Chapter 185: Red Witch – Shadowcat

The battle continued into the evening, a one-sided massacre lit by the flames of two dragons. The entire camp was transformed into a sea of fire, filled with the screams and acrid smell of burning flesh.

Thousands of Mountain Clans tribe members perished, save for a few lucky souls who managed to escape.

"Cannibal, land!" Rhaegar commanded, guiding his dragon to the only remaining clearing, surrounded by flames and charred bodies.

"Rhaegar, we've captured the giant's descendant. What are you doing down there?" Rhaenyra's voice rang out. Syrax landed a few dozen meters away, its feet on a burning tent, eyes agitated as it stared at Cannibal.

Cannibal shifted and slumped to the ground with a contemptuous snort. Syrax, an inexperienced female dragon, was far too excited by the minor victory.

"Do not dismount!" Rhaegar shouted back, moving forward with one hand on Cannibal's body. He was searching for the naked woman who had survived the Dragonfire.

After becoming a Pyromancer, he had not yet mastered any magic or fire sorcery. Bathing in fire had given him immense power, but it was too exhausting and single-minded. He needed something more versatile.

Rhaenyra obeyed, remaining on Syrax's back, her eyes fixed on Rhaegar. The true power of a dragon rider was in the dragon itself; going down would compromise her safety.

Rhaegar scanned the burning ruins until he heard the faint murmur of a woman. Pulling aside a charred log, he stepped into the hot wreckage. There, crouched in a corner, was a naked woman with snow-white skin and a delicate figure. Her long black hair partially obscured her face, but Rhaegar could hear her praying to some god.

"What is your name?" he asked coldly, slowly approaching her.

The woman shivered, lifting her head timidly. Her sultry cheeks and captivating eyes drew him in as she softly spoke, "Myrcella."

Her voice was so enchanting, it felt like an invitation. Rhaegar's gaze drifted to her chest, and for a moment, he was mesmerized.

Noticing his interest, Myrcella's eyes sparkled as she proudly lifted her breasts. "My lord, do you want to do it?" she asked seductively.

"No," Rhaegar replied coldly. "Are you a Flame Witch?"

"Yes, my lord," Myrcella said, standing up and boldly walking towards him. "Bless the great Lord of Light, for guiding you to me."

Clang—

Rhaegar pressed Dragon Claw against her delicate neck, stopping her in her tracks. "You should be grateful that my sword is quick enough to sever your hand before it touches me," he taunted.

Even Rhaenyra, his dragon-riding partner, had never dared to approach him so boldly. This woman, who had likely lived a filthy life, dared to think she could touch him?

"Fool!" Myrcella's demeanor shifted as she quickly retreated, falling to the ground.

"Roar!" A black shadow darted around a corner, aiming for Rhaegar's neck. He caught the attack out of the corner of his eye and didn't flinch.

Buzz...

A layer of green scales covered his neck, deflecting the attack. Rhaegar turned to see a large black cat, the size of a leopard, its eyes blue and green. Baring its teeth, it tried to grasp his scales with its claws.

Pfft...

With a swift swing of Dragon Claw, Rhaegar decapitated the Shadowcat, its head rolling to the ground. Blood splattered across his face, frowning in disgust, he wiped it away with his sleeve.

Rhaegar glanced at the naked woman and spoke coldly, "You will suffer the same fate as this creature if you do not give me all your magic and spells." He gestured to the corpse of the Shadowcat.

This was no ordinary big cat, leopard, or tiger. The Shadowcat, native to the Mountains of the Moon, was a fierce predator. Much like a leopard, an adult Shadowcat could hunt down and kill large wild animals.

Cruel by nature, it preferred to strike in the dark. Rhaegar had heard rumors that these beasts were bred by witches among the Mountain Clans.

"I'm sorry," the woman stammered, almost paralyzed with fear as she looked at the dead Shadowcat. "I'm a follower of the Lord of Light, and I know nothing of witchcraft."

She really didn't know any magic. If she had, she would have infiltrated noble circles long ago to deceive the lords with her supposed powers.

"Alright, I believe you," Rhaegar sighed, admiring the woman's submissive posture as he slowly approached.

She quickly stopped crawling, spreading her legs and forcing a smile, trying to appear cooperative.

A flash of cold steel.

A section of her head and hair flew off, and a fountain of blood erupted. Rhaegar shielded himself from the blood with his hand and removed the ruby necklace from her headless body.

Looking down at her severed head, which still held a grotesque smile, Rhaegar murmured, "So confident, yet so fragile."

With a sense of finality, he kicked aside the corpse and walked out of the ruins, the ruby necklace clutched in his hand.

...

Nightfall

Runestone held a grand banquet to honor the victorious warriors. The rebels, now stripped and hanged from the castle walls, served as a grim reminder of their fate.

Inside the castle, the celebrations were subdued, the shadow of the Black Wedding still looming over the guests. Many noblewomen and their ladies remained upstairs with Jeyne, grateful to be safe but mourning the fathers and brothers who would never return.

Rhaegar sat at the head of the table in the first-floor hall, with only a few guests joining him. Old Grimm stood, raised his glass, and said solemnly, "Thank you, Prince, for bringing victory to the Vale and avenging the dead."

"To the brave and noble Rhaegar Targaryen," echoed through the hall as nobles, knights, and soldiers raised their glasses and chanted his name.

Rhaegar rose slowly and said, "To all of you!"

"To the prince," the hall responded in unison, drinking deeply from their cups. The wine had been carefully tested by servants to ensure its safety - a precaution that would likely become standard throughout the Vale.

Taking a sip, Rhaegar sat down and addressed Old Grimm, "Lord Grimm, I will return to King's Landing tomorrow. Please mobilize your fleet as soon as possible."

"Your gift to House Grafton will not be forgotten," Old Grimm replied warmly, showing the utmost respect. With the elimination of rival noble branches in Gulltown, his house's power was poised for unprecedented growth, making them crucial allies in supporting the Stepstones.

Rhaegar raised his glass in gratitude and fell silent. The Black Wedding had decimated half the Vale's nobility, and the recent rebellion had claimed even more lives. As the noble ladies returned to their families with the grim news, a significant redistribution of power within the Vale was inevitable.

"Rhaegar, your wounds are not yet healed. It's time to rest," Rhaenyra advised gently as she descended the stairs from the second floor.

Rhaegar smiled and replied, "Okay, I'll go back now."

His injuries had long since healed, thanks to the serpent rune. The bannermen were unaware that his bandages were only for show. Rhaenyra's arrival to call him away was a prearranged signal. He had no intention of staying at the banquet all night.

(Word count: 1,202)