The northern district of Valyria City served as the gateway to the Fourteen Flames.
The northern gate, towering over a hundred meters high, was known as the "Shield of Freedom."
It held a special purpose: welcoming victorious armies returning from war. After a successful campaign, troops would enter from the southern Dragonlord Gate, march along the Dragonlord Road, pass through Meraxes Square, and finally arrive here—to be reviewed by the Dragonlord Council atop the Fourteen Flames.
Atop the city wall, an old man in a blue robe, slightly hunched with age, leaned against the railing.
To his left stood a middle-aged man in a deep crimson robe. He had a broad, square face and a thick beard, exuding an air of authority without even trying.
"Lord Lymond, when I was coaxing Aegon to sell his estate, I think he sensed something off. He's starting to grow suspicious," the blue-robed old man said quietly. "Now it seems the boy's gotten in with House Targaryen."
Lymond scoffed.
"House Targaryen? Just a bunch of lucky fools who hatched a Royal-class dragon. In the Freehold, the real power still lies with the Dragonlord Council."
"This involves a Dragonlord family… I'm afraid it might turn into a major incident."
The old man furrowed his brow, hesitation in his eyes. He knew that if things went south, the Dragonlord families might discard him like a used pawn.
"Brus, you old fool!" Lymond suddenly stepped forward, his large hand like a clamp as he seized Brus by the collar and yanked him forward, growling through clenched teeth, "I don't care what it takes—I'm getting that land. I'll deal with that little pest tonight. Afterward, just forge a deed of sale. That shouldn't be hard for you."
Steward Brus trembled with fear.
"N-No problem. I'll get someone on it right away. It'll be done tonight!"
"Get out of my sight!" Lymond barked, releasing his grip.
...
...
Targaryen Hills.
The main hall of the keep glowed with warm light. Elegant drapes swayed gently, and Aenar was hosting a small banquet to welcome Aegon's return.
No vassals of House Targaryen were present—only family members residing in the keep had gathered. Everyone sat around the long dining table. The mood was formal, but not rigid.
Aenar began introducing Aegon to the only two other surviving Dragonbonded members of House Targaryen. Both were from his father's generation—technically Aenar's uncles—and Aegon had met them a few times in his childhood.
Now returning under the identity of Aenar's cousin's son, Aegon had to "reacquaint" himself with these familiar faces.
With a mutual, unspoken understanding, everyone who recognized Aegon took care not to let Gaemon realize his true identity.
As was typical at such gatherings, the wine flowed freely, and Aegon ended up drinking a bit too much.
Because of that, Aenar wasn't able to finish explaining the dragon-taming precautions or let Aegon choose a dragon. He simply asked Aegon to come back tomorrow.
After the meal, seeing Aegon slightly drunk, Aenar had Gaemon escort him home.
The Targaryen carriage rolled to a stop at Meraxes Square in the western district. The rumbling wheels fell silent, breaking the calm of the square for a moment. Several vagabonds seemed startled and looked over.
Aegon stepped down from the carriage.
Gaemon leaned out of the coach and said kindly, "This is as far as I go, Aegon. Take care."
"Thank you, Gaemon. Sorry for the trouble today," Aegon replied.
Gaemon gave a small smile and shook his head, then looked up to draw the curtain. But as he did, he caught sight of the vagrants scattered across the square, and his brow slowly furrowed.
It was past midnight. The square was dim and empty. Under the moonlight, Aegon noticed several figures sprawled on the ground—homeless men, it seemed, asleep in the open.
Halfway across the square, a beggar bumped into him.
Aegon immediately sensed something was wrong. He reached for his coin pouch—gone. His pockets were empty. But after fumbling around, he felt something unusual: a slip of paper.
"What's this?"
The sudden jolt sobered him up. He pulled out the note and unfolded it.
{DANGER!}
Aegon looked toward his Blackstone tower—and noticed something was off.
In the moonlight, there seemed to be far more vagrants than usual—and they were armed. With swords.
A chill ran down Aegon's spine. He forced himself to stay calm. Without a word, he tucked the note into his coat and came to a halt.
"I hope Gaemon's carriage hasn't left yet."
Sensing that Aegon had stopped moving, the vagrants lurking nearby began to close in, forming a dense, shadowy mass. The dim lighting made it impossible for Aegon to count how many there were, but there had to be at least several dozen.
He tried to move as naturally as possible and slowly began to turn around. But in that very instant, a hand axe came whistling through the air, narrowly grazing his cheek.
Aegon broke into a sprint—thank the gods, the Targaryen carriage was still there.
Another axe screamed through the darkness. Aegon felt the hair on his back stand on end—death was that close. In a flash of desperation, he remembered a tactic for dodging projectiles: he dropped to the ground and rolled sideways. The deadly axe missed again, embedding itself deep in the side of the Targaryen carriage.
Just then, the Targaryen coachman charged forward from the front of the carriage, shield raised.
Gaemon leapt out of the carriage as well, wielding a pair of gleaming short steel swords. He jumped down and sprinted toward Aegon.
Lying on the ground, Aegon looked up at the two men rushing to his aid, and his chest swelled with emotion—he was nearly moved to tears.
He pushed himself up and ran toward Gaemon.
Whoosh—the sound of another axe flying through the air.
Gaemon sprang forward, placing himself between Aegon and the threat. His twin blades slashed in a silver arc, meeting the incoming axe mid-flight. With two sharp clangs, he split it clean in the air.
Aegon's eyes went wide with astonishment. That display of skill left him speechless.
Gaemon glanced back and offered a small smile, then drove one of his swords into the ground at Aegon's feet and gave a slight nod, indicating he should take it.
Aegon reached down and grabbed the sword, pulling it free with a sharp tug. To his surprise, it wasn't as heavy as he'd expected. Of course—his Vitality stat was already at 80. He had strength to match.
Gaemon now gripped his remaining sword with both hands, holding it upright before his chest as he prepared to meet the rush of attackers. He left Aegon with nothing but the solid, reassuring view of his back.
"Alequo, Aegon, I'm trusting you to cover me," Gaemon said without looking back, his eyes locked on the approaching threat. "We'll fight as we retreat!"
"Understood, Your Highness," the coachman replied in a low voice, stepping to Gaemon's right to guard his flank.
Aegon, heart pounding, dragged his sword into position and took his place on Gaemon's left.
This was wild—on the second day after arriving in this world, he was already facing an assassination attempt. And now, a beast of a man was about to cut a path through a horde of enemies just to get him out alive.
Aegon activated his talent chip and set a task. A flurry of blue lights flickered in his vision.
[Talent – Alien Chip: Combat mission engaged. Analyzing trajectories of all incoming weapons. Voice-assisted targeting enabled.]
[Operation successful. Chip will consume 0.1 Destiny Points per second for the duration of the task.]
Suddenly—a sharp twang. The snap of a bowstring.
"Archer! On the left!" Gaemon shouted.
Aegon turned quickly in the direction of the sound but saw nothing.
[Talent – Alien Chip: Target acquired. Arrow detected. Calculating wind direction and velocity... Computing trajectory... Simulating long-range arc... Please strike the red target in your field of vision.]
A red X appeared, speeding across Aegon's field of vision.
He understood instantly—that was the chip's prediction of the arrow's path. Aegon swung his sword with all his strength toward the mark, the blade cutting through the air with a loud whoosh in a fierce, decisive strike.
But—he missed.
Thwack!
The arrow slammed into Gaemon's left shoulder.