Chapter 33: The Demon’s Corpse

The Blood Alliance had previously been tasked with exploring the terrain and resources. Naturally, they couldn't work solely at night. Even though the Bloodstar stained the sky crimson, its faint red glow made it almost impossible to clearly see distant objects.

Thus, their last expedition had been extremely arduous.

This time, however, things were different. The mission was clear—no need to scout for traces of humans or large animals nearby.

The Bloodstar hung overhead, its fiery hue illuminating the landscape. Without the burden of guiding the old, weak, or children of Khalasar, Daenerys led the charge. Her silver mare galloped joyfully across the crimson sands, kicking up a thin, trailing cloud of red dust.

Jorah and her Bloodriders trailed three horse-lengths behind her, followed closely by twenty Dothraki Screamer warriors.

The rumble of hooves reverberated across the ground, a sound so deep that it alerted sand lizards clad in reddish-brown scales. They poked their heads out of the grass, seemingly sensing the tremors of the earth.

"Screeeech—"

"Caw-caw—boom!"

A piercing, grating cry suddenly erupted overhead. The sand lizard, no larger than a wildcat, tried to retreat warily into the grass. But it was too late—a streak of dark red flame descended from the sky.

Sulfur-laden black smoke instantly set the surrounding demon grass ablaze.

The sand lizard squealed and bolted out of the inferno. In the next moment, the sky darkened, and it found itself lifted into the air with nowhere to grip. A searing pain shot through its soft underbelly as sharp teeth pierced it. The terror hadn't yet subsided when "boom"—a burst of flame engulfed it completely. The sand lizard knew no more.

The horses' hooves thundered past, trampling the burning demon grass, which quickly disappeared into the shallow red sand, leaving behind wisps of white smoke that swayed in the wind.

Daenerys glanced up at the young dragons fighting over their bloody meal in the sky, a satisfied smile curling at the corners of her lips.

The Dothraki's sense of direction was impeccable. Their group took almost no detours and arrived at the dragon skeleton by midnight.

It made sense. After all, those without a good sense of direction couldn't become Khalasar scouts. The Dothraki Sea was even more featureless than the Red Wastes, and the scouts often ventured a day or two's ride from the Khalasar.

"By the Seven! Are these really the bones of a living creature?"

Even though she had heard countless tales of Balerion swallowing a bull whole, Daenerys still gasped in awe at the sight of the dragon bones, as massive as a battleship.

The exposed parts of the skeleton were a pale gray, while the bones buried deeper in the ground grew darker in color. Only a small portion of the skull had been visible before, but last time, Rakharo had unearthed more sand to determine the dragon's size.

"Excavating the entire skeleton would be a massive task. It would take too much time," Daenerys mused, climbing atop the enormous dragon skull, which was as tall as a two-story building. She looked out at the burial mound formed by the dragon's remains and hesitated.

Jorah frowned as he examined the giant skull. "Your Grace, how do you plan to handle this dragon skeleton? Transporting the entire thing back seems unrealistic."

"Well..." Daenerys smiled wryly. "To be honest, I did originally plan to bring it back. Forget the fortune it could fetch—imagine crafting weapons from it. You've seen the power of a dragonbone bow. It's the ultimate weapon for any warrior!"

"The Dothraki lack the skill to forge dragonbone weapons. Only the finest smiths of Qohor can shape dragonbone into arms," Jorah replied, shaking his head.

"Then what do you suggest? Leave it here to rot?" she asked.

Jorah stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Take some easily transportable bones with us. Bury the rest here, and we can return for more if needed."

"The skull is too large to manage. Let's take bones from the wings," Daenerys decided.

At her command, the Dothraki eagerly set to work. They dug along the dragon's neck and torso, not needing to go too deep, searching for fractured bones.

The bone Rakharo had previously brought back was just such a fragment. It seemed her earlier guess had been correct—the dragon had likely been gravely injured, unable to fly, and had crashed to the ground mid-flight.

"Huh? What's this? This bone is so thin—wait, something's not right," one of the Dothraki stopped digging and pulled out a 40-centimeter-long bone fragment from the sand, turning it over in puzzlement.

Following the path from the "skull → neck → spine → wings," the Dothraki carved a winding trench.

The loose sand made digging easier than expected, and the trench reached a depth of two to three meters.

By the time the sky turned a deep indigo, they had already unearthed part of the dragon's neck.

"Khaleesi! There's something here—not dragon bones. I found a human corpse!" One of the Dothraki shouted loudly, his trembling voice betraying his fear. "No, this isn't human—this is a demon! A demon's corpse! Humans don't look like this!"

"A demon! A demon's corpse!" Other Dothraki who had been digging rushed over to see, their horrified cries echoing.

As the leader, Daenerys, of course, wasn't doing the digging herself. She had been busy training her dragons nearby.

Hearing the commotion coming from the trench, she hurried over, jogging toward the pit. Peering down at the Dothraki below, she called out:

"There's no such thing as demons! Demons wouldn't dare come near a dragon, not even a long-dead one. It must just be a hum—"

She started out confident and firm, but as the group parted to reveal the twisted corpse half-buried in the brown sand, her voice faltered, and she froze in shock.

The corpse was utterly horrifying. It wasn't just a skeleton but a body curled into a fetal position, like an unborn child in a womb.

Its skin, or what remained of it, resembled purple-black demonic scales tightly wrapped around its bones. Thumb-sized, rough, bark-like scales covered its entire body in a dense, suffocating pattern.

The arms curled protectively in front of its chest were clearly arms, not some creature's claws. Yet the ten dagger-like fingers, each pointed toward the sky, looked poised to strike, as if the corpse were ready to attack at any moment.

The body was gaunt and small, resembling an emaciated child. Yet its claws, with talons stretching 20 centimeters long, were grotesquely disproportionate.

What was even more disturbing was the state of its eyes. The eyeballs hadn't decayed or weathered with time.

Deep purple orbs stared out from the sockets, encircled by a tar-like black mucus. The corpse glared at them with a venomous malice, its nearly 180-degree-wide mouth frozen in a silent scream, as if cursing them from beyond the grave.

"F,"* Daenerys cursed in her native tongue, before quickly switching to the local vernacular. "Seven hells! Ser Jorah, you're well-traveled. Do you recognize what kind of creature this is?"

She hadn't forgotten she was in a fantastical world where children of the forest and giants existed. Encountering goblins or gnolls wouldn't be entirely out of the ordinary.

Jorah, who had also been digging in the trench, stepped over to the Dothraki who had first discovered the corpse. Taking the pale bone fragment from the man's trembling hands, Jorah examined it carefully.

"Your Grace, look." He held up the bone to show Daenerys before using it to compare against the corpse's left leg. "The corpse is missing a lower leg, and this fragment fits perfectly. According to your earlier theories about the dragon's origins, a dragon must have escaped Valyria during the Doom."

"Is it possible that it was ridden by a knight when it fled?"

"The dragon was gravely injured, fell from the sky, and the knight broke his leg, causing the shinbone to separate from the corpse."

Aggo refuted this idea:

"Look at the length of the shinbone—it's far too long to match the size of that frail corpse. If this body were human, it must have belonged to a dwarf."

The shinbone, without the foot, measured over 40 centimeters, indicating its owner was once a towering figure. Meanwhile, the curled-up corpse appeared no taller than 1.2 meters.

"It's said that from the Lands of the Long Summer to the Smoking Sea where Valyria's ruins lie, the area remains under a curse," Ser Jorah remarked as he stood, his gaze heavy as it fell on Daenerys. "From Volantis to Slaver's Bay, despite the existence of the Valyrian road built during the Freehold era, travelers prefer to sail around the ruins, taking a much longer journey. That road to Mantarys has since been called the Demon Road."

"Wasn't Valyria destroyed by a volcanic eruption? What does that have to do with a curse?" Daenerys asked, puzzled.

"I don't know," Jorah replied, frowning as he speculated. "Perhaps it's the vengeful spirits of the ancient Dragonlords? It's well-known that Valyria was a civilization of dragons and blood magic."

Daenerys chuckled, pointing to the so-called "demon" corpse in the pit.

"You just claimed this 'Dragonlord' died horribly because of a curse. Isn't that contradicting yourself?"

"If it wasn't a curse, then why did not a single person or dragon escape from Valyria? Dragons can fly, after all. Lava and fire are deadly, but they wouldn't reach a dragon in the air. How could they all perish?" Jorah countered, pressing his argument.

"Maybe he was cursed and rode his dragon to Qarth to seek help from the warlocks," Aggo interjected.

Initially terrified, the Dothraki grew bolder as they watched their Khaleesi and Jorah argue over the "demon" corpse for an extended time without it reacting.

"The warlocks of Qarth are indeed renowned," Jorah said mockingly, "but their fame comes from deceiving people with fake magic. Even in Westeros, we've seen frauds with those blue-stained lips."

"Then," Aggo pondered aloud, pointing east, "perhaps he flew across the Jade Sea to the Shadow Lands, where sorcerers and shadowbinders are abundant. That witch burned by our Khaleesi learned her dark arts of communing with demons there."

"Why do you assume he was seeking help? What magic could possibly surpass Valyria's?" Jorah scoffed.

"Whether he intended to find sorcerers in Asshai or was disoriented by the volcanic fumes and flew here randomly, it doesn't concern us," Daenerys declared. She pointed at the corpse, giving her command:

"Don't touch it directly. Gather tree branches and dry grass nearby. Burn it here. The Valyrians believed in cremation, so this will honor the Dragonlord's remains."

The Dothraki immediately stopped their digging and climbed out of the pit to gather firewood.

By around nine in the morning, Daenerys's three dragons breathed fire in unison, igniting the pyre within the pit. Then, the group rested, leaning against the massive dragon's skeleton to avoid the midday sun.

Daenerys, naturally, enjoyed the most comfort. She set up camp inside the dragon's jaw. The thick skull provided ample shade, and reclining on the cleaned lower jawbone was cool, comfortable, and strangely amusing.

(End of Chapter)

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