Chapter 443: Meraxes’ Scales


    Dorne, the Southwestern Desert


    The wind and sand danced wildly, the scorching sun baked the earth, and the air seemed to sizzle with the souls of the damned.


    At the end of the desert flowed a long, winding river. The river was covered with duckweed, its surface murky and green. Whenever the wind blew, the stench of burning spread for miles.


    This river, called Brimstone, was one of the main waterways connecting the interior of Dorne to the Summer Sea. On its banks stood a tall, dark castle: Hellholt.


    "Roar!"


    The dragon''s loud roar echoed halfway down the Brimstone, and a dark reflection appeared in the yellow sand, like a slowly moving mountain. The wind blew and the gravel made a dull thundering sound.


    Cannibal revealed its true form. The green pupils of its eyes shone dangerously, and its fangs unconsciously emitted Dragonfire. Its huge body was enveloped in the yellow sand-covered road.


    Suddenly, there was a loud neighing of horses. A cavalry of 5,000 men galloped at full speed under the wide, dark wings. Each soldier half-closed his eyes to prevent the sand from getting into his eyelids, and his face was tanned and rough.


    "Hellholt!"


    Ormund rode at the front of the group, his head protected by a scarf instead of a helmet. He shouted with joy, "Hellholt is just ahead! We''ve arrived!"


    "Lord, be careful of traps!" his guards, wearing the Hightower emblem, hurriedly protected him.


    Ormund''s joy turned to sadness, and tears almost came to his eyes. He immediately began toin, "We''ve been on the run for seven days, day and night, and my butt is almost worn out."


    After settling the tens of thousands of refugees at The Prince''s Pass, they had participated in the great victory of breaking through Skyreach. Finally entering the heart of Dorne, the heir prince had intensified the war. Donald led 15,000 troops to Yronwood at the end of the Boneway, while Ormund was forced to lead 5,000 cavalry to the remote Hellholt.


    As he thought, Ormund reached into his pants and rubbed his crotch, his eyes red. "I don''t even have a son. This is just a joke."


    The guards looked at him strangely but dared not speak. Ormund wiped his eye and scolded, "There''s sand in my eye. Keep it covered up. Don''t let the wind and sand blow into my eyes."


    "Yes, my Lord."


    The guards bowed their heads, ustomed to the Lord''s arrogance.


    "Roar..."


    A piercing roar echoed ahead as a pale blue dragon silhouette burst through the yellow sand, like a mirage in the desert. The soldiers looked up, understanding the warning in the dragon''s cry.


    Rhaegar, perched on the dragon''s back, raised his eyes warily and said, "Cannibal, there is no need to lead the way anymore."


    He spoke in High Valyrian, his words faint but clear, reaching the dragon''s mind.


    "Roar!"


    Cannibal, no longer needing to control its speed, roared and pped its wings, quickly soaring into the wind.


    One kilometer outside Hellholt''s city gates, a gruesome sight blocked the only way into the city.


    The "mountain" wasn''t made of stone or mud. It was a grotesque pile of hastily skinned sheep and cattle bodies. The flesh, deteriorated and solidified, had turned a ckish-red, striking fear into the hearts of those who saw it. From a distance of over a hundred meters, a terrifying swarm of flies buzzed, covering the mountain and making itpletely air-tight.


    Hoo-hoo!


    Cannibal slowly descended, stirring up a gust of wind as itnded, rming hundreds of thousands of flies that erupted in a buzzing frenzy. Rhaegar''s brow furrowed, enduring the psychological difort of the sight.


    Dreamfyrended on the other side, carrying Hena in a light dress. She gazed at the spectacle, her eyes shing with curiosity. She said with a carefree expression, "The House Uller has fled. Are we still going into the city?"


    She seemed unfazed by the "disgusting" sight, disying more courage than the battle-hardened Rhaegar.


    "You really don''t mind being disgusted," Rhaegar said, recalling Hena''s former hobby of ying with insects. "We must enter the city and not be deterred by House Uller''s intimidation."


    A pile of rotten meat with a dead animal''s body on top didn''t scare him.


    Hena nodded and said with concern, "All the livestock taken into the city is here, and our army has no supplies."


    During the First Dorne War, the madness of the Dornish people hade to the fore. They abandoned their cities, leaving nothing behind that they couldn''t take with them. They burned grain to ash, ughtered cattle and sheep and left them to rot, and poisoned wells. Such insane acts were frequent.


    Aware of the army''s food and drink issues, Rhaegar was prepared. "The Brimstone River connects to the Summer Sea, and I have already ordered Ormund to inform Oldtown to transport food."


    The fleet of cargo ships from Oldtown travels the Summer Sea year-round, trading with the world. With Ormund stationed at Hellholt, Rhaegar wasn''t worried about Hightower''s willingness to supply.


    "Let''s go. We''ll wait for the army to enter the city."


    Seeing that Hena had dispelled her doubts, Rhaegar patted the ck dragon''s back.


    "Roar!"


    Cannibal spat a mouthful of Dragonfire onto the carnage, pped its wings, and flew away. Hena also patted Dreamfyre, and they soared towards Hellholt.


    When the cavalry arrived, they saw a green volcano in the distance. The dark green Dragonfire was highly adhesive and persistent,parable to wildfire. In the barren desert, the green fire burned for seven days and seven nights, until it had consumed thest bone of the sheep and cattle.


    ...


    Hellholt


    The banner of House Uller, "a me of alternating yellow and crimson," was taken down and reced with the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen. The army from The Reach arrived, taking over the defense of the four city walls.


    Throughout the process, the people of Dorne in the city watched intently, not making a sound. Rhaegar noticed that, just as expected, there were no strong and healthy Dornish men in this great city. The people standing in the streets and alleys were all women, children, the elderly, the weak, or disabled men.


    Ormund approached with a smirk, "It seems House Uller will not let this go."


    As everyone knew, this family had a unique reputation. Half of them were mad, and the other half were even worse.


    Rhaegar, unmoved, gave him a sideways nce and spoke sharply, "Hena and I will be leaving soon, so you''ll have to defend the city."


    "Huh?" Ormund was shocked, pointing at his own broad nose.


    Rhaegar simply ignored him.


    "Yes, that''s right," Hena said, giving a look of understanding and patting her uncle''s hand.


    As Ormund''s heart sank, the siblings walked away hand in hand, heading towards the tower of House Uller.


    ...


    Along the way, many Dornish women and children secretly watched, their expressions a mix of cowardice and hidden resentment. War had brought disaster. There was no food, no livestock, and their fathers, husbands, and sons had been forcibly conscripted.


    "This is the cruelty of war," Rhaegar epted it calmly, even considering if he should massacre the city. He had seen more hateful stares. In such situations, talking about benefits was useless. Just kill them all, he thought.


    Hena walked beside him, her head slumped and looking distracted. Rhaegar noticed and wanted tofort her, but the little girl suddenly looked up, her eyes clear and unclouded. "Beware of the beast under the floor!" she said.


    "Hena?" Rhaegar was stunned for a moment, reaching out to touch her head. Hena sidestepped and quickly walked in one direction with her head down.


    The siblings had entered the tower area. Rhaegar looked around warily, sending more soldiers to search the tower and keeping up with Hena. The little girl bypassed the dark tower, leading them to a bare estate behind the castle. She walked confidently along the cobblestone path, finding a deep dungeon under a windmill tower.


    The dungeon was five meters deep underground, with a few oilmps hanging from the walls, covered in condensation. "Water droplets?" Rhaegar muttered, keeping an eye on Hena''s movements.


    The water was cool and faintly smelled of burning. He had smelled this many times before; even the musty dungeon couldn''t hide it. Rhaegar realized, "The dungeon is connected to the Brimstone River, and the walls are damp and watery."


    "Brother, I found it," Hena suddenly interrupted his thoughts.


    "What did you find?"


    "I don''t know. I just came here in a daze."


    Hena stood in the interrogation room of the dungeon, surrounded by darkness, with only a dim oilmp hanging overhead. Rhaegar stepped forward, stroking her long, curly hair, feeling both pain and relief. The little girl had talents simr to his, including the side effect of feeling empathy for each other.


    Hena''s eyes sparkled as she enjoyed her brother''s caress. She pointed to a corner of the room and said, "There seems to be something there."


    "I''ll go and take a look." Rhaegar waved his hand, and a ball of fire ignited, lighting up the gloomy dungeon.


    In the corner, two items stood out.


    A battered, decrepit woman’s armor, badly damaged with only the breastte and half of the skirt remaining. The breastte, made of ck steel, was painted a mboyant red with a pattern of scales.


    "Targaryen armor," Rhaegar''s eyes widened.


    He had seen simr armor before. The armor worn by his aunt Rhaenys was of this type,bining the red of the Targaryens and the scales of dragons to create practical protective gear. This design originated from the sisters of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys.


    As he pondered the origin of the armor, Rhaegar felt a shock like a hammer blow and immediately turned his head to look at another object.


    In the moss-covered, dark and dim corner of the wally a silver-white humanoid object on its side.


    "Brother!" Hena’s eyes widened in surprise.


    "Yes, I see it," Rhaegar replied calmly, his eyes fixed on the object.


    It wasn’t a corpse or anything grotesque. It was a loose armor made of silver-white dragon scales. Each scale was half the size of a palm, with holes punched in them and twine used to string them together, forming a suit of armor.


    Rhaegar''s mind raced as he stepped forward to touch the silver-white scales and the red remains.


    "This exploration mission is now open. The target is the scales of Meraxes," a system prompt sounded abruptly, unexpected yet familiar.


    The system panel automatically appeared.


    Meraxes'' Scales


    Exploration progress: 0.5%


    Rhaegar closed the panel, silently fumbling with the two pieces of armor, his expression dark and uncertain.


    Hena watched from behind, sensing her brother’sbored breath. It was as if a volcano that had been dormant for many years was now releasing hatred and anger.