12: Chapter 12 Compensation

The entire room fell silent.

Drogon slowly turned in a circle, his slitted eyes sweeping across every face. Whoever he looked at shrank back.

"Want to see if I can speak? Fine. I'll satisfy your curiosity."

He stopped in front of the member of The Thirteen holding a fan. On his wrist, a dragon-glass bracelet was trembling.

"Now, it is time to discuss business."

He stared at the bracelet.

"That thing on your wrist looks nice. Consider it compensation for your verbal offenses just now."

The member of The Thirteen with the fan turned pale.

"Th-this is priceless—"

"In your hands, it is merely an ornament." His slitted eyes brightened slightly. "In my hands, it will become the reason you stay alive."

He turned his head. His claw pointed at the member of The Thirteen who had spoken up earlier. Then another. Then another. All of them had laughed just moments ago.

"You. You. You. The gems. The gold. Leave it all behind. As a prepaid investment."

Someone wanted to speak. His mouth opened halfway.

Drogon glanced at him. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just stared at him.

The man shut his mouth.

Drogon retracted his claw.

Then, his dragon-dread exploded.

It wasn't a gradual intensification. It was an explosion. It was as if someone had detonated a bomb in the hall.

The air distorted visibly for an instant. The gold leaf on the dome fell in showers. Half the candles in the room extinguished at once.

Among The Thirteen, seven people slid straight off their chairs. Their posture as they collapsed onto the floor was unsightly—silk robes crumpled into a heap, pearls scattered, fans rolled into the corners.

The remaining few, Xaro included, were deathly pale, their lips trembling, cold sweat soaking through their silk.

Jorah stood behind Daenerys Targaryen. He took his hand off his sword hilt.

"This... this is not dragon-dread." His voice was shaking. "This is—the wrath of the gods."

"Ding! Achieved iconic scene [Dragon-Dread Suppresses The Thirteen]! Shock value +8000! Reward received: Attribute points +150!"

Daenerys Targaryen stood straight. She didn't look back. She didn't look at the members of The Thirteen sprawled on the floor, didn't look at Xaro, didn't look at Jorah.

She looked at Drogon. Her eyes were bright.

She spoke. Her voice was level, every word ringing out.

"It seems—we can talk as equals now."

Drogon folded his wings. He landed back on her shoulder. He rested his chin in the crook of her shoulder. His tail wrapped around her arm.

Just like when they had first entered the city gates.

Now, no one was laughing.

The next morning.

Xaro caught up to Daenerys Targaryen as she prepared to leave. He had changed his clothes. They weren't as flashy. His smile had changed, too. It wasn't as broad.

"Khaleesi! Please, wait!"

He bowed, his forehead almost touching his knees.

"To express my apologies, I offer my personal honor as a guarantee—I request that The Undying open their temple to you! The Undying, the wisest warlocks of Qarth, they grant all requests! Perhaps they can provide you with guidance on how to reclaim the iron throne!"

Daenerys Targaryen stopped.

"The Undying? It is said they are immortal?"

"Indeed!" Xaro looked up, that light flashing in his eyes again. The look of someone spotting a bargain. "Their wisdom transcends death itself. Of course, the temple holds countless treasures—gold paved on the floors, gems as stars. Perhaps your black dragon..."

He glanced at Drogon.

"...would like it there."

Drogon didn't look at him. He was asking the system.

"Analyze. Threat level."

"Target location: Temple of The Undying. High concentration of magical fluctuations detected. Suspected presence of 'Sacrificial Arrays' and 'Spiritual Parasitism'. Threat level: High. Kill reward: Extremely high."

He licked the corner of his mouth.

"Suggestion?"

"Play along."

"Just as I thought."

He lay back down on Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder and spoke lazily.

"Mother, let us go. Gold paved on the floors—I want to see if they laid it flat."

The Temple of The Undying was not inside the city of Qarth.

It was on a gray-blue hill outside the city. No gold leaf. No gems. The walls were covered in withered vines, and cold air seeped out from the cracks in the stones.

The door was carved from a single piece of weirwood. A face was carved onto it. The mouth was open. There was no sound, but Drogon could feel it—that mouth was screaming. It had been screaming for a thousand years.

A figure in black robes stood at the entrance. Wrapped tightly, only a pair of hands were exposed. The hands were gray. Not the gray of skin. Gray like ash.

"Mother of Dragons... please..." The voice sounded like fingernails scratching glass. "But living weapons, and non-believers—may not enter."

Jorah drew his sword.

Drogon flew up, blocking the front of the sword.

"Jorah, wait here."

He landed on the ground and rubbed against Daenerys Targaryen's leg. He tilted his head up to look at her.

"Mother. Your Bloodrider cannot enter either. The scent of 'The Undying' inside—it smells like rotting flesh. It is not suitable for mortals to stay long."

Then he held his head high. As if returning home, he was the first to step into the temple gates.

When his claw stepped onto the weirwood threshold, the face seemed to tremble.

The hall inside was absurdly empty.

No gold. No gems. Only a massive stone table sat in the very center. Things were piled on the table.

Gold and silver. Jewels. Divine weapons. Potions.

Every item was glowing. Every item was saying, "Take me."

A dozen or so people sat around the stone table. Gray, decaying faces. Withered hands. Eyes closed. There was no sound of breathing.

The moment Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the hall, her eyes went blank.

Drogon knew what she saw. The iron throne. The Red Keep. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms kneeling at her feet.

Her breathing quickened. Her fingers trembled. She took a step toward the illusion.

"Mother."

Drogon's voice was not loud. It was like a bucket of cold water.

"Wake up. That cold iron chair—it is not as warm as I am."

Daenerys Targaryen blinked hard. The illusion shattered. It fell away like clattering glass, turning into ash as it hit the ground.

She took a step back and gripped the edge of Drogon's wing.

Drogon turned toward the group of motionless Undying. The light of the system panel flashed in his slitted eyes.

"Insight check passed. Mechanism analysis: Parasitic necromancy. Core weakness—"

He grinned.

"Fear of fire."