**Boom—**
Emerald-green dragonfire descended, crossing the narrow suspension bridge like a towering pillar of flames, rushing straight toward the stone-built city gate.
"No! Get out of the way!"
Facing the dragonfire, Amos's expression changed drastically. He shoved the guards beside him aside and lunged toward the open city gate.
**Sizzle—**
The dragonfire poured down relentlessly, and the stone gate slowly began to melt.
Against the glow of the flames, Rega, dressed in a black robe, wore a frosty expression as he strode forward.
Behind him,
Robb and the guards threw themselves to the ground, clutching their heads to shield themselves from the searing heat.
**Hiss—**
The dragonfire ceased. The Devourer let out a low growl, flapping its jet-black wings.
Rega arrived at the city gate.
A group of soldiers had been reduced to ashes in the flames, leaving behind only scattered remnants of charred remains.
Above, the stone watchtower cracked and crumbled under the dragonfire's scorching heat, its surface melting and distorting.
**Bang—**
With a single kick, Rega sent the burning iron-clad wooden gate flying open. He scanned the surroundings and quickly spotted Amos Brecken, shivering in terror against the base of the city wall.
"Come out, Lord Amos."
Grabbing Amos by the collar, Rega's voice was chilling as he lifted him high into the air.
"Let me go! I am a follower of the Lord of Light!"
Dangling off the ground, Amos's eyes were filled with fear. He desperately struggled against the pale hand gripping his collar.
"Who you worship doesn't matter. I don't intend to kill you just yet."
Having captured his target, Rega's rage subsided, his killing intent momentarily dormant.
"Release Lord Amos!"
The city's soldiers rushed down from the battlements, forming a loose semicircle around him.
Yet, none dared to step in front of Rega, blocking the gate where the massive black dragon loomed, watching.
Rega cast a glance at the soldiers gathering around him but paid them no heed. Instead, he spoke softly:
"Amos, you have offended me. You will not die an easy death."
Disgust flickered in his eyes as he flung the writhing Amos to the ground like a worthless worm.
**Swish—**
With a swift motion, Rega drew his sword. The blade's edge gleamed as it pointed straight at Amos, who was scrambling backward on the ground.
Before Amos's very eyes,
Before the watchful stares of the gathered soldiers,
Rega remained utterly calm. His thin lips parted as he spoke words destined to be remembered:
**"At sunset, your bloodline will end."**
His voice was steady and resolute, like the sharp crack of breaking ice.
At that moment, a gentle breeze swept past, lifting the silver-gold strands of the young prince's hair.
Amos, the soldiers—
Everyone who heard those words was struck silent, staring at Rega in speechless terror.
His gaze remained indifferent, unfazed by the fear, anger, or desperation surrounding him.
Without looking back, he turned and walked out of Stone Hedge's gate.
Only the decisive silhouette of his black robe remained.
No one dared to pursue him.
No one dared to make a sound.
Yet, the warmth of his voice echoed in the ears of all who had heard it.
—
**On the suspension bridge.**
Robb pushed himself up from the bridge's surface, barely suppressing his fury. "Your Highness, shall we attack immediately?"
A lord who insults a prince has already sealed his fate.
The guards, equally enraged, stood ready, awaiting orders.
"Wait. There's no rush."
Rega had no interest in arguing with the dead. He continued forward, his voice calm. "Let Stone Hedge enjoy its last sunset."
"Sunset?"
Robb was puzzled. He exchanged bewildered glances with the other guards.
They hadn't heard Rega's declaration.
But they could feel it—the unwavering resolve that burned like an unstoppable wildfire.
Looking up, Robb glanced at the sky.
The sun was still climbing toward its peak. It was around ten in the morning.
—
A short while later.
Rega returned to the army's encampment.
As soon as he dismounted from the dragon, Samwell and the other officers immediately gathered around him.
"Your Highness, is the Brecken family determined to resist?"
"Your Highness, when shall we commence the siege?"
"Your Highness…"
A flood of voices erupted all at once, buzzing like a swarm of flies.
Rega, however, kept his gaze fixed on a steep hillside in the distance and issued a solemn command:
"Tighten the patrols. Let no one escape."
Hearing this, the officers were overjoyed.
If the Breckens refused to surrender, they would face dragonfire and steel.
The excitement of war filled the air.
Yet among them, only one person noticed the subtle difference in Rega's demeanor.
---
Rhaenyra stepped onto the muddy grass, her hands gripping Rhaegar's shoulders as she tentatively asked, "Rhaegar, is there something you want to tell me?"
Rhaegar stopped walking, shifting his gaze to Rhaenyra.
Their eyes met, each reflecting the other's image.
There was a brief silence. Rhaegar blinked before breaking into a wide smile.
He wrapped his arms around Rhaenyra's waist, burying his face in her hair, and affectionately nuzzling her neck. "Nothing important, just trivial matters."
"I can help share your burden," Rhaenyra whispered gently, holding his head close.
"No need. Just some meaningless insults."
Rhaegar lifted his head, pointing toward a distant hillside, and joked, "Tonight's sunset will be painted with more colors than usual."
Patting her slender waist, he released her and strode toward the hill.
Rhaenyra watched in confusion as he called back, "Take care of Helaena. There's no need for Syrax and Dreamfyre to act this time."
He was riding a dragon alone.
That would be enough to deliver the flames of justice that House Bracken deserved.
---
**Stone Hedge, Great Hall**
Amos barged in like a mad dog, shouting, "Get the maester! Quick, find the maester!"
A servant lowered his head and timidly replied, "My lord, the maester is nowhere to be found."
"Useless! Gone at a time like this?"
Amos's hair was disheveled, his eyes darting warily in all directions as he muttered, "Summon the Red Priestess... and that fool."
"Yes, my lord."
Noticing the Earl's unsteady mental state, the servant hunched over and quickly withdrew.
Amos's breath was heavy, cold sweat beading on his forehead as fear gnawed at him over the prince's ominous words.
He had to give it his all—failure meant certain punishment.
Thinking about this, Amos pulled a token from his robe.
It was made of iron, engraved with a flaming red heart, warm and heavy to the touch.
"The Lord of Light will protect me..."
Muttering as though in prayer, Amos turned and ran out through a side door.
The castle was deathly silent. Servants hid in rooms, starkly contrasting the usual clamor.
Amos paid no mind, sprinting all the way to the godswood of Stone Hedge.
The godswood spanned several acres, planted with pines and birches.
At its center lay a thick weirwood that had been felled, leaving only a stump.
Amos's expression shifted as he stared at the fallen tree.
He took two steps forward, his boots crushing the red leaves scattered across the ground.
The severed weirwood's crimson leaves littered the earth, painting it as if stained with blood.
House Bracken had long been staunch followers of the Old Gods.
But ever since the Red Priestess arrived at Stone Hedge and displayed the miracles of the Lord of Light, the Old Gods' influence had waned.
In a heated moment, Amos had defied his vassals' protests and chopped down the weirwood, embracing the Lord of Light.
---
The sound of rapid footsteps soon broke the stillness.
Hundreds of soldiers halted at the godswood's edge, standing guard to protect their lord.
At the front stood two distinct figures:
One was a gray-robed man, towering over two meters tall and as heavy as a bear.
The other was a striking woman with fiery red hair clad in a crimson robe—the Red Priestess.
"My lord," the Red Priestess called out as she took deliberate steps forward, her white thighs visible beneath her robes.
Her voice was sultry and bewitching, like an irresistible invitation to love.
The gray-robed man shuddered, covering his ears as if afraid to hear more.
His name was Thru, a former maester expelled from the Citadel after a wildfire experiment went disastrously wrong.
Amos's face darkened as he forced himself to stay calm and asked sharply, "Red Priestess, can the Lord of Light truly make my army immune to dragonfire?"
The Red Priestess frowned as Amos grabbed her shoulders and shook her, placing a finger against his lips to silence him.
Amos reluctantly closed his mouth, stepping back in confusion.
"Don't be anxious. The Lord of Light is the one true god. You must have faith in his greatness."
Confidently, the Red Priestess bent down, picking up a fallen leaf. "The Old Gods never protected you. But the Lord of Light has shown you visions of the future."
She raised the leaf above her head, holding it toward the bright sunlight.
Whoosh!
The leaf ignited instantly.
"Look closely—this is your fate."
Swaying her hips, she casually tossed the burning leaf to the ground.
In an instant, the scattered red leaves burst into flames, crackling loudly.
Startled, Amos kicked the leaves away and took refuge behind the Red Priestess.
She cast him a sidelong glance, smiling without a word.
The red leaves burned quickly to ash, but the fire spread to the fallen weirwood.
Flames licked at the weirwood, climbing steadily higher.
The Red Priestess stepped forward, waving her hand toward the burning trunk.
Sizzle...
The flames roared, consuming half the weirwood as they danced wildly in the breeze.
The Red Priestess smiled calmly and gestured for Amos to come closer.
Still skeptical, Amos approached with a stiff expression, staring at the flames licking the weirwood.
Under the blazing summer sun, the heat grew suffocating, searing his skin.
His eyes blurred as he stared unblinkingly into the fire.
Gradually, an image formed within the flames.
Amos froze, his tense expression softening into one of rapt wonder as he gazed entranced at the vision before him.
No one knew what the vision was.
But he saw it.
And he believed it—without a doubt.
The Scarlet Witch placed a hand on his shoulder, her red lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Do you believe now?"
Amos was utterly entranced, nodding repeatedly. "I believe. The Lord of Light is the one true god."
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he jerked his head up and hurriedly said, "Prepare the sacrifice. As many offerings as needed."
"No problem. Fifty will be enough."
The Scarlet Witch's eyes shimmered like water, her voice seductive. "But ordinary sacrifices alone won't suffice. We need pure Firstborn blood."
"Who meets the criteria?"
Amos asked without hesitation.
The Scarlet Witch chuckled. "You were just recently married. If I recall correctly, you have an illegitimate son."
"Him, then. Make it happen."
Amos agreed without the slightest hesitation.
"As you command, my lord."
The Scarlet Witch bowed, her crimson robe slipping just enough to reveal a tantalizing curve—bright as fire, impossible to ignore.
Amos allowed himself a lingering glance before turning away and calling out, "Tru, come here!"
In the distance, the tall but timid Tru wore a bitter expression, shuffling forward in small, reluctant steps.
As the Scarlet Witch passed by him, their shoulders nearly brushed.
Tru kept his head down and quickened his pace.
His instincts screamed that she was dangerous.
Extremely dangerous!
Amos remained fixated on the fire, issuing his next command. "Prepare all the wildfire in storage. Have the soldiers transport it to the city walls."
There were catapults atop the walls.
He would use them to hurl the wildfire into the sky and burn the dragon above.
Tru dared not object. Whatever Amos said was law.
After being "invited" here for so long, he wouldn't dream of voicing opposition.
(End of Chapter)