Drogon's "crash" didn't last long.
At first, he dropped stiffly toward the sea like a piece of wood, but halfway down, raging winds swept him upward again. After being tossed around several times like this, Drogon regained consciousness from his brief blackout.
Daenerys remained linked to him in dragon-spirit form the entire time. Although her soul had basically been "electrocuted" once, she was still in decent shape. After reassuring Jorah and the others with a few words, she resumed directing Drogon's flight.
This time, Drogon lowered his altitude.
Daenerys wasn't stupid—she had already considered the lightning issue. On Earth, thundercloud layers only reached about ten kilometers high.
Originally, she had planned for Drogon to fly above the cloud layer, close to the stratosphere.
Who would've thought Drogon had already reached his altitude limit—over ten thousand meters—and still hadn't passed through the thunderclouds, only to get struck by lightning instead.
(PS: The original novels never state how high dragons can fly, but many birds in nature can exceed ten thousand meters. Drogon is at least a dragon that consumed demigod flesh, and most importantly, dragons don't suffer from low temperatures or low oxygen.)
Since they couldn't fly over the storm, they would go beneath it instead.
Surely the thundercloud layer couldn't be ten kilometers thick?
After descending to around two thousand meters, Drogon could no longer go lower. The closer they got to the sea, the fiercer the winds became, and he couldn't maintain balance amid the raging storm.
Fortunately, this altitude barely allowed them to avoid the thunderclouds.
And so Drogon struggled onward through the tempest.
Five minutes passed.
Ahead lay only endless darkness, torrential rain, and howling winds.
Half an hour passed.
The world ahead remained dim and murky. Moisture poured across Drogon's body, evaporating into a trail of white mist.
After an hour, Drogon's stomach growled.
He was hungry.
"We still haven't reached the island?" Jorah asked for the fifth time.
The previous four times, Daenerys had calmly reassured him:
"We'll be there soon. Drogon flies really fast!"
And Drogon was fast—about 150 kilometers per hour.
Could the Wall of Storms really stretch more than 150 kilometers?
"Something's wrong. Drogon's lost."
Daenerys realized Drogon's perception of magnetic fields had become chaotic.
Back when she first entered dragon-spirit synchronization with him, she had begun receiving seven or eight additional senses beyond the normal five.
But she had no idea what those strange sensations actually were.
She was just an ordinary person—not some cosmic cultivator—so she only truly understood sight, hearing, smell, touch, and taste.
An extra note: through Drogon's sense of taste, Daenerys discovered his favorite food—bone marrow from wild bison hind legs.
Every time he sucked marrow from the bones, his taste reactions became especially excited.
After several months of nonstop experimentation, Daenerys eventually identified magnetic perception, heat perception, and danger perception among those strange senses.
The danger sense had been discovered during the Sorrowful Man assassination attempt. The moment the assassin opened the box, one of those mysterious signals she'd never understood began pulsing violently.
She didn't know exactly what it meant, but she knew it represented danger.
That was excellent news for her.
In the future, she could gauge whether someone intended harm simply by observing the intensity of that signal.
And now, she suddenly noticed Drogon's magnetic perception fluctuating wildly.
So she guessed he had become lost.
"Can he still find the way back?" Whitebeard asked nervously.
"Yes. I'm the best beacon there is."
Daenerys sighed, officially ending the failed Valyria expedition.
Drogon turned around and flew toward Daenerys's location.
Well… he had been flying away from her all this time, which theoretically should've been fine. But that was also her oversight. Flying in an arc around the Wall of Storms still counted as moving farther away from her.
"Huh? That's… a ship!"
Fifteen minutes later, Daenerys suddenly cried out in surprise.
"There are other people exploring the ruins of Valyria!"
Once she realized it, she shouted excitedly.
"What?" Jorah and the others asked in confusion.
"I—I mean… Drogon saw a ship inside the storm."
"Impossible," Groleo said, shaking his head.
After waiting two hours on the bridge deck without the dragon returning, Blackbeard had anxiously come below deck.
"In a storm this violent, no ship could survive. The instant it gets dragged inside, it'd be torn apart."
He sounded absolutely certain.
Daenerys shook her head.
"Seeing is believing. When Drogon descended to two thousand meters, he could even spot sand lizards in the desert. Ask Jorah or Aggo if you don't believe me."
"Khaleesi is right," Jhogo immediately said.
"I personally saw the dragon dive from high altitude to catch a sand lizard hidden in the grass."
"Well…" Groleo hesitated. "Could it be wreckage?"
Daenerys couldn't even be bothered responding anymore.
Drogon circled above the ship rocking on the waves for a long while.
Through the clouds and rain, they could vaguely see that its main sail had been lowered, while two low side sails spread outward like wings.
Though it swayed violently from side to side, it remained upright like a roly-poly toy, never capsizing.
Whoever was piloting it was highly skilled.
Sea and sky blended into one dim world. Even with Drogon's eyesight, they couldn't clearly see the people onboard, nor the ship's painted name.
"After it emerges, should we approach and ask about the Valyrian ruins?" Daenerys asked her advisors.
Jorah thought for a moment.
"Don't get too close. Send a small boat first—"
"No."
Whitebeard directly interrupted him.
With a stern expression, he said:
"Anyone daring to explore the ruins of Valyria is dangerous. More importantly, if they succeeded, they must've gained tremendous rewards. No matter what we say, we won't lower their guard unless…"
The old man's blue eyes met Daenerys's purple gaze directly.
"…unless Your Highness already intends to rob them while they're weakened."
You old bastard. You're way too sharp.
You saw right through my dark little thoughts immediately.
But if you figured it out, why say it aloud?!
A truly good minister should immediately volunteer to shoulder the blame himself!
Something like:
"Princess, think of the greater good. For the millions of subjects waiting for you across the Seven Kingdoms, let us rob them! With their treasures and secrets, restoring the kingdom is possible!"
Then righteous and kindhearted me would repeatedly refuse.
You'd continue persuading me.
Finally, you'd force a "strike first, report later" situation.
And then I'd have no choice but to reluctantly accept…
Sigh.
"Then let's raise anchor and leave immediately."
Meeting his calm, deep blue gaze, Daenerys sighed.
"Compared to one fat fish, I'd rather know how to fish… sigh. Forget it. Those people are probably desperate outlaws anyway. Even if we had bad intentions, we likely wouldn't beat them."
"What fishing?"
The tall, burly eunuch had already drawn the curved blade from his waist.
Confused, he asked:
"So we're not robbing that ship?"
This idiot…
Too lazy to even answer him.
Whitebeard looked enormously relieved, like a father discovering his daughter had genuinely gone to visit a female friend instead of secretly meeting some wild boy.
"Princess," he said earnestly, "you are Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The entire realm belongs to you. To Your Grace, only the people and the honor of the royal house matter. Mere gold and silver are meaningless."
"Hmph. Buying Unsullied doesn't cost money?"
Jorah shot back immediately.
"If gold means nothing, go tell Tywin that."
Then he turned to Daenerys seriously.
"Leaving immediately is the correct choice. We probably really aren't their match.
"If we were on land, eighty screaming warriors mounted on dragonhorses could fight even against two hundred swordsmen.
"But at sea, horse lords can barely stand upright.
"As for the several hundred sailors in the fleet, they can defend themselves well enough, but they lack the courage and motivation for a suicidal assault. After a few volleys of arrows, morale would collapse instantly."
If pirates attacked a merchant fleet, sailors would fight desperately to survive, tolerating casualty rates above fifty percent.
But dying for Daenerys?
At ten percent casualties, morale would completely shatter.
Daenerys understood that logic herself, but…
"I never said I wanted to rob them."
She put on a stern face, clearly annoyed.
"I only said we encountered a ship returning from Valyria and wanted to ask whether they needed help—and where they entered from."
What kind of people do these idiots think I am?!
Seeing her angry, everyone awkwardly fell silent.
Groleo quietly returned to the bridge deck and loudly ordered the sailors to raise anchor, unfurl sails, and turn the rudder.
Ten minutes later, Drogon landed on deck, and Daenerys hurried over with a bucket of fish chunks to feed him.
Another half hour passed.
The sail angles were finally corrected, and the fat-bellied ship creaked northeastward, gradually moving away from the Wall of Storms.
Ten minutes later, the lookout shouted from above:
"That ship came out! Someone actually crossed the Storm Wall!"
Thud thud thud—
A crowd of idle sailors rushed to the stern, fighting over the telescope.
This world might resemble the Middle Ages politically, but technologically it wasn't backward.
The lens-crafting techniques of the Free City of Myr on the western coast were world-famous. Telescopes were child's play, and the maesters of Westeros had even built high-precision astronomical telescopes.
Daenerys didn't bother fighting over the single spyglass.
As long as Drogon atop the mast tilted his head slightly, she could see more clearly than any sailor.
An eagle can spot a rabbit running through grass from four thousand meters up and ten kilometers away, constantly adjusting focus to observe finer detail.
A dragon's eyes were even stronger.
Daenerys saw a narrow longship shaped like a blade.
Its hull was dark red.
Its massive sail black as night.
The wing-like side sails gradually folded away while the main sail rose higher—so wide it extended beyond the hull itself.
The entire design looked fast.
Exceptionally fast.
Clearly built for speed.
The black sail swelled proudly in the wind like the chest of a bodybuilder, and the ship shot from the final edge of the storm zone like an arrow.
It had really escaped.
It had truly crossed the hellish Wall of Storms.
"Captain! They've spotted us!" the lookout shouted.
Drogon's fiery-red eyes adjusted focus again, and Daenerys saw it too.
A figure stood atop the raised prow, peering toward them through a spyglass.
The two ships were roughly fifteen nautical miles apart—around thirty kilometers.
Not too close, but not too far either.
A safe distance.
The other vessel was fast enough to flee quickly, so they had no need to fear being robbed.
But—
"They're changing course!"
The lookout shouted in confusion.
"It looks like… they're heading toward us. Are they asking for help?"
"Damn it—that's pirates!"
Groleo suddenly cursed loudly.
He had also been observing the sleek fast ship through a spyglass the entire time.
-----------------------
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