Chapter 226: The History of “Truth”

Dragonstone Island, Dragonmont - One Day Later

"Roar..."

Gray Ghost, sleek and alert, perched atop the black stone mountain, its slender neck stretching as it scanned the surroundings with vigilant eyes.

Beside it lay a much larger Cannibal, over twice its size, sprawled on the ground with its green eyes tightly shut and its long, slender tail hanging low off the edge of the cliff.

Between the two dragons was a flat rock where Rhaegar lay in a deep sleep. He wore a tattered black robe, his silvery hair spread out around him, and used the tip of Gray Ghost's tail as a pillow.

A light summer breeze blew, causing the black robe to shift slightly, revealing the hilt of a dark sword tucked underneath.

Just yesterday, Rhaegar and his two dragons had launched a fierce attack on the three free-trading city-states of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh, collectively known as the Triarchy. The assault sparked widespread slave uprisings against the oppressive regimes of these slave cities.

The battle left the Triarchy's power severely diminished, stripping them of the strength to challenge the Stepstones. After his victorious campaign, Rhaegar returned to Dragonstone Island and chose to rest on Dragonmont for the night.

He chose not to return to the castle. The attack had been so successful that he felt overwhelmed and wasn't ready to face his father or Rhaenyra.

Rhaegar snored softly, sleeping soundly, unaware of the dream forming in his mind.

In his dream, waves gently rolled in as a cool breeze blew through. An island city appeared, set in the summer sea. The island had a temperate climate, abundant sunshine, fertile land, and was dotted with palm and fruit trees. The sea was a vibrant green, with fish occasionally leaping out of the water.

Rhaegar's vision zoomed in on the island city. The inhabitants had blue eyes, platinum curls, and smooth skin. Among them were numerous poor slaves of various skin tones and hair colors.

Rhaegar instantly recognized the place: "Lys!"

"Roar!!"

A deafening dragon roar echoed across the sea, jolting Rhaegar. His vision zoomed in further to reveal a circular building within the city-state. Inside, a massive dragon with silver scales was shackled at its neck and feet, thrashing wildly in the confined space.

The dream's vividness and intensity gripped Rhaegar, pulling him deeper into the unfolding vision of the enslaved dragon within the walls of Lys.

"Kill it!"

"Kill the dragon!"

A large mob swarmed into the building, wielding axes, spears, and other weapons. Their faces twisted with grim determination, they charged at the dragon.

Among them were slaves and soldiers alike, united by a shared purpose.

The dragon flapped its massive wings and unleashed Dragonfire, incinerating scores of people. But the flames failed to deter the mob, driven by their blinding hatred.

The slaves launched suicidal attacks, hacking and slashing with everything they had. They vowed to shatter the dragon's scales and inflict whatever damage they could.

The dragon swayed violently, tossing the attacking slaves like rag dolls, their bodies crumpling on impact. Dragonfire erupted in columns, scorching all who dared approach. But the crowd only grew larger, more frenzied in its assault.

The chaos continued well into the evening. The building was littered with charred bodies and debris, every brick scorched by the flames. The dragon lay on the ground, badly scarred and gasping for breath. More chains had been attached to its neck, and spears had pierced its wing membranes, further anchoring it.

But the mob persisted, hacking at the dragon's scales and stabbing at its bleeding wounds.

"Roar...

Unable to retreat, the dragon threw back its head and roared in desperation.

With one last desperate effort, the dragon rose, tearing off its shackles even as the chains tore at its wing membranes. Its golden eyes fixed on the dome above, and it leapt upward, slamming its head into the stone structure.

Rumble!

The dome collapsed, bringing down the entire structure. Rocks and debris fell, crushing the dragon and the mob alike. Blood poured like a river from the dragon's wounds, mingling with the rubble.

The dragon slayers, consumed by their own fervor, were buried beneath the thousands of stones.

After a long silence, nothing remained but ruins.

Rhaegar looked on, horrified and speechless. The same grim scenes played out across Lys.

A brownish-gray dragon flew over the city, vulnerable and exposed. Below, a dozen scorpion crossbows lurked in the shadows.

Thwack!

A steel spear shot out, piercing the dragon's chest.

"Roar..."

The dragon screamed in agony, its flight becoming unstable as blood gushed from the wound. More scorpion spears followed, piercing the dragon's body until it fell lifeless to the ground.

A luxurious rooftop in a high-rise building.

A middle-aged man with silver-blond hair stood nervously, his hand clutching a Valyrian steel sword at his waist.

Rhaegar watched the scene and recognized the name of the sword.

"Truth"

"Charge, the damn Dragonlord is inside."

"Be quiet, don't let him find out..."

Murderous whispers drifted up from below.

"Lilith, take your dragon and hide," the Master of Truth commanded through gritted teeth, glancing at the little girl behind him.

She had silver-gold curls and deep purple eyes, curled up in the corner of the bed, clutching a red-scaled dragon cub the size of a cat.

The baby dragon wriggled and struggled, letting out a low roar as if it sensed danger.

Bang...

The door burst open and a large number of soldiers burst into the room.

"Kill these remnants of the Freehold!"

"There's still a dragon! Kill the dragon!"

The soldiers roared furiously and surrounded the Master of Truth. They quickly beheaded him.

The little girl and the red-scaled dragon met the same fate, slaughtered without mercy.

Rhaegar frowned and clenched his fists, understanding the historical context of his dream.

After the fall of Valyria, the Freehold collapsed overnight. Of the forty dragonlord families, only the Targaryens survived, having moved to Dragonstone in response to Daenys Targaryen's prophecy. The other thirty-nine families had some living members scattered around the world.

At the time, Lys was a colony of Valyria, known as the greatest summer resort in the world. Some dragonlords enjoyed this paradise and escaped the initial catastrophe. But they underestimated the horrors of human nature.

The Valyrian Freehold had enslaved Essos for centuries, and many people suffered under the dragonlords' rule. When Valyria was destroyed, the oppressed rose up in rebellion.

The people of Lys, including the slaves, hunted down and killed the dragons in their lairs and the defenseless Dragonlords.

The scene shifted to a bustling marketplace in Lys.

Several severed heads with silver-gold hair hung from bamboo poles. Three dragon corpses - two large and three small - were being loaded onto rafts by slaves and dragged out to sea for disposal.

There were no more dragonlord families or dragons left in Lys.

The era of free trade and city-states had begun.

Ka-ka-ka-ka...

The dream shattered into silence.

Rhaegar's eyelids fluttered slightly as he woke from his sleep.

"This quest is over. Please pick up the lost treasures," a system notification sounded in his ears. Rhaegar opened his eyes, groaning softly.

"Hmph..."

His pale face was streaked with blood, his violet eyes unfocused, and his expression was somber.

The system interface appeared automatically.

[Truth]

Exploration Progress: 100%

"Exploration completed..."

Scratching his messy silver hair, Rhaegar sat up, propping himself with one hand and reaching for the sword, "Truth," lying beside him.

He recalled the dream he had just experienced.

"That was the history of Truth?" he whispered, frozen in thought.

The sword had once belonged to a surviving Dragonlord who was eventually killed, and after changing hands several times, it ended up with the Rogare family.

"Well, they took it from a Dragonlord, and a Dragonlord took it from them. That's fair enough." Rhaegar muttered with a rueful smile.

He had little sympathy for the slaughtered Dragonlords. The Forty Families had always been fiercely competitive. Their demise and the loss of their dragons had paved the way for the relatively weak House Targaryen to rise and dominate Westeros.

He looked down at the sword, its dragon-shaped blade gleaming, the vertical pupils of the ruby-studded hilt flashing ominously.

"Your family is dead. From now on, your last name is Targaryen," he muttered, setting "Truth" aside.

In his pocket, a grapefruit-sized purple orb of light trembled, glowing faintly.

Rhaegar rubbed his hands together, silently praying to Balerion, "Please Black Dread, help me with another valuable relic."

Reaching out, he touched the purple orb.

Wave~

The orb shattered at his touch, dissolving into a flurry of glowing particles.

"Relic picked up successfully. Detecting..."

"Detection successful. Recognized as an epic-level relic: The History of "Truth"."

Rhaegar examined the relic's keywords.

"Buried in the long river of history, the tragedy waits for the same family to avenge the hatred."

Rhaegar frowned, pondering the meaning.

"Revenge?"

He muttered, wondering if burning Lys counted.

As the thought crossed his mind, the relic activated.

"Congratulations, the truth of history has been activated. You have obtained..."

[Blood Sorcery: Dragonstone]

Grade: Excellent (Blue) 

Function: Gathering materials, mobilizing blood magic, and melting black dragon stone. 

Evaluation: "Blood sorcery from the old Valyrian era with infinite creative power."

The knowledge of Bloodmagic flooded into Rhaegar's mind, making him tremble at the sudden influx. A cool sensation washed over him, leaving him feeling invigorated.

Unlike last time, he managed to remain calm and savor the influx of knowledge.

More than ten minutes later, Rhaegar exhaled deeply, feeling refreshed. This kind of intellectual pleasure was intoxicating.

He looked at his hands, chuckling. "Am I a Pyromancer and a Bloodmage now?"

He called up his personal status screen and checked his skills.

Rhaegar Targaryen

Talent: Dreamer (Gold), Pyromancer (Purple), Longevity (Green) 

Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (44%) 

Rune: Serpent (Blue), Bronze (Green) 

Blood Sorcery: Dragonstone (Blue) 

Relic: Blood and Fire, True Dragon Blood, Dreamscape...

Evaluation: "The slumbering power of ancient bloodlines awakens in their heirs."

"The skills have disappeared, replaced by runes and blood sorcery," Rhaegar murmured, understanding the significance of his newfound abilities.

From the inheritance of [Dragonstone], he had learned the basics of blood sorcery. Bloodmages relied on the magic hidden in their bloodline, requiring specific origins. Despite this, their path paralleled that of Pyromancers, both being the inherited knowledge of the Valyrian Dragonlords and not mutually exclusive.

(Word count: 1,724)