Chapter 671: Death

"Your Grace."

"Your Grace."

The battle of Skyreach Castle drew its curtain under the lingering glow of the sunset.

Swish

Viserys emerged on the battlefield, slowly making his way forward, each step an intentional imprint.

Rustle

The black cloak, pinned with a metallic dragon head brooch, fluttered slightly in the breeze, whispering its subtle presence.

Boom

His ally, the black dragon Balerion, landed heavily on the shattered edge of the Skyreach walls, stirring a tempest of dust and wind.

The dragon lifted its monstrous head, its dreadfully crimson eyes gazing down upon the diminutive beings below. Then, it unleashed a deafening roar, a bellow of abyssal depths, resonating far and wide. It could feel the rage smoldering within Viserys.

"Roar—"

Rustle

At the dragon's roar, the royal soldiers and Riverland nobles, who had cleared a path for Viserys, were struck with bone-chilling fear. They immediately knelt on one knee, forming a thick carpet of subservience.

Some among them had seen Viserys before; others had not.

They had thought that the king sent only his mount into battle. They did not anticipate that His Grace would lead the charge himself, riding atop the gargantuan dragon to quell the rebellion in Dorne.

Their internal trepidation now morphed into heart-pounding fear, for no one knew what would transpire now that Viserys had learned of his Prime Minister's demise.

Skyreach was now a ruin. Fires still raged within the city, thick gunpowder smoke lingered, and the corpses of Dornish soldiers lay haphazardly strewn across the ground. Yet, in the midst of this devastation, the royal soldiers and knights of the Riverlands knelt, not daring to raise their heads, their eyes fixed on the charred earth beneath them, throats nervously swallowing.

The path cleared by the knights of the Riverlands led to a body placed upon a door panel.

No stretchers or coffins were available, just a door panel scavenged from the rubble to lay the body upon. Not even a white cloth to cover the face could be found, only a corner of a banner veiling the cheek.

The chest of the corpse bore the golden badge of the Hand of the King. In the fading light of sunset, it should have gleamed brilliantly. However, the badge was stained with a swath of its owner's blood, dimming its luster and glory.

Viserys slowly approached the corpse, the fierce wind atop the hill gently stirring his hair.

The young silver-haired man's face bore neither anger nor any other emotion. Perhaps he had concealed them all.

"Mm."

He then slightly nodded to a guardsman of the Tower of the Hand, signaling him.

"Yes, Your Grace."

The guard, once kneeling, quickly rose to remove the cloth covering Jon Connington's face, revealing his cheeks.

His eyes were gently closed now, his grey-red beard stained with blood. His face was pallid, void of any life's hue, and his body was already cold.

Jon Connington's flame had been extinguished.

Viserys had seen this outcome in a prophecy. His precognitive abilities, filled with uncontrollable variables, often left him with nothing but shattered fragments.

Had he known earlier, he would never have allowed Jon Connington to come to Dorne.

But now, such words were too late. He had held onto a final illusion, but Jon Connington was indeed dead, and even the black mist could not save him.

"Jon."

Viserys's eyes slightly congealed, his gloved hand clenched tightly.

Who would have thought that after the situation had stabilized, Jon Connington would capsize in this minor ditch?

However, the unexpected always comes unexpectedly.

When Jon Connington suppressed Oberyn and personally led the troops on the expedition, he never thought it would be his swan song. He would never return to King's Landing again.

On the other side,

"Come!"

"Quickly!"

The war had ended, and the royal army had completely occupied Skyreach Castle. There was no more resistance within the castle.

Soldiers found surviving Dornish nobles amidst the rubble. Many of them were already dead or injured, with only a few barely alive. However, they were all half-dead from the dragon's flame, and by the time they were found, they were on their last breath, including the lord of Skyreach, Franklin Fowler.

"Your Grace!"

"Your Grace!"

The royal soldiers escorted these prisoners before Viserys and forced them all to kneel.

"Your Grace, this man is the murderer!"

The royal soldiers found the instigator of the treacherous arrow, a young man whose hair and leather armor were scorched, his face a mosaic of red and black. He was the heir of Sandstone, Julian Cogwell.

Julian Cogwell had luckily not been crushed when the dragon's flame collapsed the castle hall's roof. Then, he saw Jon Connington, the murderer of his brother.

Immediately, his eyes were veiled with hatred. To avenge his brother, he secretly drew his bow and shot Jon Connington with a cold arrow.

However, he came to his senses now, staring at Jon Connington's body on the ground, enveloped by regret and fear.

"Your Grace, mercy!"

"Your Grace, mercy!"

The other Dornish nobles, having seen Viserys, trembled as if they had seen a demon, and hastily kowtowed, begging for mercy.

Many of them had witnessed Viserys during the public trial in King's Landing. However, they did not expect to see him again just a year later. But this time, they were the prisoners below, awaiting judgment.

"Your Grace, I am willing to plead guilty!"

"I am willing to plead guilty!"

Among these Dornish nobles, the white-haired old hawk, the protagonist of this incident, the Count of Skyreach, Franklin Fowler, was covered in blood. Knowing he was seeing Viserys, he knew he could not escape his sins. Now, he only sought to save his life.

"Your Grace, I am willing to plead guilty!"

"I am willing to don black and guard the Wall!"

Franklin Fowler no longer dared to seek absolution from his sins, only hoping to earn the qualification to don the black.

However, this matter was no longer the focus now. The Prime Minister's death on the battlefield was the real crisis.

The murderer, Julian Cogwell, was as pale as a ghost, matching the lying Jon Connington on the ground.

"I"

He opened his mouth, wanting to beg for mercy or explain his actions, but whether it was due to fear or another reason, nothing came out.

The Cogwell family of Sandstone now only had him left. His father, Quentin Cogwell, had just been burned alive by the dragon flame.

If he dies again, the Cogwell family of Sandstone will officially be extinct, exiting the stage of history.

"Just kill them all."

However, Viserys simply raised his head to glance at them, and then lightly uttered these words, deciding their fate.

"Your Grace!"

"Your Grace!"

All the captured Dornish nobles were in a panic, but Viserys ignored them and turned to leave.

However, at this moment, in a sight unseen by others, a black mist emerged from Jon Connington's body.

It seemed to be attracted to some attribute within Viserys and directly penetrated into his body.

"Hmm?"

And Viserys, stepping outward, paused for a moment, then turned his body to look back at Jon's corpse.