Chapter 454: Wrath of the Dragon

"Dire news."

The Faceless Man leader, with his distinctive red and white hair beneath his mask, looked gravely alarmed.

He hadn't expected Viserion, the white dragon, to return so swiftly. According to their intel, Viserion shouldn't have been back so soon.

"Quick!"

"Flee!"

The urgency in the Faceless Man leader's voice was palpable. The cohesion amongst the Faceless Men was evident; they all knew without a spoken word what needed to be done. They scattered instantly.

Even a dragon, still adolescent in its teenage phase, wasn't something they could meddle with.

Though Viserion's size and weight couldn't match that of Balerion, he still spanned a dozen meters or so. Soaring in the skies, he resembled a floating isle, casting a massive shadow beneath. His roar shook the very heavens.

Viserion dove from a distance, and below, the Faceless Men dispersed like startled birds, taking shelter beneath the dense canopy, hoping to divert the dragon's attention.

But what greeted them was a torrential downpour of dragonfire.

BOOM!

Intense flames rained from the sky, cleaving the dense forest in twain, setting it ablaze.

Viserion, in his resplendent white and gold, was furious. He had only left his lair for a brief period, and during his absence, the human intruders dared attack his kin. This affront fueled Viserion's rage, letting loose his fiery wrath.

A Faceless Man, running at top speed, constantly glanced back at the sky, realizing the dragon had set its sights on him. In a blink, as if by some sorcery, his clothes collapsed, but beneath them, the man vanished without a trace.

In the next moment, dragonfire rained down, reducing the garments to ash.

"Ah—"

Another Faceless Man, his identity unknown, let out a harrowing scream within the engulfing flames. His clothes, even the very skin mask upon his face, melted away. The scorching heat caused his skin to dry and crack, every breath he took ignited his lungs, soon followed by his flesh and bones.

Being burned alive is among the most agonizing of deaths. Even for a Faceless Man, the pain was unbearable. His screams echoed until he dropped, transforming into a charred corpse.

But the wrath of Viserion wasn't sated.

With powerful beats of his wings, he flew close to the treetops, searching the depths of the Kingswood for Silverpiece, the missing captured dragon whelp.

Unable to locate the silver-scaled youngling, Viserion let out a deep, rumbling growl.

Then, once more, he spewed fire upon the earth.

BOOM!

The land trembled as dragonfire continued to cleave through the woods. The cries from the skies reached far, the towering flames and thick smoke alarmed the patrolling Kingsguard soldiers.

A noble-looking knight, followed by several soldiers bearing the Targaryen three-headed dragon emblem, approached.

One soldier, witnessing the dragon's fury, stammered in fear, "Ser Duran, what has enraged the dragon?"

The knight, known as Ser Duran, with brown hair and a facial scar, watched Viserion's rampage and responded gravely, "Someone has angered the beast."

"We must inform Princess Daenerys!"

Ser Duran was one of the recently elevated knights under the Targaryen banner. An Andal warrior, he had served in the First Legion and was knighted after distinguished service against the Dothraki invaders. He was granted fertile lands as his domain.

"Understood!"

Realizing the urgency, the soldiers turned their horses and galloped towards Pentos, seeking Daenerys, the Dragon Queen, the only one who could calm the beast.

Ser Duran, however, gazed into the depth of the woods, his expression grave, his facial scar contorted. His brown hair fluttered in the wind. Dismounting, he drew his sword cautiously and ventured into the woods.

The scent of blood lingered in the air.

His warrior's intuition warned him of impending danger, prompting him to send his men to Pentos for reinforcements. Alone, he delved deeper into the Kingswood.

Having served alongside Viserys for some time, Ser Duran was familiar with the dragons. He knew Viserion to be mild-tempered, implying that someone or something had indeed provoked him.

The rustling of leaves caught his attention, and he discovered several fallen Kingsguard soldiers. Their lifeless bodies bore evident wounds, clearly slain by weapons.

"Invaders in the Kingswood, they must have provoked the dragon," the scarred knight thought, his heart sinking.

Suddenly, rapid footsteps echoed nearby. Ser Duran, armored and alert, tightened his grip on his sword, readying for the confrontation.

Unexpectedly, a dart with a red feather flew from the side, piercing through the gaps in the trees, striking him in the neck.

He felt an immediate numbness. Holding his neck, disbelief evident in his eyes, he collapsed, face down.

Emerging from the woods were the Faceless Men, one, with alternating red and white strands of hair, carried a net containing the captured Silverpiece.

The potent poison from the dart hadn't killed him yet, but Ser Duran was paralyzed, forced to watch helplessly as his foes retreated, awaiting the inevitable end.