Chapter 225: The Mysterious Black Stone Magic

Viserys was furious when he learned that Rhaegar had acted on his own. Days had passed since their separation, and his worries grew heavier with each moment.

"If I had known Rhaegar was so stubborn, I never should have revoked his military power," he muttered to himself, his frustration palpable.

"Rhaegar, you're starting to worry me too much," Viserys sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Knock, knock...

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," Viserys replied without lifting his head.

The door creaked open, and Otto walked in.

Viserys glanced up briefly, asking, "What's the matter?"

He desperately wanted to be alone to calm down.

"Your Grace, news from the Riverlands," Otto announced solemnly. "Blackwood and Bracken have defied your orders. Ser Harwin, collaborating with the Tullys, led a force to deter them but was insulted by both houses."

"This is intolerable!" Viserys exclaimed in frustration.

Otto continued, "There was a confrontation. Ser Harwin fought bravely, defeating both armies and making a name for himself in the Riverlands."

"That's good news, it weakens both houses significantly," Viserys remarked, surprised.

Otto shook his head, his expression complicated. "After the victory, Old Lord Tully organized a celebration banquet, only to be attacked by the Bracken House. His eldest son was killed in the turmoil."

"Those bastards! What about the front line?" Viserys was shocked, unable to believe the Brackens dared to attack their feudal lord.

Otto sighed, "The army in Riverrun suffered heavy losses. Lord Lyonel was seriously injured. Ser Harwin led a retreat back to Harrenhal for defense."

The battle had occurred between Riverrun and Harrenhal. After the attack, the Bracken House blocked the army's retreat to Riverrun, forcing Harwin to lead his men back to Harrenhal, where they were besieged.

In addition, the Peasants' Alliance was stirring up trouble in the Riverlands and growing more powerful by the day. This was undoubtedly very bad news.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Viserys' anger flared. "Damn Bracken! They dare to rebel?"

He stood abruptly, intending to call an emergency meeting. But after only two steps, an unnatural flush appeared on his face and dizziness overcame him. His legs gave way and he began to fall.

"Your Grace, be careful!" Otto caught him in time.

"Otto..." Viserys forced himself to stay conscious, gritting his teeth. "Call a Small Council meeting immediately. We must discuss a crusade against the Blackwood and Bracken Houses."

He, Viserys I, would ensure that these rebellious Houses paid the price they deserved.

...

One of the Triarchy, Tyrosh

"Fire! Aim at the dragon!"

"Run away!"

In the open sky, two massive dragons circled, unleashing torrents of Dragonfire.

Tyrosh's defenses were formidable, with over a hundred scorpion crossbows stationed in towers to counter the dragons' aerial threat.

"Roar..."

Cannibal roared in fury, gliding over the city-state with deadly precision, his dragonfire obliterating tower after tower.

Gray Ghost followed, raining fireballs down on the swarming guards in the streets.

Famous for its mercenaries, Tyrosh was surrounded by an impenetrable black wall. It was the most fortified city of the three Triarchy states.

Unfortunately, even the most experienced mercenaries and guards could not withstand the relentless onslaught of dragonfire. The black walls were no match for the flying beasts.

The bombardment raged for two hours.

Tyrosh was cleansed by fire. Wealthy merchants who hadn't sought refuge in air raid shelters fled, driving their slaves to clear the way.

Boom!

A blast of Dragonfire struck a nearby tower, which collapsed with a deafening crash, sending rubble raining down.

"Ah! ..."

The falling debris crushed slaves and a wealthy merchant who had been loudly cursing his fate.

Blood and fire marked every corner of Tyrosh.

Rhaegar, atop his dragon, gazed down at the tragic scene below. Unlike Lys and Myr, Tyrosh was too heavily fortified for him to penetrate alone. He could only destroy as many buildings as possible, unable to free the slaves within.

"Let's go, Cannibal!"

With the city in ruins, Rhaegar was satisfied. Riding his dragon, he soared towards the sea.

As they passed the inner city's black wall, a group of black-armored soldiers shouted.

"Prepare to throw spears!"

Rhaegar watched as the soldiers hurled their spears with all their might. The spears flew through the air but fell short, not even grazing Cannibal.

Undeterred, the black-armored soldiers shouted again, "Prepare bows and arrows for a second volley!"

But the soldiers had only spears and shields; no bows and arrows were in sight, and they were ill-positioned to shoot even if they had them.

Rhaegar looked on with disdain and said coolly, "Dracarys!"

Cannibal reversed direction, swooping down and unleashing another wave of Dragonfire, incinerating everything in its path.

Boom...

Under the dark green Dragonfire, the black-armored soldiers were consumed in flames.

Just as Rhaegar thought it was over, another wave of black-armored soldiers appeared. About a thousand strong, they dragged in a dozen scorpion crossbows, quickly loading them with steel spears and aiming at Cannibal, ready to fire.

"Roar..."

Gray Ghost emerged from the side, unleashing Dragonfire that mercilessly incinerated hundreds of soldiers.

Strangely enough, the survivors did not flee. Instead, they fearlessly raised their round shields to buy time for those manning the scorpion crossbows.

Seeing this unimaginable scene, Rhaegar frowned deeply. "Unsullied?"

This kind of emotionless, fearless war machine could only be the Unsullied army trained by Astapor.

"Stripped of their humanity since childhood, they are a pitiable lot," Rhaegar muttered to himself. "Let's make it quick, Dracarys!"

The lives of the Unsullied were already filled with pain and sorrow. It was better to end it quickly.

"Roar..."

Cannibal hovered above the black wall, its jaws opening wide as Dragonfire erupted.

In an instant, thousands of Unsullied were engulfed in flames, leaving only charred remains.

Drip...

The relentless dragonfire melted the solid black wall, causing a dark solution to drip from the top.

Rhaegar watched with interest, examining the material of the wall. According to ancient records, the Dragonlords of old Valyria were masters of both Bloodmagic and Firemagic.

Much like the castle on Dragonstone Island and the Black Wall of Volantis, the inner city walls of Tyrosh were made of black dragonstone created by these ancient magics.

During the Freehold era, the Dragonlords' buildings were majestic and unmatched in strength and grandeur.

Rhaegar sighed softly. "If I knew this kind of magic, the Dragonpit could be rebuilteffortlessly."

"Roar..."

Cannibal's roar shattered his reverie, pulling him back to reality.

Rhaegar smiled helplessly. "Let's go, old friend."

It was time to claim their victory. The three cities of the Triarchy were ravaged by fire.

Cannibal snorted and carried him, flying toward the Stepstones Islands.

Gray Ghost playfully spat out more dragonfire and blasted the black wall a few more times. Seeing little effect, it followed Cannibal's path and left in a hurry.

...

Lys.

After a night of sneaking out of Tyrosh, Lysandro Rogare finally returned to Lys. As he approached the harbor, the sight of black smoke billowing over the city filled him with dread.

Lys was destroyed! The dragon hadn't attacked Tyrosh; it had invaded Lys instead.

"Dock the ship! My family, my bank!" Lysandro's voice was hoarse with panic and rage as he surveyed the burning hulks in the harbor. The Bank of Rogare was his family's lifeline, holding savings from all over the world.

If it was gone, so was the fortune of the Rogare House. Lysandro knew that without those savings, the people of Lys would turn against him, and the family would face retaliation from depositors worldwide.

As soon as the ship docked, Lysandro sprinted ashore and raced to the family compound. Along the way, he saw many slaves fleeing to the surviving ships.

"Look, it's the First Magister of Lys!"

"The First Magister Lys is here!"

Recognized by the hate-driven slaves, Lysandro was soon surrounded.

"Kill! Kill all these wretched slaves!" Lysandro, no longer in control of his emotions, raised his whip and struck at the Unsullied guards.

The Unsullied, stoic and obedient, responded, "Yes!"

Swish, swish, swish...

Five hundred Unsullied landed on the shore, surrounding Lysandro and forming a human wall with their spears and shields. Any slave who dared to attack was swiftly killed. The Unsullied's strength was undeniable, and the slaves, despite their numbers, were no match.

With the Unsullied protecting him, Lysandro made his way to the Bank of Rogare and the family compound. What he found was devastating: the bank had been ransacked by angry slaves, and the vaults were emptied. The empty halls echoed with his cries of despair.

"Brother, you have finally returned." Drazenko Rogare ran in, tears streaming down his face. He had been hiding in an air raid shelter and only emerged when Rhaegar and his dragon left.

Seeing the family residence in ruins, with valuable items stolen and everything else burned, he was in shock. Even the horses had been slaughtered.

"Brother, the dragons attacked Lys, and the slaves are revolting all over the city. What should we do?" Drazenko shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

Lysandro looked up, his face a mask of hopelessness. "What can we do? We might as well be dead."

The current situation was worse than death.

The words had barely left his mouth when an unusual sound echoed from above. A piece of the masonry ceiling began to come loose.

Lysandro heard it and looked up, disbelief etched on his face.

The next second.

A rumble...

A one meter square piece of stone fell, hitting Lysandro directly. The impact was devastating, shattering his bones and instantly turning him into a gruesome mess of flesh and blood.

Blood splattered Drazenko's cheeks, and he stared wide-eyed, trembling with shock. "Brother!!!" he cried.

Suddenly, a group of slaves burst into the bank shouting, "Fight for your freedom and kill the exploiters of Rogare!"

Drazenko immediately turned, grabbed his whip from the pile of blood, and ordered the Unsullied to fight back. "Kill them! Kill this damn slaves, these damn creatures!"

With numb expressions, the Unsullied looked at the whip in Drazenko's hand. Astapor's training methods had conditioned them to obey the person wielding the whip.

"Quick, kill them!" Drazenko roared, lashing the whip and pointing at the approaching slaves.

Swish...

The Unsullied obeyed, forming a shield wall to block the slaves.

The slaves hesitated, their charge faltering.

Seeing this, Drazenko felt a surge of relief and lashed the Unsullied one by one, snarling, "Go on, eunuchs! You're as worthless as this group of slaves!"

The whip cracked against the Unsullied's flesh, drawing blood, but they stood their ground, enduring the blows.

The slaves were dumbfounded and yelled, "Why are you listening to him? The Breaker of Shackles gave the slaves their freedom, you should fight back!"

Pfft...

The answer came in the form of sharp spears. The Unsullied marched forward, stabbing the front rows of slaves with precision. The untrained slaves were no match for the disciplined Unsullied and fell in droves.

The slaves, unable to withstand the attack, began to retreat.

"Haha, kill them all!" Drazenko laughed maniacally, lashing out with his whip.

Click...

A strange sound came from above again. Drazenko's body stiffened as a creeping dread rose within him. He slowly lifted his head.

Another piece of the stone ceiling had loosened and was about to fall.

Drazenko ran for his life.

The stone fell, hitting Drazenko head-on with a loud thud. His skull cracked, and his upper body was crushed into a pulp.

Coincidentally, this stone landed right next to the one that had killed his brother.

And so, the Rogare brothers met their end beneath the masonry of their family bank.

With Drazenko dead, the whip he held was crushed and disappeared into the flesh. The Unsullied noticed this.

They stopped moving, maintaining their shield formation, and fell into a strange, dead silence. The Unsullied were slave soldiers, conditioned to follow their master's command. Without orders, they stood frozen, like powerless automatons.

The slaves, realizing this, picked up their weapons and approached the Unsullied, making tentative attacks.

One of the slaves smashed an Unsullied's head with his axe, and suddenly the slaves were overjoyed. "These souless men are fools! They won't move without their masters. Grab them and kill them!"

Soon, the Unsullied fell one by one, killed without resistance.

"Haha, if you don't even want your freedom, you might as well die," a burly slave mocked as he slit an Unsullied's throat.

Pfft...

A spear pierced through his chest, taking his life. The other slaves gasped in horror, not expecting the Unsullied to fight back.

Eyes focused on the Unsullied who had struck out with the spear. Sensing the attention, the Unsullied soldier drew his spear back, switched from a shield position to standing straight.

Swish Swish...

The other Unsullied followed suit, forming a neat formation. They waited for a moment. The punishment for unauthorized action did not come.

The lead Unsullied leaned his spear against his chest, removed his black iron helmet with his free hand, revealing a youthful face with dark brown skin. Three sharp spikes adorned his helmet, signifying his rank and ability to lead.

Ignoring the frightened slaves, he walked towards the remains of Drazenko. The stone was massive, crushing the flesh and blood into a gruesome mess.

(Word count: 2,212)