"Ghiscar fell because of its own strength."
Rhaegar sighed and loosened his grip on the dragon whip, freeing Seasmoke.
"Roar..."
Seasmoke shook its head and took a deep breath.
That strange whip had tightened around its neck, nearly choking off its air supply.
"Seasmoke, I won't stop you from searching for Laenor, but you are not allowed to attack randomly anymore."
Rhaegar coiled the dragon whip and walked fearlessly toward the massive dragon.
Seasmoke's vertical pupils were dazed, focusing only on regaining its breath.
Rhaegar extended his hand, palm facing the dragon's snout.
A dragon and its rider shared a bond—he couldn't force Seasmoke to return to Dragonstone.
At the very least, it shouldn't be causing chaos and stirring up resentment everywhere.
"Screech..."
Seasmoke seemed to understand. It leaned its head forward but was still restrained by a pair of pitch-black claws gripping its neck and spine.
The gluttonous beast looked down, revealing rows of interlocking fangs.
Though both were dragons, their size difference was enormous.
The gluttonous beast stood firm on the ground, its single outstretched wing nearly able to wrap around Seasmoke entirely.
Seasmoke lay on the ground weakly, its massive body appearing surprisingly small—only about a quarter the size of the gluttonous beast.
Rhaegar glanced at the monstrous dragon and chuckled helplessly. "Let it go, Devourer."
The blood of the dragon flowed within him, granting him a unique ability:
He could sense a dragon's emotions.
Just moments ago, his blood had burned hot, indicating Seasmoke's intense hostility.
Now, his blood flowed normally—there was no longer a problem.
"Screech—"
The Devourer let out a roar filled with warning before lifting its heavy claws.
Seasmoke wriggled, folding its outstretched wings.
"Seasmoke, give me an answer!"
Rhaegar's tone grew firm.
Seasmoke hesitated, its vertical pupils flickering with conflict.
After a moment, it lowered its massive head, allowing its pale silver scales to touch the silver-haired boy's palm.
Rhaegar's gaze burned as he stroked Seasmoke's snout, feeling the difference in texture compared to the Devourer's scales.
Cool and smooth, like ice.
Rhaegar smiled. "Good dragon, follow orders."
"Screech..."
Seasmoke let out a low cry and slowly stood up.
Rhaegar looked at it, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes.
Laenor was most likely dead.
Currently, each Targaryen had one dragon, and his own child had yet to be born.
Otherwise, he could have attempted to tame Seasmoke, conveniently weakening House Velaryon.
A glint flickered in Rhaegar's eyes as countless thoughts surged through his mind.
According to intelligence, Laenor was probably killed by his current lover, Qarl.
The reasoning was that Qarl had disappeared along with him, and Laenor's former lover, Joffrey, whom he had secretly hidden in a military camp, had also been discovered.
Or was it the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon...?
"If Laenor is dead, then the Sea Snake has no heir."
Rhaegar pondered, feeling both pleased and concerned.
The Sea Snake and his aunt, Rhaenys, were both over fifty years old. Their granddaughter was already growing up—it was impossible for them to have another child.
The Velaryon family had some cadet branches, but with the Sea Snake's greedy and ambitious nature, he wouldn't easily relinquish power.
"Heh, a power-hungry man without an heir."
Rhaegar chuckled mischievously.
"Screech..."
Seasmoke nudged its snout forward, warily eyeing the black dragon before turning and taking flight.
The Devourer's emerald-green vertical pupils gleamed as its broad wings unfurled.
"Devourer, let it go."
Rhaegar watched the pale silver dragon disappear into the sky, stopping his own dragon from pursuing.
Seasmoke wouldn't fly beyond Westeros. If it failed to find Laenor, it would eventually return to Driftmark or Dragonstone.
That worked out well—Jeyne was pregnant, and the young dragons Blizzard and Thalassax weren't enough.
Seasmoke was another viable option.
As he watched the dragon's silhouette vanish over the horizon, Rhaegar climbed back onto his own dragon's back, full of energy. "Fly, Devourer!"
"Screech—"
The massive dragon soared into the sky, gliding westward over the rainforest.
---
### Stonehelm
The gray-white castle walls were scarred, bearing the marks of boulders and ballista bombardments.
Along the battlements, many steel-tipped spears remained deeply embedded, impossible to remove.
Atop the towering keep, a black portcullis banner flew high, replacing House Swann's black-and-white swan sigil.
"Screech!"
A piercing dragon cry echoed for miles as a mud-colored dragon circled in the sky.
"Dragonfire!"
A silver-haired youth laughed wildly as he rode the dragon down.
The sheep-thief's pupils darted wildly as its massive form plummeted, unleashing a messy spray of ember-like dragonfire.
"Take cover! A dragon is coming!"
"Load the scorpions—"
On the walls, hundreds of Dornish soldiers were struck with terror, their cries of alarm ringing out.
Boom!
A sweep of dragonfire engulfed the battlefield.
Agonized screams filled the air as the walls ignited in a ring of smoldering brown flames.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Atop the battlements, several powerful scorpion ballistae trembled as they fired steel-tipped spears.
"Screeeech—"
The Sheepstealer let out a sharp cry, flapped its wings, and twisted its body mid-air, deftly dodging the incoming projectiles.
Aemond's eyes gleamed with excitement as he bellowed, "Sheepstealer, burn them all!"
The dragon snorted, lazily soaring above the battlements before exhaling a blast of dragonfire and shifting positions.
If not for him, his foolish rider would've been skewered long ago.
Aemond grinned widely, looking down at the screaming Dornish soldiers below.
As soon as he heard that House Swann had been wiped out, he had rushed to the battlefield.
Riding atop the fierce and ugly Sheepstealer, he led two thousand Stormlanders into battle.
His smile didn't waver as he reached behind him and lifted a three-foot-long dragonbone war horn. Taking a deep breath, he blew into it forcefully.
"Hooooooo—"
The solemn sound of the horn echoed across the land, piercing through the thick castle walls.
"Charge!"
At the signal, the Stormlanders surged forward, hoisting their towering shields as they sprinted toward Stonehelm.
The Dornish soldiers tensed, taking cover behind the arrow slits in the walls, retaliating with triple-shot crossbows crafted in Myr.
Behind the castle walls, a dozen trebuchets were primed and ready, loaded with massive stones.
Boom! Boom!
The rolling boulders crashed down along the Stormlanders' path, causing immediate casualties.
"No retreat! Keep charging!"
The commander roared at the top of his lungs, raising his massive shield and leading from the front.
Emboldened by his courage, the soldiers pushed forward, braving the onslaught of stones and bolts as they reached the base of the castle walls.
Throughout history, attackers always outnumbered defenders in siege warfare—otherwise, it was just suicide.
Yet still, they charged, fearless.
Involuntarily, they glanced up at the sky, watching the mud-colored dragon circling above, raining fire upon the walls.
It was because of the dragon—because of its terrifying power—that the Stormlanders fought with reckless abandon.
With a Targaryen prince on the battlefield and a fully grown dragon providing fire support, taking the castle became a real possibility.
"Screeeech!"
Sheepstealer twisted in the air, dodging another scorpion bolt before retaliating with a blast of dragonfire.
Aemond's face was full of pride, showing not even a hint of fear or surprise.
His brother had taught him well—war required adaptability.
Suppress the enemy with dragonfire, then send in the soldiers to break their ranks. Even with a ten-to-one disadvantage, victory was still possible.
He had listened carefully and executed it even better.
Meanwhile…
Inside the inner walls, Orifor Yronwood stood with a grave expression, shouting angrily, "Archers, take aim! Coordinate with the scorpions and bring the dragon down!"
"Yes, my lord!"
His lieutenant relayed the order.
Moments later, archers in well-fitted armor emerged from the castle's high points and hidden corners.
At the command, they loosed a rain of arrows, filling the sky.
"Screeeech!"
Sheepstealer spewed another stream of dragonfire before swiftly pulling away from the low-altitude assault.
A dragon's flames had limited range, requiring a dive for each attack.
While the iron-tipped arrows couldn't pierce Sheepstealer's scales, they could still be a nuisance.
The dragon's deep-set brown eyes gleamed with curiosity as it observed the situation.
The arrows couldn't break through its defenses, but they stung a little when they hit.
There were too many of them—it feared getting struck in the eye or, worse, having its rider get hit by sheer misfortune.
"Sheepstealer, fire!"
Aemond lowered the war horn, patting the dragon's back to urge it forward.
Sheepstealer shot him a sideways glance, reluctant but obeyed, diving once more.
Aemond was no fool either. He commanded, "Target the archers!"
"Screeech!"
Sheepstealer let out a cry, gliding sideways over a row of archers hidden behind the parapets before unleashing a torrent of dragonfire.
Boom!
"Help! I'm on fire!"
"Run—!"
The archers screamed in agony. Some were burned alive on the spot, while others ran in blind panic like headless chickens.
One lost his footing and tumbled over the wall, his body turning into a bloody smear on the ground below.
Beneath the walls, the Stormlanders raised their shields in formation, pushing forward with a battering ram against the castle gates.
Arrows and bolts rained from the murder holes above, striking any openings in their defense.
Many warriors were hit—those who couldn't shield their vitals fell, never to rise again.
Rumble—
Without siege ladders, the Stormlanders had only one strategy left: throwing their lives at the castle gates until they broke through.
Watching the dragon and army working in tandem, Orifor Yronwood seethed with frustration but remained clear-headed.
He issued a grim order, "Bring out the old and weak from House Swann!"
The city was likely lost.
Now it was just a matter of whether the Targaryen boy was foolish enough to do something that would make him infamous across the continent.
Orifor's expression was dark, but his mind was calm.
According to Prince Qoren's strategy, this invasion of the Stormlands was nothing more than a performance—one they were forced to act out.
If they could loot livestock and supplies while seizing Stonehelm as a foothold, that would be ideal.
It would bring them fortune and a strong strategic position.
But if it proved impossible, they wouldn't push their luck. Delaying the enemy was enough—they could always retreat.
Prince Qoren's true goal in the Stormlands was to deceive Braavos and the Three Daughters into providing resources and support.
The true points of invasion are the seemingly impregnable Prince's Pass and the Boneway.
After plundering the Stormlands, it was only natural to turn to the Reach.
Dorne is too poor—it needs to rob the rich to help the poor.
As for whether war will lead to national decline, economic regression, or civilian rebellion?
Dorne has always been barren, and this year's harvest is the worst yet. Even without war, survival is nearly impossible.
By waging this war, they can even secure secret support from multiple factions.
Moreover, the Iron Throne has occupied the Kingdom of the Three Daughters and controls the Stepstones.
If they are given a year or so to recover, they will easily dominate the southern half of the Narrow Sea, leaving Sunspear without a single plank to sail.
With the temperament of the Targaryen heir, the butcher's blade will sooner or later fall upon Dorne's neck.
If they don't rebel now, they won't have a chance later.
"Hiss-screech!"
Above the city walls, Sheepstealer swooped back and forth, attacking archers hiding in the shadows.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Scorpion bolts fired in succession, desperately trying to take down the hideous, mud-covered dragon.
Aemond leaned forward, surveying the battlefield below, his anxiety growing.
His attack strategy was solid, but he had overlooked a crucial detail.
The siege engines were inefficient, and the Stormlanders couldn't break through the gates.
Sheepstealer was assaulting the archers while also bombing Dornish soldiers on the walls, but its firepower was spreading too thin.
Dornish soldiers poured out in large numbers, hurling stones and rolling logs down from the walls, dousing the battlefield with flaming oil.
In an instant, the Stormlanders suffered heavy casualties.
(End of Chapter)