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Game of Thrones: The Giant Crab of the Narrow Sea
Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Bastard to Emperor
"You've given up on trying to claim the Cannibal, right?"
On the way back, Baela kept pressing him, brow furrowed.
Logar didn't answer directly. He just gently stroked her silver hair. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. For now, we should keep our distance—at least until I've claimed my dragon. I don't want any more complications."
"Hmph. Do whatever you want." Baela turned her face away. "Just don't make me have to dig your bones out of dragon shit the next time I see you."
In truth, sneaking out today on Moondancer to take Logar hunting wild dragons had been an enormous risk for her.
Moondancer landed on a flat stretch of rock. Logar waved at her.
Still on the dragon's back, Baela made a fierce little gesture at him, then urged Moondancer into the air, heading back toward the castle.
Logar watched the girl disappear into the distance and shook his head lightly. His mind was already deep in the plan forming inside his head.
Hunting Grey Ghost.
First, according to Maester Barth's book, a dragon's true vulnerabilities weren't the chest or underbelly as most people believed, but the eyes, the base of the wings, and the soft spot beneath the throat where the scales were thinner.
That meant he would need proper weapons—heavy crossbows, iron chains, anything capable of actually bringing a dragon down in one decisive strike.
Second, killing a wild dragon on Dragonstone without the queen's permission would definitely earn him a harsh scolding from Rhaenyra.
But Logar had already made up his mind. He needed Grey Ghost's corpse as bait to claim the Cannibal.
Once he succeeded in taming that monstrous wild king, even if he slaughtered every wild dragon on the island, the queen probably wouldn't dare say much.
"So first, I need to find where Grey Ghost usually hunts and set up the perfect trap. The moment it lands, we strike fast. No mistakes."
Back at his quarters, Logar began calculating carefully.
Grey Ghost was roughly fifteen to twenty meters long. He couldn't do it alone. But he also couldn't bring too many men—too conspicuous, and it would easily attract attention from the castle.
He immediately started preparations. He had his most trusted subordinates quietly purchase poison, thick iron chains, powerful crossbows, and heavy bolts. Meanwhile, he went out himself to scout the locations.
"My lord… we're really going to hunt a wild dragon on this island?"
When Logar explained the plan to Alyn and his other core men, Alyn's eyes widened in disbelief.
Logar smiled inwardly. Hunting Grey Ghost is nothing. My real target is the Cannibal—several times larger and far more dangerous.
But he only said calmly, "Of course. Grey Ghost has been terrorizing the local fishermen and stealing their catch. Killing it would be doing the realm a favor."
He lowered his voice. "Besides, Grey Ghost only hunts fish on remote stretches of the Narrow Sea. It's quiet. If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. Don't worry about the queen."
"No—if it's your order, we're not afraid even if the queen blames us," Alyn shook his head firmly, though the shock on his face remained. "It's just… isn't this too dangerous? That's a wild dragon! Can just a few of us really pull this off?"
Alyn's concern was reasonable.
In this world, dragons that could be slain by a small group of men were extremely rare.
During the Conquest, Queen Rhaenys and her dragon Meraxes had been brought down by a single scorpion bolt to the eye while attacking Dorne. Most dragon deaths during the Dance happened only after dragons had already torn each other apart.
Trying to hunt a living dragon with just a handful of men was borderline insane.
"Precisely because it's dangerous, it's worth doing," Logar said with a dangerous smile. He had never been one to shy away from a gamble. As long as the plan was solid, he would see it through.
In the end, Alyn was convinced.
Ever since his brother Addam had successfully claimed Sea Smoke, Alyn had been deeply affected. He had even tried claiming a wild dragon himself, nearly dying in the attempt like so many others.
That was why he was even more stunned by Logar's boldness. In his heart, he could only think: As expected of the Sea Burner. As expected of the man they call the living avatar of the gods.
Everything was ready.
Logar took a small group of trusted men to the coast where Grey Ghost was most likely to appear. They scouted the area repeatedly and prepared every tool they would need to take down a dragon.
"Hey! Grey Ghost! You thieving bastard! Stealing my fish again!"
Out on the water, a small fishing boat rocked on the waves. An old man stood on deck, shaking his fist at the sky and cursing loudly.
Logar recognized him immediately—it was Silver Denys.
Everyone looked up.
A pale grey shadow shot down from the clouds like an arrow, heading straight for the boat's hold full of gleaming fresh fish.
It was the very dragon they had been waiting for.
Seeing Grey Ghost diving toward them, Silver Denys's sons turned deathly pale and scrambled backward.
But the old man showed no fear. He gripped his harpoon and planted himself in front of the fish hold, beard bristling. "Back off! In the name of King Maegor's blood, I command you—back off!"
"Roar—!"
Grey Ghost, clearly starving, ignored him completely.
It folded its wings and skimmed low over the sea. Its jaws opened, and a blast of searing dragonflame shot forward.
"Jump!"
The flame hit the water and sent up a wall of steam. The sons screamed and dove overboard. Silver Denys threw himself flat on the deck just in time. The planks beneath him charred and smoked.
Grey Ghost didn't slow down. It snatched up half the boat's catch in its jaws and prepared to take off.
"You damned thief dragon! Give me back my fish!"
Silver Denys's eyes turned bloodshot. He scrambled up with his harpoon and charged, stabbing viciously at the dragon's foreleg.
Grey Ghost, already irritable and solitary by nature, hated being pestered by humans. Enraged, it whipped its head around.
Crack.
Its teeth sank into Silver Denys's left arm. Blood sprayed. The old man was hurled through the air like a rag doll, slamming into the gunwale before tumbling onto the beach.
"Father!"
His sons cried out, crawling from the sea, too terrified to get closer.
Grey Ghost didn't even glance back. With a mouth full of fish, it beat its wings and shot into the sky, vanishing behind the cliffs in moments.
The beach was left in ruins—fish scales, blood, charred wood, and scattered gear scattered everywhere. The salty sea wind carried the stench of despair.
Silver Denys was dragged onto the sand by his sons. His left arm was mangled beyond recognition. He was barely conscious, still muttering curses:
"Damn you, Grey Ghost… filthy thief… I carry the blood of King Maegor… you can't treat me like this…"
His sons held their father and wept bitterly. Their cries were torn apart by the wind.
Logar stood silently behind a nearby rock, watching the entire scene.
To the nobles of Westeros, dragons were symbols of Targaryen glory and power.
But to the fishermen of Dragonstone, these flying monsters were nothing more than fire-breathing thieves and murderers who stole the food from their mouths.
They had lived here for generations, yet they couldn't even protect the fish they risked their lives to catch.
Logar's hand slowly tightened around the hilt of his longsword until his knuckles turned white.
Killing Grey Ghost had originally been nothing more than cold strategy—a sacrifice for the Cannibal.
But after witnessing the suffering of these smallfolk, a genuine killing intent now burned in his chest.
"Grey Ghost."
He stared at the distant pale grey shadow, his voice cold as ice:
"I will kill you."