Flee to the residential district!
Feeling the gust of wind behind him, as if the spinning blades of a helicopter were slashing through the air, Jacaerys did not hesitate for even a moment.
Dragging Daemon with him, he sprinted toward the cluster of homes surrounding Fishmonger's Square
If Aemond had even a shred of rationality left, he would never order Vhagar to unleash dragonfire upon a densely populated residential area.
Even if he had completely lost his mind and no longer cared about anything, the houses in King's Landing, built from solid green stone, could still serve as excellent cover.
In the Game of Thrones series, Arya had survived Drogon's fiery destruction of the city precisely because of these buildings.
Jacaerys had judged correctly!
Though Aemond was a man of violent temper and an unforgiving nature, he was not a fool. He understood all too well—if he were to recklessly kill Jacaerys and Daemon right here and now, not even Alicent or Otto would be able to protect him.
Of course, he could always choose to slay them both and then ride his dragon into exile, wandering the world.
But Aemond had never been one to settle for mere survival. He harbored grand ambitions, aspirations that reached far beyond simple vengeance.
He was the rider of Vhagar—the oldest, largest, and most formidable dragon alive!
If Aegon the Conqueror had once subdued Westeros and forged the Iron Throne with "Black Dread" Balerion at his side, then once Aemond seized that very throne, he might finally accomplish what no king before him had—subjugate Dorne once and for all.
Perhaps he could even lead his conquest beyond the Narrow Sea, bringing all Nine Free Cities under his rule.
If that day came, history would remember him as the realm's second great Conqueror!
*BOOOOM!!!*
CRASH!
Vhagar's enormous body—nearly one hundred and fifty meters in length—came crashing down onto the residential district, completely sealing off Jacaerys and Daemon's only path of escape.
More than a dozen buildings, each two or three stories tall, were instantly reduced to rubble under the dragon's weight.
Chunks of stone and shattered bricks rained down like a deadly hailstorm, sending up thick clouds of dust as they struck the ground.
Beneath the wreckage, a handful of common folks, lucky enough to have survived the initial destruction, wailed in terror, their cries for help piercing the smoke-filled air.
But Aemond cared nothing for these lowborn insects!
To him, they were like blades of grass—cut them down today, and in time, more would simply grow in their place.
The homes that were destroyed? Inconsequential. The people would rebuild, just as they always had.
"Hahaha! Jacaerys!"
His voice rang out, mocking and cruel.
"Will you come out willingly? Or shall I drive you out like a rat from its hole?"
He let out a slow chuckle before adding, "By the way, where is that little green dragon of yours? Do you think it could even serve as a single mouthful for Vhagar?"
"Don't worry! Once Vhagar has swallowed your little beast whole, I'll be sure to replace it with something far stronger—perhaps a 'Pink Dread' just for you!"
Aemond turned his dragon slightly, his voice echoing through the ruined district in flawless High Valyrian, his taunts sharp as blades.
The Pink Dread was nothing more than a fat pig, its body painted a garish shade of pink, its wings nothing but straw.
It had been used once before, as a joke, during a training session in the Dragonpit. Aegon, Luke, and the others had laughed as they presented the ridiculous creature to Aemond, mocking him for being the only one without a dragon.
That had been mere childhood teasing, but Aemond had never forgotten the humiliation. He had carried the memory with him for years, letting it fester into bitter resentment.
And now, with a single word—Strong—he twisted the insult back onto Jacaerys, ridiculing the very bloodline from which he came.
*BOOOOM!!!*
Just as he finished speaking, Aemond caught sight of several dark figures darting through the ruins. His eye narrowed.
Without hesitation, he commanded Vhagar to stretch out her right foreclaw.
CRASH!
A single swipe was all it took.
A building that had stood for decades was flattened in an instant, crushed as effortlessly as a child's toy.
The debris tumbled forward, blocking the escape route of those fleeing shadows.
Trapped, the figures fell to their knees, screaming in terror, their hands raised in desperate supplication.
But they were no warriors, no hidden threats—just a few lucky survivors who had miraculously lived through Vhagar's descent.
SQUELCH!
Vhagar's massive claw shifted ever so slightly to the side.
Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, she pressed down.
In the blink of an eye, the pitiful figures disappeared.
All that remained was a thick, red paste seeping into the cracks of the stone.
Aemond did not spare them a second glance.
He had not come here for nameless common folks.
His attention remained solely on Jacaerys. Yet, despite all his taunts and the destruction he had wrought, the boy still did not reveal himself.
Aemond frowned, his patience wearing thin. He turned his gaze toward the soldiers stationed at the district's edge—members of the City Watch, clad in their golden cloaks.
Without hesitation, he barked an order. The squads of Gold Cloaks near the residential quarter were to search every building, one by one, leaving no corner unchecked.
This particular cluster of residences was not large. At its front lay Vhagar, her immense form blocking any escape, while behind them stretched an open space known as Fishmonger's Square.
There was nowhere for Jacaerys and his companion to escape.
With alarm bells ringing and a dragon circling above, the captain of the Gold Cloaks stationed at the River Gate could no longer feign ignorance.
Thus, under the pretense of aiding Prince Aemond's search, he dispatched the majority of his men. Yet, in his heart, his decision had already been made—when Daemon and Jacaerys attempted to break through the encirclement, he would find an opportunity to turn a blind eye.
One by one, squads of Gold Cloaks entered the residential district, torches in hand, casting flickering light against the darkened buildings. Finally, those who had been lurking in the shadows—Jacaerys and his companion—were discovered.
At first, the two fought back-to-back, their swords flashing in the dim light as they fended off the attackers. But as more and more Gold Cloaks swarmed them, the two were forcibly separated, each left to fight on his own.
For Daemon, who possessed extraordinary swordsmanship and wielded the legendary blade Dark Sister, escaping alone would not have been a challenge.
However, he was determined to reunite with Jacaerys. Moreover, among the Gold Cloaks surrounding him, he recognized several familiar faces—men who had once served under him.
Yet, they did not recognize Daemon. They struck without hesitation, their swords ruthless, their attacks relentless.
Daemon, on the other hand, found himself hesitating, unable to bring himself to strike them down with full force. His reluctance to sever old ties was, in its own way, part of his unique charm.
After all, despite his long absence from King's Landing, there were still many who spoke of him with admiration, many who remained loyal and willing to fight for him.
Jacaerys, however, was different from Daemon. With the advantage of his Iron-Walled Strategist talent and the dragon-scale armor hidden beneath his robes, he cut down over a dozen Gold Cloaks. Yet, sheer numbers proved overwhelming.
They surrounded him, pressing forward in waves, and with the relentless advance of the guards, Jacaerys was forced out of the narrow alleyway of the residential district and into the open square.
Seated atop Vhagar, Aemond watched Jacaerys emerge and immediately barked an order, halting the Gold Cloaks from further attacking.
Then, he let out a triumphant laugh and called out, his voice filled with mockery, "Hahahaha! Jacaerys, scurrying around like a sewer rat, hiding in the shadows—yet in the end, you've still been forced out into the open!
You made me waste my time waiting for you. As compensation, I'll dig your eye out first!"
Jacaerys lifted his gaze slightly, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Then, he sneered coldly.
"Heh… Aemond, you've been waiting all this time just to capture me alive and take my eye.
Then tell me—what do you think I've been waiting for?"
His voice suddenly turned sharp as he roared, "Dracarys!"
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The moment Jacaerys spoke, the sound of massive wings flapping through the air came from the left. It was a sound so familiar, so unmistakable, that Aemond reacted instantly.
He did not even bother to glance up. Without wasting a second, he commanded Vhagar to lift her left foreleg, using the dragon's thick, broad wing to shield himself.
*BOOOOM!!!*
A torrent of searing orange-red dragonfire struck the very center of Vhagar's left wing membrane. The explosion of flames bloomed like a firework, illuminating the night sky over Fishmonger's Square in a dazzling glow.
*ROOooOar!!!*
Vhagar let out a piercing, anguished roar, her cry echoing through the city.
Jacaerys had learned from Lucerys' fatal mistake in the original history.
Seeing that Vhagar had shielded Aemond with her wing, he immediately commanded Vermax to adjust its attack.
The young dragon avoided the tough, green-bronze-scaled areas of Vhagar's claws and wing bones, instead focusing its fire directly on the thinner, unprotected membrane at the center of the wing.
Without the protection of hardened dragon scales—and with Vermax's Dragonslayer trait boosting its power—the flames instantly scorched the delicate wing membrane, charring it black.
In mere moments, the intense heat burned through, leaving behind a cluster of tiny holes melted by the fire.
However, Vermax had struck from a high-speed dive and could not immediately slow down to sustain the fire attack.
After only a few seconds of fiery breath, the young dragon crashed directly into Vhagar's left wing.
RIP! TEAR!
Vermax's powerful and razor-sharp hind claws drove into the freshly burned wing membrane, tearing the small holes wide open with a vicious rip.
At the same time, its two front claws latched onto the edge of Vhagar's wing bones, holding on tightly.
Then, with its fearsome head, Vermax forced its way past Vhagar's wing barrier, snapping its jaws ferociously at the rider hiding behind—Aemond himself!
A storm of fire and fangs—Jacaerys struck with ruthless precision, every move a killing blow!
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[Chapter End's]
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