The smell of scorched earth and blood still permeated the open ground next to the Governors Mansion, thick and unyielding.
The surviving lords of Lys huddled there all night.
Fear was etched onto every face, yet most tried desperately to straighten their backs, maintaining their crumbling noble decorum.
That was the last difference between them and the common folk.
The crowd was clearly divided.
One cluster was centered around Luciana Hain.
The silver-haired woman stood ramrod straight, suppressing her agitation and calculations behind her pale violet eyes.
Beside her were the Rojar clansmen who had narrowly escaped execution, their faces ashen, but a flicker of unbelievable relief hidden in their eyes.
In the face of utter disaster, such an ally had descended from the heavens.
Some nobles who had prior connections with the two families also gathered around, casting hopeful glances toward Luciana, hoping this lady acquainted with the Dragonlord could serve as a talisman.
The other group of nobles, larger in number, clustered far away on the other side. Their gazes toward Luciana's group were complex, but their feet seemed rooted to the spot; they did not approach.
The reason was simple.
"The Spring of Lys."
Governor Dorian's roar from the banquet last night still echoed—that attempted coup was aimed at more than just the Antalion family.
Political reshuffles were always bloody affairs, and they, the vested interests, were naturally obstacles that needed clearing on the path for the Hain and Rojar restoration.
To go'sponge off' them now? It was like seeking favors from a tiger.
They preferred to believe that whoever sat on the Governor's seat, to govern the land of Lys, they—the nobles familiar with governance, controlling resources and connections—would ultimately be indispensable.
What they needed, perhaps, was just a respectable negotiation.
Sa Melis stood alone between the two clusters, utterly lost.
Her pretty face was deathly pale, her makeup smeared by tear tracks, leaving only emptiness in her charming almond eyes.
She couldn't understand... Prince Aegon Targaryen should have been on his way to form an alliance; how could he have stepped out of legend, riding that colossal beast, to personally sever the Governor's head?
Same name? Coincidence?
But the silver hair, the violet eyes, the surname.
And that... dragon.
"Stomp, stomp, stomp..."
The sound of military boots striking the ground approached from a distance, each step like a strike on the taut heartstrings of the crowd.
The Bloodsworn soldiers on the periphery clenched their fists against their chests, armor clanking dully, and called out in unison, low and deep: "Your Highness!"
Aegon nodded slightly, his steps unwavering.
Behind him, a massive pale gold shadow moved. Ghidorah's three heads hung low, its six molten-gold eyes looking down indifferently, the air congealing like lead under the dragon's might.
A wave of suppressed gasps rose from the crowd; their forced composure wavered precariously.
Aegon's gaze swept over the two clusters, his brow twitching almost imperceptibly.
"Let me introduce myself again," he began, his voice not loud, but extinguishing all minor disturbances. "My name is Aegon Targaryen."
"The rightful heir to the iron throne of Westeros, grandson of Aerys II, son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia."
He stated it calmly, as if reciting an established fact.
"Some of you may have heard this name, perhaps... you are even entangled with it." His gaze felt substantial, slowly raking across the faces of the crowd, pausing momentarily on Sa Melis's instantly ashen face.
"An imposter has stolen my name; this matter will be dealt with later."
"For now, Lys is under my command." His tone was steady, yet carried an undeniable force of control. "Now, let us discuss you, and the future of this city."
Among the noble group opposite Luciana, the lords exchanged glances. Finally, an older noble wearing a dark green velvet coat stepped forward slightly and bowed in salute.
His posture carried the carefully measured deference unique to nobility:
"Honorable Prince Aegon. The power you have displayed... is awe-inspiring."
"Lys surrendering to you is its destined fate." When he looked up, a flash of shrewdness shone in his eyes.
"Lys is a city run by commerce and money, my lord."
"You can seize it with swords, but to make this city create wealth for you and sustain your armies, swords alone... may not be enough."
He paused briefly, observing Aegon's expression. Seeing the prince unmoved, he continued, his tone becoming more composed:
"You are new here and need people who understand the pulse of this city, who know which taxes can be collected, which people cannot easily be offended, and how to make merchants willingly open their purses. We... have lived here for generations."
"We know all the joints, all the overt and hidden rules."
"If you allow us to form a council to handle these tedious affairs for you, then Lys can quickly restore order and continue bringing you rolling gold coins."
The nobles behind him nodded one after another, expressions conveying, 'We know how to keep this money-making machine running.'
Aegon listened quietly, his face unmoving, only his violet eyes grew deeper.
"Are you finished?" he asked.
The older noble started, then nodded hesitantly.
"I understand," Aegon's voice turned cold.
"You believe that without you experts, Lys will turn to ruins, and even with swords and a dragon, I won't be able to take a single copper coin, is that it?"
"No, Your Highness, we absolutely do not mean that! It's just that managing a city, especially a city like Lys, requires skill."
"Skill?" Aegon interrupted him, a near-zero curve forming on his lips.
"Your so-called management skill is about positioning yourselves as indispensable parts of this city, then demanding a comfortable position from me, and letting everything continue to operate in the way most beneficial to you, correct?"
Cold sweat beaded on the older noble's forehead.
"You don't want to help me manage Lys; you want me to admit that you are the true masters of Lys."
"Absolutely not! Your Highness, you misunderstand...!"
"Enough."
Aegon's voice was not loud, but it was like an ice pick piercing the suddenly solidified air.
He looked up, the last trace of warmth draining from his violet eyes:
"I asked for your opinions not because I need them. But to let you understand..."
He paused, every word like fire-quenched steel, hammering into the stagnant air:
"I have not come to co-rule Rhys with you."
"I have come to conquer it."
"And all you need to do is kneel and accept my rule."
The older nobles' faces turned pale, their lips trembling.
Aegon no longer looked at him, turning his gaze toward the scorched, blackened open space, as if speaking to himself, or perhaps delivering a final verdict:
"I gave you a chance."
The moment his voice fell—
Ghidorah, who had been standing silently, suddenly raised its middle dragon head, its molten gold eyes locking onto the nobles whose faces instantly drained of color.
The dragon's mouth opened, and a point of golden light suddenly appeared!
It was not a deafening roar, but a low, concentrated hum filled with the aura of annihilation.
"Zzzzz-BOOM!!!!!!"
A column of golden lightning, as thick as a water bucket and supremely brilliant, swept across that area like the punitive whip of an ancient giant god in an instant.
There was no explosion, only the grating sound of matter being completely decomposed and annihilated.
The golden lightning flashed and vanished.
On the spot, those nobles, along with the exquisite marble slabs beneath their feet, vanished without a trace.
Only a scorched black ravine, several feet wide, bottomless, and flickering with a dark red molten sheen along its edges, remained, while a pungent stench of burning rose into the air.
The wind blew, scattering a few specks of ash.
Only Sa Melis remained on the spot, collapsed on the ground, her scream stuck in her throat.
The area around her was clean, as if that ray of destructive lightning had deliberately bypassed the small patch of ground where she was kneeling.
Aegon didn't even glance at the terrifying result.
He slowly turned, his icy violet eyes falling upon Luciana and the others on the other side, whose faces had long since turned ashen and who were shaking like sieves.
"And you?"
Luciana's heart hammered against her ribs, almost wanting to break free from her chest.
She looked at Aegon's impassive face, then at the blackened ravine that had instantly swallowed up more than half of Rhys's nobility, and a chill shot from the soles of her feet straight to the top of her head.
This was not the silent and stubborn, occasionally gentle "Brother Rojar" from her memory.
This was a true Dragon King, who viewed human lives as mere weeds, holding the power of life and death entirely in a single thought.
She forced herself to think quickly, digging her fingernails deeply into her palm; the sting maintained her last shred of clarity.
What Aegon wanted was not a Governor, not shared rule.
He wanted absolute conquest, absolute authority.
She took a deep breath, suppressing her trembling with all her might, stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and spoke, her voice hoarse from tension but clear and resolute:
"Your Highness the Prince Aegon, your power is awe-inspiring. For Lys to be governed by you is its destiny, and... our fortune."
"The Hain Family swears by the name of our family's hundred years and pledges all our loyalty to you, unwavering until death."
She looked up, her pale violet eyes meeting Aegon's:
"The Hain Family once held the authority of Lys. According to ancient tradition and law, we have the right to propose... that you be honored as the Prince of Lys!"
The members of the Rojar behind her and the other nobles were already terrified out of their wits. Seeing Luciana take the lead, they promptly dropped to their knees in a cluster, scrambling to agree: "May you be honored as Prince! Loyalty to Your Highness! Loyalty to Your Highness the Prince!"
Aegon looked at the kneeling crowd and slowly nodded, a faint, almost satisfied expression flashing across his face.
But then, he spoke, his voice steady, yet every word struck like iron:
"Not enough."
Everyone stiffened.
"It is not that I become your Prince," Aegon said slowly, each word weighing a thousand pounds, "but that Lys, from this moment on, shall be designated as my Prince's Territory of Targaryen. You are vassals and subordinates who manage this territory for me."
"Nothing more."
"Hand over your family heirs and all private armed forces to serve as my attendants and the backbone of my new army."
"The old laws of Lys will be temporarily retained, but the ultimate right to interpretation and amendment belongs to me."
The last shred of hope in Luciana's heart completely turned to ice.
This was a demand for hostages, a confiscation of military power, a monopolization of legal authority... complete and total submission, leaving no room for negotiation.
But she dared not refuse, nor even hesitate.
"We obey your command, Your Highness the Prince!" She touched her forehead to the ground, her voice trembling with resignation.
Those behind her kowtowed vigorously, repeatedly agreeing.
Aegon looked at their fearful submission, shifted his tone slightly, his manner still indifferent, yet offering a tangible benefit:
"Loyalty to me will bring rewards."
"The Hain and Rojar families will have their legal status and rights in Lys fully restored. Effective immediately, a Provisional Regency Council shall be formed, with the Hain and Rojar families temporarily holding seats. Remaining positions will be determined later based on merit and loyalty."
He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the blackened ravine:
"As for what they left behind... their properties, wealth, and vacant positions—how much you can take depends on your own capabilities."
"I only demand results and your complete, unreserved loyalty."
After coercion came naked and tempting enticement; the fat meat was right in front of them, and whether they could eat it and dared to snatch it depended on their own courage and means.
"Now, utilize all your connections and resources to restore order to Lys as quickly as possible."
"Markets must open, rumors must cease, and the people's hearts must be settled. I do not wish to see any large-scale chaos or delays."
Aegon finished speaking, no longer looking at them, and turned to leave.
As he passed Sa Melis, who was collapsed on the ground with vacant eyes, his steps paused slightly. This woman was still useful, which was why he had deliberately spared her life. He turned and instructed his personal guard in a low voice: "Take her away and keep her under separate guard."
Then, he slightly tilted his head and left a cold whisper in a volume only Luciana, who was close by, could hear:
"Do not disappoint me."
Luciana's body shook violently, cold sweat oozing from her forehead pressed against the ground, her fingertips digging deep into the scorched earth.
Aegon did not linger, his dark red cloak cutting a sharp trajectory through the brightening dawn and the lingering smoke as he walked toward the inner courtyard of the Governors Mansion.
Ghidorah let out a low roar and followed with heavy steps, causing muffled thuds to resonate from the ground.
Only the kneeling nobles remained, the air filled with the smell of blood and burning, and the suffocating weight known as absolute power.
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