Chapter 380: Young Dragon, Tyraxes

Two Days Later

The fishy, salty sea breeze blew as the smoke over Lys gradually dissipated.

In the eastern part of the city, near the harbor, countless slaves swarmed the streets. They wore tattered clothes and knelt on both sides of the road.

Among the throngs of people were men, old people, and women, all with miserable faces, huddled together in desperation.

As far as the eye could see, it seemed as if every slave in the city had gathered.

The stench of sweat mixed with the strong smell of perfume and smoke from the burning city-state turned the harbor into a sprawling slum.

Living in squalor was the main theme of their lives.

But today, something was different.

A crowd of male slaves huddled in front, their necks bearing bruises from shackles, their feet freed from heavy fetters. Female slaves, cowering in the back, huddled together for warmth, their formerly exposed skin now covered with an extra layer of linen to block the men's gaze. Elderly men prayed silently, while children watched timidly.

Tens of thousands of lower class slaves waited for a person or a signal.

Puh-ohh~

An elephant's roar suddenly rang out, followed by an elite army of a hundred armored men clearing the way.

The slaves looked up, clasping their hands in prayer.

At the end of the harbor, a gray and white war elephant, several meters tall, walked gracefully, its trunk spewing mist.

With all eyes upon him, Rhaegar rode the war elephant, his young and handsome face calm and serene.

He had shed his black war coat and wore a casual white shirt with a black skirt embroidered with three red dragons.

There was no deep meaning to it; he was simply expressing an attitude.

The war in Lys was over, and the reign of the Targaryens was about to begin.

"Roar..."

A shrill roar reached his ears, and a cool breeze whistled over his shoulder.

A young silver and black dragon the size of a house cat stood proudly on his right shoulder, its mist-colored wings outstretched in demonstration.

Rhaegar glanced sideways and smiled. "Tyraxes, be quiet."

Silver hair, purple eyes, and fluent High Valyrian. A lively young dragon on his shoulder.

A pure Targaryen roaming the streets of Lys.

"Roar..."

The young dragon raised its head, revealing a mouthful of fangs despite its youth, and stumbled into a crouch. Its oversized head made it difficult to adjust to the newborn period.

Rhaegar stroked the top of its head, which was sprouting horns, then turned his attention away from the little creature.

He had named the dragon "Tyraxes", after an ancient Valyrian deity symbolizing exuberance, vitality, and the ability to receive the dead. It came from the same faith as Morghul and was one of the minor deities.

Rhaegar had hatched the dragon, chosen a name for it, and kept it with him for the time being. He considered that his own children or Daemon's children might not be able to hatch the eggs, so he planned to tame this "unique bloodline" young dragon.

The war elephant Rhaegar rode on walked slowly through the alleyway, escorted by the elite of the Second Sons. Slaves lined the streets, admiring the victor of the battle.

"Prince, please help us..."

"Dragonlord of Targaryen, do not let the slavers return to Lys..."

"Prince..."

As Rhaegar rode his war elephant through the crowd, the slaves cried out, kowtowing and pleading miserably with tears in their eyes.

Lys had been defeated. The powerful nobles and most of the slave owners had been captured, and all the slaves were liberated. Despite this, the slaves remained apprehensive.

They hoped that the owner of the dragon would stay behind to ensure that they would not be enslaved again. The streets and alleys were buzzing as the slaves' pent-up emotions were finally released.

Rhaegar looked around, understanding their concerns. He raised his arm and declared, "I, Rhaegar of Targaryen, will break your shackles! Dragons do not allow slavery and oppression!"

Ding! Ding!

At the back of the procession, several Lys officials struck gongs to attract everyone's attention. Another procession, composed entirely of slaves, followed behind, holding stakes with living people or corpses nailed to them.

These individuals, dressed in rich attire, were local powerful figures who had enslaved hundreds, forcing men to labor and selling women into brothels. Most importantly, they had resisted Targaryen's rule.

"Long live the Targaryens..."

"Long live the Dragonlord..."

Seeing their former oppressors brought low, the slaves cheered, some even considering defiling the fallen lords.

Rhaegar scanned the area and rode out of the alley on his war elephant. The truly powerful people of Lys had fled, leaving behind only those who had resisted.

Lys's political groups could be divided into the rich, the commoners, and the slaves. The rich had been dealt with, and the compliant ones pacified. The civilian population, mostly hostile to the Targaryens, required soldiers to patrol and maintain order.

The slaves, despite suffering thousands of casualties during the city's burning, welcomed the invaders as liberators, granting them freedom.

...

Noon, the Magister's Palace

By noon, the procession returned to the Magister's Palace.

The city had been briefly cleared, with bodies removed and rubble from collapsed buildings blocking some passageways.

As they moved through the charred streets, white stone skyscrapers came into view.

Johanna, clad in a simple dress, looked on in anticipation.

The Sea Snake led an army repairing the harbor in preparation for the capture of Tyrosh.

The Volantis forces stormed the perfumed gardens, looting and enjoying themselves with impunity.

When Rhaegar walked in, Johanna bowed and smiled, "Prince, are you satisfied with my work?"

As her delicate figure sidled past, a dozen or so Lys officials stood in a neat row, heads drooping.

These were the ones who had succumbed and were now tasked with restoring the livelihood and management of Lys.

Rhaegar dismounted from the war elephant, smiling. "Good job. Many people were willingly submit to the Iron Throne."

The parade and punishment of the powerful and noble had been Johanna's idea—simple, rough, but effective.

It had significantly won over the hearts of the people.

The two walked into the Magister's mansion, talking as they went.

Johanna pointed to a mural of a goddess of lust on the wall and suggested, "Prince, faith is the best means of ruling. Supporting a faith will win the conviction of the civilians."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and quickened his pace.

The beliefs in Lys were diverse. Besides the default goddess of lust, there was a mixture of other faiths.

The Faith of the Seven Gods was indigenous to Westeros and wasn't too popular here. Moreover, he didn't want the Seven's influence to cross the Narrow Sea and potentially restrict the Targaryens.

After thinking for a moment, he said, "Let's leave it for now and reconsider after we conquer Tyrosh."

Myr and Lys of the Triarchy had fallen, leaving Tyrosh as the last of the three Free Cities.

Tyrosh had been under siege for several days, and a decisive battle was imminent.

Rhaegar pursed his lips, pondering, "It's suspicious that Dorne and Braavos haven't sent out their troops yet."

Lost in thought, he walked back to the attic to dine.

Creak-

The guards pushed open the door to reveal a figure dressed in red waiting in the room.

Rhaegar glanced at the figure, secretly sizing him up.

A tall man with pale skin, blue pupils, and a shaved head stood before him. What drew Rhaegar's attention were the man's deep eyes, seemingly full of wisdom, able to see through one's heart.

His face was covered in various tattoos, the most prominent being a twisted black dragon on the left side.

"Who is he?" Rhaegar asked, clearly displeased.

He had a particular aversion to certain fanatics, especially those rumored to practice dark sorcery.

Johanna, standing respectfully behind, replied, "Varys, an outcast of the Temple of R'hllor and a true blood sorcerer."

Rhaegar stared at Varys, his tone nonchalant. "You come from Volantis?"

"I lived there for a while," Varys replied, forcing a smile. The tattoos on his face twisted as he continued, "I was born in Braavos, found my way to the Temple of R'hllor in Lys, and am currently cast out once again."

Lys had a mixed faith, and though it had a temple of R'hllor, it was not as grand as the one in Volantis.

Rhaegar stepped towards the table, his tone indifferent. "What do you want, and what can you do for me?"

His attitude was cold, bordering on dismissive.

Varys remained unfazed, his voice smooth. "I heard that your sister is pregnant. I know some Bloodmage and Pyromancer abilities and would like to serve as a teacher for your heir."

Rhaegar's gaze sharpened with suspicion. "You think I would let a stranger near my child?"

"Prince, many of the Dragonlords of ancient Valyria were Blood Sorcerers and Pyromancers," Varys said, turning to face him. Feigning pity, he added, "I don't hold pure faith in the Lord of Light or any other deity. I swear on my full knowledge that my intentions are not malicious."

"I can't believe you," Rhaegar responded, unmoved. He turned his head to Johanna, who stood by the doorway.

Johanna smiled apologetically and stepped forward, maintaining her respectful demeanor.

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed slightly as he calculated his next move. Johanna, known as the "Black Swan," was skilled in manipulating politics and controlling people. She had managed Lys's affairs for him and now introduced Varys, a man with questionable faith.

"She's desperate for power," Rhaegar thought, seeing through her intentions.

"Roar..."

Tyraxes roared, flapping his wings as he leaped onto the table, nibbling on a piece of roasted meat.

Varys unabashedly scowled and introduced himself, "Prince, you can foresee the future through fire. The tide of magic is surging, and you need someone who understands magic by your side."

It was clear he was interested in the young dragon.

Rhaegar stroked Tyraxes's skull and murmured, "Prove your ability to me, and I will consider your proposal."

One statement from Varys had struck him: the magic tide was key.

Previously, he hadn't felt much, only a slight increase in the magic in the air. However, after his bloodline morphed into that of a Dragonborn, he became more sensitive to magic. The magical energy felt like waves converging, each surge higher than the last, churning powerfully.

Coupled with the conquest of the Triarchy and the dragon's footprints once again on the continent of Essos, Rhaegar thought it was time for his family to embrace the concept of magic to better protect their legacy.

"Prince, most of my skills have never been utilized, so I hope you will not be disappointed," Varys said.

He removed his hands from his sleeves, revealing fingers tattooed with strange symbols. He clasped his hands together, and wisps of flame emerged.

Narrowing his eyes, Varys picked up the half-chewed and discarded meat from Tyraxes, smearing the saliva onto a porcelain plate. With one large hand, he crushed the plate, cupping the crumbs in his palm and rubbing them together.

After a few seconds, Varys opened his hands, revealing a stone sculpture of a young dragon, solidified in black dragonite, in his palm.

Rhaegar's eyes flashed with recognition. "You really are a Bloodmage."

"Excuse me. I stole this blood sorcery from the Temple of R'hllor in Braavos, and I remembered it only after hearing about the Twin Castles," Varys explained.

He pushed the dragonite sculpture towards the jittery Tyraxes and said sincerely, "Prince, if you are willing to hire me, I can help you build a Topless Tower like those where the ancient Valyrian Dragonlords lived."

(Word count: 1,950)