"Countless angry commoners, tens of thousands of them, ard with whatever they could find."
"Torches, pitchforks, blacksmith's hamrs, butcher's cleavers... they surged toward the Dragonpit like an unstoppable, black tide."
"The Gold Cloaks, who usually strutted about with such arrogant cruelty, were entirely broken by terror. They had never seen a mob so unified by pure madness. Many threw down their spears and ran."
"The heavy doors of the Dragonpit were battered open. The roars of the cornered beasts echoed from within, shaking the very foundations of the Hill of Rhaenys. Dragonfla swept out, instantly incinerating the vanguard of the mob."
"But no one took a single step back. The fury of the people burned hotter and more violently than the dragonfire. They climbed over the charred corpses of their brothers and sisters, swearing a blood oath to butcher the beasts."
"A golden dragon descended from the sky. Syrax. The mount of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen."
"A brave, devout knight charged forward. He wielded a dark longsword that shimred strangely in the firelight. He roared, bringing the blade down to deeply wound Syrax's wing. But in the next second, he was entirely swallowed by a torrent of golden fire."
"The sword fell from his burning hand, hitting the stone floor with a heavy clang."
"I recognized it instantly. It was Lantation. The Valyrian steel sword we had seized from the traitor, Ser Willam Royce."
"I didn't think. My body moved on its own. I charged toward the blade. The ambient heat blistered my skin, but I didn't care. I picked it up."
Jero's breathing grew ragged and heavy. He tightened his grip on the hilt. This truly is a Valyrian steel sword! It is the ancestral blade of a great house of the Vale! No... it belongs to now.
It belongs to House Lege.
"I dodged a lethal sweep of dragonfire and lunged inward, bringing the sword down onto Syrax's massive, golden-scaled leg."
"The Valyrian steel sheared through the dragon's scales as if they were parchnt. Boiling dragon's blood erupted like a geyser, splashing across my body. It was scalding, like boiling water. Syrax unleashed a deafening roar of agony."
"Her massive, spiked tail whipped around blindly. I couldn't dodge in ti. The impact sent flying through the air."
"I heard the sickening crunch of my own ribs shattering. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the ash-covered stone. But I had to stand back up. Because behind stood thousands of unard people."
"Syrax lowered her massive head, preparing to unleash the final, killing stream of fire. I looked directly into her eyes—those golden, slitted pupils burning with absolute, primal rage."
"The mont she opened her jaws to sweep the fire, I saw my opening."
"I forced every last ounce of strength into my broken body. Pushing through the blistering heat, I raised Lantation high above my head. I ran, I leapt, and channeling a lifeti of hatred and fury..."
"I brought the blade down!"
"The edge buried itself deep into the dragon's neck. Boiling blood exploded outward, covering entirely, nearly cooking the flesh from my bones."
"Syrax let out one final, haunting shriek—a sound filled with profound suffering and absolute disbelief. Her colossal body crashed heavily to the ruined floor, sending a massive cloud of ash and dust into the air."
"The Queen's mount, the ultimate symbol of the Targaryen dynasty, died at the hands of a nobody. She died at the hands of the very smallfolk her masters treated like ants."
"The mob fell dead silent for a mont. Then, an earth-shattering cheer erupted. They lifted into the air. They chanted my na. They called the Dragonslayer."
"I knew my life was drawing to a close. The dragonfla had burned beyond recognition."
"But the people embraced , one by one. They said: 'You are no traitor, Falo. You are the Warrior himself, sent by the Seven.'"
Ser Adam's voice abruptly stopped. The text in the following section was heavily rotted and illegible. What fragnts remained seed highly esoteric and mystical, but the old knight's eyes managed to pick out one final, coherent sentence.
"The most precious thing I carry is not this sword. It is the secret I brought back from the Targaryen Dragonpit..."
"The blood... of the true dragon... wakes the stone dragons..."
Ser Adam lowered the journal and walked toward the edges of the grave, searching frantically for any other hidden compartnts, but he found nothing else.
Jero Lege slowly stood up. He looked down at the blade of Lantation in his hand and let out a low, deeply contemptuous laugh.
"Ha! So he was just a liar! A coward who betrayed his lord and abandoned the honor of his House! And to cover up the fact that he was a filthy thief who stole a high lord's sword, he fabricated this entire fairy tale!"
"A dragonslayer? He thinks spinning a story makes him a dragonslayer? As far as I can see, only two things in this diary are true: he was an oathbreaker, and he was a thief who stole the ancestral heirloom of House Royce."
He held the sword up to the firelight, admiring the elegant lines and the mysterious, rippling patterns of the Valyrian steel.
Jero slid Lantation smoothly back into its rotted scabbard, his movents sharp and decisive. "No wonder they buried it so deep."
"This sword isn't a symbol of their family's glory. It's the physical proof of their treason and thievery."
"For a blade like this to be held by their hands was a profound insult."
"When I present this to my father, he will be incredibly proud of ."
His gaze swept over the exhausted, conflicted faces of his knights. His voice trembled with unconcealed ecstasy. "House Lege... will possess its very own Valyrian steel sword."
"It shall be the ancestral blade of our bloodline forever!"
He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that he would uncover a treasure capable of shaking the Seven Kingdoms in such a miserable, forgotten swamp.
Jero turned to the knights and barked his command. "Break camp imdiately!"
"I do not wish to spend another second in this putrid hellhole."
"We march through the night! We return to Willowbrook!"
Ser Adam did not move. He stepped close to Jero, using his own body to block the sightlines of the other n. He lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "Young Lord, word of this discovery must never leak out."
The euphoric smile on Jero's face froze. He frowned. "What do you an?"
Ser Adam's eyes locked onto the hilt of the Valyrian sword at Jero's hip. "This sword. Lantation."
"If my mory serves , it is the ancestral sword of House Royce of Runestone. It has been lost for over a century."
Jero's breath hitched. He instantly understood the old man's implication.
The wrinkles on the veteran knight's face deepened as he pressed the point. "If we do not return it, it could very well spark a war between our two houses."
"House Royce will never let this go."
Jero's voice turned shrill, his eyes glaring at the old man. "Return it?!"
"On what grounds?! I dug this out of the dirt of the Reekfort! Its na is Lege now!"
Ser Adam's tone did not waver. "Then the fewer people who know we possess it, the better."
A dead silence fell between the two n, broken only by the crackle of the torches. Slowly, both of them turned their heads to look a short distance away.
The common soldier who had physically dug up the sword was currently humming a cheerful tune, hauling his iron spade over his shoulder.
Noticing the intense gaze of the nobles, the soldier grinned widely, flashing his crooked teeth in a fawning, sycophantic smile.
The next morning, as the column was preparing to march out, a report ca down the line: one of the soldiers had mysteriously gone missing in the night.
Ser Adam calmly wiped down his longsword with a rag, not even bothering to look up. "He likely deserted. Let him go."
A brief ripple of murmurs passed through the ranks, but it settled quickly. No man was willing to delay their departure from this foul-slling swamp for the sake of one missing grunt.
Jero rode at the very front of the column atop his massive warhorse. His mood was spectacular. The gloom of the marshland had completely vanished from his mind.
They had crossed the border and entered the direct territories of Willowbrook. They were back on House Lege's lands. They were absolutely safe.
He imagined the look of sheer, ecstatic shock on his father's face when he presented the sword. The absolute zenith of House Lege's power... and it will be brought about by , Jero Lege.
As the column rounded a bend in the road, a massive, dark silhouette of an ard host appeared blocking the path ahead.
Jero made an instant, arrogant calculation. They were deep in Lege territory; the only army that could possibly be here was his own. "It is our n!"
A broad smile broke across his face. He even took a mont to dramatically adjust his fine cloak before spurring his horse forward, riding out ahead of his column to greet them, waving his hand high in the air.
The soldiers and knights behind him let out a collective sigh of relief, quickening their pace. The distance between the two forces closed rapidly.
One hundred paces.
Eighty paces.
Fifty paces.
Thirty paces.
The smile on Jero Lege's face abruptly died.
Greeting him was a line of ten heavy windlass crossbows, already cranked and loaded. The cold, iron-tipped bolts were aid directly at his chest. Flanking the heavy crossbows were dozens of archers, drawing their longbows to full extension.
Every single iron point in the formation was fixed on one target.
"You...!!!" Jero Lege's voice cracked, distorting into a shrill gasp of absolute shock.
No one answered him.
A dozen heavy crossbow bolts and scores of black-fletched arrows shrieked through the air, tearing the morning silence to shreds.
The sheer kinetic force of the volley pierced Jero and his warhorse simultaneously. He was violently thrown from the saddle like a broken ragdoll, crashing heavily into the mud.
When he finally stopped rolling, his body was pinned to the earth by dozens of arrows, bristling like a grueso hedgehog.
His blood rapidly pooled outward, soaking his fine, immaculate cloak in a dark, spreading crimson.
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