Chapter 370: No Choice but to Fight

Dawnbreaker gleamed with golden light in Lyonel's hands. Lacking the height to wield it as a standard longsword, he treated it like a greatsword instead.

"Ha!" Gripping the hilt with both hands, Lyonel leaped up and slashed down at Wright.

Wright simply sidestepped and kicked out. His advantage in height and reach was too overwhelming—before the sword could even get close, his foot had already struck Lyonel's ice armor-clad abdomen.

Bang! The ice armor shattered where his boot landed, leaving a sole-shaped hole. Lyonel was sent flying backward, crashing into a wine cabinet by the wall, reducing it to splinters.

"Wright! If you dare harm my son, I won't let this go!" Margaery, seeing her son kicked away, grabbed anything within reach—candlesticks, goblets, whatever she could find—and hurled them at Wright.

"He won't die as long as I'm here!"

With a casual wave of his hand, Wright used magic to deflect the incoming objects. After all, this was his own son—he couldn't actually tear him apart.

Lyonel quickly scrambled up from the pile of broken wood. His once-elegant clothes were now soaked with spilled wine, and his neatly combed hair was wet and covered in dust, leaving him looking utterly disheveled.

He raised his sword again, intending to attack, but as soon as he moved, he doubled over—his abdomen throbbed painfully from the earlier kick. Even though Wright had held back, the force had still been tremendous.

A blood-red mage's hand, shaped like a dragon's claw, shot from Wright's palm, seizing Lyonel tightly.

Wright lifted him effortlessly and leaped onto the windowsill, preparing to jump down into the training yard below. With Margaery in the room, he was worried he might lose control and accidentally hurt her.

Trapped in the crimson magical claw, Lyonel pressed his hands against his ice armor, his face flushed red as he struggled in vain. He was not even nine years old yet—no matter how talented he was, the gap in magical power and strength between him and Wright was insurmountable.

"Let him go!" Margaery was firmly on her son's side in this fight.

Wright, still fuming, snapped, "No!"

"Fiik~~Lo~~Sah~~!"

Lyonel's roar drowned out their argument.

The pillow Margaery had been about to throw froze mid-air as she and Wright turned to look at him. Mirror, Deceive, Phantom—Dragon Shout: Phantom Form!

Lyonel remained firmly trapped in Wright's magical grip, but behind Wright, a figure identical to him rapidly took shape, transforming from a shadow into a translucent blue Lyonel. And this wasn't just an illusion—it was something that could cast spells and launch real attacks!

The phantom took two steps back, raised both hands, and fired an ice spike directly at Wright's chest. The impact sent Wright tumbling backward out of the window, and the red mage's hand gripping Lyonel vanished.

The ice spike only pierced Wright's outer ice armor before he instinctively grabbed it. Just as he was about to snap it apart—

Boom!

The spike exploded.

"Shit!"

Blown into the air, Wright was stunned. When the hell did this brat learn that? And he actually pulled it off?!

The words he had once spoken to Renly at Lyonel's birth echoed in his mind—A prodigy who could beat Renly to a pulp. He never expected the first one to get beaten would be himself.

"Your life is mine!"

Lyonel leaped out of the window, hot on Wright's trail.

With the two of them now outside, Margaery hurried downstairs. "Brienne! Qyburn! Get to the training yard now!"

Wright wasn't injured—he used magic to slow his descent, gently floating down to the yard, where many of the Red Keep's guards were still training.

"Move aside! The prince and I are having a magic duel!"

Magic wasn't something to be thrown around carelessly. The soldiers quickly retreated to the edge of the yard to watch.

"Two princes?"

Two versions of Lyonel landed steadily in front of Wright. One was his true form, gripping the golden Dawnbreaker, while the other, an empty-handed apparition, continued to solidify. Though slightly translucent, it was nearly indistinguishable from the real Lyonel.

"Kid, matters between our fathers are complicated. Don't jump to conclusions!" Wright warned. With so many people present, he didn't want Lyonel blurting out anything reckless.

Growing up in the Red Keep, Lyonel had seen enough noble scheming to know that family scandals should never be aired. The best solution? Cut Wright down.

Both versions of Lyonel spread out, flanking Wright cautiously. He hadn't expected the usually smiling Wright to be so formidable. His ice armor and clothing remained completely intact, showing that the previous explosive ice spike had been utterly ineffective.

Wright had devoted most of his energy to new magical theories. Even as an instructor at the magic academy, he only taught theory—Renly and other mages handled the practical lessons. For years, the young prince had been trained by his father, Renly, in both theory and combat. No one in the younger generation had ever seen Wright actually fight.

One-on-one, Lyonel knew he was no match. Even with his magical clone, he still had no chance. The surrounding guards were ordinary men; charging in would be suicide. The Red Keep's court mages? They were Wright's own apprentices.

Frustrated, Lyonel circled Wright, searching for an opening. Then, his gaze landed on the massive statue standing in the distant magic academy.

"Oka~~Az~~tuz!" Lyonel roared, a grin finally creeping onto his face.

Odahviing, the great dragon, was working on the Rose Road in the Reach, and his father, Renly, was nowhere to be found. At this moment, King's Landing had only one dragon: his own—Okaaztuz.

"Kid, never summon a dragon when facing an enemy at close range," Wright chided, waiting for the dragon shout to complete before speaking. "With a spell that takes this long to cast, I could kick you in the face and break your concentration before you finished."

He needed to let Lyonel vent his frustration before persuading him. Wright also understood that the Phantom Form clone had no independent will; Lyonel had to control it directly. If he focused on the real body, the clone wouldn't be an issue.

With a low growl, Wright activated Dragon Soul Awakening, Dragonskin, and Frost Armor—all his defensive spells at once. It was the first time he had used this battle mode in King's Landing. To be cautious, he secretly inscribed a healing array in the dirt beneath his feet, ensuring he could continuously regenerate any injuries.

Meanwhile, Margaery arrived at the training grounds, leading the Kingsguard and a group of soldiers.

"Stay back! Stay back!" Ser Lyn Corbray, recognizing the red, blue, and white magical armor enveloping Wright, immediately stepped in front of Margaery, motioning for his fellow Kingsguard to hold their ground.

"Save the prince!" Margaery struggled against Lyn's restraint, shouting for the soldiers to intervene.

"Your Grace, please remain calm. I trust Lord Wright would never harm the prince."

Lyn Corbray, draped in his orange cloak, was one of the Kingsguard who had served under Robert. He had once witnessed Wright's abilities at Highgarden—if Wright truly wanted someone dead, it would be as effortless as crushing an ant. There was no need to drag a fight into the training grounds.

"Lord Wright is in full defensive mode. He likely won't attack the prince." Ser Parmen Crane, clad in purple, agreed. His sister was a skilled mage and often shared insights on magic with him.

Seeing the two combatants locked in a tense standoff, Margaery's panic subsided slightly. "Then… will Wright get hurt?"

"Probably not?" Lyn had barely spoken when a pillar of light engulfed Wright.

BOOM!

A lightning bolt as thick as a barrel crashed down from the heavens, swallowing the entire training ground in blinding light and deafening static. Everything within the arena vanished, consumed by crackling electricity.

Margaery's panicked screams were drowned out by the roaring thunder.

High above, Okaaztuz—a blue-scaled dragon streaked with lightning—soared toward the Red Keep, unleashing torrents of lightning from its maw. In most cases, a dragonrider's command over their dragon was absolute.