After looting the ancestral sword Blackfyre, Aemon obediently hung it back up.
The conditions for an item to possess magic are usually that it's ancient, inherently magical, or has undergone some sort of mutation.
Valyrian steel is one of the last treasures of ancient Valyria. It would be strange if it didn't contain magic.
The Royce family also possesses a Valyrian steel sword called "Lamentation".
But my mother, Lady Rhea, always cherished it and kept it mounted in her chambers, never giving Aemon the chance to touch it.
"Let's see what else there is."
Aemon continued rummaging through the chests, hoping to find the Valyrian steel crown.
It was the crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror during his coronation, adorned with several brilliant rubies.
However, the current royal crown is the golden one worn by Aemon's great-grandfather, and the ruby-studded crown had been stored away as a collector's item.
"Nope. Still nothing."
With the sun about to set, sweat beading on his brow, Aemon finally gave up on finding the crown.
It must've been moved elsewhere.
He took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his face. "Let's change locations and keep working hard."
Just as he was about to leave, his gaze swept over the stone sculptures arranged on the round table in the bedroom.
His steps halted, as if rooted in place—walking away now would seem suspicious.
Aemon's eyes turned as he approached the large round table full of sculptures and picked up a dragon-shaped one.
Uncle Viserys had a fondness for collecting stone sculptures.
He used them to recreate the glory of ancient Valyria.
If this were his previous life, he'd definitely be called a figurine enthusiast.
"I won't take much. Just this one for my own sake."
Aemon silently apologized to his uncle and slipped the dragon-shaped sculpture into his waist pouch.
In any case, if someone saw him come in, they'd find out eventually.
Taking one treasured "figurine" was just a cover for searching for magic.
After tidying up, Aemon quickly moved on.
The Red Keep was vast—there was no time to waste.
…
The Red Keep – Underground Crypt
Yes, Aemon was now playing the role of a grave robber.
Click!
The white tallow candles on the walls were lit, casting light across the dim, spacious tomb.
Aemon glanced around, barely hiding his delight.
Though it was called a crypt, it more closely resembled a private royal vault off-limits to outsiders.
The most striking feature was the skeletal remains of a black dragon used in sacrificial rites.
At the tomb's center was a circular altar about half a man's height.
Atop it rested a dragon skull the size of a house, black as ink, its features both fierce and majestic.
Circling it were layers of half-burnt white candles, and the dim glow lent the skull an air of reverence.
Aemon was stunned, his chest rising and falling quickly. He whispered, "The remains of Balerion, the Black Dread!"
The only creature whose remains the royal family would preserve in a tomb like this... was Balerion.
The terrifying dragon that once dominated an age—a fully grown dragon capable of swallowing a mammoth whole.
It was said that at his peak, Balerion's flame was hot enough to melt armor and stone with ease, even turning sand into glass.
To this day, no other Targaryen dragon has ever matched him.
"Balerion, don't let me down."
Clasping his hands together, Aemon prayed reverently.
Then he climbed onto the altar with effort and reached out to touch the dragon's still-warm skull.
"You have discovered the remains of a creature with special magic and gained a portion of fire magic."
Aemon shuddered as a wave of heat surged through him.
A reddish glow like a firefly danced in the air, then entered his chest.
"Hiss!" Aemon's eyes widened as a warm current surged through his body.
The sensation was several times stronger than [Constitution +1]—like a thousand tiny hands massaging him all over, leaving him trembling.
After just two breaths, he was drenched in sweat.
Then… it stopped.
Aemon blinked in confusion and scratched his head. "That's it? Done?"
He glanced at his hand—mud clung between his fingers.
Turning back to the massive skull, it looked exactly the same: dark, metallic, and terrifying.
"No, that was a strong reaction."
He clenched his fists. His strength felt slightly greater.
He pulled up his [Magic Essence Panel] and opened his personal attributes page.
[Aemon Targaryen]
Talent: Dreamer (Gold)
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragon King (13%)
Skills: Ancient Valyrian (Proficient), History (Familiar)…
Magic Card: None
Status: "Improved physical condition. Less prone to illness. More resistant to high temperatures."
"Is the bloodline column here because of the fire magic awakening?" Aemon's thoughts sharpened.
There hadn't been a bloodline section before—it had just appeared.
The prompt said Balerion's skull contained special magic, likely the flame inherent to dragons.
"Dragons really are dragons—even in death, they bless their kin."
Aemon couldn't help smiling. Bloodline was extremely important.
It determined talents like dragon taming and resistance to heat and cold.
"But this bloodline tab doesn't show much detail."
He touched his chin in thought, intrigued.
With the bloodline panel now visible, he could monitor the concentration—and possibly assess his safety in approaching dragons.
If he could figure out how to improve his blood purity, it might bring unexpected benefits.
That said, staying here too long was unwise. "Better to get out of here."
Quick to act, Aemon made a run for it. "Thanks for the hospitality, Balerion."
He didn't forget to offer his gratitude before leaving.
After all, Balerion was a legendary dragon, and the reward had been generous.
A new bloodline stat pointing to something crucial, plus a minor physical boost.
But most importantly—
The golden funnel at the bottom of his ornate panel shimmered as the number read: [Essence: 141]
One fire magic event gave him 100 essence points—he had struck it rich!
The journey of gathering magic had only just begun.
…
At dusk, the sky blazed red.
Aemon emerged from the tomb and, seeing how late it was, decided to head back to rest.
The castle forecourt was still lively.
Plop!
Lost in thought over how to spend his essence points, Aemon bumped into something solid.
"Who are you? Are you alright?"
A white knight in silver armor and a white cloak halted. A flicker of surprise crossed his handsome face as he bent toward the silver-haired boy.
Aemon clutched his reddened forehead, brushing it off. "I'm fine. I'm heading off."
Next time, he'd remember not to walk with his head down.
Criston Cole looked puzzled, then stopped the silver-haired boy and asked, "What's your name? Where are your parents?"
The silver hair and violet eyes weren't something common nobles had.
The boy's outfit was luxurious, and despite running around dusty, he clearly belonged to nobility.
As far as Cole knew, there was no young prince of this age in the royal family.
He might be a lost child of House Velaryon or Celtigar—both Valyrian in descent.
And—
Cole grew more alert, eyes narrowing. "Where were you just now? Do you need help?"
The third question finally set Aemon off.
He looked up to see a young white knight, black-haired and black-eyed, dignified and striking.
He hadn't seen him in King's Landing before, so he was likely elected after Aemon left.
Only one name came to mind.
Aemon wasn't fond of him.
Arms crossed, he snapped, "White knight, your duty is to protect the royal family, not to harass them."
His tone was sharp—offering no courtesy at all.
- - - - - - - - -
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