**The Port.**
Ragged slaves carried cargo, the chains on their feet clanking with every step.
Suddenly—
A slave froze in place, pointing toward the vast ocean, where a faint silhouette emerged through the mist.
Eager to please, he turned to the guard and reported, "Master, it looks like a ship is approaching."
**Crack!**
A whip lashed across the slave's back as the guard scolded, "Get back to work!"
Then, turning toward the murky sea, he squinted.
The fleet was less than a mile from the port.
**"Skrreeeaaah!"**
A deep, thunderous dragon roar echoed across the harbor.
Before the soldiers and slaves could react—
A powerful gust of wind howled through, knocking everyone to the ground.
**Boom!**
Emerald dragonfire rained from the sky, setting every merchant ship ablaze.
**Crackle, pop!**
The flames consumed the wooden vessels, the eerie green glow illuminating the port.
Screams filled the air as countless people were swallowed by the inferno.
**"Up there! Look at the sky!"**
Someone shouted, drawing the crowd's gaze upward.
Against the pitch-black night, an enormous, shadowy figure circled above.
They couldn't make out its exact form—
But they saw its eyes.
Cold. Unfeeling.
Twin green slits, gleaming like malevolent stars.
**Boom!**
Another surge of emerald fire streaked downward, carving blackened trenches through the city streets, spreading toward the towering inner district.
**"Skrreeeaaah!"**
A second dragon's shriek split the night, carrying across half of Lys.
A blur of pale gray flashed overhead.
Then, dragonfire—this time a mixture of orange and pale white—poured down in fiery spheres.
One after another, they crashed into the port like a meteor shower.
At sea, the fleet pushed forward, cutting through the burning wreckage of merchant ships and reaching the harbor.
**"Warriors, with me! Take Lys!!"**
Rhaegar raised his arm and leaped from the deck, rolling onto the wooden docks below.
**"Charge!!"**
The Dragon Guard, the Second Sons, and the knights of the Vale roared as they followed, storming off the warships.
Rhaegar swung his longsword, leading the charge into the chaos.
**Slash!**
His dragon-forged blade gleamed, severing a Lysene soldier's head.
**"Spare the slaves and children! Kill the rest!!"**
The main force advanced. Rhaegar stepped past the cowering slaves, ignoring their trembling forms, and pressed toward the inner city.
Above, two dragons soared through the night, their flames cascading down, reducing buildings to ashes.
The political stronghold of Lys was caught off guard, utterly unprepared.
By the time the local garrison mounted a defense, the city was already engulfed in fire and screams.
Rhaegar's expression was grim as he led his warriors forward.
A bold attack on Tyrosh?
No.
Lys was his true target.
His goal was to annihilate a city-state and shatter the Three Daughters' alliance.
Under the cover of misinformation, their forces had gathered in Tyrosh, preparing for an assault.
That left the other two city-states vulnerable.
Lys was the closest to the Stepstones and had the largest population.
It was the perfect target.
**"The enemy is here! Quickly, this way—"**
Marching through the streets, Rhaegar and his warriors collided with a squad of Lysene soldiers.
Rhaegar lifted his dragon-forged blade high and roared, "Charge! Blood and dragonfire!!"
A feverish crimson flush spread across his pale skin, his eyes brimming with crimson streaks.
**Fwoosh!**
Flames licked at his skin, enveloping him in fire.
His black robes billowed in the wind, his hood and cloak igniting in a blaze, transforming him into a living inferno—
A figure of divine wrath against the night.
Watching their prince become one with fire, his soldiers erupted in cheers, their morale surging.
**"Kill them! Burn Lys to the ground!!"**
Wreathed in flames, Rhaegar plunged into the enemy ranks, his sword blazing.
One man. One blade.
Cutting through the battlefield like a god of war.
---
**"Skrreeeaaah!"**
Glutton, the dragon, tore through the night sky, circling above a grand, opulent estate.
This—
Was the most famous pleasure palace in Lys.
**The Perfumed Garden.**
Within the garden stood the most magnificent architectural complex, fine wines from all over, and countless prostitutes and male slaves.
Only those with power and influence could afford to indulge here.
Overlooking everything, the Glutton's green vertical pupils flickered.
Amidst countless pavilions and towers, pale white bodies writhed together in depravity and decadence, like insects in a mating frenzy.
"Hiss—Gah—"
A furious roar echoed as eerie green dragonfire descended.
"Ah… help…"
"Run…!"
The dragonfire spread rapidly, turning the Perfumed Garden into a living hell, resembling a massive crematorium.
Meanwhile…
Gray Shadow flapped its wings in excitement, soaring through the inner city of Lys.
Boom—
Fiery dragonflame erupted like artillery shells, reducing buildings to rubble and burying countless lives beneath them.
The humans who had once saved it had found it on the eastern coast of Dragonstone.
They spoke in a jumble of incomprehensible words.
But Gray Shadow could sense they wanted it to follow and help.
It liked that human, so it came along.
"Hiss—Gah…"
Gray Shadow let out a cry and spewed dragonfire recklessly.
Reveling in the cruelty of its true nature.
---
**The Rogare Family Estate.**
Sandro Rogare's face twisted in fear as he frantically gathered his family members.
"Quick! Hide! Get to the air-raid shelter!" he shouted in panic.
He couldn't understand.
The declaration of war had clearly been against Tyrosh—so why was the dragon attacking Lys?
Rumble—
A massive ball of dragonflame crashed down, and the estate's outer walls collapsed in an instant.
Many fleeing family members were struck by either dragonfire or falling debris, dying on the spot.
Sandro froze, his knees buckling as he collapsed helplessly to the ground.
"By the Lord of Light… Lys is reliving the Doom of the Dragons."
---
The bombardment lasted until dawn.
Covered in blood, Rhaegar charged into the inner city of Lys.
Looking around, he saw a wide river before him, with a wooden bridge stretching across it.
The city was a maze of nearly identical stone buildings, making it impossible to tell north from south.
"Robb!"
Rhaegar bellowed.
"Here, Prince!"
Robb emerged from the crowd, gasping for breath.
After a night of brutal combat, they had endured multiple waves of attacks from the Lyseni garrison—fierce and relentless fighting.
Rhaegar pointed his sword in a direction and ordered, "There's a Rogare Bank in Lys. You take a thousand men, I'll take another thousand—we search separately."
Under the relentless bombardment of the Glutton and Gray Shadow, Lys's defenses were as fragile as paper.
The slaughter and pillaging had already begun.
At this point, they were past the point of worrying about accusations of looting.
Lys was the most populous of the Free Cities, having amassed immense wealth through piracy, brothels, and winemaking.
It was so rich that wealth practically oozed from its walls.
The locals disdained labor, preferring to trade and own slaves in vast numbers.
The ratio of commoners to slaves was an astonishing one to three.
A testament to the luxury and arrogance of the Lyseni elite.
Hearing this, Robb's eyes gleamed with excitement, and he nearly cheered.
"Yes, my prince!"
Gathering his Second Sons and Vale knights, he moved swiftly toward the far end of the wooden bridge.
Meanwhile, Rhaegar led his Dragon Guard toward the high-rise buildings still smoldering with dragonfire.
---
**Late Night.**
The Dragon Guard stormed the wealthy district, breaking into homes, looting, and slaughtering.
Rhaegar strode down the streets, his sword in hand, his expression like ice.
He did nothing to stop his men from butchering the rich.
The wealthy of Lys had built their lives on the backs of slaves, treating them as nothing more than cattle.
They deserved no mercy.
As long as the slaves and children were spared, that was enough.
"Take whatever you can carry! Seventy percent for the war effort, thirty percent for yourselves!"
Dragon Guard commander Trangle bellowed, pounding his armored chest with a thick, calloused fist.
Whoosh—
Suddenly, a hidden arrow whistled through the air, its steel tip humming ominously.
A shadow streaked past Trangle's eyes, heading straight for Rega.
"Prince, watch out!"
The warning came too late.
The dark arrow shot toward Rega's neck, closing in within a heartbeat.
Suddenly, Rega turned his head.
His cheeks, neck, and hands—
Lines surfaced on the exposed skin beneath his black robe.
Azure scales, formed by evolving runes, appeared out of nowhere, resembling the scales of a mighty dragon.
Clang—
The dark arrow struck the azure scales, snapping in half and ricocheting into the air.
"Kill him!"
Rega's expression was cold and merciless as his gaze locked onto a pavilion—where a group of wealthy household guards lay in hiding.
"Polu go! Polu tear him apart!"
The ground shook with heavy thuds as a four-meter-tall giant charged forward.
The giant was clad in full iron armor, wielding a round shield in one hand and a war hammer in the other.
Boom—
The war hammer, as large as a water barrel, smashed through the mansion's gate. The giant stormed inside, bulldozing everything in its path until it reached the pavilion.
Moments later—
Screams and the sound of a collapsing structure echoed from within.
...
Inside Rees' air raid shelter.
The wealthy, who had taken refuge in time, huddled together in fear.
"Where is the garrison? Get out there and kill the invaders!"
Someone roared in anger.
"Stop shouting! The invaders don't know the terrain. The garrison is already setting up an ambush..."
"Waaah..."
Women and children clung to each other, sobbing uncontrollably.
...
3:00 AM.
The night was still dark, the moon obscured by heavy clouds.
Two dragon-like shadows weaved through the city, like twin reapers of death.
Wherever dragonfire passed, only ruins remained.
A district of brothels and towering commercial buildings—
Rega and Rob regrouped.
Both sides had lost over a hundred men, but they carried looted gold, silver, and jewels while driving enslaved captives toward the port.
Slaves were the lowest class, devoid of any rights.
Rega didn't harm them; instead, he shattered their shackles, letting them choose their own fate.
The freed slaves were even more ruthless than Rega, exacting violent revenge on their former masters and the wealthy elite.
"Kill all the slavers!"
The slaves shouted, seizing any weapon they could find.
Rega led his troops through the chaotic streets, searching for the Rogar Bank.
He had to retreat before dawn.
The battle had to be swift and decisive.
Over a thousand troops spread out, searching in groups of two to three hundred.
Rega and his men entered an alley filled with the scent of flowers.
"Surround them! Fire!"
A thunderous shout came from above as hundreds of Rees' garrison soldiers revealed themselves, launching a barrage of arrows and bolts.
"Ahhh!"
"Dodge!"
The ambush was too sudden. The Dragon Guards had no time to react—many fell instantly.
Rega's expression darkened. He swung his dragon-clawed hand, swatting arrows aside.
Thud, thud, thud—
Garrison soldiers blocked both ends of the alley, striking their round shields with curved sabers to intimidate.
Rega glanced front and back, instantly realizing he had walked into a trap.
With a thunderous shout, he commanded, "Break through with me!"
Without hesitation, he charged toward the alley's exit.
Slash—
His longsword severed an enemy's arm. He kicked through the shield wall, plunging into the enemy ranks.
Curved sabers came at him from all directions, but his upper body gleamed with a blue radiance, rendering most attacks ineffective.
Engraving bronze runes was a tedious and time-consuming process.
Rega had only etched them on his upper body, covering his vital areas.
"Roar! Polu is here!"
The giant bellowed, leaping several meters forward, swinging his war hammer at the alley's entrance.
Like autumn wind scattering fallen leaves—
Flesh and bone shattered, splattering against the walls.
In no time, a bloodied escape path was carved out.
Just then, a window above swung open.
A black-haired, scantily clad courtesan leaned out, shouting, "Prince, head north from the alley! That's where the Rogar family's residence and bank are!"
With that, she slammed the window shut.
Rega hesitated briefly, suspicion rising in his heart.
Judging by the woman's attire and location, she was likely a prostitute.
But he had never visited brothels, nor did he know her.
Then it struck him—the Governor of Rees bore the surname Rogar.
Slaves and prostitutes alike despised that name.
Slashing down an enemy soldier, Rega's voice carried an icy killing intent.
"Follow me—annihilate Rogar!"
(End of Chapter)