Chapter 473: Rhaenyra’s Hint

"Prince, you..."

A middle-aged Archmaester glared at Rhaegar and reached out to stop him.

Rhaegar's lips curled. " Sacrificing yourself for others?"

Zila-

A ball of fire floated nimbly and struck the middle-aged Archmaester in the chest, burning a hole through him.

In an instant, the room seemed to freeze completely.

Not only were the remaining Archmaesters stunned, but even Aegon and Aemond froze, their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

Rhaegar glanced to the side and said to his two younger brothers, "Watch carefully, I'll only teach you once."

He closed his five fingers slightly, causing seven points of red light to form an unusual seven-pointed star pattern.

This was a fire magic technique he had learned while sitting in the Starry Sept.

Using his five fingers as the foundation of the magic, he created a pentagram that could release five fireballs. The fireballs could vary in size and be controlled with the precision of moving an arm.

The seven-pointed star pattern Rhaegar used was a result of subsequent improvements.

The second knuckle of his index finger and the palm of his hand had two additional magic sources, allowing him to create seven fireballs. No more—seven was the maximum for one hand. It couldn't be less than five, or the magic transportation route of the five-pointed star would be disrupted, losing its flexibility.

"Gulp!"

Aegon swallowed a mouthful of saliva and couldn't wait to lie on the ground and watch. Aemond's one eye widened as he stared at the palm controlling the fireballs.

Rhaegar flicked his hand, and the five remaining fireballs formed a line, whirling around the seven Archmaesters.

Several Archmaesters were quick on their feet, protecting the most important one, Archmaester Luwin, in the middle.

Rhaegar glanced sideways and lightly tapped his finger. The four fireballs seemed to come to life, smelling their prey and falling on the four Archmaesters, burning them to cinders in an instant.

On the spot, only three of the nine Archmaesters remained. Well, there was also a pile of ashes.

Of the three, besides the key-protected Archmaester Luwin, there were the youngest Archmaester and a tall old man.

Rhaegar ignored them. The second finger of his index hand was the only part of the seven-pointed star still glowing red. He had already decided to kill them all when he realized he had not seen all the members of the Conclave in the Starry Sept. There were too many people at the Ten-Person Meeting, so he decided to leave two behind.

Hum

The fireball trembled slightly, stopped spinning at high speed, and hovered above the three men, emitting a scorching heat like a small sun.

Tick!

Archmaester Luwin dared not move a muscle, a drop of sweat trickling down his skin and onto the floor. The young Archmaester was filled with fear, suddenly closing his eyes with force, maintaining a stiff posture. The heat was baking, and the fear was growing, like a sword hanging above his head, ready to pierce his brain at any moment.

"Ho ho."

The last tall old man was sweating profusely, unable to hold back his fear. He stumbled and nearly fell.

Rhaegar glanced at him, and the fireball fell at great speed, engulfing him from head to toe. The tall old man did not even scream, his life ending without pain.

Rhaegar ignored him and put away his hand, causing the seven-pointed star to disappear. Fire torture was an extremely cruel punishment in Westeros. All he could do was quickly end the suffering of the victim. It was a kind of mercy.

Plop! Plop!

Archmaester Luwin and the young Archmaester fell to the ground, their bodies drained of all their strength, their cold sweat soaking through their rough Maester robes. He looked at the "remains" of his companion, his heart spasming with a mixture of intense sadness and fear.

They had imagined countless negotiation scenarios—coercion or bribery—but they had never imagined that the heir prince would kill them on the spot if they disagreed.

"Are you two rested?"

Rhaegar's voice was cold and distant. Maesters are really a very annoying group. They are arrogant and condescending, despising worldly powers and believing themselves to be in possession of the truth. But they don't consider whether the truth lies in books and pens, or in the Bronze Age of the ancestors, or in the iron of the Andals, or the dragons of the Targaryens.

Archmaester Luwin and the young Maester trembled, finally realizing what power was, and their heads, full of knowledge, gradually drooped.

...

For a long time.

Creak!

The door to the guest room opened and Rhaegar walked out with his two younger brothers, arms linked.

"Goodbye, Prince."

Lord Bulwer held the door handle with one hand and removed his horned helmet with the other, forcing a hideous, fawning smile.

Rhaegar waved his hand and said in a friendly manner, "You can stay in the Citadel and cooperate with Maester Tru."

"Yes, we will complete the task!"

Lord Bulwer stood at attention, looking extremely serious.

Ormund, standing in the hallway, wasdumbfounded, as if he had just met his bannermen for the first time.

"Is this still the same reckless man?"

Just a moment ago, Bulwer had sworn he'd rather die than give in. Feeling Ormund's gaze, Lord Bulwer glared at him and passed by indifferently.

Half of the dozen knights stepped forward and left together.

"This, this..."

Ormund was so shocked he could hardly speak.

Rhaegar pressed his shoulder and said with a smile, "I'll go to the library first and visit the High Tower later."

With that, he walked out of the corridor.

Aegon and Aemond gave their uncle a sympathetic look and quickly followed Rhaegar with their necks tucked.

"Huh?"

Ormund was completely dumbfounded and suddenly noticed the open door to the reception room. The young Archmaester, with a damp patch in his pants, helped the shivering Archmaester Luwin to his feet. But where were the other Archmaesters?

Ormund looked down and saw a pile of ashes and debris.

"These piles, they look a bit like... ashes?"

Ormund shuddered at the thought, and the more he looked, the more it seemed true.

He turned his head, spun around, and ran!

...

It was night.

The Starry Sept loomed in the shadowy night as a huge creature landed in the square. Rhaegar slid off the dragon's back, caressed its hideous snout for a while, then climbed the steps into the temple.

He had spent the afternoon searching through the Citadel's precious library. The Citadel's vast collection was a testament to its cultural monopoly in Westeros, an endless ocean of books. Rhaegar even feared that a bookcase might collapse in an earthquake and bury him alive under a mountain of knowledge.

Not long after, under the guidance of a holy sister, they arrived at the inner hall where guests were accommodated. Although called an inner hall, it was actually a spacious room with a sunny view and simple, rustic decor.

As soon as he reached the door, a Valyrian nursery rhyme could be heard through the wooden door. Rhaegar stopped, gently twisted the doorknob, and opened a crack in the door, smiling as he peered through.

Rhaenyra had changed into a red dress and was kneeling on the carpet with her back to the door. A cradle nearby gently rocked a baby inside. She held another baby in her arms, gently patting it to sleep.

Rhaegar, engrossed in the scene, opened the door wider.

"Hum hum hum~~"

Rhaenyra seemed to sense something but continued to coax the two children, humming a lullaby in a gentle voice. Rhaegar recognized it as "The Evening Glow of the Shepherd," a song she had often sung to him when he was little to help him fall asleep.

"Rhaenyra," he called softly, eyes filled with tenderness.

The lullaby stopped abruptly. Rhaenyra, still with her back turned, continued cooing to her child as if she hadn't heard him. Rhaegar was momentarily stunned, a look of confusion flashing in his eyes. He noticed two young holy sisters standing by the wall, looking down at their toes.

Rhaegar recalled the noisy speech he had heard earlier in the day and, embarrassed, cleared his throat, trying to get her attention.

"Ahem... Rhaenyra, I'm back."

He smiled, waved his hand for the two holy sisters to leave, and then crouched down next to the cradle. Rhaenyra glanced at him, handed the baby Aemon in her arms to him, and said calmly, "You hold him for a while. I'll clean up."

"Okay," Rhaegar said obediently.

Rhaenyra frowned, turned sideways, opened her dress, and gently wiped her face with a handkerchief. Rhaegar noticed that her breasts were covered with two moist, red patches of cloth, barely noticeable but telling.

"Are you lactating?" he whispered.

"Yes," Rhaenyra replied, rolling her eyes, her face turning slightly red. Her constitution was excellent, not at all like a mother who had given birth with difficulty. After giving birth to her two children, she had recovered quickly and had enough milk to breastfeed them without needing a wet nurse. Sometimes, there was so much milk it leaked, causing discomfort.

Rhaegar shifted closer and offered, "I'll make some hot water and help you apply some compresses?"

Rhaenyra: ...

There was a language called speechlessness. Rhaegar looked sideways and saw Rhaenyra's face flushed, steam practically rising from her head.

Looking around, she gently set Aemon aside and got up to fetch water. It was inconvenient being away from home, and the servants were not very handy.

Soon, Rhaegar returned with the water and began to help. Rhaenyra leaned back in the cradle and closed her eyes gently. As the hot towel was applied, the swelling gradually subsided. Rhaenyra's furrowed brows relaxed, and her mood improved.

It was late at night. In the moonlight, the two babies slept soundly in their cradles.

Rhaegar leaned over, his eyes flickering. Rhaenyra, facing away from him, rested her head on one of his arms.

"I'll take care of the children. You go to sleep first," Rhaegar offered.

"Mm-hmm," Rhaenyra murmured, already half-asleep and very tired. Soon, soft snoring filled the room.

Rhaegar sat up and blew out the candle, his eyes fixed on her sleeping face, emotions mixed. Rhaenyra must have received the information she needed from the holy sister. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been so lost in thought while coaxing the baby to sleep.

Rhaenyra didn't bring it up, so it must be taken as tacit agreement.

"You're so kind," Rhaegar whispered, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "I gave the child a surname, that's all."

Alicent's meddling had aroused his suspicions. Even if he married more women in the future, one queen in King's Landing would be enough. In ancient Valyria, polygamy was clearly defined. The wife had the same status as the husband, and the wives of annexed houses varied in status depending on their birthright. They would not normally usurp the first wife.

"The queen..." Rhaegar muttered, his thoughts drifting.

The wife of the Sealord of Braavos had no clear title, and the wife of the Prince of Pentos was apparently called the Princess. The court system of the Old Empire of Ghis was similar, with many titles being combined.

...

The next morning.

At the Citadel library, a large number of soldiers poured in, carrying bundles of books and placing them on carts to be taken away. Tru stood at the entrance to the library, his large, fat body acting as a barrier, constantly supervising the soldiers who were handling the books carelessly.

Behind him, dozens of Maesters were busy sorting out the Institute's equipment. Downstairs, hundreds of Maester's assistants were even more frantic, ransacking all the useful drawings and files, determined to empty the Citadel.

On the roof, Archmaester Luwin looked out of the window, his eyes flashing with pain. As far as he could see, the young Archmaester who had shared the hardships of the past were now joining the team of porters, leading the effort to empty the expensive utensils.

Yes, he had defected… No, he had found the truth! He was invited by the heir prince to become the second in command of the royal Citadel, leaving behind the corrupt old Citadel. From now on, the Conclave would only have Archmaester Luwin to support it.

In the library, Rhaegar sat on the floor, surrounded by a small mountain of ancient books. Compared to the previous day, his attire had changed drastically. A white undershirt and a light red vest accentuated his well-defined waistline. It was obvious that he had been well taken care of.

At this moment, Rhaegar was engrossed in a book with a dragon on the cover.

"Brother!" Aemond suddenly shouted, climbing out of a pile of books and holding up a parchment with a dragon on it. "I found another ancient book passed down by a Dragonlord family."

Rhaegar looked up and saw seven or eight similar ancient books at his feet. Nearby, Aegon lay in another pile of books, his whole body seemingly broken. His eyes were numb as he mumbled, "Rhaegar, I'll hand in a book too. Please let me out."

(Word count: 2,198)