Aegon looked back at Adam.
As a royal guard, Adam was naturally well-trained.
Upon noticing the situation, Adam immediately understood, quickly dropping the roast chicken and silently drawing his sword from its scabbard, making sure it made no sound.
Now, the enemy was in the dark, and Aegon's door was still open. The assailants outside clearly knew that the sound of the miller's daughter being killed would be enough to alert the occupants inside.
And he had no idea who these people were, how many there were, or what their intentions were.
Aegon, having been in Old Town for only three days, had made a conscious effort to keep a low profile in order not to attract the attention of his mother's family, House Hightower. He had been cautious with his actions, avoiding conflict with anyone.
Aside from resting, most of his time had been spent strolling around Old Town, observing the city's state of affairs, and checking on the local developments.
Therefore, a personal vendetta was out of the question.
That left only one possibility: robbery.
A young child, accompanied by a young servant, had bought a high-quality farm right outside the city, and it made sense that someone with ill intentions might see him as a prime target.
However, Aegon was puzzled by one thing.
The miller had already guessed that Aegon came from a noble background and tried to bribe him. There was no reason for the assailants to be unaware of this. Why not just rob a passing merchant? Why come after him? If they did, they would have money, but no life to spend it.
If they were local bandits, they wouldn't dare act so recklessly.
Unless…
Old Town was a port city, one of the most prosperous in Westeros, with high traffic and many people coming and going. The newcomers might not all be legitimate merchants or sailors—some might be desperate criminals with blood on their hands.
Looking at it this way, Aegon thought maybe the day he bought the farm—one that had been pawned by a gambler—he had already been targeted.
These men probably intended to strike quickly, take the loot, and leave by sea that very night, escaping without being discovered. They didn't care if the locals noticed them.
They only knew Aegon was young and Adam was weak.
With the two of them surrounded, it would be easy for the assailants to succeed.
Thinking this, Aegon motioned for Adam to be quiet, then shoved the hard rye bread from the table into his coat pocket.
It was so hard that it made a clanking sound when knocked on the table; it might come in handy for self-defense.
Adam, holding the sword, took a stance and carefully moved to the door, positioning himself against the wall. As soon as someone entered, he would strike with a swift blow.
A faint noise of movement came from outside the door.
Though the assailants had tried to conceal their presence, their disorganized footsteps revealed that there were probably seven or eight of them. If a confrontation ensued, Adam wouldn't fare well.
Therefore, Aegon decided to speak.
"What do you want?"
He tried to sound calm and steady. "If it's money, I can give it to you. Since you dared to rob me, you must know the situation here."
"You can take the money and leave immediately, and by the Seven Gods, I swear I will not tell anyone about what happened tonight;"
"If you insist on bloodshed, then you will meet the noose of House Hightower."
There was a brief silence outside.
It seemed like they had heard something amusing, as they suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was so jarring in the dark of the night.
One of them laughed so hard that he almost dropped his knife.
Aegon wasn't flustered, merely listening calmly and trying to figure out who these men were.
The one who almost dropped his knife had a rough voice. His steps were heavy, and he had a firm base—probably the leader of the group, a large man with impressive skills.
He was also the one who had killed the miller's daughter.
The rough-voiced man sneered. "You're just a little brat, and you dare to negotiate with me?"
"So what if we kill you? How would House Hightower know it was us? By the time we're gone, we'll have already left Westeros. Even if the lords at the towering keep want to hang me, they'll never find my neck!"
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
They laughed again.
Aegon wasn't scared. He just continued talking calmly.
"From your accent, you're not from here."
"Tyrosh? No wonder, that's where armor and mercenaries come from. It's a thousand miles away from Old Town, across the sea from Westeros. Trying to strangle you? It's quite difficult."
As he said this, Aegon smiled faintly.
He seemed to sense something, and his tone lightened. "I admit, the lords at the towering keep may not be able to threaten your neck."
"But that doesn't mean that the dragons of House Targaryen can't burn you to ashes."
As soon as Aegon finished speaking, an eerie sound suddenly came from the silent night sky.
At first, it was unclear, but as Aegon and the assailants faced off, the sound grew clearer and louder with each passing moment.
It came closer and faster.
It felt like there was a huge membrane in the sky, constantly pulsating, disturbing the air above the farm. As the whistling grew louder, the dragon's roar echoed through the clouds.
The night sky suddenly darkened.
The bandits outside instinctively looked up, and they saw a faint golden dragon flying through the moonlight, even blocking it out.
It was Aegon's dragon, Sunfire.
It hovered above the farm but never descended.
Although the bandits had traveled widely with the fleet, seeing many things, a dragon wasn't something common.
Perhaps they had heard stories about ancient Valyria, and knew that the Targaryen family was the last surviving dragonlord family, but how many of them had actually seen a dragon?
They were clearly stunned by the sight.
Especially the ones who had been laughing earlier, who all instinctively looked up at the sky, their mouths agape in terror.
One of the taller bandits raised his trembling hand, pointing at the sky, screaming in fear:
"Dragon———!!!"
In the next moment, he was kicked down by the rough man with the Tyroshi accent. The others quickly reacted and crouched down to avoid Sunfire's sudden dive toward the ground.
The Tyroshi-accented bandit raised his head from the ground.
His fierce gaze was fixed on Aegon, and he reached for his weapon at his waist but hesitated, unwilling to move due to the dragon still circling above.
Clearly, the situation had taken a turn for the worse.
The fact that the prince could call a dragon made the bandit realize that this silver-haired kid might actually be a member of House Targaryen.
"Are you lying to me?"
He gritted his teeth, still trying to be defiant: "What dragon? It's just passing by here. You think I'll believe you? Do you take me for a fool?!"
Aegon hadn't expected him to persist in lying under such circumstances.
But just then, perhaps due to the enormous commotion caused by Sunfire, nearby farmers were startled and began to poke their heads out of their houses, witnessing the jaw-dropping scene.
"What's going on? What's happening?!"
"Mom, look! It's a dragon!!"
Villagers were coming out from who knows where, but it made sense since Aegon's current house had once belonged to the farm's owner, and the workers lived nearby.
Sunfire's arrival was too conspicuous. When it swooped down, the neighbor's dog started barking frantically and fearfully, mixing with the sound of dragon wings.
Aegon noticed that some villagers had already peeked over the fence but hesitated to approach.
At that moment, a heartbreaking, disbelieving cry came from nearby, and a plump farmer woman rushed toward the miller's daughter's body, which had fallen on the ground.
"Oh, gods! Lysa! My child!"
She murmured her daughter's name, trembling as she picked up the little girl's body and laid it on her lap. The child's blood was everywhere, nearly staining her apron.
Aegon recognized the woman immediately—she was the miller's wife, the mother of the little girl who had come to deliver the soup earlier.
Perhaps that soup was what she had personally prepared.
Aegon fell silent.
Truth be told, now wasn't the best time to offer comfort.
Although this unfortunate tragedy wasn't his fault—he hadn't sent the girl out, and he wasn't the one who committed the murder.
He had simply opened the door and accepted the soup the girl brought.
It seemed entirely innocent, but was he really innocent?
The bandits had clearly targeted him.
If Aegon hadn't come to Old Town, the miller's daughter might not have died.
The Riverlands were so fertile that even with the upcoming prolonged civil war, Old Town—located in the southernmost part of the kingdom—was unaffected.
If nothing else, this little girl, Lysa, would have grown up peacefully, instead of being inexplicably murdered by someone with a knife to her throat, becoming a cold corpse.
Aegon felt a tightness in his throat.
He walked over to the miller, wanting to say something, but unsure of what to say.
"I'm sorry, I don't know how to…" he said, his voice faltering, the confidence he had shown when facing the bandits earlier now gone. "I…"
Sunfire still flew above, and the miller's wife wept as she held her daughter's body, but what confused Aegon was that there was no sign of hatred in the miller's eyes.
Instead, it was an expression of reverent fear, like that shown by commoners when faced with a natural disaster or a deity.
There wasn't even a hint of resistance.
Seeing Aegon approach, the miller collapsed to his knees, as if this motion had been etched into his very bones, so practiced it seemed like he had always been meant to kneel before someone.
"Master, please, have mercy on us!"
"Please, spare us!"
He bowed his head forcefully, pulling the sobbing woman beside him down to kneel and beg as well, "We've done nothing, we know nothing! Please, pretend nothing happened! Please, please!"
The miller was, of course, not at fault.
He may not have known what happened, but after seeing the bandits crushed beneath the pressure of the dragon, he could roughly guess how his daughter died. Clearly, it had nothing to do with Aegon.
In fact, without the dragon above, they might have all been robbed.
But in this situation, no matter what happened, kneeling and pleading to a noble was never wrong. It was an instinct embedded deeply into every Westerosi commoner's bones.
It was unforgettable.
At that moment, more farmers gathered around.
A few uncles were leading dogs, but the usually energetic dogs, after sensing the unfamiliar dragon scent, were too scared to step outside. Their owners had to drag them here.
When they saw the situation, they knew exactly what had happened. Adam, seeing more people arriving, felt more confident. He rushed forward, helped subdue several bandits, and took away their weapons.
From a distance, the sound of galloping hooves reached their ears.
The dragon danced wildly in the sky, practically acting as a beacon.
Aegon looked up and saw two squads of silver-armored riders carrying torches riding down the narrow path. The ash-colored banners fluttered, and the emblem of House Hightower, a towering white tower, was faintly visible.