For Rayder, the tavern meal before him was nothing short of a feast.He paid no mind to his image or the etiquette expected in public. Grabbing a large, greasy piece of roasted steak with both hands, he bit into it ravenously, the meat so hot that it seared his tongue. He gasped, almost choking on the mouthful, but didn't stop. Quickly reaching for the wine bottle, he tilted his head back and took several hearty gulps. The warm, spiced red wine soothed the burning sensation in his throat and helped the food slide down more easily.To any observer, he might have looked like a half-starved beast feasting after days of hunger, but Rayder couldn't care less. He was finally eating something warm, filling, and rich in flavor—a welcome change after countless days of dried rations and rushed campfires.While devouring his meal with the focus of a starving wolf, Rayder's ears remained sharp, tuned into the noisy atmosphere around him. Like a hawk circling high above, he filtered through the cacophony of drunken shouting, clinking glasses, and rowdy laughter, searching for something useful—something important.Soon, his ears caught the tail end of a heated debate from a group of drunken men at a nearby table."Viserys is the true heir! The purest Targaryen blood runs through his veins!""Bah! That bastard's weak. Rhaenys's boy—Laenor—is far more worthy to rule!"Their argument grew louder, more intense. Spit flew, curses were exchanged, and their fists clenched, ready to escalate. The entire tavern seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the outbreak of a brawl.But Rayder wasn't interested in their fight. He was listening closely—analyzing. The names mentioned, the tone, the context—all of it provided exactly what he needed: confirmation.The names "Viserys" and "Laenor," both connected to the Targaryen line of succession, told him everything.A small, knowing smile tugged at Rayder's lips.This was the final piece of the puzzle.Based on what he had overheard, he deduced that the current timeline should be somewhere around 100 AC—After Aegon's Conquest.That meant King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, also known as the Conciliator, still sat upon the Iron Throne. The realm was yet to be plunged into the chaos of the Dance of the Dragons. The successor to the throne had not yet been officially decided. Tensions simmered, yes—but war had not yet begun.To Rayder, this was a golden opportunity.The implications sent a thrill through his veins. If his calculations were correct, there were still several decades before the brutal civil war known as the Dance of the Dragons broke out—a conflict that would scorch the Seven Kingdoms and devastate the Targaryen line.A grin spread across his face.Time was now on his side.Kidora, his dragon, was still young—barely past infancy. But with its exceptional growth rate, even without accelerating the process through his system's energy points, decades of natural development would allow it to become a true giant among dragons. It wouldn't take long before Kidora became a force to rival the great beasts of old.By the time the Dance of the Dragons began, Rayder might well be riding a matured Kidora—an apex predator among the skies.And if he chose to intervene?What was once a war of attrition and bloodshed could become a one-sided slaughter.Even if Kidora reached only a fraction of Vhagar's size—say, one-fifth—it would still be a terrifying weapon in the hands of someone like Rayder, especially when bolstered by the system. He could see it now: him soaring through the skies, clashing with the great dragons of legend, matching—and perhaps defeating—Vhagar, the mightiest living dragon of the era.The thought made his blood boil with excitement.But imagination alone wasn't enough.Rayder knew he had to confirm this timeline with absolute certainty. Loose guesses wouldn't cut it when making decisions that could shape history. He needed concrete evidence—documents, maps, and interactions with key figures that could help solidify the era.He needed to travel west—across the sea—to Westeros, where the heart of the Targaryen dynasty lay.And to do that, he had to make preparations—immediately.Pulling out another gleaming gold dragon coin from his system storage, Rayder placed it gently on the bar counter. The flickering candlelight reflected off its golden surface, causing nearby patrons to glance toward him—some with admiration, others with greed.Rayder paid them no mind.He turned to the bartender and spoke with calm authority, though his voice carried an unmistakable sense of urgency:"Boss, more food. Pack as much as possible."Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Also, I need a map—a detailed one. Something that shows the way from this city to the continent of Westeros."The innkeeper's eyes widened the moment he saw the gold coin. He snatched it up with astonishing speed, as if worried it might vanish into thin air."Yes, yes, of course!" he exclaimed with a wide, eager smile. "You'll have everything you need. More food? No problem. I'll make sure it's enough to feed an army!"He barked orders at the kitchen. Roasted beef and mutton were quickly brought out, along with mountains of bread and several bottles of well-aged local wine. His assistant stuffed all of it into a thick, reinforced canvas backpack—so heavy it could feed a small family for days.As he worked, the bartender rummaged beneath the counter and pulled out a rolled parchment—an old but detailed map of the Free Cities and the route to Westeros by sea. He handed it to Rayder with both hands, as though offering a sacred relic."Would you like more, customer?" he asked, still fawning. "Or shall I have it delivered to your camp or ship?"Rayder shook his head and gave a small wave. "No need."He leaned down and casually picked up the overloaded backpack with one hand, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.The display of strength drew gasps from several patrons."Did you see that?""That pack must weigh at least fifty pounds…""And he picked it up with one hand, like it was a sack of feathers!"The gold coin had made Rayder a target—but now, so had his strength.Some patrons who had eyed him earlier with predatory intent—thinking he was just a rich, naïve youth—now quickly backed down. His lean, youthful appearance might have deceived them for a moment, but the massive shield on his back, the gleaming sword at his waist, and his effortless display of strength told them this was no ordinary boy.He was dangerous.Still, not everyone gave up.In a dimly lit corner, members of various mercenary groups exchanged silent glances. Their eyes glinted with greed and calculation. After all, the gold coin alone was enough to cover months of expenses—and this boy clearly had more where that came from.Rayder had not noticed them—or so it seemed.The mercenaries silently dispersed, following Rayder at a distance, melting into the shadows with practiced ease.But Rayder's mind was elsewhere. His spirits were high. Not only had he enjoyed a good meal, but he had also gained valuable information and resources. Everything was going according to plan.He stepped out of the tavern, the cool night air brushing his face. After turning down a dark alley and ensuring no one was around, he paused.With a quiet thought, the heavy backpack vanished—absorbed into his system space without a trace. It was as if it had never existed.Clapping his hands, Rayder resumed walking. He had no idea that shadows were tailing him from behind.Valantis at night was even livelier than during the day. Rayder wandered its winding streets, observing the port city's unique charm—the blend of sea salt and spice, the exotic goods from across the narrow sea, and the people of all races and tongues mingling together.As he turned a corner, his gaze fell on a livestock market.A thought struck him.The dragons—Kidora, Im, and Yigen—had been feasting on fish for weeks. Their appetite was huge, and variety was important.It was time to restock.With a slight smirk, Rayder walked toward the livestock stalls, already making mental calculations.He had gold. He had dragons. He had time.Now, all that remained was preparation.
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