Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 438: The Dragon Battles in the Wild II

Viserys quickly realized that his dragon-fighting skills were no match for his opponent’s expertise. Growing up among the skies filled with Targaryen dragons, he had never needed to practice air combat, much less anticipate encountering other dragons in the Ruins of Doom.

As for why the other knight’s dragon was over a century old but only twenty meters long, that was a mystery for another time. Right now, he needed to compensate for his lack of skill with his other talents.

He reached for his Dragonbone bow, nocking an arrow with practiced speed.

Whoosh!

A white streak flew through the air toward the Bronze Dragon’s eye. The red-haired knight sneered as he maneuvered his dragon to evade the projectile, closing the gap between them rapidly.

Though the knight had noticed Viserys's lack of aerial combat prowess, he still maintained caution, his skill far outmatching Viserys’s. Within seconds, the distance between the two was reduced to a mere hundred meters—a fleeting moment at such speeds.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Viserys loosed three more arrows in quick succession. One was dodged, while the other two struck the Bronze Dragon's head. However, the arrows failed to penetrate its hardened, century-old scales.

The distance between them dwindled to less than ten meters, close enough for their hair to whip in the wind around their faces. The ruby-haired knight’s dark purple eyes gleamed with excitement. It was his chance to truly test his dragon in battle.

The Bronze Dragon lunged, its massive maw lined with jagged teeth capable of tearing through an elephant. Its red-black tongue lashed forward, and the acrid stench of sulfur filled the air.

But before the beast could snap its jaws shut, Viserys whipped out two long-barreled muskets from behind him.

A flicker of doubt passed through the knight’s eyes, but there was no time to react.

Bang! Bang!

Two bursts of flame erupted from the musket barrels, followed by plumes of white smoke. Blood sprayed from the Bronze Dragon's mouth, staining its teeth red.

The makeshift firearms, though rudimentary compared to modern designs, were effective. If Viserys had been able to machine rifled barrels, he wouldn’t have had to get this close for the shot.

The wounds weren’t fatal, but they were enough to throw the Bronze Dragon off balance. Its movements grew erratic, and the Yellow Dragon seized the opening, biting down hard on its throat.

The Bronze Dragon reflexively kicked out with its hind legs, trying to shake the Yellow Dragon loose, but its unbalanced state left it vulnerable. Viserys took the opportunity to hurl one of the muskets directly at the knight’s head.

The weapon’s butt struck the ruby-encrusted hairband with a sharp crack, sending the knight reeling. His vision darkened, and he lost consciousness, slumping against his dragon’s saddle.

From Viserys’s vantage point, the knight and his Bronze Dragon were in freefall. The Yellow Dragon kept its grip on the Bronze Dragon’s throat, shaking violently as blood sprayed in scalding streams. Within moments, the Bronze Dragon’s strength faded, its dying wails reverberating through the air.

The sound drew the attention of the other two knights battling Valsha.

By now, Valsha had only two of her four dragons left. One of them had its right hind leg torn off at the hip. Despite the grievous injury, the gray dragon stayed aloft, likely due to its diminished pain sensitivity. Otherwise, it would have crashed long ago.

“You actually killed Kynar!” the knight on the purple dragon shouted, his face contorted with fury. The cold beauty of his features twisted into a menacing snarl. His frozen blue-violet eyes burned with rage.

Viserys, however, spared no time for conversation. He didn’t care about Kynar or the knight’s anger. This was a fight for survival, and he had his own tactics to employ.

Reaching into the saddlebag strapped to the Yellow Dragon, Viserys retrieved three Molotov cocktails. With precision born of urgency, he hurled them toward the Purple Dragon Knight.

The knight instinctively dodged, but the projectiles exploded midair, unleashing bright yellow-green flames that bloomed like fiery chrysanthemums.

The Molotov cocktails contained a sticky, adhesive substance that clung to whatever it touched. The knight and his dragon were instantly engulfed in flames, the fire spreading rapidly across their bodies.

The knight screamed in pain as the inferno consumed him, his purple dragon thrashing wildly in the air. The bright, burning spectacle illuminated the battlefield, turning the tide decisively in Viserys’s favor.

“Wildfire! How dare you use wildfire during a dragon fight, you madman!”

The Purple Dragon Knight’s voice rang out, a mixture of shock and fury. He knew the risks. Wildfire, infamous for its volatile nature, was almost suicidal to use near dragons. The natural body temperature of a dragon, anywhere between 40 to 60 degrees Celsius, made its presence a dangerous gamble.

Only Dany, the Unburnt, could wield such fire without risk—but Viserys wasn’t Dany.

Unbeknownst to the knight, Viserys had used a diluted form of wildfire, focusing on its sticky properties rather than its extreme heat. Though less intense than traditional wildfire, it was still potent enough to overwhelm anyone without fire immunity.

The flames that clung to the Purple Dragon Knight’s body threw him into disarray, disrupting his control over his mount. Viserys seized the opportunity, drawing his bow and firing a well-aimed shot.

The arrow struck true, piercing the knight’s brow. His body slumped lifelessly in the saddle, and his dragon, now free from its rider’s influence, transformed into a wild and feral beast.

Wasting no time, Viserys retrieved the Dragon’s Horn from his saddle.

The pitch-black horn gleamed with a warm, eerie luster as he blew into it. A deep, resonant sound echoed across the battlefield, and golden runes on the horn flared to life, one after another, radiating light.

The purple dragon’s obsidian-like eyes grew hazy, as if caught in a trance. Without hesitation, Viserys leaped from the back of his yellow dragon onto the purple dragon’s broad, flame-scorched shoulders.

He channeled the soul of an Undying One into the dragon’s body, a risky but calculated move. Almost immediately, a piercing, inhuman scream erupted in his mind, a testament to the Undying One’s inability to control the dragon’s primal essence. The soul burned away, consumed by the creature’s innate power.

Despite the backlash, the effect was clear—the dragon feared Viserys now and hesitated to defy him. With this tenuous control, the battlefield shifted dramatically. What had been a lopsided 5-on-3 fight was now a 4-on-1 advantage for Viserys and Valsha.

The last of the Sennesta knights, the rider of the red dragon, was visibly shaken. His expression turned grim as he watched Viserys’s audacious maneuver. Without wasting another second, he wheeled his dragon away from the battlefield, retreating into the distance.

Viserys prepared to give chase, but Valsha’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t bother. He won’t last long,” she said weakly.

Valsha’s gray dragon couldn’t breathe fire, but it exhaled a mist laced with a strengthened form of grayscale. The red dragon and its rider had been exposed to this toxic fog, and it wouldn’t be long before the disease rendered them both incapable of fighting—or surviving.

Viserys paused, calculating his next move. The outcome of the battle had been decisive, but questions lingered. How many more dragons did House Sennesta possess? If this had been their full force, then the next challenge lay in dealing with the blood-red insects that plagued the ruins.

Despite the looming uncertainties, the victory had its rewards. Capturing a dragon—a stunning purple one, no less—was an extraordinary feat. The purple dragon reminded him of a lost opportunity he had once mourned: the inability to secure the purple dragon egg fossil from the Roth family. Today, that regret was replaced by triumph.

But as the thrill of victory settled, Viserys noticed something alarming. Valsha, still perched on her gray dragon, began to sway unsteadily.

Oh no!

The memory of the blood-red flying insects from earlier struck him like a thunderbolt. The bites!