Chapter 63: Dragon Spirit
Drip. Drip…
The sound of water echoed endlessly through the darkness. Damp air clung to the underground space, heavy and stale. Something—like a sleeping beast—had lurked here for countless years, as if waiting for its former master to return.
Centuries had passed. Above, King's Landing had churned through endless cycles of chaos—civil war, rebellion, bloodshed, assassination—but none of it had ever disturbed this forgotten place beneath the city.
Until recently.
Here, deep below the world where night and day had no meaning, something had begun to stir.
Creak…
In some forgotten corner, the sound of rotting wood being forced open cut through the silence—then soft footsteps followed, drawing closer.
Flame sprang to life.
A wavering torch illuminated the underground chamber and revealed the "beast" hidden within.
Jagged bone.
Empty eye sockets staring endlessly into the dark.
The skeleton glowed faintly pale-red, its surface polished like jade. Instinctively, the intruder reached out—
—and snapped his hand back.
"So hot…"
The whisper escaped him before he realized it.
To an ordinary person, this bone might have felt perfectly normal.
To him, it burned like red-hot steel.
The heat was savage—wild—like touching a blade fresh from the forge.
Charles clenched his teeth and tried again.
Pain surged straight into his soul.
He gave up.
Standing before the enormous fanged skull, he raised the torch higher, examining it in detail. The spine behind the head was serrated like a saw, brutal and razor-sharp. Yet most of the body was swallowed by darkness, too massive to fully take in.
"This thing must've been magnificent when it was alive…"
With a resigned sigh, he moved on.
There were nineteen dragon skeletons here in total.
The largest burned to the touch.
The smallest burned just the same.
Every single one was untouchable.
He tried wrapping one in cloth.
The heat passed straight through.
He tried using tools.
The heat ignored them.
It wasn't warmth—it was something deeper, something that pierced matter and went straight for the soul.
And that meant one thing:
He couldn't take them with him.
If he couldn't take them… he couldn't sell them.
If he couldn't sell them… he couldn't profit from them.
Charles frowned, rubbing his temples.
Then another thought surfaced.
"If the Church can't do anything… could other spellcasters?"
His thoughts went immediately to the girl he'd abandoned in another world—the sister in name, family in spirit.
He may have escaped into another realm, but the weight on his heart remained crushing.
Hopelessness.
Grief.
Fear of watching another person fade away while he stood powerless.
Brother Worsie promised to seek help—but never spoke of extending life itself.
Charles hadn't pressed him, but he'd asked other priests afterward.
All answers were the same.
There is no one in Pita City who can do this.
At the time, he hadn't questioned it. After all, wasn't the Church the greatest supernatural force in the city?
But now…
Was that really true?
If light could not save her—
…what about darkness?
What about the rest of the world beyond the Church's reach?
Time was running out.
And Charles had made his decision.
---
The young man leaned against cold stone in the underground chamber and waited.
When the time arrived, his form wavered—
—and vanished.
When he reappeared, there was a trace of relief in his eyes.
___
"There is a way," the watchmaker said calmly, his voice measured yet comforting.
"But it comes at a steep price."
"For most spellcasters, the cost would be unbearable," the man continued.
"But for you, my client—only one thing is required."
He paused.
"Money."
___
"I don't have money… but I have these."
Staring at the "beasts" slumbering in the darkness, Charles muttered to himself, then frowned.
"But how am I supposed to get them out?"
"Smash them?"
It didn't feel like a good idea.
Breaking dragon bones felt like destroying priceless treasure.
But what choice did he have?
"There are nearly twenty of them… breaking one or two shouldn't matter… right?"
He even laughed softly as he tried to reassure himself.
Besides—he didn't even know what these things were really good for yet. So why was he hesitating?
Decision made, he climbed up to fetch a hammer and chisel and chose the smallest skeleton.
The first strike cracked into the crimson-tinted rib.
And then—
A faint wail echoed from within.
His hand froze.
"Wait… is there a soul inside this?"
Charles stared at the fracture, brow furrowed.
"Dragon spirit? Dragon soul? What exactly is this thing supposed to be used for?"
Under torchlight, gray mist seeped faintly from the cracked bone.
Not out of mercy—but because of instinct—he hesitated.
What if he had just shattered a treasure chest?
Whatever lay within that bone, it was clearly more precious than the bone itself. If he smashed all these skeletons and sold only the remains, the spiritual essence inside would vanish forever.
"…Keep them?"
"But if I don't break these, where am I supposed to get sellable dragon bone?"
He fell into thought.
Then suddenly, a memory surfaced.
"Didn't someone say the old king loved decorating with dragon bones? Wouldn't the royal chambers and palace halls be full of this stuff?"
He hadn't considered it before. He'd just arrived recently and had never explored anywhere except the Tower of the Hand and this underground pit.
The more he thought about it, the more sensible it seemed.
Glancing one last time at the cracked skeleton, he abandoned the site and hurried out.
---
The Red Keep
Normally, no one was allowed to wander into royal living quarters.
But King Stannis rarely returned from the city walls these days—and the Red Keep was currently under House Stark's authority.
After acquiring a temporary permit, Charles entered Maegor's Holdfast without trouble.
What he found stunned him.
Dragon bones—everywhere.
Bedroom.
Audience chamber.
Small council room.
Great Hall.
Skulls and ribs mounted on walls.
Spines arching across ceilings.
Fangs decorating corridors.
Whether in alcoves or grand halls, dragon skeletons were everywhere.
Charles nearly cursed himself for being blind before.
This was all money.
So much money.
With soldiers helping him, he immediately began "salvaging."
Some knights muttered in complaint, but none dared stop him. In any case, the current king despised these flamboyant decorations from the previous dynasty.
No one really minded they were gone.
In the end, Charles walked away with a massive haul of what most people considered useless junk—
Low in beauty… high in value.
Enough for his needs—and then some.
Not even close to portable in one trip.
"If you need more," one knight suggested, "there should be a great many left in the Dragonpit on Rhaenys's Hill."
"Dragonpit?"
Charles immediately remembered the strange divine pressure he'd felt upon entering the city.
"The Dragonpit was where the Targaryens once kept their dragons," the knight explained. "It's been abandoned for years."
Charles nodded—but selling the bones came first.
Whatever lay in the Dragonpit could wait.
---
The Front-Door World — The Next Day
Carrying an enormous sack of dragon bones extracted straight from ASOIAF Charles stepped into the watch shop.
Inside stood the familiar old shopkeeper.
Beside him…
…the same man Charles had seen once before.
The dark-skinned man with narrow eyes grinned wide the moment Charles approached.
"I've been waiting for you."
"You… waited for me?"
Charles glanced at the shop owner for confirmation.
But before the old man could respond, the stranger spoke again.
"Heard you might need some help, so I stuck around."
He placed a stack of thin booklets on the counter.
"And I came prepared."
"Ten elemental crystals… for a full set of matching resonance runes."
He spread his hands.
"Honestly? I think I'm the one losing money here."
(Note: The Underground Chamber - Chapter: 11, is different from the Dragon Pit built under the Hill of Rhaenys.)