21-25

*Chapter 21: The Mysterious Bracelet*

“Heh, she really plays the role of a virtuous wife and loving mother quite well.”

Walking among the nobles, Rhaenyra maintained a forced smile, concealing her true emotions.

The bitterness radiating from her caused Rhaegar, standing nearby, to shiver.

“Sister, you’re squeezing my hand too hard,” Rhaegar said with a hint of grievance, trying to pull his small hand away from hers.

Rhaenyra quickly let go. “I’m sorry, I forgot you were even here.”

“It’s okay. Just be mindful of your appearance—there are a lot of people watching in settings like this,” Rhaegar said, rubbing his hand and kindly reminding her.

As he glanced around, Rhaegar's attention was suddenly caught by a familiar face.

Daemon stood next to Viserys, calmly observing the king and queen as they exchanged tender words. A subtle, mocking smirk appeared on his lips.

Frowning, Rhaegar tilted his head, trying to get a better look.

Just then, Daemon turned his head and locked eyes with Rhaegar, as if he had sensed the boy’s gaze.

Startled, Rhaegar instinctively took a step back.

“No, wait. Why am I scared? He can’t actually eat me, can he?”

Remembering his own status, Rhaegar regained his composure, refusing to back down. He widened his eyes and met Daemon’s gaze head-on.

To his surprise, there was no tension-filled standoff.

Instead, Daemon sized him up with mild interest, nodded with a faint smile, and lost interest.

The ordinary nod left Rhaegar feeling both disappointed and relieved.

“What a terrifying look—such overwhelming pressure,” he thought, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. But his mind lingered on the smirk Daemon had displayed earlier.

What did it mean?

Why would he show such disdain when seeing Father and Alicent together?

Rhaegar began to doubt his perception but couldn’t shake the image of Daemon’s curved lips from his mind. He was certain it wasn’t imagined.

“Forget it. No one else seemed to notice, so I’ll just stay out of the spotlight,” Rhaegar decided, moving two steps behind Rhaenyra.

As the banquet began, the crowd took their seats.

Viserys summoned both Rhaenyra and Rhaegar forward to greet Daemon.

Rhaenyra, who had admired her uncle since childhood, needed no introduction.

Viserys took Rhaegar’s hand and introduced him to his brother. “Rhaegar, my eldest son. Of course, you know that without me saying it.”

Daemon nodded, his stern face forcing out a somewhat awkward smile.

Viserys didn’t press his brother further and laughed. “Seven blessings, Rhaegar had a miraculous encounter recently. His chronic illness was cured, easing a great burden on my heart.”

Daemon remarked, “I heard about it. The miraculous fruit gifted by the white hart—it sounds like something out of a tale.”

“Haha, I didn’t believe it at first either. But the will of the gods is always profound. Rhaegar is a Targaryen favored by the divine,” Viserys said, his eyes glinting as he stared at Daemon.

His words sent shockwaves through the crowd.

The king’s eldest son, blessed by the white hart, and now referred to as divinely favored by the king himself...

What was Viserys implying?

Could the rumors outside the castle be true? Was he considering a change in succession?

The words fell like a hammer on everyone’s hearts.

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened slightly as she glanced at her increasingly robust younger brother.

Daemon, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned. He patted Rhaegar’s head and offered his blessing. “May you remain healthy and free from illness forever.”

The most affected was Alicent.

Her gentle face froze momentarily as she discreetly dug her thumbnail into the flesh of her thumb, forcing a smile.

She had long anticipated this day would come.

Originally, with Rhaegar on the brink of death, he wouldn’t have had many days left to live.

Once the king’s eldest son passed, she could push her own son, Aegon, into the position of heir.

Even if the king didn’t agree, the council of lords would quietly support her and propose changing the succession.

But Rhaegar’s miraculous recovery was a devastating blow.

From now on, even those who disliked Rhaenyra for being a female heir would turn their support to Rhaegar, the eldest son.

No one would bypass him to support her second son, Aegon.

“Have all my years of effort been for nothing?” Alicent thought despairingly, her thumb bleeding from her nails digging into the flesh.

To avoid drawing attention to her distress, Alicent bowed her head silently, reducing her presence.

Feeling uneasy under his uncle’s blessing, Rhaegar replied politely, “Thank you, Uncle.”

“I said some thoughtless things before, and I hope you won’t take them to heart. This is our first meeting, and there’s a bright future ahead of us.”

How could Daemon not see through his nephew’s little schemes? With one glance, he saw it all.

Daemon rolled up his sleeve and removed a silver metal bracelet. In a deep voice, he said, “After the war on the Stepstones, the soldiers looted countless treasures.”

“Gold beyond measure, gemstones of all colors, and ornaments shimmering with jewels...”

Rhaegar listened intently, showing great interest in tales of war.

Daemon handed him the bracelet. “This bracelet was found at the bottom of the Crabfeeder’s treasure chest. It’s forged from Valyrian steel. Consider it a gift for our first meeting.”

“Valyrian steel? That’s certainly rare and precious.”

Rhaegar’s eyes lit up, but his pride kept him from immediately reaching out for it. Instead, he glanced expectantly at his father.

Viserys nodded. “Your uncle is giving you a gift. There’s no need to refuse.”

“Great! Thank you, Uncle!”

With his father’s approval, Rhaegar immediately set aside any dissatisfaction he’d harbored toward Daemon. In one swift motion, he snatched the bracelet.

Whatever grudges or grievances they had in the past didn’t matter anymore.

At this moment, Daemon was undoubtedly the best uncle in the world.

“What a beautiful bracelet! It even has intricate engravings on it.”

Rhaegar held the bracelet with great joy and slipped it onto his slender wrist.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but facepalm. “Perhaps you should put the bracelet away. Your wrist is too thin, and it’ll be easy to lose.”

“Hmph! I’ve always valued hard-earned treasures.”

Rhaegar huffed, unhappy with her remark, and raised his wrist to admire the Valyrian steel bracelet glinting in the sunlight.

This was a treasure worthy of becoming a family heirloom.

“The exploration mission has begun. Target: The mysterious Valyrian steel bracelet.”

A system notification suddenly chimed, bringing even more joy to Rhaegar’s already elated mood. He couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

With a thought, the system interface appeared before him.

*[Mysterious Valyrian Steel Bracelet]*

*Exploration Progress: 0.5%*

After six months without an exploration opportunity, Rhaegar was overjoyed to have another chance.

With a face full of sincerity, he looked at Daemon and said gratefully, “Thank you so much, Uncle Daemon.”

The sudden display of gratitude left Daemon confused.

But seeing his nephew’s genuine happiness, he decided to accept it graciously.

Viserys patted Rhaegar on the back of the head and said, “No need to say thank you twice, especially to family.”

“Mm-hmm, Uncle Daemon is family.”

Rhaegar nodded repeatedly, his handsome young face full of humor.

Forget about familial bonds or not.

If Daemon slapped Alicent right now, Rhaegar would probably cheer and compliment the crisp sound of it.

“Alright, stop looking so unsophisticated and act like the prince you are.”

Unable to bear the sight, Rhaenyra gave her brother a hard smack on the back of his head, squeezing out her reprimand through gritted teeth.

Rhaegar clutched the back of his head, grumbling, “You’re all hitting me on the head! If I end up stupid, who’s going to take responsibility?”

“If you really become an idiot, I’ll lock you up in a little black room at the Red Keep,” Rhaenyra replied with a chillingly sweet smile.

Daemon was a complex man, fully embodying both the genius and madness typical of House Targaryen.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 22: A Special Dream

The banquet lasted until late, with the nobles indulging in their passions under the dim ambiance.

Before the ballroom dancing began, Rega excused himself and returned to his room, drowsy and eager for rest.

---

At midnight, the silvery moonlight filtered through the crystal windows, casting a glow on Rega’s bedside.

In his slumber, Rega frowned unconsciously, mumbling incoherently. He was trapped in a nightmare.

A younger version of himself drifted on a vast, boundless sea. The sky above was dark and oppressive, shrouded in mist that obscured direction, leaving him unable to see even an inch ahead.

Standing on a small island in the midst of the sea, he called out loudly, but no sound escaped his lips. Around him, there was an eerie silence.

Before he knew it, the calm sea turned turbulent, waves gradually rising.

The tide crept up the island, the icy water covering his ankles and forcing him to retreat to higher ground.

The island was no larger than a speck of land, and even its highest hill was no match for the overwhelming ocean.

Desperately, Rega climbed a coconut tree, only to find the water already halfway up the trunk and rising steadily.

The fear of being engulfed consumed him. Helpless, he could only watch as the water rose ever higher.

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, casting a large portion of the area below into darkness.

Rega wanted to look up, but his body refused to obey.

“Hiss... Gah...”

As he panicked, a familiar yet foreign roar echoed from all directions.

The piercing sound shattered his eardrums, leaving him gasping and overwhelmed by a painful sense of suffocation.

“So much water... It’s so cold...”

The sudden turn of events rattled his nerves.

In the real world, his small, sleeping body shook its head uncontrollably, sweat beading on his forehead.

“No! Stop!”

In the dream, as the water rose past his ankles, fear jolted Rega awake. His eyes snapped open as he cried out in panic.

*Knock, knock.*

A knock at the door broke the tense silence, followed by the voice of Sir Elric.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?”

“Huff... There’s no water... I’m still in my room...”

Rega glanced around in confusion. The familiar furnishings and soft feather bed grounded him.

After a moment, as Elric contemplated entering to check on him, Rega responded.

“I’m fine, Sir Elric. Just a nightmare.”

Relieved, Elric replied gently, “If you need anything, just call out.”

Having spent some time with Rega, Elric was no stranger to the prince’s frequent nightmares, though he felt sympathy for the boy’s restless sleep.

Rega said no more, curling up under the blanket and clutching his pillow tightly.

This nightmare had been exceptionally vivid, far more terrifying than any he’d experienced before.

Feeling the rapid thumping of his heart in his chest, he knew just how deeply it had shaken him.

“Another nightmare. If this is what having a dreamer’s gift means, I’d rather not have it,” he muttered bitterly, recalling the golden talent described on the system panel.

For some time now, he hadn’t had any dreams and thought his sleep had returned to normal.

But tonight’s nightmare had struck without warning, leaving him defenseless.

Rega couldn’t help but think he must look utterly miserable—like a stray cat or dog shivering in the cold wind.

“Exploration complete. Please retrieve the lost treasure.”

Just as he sank deeper into his melancholy, the system notification broke through the gloomy atmosphere.

Rega extended his arm, glancing at the silver bracelet on his wrist and remembering the unfinished exploration task.

*[Mysterious Valyrian Steel Bracelet]*

Exploration Progress: *100%*

The system panel appeared, reminding him of the exploration’s duration.

This task had begun around two or three in the afternoon.

Looking at the faint flicker of the wall-mounted flame, which typically extinguished in the early hours, he estimated it to be about 10 p.m.

“Seems like it took about eight hours...”

He calculated silently while picking up the blue glow that had fallen onto the bed.

“Treasure retrieved successfully. Analyzing...”

"Detection successful. Identified as an exceptional relic: the Fire Mage's magical artifact."

"The Fire Mage’s artifact? I wonder what kind of treasure this could be?"

Curiosity about the magic overcame his fear, and Rega activated the relic without hesitation.

"Congratulations! The Fire Mage’s magical artifact has been activated. You have obtained..."

*[Spatial Bracelet]*

- *Grade*: Exceptional (Blue)

- *Effect*: Contains an internal space of three cubic meters; cannot store living beings.

- *Appraisal*: "A magical creation dating back to the ancient Valyrian era. Its spatial properties make it priceless, a treasure coveted even by noble dragonlords!"

Clink—  

The Valyrian steel bracelet on Rega’s wrist trembled slightly. Its surface cracked, and a layer of fine dust flaked away.

When Rega looked at the bracelet again, all signs of wear and age were gone.

The color had shifted to a subdued silver-gray, and the patterns adorning it became more intricate, as if a master artisan had just re-etched them.

"A bracelet crafted by magic, a treasure once pursued by Valyrian dragonlords?"

Removing the now-mystical bracelet, Rega couldn’t help but marvel at its transformation.

He hadn’t expected to stumble upon such a valuable treasure by sheer chance.

"I really ought to thank Uncle Daemon again for this incredible gift," Rega muttered, filled with gratitude.

Along with the bracelet came a user manual. Rega read through it carefully.

"So that’s how it works! Valyrian steel contains magical properties. By engraving spatial runes onto this enchanted metal, one can create a spatial artifact."

Rega was deeply moved, awestruck by the wisdom of ancient craftsmen.

Valyrian steel was exceedingly rare, and mages capable of mastering spatial runes were even rarer.

Creating a single spatial artifact, even once in several centuries, was considered a significant achievement.

During the ancient Valyrian era, only the most powerful dragonlord families could afford such artifacts, treating them as heirlooms of immense value.

Among the forty dragonlord families, the Targaryen family ranked in the lower-middle tier in terms of power.

As such, there were no known records of spatial artifacts within the family.

Meanwhile, the dragonlord families who did possess spatial artifacts had long since been wiped out by the apocalyptic Doom of Valyria, their treasures buried in the ruins of the ancient empire.

Clutching the spatial bracelet, Rega's breath quickened, his gaze turning dreamy.

"I must never reveal this to anyone. Otherwise, it’ll inevitably cause a dispute."

Without hesitation, Rega grabbed a fruit knife from the bedside table and made a small cut on his fingertip, smearing the blood onto the bracelet's surface.

Buzz—  

The bracelet emitted a faint, hazy glow before the light vanished entirely.

At the same time, Rega felt an indescribable connection between himself and the bracelet.

"The bracelet was forged by a master Fire Mage and is equipped with a bloodline recognition mechanism."

"My Targaryen bloodline is sufficient to form a bond with this bracelet."

Now the bracelet’s owner, Rega focused his mind, and the bracelet shrank to fit his wrist perfectly.

Rega slipped the bracelet on, touched the fruit knife, and silently commanded, “Store!”

With a faint whoosh, the knife vanished into thin air.

Rega could sense the previously empty space inside the bracelet now contained the fruit knife.

This newfound experience sparked Rega’s curiosity. He spent hours repeatedly storing and retrieving the fruit knife, and even experimented with other objects in the room.

Exhausted from playing, Rega stumbled upon unexpected "treasures" inside the bracelet:

A small mountain of gold coins, several stacks of books written in ancient Valyrian script, and a badge engraved with a dragon emblem.

The rest consisted of unfamiliar clothing and miscellaneous items that seemed like junk.

The gold immediately caught Rega’s eye.

Though he was a prince, the royal treasury was not his to use.

His life had previously been confined to the Red Keep, leaving him with little need for money.

Now, however, he had gained freedom, and this gold would serve as the perfect allowance to support his independence.

*Not every Targaryen can hatch a dragon egg.*

*Aegon and Aemond were prime examples.*

Soon, the protagonist will tame a dragon of their own in an ethical struggle.

Care to guess which dragon it will be?

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 23: Dragon Taming Manual*

Rhaegar poured out all the gold, spreading it across the bed until it was completely covered.

He lay on the glittering golden surface. Although it was uncomfortable, he couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Taking a moment, he opened the books he had retrieved alongside the treasure. Proficient in Old Valyrian, Rhaegar began to read.

The book detailed a brief history of a dragonlord family named "Daegaryon."

The dragon crest medallion he had found was the sigil of this family.

The medallion was engraved with two intertwined dragons, exuding a sense of life and vitality.

The Daegaryon family was an ancient and expansive lineage in Old Valyria.

Records indicated that they had tamed over 300 dragons throughout their history.

At their peak, the family had an astounding 67 dragons, young and old, alive at the same time.

This legacy placed them among the top dragonlord families, second only to a select few.

The spatial bracelet in Rhaegar's possession was one of the Daegaryon family’s heirlooms.

Its owner had been an heir to the family, though it was unclear what circumstances had caused the bracelet to be lost.

The more Rhaegar read, the more astonished he became. He sat up straight, focusing intently on every line of text.

The book briefly described several dragonlord families allied with the Daegaryons and provided a rough analysis of their strength.

After finishing the first book, Rhaegar picked up the second one.

This one was less significant, containing only details about the Daegaryon family’s vassals.

Switching to yet another book, Rhaegar continued to absorb knowledge tirelessly.

Finally, after several books, he stumbled upon something useful amidst the historical accounts.

*"On Dragon Behavior"*

Rhaegar perked up and silently prayed, “Let this be something unique about dragons.”

“What is a dragon?”

“How are dragons born?”

“The bond between dragonriders and their dragons...”

The book began by describing what dragons were and their discovery and domestication by Old Valyrian civilization.

Much of it was old news, similar to theories penned by certain learned scholars.

Rhaegar wasn’t interested in where dragons came from. He only wanted to know how dragon eggs could be hatched.

Unfortunately, the book did not cover this topic.

Instead, it frequently recounted instances of dragon taming by dragonriders.

“Those with dragon blood can form a connection with dragons, climb upon their backs, and become dragonriders...”

“Fire mages theorized that dragons possess intelligence surpassing that of beasts, second only to humans...”

“Dragons live exceptionally long lives, and their bodies continue to grow over time. Many dragons become too large to fly in their old age...”

As Rhaegar carefully flipped through the pages, he suddenly came across a crucial annotation.

“Dragons belong to the skies and the wilderness. Dragonlords allow them to roam freely and build nests far and wide during peacetime, summoning them with magical horns during war...”

“A magical horn? Another artifact capable of summoning dragons,” Rhaegar murmured to himself.

He had never heard of such a wondrous horn before.

The Targaryen family issued commands to dragons in Old Valyrian but did not use specialized tools for dragon taming.

He continued reading.

“Dragons are not slaves. They are kin, bonded by blood to their riders. Binding a dragon to the sky with chains invites a terrible curse...”

Upon reading this, Rhaegar’s brow furrowed.

“You must not treat dragons as slaves, or you will be cursed...”

His thoughts immediately turned to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing.

Built during the reign of Maegor I, the massive structure housed the Targaryen family’s dragons.

Balerion, Vhagar, Vermithor...

Many powerful dragons had once dwelled in the Dragonpit.

Currently, at least three dragons resided there:

Dreamfyre, Morghul, and Syrax...

These dragons were permanent residents of the Dragonpit, with Syrax being the most notable.

Syrax was Rhaenyra’s dragon, covered in golden scales. Since hatching from its egg, it had lived in the Dragonpit.

Rhaegar had never encountered a dragon and had no idea how those in the Dragonpit differed from those living in the wild.

However, he knew one thing: all dragons in the Dragonpit were chained.

Dragons were fierce creatures with a strong territorial instinct.

Having multiple dragons in one location inevitably led to conflicts.

To protect the younger dragons, the maesters of the Citadel had suggested restraining the Dragonpit dragons with chains to prevent them from killing each other.

Rhaegar stared unblinkingly at the pages of the book, trusting the warnings written within.

These books came from the Freehold of Old Valyria, written by a lineage of powerful dragonlords far surpassing the Targaryen family.

They weren’t baseless speculations from some puffed-up maester of the Citadel.

“I need to find an opportunity to give this book to Father and let him make the decision,” Rhaegar thought to himself.

He quickly finished the book and carefully stored it in his bracelet, handling it with great caution to avoid any damage.

This precious knowledge was worth more than gold; every word in it carried the weight of the Targaryen family's destiny.

There were many more books. Rhaegar continued to leaf through them slowly.

When one is deeply engrossed, time flies by like a fleeting shadow.

The night passed in the blink of an eye.

Dawn arrived.

The morning sunlight dispelled the darkness, warming the earth.

Having stayed up all night, Rhaegar was startled to find sunlight streaming into his room, pulling him back from the ocean of knowledge.

Casting a cautious glance at the door, he swiftly gathered up the books and the pile of gold on the bed, tucking them all into his bracelet.

He wasn’t ready for anyone to discover his secrets—not yet.

“Seven hells! When will these dark circles under my eyes finally go away?”

Rhaegar sighed in frustration as he pointed at his panda-like eyes in the glass mirror on his bedside table.

Still, books would never betray those who appreciated them.

Rhaegar's overnight reading revealed numerous details about the Targaryen family that had never been passed down.

For example, taming a dragon required more than issuing commands.

It also demanded an unwavering belief that one could truly tame the dragon.

If a dragon rider lacked determination or subconsciously doubted their ability to control a dragon, the dragon would sense their fear and never recognize them as a worthy master.

The best way to tame a dragon was to climb onto its back and issue commands loudly and confidently.

Let the dragon feel your strong desire for conquest, soaring the skies and crossing seas together.

In doing so, the dragon and its rider could merge their wills into one.

Feeling a surge of excitement, Rhaegar freshened up quickly. Before stepping out, he cradled his dragon egg and planted a firm kiss on it.

He declared loudly, “Hatch soon! The sky is waiting for us!”

He firmly believed he would become a dragon rider.

Any doubt in himself would be a betrayal of the Valyrian blood flowing through his veins.

...

When he opened the door, the first thing Rhaegar noticed was Ser Elric’s gaze.

Those brown eyes were filled with encouragement.

“Ser, could you please stop looking at me with such a... suggestive expression? It’s making me quite uncomfortable,” Rhaegar said after breakfast, voicing his concerns.

Elric paused briefly before replying, “Very well. But I do support your aspirations.”

Rhaegar’s cheeks flushed slightly, though he feigned indifference. “Don’t concern yourself with trivialities. We still have a tournament to attend today.”

The tournament had been cut short yesterday to welcome Daemon.

However, the event lasted seven days in total, with matches held daily.

That arrogant Dornishman was still being detained in King’s Landing.

Today, surely, a mighty knight would defeat him and earn the king’s reward.

The Targaryens were not the strongest of the dragonlord families, ranking only in the middle at best.

You could tell from how Aenar had crossed the sea with only five dragons.

By the time of Aegon the Conqueror, fifty years later, only three dragons remained: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar.

It wasn’t until the Dance of the Dragons that the number of dragons reached unprecedented heights.

A special commendation must go to Syrax—a single dragon that hatched seven others, truly a model of early and prolific offspring.

---

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 24: Syrio’s Swordsmanship

The tournament had always been a symbol of the kingdom's prosperity, beloved by many nobles.

When Rhaegar arrived at the scene, the audience stands were already a sea of excitement and chatter.

At a glance, he saw his father seated on the high platform and approached with light, quick steps.

As he drew closer, he noticed that his father was surrounded by others.

Viserys sat at the head seat, with Prime Minister Lyonel seated to his right and his uncle Daemon to his left.

Rhaenyra occupied the first seat below Lyonel, a position befitting her status as the heir.

Perhaps due to the success of last night's banquet, Viserys wore a constant smile.

Upon seeing Rhaegar approach, he waved warmly. “Come here! You retired early last night, so you owe your father some company today.”

“The maester said children should sleep early and rise early to grow strong,” Rhaegar retorted, but his steps were obedient, carrying him quickly to Viserys’ side.

Viserys pulled him onto his lap, holding him affectionately.

Comfortably basking in his father’s love, Rhaegar reached for a plate of fruit on the table.

Noticing his bare wrist, Rhaenyra teased with a smile, “Where’s that bracelet you liked so much? Don’t tell me you’ve lost it!”

“It’s too big; it’s inconvenient to wear,” Rhaegar replied casually.

The bracelet was impractical in its normal size and too suspicious when shrunk. He had hidden it in the container where the dragon egg was incubating, planning to retrieve it later when he could justify its use.

The minor exchange went unnoticed as the crowd eagerly awaited the tournament to begin.

To make up for the grudge from the previous day, this session excluded archery and melee events, diving straight into the main event: *duels!*

Two contestants entered the arena.

One, naturally, was the Dornish youth—today’s indisputable star.

The other, however, drew collective disappointment from the crowd: a short, curly-haired swordsman.

He wasn’t even wearing armor, dressed only in light leather gear.

“It’s Syrio Forel!”

From his vantage point, Rhaegar immediately identified the curly-haired swordsman.

Viserys turned a curious gaze toward him. “Rhaegar, do you know this swordsman?”

Rhaegar nodded. “We had tea together yesterday. He’s a skilled wandering swordsman who even offered his service to me.”

At this, Rhaegar couldn’t help but chuckle.

Viserys raised an imperceptible eyebrow, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Let me guess—you didn’t accept his offer?”

“Of course not. He’s a dangerous stranger with an unknown past. I wouldn’t trust someone like that.”

Rhaegar casually popped a grape into his mouth.

“You did the right thing. I learned something this morning that might interest you,” Viserys said, ruffling Rhaegar’s hair before signaling Lyonel with a glance.

Lyonel stood and pulled out a small note, reading aloud:

“Syrio Forel, born into a minor noble family in Braavos. Upon coming of age, he joined a certain religious order, often tasked with dangerous missions.

Two months ago, he assassinated a prominent figure in Braavos, earning a bounty and being declared a fugitive. He fled to Westeros ahead of his capture.

Half a month ago, he disguised himself as a wandering performer, gaining the trust of a lord’s daughter and hitching a ride to King’s Landing.

Yesterday afternoon, during Prince Daemon’s welcome banquet, he registered for the tournament and specifically requested to duel Degar Orlen.”

Finishing his detailed report, Lyonel sipped his wine, discreetly glancing at Daemon across the table.

Daemon remained indifferent, as if the matter had nothing to do with him.

Rhaegar listened silently, marveling at Lyonel’s incredible intelligence network.

Seeing his son’s amazement, Viserys chuckled in satisfaction. “Here’s a lesson for you: no secret can remain hidden forever. Honor and faith are the true paths of the strong.”

“I’ll remember that, Father,” Rhaegar replied dutifully.

Pleased with his son’s obedience, Viserys felt a surge of pride, resolving to impart more life lessons to him in the future.

“The duel is starting!”

Rhaenyra’s crisp voice interrupted their conversation.

In the arena, the two contestants took their positions.

As the referee blew the horn, the Dornish youth twirled his spear and began circling Syrio, searching for an opening.

Compared to the day before, the youth seemed unusually silent—perhaps still shaken by Corak’s display.

Syrio stood sideways, gripping a single-handed sword, unmoving as he watched his opponent.

“Hey, shorty! Who sent you to die?” the Dornish youth taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

Syrio rested one hand behind his back, his tone conversational. “Everyone dies eventually. But I think my time hasn’t come just yet.”

“Oh, really? Because I can already see your death.”

The youth advanced slowly, spear in hand.

“Speaking of death invites it. Perhaps it’s you who should worry.”

Syrio maintained his stance, his single sword unwavering.

“Little swordsman, I’m going to chop off your legs and make you a true half-man.”

The Dornish youth made the first move, thrusting his spear in a probing attack.

He was fast—his spear seemed like a swift, striking serpent.

However, Sireu was faster.

Before the spearhead could get close, Sireu struck the shaft with his sword, forcing the spear off its trajectory.

Immediately after, he took a large step forward with his right foot and swung his sword, slashing at the Dornish youth's elbow.

Having landed a clean hit, Sireu did not pursue further. He withdrew his foot and returned to his upright stance.

Amid the Dornish youth's furious glare, Sireu remarked indifferently,

"Short? When your head rolls on the ground, you’ll see how tall I truly am."

Provoked by the taunt, the Dornish youth was seething with anger. Yet, caution held him back, preventing him from acting rashly.

For a moment, the dueling ground fell into a stalemate.

Sireu stood motionless while the Dornish youth hesitated to attack, circling cautiously to the side.

Such a dull duel failed to capture the audience's approval, unsurprisingly drawing boos and jeers.

The crowd urged the two to act swiftly.

Either the curly-haired swordsman should take the Dornishman’s head...

Or the Dornishman should hurry and kill the curly-haired swordsman, paving the way for a better knight to take his place and decapitate the Dornishman.

Hearing the commotion outside the arena, Sireu sighed. "I intended to let you live a bit longer. But life fades away like a merciless stream."

"Cut the nonsense. I won’t fear a little runt who isn’t taller than a horse’s back!"

Though he retorted, the Dornish youth still refrained from attacking first.

Sireu sneered. "You’re wrong. I’m taller than a horse’s back—I’ve measured."

As his words fell, the Dornish youth hadn’t yet reacted when Sireu moved.

His legs seemed carried by the wind as he closed the distance between himself and the Dornish youth.

The sudden approach startled the youth. He swung his spear in a wide arc, aiming to push Sireu back with a sweeping blow.

Clang!  

Sireu deftly retreated just beyond the spear’s range. With the back of his sword, he struck the spear shaft, using focused force to drive its tip into the ground.

Stepping on the spear tip, Sireu exploited the brief moment of disarmament, swiftly thrusting his sword into the Dornish youth’s chest.

Thud.  

A spurt of blood burst forth. The Dornish youth instantly lost the ability to fight back.

Releasing his grip on the spear, he stared at Sireu in disbelief, unable to fathom how he had fallen so easily.

"You... you ambushed me..."

The Dornish youth glared at Sireu with resentment, but Sireu silenced him with a swift kick, knocking him to the ground.

Grabbing the youth’s hair to expose his neck, Sireu lamented,

"Your teacher taught you technique but never how to value your life."

With that, he raised his iron sword high and struck, severing the Dornish youth’s head.

---

*Chapter 25: The King's Strategy*

“Well done, short swordsman!”

“Good riddance, Dornish scum...”

After winning his duel in the arena, Sireu was met with a wave of cheers and applause.

The referee asked him if he wanted to continue competing. Sireu, carrying his iron sword, bowed toward the king and audience in the stands, smiling. “Of course, I aim to win the championship in this tournament.”

King Viserys, watching the foreign swordsman who had just killed the Dornish youth, found himself somewhat fond of Sireu. He observed with the detached interest of a spectator.

Sireu proved to be an extraordinary swordsman, cutting through the competition and defeating several opponents in succession.

The tournament lasted until midday, with the sun shining high in the sky.

Viserys, sipping fine wine and admiring Sireu’s elegant and skillful swordsmanship, was in excellent spirits.

Feeling the heat of the intensifying sunlight, he decided to call a halt to the tournament.

Rising from his chair and stretching his stiff back, Viserys declared, “What an exhilarating contest this has been!”

As he moved, the audience’s eyes naturally turned toward him.

“Bring that foreign swordsman here; the king wishes to speak with him,” he ordered the servant standing behind him.

The servant nodded and quickly descended the stands, whispering to the referee.

Before long, Sireu approached the edge of the arena and knelt on one knee, looking up at the platform.

Viserys looked down at him, puzzled. “Swordsman, why don’t you come up here?”

Sireu placed his sword across his knee and called out loudly, “I fight for honor, Your Grace. Once I win the championship, I will pledge my loyalty to you.”

“Honor?”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The tournament lasts another five days. If you can win the championship, I will grant you a wish.”

“Your generosity is boundless, Your Grace.”

Sireu humbly expressed his gratitude.

Viserys waved him away, then took Rhaegar’s hand and left the arena.

As the king departed, the other guests naturally followed.

---

Back in the study at the Red Keep, Viserys gathered his son and daughter and posed a question.

“Aren’t you curious why I made that promise to the swordsman?”

Rhaegar looked confused.

Rhaenyra shrugged indifferently. “You’ve always said that the best way to understand a person or situation is through careful observation over time.”

“Good. It seems you remember my words,” Viserys said with a faint smile. “A competent ruler eliminates risks before they can grow.”

“And in the process, we investigate the source of the risk thoroughly.”

Rhaegar, still unsure, asked, “But what if we’re too late and it backfires?”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m teaching you to always be vigilant for potential dangers and never let your guard down.”

Viserys brought up the War of the Stepstones as an example. “The Stepstones lie between two coasts, a vital strategic location.”

“When the Three Daughters invaded, do you know why I didn’t send troops immediately?”

Rhaenyra paused, staring at her father for a long moment before replying, “Because you didn’t want to start a war and risk criticism from the realm.”

“Wrong. The war over the Stepstones was, in essence, a defense of the realm. History would record the king’s wisdom and valor in defeating the vile pirates of the Three Daughters.”

Viserys dismissed her reasoning and turned to Rhaegar. “What do you think?”

Rhaegar furrowed his brow, uncertain. “Because someone else would fight the Three Daughters?”

“Exactly! You’ve hit the mark, Rhaegar. You have a natural talent,” Viserys said with a hearty laugh, openly praising his son. “When the Three Daughters seized the Stepstones, the family most affected was House Velaryon, led by the Sea Snake. He would never sit idly by.”

Rhaenyra was perplexed. “So what? You let the pirates raid your people while the Sea Snake raised the call to arms, winning the war and glory on behalf of the crown?”

To her, the king’s duty was to lead the fight against the Three Daughters directly, not rely on a vassal and risk undermining royal authority.

Viserys, unfazed by his daughter’s challenge, patiently explained:

“When the Three Daughters invaded, your mother had just died in childbirth. Rhaegar, as a newborn, was gravely ill and unfit to be named heir.”

“By tradition, my brother Daemon, backed by the lords, was next in line and harbored ambitions for the Iron Throne.”

“But I insisted on naming you, Rhaenyra, as my heir instead.”

“This led to fierce arguments with Daemon, and I eventually expelled him from King’s Landing in anger.”

Viserys looked at Rhaenyra with an impassive expression. “Do you think the crown could afford the risk of starting a war under such circumstances?”

“But we had dragons and the loyalty of our lords!” Rhaenyra argued earnestly.

“Dragons? There were dragons in the Dragonpit and on Dragonstone. How many were battle-ready at the time?”

*"Even if an army were dispatched to fight, who would command it amidst the raging seas?"*

Viserys countered with a question.

Rhaenyra froze momentarily, realizing the crux of the issue.

Viserys's expression hardened. "At that moment, the royal family had no dragons fit for battle, and the most suitable naval commander was none other than Corlys, the Sea Snake."

"But Daemon has Caraxes, and I can also join the campaign..."

Rhaenyra tried to argue, but Viserys cut her off sharply:

"Daemon was exiled by my hand. He just lost his chance to be heir. Do you think he would set aside his grievances to loyally serve me or you, my chosen heir?"

"Absolutely not! And I won’t lower myself to ask for Daemon’s help."

"Syrax is a young dragon that has never been to battle. I’m not foolish enough to send my newly appointed heir into war, only to one day hear the news of your assassination!"

His piercing words struck Rhaenyra’s fragile heart like a sharp sword.

And yet, she was speechless, knowing he was right.

Viserys, softening his tone, continued, "Now, consider the present. The crown only sent 3,000 soldiers. Corlys and Daemon, bearing the stigma of starting an unauthorized war, nonetheless fought tirelessly for the kingdom and defeated the Triarchy."

"And what was their reward for their sacrifices?"

"Years of grueling warfare, exhausting countless resources and lives, all to conquer a desolate chain of rocky islands?"

Viserys sipped his wine calmly, his gaze unwavering. "They gained nothing."

"Corlys’s family was left deeply weakened, retreating from the Stepstones to lick their wounds in humiliation."

"Your uncle Daemon depleted his band of second sons, abandoned his crown and the Stepstones, and returned to King’s Landing to bow his head and reconcile with me, his older brother."

"And during that same period, my chosen heir grew up smoothly, while the kingdom enjoyed peace and stability."

Standing beside Rhaenyra, Viserys spoke deliberately, "Do you understand now, my daughter?"

Rhaenyra was profoundly shaken by her father’s foresight and strategy.

Her naïve mind had never contemplated such intricate calculations.

In that moment, the image of her father before her overlapped with her memory of the ever-smiling, appeasing man she once knew.

Familiar, yet strangely distant.

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together and lowered her head. "Father, the Seven have blessed you with unparalleled wisdom. I feel deep shame for ever doubting you."

As a king, Viserys was certainly indecisive, but he was by no means ignorant of politics.

*End of Chapter*