Chapter 50: We Are True Dragons, Not Chattel Dogs

Aegon had also received the "negative S" talent, though his physical transformation had yet to begin. Under the surge of powerful immortal substance, the minus sign in front of "-S" vanished in an instant.

[S-Class – Life Code: Your genetic code has been shattered by a certain magical element. You will randomly gain a talent with infinite growth potential; your race will no longer limit your evolution—you have broken the shackles of passive existence and unlocked the path of active evolution.]

[A-Class – Ascension Stairway: You have gained immortality. Your lifespan will no longer bring death, but instead fuel your growth. With each passing year, your vitality increases by 10%.]

Happiness came too suddenly, Aegon thought, excitement surging through him. It felt like a leap straight into immortality.

Pan was still staring at him, dazed and bewildered, clearly unsure of what had just occurred.

Suppressing the rush of excitement in his chest, Aegon turned to Pan and asked, "You told Daenys you planned to destroy the gods beyond the stars. Is that really possible? That kind of infinite source… how could humans ever hope to defeat it?"

Pan frowned, but still answered. "Within this absorption array, I'll keep drawing on the Outer God's power until my strength surpasses His. After countless ages, I'll be able to destroy His body with my own hands."

The Targaryen dynasty had lasted barely three hundred years. For ordinary mortals, such a vision was incomprehensibly distant. Only someone like Pan—an Outer God's chosen, who had lived for millennia—could speak with such confidence.

The pillar of flesh continued to rise slowly, reaching the same height as the Fourteen Flames.

Aegon could now clearly sense that with his current strength, he might be able to fight Pan. If he could just shatter the crystal orb that housed Pan's essence, he might have a real chance to kill him.

That thought pushed Aegon to shift, lifting his hips, preparing to stand.

But the moment he moved, a monstrous roar erupted from the abyss below, and the steep, mountain-sized pillar of flesh began to tremble violently.

Pan immediately thrust out both palms in alarm, motioning for Aegon to stop.

"Don't get off the Valyrian Steel Throne!" he shouted. "You fifteen Dragon Pillars are the critical energy nodes sustaining the seal on the Outer God beyond the stars. Lose even one node, and the entire seal collapses. If that thing escapes the abyss, the whole world will fall into ruin!"

Aegon froze in place, stunned. "What did you say? The world… destroyed? That Outer God is really that powerful?!"

Pan nodded gravely.

"During the Age of Heroes, the Bloodstone Emperor of the Great Empire of the Dawn acquired only a sliver of its flesh—just like we Valyrian bloodmages did. With that fragment came a trace of the Outer God's twisted, forbidden knowledge. And even that was enough to earn him the wrath of the gods."

"What we bloodmages possess now… it's far greater than what the Bloodstone Emperor ever touched."

"To root out the cult of the Outer God and erase its corrupting knowledge, the gods waged a war that lasted thousands of years—the Long Night. Killing the Bloodstone Emperor wasn't enough. They knew the faith and the knowledge had to be purged to the root, or the Outer God would one day fully descend into this world."

"A monster that even the gods fear—do you really think I'm being dramatic?"

Aegon's brow furrowed.

"So you foresaw in a Dragon Dream that the gods would unleash another Long Night… and that's why you engineered this whole scheme? You planned to use the entire Valyrian race as a sacrifice—to seal and weaken the Outer God?"

He snorted.

"Hah. Sounds more like you were chasing your own dream of godhood."

Pan looked up slightly, a hint of weariness flashing in his eyes.

"It's come to this. You can believe whatever you want."

With that, he slowly walked toward the edge of the metal platform, his expression tinged with melancholy. By now, the flesh pillar had risen high enough to overlook much of the peninsula.

Pan stood there in silence, staring at the ruins of Valyria—at the shattered city, the fractured land. The once-mighty peninsula had been reduced to broken isles, its northern arm torn into pieces by the encroaching sea.

"I can't just sit in this chair forever," Aegon said.

Pan didn't turn around.

"If you want to end all life in this world, then go ahead. Jump off the platform right now."

His voice was cold and unyielding.

Aegon's lips quivered slightly. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He could only sigh heavily and, after a long moment, reluctantly sat back down in the chair.

The two of them remained locked in silence atop the metal platform, time slipping by like grains of sand.

Aegon's body continued to grow—stronger, taller. He was now over three meters high, yet there was no joy in his eyes. He kept glancing toward Pan's back, hoping—waiting—for some kind of shift.

Pan stood motionless at the platform's edge, like a statue carved from ice, silently watching the devastated world beyond.

As the sun and moon passed for the third time, a quiet procession of humans appeared in the ruins of Valyria—thousands strong, dressed in robes of many colors, their garments marking them as high-ranking priests.

They moved like ghosts across the land, swift and agile, racing over terrain ravaged by the corruption of the Outer Gods.

From high above, Aegon and Pan spotted them immediately.

"Dogs of the gods," Pan spat with venom, his face twisted in loathing.

Aegon turned his head slightly, eyeing Pan with a puzzled look. "Didn't you once claim to be the chosen one, favored by the gods? Why such disgust toward their priests now?"

Pan's expression was calm as he answered, "I was never more than a partner of convenience. The gods are obsessed with eradicating the forbidden knowledge and faith tied to the Outer Gods—but the immortal divine essence they wield? That, both the gods and I desire."

"They're about to enter the Fourteen Flames," Aegon said, eyes fixed on the rapidly advancing figures, swarming like ants across the ground.

Pan sighed softly, then turned back, his gaze resolute as he looked at Aegon.

"I'll stop them. Don't you dare move from here. No matter what you think of me—whether I'm a selfish, power-hungry schemer, a selfless savior, or a ruthless executioner...

Remember this: we are true dragons, not hounds of the gods."

Aegon stared at him, speechless, mouth slightly open, unable to form a reply. His eyes were full of conflicted emotion.

The crystal orb that had housed Pan's soul, hovering above all this time, slowly descended, merging silently into the avatar Pan had manifested. His figure became more solid, its surface shimmering faintly like glazed glass.

Then, under Aegon's complicated gaze, Pan leapt decisively from the metal platform.

A legendary, soul-shaking battle began—but Aegon couldn't see it clearly. The fight raged directly beneath the pillar of flesh, where Pan confronted the priests of the gods.

Explosions thundered without pause, bursts of divine radiance flaring again and again as the gods manifested their powers. The light was so intense that even Aegon, high above, had to squint. The shockwaves from their battle shook the flesh pillar violently.

Again and again, Aegon fought the urge to rise from the Valyrian Steel Throne, to plunge down and join Pan in this ferocious war. But every time he so much as lifted himself from the seat, the pillar beneath him convulsed violently.

He could feel it—each time he shifted, a vast and terrifying force surged up from the depths of the abyss. The mental pressure pouring out was like a tidal wave, immense beyond imagination. This overwhelming force, sealed within the abyss, was desperately trying to break free.

It felt, at times, as if an unspeakable eye was staring up at him from the deep, chilling him to the bone.

The battle raged for a full hour. Aegon couldn't see how it unfolded—but he knew the outcome.

Pan had won.

But at a terrible cost.

A mutilated hand, fingers missing, clawed its way up the edge of the metal platform.

Pan dragged himself up with great effort. His once-grand crimson robes were shredded and ruined. His body, like a cracked porcelain vessel, was riddled with fractures. He looked as if a gust of wind might shatter him entirely.

Aegon could see it clearly—embedded in Pan's translucent chest, the once-brilliant blood-red crystal orb was now only half intact, and even that was covered in deep cracks, ready to shatter at any moment.

The old Pan was gone. The majesty, the confidence—vanished. What remained was a dying flame, flickering weakly in the wind. A life on the brink.

Aegon opened his mouth, but no words came.

This old man... he had been a sage of Valyria, the architect of its destruction, and maybe—just maybe—the world's last hope. Aegon had always seen him as the final boss, the enemy he would one day have to defeat. But now, that "prey" had been taken from him—by the gods.

"Hahahaha..." Pan suddenly threw back his head and let out a wild, mournful laugh. It echoed through the empty sky, filled with bitterness and despair.

"Your vessel is broken. You're dying," Aegon said softly, a slight frown on his face, eyes tinged with reluctant sympathy.

Pan didn't seem to hear. He was lost in memory, murmuring to himself, "Do you know how I made it through these thousands of years?

From the moment I obtained the bloodmage's knowledge, more than five hundred priests of the gods came after me.

They told me—without question—that if I didn't destroy the Outer God or erase its influence, the gods would bring about another Long Night. Humanity would be wiped out.

What could I do?

What would you have done?

I had no choice but to destroy the Valyrian Freehold. And the Valyrians—they had no choice either.

I foresaw countless futures in my dreams. Every timeline ends in one of two outcomes: either the gods plunge the world into eternal night to destroy humanity, or the Outer God escapes and destroys everything.

I had no way out... I did everything I could... everything..."

He broke down completely, covering his face with both hands and sobbing uncontrollably. His grief was raw and devastating.

The crystal orb in his chest began to crack audibly—sharp clicks and snaps—as shards flaked off and scattered across the blood-flesh-carpeted platform.

Pan's fate now mirrored that of the fourteen Dragon Pillars: disintegration. Only the method differed.

Aegon stood in silence for a long while, then finally said, softly:

"We are true dragons, not dogs."

Pan's sobbing faded. Those words—like recognition, like affirmation—cut through his despair like a shaft of light. A flicker of peace returned to his eyes. At least now, he had seen the only hope left for the Valyrian people.

Slowly, Pan lowered his hands, raising his cracked and broken face. With the last spark of his essence, he activated his prophetic sight one final time and looked at Aegon.

And he saw—

A moment in the distant future.

Aegon sat tall on a towering iron throne, forged from countless blades—swords, daggers, spears—all dripping with blood, radiating a chilling aura.

The corpses of gods were impaled on the highest blades. The Lion of Night. The Old Gods. The Storm God, the Drowned God, the Many-Faced God... even the Maiden-Made-of-Light. They hung there side by side, like butchered livestock, joined by bizarre and foreign gods: the Great Shepherd, the Black Goat, the Three-Headed God, Bakkalon the Pale Child, and the Butterfly God of Naath.

Elder Pan, in that moment, wept tears of joy...