Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 437: The Dragon Battles in the Wild

The ruins of Doom were immense, sprawling far and wide, and the two of them flew low to get a closer look. This proximity distracted them, and they failed to notice where the danger came from.

Suddenly, the riders on the dragon’s back looked up and saw a massive swarm of blood-red flying insects hurtling toward them. Despite being called insects, these creatures were far larger than typical bugs—each was roughly the size of a rabbit.

What made Viserys categorize them as insects were their wings. These translucent appendages, veined like blood vessels, were elongated and thin, resembling mosquito wings magnified hundreds of times. The swarm, dense and crimson, resembled a blood mist, skillfully splitting into two groups to encircle Viserys and Valsha individually.

As the creatures drew closer, Viserys observed their peculiar mouthparts, which reminded him of Firewyrms he had encountered before. Their round mouths were flanked by several tentacle-like appendages, likely sensory organs.

When facing insects, fire is often the first thought.

“Draca…” Viserys began to command his mount to unleash dragonfire, but his words trailed off. Something felt wrong. Could these creatures be connected to the attack on Princess Aerea?

He recalled the horrifying account of a parasite that had infested Aerea’s body. The Maester's records described how they submerged Aerea, feverish and delirious, into icy water, forcing a swarm of slender parasites to emerge from her skin.

Even Balerion, the Black Dread, bore a jagged wound, which Viserys had long suspected resulted from a powerful assault. However, he noted that such parasites could also cause similar wounds. Their larvae migrated within a host's body, creating ulcers that eventually became jagged scars.

These blood-red insects were clearly unbothered by heat; they seemed to thrive in it. Quickly strategizing, Viserys commanded the yellow dragon to beat its wings fiercely, generating powerful gusts. The plan worked. The blood-mist-like swarm scattered as if a colossal fan had sliced through smoke. Many of the flying insects, unable to maintain their flight, tumbled to the ground in disarray.

Even so, Viserys didn’t lower his guard. He directed the yellow dragon to ascend rapidly into the sky. Though the insects were fast, their bulky forms limited their altitude. Sure enough, once they reached 400 or 500 meters, the insects ceased their pursuit, unable to climb higher.

Now at a safe height, Viserys turned his attention to Valsha. She was in dire straits. The red swarm had nearly engulfed her, and her dragon was struggling. Instead of fire, the creature exhaled only grayish-brown smoke. It was then that Viserys realized Valsha’s dragon couldn’t breathe fire at all. It couldn’t even roar, merely wheezing as it grappled with the insects.

Watching her four awkward gray dragons flounder, Viserys shouted, “Valsha! Fly higher!”

He was prepared to intervene. After all, Valsha was a guest he had personally invited, and if she were injured, he wouldn’t hesitate to help. Hearing his call, Valsha urged her dragon upward.

Just then, a loud dragon roar split the air, startling both riders.

“It’s Hali! What is that girl doing here, of all times?” Viserys’ heart sank. Trouble. His first thought was how much he’d need to scold her later.

But before he could dwell on it, his focus shifted. Three dragons emerged into view, none belonging to him.

The dragon at the center was bronze, flanked by one to the left, a rust-red, and one to the right, a striking purple. Each carried a rider, their silhouettes cutting through the sky.

House Sennesta?!

The three riders hovered before Viserys and his yellow dragon, their features unmistakable under the sunlight. Silver-haired with piercing purple eyes, they were true Valyrians, every bit as striking as the legends suggested.

“You are Viserys Targaryen?” the leader asked, his tone sharp.

Viserys, surprised that they knew his name, quickly reasoned that it wasn’t unusual. If they had been in contact with Shiera or Shiree, his identity would have been easy to ascertain.

The leader, who rode the bronze dragon, wore a ruby-red hairband that gleamed against his deep purple eyes. His gaze was icy, while the two knights flanking him—a rider of a rust-red dragon and one of a purple dragon—watched Viserys with thinly veiled contempt.

Viserys chose to stay composed. Though his side had more dragons, the advantage was questionable. Valsha’s control over her dragons was far from proficient; the four gray beasts under her command moved clumsily, as though impaired.

It was like pitting a healthy warrior against three well-trained opponents while being burdened by four injured allies. At best, her dragons were liabilities.

“Yes, my lords,” Viserys answered evenly, keeping his tone polite. He was about to explain his purpose when Valsha interrupted sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

She flew up to Viserys’s right, glaring at the trio with unrestrained anger.

“Are you from House Sennesta?”

Her tone was accusatory, and Viserys noticed her condition for the first time. Her face and arms were covered in red welts, no doubt from the bites of those blood-red insects earlier.

The rider on the purple dragon—his delicate, almost feminine features framed by flowing silver hair—smirked as he gathered his hair over one shoulder.

“Who are you?” he asked dismissively.

“Admit it?” Valsha hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “I am Valsha of Chroyane. You destroyed Chroyane and killed my family!”

The three knights exchanged amused glances. Then the purple dragon rider replied mockingly, “Who?”

Valsha’s eyes went bloodshot as she screamed in rage, charging at them with her four gray dragons.

Viserys clenched his teeth. He had known this confrontation was inevitable the moment he told Valsha about House Sennesta’s rumored presence in the Ruins of Doom. Now, there was no stopping her.

As he prepared to intervene, the bronze dragon knight with the ruby-red hairband maneuvered to block his path, holding up a pamphlet in one hand.

“You wanted to see me. Where are you going?” he asked with a smirk.

The ruby-haired knight’s confidence was unnerving. Although Viserys’s yellow dragon was larger and theoretically more powerful, the knight’s demeanor suggested he was certain of victory.

The dragons clashed with a deafening impact, their sturdy hind legs testing each other’s strength. The yellow dragon, larger and stronger, managed to shove its opponent off balance. But the bronze dragon, under the knight’s expert control, recovered with astonishing speed, lunging for the yellow dragon’s left wing.

The attack was so swift that Viserys could barely react. A chunk of wing, the size of a basin, was torn away, and the yellow dragon let out a pained roar, its green, gem-like eyes blazing with fury.

Dark flames erupted from its jaws, but the bronze dragon evaded them with ease.

“Viserys, do you know how old my dragon is?” the ruby-haired knight taunted. “One hundred and sixteen years. How old is yours? Sixteen?”

One hundred and sixteen years? Viserys thought, his mind racing. How could a dragon that old be just twenty meters long?

Distracted, he glanced toward Valsha. One of her gray dragons had lost a wing and was plummeting toward the ground, while another was pinned under a red dragon’s talons. Valsha herself was in terrible shape, her body scorched and her dragon struggling to stay aloft.

It was chaos—like watching two martial artists toy with a pack of wounded dogs.

Sensing Viserys’s distraction, the ruby-haired knight seized the moment. The bronze dragon lunged forward again.

“Since you’re here for the bones,” the knight sneered, “you’d better get down on the ground!”