Chapter 276: The One-Day Emperor of Volantis

Boom...

Ghostly green dragonfire erupted from Cannibal's maw, sweeping over the defending troops on Blackwall. In an instant, the impregnable fortress was engulfed in flames, and wails of agony filled the air.

One breath of dragonfire was not enough. Cannibal unleashed successive torrents, burning both sides of the wall from top to bottom.

"Run for your lives! It's a real dragon..."

"The dragon's flames will consume Volantis..."

Under the relentless dragonfire, the troops inside and outside Blackwall were terrified, their will to resist completely shattered.

"Cannibal, that's enough," Rhaegar commanded.

After the onslaught, Rhaegar surveyed the chaos below, where soldiers flailed in the sea of fire. He clenched his fist, satisfied with the result.

Connected by their bond, Cannibal circled Blackwall twice before landing on the solid gatehouse.

Before them, the two Triarch of the Elephant Party, flanked by hired mercenaries, panicked and tried to flee.

Rhaegar's gaze hardened. He patted Cannibal's back.

Without a word, Cannibal lowered its massive head, blocking the Triarchs' escape. The dragon bared its fangs, roaring menacingly.

Thud!

One of the Triarchs fell to his knees in terror, his face ashen. The bystanders followed suit, their fear palpable.

"Lord Dragonlord, Volantis has always been peaceful. We never intended to provoke your dragon!" the Triarch pleaded, his voice shaking. He felt a warm wetness spread in his trousers.

"Cannibal," Rhaegar shouted, signaling the dragon to draw back the flames that were building in its throat. He dismounted and walked toward the Triarchs, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Standing between Cannibal's curved gray horns, Rhaegar looked down at the crowd. "Malaquo was my friend, and you killed him for no reason!"

His voice was cold and unyielding. The presence of the dragon demanded attention.

The Triarchs were taken aback by the mention of Malaquo. They had heard whispers of Malaquo's correspondence with a Targaryen, but dismissed them as rumors.

The silver-haired Triarch spoke tremblingly, "Lord Dragonlord, we were unaware of your friendship with Malaquo. Please don't be angry. Give us a chance to make amends."

As he spoke, his eyes darted nervously to the dragon.

Cannibal sensed his fear and snorted in displeasure, sending waves of hot, sulfurous air over the Triarchs, nearly knocking them down.

"Lord Dragonlord, I have connections with the Targaryens. Please, spare me," the dark-skinned Triarch pleaded, his voice desperate.

Rhaegar's face darkened. He remembered Geddel's complaints in the brothel about this Triarch who had taken Saera as his mistress.

"Oh, you dare mention that," Rhaegar said icily. He slapped Cannibal's rough horn and commanded, "Cannibal!"

In a flash, Cannibal's vertical pupils gleamed with malice. The dragon lunged, its fangs piercing the Triarch's body. With a swift motion, it flung the Triarch into the air, tearing him apart.

"No! Have mercy!" the Triarch wailed, but his pleas were cut short as Cannibal devoured him piece by piece.

Rhaegar watched coldly, a hint of satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth. Finding a Targaryen princess as a mistress and then mentioning it in front of him—such insolence deserved a brutal end.

"Spare me, Dragonlord! Spare my life..." The remaining Triarch collapsed, his mental defenses shattered. He cried out, begging for mercy.

He was a moneylender, not a warrior. He had bought his way into power, and he knew better than to challenge a dragon.

The hired mercenaries, equally terrified, dropped their weapons and fell to their knees.

Rhaegar ignored them. He turned Cannibal's attention to the Tiger Cloak army below.

Cannibal's maw opened slightly, and green dragonfire began to gather.

...

The next day, just at dawn, the sun rose in the east, casting its light on the rapids of the Rhoyne River and illuminating Volantis after the tumultuous night.

Beneath the Black Wall, a black dragon lay prostrate, its thick, long tail coiled under its head, wings spread out like a vast curtain. Seated cross-legged atop the dragon's head, a young man in black robes leaned against the dragon's slender, pillar-like horns.

In front of the dragon and its rider, a diverse crowd had gathered. The Black Wall was surrounded by layer upon layer of people, extending as far as the eye could see. Gorgeously dressed merchants, armor-clad warriors, wealthy commoners, and tattooed slaves—all stared in awe at the formidable dragon and the young Dragonlord.

"My lord, the prisoners have all been escorted here!" announced a red priestess, leading a group of prisoners bound in chains through the crowd. The masses parted, creating an open space in front of the dragon.

Anyone observing closely would notice that the prisoners were prominent figures of Volantis—moneylenders, merchants, slave-owners, and even a Triarch. Among them was a military officer with a tiger tattooed on his face.

As the Dragonlord remained silent, the red priestess stepped forward into the clearing and addressed the assembly.

"People of Volantis..." she began, using the persuasive rhetoric she had honed in spreading her faith. Her impassioned speech outlined the crimes of the Elephant Party Triarch, who had secretly incited war and assassinated the Tiger Party Triarch. She identified the prisoners as the culprits involved.

The Dragonlord of Targaryen, she explained, was a close friend of the slain Tiger Triarch and had come to Volantis to seek peace. Upon encountering the chaos, he had used his dragon to quell the unrest and save the people from their suffering. Now, under the guidance of the Lord of Light, he was ready to judge the sinners.

She spoke of the friendship between the Targaryens and Volantis, the king's mercy, and his accomplishments, embellishing her narrative with mythological hues. The commoners and slaves, who had endured plundering and fear the previous day, were won over by her words.

"Long live the Dragonlord... Long live the Dragon..." The cries of the crowd grew louder, reaching a fervent pitch under the Black Wall.

In front of the masses, some of Volantis' old nobility and warrior class exchanged glances and joined the chanting. Soon, even the moneylenders, merchants, and slave-owners of the Elephant Party, seeing the tide turning, began to chant as well.

The previous night, the Dragonlord had summoned all prominent figures of Volantis into the Black Wall for a grand council under the dragon's watchful eye. Those who supported him were now among the crowd. Those who opposed him were bound in chains.

As the chanting peaked, the red priestess smiled and waved her hand. The Fiery Hands brought forth a large pile of firewood, stacking it and igniting a massive flame. The sorceress, holding a torch, waved it before the crowd.

"People of Volantis," she proclaimed, "the Dragonlord will judge Volantis for its hidden sins. We must grant him the most noble rights!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices rising to a crescendo.

Whispers about electing the Dragonlord as Triarch filled the air. These murmurs, however, came primarily from the commoners and slaves.

Representatives from both the Tiger and Elephant parties silently stepped into the clearing. From the Tiger Party, an elderly nobleman in fine attire and a fierce young man with a tiger-tattooed face presented themselves. The old nobleman trembled as he knelt before the dragon, fumbling in his pocket before producing a golden crown. This crown, adorned with a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg, featured intricately carved dragons along its edge, each one spewing fire.

Raising the crown with both hands, the old nobleman declared, "Honorable Dragonlord, this coronation crown from the days of the Freehold is dedicated to you, noble of blood."

The Elephant Party's representative knelt as well, adding, "We ask you to serve as the supreme Triarch of Volantis and restore the glory of the Freehold."

At these words, the black-robed figure atop the dragon stirred. Rhaegar awoke from his feigned slumber, his gaze fixed on the ancient crown. Despite its age and slightly blurred carvings, the crown radiated the weight of centuries.

Stretching from his cross-legged position, Rhaegar straightened his back and spoke calmly, "This is the crown of an empire and can only be worn by an emperor."

Historically, Valyria was known as the Valyrian Freehold. It had no emperor or king, instead electing a supreme Triarch from among the forty Dragonlord families. Rhaegar's statement, however, was deliberately ambiguous.

The old nobleman, clutching the crown, shouted with fervor, "You are the Emperor of Volantis!"

Rhaegar surveyed the crowd, remaining silent and not rushing his response. Observing this, the red priestess knelt and implored, "Your Grace, the Dragonlord, please be crowned under the watchful eye of the Lord of Light!"

Her action prompted the commoners and slaves to follow suit, kneeling and voicing their agreement. Members of both the Tiger and Elephant parties hesitated before also kneeling.

Rhaegar noted their reactions and laughed inwardly. This had all been prearranged. He had acted as the supreme Triarch of Volantis for a day, judging the remnants of the power structure. Under the dragon's threat, the Tiger and Elephant parties had no choice but to cooperate. In return, Rhaegar would step down after a day, selecting three new Triarchs.

This exchange of benefits allowed Rhaegar to gain fame, fortune, and recognition. It also positioned him to support at least one Triarch, enabling him to influence Volantis' political landscape.

Surveying the crowd's pleas for his coronation, Rhaegar felt a surge of emotion. "Malaquo, thank you for your death," he thought. Without the assassination of this Tiger Party Triarch, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to dominate Volantis.

Rising and patting his torn black robe, Rhaegar drew the Dragon Claw from his waist. The Valyrian steel sword, gleaming with cold light, was raised high, reflecting the morning sun's rays and exuding an aura of fearlessness.

The crowd fell silent, tens of thousands of eyes fixed on the silver-haired youth atop the dragon.

"Gentlemen, thank you for your trust," Rhaegar began, his violet eyes sweeping over the assembly. "But I am from Westeros, and there is a real kingdom waiting for me to rule. I cannot fully protect Volantis."

A murmur of disappointment rippled through the crowd. Who wouldn't want to live under the rule of a powerful, benevolent Dragonlord?

"But!" Rhaegar's voice, filled with precise emotion, regained their attention. Pointing forward with the dragon's claws, he struck his chest with one hand and proclaimed, "In this moment, I will become your emperor to rid you of evil!"

(Word count: 1,723)