The Crows Eye's blue-stained lips were still curved.
His entire demeanor had shifted from the casual indifference of an observer to the focus of a predator.
He looked at Aegon, as if truly "seeing" the silver-haired boy for the first time.
High Valyrian, the Ancient Language exclusive to Dragonlords and magic, held power and secrets in every syllable.
Before, his words to Aegon—Valyrian, or perhaps Targaryen—were more of a mockery than a question.
After all, silver hair was uncommon in Westeros, but not rare; many Bastards with Dragon Blood lived in the Crownlands.
The War of the Usurper hadn't affected them much.
But now.
This High Valyrian was not only accurately pronounced but carried an ancient resonance, far more pleasing to the ear than Corleone's clumsy Valyrian. This was definitely not something an ordinary Mercenary would know.
The blue-stained lips curved into a sticky, intrigued arc.
Slowly, deliberately, he licked his upper lip, as if tasting the sweet poison called 'Possibility' that had just appeared in the air.
"A mouthful... of beautiful High Valyrian." His voice wasn't loud, but it slid into everyone's ears like an oiled rope: "So pure it makes my ears itch, boy."
He took a step forward, his single eye fixed on Aegon.
"Tell me..." He deliberately drew out the words, each one wrapped in naked scrutiny and greed.
"Besides licking those old dreams carved into stone... what else does your nimble tongue know how to lick open?"
The Crows Eye paused deliberately, letting the profane and suggestive words ferment in the silence.
"For example... the secrets hidden beneath the Giant Dragon Bones."
"Those Forbidden Chapters written in blood, which only Dragonlords are fit to read?
"Or perhaps..." The Crows Eye lowered his voice further, with a devilish temptation, "Those Ancient Rituals that allow mortals... to touch Divine Authority?"
He tilted his head, the madness and calculation in his single eye unconcealed.
"Our Bastard Dragonlord says that only the 'True Blood' of Torregar is worthy of understanding this ruin." The Crows Eye spread his hand with blue-stained fingernails, making a 'come hither' gesture, his tone full of provocation and probing.
"You look far more like that 'True Blood' than he does."
Aegon's expression remained unchanged, but his mind was rapidly calculating.
Corleone... held something Euron wanted, but clearly, he couldn't control it, or he wasn't willing to hand it over completely.
So, their relationship was a transaction, a fragile rope, not a chain.
His thoughts raced. Aegon instantly grasped the Key: Euron needed a Key to unlock the secrets here. Corleone was currently the only Key holder. But now, he had shown the potential to become another Key. The opportunity... The Rift was right here.
He needed to demonstrate his value, and even more, his... controllability, and a higher cost-performance ratio than Corleone.
A fleeting stream of light flashed deep within Aegon's violet eyes, like a swift shadow darting beneath the ice.
"Ancient writings are merely tools. Knowing a few characters is nothing more than having read a few more books left behind by the dead."
"Compared to bloodline..." He paused subtly, glancing toward Corleone, "A tool, at least, won't change its original meaning based on who its owner is."
Aegon turned slightly, directing his gaze toward a more indistinct Inscription further away on the Stone Tablet, as if drawn by it, and his tone shifted to a detached narration.
"As for secrets and rituals... the ruin itself remembers them clearer than anyone. It doesn't care who reads them, only whether... the reader can pay the price. Some prices are paid in blood."
"Some prices... are the madness that Usurpers cannot bear."
The last few words were spoken softly, yet they pierced Corleone's strained nerves like needles.
After speaking, he looked back at the Crows Eye, his gaze clear and unflinching.
"I don't know much."
"But at least, I can distinguish the words on the stone from the demons in men's hearts."
The Crows Eye tilted his head. His single eye was nailed to Aegon's face like a spike. Gone was the earlier mockery, replaced only by naked, chilling desire.
"Tell me, boy, did you steal this 'tool' from the Citadel in Oldtown? Or..." He deliberately drew out the words, his voice sinking low like a viper's hiss, "Did you personally dig it out of the coffin of a true Dragonlord who hasn't quite perished yet?"
He stretched out his hand, his blue-stained fingertip almost touching Aegon's silver-white hair, yet stopping just short, as if admiring a precious collectible he was about to acquire.
"I like useful things, and I especially like... things that belong entirely to me."
"Now, give me a name, a place, or a story that proves this 'tool' is meant only for my use. Otherwise..."
The Crows Eye withdrew his hand, licked his lips, and revealed a smile mixed with appreciation and cruelty.
Aegon met Euron's single eye, showing neither fear nor provocation. His violet eyes were still as a deep pool, and his voice was steady, stating a fact: "Tools do not ask where they come from, only what they are used for."
"If you want a story, wait until we walk out of this ruin alive, and I can weave you a spectacular one—as for now, the 'Monsters' in the ruin know far more than I do."
The Crows Eye's single eye narrowed abruptly. A cold killing intent flashed in the air, but then, a low, sticky chuckle rolled out of his throat.
"Heh heh heh... Tools do not ask where they come from, only what they are used for. Well said."
He licked his blue-stained lips, his eyes interwoven with madness and calculation.
This silver-haired boy not only understood the Ancient Language but also knew how to walk on a knife's edge. His courage and value clearly surpassed that increasingly anxious and useless Bastard.
"I appreciate useful 'tools'." Euron finally nodded slowly, his single eye still locked firmly on Aegon. "Then let me see your 'use,' boy."
"If you dare play tricks, I will make you taste something far more exquisite than having your tongue cut out."
Aegon's expression was calm, when a hoarse, sharp voice interrupted.
"You silver-haired Bastard!"
Corleone's roar instantly tore through the brief silence.
His face was pale, and his outstretched finger trembled violently with rage as he pointed fiercely at Aegon. "You think you can pry into the secrets of Torregar just because you happened to guess a few words of a dead language?!"
"You are unworthy!"
He suddenly turned to his Guards and shrieked, "Draw your swords! Kill this charlatan right now—his tongue will only defile this Sacred Ground!"
The Crows Eye's single eye swept over Corleone, and his blue lips curved into a sticky, cold smile.
"Silence."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an iron-like pressure that instantly froze Corleone's fury. "I will make my own judgment."
He turned back to Aegon, his single eye gleaming with the shrewdness of measuring a prey's worth.
"Charlatan or Key, we shall see." He raised his hand and pointed toward the dim ruins ahead, the Crumbling Walls covered in Inscriptions and Murals, giving a decisive command that brooked no argument—"You, read it.
"Read out these ancient stories and secrets on the walls, word for word. If you truly have value... you might live longer than certain 'True Bloods'."
The Crows Eye's intervention was not mediation, but a more overbearing assertion of control. He enjoyed the feeling of manipulating everyone in the palm of his hand and advanced his plan according to his iron-fisted rules.
Under his will, the group began to crawl toward the ruins once more.
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