Chapter 542: A Poison That Kills Dragonlords

Crackling...

The sparks crackled, and the bottom of the dragon egg turned a bright red. Almos closed his eyes and took a deep sniff, as if he could smell the dragon.

"Don't get your hopes up, master," the black-robed wizard said, his deep voice resonating through the red lacquered mask as he mixed a potion.

Almos, momentarily entranced by the wizard's enigmatic smile, replied, "There's always a chance, isn't there?"

"Who knows," the black-robed wizard responded, pouring a blood-red potion onto a gray-scaled dragon egg. The black eyes under the mask were faintly visible. "Things are always changing, like the magic tides."

"I started out selling slaves girls, and I believe that everything is possible if you put your mind to it," Almos said, approaching with his scepter, his eyes shining with excitement.

The black-robed wizard's calm expression did not change as the blood-red liquid touched the hot dragon egg, causing a pungent mist of sulfur to form.

"What is its effect?" Almos asked, his attention riveted on the egg.

The black-robed wizard whispered, "Dragon blood potion, just like you recruiting me from Asshai, it's nothing but a gimmick." He extended his five pale, bony fingers to touch the gray-scaled dragon egg soaked in the potion.

Thump! Thump!

The knuckles made a dull sound like stone. "It's still useless," the black-robed wizard said, turning to flip through a yellowed ancient book. "Blood sacrifice, a blood sorcery that deprives vitality. Why is it incomplete?"

This blood sorcerer came from the distant Lands of the Long Summer, but his work was prematurely destroyed. If the blood sorcery were complete, it would have set off a new wave in the sorcerer world.

"It's useless?" Almos was impatient. He reached out to touch the dragon egg but withdrew his hand quickly due to the heat.

Suddenly, he smelled a sweet and fishy scent and asked in a doubtful tone, "What is the main ingredient of the dragon blood potion?"

The black-robed wizard didn't even look up, responding in a bored tone, "It's obvious."

"Aethyrys' blood?" Almos asked tentatively.

The black-robed wizard paused in his flipping through the pages and snorted. "Is he even worth?"

Hearing this, Almos's eyes widened, and he burst into unprecedented enthusiasm. "Is it true that the legend says dragons come from the Shadow Lands?"

There are many different legends about dragons. The Dothraki believe that there were originally two moons in the sky. One of them was too close to the sun and exploded, giving birth to countless dragons. The mainstream legend says that dragons were born in the Fourteen Flames of ancient Valyria. That is why they were discovered by the herdsmen of ancient Valyria and tamed and bred.

The black mage remained calm in the face of Almos' sharp questions, answering lightly, "Things are always changing."

"Is that true?" Almos, growing increasingly agitated and anxious about dealing with the dragons of the Iron Throne, urged, "Tell me, Quaithe, tell your master."

The black-cloaked wizard's dark eyes flashed with a hint of gloom beneath his painted mask. He said half-truthfully, "Who says there's only one place in the world where dragons live? It's just that humans are too weak to set foot there."

"Where is it?" Almos's eyes lit up with curiosity.

The black-robed wizard turned his head, continuing to mix a blue potion. "The Lord of Light told me that there are three dragons in the Smoking Sea. You can try your luck there."

"What?" Almos was stunned, processing the idea that there might be more than one young dragon in the Smoking Sea.

Zilla!

A half-pipe of scarlet blood was poured in, and the potion turned from blue to transparent, a mournful dragon roar seemingly echoing in the air.

Almos, puzzled, asked, "What is it?"

"The dead," the black-robed wizard replied, seeming to read Almos's mind. He examined the potion carefully, muttering, "A poison made using Aethyrys' blood as a base."

The name of the potion is "Cry of the Dead".

Almos couldn't help but take the potion, asking curiously, "Dragonlord's blood as an ingredient, what is its effect?"

"To kill a Dragonlord," the black-robed wizard answered seriously, bending down to look for something. "There is the blood of a Firewyrm in it. If a Dragonlord drinks it, it will act like a parasite, causing his body to dry up and die."

With that, he took out a wooden box and said, "To deal with Dragonlords, you can't fight them on the front lines."

Almos opened the box and found three neatly arranged potions inside.

"Take it!" The black-robed wizard's voice was luring. "Find a way to get the king on the Iron Throne to take it without anyone knowing."

After a while, Almos walked out of the room with the wooden box in hand, stumbling past the bedroom where the music was playing.

...

Storm's End.

Drizzling...

Rain poured down, soaking the ancient castle that stood tall and proud. Cassandra stood expressionless at the window, gazing out at the long line of wagons carrying goods to and from the courtyard.

Crack!

A flash of lightning illuminated a second face in the dimly lit room.

"The treasury is half empty. From now on, we'll all have to tighten our belts," Steffon Connington, the guard and lover, looked gloomy, his dissatisfaction evident. The goods should have been his and Cassandra's. Half of their wealth had been lost because of a single word from Aemond, the one-eyed man.

Cassandra sighed and asked, "Did you get the results I asked for?"

Steffon was taken aback and stammered, "I hired a witch from Pentos to put a curse on him."

"Curse?" Cassandra turned her head slowly, her displeasure clear. "Do you think it will work?"

"Maybe it will take a little time to settle," Steffon looked away, trying to find an excuse for his incompetence.

Cassandra shook her head, exasperated. "I should never have trusted you."

She walked out, leaving Steffon standing there, embarrassed and angry.

...

"Sister."

Outside the door, Maris had been waiting for a long time, bowing respectfully to greet her.

Cassandra glanced sideways and asked, "How much money is left in the treasury?"

Maris replied without hesitation, "In recent years, the climate has been favorable, and Storm's End's finances are very good. There are still 30,000 gold dragons left."

Cassandra nodded. "If Aemond sends another letter asking for money, you should give it directly to the Small Council in King's Landing."

Her friend in Lys had sent word that Aemond had been exiled by the king. As his fiancée, she had given him the money he asked for. But if he wanted more, House Baratheon could not afford it.

"I will, sister," Maris, like a good housekeeper, took note of her master's requests.

Cassandra was in a bad mood and wanted to go back to her room. She had taken two steps when she suddenly remembered something important.

With a puzzled look on Maris' face, Cassandra said, "Of the four of us, Ellyn and I are already engaged, and Floris..."

She paused, deciding not to mention it.

Maris' expression changed slightly, and she whispered, "Has someone asked for her hand?"

Cassandra smiled. "There are two good options. Father promised Master of Laws Jasper that one of his daughters would marry his son. But his son got married a few years ago, and he himself has been widowed for several years."

Maris' eyes twitched slightly, and she wanted to say something but stopped herself. Jasper was over forty, fat, and bald. Moreover, he was nicknamed "Iron Rod." This nickname was not a compliment to his strict law enforcement, but rather to the fact that he was a widower of many wives and was rumored to have an iron rod under his crotch that destroyed women by making them give birth.

"He's not a good choice. My mother also advised me to decline the promise appropriately," Cassandra whispered.

Maris was overjoyed and let out a sigh of relief. But then Cassandra reached out and touched her sister's not-so-pretty face and said with a smile, "You're very lucky. Lord Rowan of The Reach has also proposed to you, You'll be a Lady to a Warden of the Realm."

With that, she left with a brisk step.

Maris' face was stiff, and her eyes revealed a look of disgust. Lord Thaddeus Rowan, was the Warden of the The Reach. But he was a fat old man, widower of two wives, and had a large number of children. At this age, he was already half buried in the grave. Even the late Lord Borros, their father, would have called him "Uncle" Rowan.

Drizzling...

The rain was getting heavier and heavier, like a bucket of water. Maris took a long time to descend the stairs to the attic. If she remembered correctly, the castle had hired a new group of maids yesterday.

"My dear sister, I love you so much," Maris muttered to herself, feeling the damp and cold air, wrapping her arms around herself.

...

Across the Narrow Sea, Lys.

Sailors bustled in the harbor, loading various supplies onto the ships. On the blue sea, several fleets set sail, flying the flags of the roaring lion, the burning tower, the purple grape, and more. The delay of half a month had been used to gather a large army in preparation for the invasion of Slaver's Bay.

In the Dragonpit without a roof, the Dragonkeepers were in high spirits, holding their bamboo staves and spreading out on both sides.

Boom!

Cannibal's green pupils were deep and sinister, and its hideous dragon head slowly emerged from the pit, crawling out. As it moved, a hot current of ash-smelling air surged. Even through their woolen clothing, the Dragonkeepers felt their skin tingle, as if they were being scorched by flames.

"Get down, Cannibal," Rhaegar commanded, walking straight up to the dragon, wearing a loose black robe.

"Your Grace," the Dragonkeepers hurriedly bowed their heads.

Rhaegar waved his hand dismissively and asked, "Where is Maekar?"

The old Dragonkeeper stepped forward and replied, "The Prince and Princess are playing behind the Dragonpit."

"Very well, you may leave," Rhaegar instructed. He then turned to the Cannibal, giving it a stern command to wait where it was.

...

At this time, the Targaryen children, who regarded the Dragonpit as a playground, were gathered together as usual. When Rhaegar arrived, the children were scheming and plotting.

Lyanna was sitting on the floor with her legs apart, frowning. Baelon was saying all the right things, cradling a listless Bronze dragon cub in his arms. A few meters away, Aemon, arms folded, glared at his brother, who wouldn't play with him. Baela and Rhaena stood behind Aemon, holding hands. Only Maekar, as usual, was sitting in the corner with Tyraxes, amusing himself.

"Maekar!" Rhaegar called out, beckoning to his youngest son.

Maekar turned around and exclaimed in surprise, "Father!" He quickly got up and ran over to him.

"You've grown a little fatter, little one," Rhaegar laughed as he picked up his young son, who was as light as a swallow returning to its nest. "Are you brave enough to go with me to Volantis to find your great-grandmother Rhaenys?"

"Really?" Maekar's eyes widened, and he nodded like a chicken pecking at rice. "I want to go."

He had heard that his father was the emperor of Volantis and that he alone had subdued the rebellious city. Of course, he wanted to go.

Rhaegar pinched his cheek and reminded him, "Volantis is still a bit dangerous, so I'm allowing you to bring your own dragon."

Volantis was a remote place that needed a ruler. Just as Aemon, the second son, would one day inherit Lys, Maekar should become familiar with his own fiefdom early on.

"Father, where are you going?" Baelon ran over at the sound of the voice, his eyes full of hope.

(Word count: 1,983)