81-85

Chapter 81: The Truth

"Yes, he was assassinated by an unknown assailant last night."

Babatt spoke with regret before continuing, "Prince, please come into the fortress for a while. We are preparing a welcome banquet for you."

"Your brother just passed away—let's skip the welcome banquet," Rhaegar said, shaking his head lightly.

"Uh..."

Babatt was momentarily speechless.

The middle-aged man standing behind him said, "Wells was a foolish man. He brought this upon himself—his death is nothing for us to mourn."

"In contrast, a Targaryen prince is someone truly worthy of our utmost hospitality."

"Heh, then show me around this castle on the peninsula," Rhaegar said with a faint smile as he slid off the dragon's back.

With Devourer outside, he had no fear of these people trying anything against him.

His identity and his dragon were his privileges.

No one could ignore either.

As Rhaegar dismounted, the crowd gathered around him, ushering him into the castle with great enthusiasm.

There was no trace of Wells' arrogance.

Indeed, fools are always the first to die.

Those who survive may not necessarily be brilliant, but they are never outright stupid.

Upon entering the castle, Rhaegar played the role of an innocent and curious child, eagerly urging Babatt to take him on a tour.

As a castle built on a peninsula,

Dread Hollow Keep was not particularly grand.

Apart from its eerie exterior, which gave it an air of intimidation,

its design was rather ordinary—three stories high, surrounded by stone walls for protection.

After making a round of the castle, Rhaegar returned to the guest hall to rest.

As he sipped on the fruit juice offered by the maids, he glanced at Babatt, who stood beside him, and said, "Ser, it seems you have something to say to me?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Babatt immediately responded.

He dropped to one knee, received a sword from a servant, held it to his chest, and bowed his head.

"I have heard that House Crab has sworn allegiance to you. On behalf of House Brynn, I offer our loyalty as well, and I humbly seek your response."

Rhaegar took a sip of the grape juice, feigning curiosity. "Ser, your brother has just passed away. Have you already become the Lord of Dread Hollow Keep?"

Only a lord had the authority to swear allegiance on behalf of his house.

"Not yet, but I have already sent a raven to King's Landing. I believe a reply will come soon," Babatt said, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead as he struggled to explain.

Rhaegar set down his glass and shook his head. "Apologies, Ser. I do not have the right to accept a lord’s fealty, and you do not have the right to swear it."

"Your Highness..."

Rejected, Babatt grew anxious.

The middle-aged man behind him grabbed him by the collar and pulled him upright, scolding, "Enough! You and your brother have brought disgrace to House Brynn!"

Babatt lowered his head even further, not daring to say another word.

Rhaegar's gaze shifted to the middle-aged man, noticing the sigil on his chest.

Unlike House Brynn’s emblem of a withered tree hanging a skull,

this sigil depicted a brown bear paw on a white background, surrounded by two brown borders.

Rhaegar blinked, unable to recall which house it belonged to, and asked, "Which house do you hail from?"

He omitted any titles, unsure of the man's rank.

Hearing the question, the middle-aged man released Babatt and bowed. "Sorrel Brynn, from a knightly branch of House Brynn, our lands are in the Brown Hollow Hills."

Rhaegar thought for a moment before realizing, "The descendants of the Brynn brothers—the two warriors who conquered the Crab Claw Peninsula and were hailed as heroes?"

"Indeed, Your Highness, you are well-informed," Sorrel said with a smile, his hardened features softening slightly at the mention of his ancestors’ great deeds.

Rhaegar shifted the topic, sitting upright in his chair, mimicking his father Viserys' regal demeanor. "Ser, would you care to tell me the real reason you invited me here?"

He didn’t believe a letter summoning a prince was merely to mourn Wells.

At his words, Sorrel's expression turned serious. "It was Babatt who invited you—he seeks your help to save House Brynn."

"Explain," Rhaegar said, intrigued.

Sorrel continued, "Dread Hollow Keep is cursed, and the source of this curse is Wells’ foolishness and greed."

"That wrecked ship indeed came from Qarth, but it was not engaged in any trade with House Brynn."

"The vessel was returning from Braavos when it encountered a storm, drifting into the waters near Dread Hollow Keep. Local fishermen discovered and rescued it."

"As lord, Wells summoned the ship's captain and the surviving crew."

"After speaking with them, he learned that the cargo on board was incredibly valuable. So, under the cover of night, he sent men to sneak into the hold and plunder it while the crew was unaware."

“The plan was a success. The sailors and mercenaries didn’t resist for long before being killed, leaving only one man in a black robe wearing a red mask.”

“That man claimed to be from the Land of Shadows, calling himself a Shadowbinder.”

Rhaegar’s expression changed instantly, and he interrupted, “A Shadowbinder! Aren’t they supposed to be the stuff of legends?”

“The soldiers leading the charge thought the same thing. They attacked the Shadowbinder and even cut off his head.”

Solor nodded heavily. “Yes, but…”

“What happened next? Did the Shadowbinder curse them as he died?” Rhaegar grew agitated, eager for the truth.

Solor hesitated for a moment before replying, “You could say that. After the Shadowbinder died, his headless corpse turned into a black shadow.”

“The shadow slipped into the darkness and followed the soldiers back to Dread Hollow Fort, attacking several of them that very night.”

“After that, the shadow started launching sporadic assaults on the people in the castle.”

“A few days ago, the shadow suddenly disappeared, and Wills thought the curse had lifted.”

“But unexpectedly, the shadow reappeared and took his life directly.”

At this point, Solor showed no sadness over the lord’s death.

Instead, his tone was full of frustration, as though lamenting Wills’ failure to meet expectations.

“So Wills lied to me. He knew about the shadow creature all along,” Rhaegar said grimly.

Barbat fell to his knees, pleading, “He didn’t mean to hide it from you. Attacking merchant ships is a grave crime, and he didn’t dare…”

“If he knew it was such a grave crime, he shouldn’t have risked it.”

Rhaegar cut him off, his tone sharp.

It was clear to him that these two brothers were fools: one reckless and now dead, the other timid and hoping to gain from the situation.

Furious, Rhaegar declared, “The curse was brought on by Dread Hollow Fort’s crimes, spreading disaster across the entire Crabclaw Peninsula. This alone is enough to have Wills executed a dozen times over.”

“And you all… you’d better figure out how to lift this curse and atone for your mistakes.”

“Should… should we report this to the king?”

A timid, slightly plump woman spoke up hesitantly.

Rhaegar cast an unfriendly look at Barbat and Solor.

Barbat immediately said, “She’s my brother’s wife.”

“Do you really want to report this matter to the king?”

Rhaegar rested his chin on one hand, narrowing his eyes.

After days of running around, Rhaegar was already weary of the journey to the peninsula.

But asking his father for help was something he couldn’t bring himself to do.

He believed that as the one who tamed the Devourer, he could resolve this mess on his own.

This was a challenge meant for him and the Devourer alone.

“Of course not. Wills made a grave mistake. Until we’ve rectified it, we have no right to seek the kingdom’s aid,” Solor replied firmly.

As the eldest and most cunning, Solor’s opinion held weight.

With his stance clear, Barbat quickly followed suit.

He declared that until the curse was lifted, the Bren family would remain in disgrace.

Rhaegar shrugged and sighed. “Alright then, you lot are really working me to the bone.”

---

(End of Chapter)  

Chapter 82: The Forest Witch’s Notes

The Bren family’s secrets were finally exposed, and the eerie truth surfaced.

"Has anyone in your family interacted with a Shadowbinder? Do you have a way to deal with this?" Rhaegar scrutinized the group.

Babart swallowed nervously and cautiously replied, "No, but the severed head of the Shadowbinder is still kept in the castle."

The headless corpse of the Shadowbinder had undergone strange changes.

Wells believed its head was also unusual, so he ordered the soldiers to bring it back.

"Take me to see it," Rhaegar commanded.

"As you wish, Prince," Babart bowed slightly and led Rhaegar to the sunlit side of the castle’s attic.

The attic was empty and covered in dust.

In the center, a circle of tallow candles illuminated a single object—

A ghastly pale severed head.

Babart explained, "The curse can lurk in shadows. By lighting candles around the head, the curse can’t take it away."

"The shadow creature has tried to retrieve the head?" Rhaegar frowned at the severed head, puzzled.

"No, the curse doesn’t seem to have intelligence. We’re just taking precautions," Babart answered respectfully.

*Thump, thump, thump…*

Before Rhaegar could examine the unsettling head closely, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the stairs below.

Solor rushed into the attic, his expression urgent. "Prince, a large group of wildlings has surrounded the castle. They claim to be your people."

Rhaegar was slightly taken aback.

"I gathered a group of Free Folk to serve me and avoid being picked off by shadow creatures."

After a brief explanation, Rhaegar turned to leave, instructing, "Keep an eye on the head. We may need it later."

Babart nodded repeatedly. "Yes, Prince."

Solor shot him a look of frustration before following closely behind Rhaegar.

---

As they exited the castle, the sound of wildling cries filled Rhaegar’s ears.

*"Hisss—Gaaah!"*

Waiting outside, the Devourer lowered its upper body to the ground, offering its back for Rhaegar to step onto.

"Go to the wall," Rhaegar ordered simply before mounting the creature’s back.

In Solor’s awestruck gaze, the pitch-black dragon took two strides forward before flapping its wings and soaring into the sky.

Beyond the castle walls, over a thousand wildlings had gathered.

Most of them looked terrified, while a few bore bloodstains on their bodies.

The Devourer circled twice over the crowd.

Upon seeing the dragon, the wildlings hastily scattered and dropped to their knees.

*Boom!*

The Devourer descended, shaking its fierce dragon head, its green slit pupils filled with cold indifference.

Seated on the dragon’s back, Rhaegar looked down and asked, "What happened? Why have you come here?"

A burly, clumsy-looking figure stood up from among the wildlings.

"Prince, we were searching for other tribes when we were attacked by the curse. Many of us were wounded," the man said gruffly.

"We saw your dragon flying overhead and decided to follow it."

The speaker, Trangrel, had a bleeding wound where his shoulder had been pierced.

"How many were injured? How large was the shadow creature?" Rhaegar asked in surprise.

"About a hundred wildling warriors and three hundred from the local tribe. The cursed shadow covered a vast area," Trangrel answered.

"If it weren’t for the bonfire setting the tribe’s hide tents ablaze and forcing the curse back, we wouldn’t have escaped."

As he spoke, fear flickered across his ugly face.

"Can you still find the shadow creature?" Rhaegar considered hunting it down with his dragon.

"I doubt it. The curse hides in shadows—no one can catch it," Trangrel replied dejectedly.

Hearing this, Rhaegar furrowed his brows, growing more cautious of the shadow creature.

The only thing that could harm it for certain was dragonfire.

But the creature avoided direct confrontation, striking only from the darkness. That put him at a disadvantage.

From atop the city wall, Rosor had heard everything clearly and voiced his concern. "Prince, this curse is dangerous. If we let it grow unchecked, the peninsula will never know peace."

"I know. The shadow creature stems from some sinister magic. It won’t be easy to deal with," Rhaegar replied, deep in thought about how to lure the monster out.

After a brief silence, he proposed, "Prepare enough food and water for these Free Folk. Lord Sam will come when he hears the news, and we’ll discuss our next move together."

He was still too young—his mind lacked the intricate scheming necessary for this kind of threat.

He needed experienced strategists to advise him.

---

At noon, Sam Cliber led a squad of soldiers and hurried toward Terror Pit Keep.

Seeing the massive silhouette of the Devourer from afar, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Guided by Babart, who had been waiting for him, Sam strode into the keep with an imposing presence.

He had only come because he had learned that Wells was dead and the prince had arrived. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered.

In the reception hall—

As soon as Sam saw Babart and Solor, tension filled the room, their expressions hostile.

And when he heard the truth about Wells murdering the Shadowbinder, his fury became uncontrollable.

He was not only wrongfully accused by Wills but also framed further, as Wills stole a large portion of farmland from his territory.

This humiliation and hatred were unbearable for him.

As tensions between the two sides grew, Rhaegar could not stand by and watch internal strife erupt, so he stepped in to intervene.

Ultimately, Babatt inherited Terrorhole Keep, apologized formally on behalf of Wills, and offered double compensation for the farmland loss, along with a thousand gold dragons.

Sam still felt dissatisfied.

However, considering the prince's intervention and the looming threat of the shadow monster, he reluctantly accepted the compensation from the Brenn family.

After all, Wills was already dead, and pursuing a vendetta against the Brenn family was not a wise decision.

Following this heated dispute, Rhaegar and the others sat around the council table to discuss how to handle the shadow monster.

Solror bluntly proposed, "With ninety percent of the peninsula's wildlings gathered together, we can use some of them as bait in the wild."

"You heartless bastard! Why don’t you send your father out there as bait!" Tranger cursed furiously.

"Stupid wildling, you're lucky to even set foot in the castle! Don’t push me, or I’ll chop off your head!" Solror snapped back without backing down.

"Come on, then! Let’s see if I don’t take your head first and use it as a wine jug!" Tranger shouted, moving aggressively toward him.

"Enough! If you two don’t shut up, get out!"

Seeing the two about to come to blows, Rhaegar slammed the table and shouted, glaring at them angrily.

At a time like this?

Still infighting?

“Hmph…”

Both men snorted coldly and turned away from each other.

Sam, who had been watching the argument with interest, stood up once the commotion ended and said, "Prince, the curse stems from magic. We should use the same kind of power to counter it."

"Magic is dangerous. Other than dragonfire, who here knows anything about magic?" Rhaegar scanned the room, looking at the others.

Sam’s face lit up with pride as he said, "Prince, you’ve surely heard of my ancestor, Clarence Crabbe, the legendary hero who united the Claw Peninsula. He left behind many incredible legends."

"For example, do you know why the Crabbe family’s castle is called Whispering Keep?"

Rhaegar frowned in confusion; he really didn’t know much about that part of history.

He turned to Babatt, who was shifting nervously.

Understanding the prince’s signal, Babatt quickly explained, "There’s a legend that Clarence possessed immense strength, and his wife was a forest witch. Every person he killed would have their head taken back to his castle."

"The forest witch would kiss the lips of the severed heads, bringing them back to life so they could serve as Clarence’s advisors."

"Since they were only heads, their voices couldn’t be very loud, and they passed the time chatting endlessly out of boredom."

"Thus, his castle became known as Whispering Keep."

Rhaegar’s eyes lit up with excitement as he turned to Sam, his gaze full of anticipation. "Lord Sam, do you know how to perform this incredible magic?"

Heads that could come back to life and talk?

How fascinating.

Sam coughed lightly and replied in a low voice, "The glory of my ancestors is something we cannot replicate."

"You don’t know how?"

Rhaegar was deeply disappointed.

Why even bring it up, then?

Sam quickly explained, "While I don’t know any magic myself, the forest witch’s notes that describe this magic are still preserved in Whispering Keep."

"The notes are written in Valyrian, and no one in my family can read them."

"But you, as a descendant of Old Valyria, must be able to make sense of them."

"You’re willing to share such a precious magical record?" Rhaegar’s youthful face grew serious.

"The knowledge of magic isn’t rare; the Citadel even teaches the study of mysticism, though it’s never been very practical."

As he explained, Sam rose from his chair and knelt on one knee before Rhaegar, speaking with respect. "But I still hope to assist you, Prince, in restoring peace to the peninsula and achieving unmatched glory."

---

*(End of Chapter)*

Chapter 83: The Swamp Marigold

Looking at Sam Kleiber's sincere expression, Rhaegar felt a mix of emotions.

This man was truly persistent, determined to swear allegiance to him.

He pondered for a moment.

If the Forest Witch's notes really contained magical knowledge…

Not only would the Shadow Creature be dealt with, but he himself might also have the chance to learn some magic.

After all, who wouldn’t want to master strange and mysterious magic?

Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar solemnly said, "Lord Sam, if the contents of the notes are truly helpful, I will consider your previous request."

"Yes, my prince."

Sam’s eyes lit up with excitement as he said firmly, "The glory of heroes shines upon you. I have a feeling that you will become the new hero of the Crab Claw Peninsula."

"Let’s hope so."

Rhaegar gave a faint smile before musing, "The Shadow Creature is growing stronger, and we don’t have much time left. The priority is to check the Forest Witch’s notes."

"Lord Sam, time is of the essence. I can ride my dragon back to Whispering Keep. Can you tell me where the notes are kept?"

Sam didn’t hesitate and answered, "They are in the castle's basement. You can ask Yara for help—she knows where they are."

"Good. I’ll depart immediately."

Determined to deal with the Shadow Creature as soon as possible, Rhaegar ended the discussion.

After warning Trangel to keep the wildlings outside the walls in check, he mounted Devourer and flew toward the southern coast, heading for Whispering Keep.

---

With Devourer flying at full speed, he arrived safely in just ten minutes.

The dragon landed before the gates of Whispering Keep, where the guards immediately stepped forward to salute him.

Sam’s children emerged from the castle to greet him, and Rhaegar gave them a brief nod before seeking out the young girl, Yara.

After explaining his purpose, Yara was momentarily caught off guard.

However, daughters of the peninsula were not the type to be overly delicate. Without hesitation, she led Rhaegar into the castle’s basement.

The basement was divided into two sections: one well-lit and one shrouded in darkness.

Passing through the brighter section, they entered the dimly lit area.

*Click—*

Yara lit an oil lamp on the wall, and the flickering candlelight illuminated the gloomy surroundings.

This part of the basement felt particularly eerie.

It was packed with various goods and chests.

In one corner, there was a desk…

Crowded with countless skulls.

"This is the place, my prince," Yara whispered, stepping forward to light a thick candle on the desk.

Faced with such a chilling scene, Rhaegar couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

Suppressing his discomfort, he approached the desk and noticed a wooden box placed on top of it.

Yara retrieved a key from one of the skulls and unlocked the box.

Inside was a thin, yellowed book.

Carefully, Yara picked up the book and respectfully handed it to Rhaegar with both hands.

He reached out and took it.

The moment his fingers touched it, the soft texture sent a shiver down his spine.

It wasn’t made of ordinary paper—likely parchment of some kind.

"Let’s go outside, my prince," Yara suggested, noticing his dislike for the basement’s darkness.

"Alright, let’s go."

Rhaegar did not refuse.

---

As they walked, he flipped through the Forest Witch’s notes.

The more he read the cramped handwriting, the deeper his frown became.

The text was indeed written in Valyrian.

But it was not the refined High Valyrian traditionally used by House Targaryen.

Instead, it was a mix of various Valyrian dialects, Common Tongue, and even some unknown symbols.

Fortunately, Rhaegar was proficient in Valyrian.

He could barely understand about seventy to eighty percent of it.

Anyone else would likely get a headache after just a few lines.

*"Natural magic… Flower of Life… The Whisper of the Dead…"*

By the time he stepped out of the basement, Rhaegar had already finished reading the few pages of the book.

The notes mainly described three spells and some general knowledge of natural magic.

Of the three spells, he could only fully understand one—

The *Whisper of the Dead*, the spell the Forest Witch had used to make severed heads speak.

The second was a *shapeshifting spell* that allowed humans to control animals.

However, it required an innate talent, making it impossible for ordinary people to learn.

The last spell enabled one to *sense nature and hear the voices of plants*.

This also demanded a high degree of natural magic affinity.

Mastering the latter two spells would require a vast amount of knowledge in natural magic.

Even deciphering this book had been a struggle for Rhaegar—actually learning from it would be even harder.

“Fortunately, the Whisper of the Dead is a relatively simple spell. It doesn’t require special talent, just rare materials,” murmured Rhaegar softly.

This spell requires a special material—the Flower of Life.

Using the Flower of Life's immense vitality, it preserves the head from decay while awakening the memories of the deceased through incantations.

Memories, however, are not the same as consciousness.

This means that the resurrected head is not the same as the living person it once was.

It’s merely a mindless puppet—a talking automaton devoid of wisdom.

The Forest Witch often used this method to create numerous puppet heads, interrogating them about their past lives to glean more knowledge.

“What a despicable spell!”

Rhaegar frowned deeply, disgusted by the magic.

What he longed for were the heroic spells described in storybooks—a flaming greatsword, fireballs cast from a staff...

Or methods to slay shadowy monsters.

Not this vile magic that steals the memories of the living.

“No wonder the Academic City shuns magic. This kind of sorcery truly corrupts people,” Rhaegar thought bitterly, returning the book to Ayla.

“Was the content of the notes not to your liking?” Ayla asked.

“Precious magical knowledge, but not suitable for me,” Rhaegar replied, shaking his head.

Even so, an idea came to his mind.

The head of the Shadow Binder was still in the fortress of Terror Hollow.

If he could resurrect it, he might be able to learn how to combat shadowy monsters.

Rhaegar asked, “Miss Ayla, do you know of the Flower of Life?”

He had already memorized the spell for the Whisper of the Dead.

To cast it, the Flower of Life was essential.

Ayla looked puzzled and then gestured to the family crest hanging prominently on the parlor wall.

“Your Highness, our family’s emblem is also known as the Flower of Life,” she said.

Rhaegar turned to look at the flag and saw the emblem of a Marsh Marigold vividly depicted on it.

It was a golden flower rooted in swampy muck.

“So, that’s the Flower of Life? I thought it was just an ordinary swamp orchid,” Rhaegar remarked in surprise.

Ayla smiled. “The Marsh Marigold resembles swamp orchids in appearance, but its color and growth environment are vastly different.”

“Some believe that because Marsh Marigolds thrive in mud and decay, they possess immense vitality and unyielding willpower.”

“That’s why it’s also called the Flower of Life.”

“Where can I find one?” Rhaegar pressed.

Ayla shook her head. “The Marsh Marigold is incredibly rare. It only grows in Rotting Swamps, and it vanished from the world over a century ago. Most believe it to be extinct.”

“If I ride my dragon to the peninsula’s swamps, is there any chance I might find one?” Rhaegar was unwilling to give up on the idea.

“The peninsula is vast and sparsely populated—half of it is swamp. If you fly your dragon across the marshes, you might uncover what ordinary people could never hope to find,” Ayla replied objectively, avoiding outright pessimism.

“Good. As long as it’s not completely extinct, I’ll find it,” Rhaegar said with confidence in himself and his dragon.

“Keep the notes safe. The Forest Witch is indeed someone who has mastered natural magic,” Rhaegar reminded her kindly.

---

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 84: The Shadow Approaches

After bidding farewell to Yara, Rhaegar mounted his dragon and departed from Whispering Keep.

It was said that the last swamp marigold had appeared in the Despair Marsh, located in the central region of Crabclaw Peninsula.

That was the largest swamp in the entire peninsula.

It was perpetually shrouded in miasma and teeming with venomous insects.

In recent years, no one had dared to approach Despair Marsh.

Rhaegar believed that by riding his dragon across the swamp, he might be able to find the long-lost swamp marigold.

With that thought in mind, he acted upon it.

Upon reaching the edge of Despair Marsh, Rhaegar looked up at the sky.

It was still early.

If he could find a swamp marigold quickly, he could return to Fear Hollow Keep before nightfall.

“Hiss… grrr…”

Circling above the vast, seemingly endless swamp, Glutton let out a low growl, unwilling to move forward.

Rhaegar gently stroked its scales, puzzled. “What’s wrong, Glutton?”

Glutton shook its head and flapped its wings in midair.

“You sense danger in the swamp?” Rhaegar guessed.

“Roar…”

Glutton’s vertical tail lifted and nudged Rhaegar’s shoulder.

“I… will be in danger?” Rhaegar was momentarily stunned.

With a growl, Glutton flew over the swamp and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire at a patch of mud-covered land.

Boom—

Before the dragonfire even touched the bog, it ignited in midair, triggering an explosion that sent a rancid wind surging through the air and churned up a wave of sludge.

Seeing this, Rhaegar frowned deeply.

“This… is miasma?”

He recalled hearing about it from the maesters during lessons.

In places where the air remained stagnant, harmful gases could accumulate, becoming highly flammable upon contact with fire.

Despair Marsh had existed for countless years, allowing its miasma to become incredibly dense.

Glutton’s dragonfire had ignited it instantly.

“You’re afraid I might inhale the miasma?”

Rhaegar patted Glutton’s back, feeling a surge of appreciation.

Glutton was truly the strongest and largest wild dragon, possessing an instinct for self-preservation that rivaled human wisdom.

“Hiss… grrr…”

Glutton turned to look at its rider, its green slit pupils flashing with warning.

“You’ve been here before?” Rhaegar immediately understood.

“I’m looking for a flower with incredible vitality. Do you know where I can find it?”

As he spoke, Rhaegar took out a sigil bearing the emblem of House Kleib—an exquisitely carved swamp marigold.

A hint of confusion flickered in Glutton’s eyes before it clamped its jaws around the sigil and flapped its wings, carrying Rhaegar in another direction.

Its speed was astonishing, and its flight path erratic.

In no time at all, the rider and dragon reached another corner of Despair Marsh—an area where patches of swamp had encroached upon a pine forest, creating a quagmire.

The miasma here was significantly weaker than in the main swamp.

Glutton turned its head and let out a low growl toward Rhaegar, as if trying to communicate something.

Rhaegar looked down at the eerie, decaying bog below and immediately understood.

He retrieved a handkerchief from his bracelet, poured some water over it, and covered his nose and mouth.

Seeing this, Glutton snorted disapprovingly and descended slightly.

It had intended for its rider to dismount.

The foolish dragonrider clearly hadn’t understood.

Glutton glided over the swamp, its massive body casting a shadow over the land. A few sparse pine trees brushed against its underbelly but were snapped in an instant.

Its ferocious head turned from side to side, searching for something.

Rhaegar knew—it was looking for the swamp marigold.

Glutton must have seen it before, perhaps even consumed it.

When they first arrived at Crabclaw Peninsula, Glutton had been gravely injured and had hidden him away in a valley before leaving on its own.

Rhaegar had never asked where it had gone.

Now, it seemed likely that Glutton had been searching for the swamp marigold—also known as the "flower of life."

Otherwise, its wounds wouldn’t have healed so quickly.

Glutton soared through the air, sniffing around with no concern for the swamp’s foul miasma.

Rhaegar remained on the dragon’s back, taking occasional deep breaths whenever it ascended, waiting patiently.

Glutton was already a full-grown dragon.

It would find what its young rider needed.

Suddenly—

A chill ran down Rhaegar’s spine.

He felt as though something was watching him.

Turning back, there was nothing but swamps and pine forests.

“Glutton, I have a bad feeling. Stay on alert.”

Ever since being framed and set up on Dragonstone Island, Rhaegar’s sense of caution had heightened significantly.

Even the slightest rustle would now catch his attention.

“Hiss... Caw…”

Glutton screeched, its call echoing through the air. Lowering its head, it continued searching, though the change in the rhythm of its wingbeats indicated it had acknowledged its rider’s command.

They flew on for a while longer.

Swish!  

A shadowy tendril suddenly extended from the darkness, slithering like a serpent toward the gliding dragon.

Glutton was prepared. At the moment the shadow appeared, it shifted its body to one side, lowering its altitude just enough to evade the attack.

“Dragonfire!”

Rhaegar, perched on the dragon’s back, issued the command almost simultaneously.

A stream of dragonfire erupted from Glutton’s maw, engulfing the shadowy tendril in mid-air.

Sizzle!  

The tendril crackled harshly upon contact with the flames, disintegrating into droplets of black, viscous liquid that dripped to the ground.

Rhaegar locked his gaze on the source of the shadowy tendril: beneath the shade of a withered old pine tree.

“There!”

Over their time together, the bond between Glutton and Rhaegar had grown strong. With precise aim, the dragon directed its fiery breath toward the old pine tree.

In the blink of an eye, the flames consumed the tree, reducing it to charcoal.

But the shadowy tendril was nowhere to be seen.

Rustle, rustle, rustle!  

Before Rhaegar and Glutton could make sense of the situation, shadowy tendrils emerged from all directions, forming what looked like a massive, enclosing net.

Sensing imminent danger, Glutton flapped its wings forcefully, ascending rapidly into the sky.

From above, torrents of green dragonfire rained down, inundating the shadowy tendrils below.

Within moments, the tendrils were all incinerated.

Rhaegar gazed sternly at the ground, remaining vigilant against another attack from the shadowy creature.

However, after waiting for some time, no further movements occurred.

“Glutton, let’s go. Finding the Marsh Marigold is more important right now.”

Without the shadowy creature making another appearance, there was little they could do with dragonfire alone. Reviving the Shadowbinder’s head remained the higher priority.

Glutton scanned the area once more to confirm the absence of any lingering shadowy tendrils before changing direction and flying off.

One thing the Crabclaw Peninsula never lacked was swampland.

And in one of these swamps lay treasures that ordinary people could never hope to reach.

---

As the sun began to set, Glutton flew over several small patches of swamp.

It eventually landed in a swamp near a stream.

The swamp was littered with bleached bones—victims of the nearby beasts who had unknowingly inhaled the toxic miasma.

Glutton descended to the center of the swamp, its talons snapping a few pine logs to use as a makeshift platform.

Before them, on a slab of muddy greenstone, grew a single golden flower, radiant and dazzling.

Still seated on the dragon’s back, Rhaegar immediately recognized the plant.

“That’s it! The Marsh Marigold!”

Overjoyed, Rhaegar couldn’t help but praise his dragon.

“Glutton, you’re incredible!”

Glutton raised its head proudly, giving its rider a disdainful glance, as if to say, You’ve only just noticed? Foolish human.  

Rhaegar didn’t mind the slight and slid gracefully down the dragon’s neck.

Stepping cautiously onto the pine logs sunk into the mud, he approached the greenstone and cupped the golden flower’s roots in his hands.

“Rare organism detected. Contains trace amounts of magical energy. Commencing analysis…”

“Analysis complete. Identified as the Flower of Deathroot. Exploration quest activated.”

The system’s notification startled Rhaegar as it sounded abruptly.

His eyes lit up with excitement as he stared fervently at the Marsh Marigold.

“To think this flower could unlock an exploration opportunity for me!”

He opened the system panel to check its details.

*[Flower of Life]*

Exploration Progress: 0.5%  

---

(End of chapter)

Chapter 85: Essence of Life  

"The initial exploration progress is quite low. It seems that the quality of the Swamp Marigold is not bad."  

Having explored several times before, Rhaegar was delighted and reached out to pick the flower.  

Swish—  

In an instant, a shadowy tendril shot out from the corner, aiming straight for Rhaegar’s lowered head.  

A gust of wind brushed past him, leaving him no time to dodge.  

"Hiss... Gah..."  

At the critical moment, the Devourer’s long tail lashed out, its sharp tip piercing the shadowy tendril and slicing it cleanly in half.  

Everything happened too fast.  

By the time Rhaegar reacted, the severed tendril had already fallen to the ground.  

He quickly grabbed the Swamp Marigold and turned to run.  

More shadowy tendrils emerged behind him.  

The Devourer let out a low growl and opened its draconic maw, unleashing a burst of dragonfire.  

Splurt—  

The sound of a blade tearing through flesh echoed.  

Rhaegar instinctively turned his head—and his eyes widened in shock.  

From within the darkness, not only did more tendrils emerge, but a headless figure also stepped out.  

At that moment, the headless figure held a steel spike in its hand and had silently pierced through the Devourer’s tail.  

As the steel spike was withdrawn, crimson dragon blood seeped out, sizzling as it met the air.  

The headless figure then stuffed the bloodstained spike into its stomach and turned around, standing motionless.  

Rhaegar stared at the figure.  

He could feel it—somehow, it was staring back at him.  

A chilling unease crept up his spine.  

Thud—  

The next second, the Devourer, sensing pain in its tail, swung it violently, smashing the headless figure apart.  

As the figure disintegrated, the shadowy tendrils retreated as well.  

Gone along with them was the steel spike hidden in the figure’s stomach.  

Rhaegar rushed to the Devourer’s side and scrambled onto its back.  

Clutching the Swamp Marigold tightly to his chest, he gave a hurried command:  

"Devourer, let's get out of here!"  

Something about that headless figure felt profoundly wrong.  

Normally, shadow creatures were no different from mindless beasts.  

But that figure—there was something deeply unsettling about it.  

It felt like facing an actual living person.  

A shiver ran through Rhaegar as he urged the Devourer to leave immediately.  

The Devourer, equally repulsed by the shadow creatures, flapped its wings and soared into the sky.  

Rhaegar, still panting, began contemplating whether the shadow creatures had evolved to possess intelligence.  

Late at Night 

Rhaegar piloted the Devourer in circles above Dread Hollow Fortress, not rushing to land.  

"Exploration complete. Please retrieve the lost treasure."  

Only after hearing the system notification did he check the exploration panel.  

[Flower of Life]  

Exploration Progress: 100%  

"Finally done—just in time."  

Rhaegar let out a sigh of relief, secretly grateful.  

After leaving the swamp forest, he hadn’t returned to Dread Hollow Fortress immediately.  

Instead, he had detoured to Whispering Fortress to alert Yara and her people, instructing them to light torches and increase patrols in case of a shadow creature attack.  

He had also mobilized part of the stationed barbarian army to reinforce Dread Hollow Fortress.  

After all that, he had finally returned.  

"Now, let’s see what treasure the Swamp Marigold has yielded."  

Cradling the golden flower in his arms, he watched as a glowing orb emerged from the exploration rewards and landed on the dragon’s back.  

It was a purple light sphere, about the size of a coconut.  

"Purple? Could it be... an epic relic?"  

Excited, Rhaegar poked the glowing sphere.  

Brilliant purple light scattered as the system notification sounded.  

"Relic successfully retrieved. Analyzing..."  

"Analysis complete. Classified as an Epic Relic—Greedy Stamen."  

"Yes! An epic relic! Just one tier below legendary!" Rhaegar grinned.  

He then checked the text description in the exploration panel.  

"Rooted in death, it blooms with the brilliance of life."  

Rhaegar frowned slightly, struggling to understand its meaning.  

"Greedy Stamen..."  

"Death and life..."  

Rhaegar gazed at the delicate cluster of flower stamens in his hand, speculating that the method to activate them must be related to life and death.  

After thinking for a moment, Rhaegar gave the order to descend.  

The Devourer folded its wings and landed outside the city walls.  

The army of wildlings was assembling, and the Crabclaws approached the giant dragon one after another, kneeling respectfully before it.  

Rhaegar spoke plainly, "Do you have any freshly hunted animals? Corpses will do."  

"We do, my prince."  

The previously defiant Fusky, who had snatched Rhaegar's bracelet earlier, was now a loyal Crabclaw. He eagerly ran to the bonfire and brought back a deer carcass.  

Sliding down from the dragon's back, Rhaegar placed the greedy flower stamens onto the deer's corpse.  

The stamens emitted a faint glow.  

Before their very eyes, the deer's body rotted, decayed, and turned into a pile of dry, cracked bones at an alarming speed.  

The onlooking wildlings were horrified by the sight.  

Even Rhaegar was taken aback.  

He hadn't expected the flower stamens to be so vicious.  

After consuming the entire deer, the stamens still shimmered faintly, as though urging for more sacrifices.  

Rhaegar ordered more animal carcasses to be brought over and tossed them near the stamens.  

As before, the carcasses were reduced to heaps of brittle bones.  

Thankfully, the stamens were finally satiated.  

The glow subsided, and a system notification sounded:  

"Congratulations, the Greedy Stamens have been activated. You have obtained…"  

[Essence of Life]  

Grade: Epic (Purple) 

Effect: Immense vitality that can awaken latent talents. 

Note: "Non-magical beings should not consume!!!"  

The stamens withered, producing a single golden droplet of dew, which fell into Rhaegar's palm.  

Staring at the information displayed on the exploration panel, Rhaegar's mouth opened slightly in surprise.  

"Enhancing life potential… What an incredible ability."  

Noticing the special warning in the description, Rhaegar shook the droplet in his hand, sighing in resignation.  

He was human, and although he carried the bloodline of the Dragon King, his body did not possess magic.  

He was not a magical being.  

He couldn’t consume the droplet.  

Turning to look at the Devourer, Rhaegar saw the dragon staring back at him.  

Its green, slit pupils scrutinized the droplet in his hand intently.  

Rhaegar strode forward, raising his palm as he smiled. "Come on, Devourer. This is your well-deserved reward."  

The Devourer had contributed greatly to finding the Swamp Golden Lotus.  

This droplet of dew rightfully belonged to it.  

"Hissss-gaaa…"  

The Devourer's piercing gaze remained locked on the droplet. It let out a soft hiss and lowered its head, opening its jaws as it lay prostrate.  

"Catch it, then."  

Rhaegar laughed as he tossed the droplet into the Devourer's mouth.  

The tiny droplet disappeared instantly in the dragon’s cavernous maw, dissolving in its saliva.  

Gulp~~  

The Devourer cooperatively swallowed, shaking its head and standing upright.  

Rhaegar examined it closely from both sides, trying to discern any changes.  

"Hisss-gaa…"  

Annoyed by his staring, the Devourer flicked its tail, wrapping it around Rhaegar and tossing him back onto its back.  

It then turned and leaped over the outer wall of the fortress.  

"Alright, I guess the droplet’s effect hasn’t kicked in yet," Rhaegar muttered, gripping the dragon’s scales with a tinge of disappointment.  

 The Devourer lay outside the castle, closing its eyes to rest.  

Carrying the Swamp Golden Lotus, Rhaegar was welcomed through the gates of Terror Hollow Fortress.  

Though it was late at night, the castle’s residents couldn’t find peace of mind.  

Most were still anxious over the assassination of their lord.  

Rhaegar entered the reception hall, where Sam, Solor, and Babart had been waiting for him for some time.  

Sam was the first to greet him, nervously saying, "Seven layers of hell! I’m so glad you returned safely. I was worried something might have happened to you on the way."  

 (End of Chapter)