Chapter 291: Blood of the Nobles

Carillon clung tightly to a broken piece of a dinghy, rising and falling with the waves.

His attempt to reach the island had ended in failure.

His boat had shattered against the rocks, and the other sailor who had set out with him met a similar fate. Carillon had seen the man's corpse floating on the water before it was swallowed by the waves and vanished.

Seawater he had accidentally swallowed churned in his stomach, and Carillon felt his body's warmth slowly fading. The furious waves tossed him up and down, playing with him mercilessly.

All he could do was hold onto the dinghy and pray that the waves wouldn't smash him against the rocks, which would spell his certain death.

Bloodstone Isle wasn't far away, but the short distance felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

On a calm day, he could have easily swum to the island. But in these raging waters, swimming across was a hopeless fantasy.

In the face of nature's fury—or perhaps the Storm God's wrath—humankind seemed so small, so helpless.

Carillon could only pray.

Perhaps his prayers were answered, as the waves began carrying him toward Bloodstone Isle.

Miraculously, he avoided being dashed against the rocks.

When the waves finally washed him onto the shore, Carillon wept with joy, prostrating himself on the ground to praise the gods for their mercy.

Once he had calmed down, he cautiously began moving inland.

It was nearly midnight, and the world was pitch black, so dark he couldn't see his own hand in front of him.

Only the occasional flash of lightning lit up the sky, providing brief but fleeting light.

Amid the howling winds, he faintly heard voices.

Following the sound, Carillon soon came upon a cave.

But just as he was about to approach, the sound of leathery wings beating the air suddenly came from above.

Carillon looked up sharply, and a flash of lightning revealed a terrifying sight—a white dragon, its eyes fixed on him!

The dragon dove toward him, and Carillon felt terror consume him. Without a second thought, he turned and fled.

Behind him, the dragon screeched, its heat so intense he could feel it even from a distance.

Carillon didn't dare look back, running with all his might.

But the wind roared louder, and the heat grew more oppressive.

Then, searing pain shot through his back, and before he realized what had happened, he was lifted into the air.

The white dragon's talons had caught him. The sailor from the Arbor Fleet screamed, but his voice was drowned out by the rushing wind.

Thud!

Carillon was hurled down, slamming into a massive rock outside the cave. His entire body felt as if it had been shattered.

"You're one of Lord Paxter's men, aren't you?" a voice asked.

Carillon gasped for breath and tried to steady his pounding heart. Turning, he saw a young man with black hair and black eyes standing beside the white dragon. He wore an ancient bronze armor, carried a massive sword on his back, and atop his head was a Valyrian steel crown inlaid with rubies—

The crown of Aegon the Conqueror.

Carillon immediately realized he was looking at the infamous Caesar. To his shock, the man had crowned himself king.

Caesar had claimed the throne.

The young man—Samwell—ignored Carillon and strode into the cave.

He had anticipated the Arbor Fleet's presence nearby.

With the royal fleet destroyed in the Blackwater Bay, the Arbor Fleet was now the strongest naval force in Westeros. The Stormlands' ships were no match for it.

That was why Samwell had chosen Bloodstone Isle for the meeting. Even if the Arbor Fleet encircled the island, the treacherous reefs would make a large-scale landing impossible.

And the sudden storm had worked in his favor, preventing the Arbor Fleet from even approaching.

Samwell wasn't worried for himself; with his white dragon, he could leave the island whenever he wished.

But the other nobles couldn't.

Taking advantage of the storm, he had been transporting the Stormlands, Dornish, and Reach nobles off the island to the nearest Stormlands stronghold—the Weeping Town.

Cleopatra, his dragon, was now as large as a fully grown elephant and could carry up to five people at once across the strait.

This required multiple trips.

Once again, he loaded four Stormlands nobles onto Cleopatra's back, climbed up himself, and patted the dragon's neck. "One more trip, Cleopatra. Let's go."

The dragon snorted, spread its wings, and soared into the sky.

When the dragon disappeared into the night, Carillon finally let out a breath of relief. He tried to move but froze when a voice behind him barked:

"Don't move!"

Carillon turned to see a Stormlands knight glaring at him. He forced a sycophantic smile and said, "Ser, may I take shelter in the cave from the rain?"

The knight hesitated before grabbing Carillon by the collar and roughly dragging him inside.

A fire burned in the cave, spreading warmth that brought some life back to Carillon's cold, stiff body.

By the firelight, Carillon surveyed his surroundings cautiously.

The most striking sight was two corpses on the platform. One was small, its head crushed; the other was large, sliced in two, the wounds blackened by burns.

Around the fire sat over twenty Stormlands nobles, speaking in low voices.

The Dornish and Reach nobles were huddled near the edges of the cave, disarmed and bound, except for Prince Doran, who, too weak to stand, had been left unbound.

Sensing Carillon's gaze, Prince Doran turned to him and asked, "Did Lord Paxter send you?"

Before Carillon could respond, a Stormlands knight stepped between them, barking, "No talking!"

Prince Doran sighed and fell silent. Carillon shrank back, not daring to say more.

Two hours later, the white dragon returned once more.

As before, four Stormlands nobles climbed onto its back and left with Samwell.

The storm continued to rage, but the cave grew emptier with each passing trip.

Carillon dozed off and woke the next morning to find the storm subsiding and sunlight returning to the Dornish Sea.

The cave was now almost empty of Stormlands nobles, though the Dornish and Reach nobles remained.

Carillon perked up, sensing an opportunity.

With the storm clearing, the Arbor Fleet could now launch small boats to begin a landing. While they couldn't land a full force at once, the cave's defenses were weak. A small landing party would suffice to overwhelm them.

Just then, the sound of leathery wings returned. Carillon knew it meant Caesar had come back.

Sure enough, Samwell strode into the cave. "The storm's ending," he said. "I won't have time to get everyone off the island."

Lord Selwyn Tarth replied, "That's fine. If Paxter launches an attack, this last group of Stormlands nobles can still escape. As for the Reach and Dornish nobles, if we can't take them, we kill them."

Lady Mary Mertyns immediately protested. "If we kill the Dornish nobles, Dorne will never forgive us! Don't forget, we still have 20,000 men trapped in Dorne. Killing them will ruin any chance of negotiating their release."

Selwyn scoffed. "Even if we spare them, Dorne won't release our soldiers. Why give the Reach an advantage?"

Samwell cut in: "The Stormlands army is being held at Sunspear. As long as we take Doran Martell as a hostage, we can negotiate their release. The rest of the Dornish nobles can die."

The Dornish nobles erupted in protest.

"Your Grace! Please, we mean you no harm!"

"This assassination plot was the Martells' doing, not ours!"

"Spare us, and we'll do everything to help free your army!"

Prince Doran finally spoke, warning them: "He's trying to divide us. Don't fall for it!"

"Shut him up," Samwell said.

Selwyn stepped forward and gagged the prince with a piece of cloth torn from his robes.

Turning back to the Dornish nobles, Samwell smiled. "I know you're innocent. But Lord Paxter is forcing my hand. If you want to live, save yourselves."

"Let me negotiate with Lord Paxter!" offered Anders Yronwood. "Please, I have a way, I'll make sure he doesn't dare attack!"

"Excellent." Samwell nodded, his gaze sharp. "The Yronwood family has always been honorable, true blood of the nobility. The Former High King of Dorne."

The High King of Dorne is a title that existed in Dorne long time ago.

At that time, the Yronwood family was at its peak and ruled a large core area in the central and northeastern part of Dorne. It was not until the Rhoynar, led by the Warrior Queen Nymeria, came to Dorne and married the Martell family of Sunspear that the House Martell, whose strength increased greatly, finally suppressed the Yronwood family and became the new rulers of Dorne.

So when Lord Anders heard this ancient name and saw Samwell's meaningful look, he immediately understood

Anders bowed and promised, "Your Grace, I will not fail you. The Yronwood family harbors no ill will toward House Caesar."

"I trust your sincerity." Samwell drew his greatsword, Dawn, and cut Anders' bonds.

Anders bowed again before departing the cave with Carillon.

Samwell remained behind, gazing at the ancient blade in his hands. Its pale, smooth surface gleamed faintly in the dim light.

The Ancestral sword of House Dayne has now returned to its original appearance. There were no longer any red and gold lines on the sword, nor any burning flames. Only the original milky white color remains, as smooth as glass.

He murmured to himself, "What's the matter, R'hllor? Angry?"

The blade was as cold as water, no longer the fiery weapon it once was.

Yesterday, his resurrection clearly came with the help of the Lord of Light, R'hllor, but Samwell knew that the other party had ulterior motives.

If it weren't for Melisandre's warning and reminder, he would have probably ended up like Dickon and the Azor Ahai of the past, becoming a puppet of the Lord of light.

Now he understood why, during the attack on Storm's End, R'hllor insisted on controlling his brother Dickon to carry out the assassination, even though he had already made the Red Priestess pregnant with a shadow.

That shadow was prepared for the moment of his coronation.

At that time, R'hllor might have already foreseen this scene but chose not to give any warning, perhaps hoping that Samwell would die once and then be resurrected as a puppet.

This time, he was able to break free from the control of the Lord of light, thanks to R'hllor's arch-enemy—

The God of Cold.

This also confirmed Marwyn's theory that to break free from the control of a deity, one must rely on the power of another deity.

Samwell continued:

"If you weren't always thinking about controlling Dickon and me, perhaps we could have worked together."

A flash of red-golden light appeared on the sword, as if in response.

But at that moment, the bronze armor on Samwell's body also emitted a pale cold light.

In the next moment, the two lights simultaneously extinguished.

As if nothing had happened.

A sarcastic smile curled at the corner of Samwell's mouth:

"Things are getting more and more interesting."

(End of Chapter)