Rhaegar stepped out of his room, brushing off the attendants who tried to follow.
He looked… a little anxious.
Well, who wouldn't be? He had just punched the Queen's son.
Of course, he wasn't afraid.
Just moments ago, as he blew out the candle, a voice had echoed in his mind:
"Explorer System successfully loaded. Please seek the Lost Relics."
Rhaegar had thought it was just an aftereffect of his recurring nightmare.
But when he opened his eyes—
Not only did he receive Aegon's "cream attack,"
He also saw something far stranger: a glowing panel hovering before him.
[Rhaegar Targaryen]Talent: Dreamer (Gold)Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (5%)
Skills: Literature (Beginner), History (Beginner)Relics: None
Evaluation: "A frail and pitiful human cub, destined to die before the age of ten. A pity—such a precious gift."
A simple and clean panel—just enough to summarize his entire being.
Rhaegar was shocked, confused, then… accepting.
By the time Queen Alicent finished wiping the cream from his face, he had already collected his thoughts—and secretly rejoiced at the System's appearance.
During those three long years of nightmares, he had seen so many things.
Fragments of a foreign world—green-scaled serpents, iron dragons, towers of stone and steel…
He vaguely remembered the word "system."
It was something that helped useless people rise up against fate.
Perfect for a frail, helpless, pitiful "human cub" like him.
So happy was he, in fact, that he couldn't resist giving his dear brother Aegon a reward.
Hopefully, he'd appreciate it.
"Explorer… Lost Relics…"
"With the System's hint, it must mean finding ancient and valuable items."
Rhaegar reasoned calmly, his young face unusually serious.
Before leaving the room, he had already thought of something old—and valuable—enough.
Passing through the crowded halls of the Red Keep, he arrived at a vast, silent chamber.
At its center stood a circular stone platform,
And upon it—
A colossal dragon's skull.
This was the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, the dragon of Aegon the Conqueror.
Balerion was a dragon of legend.
He had followed the Targaryens since they fled Valyria, guarding their fleet all the way to Dragonstone.
When Aegon came of age, Balerion bore him across the skies, leading the conquest that united the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.
Even after Aegon's death, his descendants continued to ride the Black Dread.
Until, more than two centuries later, King Viserys—Rhaegar's father—became Balerion's last rider.
The ancient dragon soared three times over King's Landing, its vast shadow covering the city.
That was the last time it was ever seen.
Soon after, Balerion died—naturally, of old age, having lived more than two hundred years.
To honor the mighty creature who had forged their dynasty, House Targaryen enshrined its skull in the Red Keep's grand hall, where it stood as a relic for generations.
Rhaegar gazed up at the enormous skull, awed by its vastness.
He couldn't think of anything more ancient—or more valuable.
"Balerion," he whispered, "thank you for what you've done for House Targaryen. Please… help me just this once."
His violet eyes flickered with hope as he knelt before the altar.
Climbing up on a small stool, he scrambled onto the one-meter-high platform.
He brushed his hands along the jagged dragon teeth—each one taller and thicker than him.
Then, with childlike caution, he slipped through the back of the skull where the bone gaped open, resting his palms on the pale inner surface.
"Exploration mission initiated. Target: Balerion the Black Dread's Skull."
The System's sudden voice startled him.
He froze, eyes darting around in panic.
Children weren't supposed to climb and play here.
He was a child—just a very cautious one.
Luckily, the hall was rarely visited.
He sighed in relief. Then a new panel appeared before him:
[Balerion's Skull]Exploration Progress: 0.2%
"What does that mean?"
He pulled his hand back—and the panel changed:
[Balerion's Skull]Exploration Progress: 0.2% (Paused)
"So… exploration needs direct contact?"
Understanding dawned. He placed his hand back on the skull.
Sure enough, the percentage began to rise again.
"So that's it. Now I just have to wait."
Rhaegar sat down, leaning against the bone, occasionally brushing his face or toes against it for good measure.
His small body was frail—just walking a few steps left him breathless.
That he'd made it here at all was thanks to a rush of adrenaline born of excitement.
By dusk, sunlight spilled like gold through the stained glass.
A chime woke him from a light nap.
"Exploration complete. Please retrieve the Lost Relic."
Rhaegar blinked sleepily. A panel floated before his eyes.
[Balerion's Skull]Exploration Progress: 100%
"It's done! So what's the relic?"
Instantly awake, he scanned the area.
There—nestled between the dragon's massive teeth—glowed a red sphere the size of a watermelon.
Curious, he reached out and touched it.
With a soft pop, it burst like a bubble. Red light scattered and sank into his palm like fireworks.
"Relic retrieved. Analyzing…""Analysis complete. Classified as Legendary Relic — Dragon's Legacy."
"Legendary? I struck gold!"
Rhaegar whispered excitedly as an image formed in his mind: a single dragon scale, black as night.
With a thought, it appeared in his hand.
Smooth, scarred, and about the size of an adult's palm.
"A dragon scale… but how do I use it?"
As he examined it, the System's text flickered and changed:
"Blood and fire are one. To inherit a dragon's legacy, you must first prove you are of the true blood."
"Blood and fire…" Rhaegar's eyes lit up.
Everyone knew—dragons were the embodiment of flame.
So the key must be blood.
And not just any blood—true dragon blood.
A smile tugged at his lips.
He wasn't a dragon… but he was a pureblooded Targaryen.
He grasped the scale firmly, pressing one hand against its sharp edge.
"Alright then… here goes."
Shhk!
The scale sliced his thumb, a thin stream of blood trickling down.
The moment it touched the black surface, it flared red.
"Congratulations. Dragon's Legacy activated. You have obtained—"
[Blood of Fire]Grade: Legendary (Red)Effect: Fire Resistance +50%Evaluation: "True dragons fear no flame—Targaryens are the same."
The scale crumbled to ash and scattered on the wind.
Before he could react, a faint blush rose to Rhaegar's pale cheeks. His skin grew hot.
It wasn't unpleasant—
More like curling up beside a fireplace on a winter's night.
Warmth filled every corner of his frail body.
The sensation came fast and faded just as quickly.
When it was gone, his skin looked smoother, his complexion healthier.
No longer on the verge of collapsing with every breath—
He looked like someone recovering from a long illness.
"Fire resistance, huh… What does that actually mean?"
Rhaegar walked to the edge of the altar where a ring of candles stood.
He lit one, holding his hand above the flame.
Might as well test it.
At first, it just felt warm.
Then, as the heat built up, the warmth turned to a sting.
A drop of molten wax fell onto his skin—he frowned, feeling a twinge of pain.
Blowing out the candle, he nodded thoughtfully.
"So… it still burns, but the damage is limited."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
This was just the beginning.