71-75

*Chapter 71: Negotiations*

After a deep conversation with Baolan and her brother, the sky gradually shifted into twilight.

Rhaegar gathered a great deal of useful information.

For instance, the land beneath his feet was not part of the continent but was instead the Crabclaw Peninsula.

The Crabclaw Peninsula, neighboring Dragonstone and Tidehead Island, was a sparsely populated and wild region.

As far as Rhaegar knew, the peninsula was covered in swamps and pine forests, with very limited resources. The number of local nobles could be counted on one hand.

This also meant that establishing contact with any nobles was next to impossible.

Inside the cave, a small bonfire crackled. The three children—one older and two younger—sat in a circle around it.

Tormund was visibly excited and repeatedly asked, “Your dragon is out hunting, right? Is it really that big?”

“Of course. Gluttonous is enormous. I’m like a flea when I sit on its back,” Rhaegar said casually as he munched on a wild fruit.

When traveling, identity is just something you make up with your words.

Whatever Rhaegar claimed, the others would believe.

Even though he had no idea where Gluttonous had gone, it didn’t matter.

As long as there was even a rumor of a dragon nearby, no one would dare lay a finger on Rhaegar.

“Your dragon is injured. There’s a large patch of blood in the valley. At first, I thought it belonged to some kind of giant beast, but now it’s clear it must be your dragon,” Baolan remarked, poking at the fire, as if deliberately pouring cold water on his confidence.

Rhaegar remained calm and said, “We were attacked by another dragon over the Narrow Sea. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be stranded here alone.”

“There are other dragons?” Tormund’s eyes widened in shock.

“Dragonstone is teeming with dragons. My ancestors used them to conquer the continent of Westeros,” Rhaegar said without hesitation.

“Nonsense! The Conqueror’s War only involved three dragons,” Baolan retorted.

“You’re well-versed in history?” Rhaegar asked curiously.

“Hmph. I’ve read books before. I’m not some fool who only listens to your nonsense,” Baolan said with a cold snort.

Rhaegar smiled and didn’t explain further.

Reading books was a good thing!

If she had truly read books, she’d know how important a prince’s status was, and that would make him even safer.

“Caw—!”

Just then, a sharp hawk’s cry echoed from outside the valley.

Baolan and Tormund simultaneously raised their heads and stood up, walking toward the sound.

“Is your tribe here?”

Rhaegar followed them, feeling a sense of unease.

He tried to reach out and sense Gluttonous, but there was no response.

Gluttonous was likely gravely injured and had flown off somewhere to recover.

Until it returned, Rhaegar’s fate depended entirely on his own resourcefulness.

Exiting the cave, Rhaegar trailed behind Baolan and Tormund, watching as a large group of people poured into the valley at the entrance.

They were all burly and rugged, clad in fur coats and leather armor, exuding a primitive, untamed aura.

The leader was a tall, middle-aged man with a broad frame.

His thick brown beard was braided, and his sharp eyes resembled those of an eagle.

Noticing Rhaegar’s gaze, the man turned his head and locked eyes with him.

Rhaegar’s expression subtly shifted, but he tried his best to remain calm.

It was clear from one look that this group was not to be trifled with. He had indeed stumbled into a den of wildlings.

Baolan leaned over to reassure him, “Don’t be afraid. Uncle Falcon is a principled leader. He won’t harm children.”

The Hawkrider Tribe fully entered the valley, and the scene immediately became bustling.

The wildling leader, Falcon, seemed to have some real skills.

He directed people to start fires, set up camps, and organize the area with impressive efficiency.

Baolan led Rhaegar to the firepit where Falcon was seated.

At that moment, Falcon was deftly skinning a wild rabbit, his hands moving with practiced ease.

After gutting the rabbit and placing it on a wooden spit to roast, he finally spoke in a low, deliberate tone. “Is this the noble child you found?”

Baolan glanced at Rhaegar and said seriously, “He’s the king’s child. A true dragon.”

“A prince?” Falcon immediately raised his head, visibly surprised.

Though he was a wildling, the title of “prince” carried weight that was hard to ignore.

Facing the wildling leader’s scrutinizing gaze, Rhaegar took a deep breath, knowing it was time to speak.

Meeting Falcon’s eyes directly, he said with composure, “Rhaegar. Rhaegar Targaryen. I was born in the Red Keep of King’s Landing. Do you, Chief, happen to know anything about that place?”

“A place a thousand miles away? How would I know?” Falcon replied indifferently.

“I was traveling across the continent on dragonback when I encountered trouble. If you’re willing to help me, I’ll ensure you receive a generous reward,” Rhaegar offered, bringing tangible benefits into the negotiation.

---

Falcon chuckled. "That, I can believe. With a father who’s a king, you could pull out mountains of gold and silver."

“So, does that mean you’ve agreed to help me?” Rhaegar’s eyes lit up.

“Absolutely not!” Falcon’s smile faded as he refused outright.

“Why not? I can give you gold and iron tools—just protect me for a little while, that’s all.”

Rhaegar hadn’t expected the wildling chief to reject him and quickly added more conditions.

Falcon flipped the roasting rabbit over the campfire and scoffed, “The Peregrine Tribe doesn’t trust outsiders, nor do we ever offer them aid. That’s how it’s always been.”

Rhaegar frowned and looked to Baolan, who stood nearby.

Baolan nodded. “That’s how it’s always been.”

“Then what do you plan to do with me? Or what conditions would you need to help me?” Rhaegar asked bluntly.

“Join the Peregrine Tribe. Become one of us, and I will protect you unconditionally,” Falcon replied, his tone deadly serious.

Rhaegar laughed.

He plopped down on the ground, crossed his arms, and stared at Falcon. “Do you think a Targaryen prince would join a wildling tribe? That’s the most ridiculous joke I’ve ever heard.”

By this point, any lingering fear Rhaegar had was gone.

He had figured it out—this man had no intention of helping him from the start.

He was a dragonrider, and the bloodstains in the valley proved the existence of the Devourer.

He didn’t believe these wildlings would dare to harm him.

Falcon, however, wasn’t angered by Rhaegar’s words. Instead, he laughed lightly. “You never really intended to seek my help, either, did you?”

“You…” Rhaegar was momentarily speechless.

It was true.

He had a dragon. As long as he waited patiently for the Devourer to find him, he could fly away when the time came.

What he truly needed was to stall these wildlings and ensure they didn’t harm him in the meantime.

Falcon sliced a piece of roasted rabbit and handed it to Rhaegar, speaking in a low voice. “I saw a giant beast, but it was injured and flew toward the Swamp of Despair.”

“I’ll take your identity at face value for now and provide you with protection until your dragon comes back for you.”

“But until then, you must promise that your dragon won’t harm my tribe and that you’ll leave as soon as possible.”

Falcon wasn’t some primitive savage whose only thoughts were of raiding and looting.

He had fought against the lords of the peninsula before and was more knowledgeable than the average wildling.

The boy in front of him was a king’s son.

The bloodstains and scars in the valley—only a giant beast could have caused such destruction.

And the pile of dung at the valley’s entrance?

It was likely a marker left by the dragon to drive off other predators.

From the start, this boy was clearly a dangerous figure.

The dragon could return to the valley at any moment.

Negotiating terms with the boy was pointless because they’d be meaningless once the dragon appeared.

He could kill the boy and flee far away in the night.

But his tribe was already facing threats, and their traditions forbade harming children.

In comparison, keeping the boy alive and well-fed was the better choice.

When the dragon appeared, he’d simply let the boy ride it and leave.

If the boy had any sense of gratitude, he might even find a way to repay him in the future.

Realizing Falcon’s intentions, Rhaegar’s opinion of the wildlings shifted dramatically.

It turned out the maesters were wrong—blind and inaccurate in their teachings.

This wildling wasn’t reckless at all. On the contrary, he was intelligent.

“You’re truly a wise chief. I promise to restrain my dragon and coexist peacefully with your tribe.”

Rhaegar accepted the roasted meat and offered praise.

“Being a chief isn’t easy. I have to think about everyone’s lives and stomachs,” Falcon said, shaking his head as he tore off two more pieces of meat and handed them to Baolan and her brother.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 72: Shadow Monsters

With negotiations concluded, the tension between the two sides eased significantly.

Rhaegar sat eating the food provided by the wildlings, drinking their clear water, and watching them dance around the bonfire.

Hawk and the sibling duo, Sapphire and Tormund, shared the same fire with him, chatting casually about their stories.

While picking the scraps off a rabbit bone, Hawk asked, “You seem young—are you the king’s youngest son?”

“I’m the king’s eldest son,” Rhaegar replied with a chuckle.

“If I recall correctly, it’s tradition among nobles for the eldest son to inherit the throne. Does that mean you’ll be the next king?” Hawk asked, surprised.

“No. In fact, the heir is my sister,” Rhaegar replied calmly.

“Why? Does she have something under her skirt that you don’t?”

A rough-looking wildling who had been eavesdropping jeered, causing the nearby wildlings to burst into laughter.

Rhaegar cast a sidelong glance at the man, then turned his gaze back to Hawk, remaining silent.

Hawk’s face darkened slightly. Grabbing the rough wildling by the leg, he said in a low voice, “Sander, back off!”

“Yes, yes, Sander will back off...”

Sander mumbled as he swayed away, clearly unconcerned.

But when a white hawk with black spots landed on a branch overhead, he flinched, shivering before reluctantly disappearing into the crowd.

Watching Sander fade into the distance, Hawk turned back, his voice calm yet unreadable. “The tribe has been uneasy lately. Many of the warriors are restless.”

“He’s got a foul mouth. I wonder if it smells worse than dragon dung at the valley’s entrance?” Rhaegar smirked.

“I’ll deal with him and warn the others,” Hawk replied, his movements momentarily stiffening. There was irritation in his voice—not at Rhaegar’s remark, but at his tribesman’s behavior, which had embarrassed him in front of their guest.

As the night deepened, Rhaegar, now full, returned to the cave where he had awoken to rest. Hawk provided some soft animal pelts and arranged for Sapphire and Tormund to stay close by.

After laying out the pelts himself, Rhaegar called the siblings over, handing them an extra blanket.

“Thank you,” Tormund murmured, his voice quiet.

“Can I ask you something? What exactly happened to your tribe?” Rhaegar inquired, using the opportunity to gather information.

Tormund, holding the pelt tightly, looked at Sapphire in confusion.

She nodded and turned away, continuing to prepare her straw mat.

“Our tribe’s homeland was attacked by monsters. Several people died. Uncle Hawk had no choice but to lead us into exile,” Tormund explained.

“Monsters? Crocodiles or pythons from the swamps?” Rhaegar’s curiosity was piqued.

“Neither. They’re creatures hiding in shadows, slithering like snakes and piercing through our bodies,” Tormund said, fear evident in his face.

The memory of those creatures left a deep scar on his mind.

“I’ve never heard of such shadow monsters before. Is this true?” Rhaegar looked at Sapphire, skeptical.

Sapphire, who was about Rhaegar’s sister Rhaenyra’s age, had a more trustworthy air. Her expression turned grim. “It’s true. Even the elders of the tribe had never seen or heard of such monsters. It’s as if they appeared out of nowhere.”

“Wow, it seems we’ve walked straight into trouble.”

Rhaegar frowned, unsure whether shadow monsters actually existed on the Crabclaw Peninsula. The tribe’s safety was far less assured than it seemed.

After a brief exchange, silence fell over the cave. The three lay on their respective bedding, still able to hear the wildlings’ revelry echoing outside.

After a while, Sapphire broke the silence. “Why is your sister the heir?”

“No particular reason. We’re both our father’s children. It doesn’t matter who inherits the throne,” Rhaegar replied nonchalantly.

“You’re fooling yourself. The nobles would rather have a man leading them,” Sapphire retorted skeptically.

“That may be true, but my father chose her. We’re family, and I just want to support her.”

“Hmph. She’ll marry, have a husband, and bear children. They’ll become her true family,” Sapphire scoffed. “And you, her younger brother with a better claim, will only be seen as an obstacle.”

“Whose illegitimate daughter are you? You sound well-versed in Targaryen family matters,” Rhaegar teased.

“That’s none of your business. Just some idiot who couldn’t keep his pants on,” Sapphire snapped, clearly disliking the subject.

“Well, then you don’t need to meddle in my family’s affairs either, my lady!” Rhaegar quipped, fighting fire with fire.

“Heh, he called you a lady,” Tormund chuckled from his corner.

“And you, young master?” Sapphire shot up and kicked him, silencing his laughter immediately.

With nothing more to say, silence returned to the cave.

---

At midnight, the humid air grew thick with mist as dark clouds gathered overhead, obscuring the crescent moon.

Without moonlight, the night deepened.

In the valley, the wildlings, tired from their revelry, slept in scattered groups.

The bonfires dwindled, leaving only faint, crackling embers.

In the dim environment, an eerie, pitch-black creature twisted and slithered out from the shadows beneath the trees.

The pitch-black creature merged seamlessly with the shadows, slithering like a serpent as it crawled toward a soundly sleeping wildman.

Slowly.

It slipped into the wildman’s nostrils, ears, and mouth...

The pitch-black creature seemed capable of splitting itself apart, invading the wildman’s body through every possible opening.

A soft, rod-like object was shoved down his throat. The wildman let out two muffled grunts, discomfort pulling him out of his dreams.

The moment he opened his eyes—

He saw a mass of twisted, pitch-black flesh perched on his chest, sprouting vine-like tentacles.

The wildman’s eyes widened in terror as fear consumed him, and he tried to scream.

"Ugh…"

Before he could cry out, two tentacles pierced through his nostrils, puncturing his brain and churning his brain matter into mush.

Another life was effortlessly claimed by the creature.

The pitch-black monster writhed, withdrew its tentacles, and began searching for its next prey.

---

Inside a cave, Rhaegar slept soundly.

“Ahhh!”

Suddenly, a shrill scream echoed through the valley, waking everyone with a jolt.

Rhaegar groggily opened his eyes, looking around in confusion.

The siblings, Bao and Lan, were also awake.

They grabbed the weapons beside them and rushed toward the cave entrance, warning Rhaegar, “It’s dangerous outside. Stay here.”

Rhaegar blinked in confusion for a moment before scrambling to his feet and following them.

He had heard plenty of horror stories before.

When danger strikes, the one left behind is always the most vulnerable.

That much, at least, he understood.

Outside the cave, the wildmen were in chaos.

Some were adding wood to the bonfire, others lighting torches.

The darkness outside grew a bit brighter.

Rhaegar stuck close behind Bao and Lan, peeking over their shoulders to see what was going on.

The scene was utter pandemonium, with the wildmen howling and shouting incoherently, offering no useful information.

After waiting for a while—

The commotion finally began to subside.

It was Sun, returning with a group of wildman warriors from a patrol.

They carried several corpses.

All of them were strong male wildmen.

Three had blood streaming from all seven orifices, with no visible wounds on their bodies.

One had an arrow lodged in his chest, piercing his heart. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

In front of the entire tribe—

Sun tossed the three identical corpses into the bonfire, burning their remains.

As for the fourth body, he removed the arrow and studied it with a grim expression.

“We’re being targeted by another tribe!”

Sun clenched the arrow tightly, growling in anger.

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 73: The Promise*

The moment Falcon spoke, the tribespeople erupted into chaotic shouting, clamoring for revenge.

Rhaegar tugged on Tomond’s arm and whispered, “What’s the story with those three burned corpses?”

Of the killed bodies, only one had an arrow wound.

The other three died under strange circumstances.

It was hard for Rhaegar not to notice.

Tomond turned his head, lowering his voice in fear. “Those are the people killed by the shadow creature. That monster is still following the tribe.”

His body trembled as he spoke, and his face grew even paler.

Facing the tribespeople, Falcon raised both hands high and shouted, “Quiet! The enemy is hiding nearby. Prepare your weapons immediately!”

The tribesman who had been shot was a night guard.

Another tribesman, who had gotten up in the middle of the night to relieve himself, found the body in the bushes.

He screamed, alerting the tribe.

The other three corpses weren’t discovered until most of the tribe had woken up.

Four tribespeople died in a single night.

The Falcon tribe seemed shrouded in a heavy shadow. The atmosphere was grim and oppressive.

Falcon led the able-bodied warriors to grab their weapons, light torches, and form teams to scout outside the valley.

The death of the night guard meant the enemy was lurking nearby.

They could attack at any moment.

Rhaegar observed the scene and frowned silently.

This tribe was being stalked by some unknown monster.

Now they’d also been discovered by another tribe during their migration.

A reckless counterattack would only lead to an ambush, potentially wiping them out in a single night.

Rhaegar took a step forward, intending to offer a warning.

Bolan grabbed the back of his collar and scolded, “Don’t mess around. Impulsive tribesmen don’t think things through.”

“Tonight will be dangerous!” Rhaegar stated firmly.

“I know. Uncle Falcon knows too. But the survival of a tribe like ours is built on constant fighting and conquest,” Bolan replied, slinging a bow across her back. She held onto both Rhaegar and Tomond, one with each hand.

“We’ll stick with the women who have children. Tribes usually won’t kill women and children.”

“…”

The warriors left the valley with Falcon.

Rhaegar was assigned to stay with the old, weak, and injured.

Other than the pregnant women, the group consisted mostly of wild, monkey-like children.

Rhaegar looked around curiously. “There don’t seem to be many men in your tribe, but there are so many kids. Why?”

“When tribes are conquered, the men and elders are killed, the women are raped, and the children are abandoned,” Bolan explained. “A lot of these kids were orphans Uncle Falcon took in.”

“He says kids grow up fast and become strong warriors.”

“Falcon’s quite an unusual tribesman,” Rhaegar said with a wry smile.

As a nomadic hunter-gatherer tribe, where did they find the resources to raise so many children? Expecting wildlings to grow up was too optimistic.

---

In the early hours before dawn, fires flared up outside the valley. Piercing screams echoed through the night, followed by the furious howls of another tribe.

Falcon came stumbling back into the valley, covered in blood.

Only a handful of people followed behind him, all injured and visibly alarmed.

The howling pursued them relentlessly.

The firelight surged, flooding into the open valley.

“Run! The White Pine Tribe is here! Everyone, escape now!”

Falcon swung his axe to deflect bone arrows shot by their pursuers, shouting at the tribe to flee.

“Let’s go!”

Without a word, Rhaegar bolted toward the narrow exit on the other side of the valley.

Looking back, he saw the others running even faster than him, screaming in panic as they fled.

Rhaegar fell behind. His small arms and legs couldn’t keep up with the adults.

Frustrated, he tried to call out to the Devourer, but there was still no response.

“Don’t just stand there! Run!”

Falcon came charging from behind, grabbing Rhaegar by the back of his shirt and hoisting him onto his shoulder. Then he sprinted with all his might.

Rhaegar turned his head to look back.

The invading wildlings surged into the valley in waves. Half of them scavenged the supplies left behind by the Falcon tribe.

The other half continued their pursuit.

The dozen or so warriors who had returned with Falcon stood no chance against them.

One by one, they were either hacked down or shot by bone arrows.

Falcon, tall and powerfully built, sprinted like the wind, his boots pounding against the ground.

---

Leaving the pursuing savages far behind gave Rhaegar a sense of relief.

He truly didn’t want to get caught up in the conflict between two wild tribes and end up dying in vain.

…

At dawn.

As the first light of day broke, the remnants of the Peregrine Tribe fled westward, running through vast pine forests.

Many were scattered.

The men were killed on the spot, the women pinned to the ground and violated.

Children ran in all directions; some were slaughtered as they fled, while others hid deep within the forest.

Falcon carried Rhaegar as they fled, with only a handful of tribal guards managing to keep up.

When they could run no further, they hid on a hillside and paused for a brief rest.

“Falcon, the tribe is gone!”

A wildling named Sander, his face filled with grief, confronted their leader.

“Gone? We can rebuild it. As long as we’re alive, there will be a day when we take it back!”

Falcon spoke in a low, firm voice as he set the battered and shaken Rhaegar down.

“The whole tribe is nearly wiped out, and yet you’re still dragging along this little brat? For what?”

Another wildling pointed accusingly at Rhaegar, whose face was pale as he cowered behind Falcon.

Rhaegar cast a quick glance at the man, his entire body aching, and moved to hide further behind Falcon.

“He has a dragon and is the son of a king. He’s more noble than anyone you’ve ever seen in any castle. He can bring wealth to the tribe!”

Falcon spread his arms and explained in a hushed but assertive tone.

“You’re lying! If he really had a dragon, he’d have burned us to ashes by now.”

“Exactly. The White Pine Tribe probably came because of him—he’s nothing but trouble!”

“Who cares if he’s royalty or not? We can’t count on him. He’s just a lying brat!”

“…”

The wildlings seemed to find a scapegoat, glaring angrily at Rhaegar.

Some gripped their weapons, staring at him with ill intent.

Rhaegar’s heart began to race, sensing the danger, and he quickly spoke up:

“My dragon is on its way back. I will ride it to avenge the Peregrine Tribe and bring you unimaginable riches!”

He had known all along that this tribe wasn’t reliable.

They couldn’t even hold together for a single night before scattering.

Hearing his words, the wildlings’ noisy accusations quieted as they all turned to look at Falcon, waiting for his decision.

Falcon took a deep breath, his demeanor as a leader returning, and said gravely:

“If he says he has a dragon, then we’ll wait one day. The truth will reveal itself.”

“Hah! If he has a dragon, I’ll give you my head to use as a wine jug,” Sander sneered before turning and walking away.

The other wildlings exchanged uneasy glances, some wanting to follow Sander, but they hesitated under Falcon’s authority and slumped to the ground in defeat.

Falcon didn’t stop Sander. Instead, he gave a brief command:

“Rest here. We’ll set out at first light.”

With that, Falcon grabbed Rhaegar by the collar, lifted him up, and carried him to the top of the hill.

There, he gazed out over the pine forest they had passed through, scanning for any sign of pursuing enemies.

Rhaegar sat crouched beside him, his voice weak as he muttered, “I really do have a dragon.”

“I know.”

“Your tribe is scattered. What are you planning to do?”

“Wait.”

“Wait for what?” Rhaegar asked, puzzled.

Falcon turned to look directly at him, his expression cold. “Wait for your dragon to find you and burn the White Pine Tribe to ashes.”

“You actually believe me?” Rhaegar was surprised at the wildling leader’s trust.

“I don’t.”

Falcon’s voice was icy. “But my tribe was attacked—our men were killed, and our women and children were captured. I need your dragon to take back everything we’ve lost.”

Rhaegar exhaled and promised, “Don’t worry. As soon as my dragon finds me, I’ll make sure to avenge your tribe!”

“I’ve held up my end of the bargain. You’d better remember what you’ve said…”

Falcon’s words were cut short as a hidden arrow whistled through the air, piercing his right eye.

Before Rhaegar’s very eyes.

The bone arrowhead emerged from the back of Falcon’s skull, skewering his head entirely.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 74: Vengeance Knows No Delay

What does it feel like to witness death up close?

If you asked Rhaegar, he would reply:

"I wouldn’t know."

Blood from the falcon’s skull splattered all over, staining half of his silver hair red.

Rhaegar felt no discomfort, fear, or trembling.

He wiped the blood splashes off his face and quietly stared at the falcon’s lifeless body, its mouth still slightly ajar.

Blinking, he turned his gaze to the direction the bone arrow had come from.

There stood a large pine tree, its branches dense with needles.

Under its shade was Sander, still in the stance of releasing an arrow.

"Dead?"

After a long silence, Rhaegar murmured to himself, giving the falcon’s corpse a nudge with his foot.

The wildling leader had been decent—more rational and clever than the average wildling.

Even while fleeing, he remembered to protect him.

And now, just like that, he was dead?

"Everyone, get up! The falcon is dead—we need to find another way out!"

Sander sprinted up the hill, shouting orders at a few wildlings who hadn’t yet noticed.

At his words, they turned to see the falcon lying in a pool of blood in the distance.

Apart from one tall wildling who grumbled about avenging the falcon and lunged at Sander, the others remained still, watching Sander warily.

Sander drew his bow, aimed at the tall wildling, and released another bone arrow with a sharp whoosh. The man dropped instantly.

Then, with bold strides, Sander stood before the group and declared:

"The Peregrine Tribe is finished! Do you all plan to wander aimlessly in the pine forest?"

"Follow me! We’ll seek refuge with the White Pine Tribe, a stronger tribe free from curses."

Sander’s words began to sway the group, tempting them to defect.

Wildlings were no fools.

One of them stepped forward and questioned, "We’re the remnants of the Peregrine Tribe. Why would they take in their enemies?"

Sander pointed at Rhaegar, who stood frozen in place, and confidently proclaimed:

"His father is a king, and he has plenty of gold and jewels. If we offer him to the White Pine Tribe, they’ll surely accept us!"

The argument made sense.

The wildlings wavered.

In the end, Sander tied Rhaegar up tightly, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack.

"Let’s go. We’ll find the White Pine Tribe and see if we can locate anyone who got separated along the way."

Sander had unofficially become the leader of the group.

Rhaegar didn’t resist at all. He allowed himself to be tied up without a word, his wide violet eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sander.

"Kid, handing you over is the only way we’ll survive," Sander sneered when he noticed the boy staring.

"Fair enough. I am valuable," Rhaegar calmly admitted.

"Hah! Then stay quiet, or I’ll break your arms and legs."

"Don’t worry. I’ll behave."

---

By dusk, the group had gathered several scattered members.

Men, women, and children—all were absorbed into the group.

Nervously, they made their way toward the temporary camp of the White Pine Tribe.

It was the same valley as before.

Before they even entered, patrolling wildlings spotted them and called for reinforcements to capture the group.

Once again, they were dragged into the valley.

The stench of blood filled the air, and piles of corpses lay everywhere—mostly from the slaughtered Peregrine Tribe.

Rhaegar and the other wildlings were brought before the White Pine Tribe’s leader.

This time, Rhaegar noticed that the attackers weren’t just from the White Pine Tribe.

Four other burly wildling leaders sat around a bonfire with the White Pine leader, all from different tribes.

Kneeling before them, Sander pleaded desperately, but the White Pine leader looked at him with utter disdain.

Without bothering to ask questions, the leader ordered their hands and feet broken.

He pointed at Rhaegar, who had been dumped in front of the group, and impatiently said, "Throw the kid in with the women and children. The rest will be sacrificed to the spirits."

"Yes, sir!"

Sander and the others weren’t even given a chance to explain before their limbs were shattered and they were dragged away.

Despite their screams, they still clung to the hope that offering Rhaegar could save them.

But the leaders didn’t believe a word of it. They didn’t even bother listening.

They were just a bunch of wildlings from the mountains. Who among them had ever seen a king?

Saying he was one didn’t make it true.

One of the leaders, a brutish man with a face full of scars, took a liking to Rhaegar’s bracelet and yanked it off without a word.

Rhaegar opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, he was shoved to the ground.

"Take him away! He’s just a useless brat—keep him alive for now."

Rhaegar landed hard on his backside and struggled to his feet.

He didn’t say a word, nor did he scream. He stayed silent, accepting his fate without resistance.

And just like that.

Rhaegar was untied and thrown into a fenced-off area where the prisoners were held.

Among them were women and children of the wildlings.

Rhaegar immediately spotted Baolan and her brother.

At that moment, Baolan was covered head-to-toe in mud and filth, clutching Tormond as they huddled in a corner.

Seeing someone familiar, Rhaegar rubbed his aching stomach and walked over.

“It’s you. Weren’t you with Uncle Falcon? How did you end up here?” Baolan asked warily as soon as she noticed him.

Rhaegar hesitated, looking troubled, and mumbled, “Falcon was a good man, just a little unlucky.”

“Uncle Falcon is… dead?”

Baolan couldn’t believe it.

“He was ambushed by a traitor while we were escaping,” Rhaegar said with some regret.

“It’s over. If someone as strong as Uncle Falcon is dead, we’re doomed too,” Baolan said, lowering her head in despair.

“There might still be a chance,” Rhaegar said, trying to reassure her. He then changed the subject, “These wildlings plan to sacrifice the traitors to the undead. Is this some kind of wildling tradition?”

“I heard the ones who captured me say that nearby tribes have been attacked by monsters. They believe it’s the work of the undead, so they’re sacrificing people from other tribes to appease them,” Tormond, who was crouched on the ground, explained fearfully.

Rhaegar nodded and didn’t ask any more questions.

He quietly moved to another corner and squatted down.

He needed to figure out how to save himself.

The Falcon tribe was unreliable.

The gathered tribes in this valley didn’t seem particularly bright either.

“Ugh, might as well stay put for now,” Rhaegar sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

...

Night fell.

The victorious wildling tribe celebrated with a wild feast, lighting bonfires everywhere to release the emotions from the day’s slaughter.

It wasn’t until midnight that the commotion finally settled down.

Men embraced women as they slept, and women held their children.

One by one, they slept like logs.

Whoosh—

A strong gust of wind swept through the valley, dispersing the stench of the wildlings’ camp.

Rhaegar opened his eyes.

He silently stared at the dim night sky.

“It’s time.”

Whispering to himself, Rhaegar stood up, glancing at the frightened women and children who were too scared to sleep. Then, he walked alone to the edge of the fence.

There were a few wildlings on guard by the fence.

It was late, and the guards were sleepy and slacking off.

Rhaegar’s thin frame, clad in black dragon rider attire, blended well into the shadows of the night.

He quietly slipped through the poorly built fence and tiptoed away.

Wildling patrols roamed the valley in teams of two or three.

Rhaegar avoided their line of sight and arrived at a cliffside.

Here, Sand and his group were being held.

Rhaegar observed them.

Each of them was covered in wounds, their hands and feet severed, tongues cut out, and they were tied together on the ground.

Rhaegar picked up a small iron axe from a nearby bonfire.

He walked over to Sand, who had lost too much blood and fallen unconscious.

Raising the axe, Rhaegar aimed it at Sand’s head.

After a moment’s thought, he lowered it.

Then, he aimed at Sand’s neck.

After hesitating again, he lowered it once more.

Instead, Rhaegar nudged Sand’s head with his foot and whispered, “Hey, wake up…”

The kicks grew stronger, and Sand was forcefully awakened.

He opened his eyes in terror, trembling all over, mumbling incoherently.

“Look at me, Sand!”

Rhaegar’s voice snapped him out of his fear.

Sand raised his head in panic and saw Rhaegar standing alone before him.

“It’s you…”

Thwack—

Before Sand could finish his sentence, Rhaegar swung the axe down, striking his neck.

The artery was severed, and blood gushed like a fountain, drenching half of Rhaegar’s body.

Rhaegar glanced down at himself and muttered, “You and Falcon share the blame for this. This outfit is completely ruined now.”

With that, he continued swinging the axe.

The adventure begins.

(End of chapter)

*Chapter 75: The Return of the Dragon*

Swing after swing of the axe.

Rhaegar seemed tireless until the ground was soaked with blood and a severed head rolled across it.

Taking a life with his own hands left Rhaegar with an indescribable feeling.

It was, in a word, unpleasant.

“This axe is heavy, but it feels good in hand.”

Muttering softly, Rhaegar discarded the axe and picked up the bloodied head.

This was just an appetizer for the night; there was still much to do.

This time, he didn’t avoid the patrols’ line of sight.

He strode openly toward the center of the camp.

A patrol of wildlings quickly spotted him and surrounded him with weapons drawn.

“Stop right there, brat!”

With a shout, several wildlings swaggered toward Rhaegar, their eyes gleaming with malice.

A runaway kid? No one would care if he was beaten to death.

Rhaegar stood calmly, his voice steady as he said, “Fools, you should show respect to a Targaryen.”

“Ha! You little bastard, let me teach you a lesson—”

An ugly, scrawny wildling laughed shrilly, stepping forward with a crude spear in hand.

Rhaegar neither flinched nor dodged. Instead, he pointed upward.

“Look up!”

The wildlings hesitated, instinctively glancing toward the sky.

Buzz—  

In the pitch-black night, a pair of enormous green orbs glowed like eerie ghostly flames.

The wildlings froze in their tracks, dumbstruck.

The green glow shifted slightly.

The night sky, like a dark curtain, seemed to tremble.

It was then they realized the darkness above wasn’t the night sky.

It was a massive, coal-black beast.

At that moment, the giant creature lowered its head, observing every living thing in the valley.

Thump-thump, thump-thump…  

Seeing the beast up close, the wildlings’ pupils dilated. Trembling uncontrollably, they fell to their knees one by one, abandoning their weapons and crying out in terror.

“Eat him,” Rhaegar said softly as he walked past the scrawny wildling, pronouncing his sentence.

“Hisss-gaaah…”

The ravenous dragon lowered its head with a guttural snarl. Its foul breath blasted the wildling off his feet, sending him tumbling through the air.

Before he could hit the ground, the dragon’s nimble tongue coiled around him, pulling him into its gaping maw.

Crunch! The sound of bones snapping echoed as the dragon chewed and swallowed.

It had returned.

Rhaegar’s dragon—the mightiest wild dragon of Dragonstone—had come back to its master.

When Rhaegar was captured earlier that day, the beast had sensed its rider’s peril and returned on its own.

Now, Rhaegar had reconnected with the dragon.

He had waited patiently for this moment.

All the restraint he showed earlier was for this revenge.

He was a true dragon, and he had conquered a dragon.

Now, Rhaegar would ride his dragon and burn the irreverent to ashes with dragonfire.

Under the night sky, the massive, coal-black dragon crouched low, allowing the young prince to climb onto its back.

After two days and nights of separation, man and dragon were reunited.

Perched atop the dragon, Rhaegar gazed coldly at the few wildlings below.

The enormous beast walked past them, its steps heavy.

Rhaegar’s detached voice cut through the stillness:

“Go fetch your leader. I’ll wait here.”

Seated high on the dragon’s back, Rhaegar didn’t even look back as he issued his command to the remaining patrol.

“M-monster…”

The pathetic group, paralyzed by fear after seeing their comrade devoured, scrambled to their feet.

Rhaegar’s words sounded like a devil’s whisper in their ears.

Screaming in panic, they fled in all directions.

Rhaegar didn’t stop them.

Through their frantic cries, the entire camp was roused, with people converging toward the center.

Rustle, rustle…  

Not long after, a group of ragged wildlings, armed with weapons, swarmed over like a hive of bees.

When they saw Rhaegar and his Devourer, they immediately stopped in their tracks, not daring to take a single step closer.

"What... what kind of monstrous beast is this?"

The timid among them fell to their knees, unable to even muster the thought of resisting.

At the forefront of the wildling mob stood a few burly men, clearly leaders of their tribes. These were the chiefs, men Rhaegar had seen during the day.

One of them, insignificant as an ant in the shadow of the mighty dragon, stood trembling, looking up at Rhaegar in utter terror.

Rhaegar's gaze swept over them silently, one by one.

Finally, his eyes settled on the wildling chief who had shoved him earlier.

"It’s you, isn’t it?"

Rhaegar tilted his head, ignoring the wildlings who nearly ran for their lives at his mere words, and pointed directly at one of them.

It was a burly wildling with a face full of scars.

Rhaegar remembered him well—he was the one who had stolen his bracelet.

"W-What?"

The wildling chief stammered, his voice shaking as he instinctively shrank back.

"You took my possession. Return it," Rhaegar said calmly, beckoning with his hand.

The chief froze for a moment before coming to his senses. He grabbed a wildling woman by his side, then hastily rummaged through his leather pouch to retrieve a silver-gray bracelet.

With a thud, he fell to his knees, offering it up with trembling hands.

"Y-Your... your possession."

Rhaegar didn’t move. Instead, he tossed Sandor’s severed head at the chief’s feet and said softly, “Take this. Clean it, and make it into a wine flask.”

"Yes..."

The wildling chief nodded frantically, staring blankly at the severed head on the ground, too frightened to move.

Rhaegar patted the Devourer’s back and said, "Help me out, buddy."

The dragon let out a thunderous roar, silencing the crowd of wildlings, all of whom dropped to their knees in fear.

But the dragon didn’t unleash its flames.

Its long tail swept forward, wrapping around the wildling chief and lifting him off the ground, depositing him directly in front of Rhaegar.

Rhaegar took the bracelet from the chief’s trembling hands and waved dismissively.

With a flick of its tail, the dragon hurled the chief to the ground.

He rolled several times, landing unconscious in the dirt.

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Whether you live or die is up to you."

Rhaegar glanced at the chief indifferently before shifting his gaze to the remaining wildlings.

The dragon sensed his intent.

It raised its head high and let out a deafening roar, unleashing a torrent of green dragonfire that illuminated half the valley and raised the surrounding temperature dramatically.

The sound of crackling flames filled the air.

In an instant, the wildlings’ morale shattered.

They fell to their knees in unison, discarding their weapons as they fearfully and reverently chanted words like "God" and "Fire God."

Rhaegar ignored their pleas, his voice cold as he commanded, "Who is the leader of the White Pine Tribe? Step forward!"

Though his tone wasn’t loud, it drowned out the chaotic cries of the wildlings.

Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd until fear compelled them to push a young man forward.

The leader of the White Pine Tribe was a tall, strong, and resolute wildling with a determined expression.

Rhaegar’s expression didn’t change as he asked, "Many wildling tribes participated in the attack on the Falcon Tribe. Who orchestrated it?"

"It was me! We gathered because of the curse of the evil spirits," the leader said, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to answer despite his fear.

"Good. I like your honesty," Rhaegar replied, nodding in approval. He gently stroked the Devourer’s back and said in Valyrian, "Dragonfire."

The wildlings couldn’t understand the High Valyrian words and stared at Rhaegar in confusion.

The next moment, green dragonfire engulfed the White Pine leader in an instant.

In a flash, his flesh and blood turned to ash, leaving nothing behind.

Rhaegar kept his head lowered, not bothering to watch the scene.

It was easy to kill someone, but he didn’t enjoy it.

Still, he had promised the Falcon Tribe that he would avenge them.

A Targaryen always keeps their word.

"Run! Run for your lives! That boy is a demon—he’s come to kill us all with his monster!"

The dragonfire triggered a mix of panic and desperation among some wildlings.

Though they didn’t dare attack Rhaegar or the dragon, they picked up their weapons and fled in a frenzy.

Rhaegar watched them with an emotionless gaze, then parted his lips slightly. "Dragonfire."

The Devourer spread its wings and took to the skies, its massive shadow covering the fleeing wildlings below.

Its throat glowed ominously as it prepared to unleash its flames.

With a mocking snarl, it sprayed the fleeing wildlings with dragonfire.

Their terrified screams echoed briefly before silence fell.

In mere moments, not a single escapee survived.

Bored by the lack of resistance, the Devourer circled the valley, looking down on the wildlings with disdain.

At this moment, the wildlings' weakness was laid bare.

Witnessing the overwhelming power of the dragon, the surviving wildlings had no choice but to kneel and beg for mercy.

High above, Rhaegar sat astride his dragon, soaring through the night sky and observing the chaos below.

To be honest, he couldn’t understand a word the wildlings were saying.

Though they used a common tongue, their dialects varied so greatly that it all sounded like gibberish to him.

Rhaegar enjoyed the night wind against his face. The tranquility it brought gave him a profound sense of security.

The Devourer circled the valley twice, wantonly spewing flames to vent its rider’s emotions.

After a while, Rhaegar came back to his senses.

Glancing down at the kneeling wildlings, he ordered, "Bring the people of the Falcon Tribe here safely. Detain all members of the White Pine Tribe."

"Yes, Great Spirit! We are willing to serve you..."

At this moment, whether they were chiefs or simple wildlings, they all prostrated themselves in submission.

Under the shadow of a dragon’s wings, all were equal.

Rhaegar pointed at the charred corpses scattered across the ground and said with displeasure, "Collect the bodies. Burn them together later."

---