the Vale to rush through the city in an attempt to restore order.
Fortunately, Daemon had arrived in time to drive away the mobs trying to loot the ruins of the Dragonlord's legacy.
Rhaegar withdrew his gaze and said indifferently, "It's fine. The Targaryens were bound to come into contact with these things sooner or later."
His own child was about to be born, and the Green faction was crumbling under Alicent's reckless schemes.
By allying with both Rhaenyra and Helaena, his position was now unshakable.
It was time for the family to embrace magic—relying solely on whips and shouting to control dragons was not enough.
Feeling at ease, Rhaegar turned his eyes toward the smoke-filled pit.
It contained the remains of an ancient site, with many things still waiting to be uncovered.
As he pondered this, a commotion arose from the depths of the pit, and filthy, reeking scavengers struggled to climb out.
There were quite a few of them.
At a glance, there were at least several dozen.
Some carried tattered sacks filled with gold, while others clutched silverware in their arms.
Most audaciously, a few looters wielding curved daggers held fossilized dragon eggs and dragonbone artifacts in their hands...
Rhaegar chuckled coldly. "Quite a haul of treasures."
His eyes turned sharp as he signaled the Fearless warriors to advance.
Any noble house with foresight would never store all its wealth in one place.
The wise always had multiple escape routes.
This half-buried ruin beneath Myr had been one of the Fiznick family's contingency plans.
Had calamity befallen their house, this trove would have provided their descendants with the means to rise again.
Unfortunately, the Doom of Valyria had been a natural disaster, not a man-made catastrophe.
Every member of the Fiznick family, along with their dragons, had perished in the eruption of the Fourteen Flames.
This ruin had remained undiscovered until now, falling conveniently into the hands of the Targaryens.
Rhaegar smirked. "The Targaryens are poor—we could use this."
With swift action, the Fearless warriors rounded up all the scavengers, detaining them at the edge of the ruins.
And not just them—every looter who had been drawn to the area was captured. Any who resisted were executed on the spot.
After all, they were nothing more than untrained paupers. When outnumbered, they were as helpless as fish on a chopping block.
Handing the fossilized dragon egg to Rhaenys, Rhaegar said, "Aunt, I'm going to explore the ruins. This place is yours to handle."
"Go ahead."
Rhaenys, surveying the ancient relics seized from the looters, agreed without hesitation.
She bore some responsibility for the riot in Myr, and she intended to make amends.
Rhaegar reminded her, "Leave no one alive—I have plans for them."
A warning to others.
With that, he leaped into the pit.
From the outside, the pit looked deep and ominous, and the interior was no different.
With a heavy thud, Rhaegar landed and rolled forward to absorb the impact.
His palm pressed against the ground—it was a cold, black stone floor, stained with the scent of dried blood.
Shing—
He drew Trueflame from his waist, its dark blade igniting with roaring fire.
The path ahead was illuminated, revealing a wide and deep corridor.
A quick glance showed that, aside from being damp and chilly, the passage was relatively clean.
Fearless, Rhaegar strode forward.
Along the way, he passed the corpses of looters and scorch marks left by Korakshu's dragonfire.
The corridor had no twists or turns; it led straight to an underground palace built from black stone.
Surprisingly, the palace was not shrouded in darkness—oil lamps hung on all four walls.
Rhaegar flared his nostrils and caught a faint, peculiar scent of metallic sweetness.
After a moment's thought, he recalled something from his studies at the Citadel.
In the Shivering Sea, massive whales and sea beasts roamed the waters.
By refining their oil and enhancing it with blood sorcery, one could create an enchanted fuel that burned for a thousand years without extinguishing.
Excitement stirred in Rhaegar's heart. For a Dragonlord family to use such extravagant magical artifacts, their power must have been formidable.
The Targaryens were only a mid-tier house among Valyria's great families—they had never possessed such deep reserves of wealth and magic.
Thinking about it, the exiled Enar had indeed fallen on hard times.
For a Dragonlord of Valyria, migrating with only five dragons and so few magical artifacts—just the Valyrian steel swords Blackfyre and Dark Sister—was a disgrace.
The Conqueror's Crown and the Dragonbone Dagger were made of scarce materials and barely counted as family heirlooms.
Delving into the truth, the Targaryen migration across the Narrow Sea was likely not solely due to the dream prophecy of the Dreamer "Daenys."
For a dragonlord family to sell off their ancestral home and migrate, only the threat of another dragonlord family could have forced such a move.
Rhaegar had reason to suspect that the Targaryens had lost in a competition against another dragonlord family, suffering a significant decline before fleeing in disgrace to Dragonstone.
Otherwise, there was no way to explain why, out of the five dragons that followed them from Valyria, four mysteriously perished one after another.
Only the very young Balerion remained.
It was possible that those four dragons had already been wounded or had fallen victim to covert attacks by their rivals.
Click!
His footsteps halted as he accidentally kicked the lid of a black steel container.
Rhaegar looked down, frowning slightly.
Near the palace entrance, an area had been deliberately set aside, where five furnace-like containers were placed.
These containers were effective at retaining heat and were often used to store dragon eggs.
As a child, he would often cradle a container in his arms and speak to the dragon egg inside.
Now, all five containers lay overturned on the ground, their dragon eggs missing.
There was no need to guess—they were in the hands of the rioters outside.
Turning his head, he saw large chests scattered throughout the palace interior, emptied in chaotic disarray.
Taking in the sight, Rhaegar sighed inwardly, They came well-prepared.
However, human effort has its limits.
A dragon egg's lifespan is at most a hundred years, and if not properly preserved, it can lose its vitality within decades.
Wealth is precious, but it must be passed down to future generations.
If not for the Doom of Valyria, with the foundation of the Fitznix family, even a single surviving direct descendant would have had the chance to make a comeback.
Stepping over the fallen dragon egg containers, Rhaegar walked to the center of the palace, stopping before a massive cylindrical stone pillar.
The pillar had a diameter of more than ten meters, with carved recesses densely packed with books.
With reverence, Rhaegar carefully picked up one of the books.
Rustle!
The book was made of paper and had long since weathered away—at a single touch, it crumbled into dust.
Rhaegar felt a pang of regret and cursed under his breath, No wonder Daemon only took two books.
Those two books were made of specially treated parchment, far more valuable than ordinary books.
After thoroughly inspecting the collection, he found that out of tens of thousands of categorized books, nearly all had disintegrated, with only a small portion still readable.
"Forget it, let's preserve what we can."
Most of these books were historical records of Old Valyria and descriptions of Essos' geography and cultures—later, scholars could be tasked with transcribing them.
After surveying the palace, Rhaegar's gaze settled on the surrounding walls.
Like the rest of the palace, the walls were made of black stone, adorned with abstract carvings.
A significant portion depicted dragons, illustrating each stage of their lives in remarkable detail—
From colossal ancient dragons too old to fly… to fierce, fully grown behemoths… to lean, adolescent dragons still maturing.
Additionally, there were carvings of harpies devouring humans, nomadic tribes riding zebras, and griffins fighting dragons for food.
Rhaegar wondered about the values of the Fitznix family.
The murals contained numerous depictions of men and women engaged in intercourse, with scenes so elaborate and participants so numerous that Rhaegar was taken aback.
It was an eye-opening experience.
However, at the center of the murals, a particular image caught his attention.
Two crowned adult dragons chased each other in a spiral, forming a circular pattern.
Between them, words were inscribed in High Valyrian.
Rhaegar focused on the text, then his eyes lit up in surprise.
"Binding Spell!"