**Chapter 226: The "Truth" of History**
One day later.
Dragonstone, Dragon Mountain.
"Hiss... screech..."
A sleek, gray silhouette paused atop a black stone peak, its slender neck stretching as its vertical pupils darted around warily.
Beside it.
A much larger predator, at least twice its size, lay sprawled on the ground. Its green slit-like eyes remained shut, its long dragon tail drooping over the edge of the cliff.
The two dragons lay close, separated only by a flat slab of mountain rock.
Rhaegar, draped in a tattered black robe, his smooth silver hair cascading down, lay flat on the rock, snoring deeply.
Beneath his head, he rested on the slender tip of the gray dragon's tail.
A warm summer breeze swept through, rustling his robe slightly, revealing a dark sword hilt nestled against his chest.
Just yesterday—
Rhaegar, along with his two dragons, launched an attack on the three Free Cities under the rule of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters: Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh.
Countless slaves revolted, rising against the oppressive slave-holding cities.
But, of course, that wasn't the most important part.
After this battle, the power of the Three Daughters had significantly diminished, leaving them incapable of waging war on the Stepstones any longer.
That night, Rhaegar returned to Dragonstone and spent the night resting on Dragon Mountain.
Don't ask why he didn't return to the castle—
The attack had gone too smoothly, leaving him feeling strangely out of place. He wasn't ready to see his father or Rhaenyra just yet.
"Snore..."
Rhaegar slept soundly, his breathing steady.
Unbeknownst to him, a dream suddenly took shape.
Gentle waves rippled, and a cool breeze swept through.
An island city emerged, resting in the Summer Sea.
The island's climate was mild, with abundant sunlight, fertile land, and lush palm trees and fruit-bearing plants.
The ocean shimmered a deep green, with fish occasionally leaping from the surface.
Within the dream, Rhaegar gazed at the island city, his vision slowly drawing closer.
The island's inhabitants had striking blue eyes and platinum-blond curls, their skin smooth and flawless.
Alongside them, a large number of impoverished slaves with diverse skin tones and hair colors toiled.
With a single glance, Rhaegar recognized the place—
"Lys!"
"Screeeech!!"
A piercing dragon's cry suddenly rang out, echoing across the vast sea.
Rhaegar's heart clenched. His vision zoomed in once more.
Inside the city, within a sealed circular structure—
A massive dragon, its scales gleaming silver, struggled within the confines of the narrow space. Shackles bound its neck and legs, restricting its movements.
"Kill it!"
"Slay the demon dragon!"
A frenzied mob swarmed into the building, wielding axes, spears, and various other weapons.
They screamed and roared, their faces twisted with rage, as they charged at the dragon.
Among them were both slaves and soldiers.
The dragon flapped its wings violently, releasing a torrent of dragonfire. A great number of people were reduced to ashes.
Yet, blinded by hatred, the crowd did not retreat.
The slaves launched a suicidal assault, throwing themselves onto the dragon's body, hacking away with all their might.
Determined to pierce its scales and inflict harm.
The dragon thrashed violently, flinging bodies off like insects—many crashed onto the stone floor, dying instantly.
Flames roared like a blazing pillar, incinerating those who dared to draw near.
Yet, more and more people flooded in, hurling themselves at the dragon in a mindless frenzy.
The chaos raged until dusk.
Charred corpses and scattered limbs littered the stone floor, the acrid stench of burning flesh thick in the air.
The dragon lay on the ground, panting heavily, covered in wounds.
Additional shackles had been placed around its neck, its wing membranes pierced through by spears, further chaining it down.
And still, the frenzied crowd surged forward, continuing their relentless assault.
Axes shattered the dragon's scales, spears pierced its bleeding wounds.
"Screeech..."
With nowhere left to retreat, the dragon threw its head back and let out a desperate roar.
Crash!
Summoning all its remaining strength, it suddenly stood, ignoring the agony of torn wing membranes, snapping its chains, and leaping into the air.
Its golden eyes locked onto the domed ceiling above—
And then, it charged straight into it.
Boom!
The stone dome collapsed instantly, sending the entire structure crumbling down.
The dragon was struck by the falling debris, slamming into the ground, its scalding blood pooling like a stream.
The dragon-slayers who had sought vengeance found themselves buried beneath a mountain of rubble.
Silence.
Nothing but ruins remained.
From an outsider's perspective, Rhaegar had witnessed the entire event unfold.
He stood frozen, speechless.
And yet—
This same scene was playing out in other corners of Lys.
A young, brown-gray dragon soared unsuspectingly above the city.
Hidden below, a dozen scorpion ballistae lay in wait, their sights locked onto the creature.
Swish—
A steel-tipped spear shot through the air, piercing the young dragon's chest.
"Screeeech!"
The dragon let out a shriek of agony, its body faltering mid-flight, blood raining from its wounds as it plummeted.
More scorpion bolts fired, each one piercing deep into its body.
Until, at last, the dragon lay motionless.
A towering, luxurious palace stood in the distance—
---
A middle-aged man with silver-gold hair wore a tense expression, gripping a Valyrian steel sword tightly at his waist.
Rhaegar scanned his surroundings and immediately recognized the name of the sword.
— **Truth.**
"Hurry up! That damned Dragon King is inside!"
"Keep your voice down! Don't let him notice us…"
Murderous whispers echoed from downstairs.
"Lilyth, take your dragon and hide."
The owner of **Truth** clenched his teeth and turned to look at his young daughter.
She was a little girl with silver-gold curls and deep purple eyes.
Curled up in the corner of the bed, she hugged a small red-scaled hatchling, no larger than a housecat.
The dragonling squirmed in her arms, letting out a distressed screech, sensing the impending danger.
**Bang!**
The door was kicked open, and a squad of soldiers stormed into the room.
"Kill these remnants of the Freehold!"
"There's a demon dragon—kill the beast!"
The soldiers roared as they swarmed the owner of **Truth**, cutting him down and severing his head with a single strike.
The little girl and the red-scaled hatchling shared the same fate.
Slaughtered.
Rhaegar's brow furrowed deeply, his fists clenching.
He had a vague idea of when this dream took place.
It was after the **Doom of Old Valyria**—when the Freehold fell in a single catastrophic night.
Of the forty great Dragonlord families, only **House Targaryen**, warned by Daenys the Dreamer's prophecy, had fled to Dragonstone and escaped the cataclysm.
Yet among the other thirty-nine Dragonlord families, some members had been away from Valyria, surviving by sheer luck.
At that time, **Lys** had been a Valyrian colony—a luxurious summer retreat.
Naturally, a few lucky Dragonlords had been there, spared from the Doom.
But they had **underestimated the horrors of human nature**.
The Valyrian Freehold had enslaved Essos for centuries, and many had suffered under the rule of the Dragonlords.
When Old Valyria perished in flames, those who had been oppressed **rose in rebellion**.
The people of Lys—the freedmen and the slaves—hunted down dragons in their nests and slew them while they were defenseless.
They massacred the surviving Dragonlords who were too weak to resist.
The dream shifted.
Now, Rhaegar stood in a **Lyseni marketplace**.
Several severed heads with silver-gold hair were impaled on poles, hanging at the market's entrance.
Three dragon corpses—two large and one small—were tied to makeshift rafts and dragged out to sea, their bodies **cast into the depths**.
With that, **Lys was purged of Dragonlords and dragons alike**.
The **era of the Free Cities** had begun.
**Crack—**
The dream shattered into silence.
### **Reality.**
Rhaegar's eyelids twitched as he awoke from the dream.
**"Exploration complete. Please retrieve the lost relic."**
A system prompt echoed in his mind as he opened his eyes, letting out a low groan.
"Mm…"
His pale face was smeared with blood, his purple eyes clouded with confusion, and the dark circles beneath them made him look grim.
The **system panel** automatically appeared before him.
**[Truth]**
**Exploration Progress: 100%**
"The exploration is done…"
Running a hand through his disheveled silver hair, Rhaegar propped himself up and reached for **Truth**.
At that moment, the **dream's memories flooded back**.
Rhaegar's gaze flickered as he muttered, **"The truth of history, huh?"**
This sword had once belonged to a murdered **Dragonlord survivor** before passing through countless hands and ultimately falling into the possession of House Rogare.
"Heh. Taken from a Dragonlord, returned to a Dragonlord."
Rhaegar chuckled and shook his head.
He felt little sympathy for the slaughtered Dragonlords.
The **forty great Valyrian houses** had always been competitors—ruthless and cutthroat.
If they hadn't perished, or if they hadn't lost their dragons, then **House Targaryen**, once among the weaker houses, **would never have risen to rule Westeros**.
Lowering his gaze, Rhaegar stared at **Truth's dragon-shaped crossguard**.
Its embedded **ruby eyes glowed**, staring back at him like a living creature.
"Your house is dead. From now on, you bear the name **Targaryen**."
He muttered to himself before casually setting **Truth** aside.
Nestled in his lap was a **grapefruit-sized orb of purple light**, pulsing softly like flowing water, emitting a faint glow.
Rubbing his hands together, Rhaegar silently prayed to **Balerion the Black Dread**:
"Great Black Death, let this be a relic worth having."
He reached out and touched the orb.
**Poof—**
The light burst, scattering into tiny glowing fragments.
**"Relic acquired. Analyzing…"**
**"Analysis complete. Classification: **Epic Relic**—The Truth of History."**
Rhaegar took a deep breath and checked the relic's **triggered keywords**.
**"A tragedy buried in the river of history… awaiting vengeance from its kin."**
Rhaegar frowned, contemplating its meaning.
"**Vengeance?**"
Muttering under his breath, he wondered if **burning Lys to the ground** would qualify.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, the **relic responded with a flash of light**.
**"Congratulations. **The Truth of History** has been activated. You have acquired…"**
**[Blood Sorcery: Dragonstone]**
**Grade: Superior (Blue)**
**Effect: Harness blood magic to collect materials and forge **Black Dragonstone**.**
**Evaluation: "An ancient blood sorcery from Valyria, brimming with limitless potential."**
As the relic activated, **a flood of knowledge** about **blood sorcery** surged into Rhaegar's mind.
His body shuddered as a chill ran down his spine, sending a strange, almost intoxicating **wave of pleasure** through him.
This time, however, he remained composed.
He had learned his lesson from last time—when he **nearly lost himself** after absorbing rune magic.
Rhaegar's lips parted slightly as he savored the beauty of knowledge.
A dozen minutes later.
"Whoo~" Rhaegar exhaled a breath of turbid air, feeling refreshed and invigorated.
This pleasure, deep within his soul, was truly mesmerizing.
Raising both hands, Rhaegar glanced at them separately and smirked. "Am I a Pyromancer now, or a Blood Sorcerer?"
With a quick thought, he summoned his personal status panel.
**[Rhaegar Targaryen]**
- **Talents:** Dreamer (Gold), Pyromancer (Purple), Longevity (Green)
- **Bloodline:** Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (44%)
- **Runes:** Ouroboros (Blue), Bronze (Green)
- **Blood Sorcery:** Dragonstone (Blue)
- **Relics:** Blood and Fire as One, True Dragon's Bloodline, Dream Vision...
- **Evaluation:** "An ancient bloodline gradually mastering ancient power."
"The skills have disappeared, replaced by runes and blood sorcery."
Rhaegar murmured to himself, understanding that the rune system and blood sorcery inheritance were forms of extraordinary power—far more significant.
Through the **[Dragonstone]** inheritance, he had gained some fundamental knowledge of Blood Sorcery.
Blood Sorcerers relied on the latent magic within their bloodlines, making their heritage a strict prerequisite.
Aside from that, they ultimately followed the same path as Pyromancers.
Both were inherited legacies of the Ancient Valyrian Dragonlords, and they did not conflict with each other.
*(End of Chapter)*