Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day - Chapter 642: The Beheading of Lord Dalton

“Roar…”

The Cannibal surged ahead, and dark green dragonfire poured from its jaws like a flood, crashing onto the lead sea monster ship.

“Boom…”

The sound was like thunder as the three masts shattered in unison. Maggots of green fire crawled over every iron surface. Amidst the wailing, a bright flame was kindled on the sea.

“Damn it, run!” Dalton shouted, rolling onto the deck. As he tried to find his footing, he realized there was nowhere safe to land. The pervasive green fire clung to his armor.

“Ahhh…”

The intense heat cooked his flesh, and his exposed arm split open instantly. Dalton’s eyes went bloodshot as he yanked out Nightfall, his prized sword, and severed his left arm.

With a sickening sizzle, blood splattered as the burning armor fell away.

“Roar…”

Uragax soared into the sky, spewing torrents of green dragonfire. Its broad, milky-yellow wings swept through the chilling winds. The surrounding ships were defenseless, exploding into pieces and sinking into the sea as flames consumed them.

“Damn it, I’m Lord Dalton!” he screamed furiously, cutting down a fleeing sailor who had caught fire.

But it was too late—his ship was engulfed in flames, thick black smoke rising into the sky.

Plop!

Horrified, Dalton realized the heat had singed one of his ears. Panic took over, and he threw himself into the sea, seeking refuge in its cool depths. The Ironborn could only find fleeting safety in the water.

“Leave none alive!”

Rhaegar’s voice rang out, cold and merciless. The Cannibal’s green, slitted eyes gleamed with solemn intent as it growled, diving to crush several small boats with its hind legs.

“Dracarys!”

Helaena rode Dreamfyre into the fray, her voice echoing as pale blue flames spread across the azure waters. It had been a long time since she’d ridden a dragon into battle, and her inexperience showed as she unleashed too much force. Dreamfyre swooped eagerly, its blue flames spilling like clouds, engulfing the Ironborn who had jumped into the sea, trying to escape.

Iragaxys and Grey Ghost, smaller but no less deadly, wove between the three larger dragons, their dark dragonfire and blazing fireballs merging in a symphony of destruction.

“Where are the men?” Rhaegar scanned the battlefield from above, searching for Dalton, the Red Kraken who had inherited the Iron Islands. The Iron Islands must be destroyed, and every member of House Greyjoy executed by fire.

Thud!

A heavy drumbeat reverberated from the horizon. A well-equipped fleet emerged, sails flying the sigils of the lion, the green tower, and the purple grapes. It was a coalition of the Westerlands, the Reach, and the houses of Lannister, Hightower, and Redwyne.

Rhaegar glanced at the approaching fleet and shouted to his eldest son, who was circling on his own dragon, “Burn all the ships and wait for me to return!”

“Roar…”

Before Baelon could respond, the telepathic Cannibal lunged forward, heading straight for the Iron Islands.

…

Old Wyk.

Dalton swam all the way back to Pyke, dragging himself to the small boat he had hidden on the beach earlier. Exhausted but determined, he rowed toward his destination: Old Wyk.

“Ho-ho…”

He gasped for breath as he crawled onto the shore, collapsing in the rolling tide. His body burned with exhaustion, but the cool waves provided some relief. Yet the salt in the water stung his torn skin, sending jolts of unbearable pain through his body.

“Aagh! Damn the dragons!”

With seawater filling his remaining ear, Dalton’s will to survive forced him to crawl up the beach. If he didn’t escape soon, he knew death would catch up to him.

Under the Nagga Terrace on Old Wyk lay a secret passage where he had stashed gold and jewels looted over the years. With the Iron Islands in ruins, he had to secure the treasure.

Run, I must run, he thought, his eyes bloodshot as he staggered up the hill. Once he reached Braavos, he would deposit the gold in the Iron Bank and hire a new band of cutthroats to rebuild his life.

Boom!

A fierce wind swept over the island, and a black dragon, as massive as a mountain, blocked out the sun. Its shadow engulfed Old Wyk.

Rhaegar, seated upon the beast, looked down from above, seeing nothing but the barren island below. The most striking feature was the Nagga’s towering ribs, standing tall on the hill like relics of a long-forgotten era.

“Does the skeleton of a sea dragon count as a relic?” Rhaegar muttered, tapping the dragon’s back to signal his descent.

Legends spoke of a great sea dragon that once roamed Westeros’s shores, so large it could swallow the sun and feed on krakens and sea beasts. Its maw was said to be wide enough to engulf an entire island. The Grey King of the Iron Islands had fought this beast for three days and nights, beheading it with his sword. The Nagga’s 44 ribs were used as pillars for his palace, its skull fashioned into a throne, and its towering teeth embedded in his crown.

They said the blood of the Nagga could keep a flame burning forever, but after the Grey King’s death, the Drowned God extinguished the last embers of that fire.

“What a show. Those ribs are no bigger than Cannibal’s,” Rhaegar sneered as he surveyed the scene. The Nagga’s remains paled in comparison to the dragon bones housed in the crypts of the Red Keep—Balerion’s skull alone could contain a mammoth, and his teeth towered higher than these relics.

Boom!

The Cannibal crashed to the ground, its massive hind legs smashing through several of the Nagga’s ribs, scattering grey bone fragments across the rocky earth. Rhaegar leapt from the dragon’s back, cautiously approaching the high platform of the Nagga.

Standing beside the shattered remains, he compared the ribs to the Cannibal’s body, which was larger and more fearsome. The Nagga’s bones were tall, like the walls of a castle, but even as the Cannibal crouched low, its broad chest was parallel to the highest point of the ribs, its monstrous head looming far above them.

“Where are you!?” Rhaegar shouted, drawing Blackfyre from his waist. His voice echoed across the island, laced with fury. “Dalton, come out here!”

Are you not the so-called ‘Red Kraken’? he thought. Covered in blood, you’ve killed countless men… face me and see who the true warrior is!

“Dalton, don’t be a coward! Your fleet perished because of you!”

Rhaegar drove his sword into the ground, his long, noble silver-and-gold hair flowing in the wind. It had been years since he had taken up his sword in battle, long enough for people to forget the power of his martial skill. A petty Greyjoy dared to rebel?

Yet no response came from Dalton. The only sound was the whisper of the wind and the crash of the sea against the shore.

Suddenly, a faint voice echoed in Rhaegar’s ear, the long-lost system message he had been waiting for:

“This exploration mission is now open. The target is the skeleton of the sea dragon Nagga.”

Rhaegar’s lips curled into a grin as he looked at the Nagga’s ribs, towering like the fingers of a giant hand. Forty-four tall ribs stood before him, resembling the walls of a grand palace. Now, the display seemed more impressive than before.

Meanwhile, in the depths below…

Dalton, hidden in the secret passage beneath the Nagga’s high platform, flinched as the ground above trembled. He heard the clear voice of a young man reverberating across the island, his blood running cold.

“Only an idiot would fight you,” Dalton muttered through gritted teeth as he navigated the dark, narrow passage.

Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew of the King on the Iron Throne, once called the “Young Dragonlord” before his coronation. He had come of age wielding both power and fear, and now ruled with a black dragon—its green eyes and massive body larger than several ships combined. Who in their right mind would challenge him to a one-on-one fight?

Outside, smoke from the burning sea drifted over Old Wyk.

“Roar…”

The Cannibal sniffed the scent of charred flesh and let out a deep, resonant howl as it crouched low to the ground. One of its colossal wings flapped forward, and its short, powerful forelimbs crushed a pile of stones, revealing the entrance to the secret passage beneath the rubble.

“Huh?”

Rhaegar, about to ignite a glass candle to scout the area, paused and chuckled. He leapt into the entrance without hesitation.

So it was hidden here.

If not for the Cannibal’s hunger, it would have taken him far longer to find it.

Crack!

A bone snapped underfoot as he landed, and the stench of mold and rot rushed up to meet him. Rhaegar held his breath for a moment, then shifted. Scales sprouted along his skin, horns formed on his forehead, and his purple eyes transformed into sharp, vertical pupils. The dim tunnel brightened under his draconic vision.

Dragons see in the dark. So do their descendants.

“Dalton, where are you?”

Rhaegar’s smile was playful as he followed the disordered footprints in the dust. This was just a game of cat and mouse now, and Dalton was already cornered. Rhaegar had lost a son—everyone associated with that loss would pay dearly.

As he adjusted to the confines of the passage, Rhaegar’s movements became more agile, his speed increasing. The chase soon brought them to a narrow corner, not far from the exit.

“Dalton, die!”

Rhaegar’s cold expression darkened further as wisps of black flame flickered around him. He lunged forward, Blackfyre in hand, its dark blade gleaming in the faint light.

Dalton stumbled backward, terror in his eyes. “Don’t come any closer! There are traps everywhere!”

“Cut the crap,” Rhaegar snarled. His black robe billowed as the ground erupted in a wave of black fire, sealing the exit. Flames leapt toward Dalton, tongues of fire reaching out like serpents.

“You’re the king… fine! I’ll fight you to the death!”

Dalton had no choice. His back was against the wall, and the only thing left was to fight. He gripped Nightfall with his one good hand and braced himself.

A jet of black fire shot forward, wrapping itself around Dalton’s waist. His blistered skin crackled under the intense heat, the flames binding him in place.

Before he could react, another stream of fire lashed out, this time coiling around his right arm, the one holding his sword. His flesh sizzled and charred, and as the fire consumed him, his fingers crumbled, reduced to white bone.

“Are you even worthy to fight me?” Rhaegar sneered, stepping forward.

As the King of the Iron Throne and the King of the Iron Islands faced each other, the narrow passage filled with dark flames, devouring every flicker of light.

“You know magic!?” Dalton gasped, his jaw dropping as cold sweat trickled down his face.

“I’m not wasting my breath explaining it to you. You’re not worthy of hearing the answer,” Rhaegar replied, his voice laced with contempt. He looked down at the tall Ironborn king, his hand gripping Blackfyre as the blade rested against Dalton’s neck. “King Dalton, your reign ends here.”

With a swift pull of his arm, the sword flashed with dark light. Dalton’s charred, disfigured head rolled to the ground as his headless body swayed, then crumpled. Before it could hit the floor, the dark flames surged up, consuming the remains in an instant.

Rhaegar’s expression remained cold as he nudged Nightfall—Dalton’s fallen Valyrian steel sword—with the tip of his boot. He casually twirled it in the air, performing an elegant sword dance.

“The exploration mission is now open. The target is the Valyrian steel sword, Nightfall,” the system prompt chimed, as sweet as the sound of a harp.

“There’s also a pleasant surprise,” Rhaegar murmured, eyeing the sword with renewed interest. Despite Dalton’s fate, the sword in his hands showed a glimpse of the Red Kraken’s worth. Valyrian steel swords were rare treasures, and with every one collected, the world had one fewer.

Before the tragedy, Aemon had carried Truefyre, but he had perished, and the sword was lost with him.

“This sword has character,” Rhaegar remarked, running his fingers along the blade’s dark edge. “It will make a fine gift for the children.”

He slung Nightfall over his back, admiring how its dark nature complemented Blackfyre and Dark Sister.

No wonder it was named Nightfall—it carried the weight of darkness itself.

…

At nightfall, a great fire swept through the Iron Islands. The fleet of House Lannister patrolled the shores, killing any who remained. The king had decreed that not a single soul should survive in the Iron Islands. Whether Ironborn, sellsword, or hostage, all were executed. From this day forward, the Iron Islands would be completely depopulated of humans.

At Nagga’s Hill, Old Wyk, Rhaegar leaned against one of the towering ribs of the ancient sea dragon’s skeleton.

Helaena and Baelon stood on either side of him, nestled in his broad embrace. The three of them gazed out into the sea breeze, their eyes half-closed, pretending to rest.

The Cannibal had disappeared, likely off foraging for food. Nearby, Dreamfyre and Uragax slithered on the ground, watchful, guarding their family.

As the night deepened, a voice rang out, breaking Rhaegar’s brief moment of rest.

“This exploration is complete. Please collect the lost treasure.”

Rhaegar’s eyes snapped open as the system panel appeared before him.

[Skeleton of the Sea Dragon Nagga]

Exploration progress: 100%

[Valyrian Steel Sword – Nightfall]

Exploration progress: 100%

“That was fast,” Rhaegar muttered, already guessing the quality of the relics.

Two purple halos materialized at his feet, shimmering before they burst into tiny points of light when he gently touched them.

Pop.

“Relic successfully retrieved, initiating analysis…”

“Analysis complete. Judged to be an epic relic: Nagga’s Tear.”

“… Judged to be an epic relic: Nightfall Descent.”