It had been a week since Viserys visited
Kinvara at the Red Temple.
Two days after that meeting, Viserys, Daenerys, and Illyrio had left the Ember Ward estate. They were escorted by five Praetorian Guards and ten Agema Phalangitai—elite Hellenistic phalanx soldiers in gleaming bronze—and soon met up with Kinvara and the red priests and priestesses she had chosen to accompany them.
What surprised Viserys most was what followed. Over two hundred slave soldiers had joined them—warriors of the Fiery Hand, the Red Temple's private army. And this wasn't even all of it. From what he remembered, the temple housed at least a thousand. More than the fifteen guards who usually protected him.
To some, bringing two hundred soldiers might seem excessive. But it wasn't. Where they were heading—through the dreaded Demon Road—it was entirely necessary. Bandits. Stone men. Twisted beasts born of the Doom. All sorts of things prowled these lands that could tear apart a small group.
But an army?
Even monsters would think twice.
He sighed as he looked around. They had been riding for five days straight, stopping to camp only twice.
Then, a chime echoed in his head, followed by a flicker of light as a holographic panel appeared before him.
⸻
[System Alert: Timed Event – Active Countdown Initiated]
Destination: Mantarys – The Ruined City of Madness
Estimated Arrival: 16 Days
Warning: Mantarys is classified as an Extreme Threat Zone.
⸻
Even the system itself was warning him of the danger. Yet so far, the journey had been uneventful—only one strange encounter with deformed bandits, who were swiftly cut down by the Fiery Hand.
But sixteen days remained.
What still lay ahead was unknown.
He hadn't expected Kinvara to become so devoted so quickly. All he had to do was show her a glimpse of his "powers"—conjuring guards from thin air, manipulating flame—and tell her it was a gift from her god.
Her eyes had lit up like a zealot's at a vision of prophecy.
Fanatics, he thought, are better than loyal vassals.
A loyal subject still sees you as a man. Still sees your faults. They can question, challenge, and even rebel—just look at the colonists in the American Revolution. They had loved the Crown… until they didn't.
But a fanatic?
A fanatic sees a god. And gods are obeyed without question.
When he brought dragons back into the world, they wouldn't just see him as king—they'd see him as divine. From red priests to slave soldiers, from warlords to brothel girls, all across Volantis and beyond, they would revere him.
He smiled.
He hadn't even achieved it yet… and already, he wanted more.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Daenerys asked, trotting up beside him on her white mare. "I've never seen you smile like that before."
He turned his gaze to her, then to the endless train of soldiers and priests marching behind them. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his hand.
"What reason don't I have to smile, my dear sister?" he said. "Each day that passes is one day closer to the moment we reclaim what is rightfully ours. We are about to do what every Targaryen before us has tried—and failed—to do. But I will succeed. We will succeed. I will bring dragons back into the world. I will carve our legend into history. This is only the beginning."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Aegon conquered Westeros with fire and blood. I will do the same. Not just for me—but for us. You and me. We are all that's left. And we are all that matters."
He let go of her cheek. Daenerys blushed but said nothing. She turned away and continued riding in silence.
⸻
Two weeks and two days later…
The land was cursed.
We rode in silence. The only sound was the steady drumbeat of hooves against the cracked, dying earth.
The air stank of decay. Not rot from something living… but something ancient. Forgotten. As if the land itself had chosen to stew in death for centuries.
We were close to Mantarys now. The Ruined City of Madness. We weren't entering it, but we passed near enough for its foul breath to seep into our bones. Even the priests looked uneasy.
The closer we drew, the fewer animals we saw. Game vanished. The food stores we brought were dwindling fast. The soldiers tried hunting, but the best they could manage were birds—small, pathetic things.
It was as if even nature had fled.
Only Daenerys and I ate well, and only because of the system's shop. Every night we camped, I bought meals and served them to her inside the privacy of our tent. I wasn't about to let others see us dining on meat while they gnawed on roots or starved.
Even if I had the points to feed the soldiers, I wouldn't have.
I didn't give a single flying fuck about them.
Then—screaming.
From the rear of the caravan.
I turned in the saddle just in time to see it: a serpent of living flame erupting from the earth. A creature longer than a warship, its armored hide gleaming like molten obsidian. Fire poured from its mouth as it set the back of our convoy ablaze.
And then the chime rang again.
⸻
=== Emergency Quest Received ===
Quest Name: Ash Breaker
Objective: Defend the caravan and slay or repel the rampaging firewyrm.
Details:
A catastrophic event has unfolded. A firewyrm — an ancient, burrowing Valyrian creature, mutated by centuries of arcane fallout — has surfaced. Drawn by blood, divine flame, or the pulse of dragonkind, it attacks with primal fury. This is not a dragon. It is fire without wings, rage without reason.
Threat Classification: Abyssal-Class Beast
Size: 70+ feet long
Attributes:
• Volcanic armor plating
• Fire immunity
• Resistant to conventional weapons
• Weaknesses: Exposed maw, eyes, underbelly
• Vulnerable to magic, Valyrian steel, and coordinated phalanx tactics
Rewards:
• 22,500 Dragon Points
• Title – Wyrmslayer
Penalties for Failure:
• Your death
• Daenerys' death
• Loss of caravan and companions
⸻
He narrowed his eyes.
"Fuck me."