"The ceremonial blessing..."
Rhaegar was momentarily stunned.
The two lines of small text were the traditional ceremonial blessing of the ancient Valyrian Dragon Kings.
After a brief moment of thought, Rhaegar grasped the general idea.
Ceremony, bloodline, scales...
So, the method of activation might require two people who share the same bloodline.
The prerequisite: Targaryen.
Rhaegar pressed his lips together and smiled. "I can see it but can't touch it. That's a bit tricky."
He had a vague sense that the remnants of Fire Peak's ashes could activate precious relics related to dragons.
This intuition felt both illusory and real.
Looking at the broken scale, it seemed he would have to return to Westeros to find someone to help.
With a flip of his hand, the scale disappeared.
In its place was a Valyrian steel carving knife, engraved with inscriptions.
The knife was no longer than a palm, its surface adorned with rough and unfamiliar carvings, and its blade exceptionally sharp.
Rhaegar touched the spatial necklace around his neck, an artifact he had obtained at dawn.
The system interface text changed.
[Valyrian Steel – Spatial Necklace]
Exploration Progress: 100%
Skipping item acquisition and detection screens...
"Congratulations, the spatial item has been activated. You have obtained..."
[Carving Knife]
- Rarity: Rare (Blue)
- Function: Masterful Engraving
- Description: "Proficient in various carving techniques, capable of replicating ancient engraving methods."
The activation conditions were simple—fire magic, a power commonly used by fire sorcerers and blood mages.
Rhaegar flipped the carving knife in his hand, then stored it back into the spatial necklace.
For now, it wouldn't be of much use.
Perhaps he needed to hone his craft until he could replicate the mysterious inscriptions found on other relics.
"I can carve stone. What else do I need?"
Rhaegar was puzzled, only half-understanding the significance.
"Hiss—Gah..."
The Devourer let out a low growl, carrying its rider to the stone platform, each step crushing large sections of the plaza's stone slabs.
"Much to explore," Rhaegar murmured, shaking his head slightly, considering whether to learn additional skills like wood carving or forging.
As he pondered, the Devourer lowered its neck, its saddle perfectly aligning with the platform's edge.
"Good work, buddy."
Rhaegar smiled and leaped off the dragon's back with a thud.
In contrast, Meraxes lay crouched at the edge of the platform. Rhaenys descended a soft ladder and approached under the escort of the Unsullied.
In many ways, the bond between humans and dragons was constantly evident.
"Prince!"
Grey Worm stood tall, gripping his spear.
Behind him, dozens of old noblemen knelt, glaring at Rhaegar with loathsome expressions.
Among them were prominent figures of the old nobility and their implicated family members.
They represented nearly two-thirds of Myr's old noble class.
Rhaegar examined them carefully, then smiled faintly and asked, "Do you plead guilty?"
His words triggered an immediate backlash.
"You demon! Invader!"
"A tyrant wielding a dragon's power, as brutal as your ancestors!"
"You've invaded our homeland, stolen our slaves—"
A chaotic uproar erupted. These so-called noblemen, usually composed and dignified, now cursed like common market women, completely disregarding their image.
The noise made Rhaegar's ears ache. Without a word, he strode toward the higher platform.
Grey Worm turned and followed, gesturing to the Unsullied guarding the prisoners.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The Unsullied, expressionless, flipped their spears and struck with the blunt ends.
Immediately, the shouting ceased.
Replaced by cries of pain and sobs.
Rhaenys climbed onto the high platform in a few swift steps, ignoring the disheveled noblemen.
Paper tigers—all bluster, easily crushed.
"Hiss—Gah—"
At that moment, the Devourer let out a deafening roar, spewing a blast of eerie green dragonfire into the sky.
Instantly, everyone—whether the old nobles on the platform or the commoners and slaves in the plaza—fell silent.
Tens of thousands of eyes fixed on Rhaegar, standing atop the platform.
Rhaegar's expression remained calm, long accustomed to the feeling of being the center of attention.
"Roar!"
The Devourer ceased its dragonfire, but its throat rumbled with a menacing growl.
Rhaegar stood with his hands behind his back, the dragon's massive black head looming beside him.
Man and dragon, sovereign and beast.
A majestic presence.
Rustle...
The commoners and slaves dropped to their knees in unison, trembling under the gaze of the Dragon King and his beast.
None dared to face their fear.
Rhaegar looked down at them, a surge of passion rising in his chest. He bellowed:
"Stand up!"
Silence.
He scanned the plaza. Aside from the Fearless and the knights of the Vale, not a single person dared to rise.
"I said—stand up!"
Rhaegar roared a second time.
The commoners and slaves trembled. Aside from a few who stood up shakily, most remained motionless.
"Rhaegar."
Rhaenys stood to the side, about to speak in warning.
The power in Myr ultimately lay in the hands of the old nobility and slave owners, not in a group of slaves stripped of dignity.
Slaves, having been oppressed for years, had long lost the will to resist.
"Aunt, the war across the Narrow Sea is over. So many people shouldn't have to die anymore."
Rhaegar's gaze softened as he interrupted her.
In Lys, he had won over a faction of old nobles and wealthy merchants to stabilize order.
Now in Myr, since they refused to recognize reality, a new reform strategy was already in place.
With his back to Grey Worm, he gave a slight wave of his hand.
Grey Worm nodded heavily and issued the order.
A few Unsullied soldiers tightened their grips on their spears and, without hesitation, thrust them into the old nobles before them.
Thud!
The iron spearheads pierced through flesh, and with a twist of their hands, the Unsullied shredded the nobles' internal organs.
"Guh… guh…"
Two men, one woman, and one elder—all four old nobles—collapsed in agony, their luxurious robes quickly soaked in blood.
Within mere moments, they were dead.
The Unsullied worked efficiently, yanking out their spears and then stabbing them through the nobles' jaws, lifting the corpses and hanging them high on the platform.
Their bodies were put on display—exposed to the public!
"Woo… woo…"
The remaining old nobles, witnessing this scene, were on the verge of losing their minds, shrieking in terror and struggling frantically.
The Unsullied showed no mercy, swinging their spears and beating them into submission.
Everything was laid bare before the commoners and slaves.
Rhaegar raised his voice and declared, "The oppression of the past is gone—you should stand up!"
Shff, shff…
Seeing their former masters executed so brutally, many slaves rose to their feet, trembling with excitement.
Nothing was more exhilarating than watching those who had enslaved them die.
Rhaegar understood this well. He was deliberately shifting the conflict—from one between the old nobility and House Targaryen to one between the old nobility and the slave class.
The root of the unrest was resistance to Targaryen rule.
Rhaegar's strategy was to make the people witness the crimes of the old rulers before they had a chance to oppose him.
By comparison, would they not welcome a new ruler?
Whoosh! Whoosh!
A gust of sea wind carried the stench of blood across the square.
The slaves inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent as a form of revenge.
Rhaegar took note and questioned loudly, "The old nobles and slave owners exploited you without mercy! Commoners could barely feed themselves, and slaves suffered constant abuse—so why would you rebel alongside them?"
Silence.
Rhaegar scanned the crowd and continued, "Now, the old nobles and slave owners are nothing more than lambs to the slaughter. No one dares to oppress you anymore. Shouldn't you be celebrating?"
The commoners and slaves exchanged glances, finding his words reasonable.
Gradually, they gathered their courage and stood up from the ground.
Rhaegar lifted his hand again, his voice sharp: "There are no slaves in Westeros. Now that Myr is under the rule of the Iron Throne, there will be no more slaves here either!"
At his command, ten Unsullied soldiers stepped forward, each driving a spear through a designated noble.
Gasp!
The commoners and slaves recoiled in shock, huddling together in fear, watching anxiously.
To them, the new ruler was terrifying.
They feared that if he was displeased, he might unleash dragons to burn them alive.
But Rhaegar paid them no mind. His goal was clear: to cleanse the people of any lingering attachment to the old nobles through bloodshed—so they would embrace Targaryen rule.
Grey Worm personally grabbed an elderly noble and threw him at Rhaegar's feet.
The old man had sunken eyes, a skeletal frame, and reeked of filth.
At that moment, three figures emerged from the crowd below.
One was a wealthy merchant in fine clothes, another a weathered commoner, and the third a scarred slave.
One woman, two men—all relatively young.
They ascended the platform and stood in the back under Grey Worm's signal.
Without turning his head, Rhaegar asked bluntly, "Tell me—what crimes has this old man committed?"
The slave was the first to step forward, his dark-skinned face twisted in rage. He shouted furiously, "He murdered countless innocent slaves! He stole children from the enslaved and abused them to death, regardless of gender!"
The second man, the commoner, stepped up as well, his voice filled with anger: "He secretly raised port taxes, forcing fishermen into such poverty that they had no choice but to sell their wives and daughters to him for next to nothing!"
One after another, the three of them exposed the noble's crimes.
Each accusation was more horrifying than the last.
And this was the norm among the captured nobles.
As their crimes were listed, the commoners and slaves in the square clenched their teeth, their eyes turning red with fury.
Myr was a free-trade city, meaning some commoners and slaves lived relatively well.
But not them.
Whenever life was unbearable, resentment was inevitable.
Shing!
Rhaegar unsheathed Blackfyre. With a single, fluid motion, he swung the obsidian blade—beheading the old noble.
Tens of thousands of eyes watched him in unison.
Rhaegar planted both hands on his sword and declared loudly,
"The old nobility and slave masters force you to kneel with worldly power, but the Targaryens want you to stand!"
"Westeros has no slaves! The Iron Throne treats everyone equally!"
His voice was thunderous, echoing straight into people's hearts.
At that moment, his silver hair and violet eyes were imprinted in the minds of all commoners and slaves.
The old stereotypes shattered—no longer a legacy of cruelty and dragons,
but of equality and justice!
A slave who had been kneeling suddenly stood up in defiance, shouting at the top of his lungs,
"Long live the Targaryens!"
Like a stone thrown into a raging sea, his cry set off waves of turmoil.
More and more slaves scrambled to their feet, their hoarse voices merging into a chorus:
"Long live the Targaryens!"
"Long live the Dragon King!"
"..."
On Fishmonger's Square, not a single commoner or slave remained on their knees. They all stood tall, backs straight.
Their gazes burned with fervor, their voices raw from shouting. All eyes were fixed on one man.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
At that moment, Rhaegar looked back at them and raised his arm in a decisive motion.
The Unsullied acted instantly—every last old noble on the platform was run through, their chests pierced by spears.
One of them, in his final moments, shouted in fury,
"Invader! The other Free Cities will not forgive you!"
Rhaegar remained calm and replied,
"It is not the Targaryens who invaded you—it is your own insatiable greed."
Without oppression and slavery, today would never have come.
"Skrreee—"
The Devourer let out a deafening roar, its massive body climbing onto the platform, its emerald-green eyes locking onto the captured rebels.
Before the gathered commoners and former slaves, Rhaegar arched an eyebrow and declared in a clear voice,
"The Targaryens bring peace and justice—but we will not tolerate defiance or harm."
"In the name of Viserys I Targaryen, I sentence these traitors to death!"
With that, he turned to the Devourer and spoke in High Valyrian, his words infused with powerful magic:
"Dracarys." (Translation: Burn them all.)
A cruel glint flickered in the dragon's vertical pupils as it spread its jaws wide.
"Skrreee—"
A torrent of dragonfire erupted, engulfing the thousand captives in a swirling green inferno.
---
(End of Chapter)