Chapter 413: Dragon Taming Tools

Rhaegar couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. It was hard not to be impressed by such a "prolific" dragonlord family.

"No wonder there are so many depictions of coitus on the murals," he mused. "The ancestors left detailed instructions for future generations."

He sighed, "An enigmatic family style, no wonder the Targaryens struggle to compete."

Consider the Targaryens:

Aegon married his two sisters and had only two sons.

Aenys I had three sons and three daughters, one of whom died in the cradle, while Maegor had no children and murdered two of his brother's sons in a dastardly act of kinslaying.

Jaehaerys I fathered thirteen children, yet none survived to inherit the Iron Throne.

Rhaegar's own father, Viserys, had four sons and two daughters.

"Even without the glory of battle, he lived up to his reputation as the young king," Rhaegar thought. "To be born is to contribute!"

Daemon fathered two daughters, with one son who died young.

"Retribution," Rhaegar muttered. "As an uncle, he coveted his niece and tried to kill his nephew."

Reflecting on his own situation, Rhaegar pondered, "Rhaenyra has given me two sons, which barely meets the standard."

With the experience of his late mother, Aemma, he couldn't risk overburdening Rhaenyra.

"I'll need other wives," Rhaegar thought secretly.

The Dragonpit housed young dragons like Stormcloud and Tyraxes, Dragonmont had the masterless Silverwing and the wild dragon Grey Ghost, and Dragonstone Island had two dozen dragon eggs.

With more heirs, there would be enough dragons to share.

Deep in thought, Rhaegar muttered, "Aegon, that boy, is good material for producing children."

The reproduction of the Targaryen bloodline couldn't rely on him alone. Aegon, with his boundless energy from frequenting brothels, could be put to better use.

"Aemond and Daeron must also grow up quickly," Rhaegar mused. "It is our duty to restore the Targaryen glory!"

"That's what brothers are for," Rhaegar declared, clenching his fist and pounding his palm.

In a single thought, he determined the future paths of his younger brothers. The three siblings his father had worked so hard to give him would not be coddled.

"Make use of them!" Rhaegar decided.

...

As dusk approached, Rhaenys stood guard at the edge of the deep pit, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of her nephew.

"Rhaegar has been down there a long time," she murmured, worry creasing her brow.

Gray Worm approached from the side, his voice raspy. "Princess, shall we imprison the restrained troublemakers?"

His abdomen was wrapped in bandages, stained with fresh blood. Rhaenys glanced around. Hundreds of Fearless stood in a circle, surrounding a group of kneeling disorganized people. Beyond the ruins, thousands of Vale Knights patrolled, maintaining order in the city.

The presence of Cannibal had dealt a severe blow to the rioters' morale, and the chaos was gradually subsiding.

"Wait a little longer. Rhaegar should be coming out soon," Rhaenys replied. She knew there was no immediate danger in the deep pit, but it probably contained valuable treasures that would take time and effort to retrieve.

"Roar..."

Cannibal let out a low growl, its green vertical pupils fixed intently on the deep pit, sensing a disturbing presence.

Rhaenys and Gray Worm felt their hearts skip a beat at Cannibal's agitation.

Rustle...

The sound of someone climbing echoed, and a figure emerged from the pit.

"It's me!" Rhaegar called out, dirty but smiling broadly. His happiness was evident.

Rhaenys examined him closely, noticing several new items on his person. A scroll hung at his waist, faintly glowing, while he twirled a silver-gray steel necklace in his right hand and carried a blackened whip in his left.

Rhaegar's smile was infectious, clearly indicating a successful haul.

Rhaenys sighed in relief, stepping forward with concern. "I thought something had happened to you when you took so long."

Had anything gone wrong with her nephew, her cousin—normally passive—would surely fight her to the death.

"Good things need to be searched carefully. It takes time," Rhaegar said, raising his hands to display his findings.

Rhaenys hesitated for a moment, her gaze intensifying. The necklace had a ring and clasp structure, with a water ripple pattern swirling on its surface.

"Valyrian steel?" she asked, her eyes widening. She took the necklace into her hands.

Indeed, it was a Valyrian steel necklace, made of the same material as Dark Sister. She raised the necklace above her head, and under the reddish hue of the setting sun, the round pendant exuded an ancient aura.

On one side of the pendant, two dragons wore crowns. On the other, strange, difficult-to-understand inscriptions were etched.

Rhaenys examined it again and shifted her gaze to the bracelet Rhaegar was wearing—a Valyrian steel bracelet with similar inscriptions.

She wasn't a fool. She stroked the necklace with a sense of reverence, understanding the significance of the treasures Rhaegar had unearthed.

After a moment, she reluctantly handed the necklace back to her nephew.

"The gods have favored you. Every good thing falls into your pocket," she said helplessly.

Rhaegar smiled brightly and looped the necklace around his wrist. The murals, books, containers, and treasure chests in the semi-ruins were mere fronts; the real treasures were buried deeper.

Facing a Dragonlord family with an ancient bloodline, Rhaegar expected to find hidden treasures. He used the mysterious scroll capable of detecting ancient Valyrian relics to guide him. Buried beneath the palace's stone pillars was the Valyrian steel necklace he now held.

Inside the pendant, there was a five-foot square storage space, significantly larger than the three-foot square of his space bracelet. Inside, a small mountain of gold and various rare ores were stored.

Rhaenys glanced at the pitch-black soft whip again and asked bluntly, "Is this also a treasure?"

"Indeed," Rhaegar replied, his smile widening.

In terms of value, the pitch-black soft whip surpassed even the space pendant. The whip, black as the deepest night sky, was made of an unknown material, possibly the tendon of some creature. Its surface was covered with fine, scale-like barbs. The grip, a foot long, was cast in Valyrian steel and inscribed with mysterious runes more arcane than those on the space items.

Simply looking at it could induce dizziness and discomfort.

Splat!

Rhaegar flicked his wrist, and the whip flew like a snake, lashing heavily against the ground. It stirred up a puff of dust, leaving behind a small pit.

"Roar—"

Cannibal suddenly roared harshly, its wings lifting its body as it stood, emitting a pungent odor of ashes. This odor, distinct from the stench of its usual diet, was something only dragons could sense. The air filled with the smell of ashes, making it seem as if a disaster loomed.

Splat!

Rhaegar cracked the whip again.

"Roar—"

Cannibal's green vertical pupils flashed with tyranny, and it could no longer hold back a mouthful of Dragonfire.

Rhaegar's expression remained calm as he suddenly commanded in High Valyrian, "Attack upwards!"

The words carried an undeniable, mysterious authority.

In an instant, Cannibal's green pupils cleared. Its neck rose high, and it unleashed a torrent of ghostly green Dragonfire into the sky.

Splat!

Rhaegar cracked the whip a third time, a smirk forming on his lips. "Stop!" he commanded.

Cannibal obediently closed its jaws, lowering its head. Its green vertical pupils locked onto its rider, filled with curiosity as it sniffed vigorously.

The dragon clearly understood its rider's instructions and carried them out naturally after years of bonding. Yet the disturbing scent remained.

As Cannibal's massive head nudged closer to him, Rhaegar smiled apologetically. "Well done partner, sorry for scaring you."

He hugged the dragon's roughly scaled snout, rubbing it affectionately to show his closeness.

"Roar!"

Cannibal shook its head in irritation, dislodging Rhaegar's touch. Its large, copper-bell-like eyes locked onto the whip in his hand.

The dragon was certain the whip was the source of its agitation. The sound of its lash had startled it, causing the instinctive release of Dragonfire.

Rhaegar stored the mystic scroll and the pitch-black soft whip into the space necklace, then wrapped his arms around the formidable dragon once more.

"Don't be angry, it's just a dragon taming tool."

(Word count: 1,360)