The conference room fell into a brief silence.
Brus was the first to break it. He leaned forward slightly, speaking in a calm tone, "We don't have any dragon-taming slots. A single slot on the black market now costs over a hundred thousand gold dragons. I'm afraid... we'd have to sell the Blackstone Tower just to afford one."
Aegon considered this—it was indeed a difficult problem.
But then he thought of House Targaryen. At this moment, his half-sister, Daenys the Dreamer, had already foretold the coming of the Doom. The family should soon begin preparing to evacuate the Valyrian Peninsula.
Although House Targaryen was at the bottom of the Dragonlord families, it still held the right to recommend candidates for dragon taming.
The Dragon's Treasure Guild had ships—and if House Targaryen was planning to relocate, perhaps he could leverage that to seek their help.
His status as a bastard might just be the key to opening that door.
"No need to worry about the slot. I have my own way," Aegon said calmly.
Morrec, the procurement head, quickly chimed in with a warning. "Even if you manage to buy a slot, the odds of success are minimal. The dragon lairs in the Fourteen Flames are all controlled by the forty Dragonlord families. Without their maps, you won't even be able to find the dragons. Those so-called taming slots on the black market—they're just a scheme by the Dragonlords to cash in."
The other two stewards looked like they were about to speak up as well.
Aegon raised a hand, cutting off Morrec's chatter, and reiterated firmly, "My family carries Dragonlord blood. We have strong ties to the Dragonlord families. Think—how do you suppose the Dragon's Treasure Guild has been allowed to operate in the Freehold?"
With those words, Aegon stood, his gaze moving to the wall. He reached out and took down a whale-oil candle.
In his customized memory, Ramon smoked often, so Aegon walked over and gestured for Ramon to light the candle.
As the flame flickered to life, Aegon calmly extended his hand, holding it directly above the fire.
"True dragons do not fear fire."
The four stewards widened their eyes, stunned as Aegon exposed his hand to the flame without flinching. Shock crossed their faces.
But within moments, their eyes drifted back to Aegon's otherworldly appearance, and a subconscious calm washed over them. They silently concluded that their lord must possess a very high concentration of true dragon blood.
Aegon placed the candle in the center of the oak table, turned back, and sat down. Leaning into his chair, he said evenly, "Rest assured. Once I've successfully tamed a dragon and am registered as a True Dragon in the Freehold, I'll register all of you as my vassals. You'll be granted first-class citizenship."
A [True Dragon] referred specifically to a Dragon Knight—an elite status even more privileged than first-class citizens in the Freehold.
The four stewards exchanged glances, silently weighing countless thoughts.
If the guild had a dragon, its influence within the Freehold would increase dramatically. True Dragons also enjoyed tax exemptions and held various privileges across Freehold colonies. And Aegon had just promised to elevate all four of them to first-class citizen status.
Ramon was the first to respond, sitting up straighter. "I support your decision to enter the dragon-taming competition."
"I agree," Morrec added, raising his hand quickly.
Tarber followed suit. "No objections here."
Brus hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly, but eventually gave a small nod.
Aegon stood, clapped his hands lightly, and offered a faint smile. "Good. Then Morrec, I have a task for you."
Morrec immediately turned his attention to Aegon. "At your command."
Aegon gave his instructions. "Keep an eye on any information related to dragon lairs in the Fourteen Flames. I need to find a suitable dragon. In the Freehold, dragons are divided into three ranks—beast dragons, true dragons, and dragonlords. I need at least a true dragon."
Morrec bowed slightly. "Understood."
Aegon then looked to Ramon.
Ramon smiled. "Yes, my lord?"
Aegon nodded and said seriously, "I need a woman—chaste, preferably with true dragon blood. Keep an eye out in the slave market."
Ramon reminded him in a low voice, "My lord, trading in Dragonblood slaves is illegal in the Freehold."
Aegon nodded lightly. "Just find one for now. We'll deal with the rest later."
Ramon asked, "How soon do you need her?"
"As soon as possible."
Ramon gave a small nod. "Understood."
None of the four stewards found Aegon's request unusual. After all, the Valyrian Freehold was a slave state, and for a wealthy noble to keep several concubines was hardly out of the ordinary.
"If there's nothing else, you're dismissed," Aegon said with a wave of his hand.
The four stewards stood, bowed in unison, and filed out of the conference room.
Once alone, Aegon exhaled deeply. Dealing with those men had truly worn him out.
He began tapping his fingers rhythmically against the tabletop, thinking to himself:
The matriarch of House Targaryen—the mother of the legitimate son, Gaemon—harbors a deep grudge against me. Given the current situation, the priority should be finding a way to ease tensions with Aenar, head of the Targaryen family.
His eyes gleamed faintly—he had an idea.
Aegon drew the quill from the leather sheath at his waist, picked up a sheet of parchment from the table, and laid it flat.
He dipped the quill into the inkwell, then began writing—awkwardly—on the parchment.
Line after line of High Valyrian script scrawled across the page, looking like a child's messy handwriting.
Before long, he had completed a letter. It began with polite formalities and ended with a note saying he would visit the next day.
Aegon set down the quill, gently blew on the ink to dry it, and carefully folded the letter.
Then he looked up and raised his voice to call for a servant.
Before long, a servant in plain clothing arrived in haste and stood respectfully at the doorway.
Aegon beckoned him over, and the servant quickly stepped forward. Aegon handed him the letter and instructed solemnly, "Deliver this to House Targaryen immediately. Make sure it's handed directly to someone in charge."
The servant accepted the letter with both hands, bowed, and replied, "Yes, my lord," before turning and hurrying out of the room.
With everything now settled, Aegon finally remembered the newbie reward item he had drawn—he hadn't taken a proper look at it yet.
With a thought, he opened the details for the item: Blood Orchid.
[Item: Blood Orchid ×10]
[Type: Consumable]
[Quality: Blue]
[Rating: 35]
[Effect: Works on organic lifeforms. Stimulates genetic mutation, unlocking the upper limits of genetic code.]
[Note: Please be quiet and stop messing with the little cells!]
Aegon studied the description and was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. It felt like something he'd seen in a movie before.
He slowly opened his palm, and in an instant, ten blood-red orchid blossoms appeared out of thin air.
Items drawn in the game could be stored in the game's item space, which was remarkably convenient.
With a flick of his wrist, Aegon returned the Blood Orchids to the item space. Now wasn't the time to use them—especially given the mention of genetic stimulation. Who knew what side effects they might have?
He rose and walked over to the window, gazing out over the bustling scene below.
From his vantage point, he could take in the entire square at a glance.
Outside, the plaza was packed with people, a constant flow of movement and voices.
In the center stood a towering sphinx, like an ancient guardian. Carved from a single massive boulder, its muscular lion's body seemed to pulse with raw strength—majestic, powerful, and unyielding. It radiated a kind of futurist aesthetic that impressed Aegon.
He couldn't help but admire the view. The tower, passed down from his adoptive merchant forefathers, really was in an exceptional location. The sightline was beyond anything he could have imagined.
Behind the Blackstone Tower stood a small extinct volcano, several dozen meters tall. It, too, was part of the Aegon family's estate. The land couldn't grow crops—the air around it was hot and oppressive, like being inside a giant steamer. Aegon let his imagination wander. If Valyria weren't doomed to destruction, perhaps he could divert some water here and develop a geothermal hot spring.
Making it Valyria's first luxury resort wouldn't be a bad idea…
Just then, a thunderous roar shattered his thoughts.
He looked up—and saw a colossal dragon, at least a hundred meters long, tearing through the sky like a war machine, blotting out the sun as it roared over the square.
The beast's body was cloaked in flame-colored scales, as if forged from molten magma. Its massive, fearsome head was studded with jagged, crown-like horns, glowing crimson in the sunlight. Its gaping jaws bristled with knife-like teeth, gleaming and uneven like a mouthful of cold steel.
The creature's wings—like enormous red sails—were supported by thick, powerful bones that stretched the wing membranes taut. Each beat of its wings stirred a violent wind that kicked up sand and dust across the square below.
Aegon instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and stared unblinking at the rider seated in the dragon's saddle, his eyes filled with envy.
He clenched his fist.
I will have a dragon like that—no matter what it takes.
...
...
...
House Targaryen's ancestral estate lay just outside Valyria, nestled in a vast expanse of rolling hills.
The current generation of the Dragonlord House Targaryen was small in number. The patriarch, Aenar Targaryen, had done everything he could to expand the family—marrying multiple wives and taking in many concubines. Yet, after decades, he had only three children to show for it.
The eldest, Aegon—a bastard—was gifted and intelligent from a young age. But due to issues of succession, Aenar had sent him away early in life to be raised under the name of a wealthy merchant.
The legitimate son, Gaemon, was cheerful and bold, with the makings of a true heir.
The second daughter, Daenys, was sharp-minded yet quiet by nature. From a young age, she displayed rare and unusual talents—she was born a Dragon Dreamer.
In the Freehold, Dragon Dreamers were a rare and revered existence. They referred specifically to those of true dragon blood who could foresee the future through prophetic dreams.
But recently, Daenys had a vision that left Aenar deeply troubled.
In her prophetic dream, Daenys witnessed a horrifying vision of the Valyrian Peninsula's destruction. She described it to her father:
—The sky turned blood-red. Waves of searing flame swept across the land like a raging tide. The entire peninsula was blasted into the sky with a deafening roar. Smoke billowed endlessly, blotting out the sun. The once-glorious Freehold vanished within a single day—reduced to ashes and nothingness.
When Aenar, heavy-hearted, reported his daughter's prophetic dream to the Dragonlord Council, it initially caused a great stir.
He was summoned to the council hall to face questioning by the fourteen Dragonlord councilors.
But in that grand chamber, the Dragonlords looked at the head of House Targaryen with sneers and scoffs. To them, such a nightmarish prophecy was nothing more than wild fantasy.
"The Freehold is thriving, powerful—how could it possibly fall to ruin in a single day?"
"Remember, the Valyrian Peninsula is vast—it spans nearly half the continent of Essos. Even in the Age of Heroes, the demigods of legend with their supernatural might couldn't destroy a land this immense!"
Though Dragon Dreamers were rare in the Freehold, the sheer number of true dragon bloodlines meant that nearly five known individuals possessed prophetic abilities.
"If your daughter's vision is real, Aenar, why have none of the other Dragon Dreamers seen the same thing?"
Voices of doubt echoed through the massive hall, wave after wave crashing down on Aenar.
He stood alone at the center of the chamber, surrounded by skeptical gazes, feeling like a hunted beast slowly roasting over flame.
"You're just trying to use your daughter's dream to elevate House Targaryen—scheming to worm your way into the Dragonlord Council. Utter delusion."
Though his heart was burning with anger, Aenar had no way to argue back. His lips trembled, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked like a scolded child who had done something wrong.
Among the true dragon families, House Targaryen was not particularly strong, but Aenar himself possessed a dragon of Dragonlord potential—Balerion.
It was precisely because of this that House Targaryen was considered the most likely candidate to earn a seat in the Dragonlord Council. But now, that very potential had become the reason he was met with suspicion.
And so, under the pressure of the fourteen Dragonlords, the Council declared Daenys's prophecy false.
They moved swiftly to suppress the information, issuing a stern warning to Aenar: spreading doomsday fearmongering would bring severe consequences.
Aenar flew down from the Fourteen Flames atop Balerion, a look of bitter defeat on his face. His heart weighed heavy as lead.
Though the Council had dismissed his daughter's vision, Aenar's faith in her remained unwavering.
Upon returning to the family dragonpit, he handed Balerion over to the dragonkeepers, instructing them to feed him well with cattle and sheep. Then, without pause, he returned to his estate.
If he could not change the minds of others, then he would prepare his family's future himself.
House Targaryen would not sit around waiting for death.
No—Aenar had already made up his mind.
He was going to take his entire family and leave.