Khal Drogo's corpse slumped into the dirt like a felled titan, blood pooling around the gaping hole left by Viserys's sword and the Praetorian steel that had done most of the work.
Viserys stood above him, shaking from exhaustion, breathing like a bellows.
He wasn't a dragon.
He was just a man. A very lucky man.
I really underestimated how weak this body was, he thought grimly, his muscles still burning. Even with the stat buffs, I couldn't beat him. Not without the summons.
And Drogo had been exactly what the stories promised: unstoppable, monstrous, unrelenting. Without the guards, Viserys would be dead—his skull split, his sister dragged off to suffer her fate.
Now, three hundred furious Dothraki riders surrounded him. They watched in silent, simmering fury. They had just witnessed the impossible: their Khal slain by a foreign prince wielding magic they didn't understand.
The five remaining Praetorian Guards formed a disciplined wall around Viserys, Daenerys, and Ser Jorah.
Another rock was hurled—clanging harmlessly against a shield. A spear followed. The guards tensed, but didn't break formation.
It wouldn't hold forever.
He scanned the dark horizon, beyond the burning wedding campfires, to the east. There—waves crashed against the rocks. The coastline. The Narrow Sea. A smuggler's cove no more than a few hundred yards behind them, where shallow tides met a sandy beach.
There would be no fighting their way out. Not with five soldiers. Not against three hundred. Not in open terrain.
He called the system to mind with a thought.
[Dragon King System Interface – Open]
DP Available: 24,823
Accessing Marketplace > Vehicles > Nautical > Escape-Class Vessels
[Fisherman's Boat – 400 DP]
[Coastal Cutter – 2,500 DP]
[Targaryen Longship (Blackfyre Model) – 5,000 DP]
Seats: Up to 50. Moderate speed. Black hull. Dragon-head prow. Includes rowers.
Viserys gritted his teeth and selected the longship.
"Purchase."
Transaction complete. Deploying.
A thunderclap of rushing wind and sea spray echoed from behind him. Out on the moonlit shore, a shadow formed in the surf—a sleek, dragon-prowed longship, bearing the red three-headed sigil of House Targaryen on its black sails. Rowers—system-generated, eyeless, silent—sat ready at the oars like statues from a forgotten age.
Illyrio Mopatis turned, eyes bulging.
"What in the name of the Seven is that?" he gasped.
Viserys didn't answer. He was already moving.
"Ser Jorah!" he shouted. "You swore to protect us—now earn it!"
Jorah glanced between the furious mob and the mysterious ship. His face twisted with conflicted loyalty, but he fell into position beside Daenerys, sword drawn.
"Illyrio, move!" Viserys barked. "Back to the beach! Now!"
The merchant waddled after them, servants scrambling in confusion.
Viserys turned to the guards.
"Defensive withdrawal. Fall back, westward."
The Praetorian Guards moved like clockwork, forming a rear shield wall, advancing slowly as a unit. Rocks, spears, and curses rained around them, but they deflected it all.
"Run!" Viserys shouted at the others. "Get to the ship!"
The Dothraki began to surge forward. Arakhs flashed in the firelight.
Then they stopped.
Not from fear of Viserys.
But from the unknowable.
Ghosts in armor. Men appearing from thin air. A ship born of shadows and wind. These weren't things they had words for.
Viserys glanced back. They had less than a minute before confusion gave way to bloodlust again.
The shoreline was in sight now. The longship bobbed in the surf, a black blade in the moonlight.
Illyrio collapsed into the boat. Jorah helped Daenerys aboard. Viserys was the last to reach the gangplank.
"Recall summons!" he shouted.
The five guards shimmered into mist as they stepped backward through the veil of reality—gone in an instant.
A roar rose behind him.
Dothraki riders charged.
Viserys leapt into the ship. The system-controlled rowers moved like puppets given life. The oars dipped.
The longship pulled away just as the first riders reached the surf, their horses balking at the waves.
Screaming. Curses. Fury.
But no pursuit.
After all the water was cursed to them.
⸻
The Blackfyre longship drifted out into the moonlit bay, carried by oar and tide, the noise of the wedding long behind them. Firelight flickered on the coast. The wind carried distant drums and rage.
Illyrio sat trembling, clutching his side.
Ser Jorah sat silently near the mast, staring out at the sea, one hand clenched on the hilt of his sword.
Daenerys stood near the rail, silver hair clinging to her wet cheeks. She hadn't said a word.
Viserys watched them all. Then sat beside a coil of rope and exhaled.
The silence stretched. Until—
"You need to explain," Jorah said.
Viserys looked up. "Explain what?"
"That!" the knight hissed. "The soldiers. The boat. That… that thing you did. Are you a sorcerer? Is this some ancient Valyrian magic?"
Illyrio leaned forward, voice hoarse. "I've lived among shadowbinders. I've seen warlocks of Qarth. I've hosted men who spoke to glass candles and ghosts. And none of them did what you just did."
Daenerys finally turned. "You said it was to protect me. But what was it?"
Viserys leaned back, letting the sea breeze brush over him. He chose his words carefully.
"There are things in this world," he said slowly, "older than your gods. Powers older than the Doom. The blood of the dragon runs deep in me… and something has awakened because of it."
He met Daenerys's eyes.
"I don't fully understand it. But I will master it. And with it, I'll reclaim everything we lost."
Silence again.
Then the system chimed.
Title Acquired: Draconic Enigma
Jorah Loyalty: 65/100 – Wary, but intrigued.
Illyrio Loyalty: 85/100 – Invested and curious.
Daenerys Affection: Deepened – Trust 55%, Fear 30%, Awe 15%
Viserys looked up at the stars.
He had survived the Dothraki. Killed their strongest warrior. Escaped with the girl. And now he had a ship, an audience, and something close to a legend forming around him.
It was a start.