c30: Failure
The mercenary's body lay supine on the cold stone floor of the castle corridor, blood slowly spreading across the uneven flagstones.
Viserys, having just killed two enemies who had stormed the castle, felt his blood boiling in his veins like dragonfire, yet his mind was unusually clear. Since the fall of the Targaryen dynasty during the Robert's Rebellion, Viserys had lived with the constant belief that the blood of old House Targaryen ran differently from that of ordinary men.
He then met the eyes of the last enemy who emerged cautiously from another room.
"There's one more,"
the boy said quietly, his pale purple, jewel-like eyes blinking slightly—eyes that marked him unmistakably as a true descendant of the dragonlords of Valyria.
The tall enemy stared at Viserys with shock and disbelief, and the atmosphere momentarily froze.
He had thought it was just a minor accident and hadn't considered the possibility of his companion being in danger.
These sellswords had broken into the castle believing it would be an easy raid, nothing more than a frightened noble child hiding in the ruins of a once-proud family that had ruled Westeros for nearly three centuries.
He had assumed his companion had only been bitten or struck by a desperate child, but stepping outside revealed this horrifying scene.
His companion lay supine on the ground, a crossbow bolt still lodged deep in his forehead. His mouth hung slightly open, his expression frozen in disbelief as if he had not even understood how death had come for him. Blood streamed down his face and pooled beneath his head.
And since this crossbow had fallen into the hands of this little boy, it was clear what had become of his other companion.
No one could easily explain the complex emotions that flashed across the man's face at that moment.
He had never expected that this seemingly harmless boy who looked as timid as a frightened rabbit would kill two hardened mercenaries.
These men had survived countless skirmishes across the Free Cities and even fought during the chaos that followed the downfall of Aerys II Targaryen.
Yet now they lay dead at the hands of a child.
"Damn little thing, I'll kill you!"
After a brief pause, the tall man roared in fury, the sound echoing through the narrow stone passage.
He charged at Viserys with a heavy battle axe clenched in his hand.
The boy, now unarmed, didn't hesitate. He immediately threw away the crossbow and turned to flee again.
The crossbow was still a bit difficult for him to use; stringing it required considerable strength.
Even grown soldiers struggled with the tension of such weapons. Viserys, thin and young, could barely manage it without bracing it against the ground.
He couldn't string it while running. The only way was to stop, plant one foot on the stock, and pull the string back with both hands.
But clearly, this ferocious-looking enemy wouldn't give him that chance.
"Run!"
Viserys didn't hesitate. He was even less inclined to fight and instead chose to flee deeper into the castle corridors.
This crumbling stronghold, once loyal to the dragon banner of House Targaryen, had become a maze of broken halls and shadowy stairways.
This time, however, Langdon showed no sympathy or carelessness toward the boy and immediately gave chase.
"Stop!"
To him, this boy was a little devil.
How old had he been when he killed his first person?
He remembered it clearly.
He had been twelve years old, yet his body had already grown as large and strong as an adult.
An old drunk in their miserable village had tried to climb into his mother's bed in the middle of the night.
But Langdon had discovered him.
He had grabbed a stone and smashed the man's skull again and again until the body was so mangled that even his own kin could barely recognize him.
From that night on, no one in the village dared to bully the widow and her son.
Years later, after his mother died, he buried her with his own hands.
With nothing left tying him to that miserable place, he joined a wandering mercenary band.
His ruthless nature soon earned him a terrifying reputation.
Men began to call him "Bloody Hand from Rhys."
But the boy before him now was far smaller and thinner than he had been back then.
Viserys looked only seven or eight years old.
His frail shoulders seemed so thin that a strong wind might knock him over.
Yet despite that fragile appearance, the calmness radiating from the boy was chilling.
It was a cold, calculating composure that frightened Langdon even more than the brutality he himself had shown in his youth.
Viserys threw away his crossbow completely, not wanting the heavy weapon to slow him down, and sprinted through the corridor.
Behind him, the man continued the chase.
Langdon suddenly raised his battle axe high above his head, the muscles in his arm bulging as he took aim at the boy's back.
Then, with all his strength, he hurled the weapon forward.
The axe spun violently through the air.
In that instant, he abandoned any thought of giving this noble-blooded child a dignified death.
The dragonlords had lost their throne long ago, and mercy meant nothing to men like him.
Langdon intended to slice Viserys Targaryen cleanly in two with his throwing axe before the boy could even think of escape.
However, the boy, who had turned to run without hesitation, seemed to hear the wind tearing through the air behind him and slightly turned his head.
"Damn it."
Then he saw the battle axe spinning toward him.
The weapon cut through the air with terrifying speed, its heavy iron blade glinting faintly in the torchlight of the castle corridor.
The boy's breath hitched slightly, and he felt a chill run down his spine. If that axe truly struck him, his small body would likely be split in two, just like the brutal executions carried out during the reign of Aerys II Targaryen before the fall of the Targaryen dynasty.
Then, at this crucial moment, a complex six-pointed star suddenly appeared in the silver-haired boy's eyes.
The strange pattern rotated faintly within his violet pupils an unmistakable sign of the ancient blood of House Targaryen.
It activated the special ability he had awakened after reaching the twentieth level of his mysterious lunar nature.
"Eye of the Moment"
Whoosh~
In an instant.
Like a faint breeze brushing across still water.
In that same instant, everything around him seemed to quiet down.
The sounds of footsteps, clashing steel from distant fighting, and even the mercenary's furious breathing all faded away.
The spinning speed of the battle axe slowed to an almost impossible crawl in Viserys's eyes.
It rotated slowly through the air, its blade tracing a deadly arc toward his back.
"You must!"
"Get out of the way!"
Viserys' body felt stiff, as if his limbs were sinking into thick mud.
His teeth clenched tightly as fear surged through his chest.
Even so, the boy forced his muscles to move, struggling with every ounce of strength he had to twist his body away from the path of the spinning weapon.
The next second…
Whoosh!
From the mercenary's point of view, the boy running ahead suddenly stumbled awkwardly to the side at a strange and unexpected angle, as if he had tripped over a loose stone on the castle floor.
Yet that small, awkward movement perfectly avoided the high-speed spinning axe.
The sharp blade grazed past the boy's shoulder, passing so close that Viserys could feel the cold wind of the metal against his skin.
But it did not even tear his clothes.
Boom
The heavy battle axe slammed violently into the stone wall at the corner of the corridor, embedding itself deep into the cracked masonry.
Fragments of stone scattered across the floor.
Viserys staggered slightly from the sudden movement but quickly regained his footing.
Cold sweat instantly poured down his forehead, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
"That was close!"
He had almost been cleaved in two like a criminal executed in the dungeons of King's Landing.
Thankfully, he had activated the Eye of the Moment and managed to dodge the attack at the very last second.
The boy then took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down before continuing to run deeper into the castle corridors.
"This…"
Langdon, who had been chasing Viserys from behind, saw this unbelievable scene and his eyes widened.
His rough face twisted with shock.
"This is…?"
For a moment he simply could not believe what he had just witnessed.
He had thrown that axe with enough force to kill a grown knight, the kind of men who fought in the bloody battles that followed Robert's Rebellion.
Yet this scrawny little boy had somehow dodged it.
Langdon could only conclude that the child had been unbelievably lucky.
However, Viserys naturally had no intention of staying behind to explain anything.
In the blink of an eye, the silver-haired boy dashed around the corner of the corridor and disappeared from Langdon's sight.
Meanwhile, the battle on Queen Leila's side was nearing its end.
Although the mercenaries possessed considerable combat experience from countless brutal skirmishes across the lands of Westeros, most of them lacked the discipline and training of true castle guards.
The defenders of the castle had now gathered in greater numbers.
Reinforcements rushed in from several corridors, their armor clattering as they advanced together.
"Kill them!"
The guards pressed forward, gradually overwhelming the intruders.
Thud
Two Targaryen soldiers stepped forward and raised their heavy shields.
They locked them together to form a solid shield wall, forcing the leader of the Valiant Order backward until his body slammed against the cold stone wall.
No matter how fiercely the man swung his sword, no matter how many desperate blows he delivered, he could not break through the iron defense.
Then several other soldiers stepped forward.
Their swords thrust forward through the narrow gaps between the shields.
Thud! Thud! Thud
A shrill scream erupted from behind the shield wall.
Blood splattered across the floor as the blades pierced flesh again and again.
Moments later, the leader of the Valiant Order collapsed lifelessly in the corner, his body riddled with wounds.
"Leave one alive!"
A commanding voice rang out from the soldiers.
On the other side of the room, another mercenary had been captured.
He was thrown to the ground, his hands and feet tightly bound with rope so that he could no longer resist.
Queen Leila, still dressed in her nightclothes, trembled slightly as she hid beside the wardrobe.
Two maids supported her weak body, trying to calm her shaking hands.
Aside from the fear and shock caused by the sudden attack, she had not suffered any physical harm.
But the terror of the night's events would likely remain in her mind for a long time to come.
....