The Targaryen Ancestral Castle was even more massive and dilapidated than it had appeared from a distance.
Ghidorah landed on a relatively level plaza in front of the main keep, its details long since erased by time and volcanic ash.
The dragon's massive talons crushed the weathered stone slabs of the ground, producing a dull cracking sound.
Aegon leaped down from the dragon's back and looked up.
The castle was not built entirely upon the mountain; rather, it seemed as if a portion of the mountain had been hollowed out and sculpted, merging seamlessly with the external megalithic structures.
The silhouette of the main keep was still faintly discernible, though most of its towering turrets had been snapped in half, looking like the jagged, severed necks of decapitated giants.
The massive arched windows were now nothing but dark, hollow pits, like countless blind eyes staring indifferently at the descendant who had returned centuries later.
The air here seemed even more stagnant.
Silence. A deathly silence, where even the whimpering of the wind passing through the ruins felt cautious.
But Aegon could feel it.
Not through his eyes or ears, but through a deeper, faint resonance originating from his bloodline.
"Wait here," Aegon commanded Ghidorah.
The great dragon let out a low growl, its three heads slowly turning as its six molten-gold vertical pupils warily scanned every inch of shadow like the most loyal of sentinels.
Aegon gripped the blackfyre sword in his hand and stepped toward the deep entrance of the main keep, which, long since stripped of its doors, gaped like the maw of a giant beast.
The lightbringer sword hung at his other hip, clinking softly against his leg armor with a faint metallic friction as he walked.
Inside the entrance was absolute darkness, filled with an even heavier scent of dust and decay.
Collapse was everywhere.
Broken beams, shattered sculptures, and mountains of rubble.
The floor was covered in a thick layer of ash accumulated over unknown years; stepping on it was like sinking into snow, silent and weightless.
On the walls, one could occasionally see remnants of reliefs—the silhouettes of dragons and ancient runes that had long since become unrecognizable.
On one relatively intact section of the wall, Aegon saw a familiar sigil: a three-headed dragon on a black field, the Targaryen house crest, though its colors had long since mottled and peeled away.
Aegon did not rush deeper inside.
Standing just inside the entrance, he confirmed that he had overlapped with the check-in location on the system map, then sank his consciousness into his mind.
"System, check in."
There were no light or shadow effects, no grand sound effects. Only that cold voice belonging solely to him rang out in the depths of his thoughts:
[Check-in location: Targaryen Ancestral Castle (Valyrian Era Main Keep Ruins) confirmed.]
[Check-in successful.]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: High Valyrian Blood Magic.]
[Knowledge infusion beginning.]
In an instant, a massive, chaotic stream of information carrying a bloody scent surged into Aegon's mind like a bursting dam!
"Ugh!" He let out a muffled groan, his body swaying; he had to brace one hand against the nearby wall to steady himself.
Countless twisted runes, obscure incantation fragments, bloody ritual scenes, and interspersed crazed, agonizing roars and dragon cries exploded within his consciousness!
It was painful, but not unbearable. What was more intense was the impact of the information itself.
Blood Magic.
The High Blood Magic knowledge that truly belonged to the core secret traditions of the Valyrian Dragonlords had a very clear focus... "Dragons."
He "saw" how the ancient Dragonlords used blood and soul contracts to bind dragons, how they used secret arts to enhance the power of dragonflame, and how they healed a dragon's wounds... but none of these were the main point.
At the end of the information stream, and also the clearest and most complete part, was an extremely special and extremely... evil ritual.
Specifically used to catalyze dragon eggs that were considered "dead" and impossible to hatch naturally due to age, loss of magic, or other reasons.
By using a large amount of high-quality blood, complex magic circles, and specific incantations and rituals, it forcibly infused life energy and magical essence into a dead or magically dormant dragon egg.
That blood was not just an offering, but a bridge and fuel, carrying plundered vitality. Driven by the incantations, it would roughly strike and ignite the flickering embers deep within the dragon egg.
It stimulated the remaining magic inside, reversing its state of death or dormancy to catalyze a forced hatching.
The success rate was not one hundred percent; it required a certain foundation from the egg itself and had extremely high requirements for the quality and quantity of the sacrifices.
It would either succeed or completely lose all vitality, turning into a true "stone."
Furthermore, even if successful, the hatched hatchlings would be naturally ferocious and extremely difficult to tame.
This was a forbidden art that drained the pond to catch the fish, acting against the heavens.
But, it indeed pointed out a path.
A path that could bypass the special conditions Daenerys needed to hatch eggs—a more "direct" and more cruel path.
Aegon slowly opened his eyes, the hand bracing against the wall tightening until his fingertips turned white.
The dizziness and discomfort brought by the residual information in his mind were fading, replaced by a cold heat.
He happened to have dragon eggs. More than one. He had obtained over a hundred ancient, magically dormant eggs from Torregar that were no different from stones.
He had previously had no clue what to do with them, originally planning to wait until his power stabilized before going to Qarth to find some wizards for experimentation.
But now... he had this Blood Magic.
Though the cost was immense, though the risk was extremely high, and though what hatched might only be inferior products... they were still dragons.
They were power, they were symbols, they were the possibility of breaking the rules.
The corners of Aegon's mouth slowly curled into a cold, almost cruel arc.
Cost? Had he paid little cost so far? Risk? Which step of the path he had walked was not like licking blood from a blade?
This legacy, this gift from the source of his bloodline, stained with blood and madness, had come at just the right time.
He straightened up and looked around once more at the dark ruins that buried his family's ancient origins.
The air was still stagnant, and the dust still danced in the shafts of light.
But something was already different.
He had come here to find energy for Ghidorah, unexpectedly gained lightbringer, and now, he had obtained this blood-stained key that might open the era of dragons.
Taking one last look at the dark ruins, Aegon turned and stepped toward the daylight at the entrance.
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