Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 223: Breaker of Shackles

“Ohh, charge!”

The half-giant Porus roared into the sky, swinging his warhammer to clear a path.

Rhaegar’s cold eyes scanned the area, his black robes blazing as he led his army out of the encirclement with unstoppable force.

The Lys Guard numbered in the thousands. Streets and alleys were barricaded, archers fired from above, and soldiers with swords and shields blocked their path.

Rhaegar hacked and slashed his way northward. The melee seemed endless, blood soaking his black robe, the flames around him consuming the sound of battle.

Suddenly he looked up and saw a towering white stone building with “Bank of Rogare” emblazoned across the front.

Rhaegar gasped and shouted, “Charge in, wealth is just ahead!”

“Charge!”

The Dragonkeepers’ eyes lit up, and they smashed down the gate and rushed in.

Before the battle, Rhaegar had already decided on the division of the spoils: 70% for himself, 30% for his men. In Westeros, where everything was usually confiscated, this was a generous reward.

Rhaegar followed his men into the building, his dragon claw cutting down anyone in his path. In the back of his mind, he contacted Cannibal.

At this point, victory was within his grasp. The Lys garrison had begun a counterattack, but he planned to unleash Cannibal’s Dragonfire to finish them off.

Inside the building, the dragonkeepers slaughtered the staff and found a treasure trove in the basement. The black iron gates resisted their efforts.

“Get out of the way, Porus will try.”

Seeing that the Dragonkeepers couldn’t open the door, the half giant pushed them aside and bent down to enter the secret passage.

He swung his warhammer with brute force, the black iron gate groaning under the assault, the walls shaking and spraying sand and debris.

Bang…… bam……

After dozens of hammer blows, the gate could no longer withstand the force. It creaked, and finally collapsed, taking part of the stone wall with it.

The half-giant’s hammer had shattered the wall, filling the basement with smoke and dust. The Dragonkeepers rushed into the vault, their eyes widening at the sight of gold.

“Seven hells! So much gold..”

Trangal, the first to enter, stared in shock at the piles of gold coins and bricks, his jaw almost dropping.

“Move it!”

Someone shouted, and the Dragonkeepers sprang into action, shoveling gold coins and bricks into their arms. When their arms were full, they stuffed gold into their waistbands and crotches.

The locks on the chests were broken, revealing more gold, silver, and jewels. The first to grab a share carried dozens of pounds of gold as they ran out, with more Dragonkeepers following close behind.

Before long, only dusty footprints remained in the vault. Even the chests were taken by the Dragonkeepers.

Outside the Bank of Rogare

Lys guards converged from all directions, surrounding the building. Thousands of archers hid in the shadows, bows drawn, ready to unleash a hail of arrows. The doors of the building were shut tight, but inside the triumphant shouts of the Dragonkeepers echoed through the halls.

Rhaegar, hidden by the dim night, peered through a floor-to-ceiling glass window. A sneer formed on his lips. “You dare to come? Then don’t expect to leave.”

A gust of wind swept through the area, parting the dark clouds to reveal a sliver of bright moonlight. A black dragon’s shadow loomed overhead.

“Roar…”

The dark green dragonfire descended with a roar, mercilessly bombarding the lines outside the building.

“Ah!……”

“The black dragon is here, run away…”

Cannibal circled the building, unleashing Dragonfire. The green flames traced a huge circle, leaving charred bodies and endless screams in its wake.

Ninety percent of the Lys guards perished, their deaths agonizing. Those who survived the initial assault were soon caught in the spreading flames, ignited by contact with burning people or buildings. The green dragonfire clung like a curse, consuming flesh and bone.

The doors of the building swung open. Rhaegar emerged, silver hair drenched in blood, eyes cold and piercing. His black robe billowed in the wind as he surveyed the sea of fire, sword in hand. The archers, momentarily stunned, drew their bows and fired.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh…

Arrows rained down, aiming directly at Rhaegar. But Cannibal swooped past, a wall of searing green Dragonfire erupting in front of the building. The arrows ignited mid-air, disintegrating into ash before they could reach their target.

Rhaegar raised his sword, pointing at the surrounding skyscrapers. “Dracarys!” he commanded in High Valyrian.

Cannibal responded instantly, spewing Dragonfire that engulfed the high buildings, collapsing structures, and setting everything ablaze. In mere moments, the entire area was reduced to scorched ruins.

Stepping through the burning green flames, Rhaegar shouted, “Everyone, follow me! We’re heading to the Rogare garrison!”

The Rogare House had built their garrison and bank close to each other. Leading his troops, Rhaegar swiftly turned a corner and kicked open the solid wooden courtyard door of the Rogare residence. The Dragonkeepers stormed in.

The courtyard, already ravaged by Dragonfire, lay mostly in ruins. The Rogare family had fled, leaving their slaves behind to die. Rhaegar ordered the slaves freed, allowing them to leave on their own.

Rhaegar then led a search through the mansion. In their haste, the fleeing Rogare family had abandoned many valuables, which the Dragonkeepers eagerly seized.

“Prince, a treasure trove has been discovered!” a Dragonkeeper shouted in surprise.

Rhaegar approached a luxurious pavilion with flowing water, but suddenly, the space wrist on his arm buzzed twice. Startled, he retrieved a glowing scroll from his spatial bracelet—the [Mysterious Scroll].

Rhaegar raised his eyebrows slightly as he unfolded the yellowed leather scroll. It emitted a faint glow, outlining a line that turned into close coordinates.

Comparing the surroundings, Rhaegar pointed directly at the flowing water pavilion, his mind flashing back to his earlier exploration of Blackfyre and instantly understood the situation.

Inside the Water Pavilion were relics from ancient Valyria, a discovery that thrilled him, though he hadn’t anticipated what came next.

Upon entering, a secret passageway revealed itself beneath the stone table. The Dragonkeepers who discovered it were the first to venture in, torches in hand.

Excited voices soon echoed, “Prince, we’ve found a treasure trove of fine artifacts and even a Valyrian steel sword!” With those words, a Dragonkeeper appeared, clutching a rustic longsword that resembled a half-sword.

“Excellent work. Remember to claim your reward,” Rhaegar praised, accepting the longsword with great interest. Its appearance was unassuming, the blade adorned with a dragon motif, its eyes two rice-sized rubies.

When the longsword was sheathed, its cold sheen and rippling water-like patterns left no doubt – it was Valyrian steel.

In the next moment, the Exploration System emitted a series of beeps, resonating in Rhaegar’s ears.

“This exploration mission is now active. The target: the Valyrian steel sword, Truth.”

[Truth]

Exploration progress: 0.3%

As the progress bar appeared, Rhaegar’s lips curled upward, his excitement growing.

Without hesitation, he slung Truth over his back and pushed the exploration forward.

“Search thoroughly, retreat in ten minutes!” Rhaegar’s voice echoed loud and clear.

He lifted his gaze to the sky, witnessing its chaotic and dim appearance as the crescent moon descended.

Dawn was approaching; it was time to evacuate Lys.

Thirty minutes later, the scattered group reassembled at Lys Harbor.

Rhaegar scanned the gathering.

Be it the Dragonkeepers, the Second Sons, or the Knights of the Vale, all were adorned with blood, their armor laden with spoils.

“We’ve lost a few hundred,” Rhaegar noted, recognizing the absence of some familiar faces.

Approaching him, Robb, his visage obscured by blood, reported solemnly, “Many were ambushed; it was a hard-fought escape.”

Acknowledging the situation with a nod, Rhaegar ordered, “Board the ships swiftly; we depart immediately.”

In an orderly manner, starting with the Dragonkeepers who boasted the richest haul, the soldiers embarked.

Scores of slaves surrounded them, kneeling on the harbor, yearning to accompany the departing group.

“Your Grace?” Robb hesitated.

Observing the tired, bloodied slaves, some wielding crude weapons, others carrying the heads of the wealthy, Rhaegar paused for a moment.

Then he declared with a determined voice, “If you seek freedom, fight for it yourselves. Unburnt ships await in the harbor; set sail for Westeros. The Targaryens welcome those who refuse slavery!”

With that, he instructed, “Set sail, leaving one ship to slow down and allow the slave ships to keep pace.”

Filled with admiration, Robb replied, “Yes, Prince.

The slaves, stirred by the prospect of liberation, surged into the sea and swam to the saved ships. Many wept and bowed in awe, chanting, “The Dragonlord… Breaker of Shackles…”

Hearing their cries, Rhaegar’s heart stirred with an unfamiliar emotion. He was not naturally compassionate, but he abhorred the institution of slavery. To give them a chance to fight for their freedom felt right.

The warships departed, leaving the ruins of Lys – once prosperous, now reduced to rubble and ash – in their wake. Lys’ decline from a leading free trade city-state to the bottom of the barrel would be swift.

On the deck, Rhaegar gazed into the distance as the warm sun rose above the horizon, dispersing the darkness of the night.

Calling to Robb, who was overseeing the preparations, Rhaegar announced, “I will take a stroll through the Kingdom of the Daughters. You will sail straight back to King’s Landing.”

“Prince…” Robb tried to dissuade him.

Rhaegar brushed aside his concerns and said firmly, “This marks the return of the dragons to Essos; Lys alone will not be enough.

Robb had no room to argue as Cannibal swooped down, its powerful gusts propelling the ship forward.