Chapter 605: Sheepstealer Shows Off

"A dragon egg?" Helaena frowned, picking up the small garment she was sewing.

Rhaegar's lips curled up slightly as he placed the black dragon egg in the prepared baby cradle. "The egg of Dreamfyre, remember?"

It had once belonged to him, but unfortunately, it did not hatch.

Helaena nodded, suddenly recalling the origin of the dragon egg. Rhaenyra had snatched it from the hands of her uncle, Daemon. Aegon had not yet been born at that time.

Rhaegar sat down with a thud, ran his hand over Helaena's swollen belly, and smiled. "Once Father has been cured, the baby will be born." He predicted it would be a boy.

Helaena's eyes twinkled, and she slowly lifted the corners of her mouth. "I'm leaving for Qohor tomorrow."

Rhaegar waited patiently for the conversation to continue. "Where's Aegon? I haven't seen him."

"At Harrenhal. He's fallen in love with the Hall of a Hundred Hearths."

"Oh, that's a great place for parties."

"His second wife is pregnant, and the Maesters think it's a boy."

The siblings chatted about Aegon's good fortune. Helaena's face grew serious as she leaned into Rhaegar's ear and whispered, "Aegon's wife was very jealous. She secretly sent letters to his mother to complain, but when Aegon found out, he banished her to the Stepstones."

After she finished, she tilted her chin up slightly, like an arrogant kitten begging for praise. Rhaegar hesitated for a moment, rubbed her plush head, and thought, 'This kid really dares to love and hate.'

Even after the conflict between the Blacks and Greens ended, Aegon's shadow still loomed over Hightower. Alicent's status had plummeted, and she was unable to help her niece, who had fallen out of favor.

After a while, Helaena yawned and lay unceremoniously on his strong thigh. "The baby is due in three months. You have to be careful."

Rhaegar smoothed her hair, enjoying the rare peaceful afternoon. Helaena closed her eyes, nestled her little head in his arms, and snuggled up with a soft sound as her nose turned red.

King's Landing was known as a leaky rat's nest. Any Targaryen king who lived there would be subject to countless prying eyes. A young girl staying behind in the Red Keep would have a hard time sleeping every night.

Rhaegar adjusted his breathing to calm his racing heart. He called up the system panel.

[Rhaegar Targaryen

Talents: Dreamer (Gold)

Bloodline: Dragonborn (69%)

Runes: Bronze (Green), Serpent (Blue), Dream Eater (Purple)

Blood Magic: Binding Spell (Blue), Dragon Dance (Purple), Blood Dance (Purple)...

Relics: Blood and Fire, Dreamscape, Pure Water...

Special Items: Space Necklace, Dragonhorn (Special)

Comment: "The excessive depletion of magic in the blood will cause even true dragons to fall into a deep sleep."]

Rhaegar scanned the list and then lowered his eyes in silence. The aftereffects of recklessly using the Dragonhorn could linger for a year or even several years. Although it did not affect the foundation, there was still some weakness. The fire magic in his blood had become diluted and was slowly recovering day by day. Perhaps he needed to find a place with an abundance of fire magic. For example, Dragonmont on Dragonstone.

"Brother~"

Helaena's eyes were tightly shut as she suddenly whispered, "Aemond will be in danger."

...

That night...

The king's chambers.

"Here, be careful." Alicent's eyes were calm as she helped her husband turn over, then wrung out a towel to wipe his body.

"Ssshh..." The wet towel touched a cut on his back, and Viserys let out a sharp breath of pain.

"Sorry, sorry." Alicent was startled and quickly took out some ointment, carefully applying it to the wound.

The evening breeze blew through the curtains, filling the bedroom with the scent of herbs. Viserys, bloated and covered in cuts and bruises from his long stay in bed, lay still. Alicent moved with practiced skill and gentleness, accustomed to this routine.

"You've worked hard," Viserys said between clenched teeth, his words labored.

Alicent paused for a moment, then continued applying the ointment as if nothing had happened. After all these years, she was used to it.

Viserys glanced up and whispered, "The children have all grown up."

"Yes," Alicent responded, her tone indifferent.

"When I regain my strength, I'll ride Vermithor and show you around Oldtown." Viserys lay back down, smiling as he chatted idly.

Alicent's expression shifted slightly, though her inner thoughts remained hidden. "It will get better; everything will get better," Viserys murmured, his eyes closing as he drifted off like a sleepwalker.

...

A few days later...

Essos, Qohor.

"Roar!"

An ugly, rotten mud dragon soared above the Free Cities, its brown wings flapping as mud-like Dragonfire sprinkled down in fine droplets. The city below was deathly silent, blanketed in brown, mud-colored Dragonfire and charred black earth. Most of the buildings had been destroyed, and the once-majestic temple built against the mountain lay in ruins. The common people had taken refuge in cellars, as if the end of the world had come.

Outside the city gates, in the Forest of Qohor, a large banner bearing three red dragons fluttered above the military camp, where a crowd of Dothraki vented their anger. The chaotic sounds carried into the tent, stoking Aemond's already simmering rage.

Bang!

Aemond's face turned pale as he kicked over the sand table, scowling menacingly. "These damned pariahs—they're so fearless!" he growled. His dragon had been burning the city for days, yet no one had opened the gates to surrender. The Dothraki cavalry, ill-suited for siege warfare, spent their days idly gathering and causing chaos at the Khal's signal.

"Vulgar barbarians, lowly scum," Aemond muttered as he glanced outside the tent. He saw two Dothraki men brandishing swords and hacking at each other over a woman with her breasts bared. Zilla—one man's artery was cut, and blood gushed like a spring. The victor let out a wild cry, ignored the blood and filth on his face, and mounted the corpse to claim his prize. The sight made Aemond's blood boil; he wanted to gouge out his remaining eye in disgust.

"Don't let your anger cloud your judgment. The advantage is still on our side," Otto advised calmly, stepping aside and twirling the ring on his thumb. The situation was indeed tricky—the people of Qohor were enraged. But they had a dragon on their side.

Aemond sneered, "What do you think will compensate for a city-state lost for nothing, Grandfather?"

"We have all the time in the world. They don't," Otto replied with a knowing smile. "There's plenty of gold in the city, but not enough food."

Ser Cole, who had been standing guard at the door, entered and grunted, "Prince, there's something going on with the other Free Cities. We should cut some of their routes—for example, Braavos, Pentos, and the closest one, Norvos. These three cities are in league and secretly inciting riots in Qohor."

Aemond snorted derisively. "If they dare come, they'll be torn apart and fed to the dragons."

"Yes, that's what those pariahs deserve!" Bartimos, lying on the floor in the corner, stretched his bandaged, bloodied belly and loudly complained about the injuries he had suffered. He had nearly had his intestines ripped out and his penis cut off, left to dangle from a gallows.

His grumbling only fueled Aemond's anger. With a crash, Aemond picked up a carved stone emblem and smashed it over Bartimos' head, pointing a finger and shouting, "Shut up, you brainless, ugly toad!"

Bartimos screamed in pain, blood pouring from the fresh wound. Without hands, he could only use his sleeves to cover it, a pitiful and comical sight. No one intervened; they simply watched, indifferent. The rich and powerful were to blame for their high-handed policies, squeezing the last drop of blood from the common people. Bartimos, after all, had been mainly responsible for the riots in Qohor.

...

In the afternoon, the sun shone brightly. A black dragon soared through the endless white clouds, casting a shadow over a vast, lush forest before descending into a hidden clearing. With a rumble, its massive body crushed tree trunks beneath it, sending up a cloud of dust.

"Wait for me, Cannibal," Rhaegar said gravely as he looked down at the deserted camp of wooden palisades below. He dismounted the dragon, his expression tense.

The large camp was eerily empty, with nothing but horse manure, hoof prints, and the stench of excrement lingering in the air. Rhaegar's brows knitted in disgust as he held his breath and surveyed the area.

"Your Grace?"

The curtain of the main tent was lifted, and Otto and Ser Cole emerged, one after the other. Rhaegar's eyes narrowed as he took in Otto's aged face—he almost didn't recognize the former royal chancellor, once so meticulous about his appearance.

"Your Grace, why have you come?" Cole asked, his voice tinged with confusion. He stood stiffly in white robes and silver armor, his posture rigid.

Rhaegar, in no mood for pleasantries, went straight to the point. "Where is Aemond?"

"Prince—" Cole began, but Otto cut him off, speaking in a low tone. "Aemond led the Dothraki cavalry to attack the city. He's been gone for over an hour and a half."

Rhaegar's face fell with disappointment. Without another word, he turned to leave. "Guard the camp. I'll go find him."

No matter the situation, he needed to see Aemond first. Something was off in Qohor—there was a conspiracy brewing.

As the king rode away on his dragon, Otto watched him with deep, calculating eyes. 'He really came and went in a hurry,' he mused.

His grandson Aemond was a capable warrior, but not a trustworthy commander. The situation in Qohor was already precarious, muddied by the power struggle involving the Free Cities and House Targaryen. If they weren't careful, they could be drowned in the chaos.

What did the king's arrival signify? Would it be a crackdown on the Free Cities or the official declaration of war on the continent of Essos?

...

Meanwhile, Qohor was under siege.

"Release the arrows!"

A large number of Sellswords, their hair dyed in various colors, stood atop the city walls. They operated scorpion crossbows and drew back their bows, unleashing a hail of arrows. The Unsullied army that had once defended the Free Cities had long since been wiped out.

"Ooooooooooo—"

The battle cries of the invaders echoed through the air as they launched a relentless assault. Lacking proper siege weapons, they were forced to rely on brute force, using simple wooden ladders to scale the walls and battering the city gates with makeshift wooden stakes.

"Get out of the way!"

Aemond's voice rang out, cutting through the chaos, followed by the arrogant roar of his dragon.

"Roar!"

The agile form of Sheepstealer darted across the city walls, unleashing Dragonfire that burned a line of Sellswords like beads on a string. With each pass, the walls became littered with charred corpses.

Rumble.

Seizing the opportunity, Sheepstealer landed heavily on the city gate, its bony frame quivering as it swung its dragon tail like a chain.

"Ahhh!"

"Run! The dragon is coming!" Panic spread among the Sellswords as Sheepstealer's tail struck, shattering a dozen of them into bloody fragments. The dragon, ugly on the outside and vicious on the inside, spread its claws wide, displaying its menacing majesty.

"Break down the gate, you idiots!" Aemond could hardly bear the sight of any delay and urged the dragon on with frustration.

"Roar!" Sheepstealer grunted in protest, shaking its skeletal frame. But the two were deeply attuned to each other, long accustomed to their shared ruthlessness. Aemond tugged hard on the reins, asserting control over the disobedient Mud Dragon.

Sheepstealer reared its head, lifted its scaly tail high, and slammed it down with full force on the city gate.

Rumble.

The impact resounded with a thunderous crash, causing the sturdy gate to shake violently.

"Again!" Aemond's expression brightened with anticipation, sensing the gate's impending collapse.

Proudly, Sheepstealer raised its head, snatched a hapless Sellsword in its jaws, and swallowed him whole. Then, with renewed vigor, it swung its tail once more.

Rumble...

After several successive strikes, the city gate, pounded relentlessly, began to crumble. The heavy bolt shattered with a loud crash, signaling the breach.

(Word count: 2,044)