137: Chapter 137 Twin Dragons Ascend

Outside the back gate of the Red Keep. Before dawn.

The battle in the sky above the walls of King's Landing still continued, but the sound of the scorpions had grown much sparser—changing from the previous continuous volleys to intermittent single shots.

More than half of the east wall had been shaved off by the Chronos Dragon's Space Rifts. The remaining scorpion crews were either dead or injured, and several scorpions had been completely flipped over by the Space Rifts, their carriages pointing skyward on the wall.

The cut surfaces of the Space Rifts on the battlements gleamed with an eerie, smooth texture under the moonlight—a physical characteristic unique to Space Rifts, where the severed stone surfaces were smoother than any polish could achieve.

Drogon returned to the back alley from the secret passage of the Red Keep.

Inside his leather pouch was now Aegon's Crown, while the bag of dragonglass shards was missing a few pieces that had been used to activate the Whisper of the Old Gods.

The Whisper of the Old Gods was still ongoing, a faint grayish-white halo subtly enveloping his body—almost invisible under the moonlight, but a closer look revealed that the air around him was more stagnant than elsewhere, as if an extremely thin membrane separated him from the world.

Tyrion was already waiting for him in the back alley. He was not alone.

Standing beside him was a tall, blonde man with a golden right hand, holding an unsheathed longsword in his left. The blade had been wiped clean, but a few spots of dried blood still clung to the guard—not human blood, but the dark red blood of a Dragon-born Mount, distinct from the color of human blood.

Jaime Lannister. The two brothers stood by a patch of withered roses in the abandoned alley, behind them the back gate that Jaime had opened twice.

When Jaime saw Drogon, his expression carried a relief he probably didn't even realize himself—not the relief of an ally, but a confirmation that "this guy indeed didn't die in the vault."

"I got the crown."

"I got it. Aegon I's. Seven rubies. Not one missing."

"Good." Jaime shifted the longsword to his golden hand and flexed the fingers of his left hand.

"I passed Maegors Holdfast just now—Cersei smashed a chair in her room. Not because she lost the crown. It was because Qyburn's Dark Magic Detection Array failed for three seconds. She thought the Targaryens had already breached the Red Keep."

Tyrion tapped his short cane against the base of the wall.

"Now there's only one problem left—the Space-Time Dragon Captain.

"Half the scorpions on the walls were destroyed by his Space Rifts; the Gold Cloaks have no firepower left.

"Of the remaining three Dragon-born Mounts, two are injured and one is on guard. The Dragon-born Apostle is still tracking you, but she's being interfered with by The Old Gods.

"The Space-Time Dragon Captain is hovering over the Red Keep right now—he hasn't been driven back, he's waiting for you to come out on your own."

"I know. I can feel him."

Drogon pulled the last small piece of high-purity dragonglass shard from his leather pouch, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it up.

The mineral taste of the dragonglass shard exploded on the tip of his tongue, and a faint blue shimmer leaked from between his teeth.

The chill of the Ice Element poured down his throat and into his chest, merging with the dark gold energy in his Bloodline, producing a deep, low resonance in his chest—this was the precursor to activating the Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form, as the Ice Element in his Dragon Clan Bloodline resonated with the dark gold energy in his Ancestor Dragon Bloodline before the battle.

"His Bloodline signal is colder than before—he's growing impatient. He thinks I'm prey hiding under the protection of The Old Gods, too afraid to come out."

He swallowed the dragonglass shard, his deep brown round pupils flashing under the grayish-white halo of the Whisper of the Old Gods.

"I'll go deal with him. You two—we might still need this back gate in the future. Don't let it rust shut."

Above King's Landing. The darkest hour before dawn.

The moon had been completely swallowed by the clouds, leaving only the dying fires of Flea Bottom and the unextinguished wildfire embers on the ruined walls to provide faint illumination. The wildfire embers danced with an eerie green light upon the ruins.

In his Dragon form, Drogon soared into the sky from the outlet of the King's Landing sewers.

Water droplets were flung from his wingtips into countless fine beads, instantly freezing into ice crystals in the night wind—each crystal reflecting a tiny, cold glint of light in the air.

In less than five seconds, he climbed to the same altitude as the Space-Time Dragon Captain, his wingtips tearing through the air and pulling behind them two white-hot shockwaves—the precursor to a sonic boom generated when the flapping frequency of his wings breached the critical threshold after activating the Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form.

His wingspan fully unfurled in the dark night, his dark gold scales shimmering with a subtle metallic luster under the glow of the dying fires of Flea Bottom.

Faint blue Ice Fire condensed along the edges of his wing membranes, and ice crystals slowly spread across the surface of his scales—the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form was activating.

This Spell was modified by the Storm Ancestor Dragon after seizing it from the Ice Element Lord of the Abyss Demon Realm. It did not rely entirely on the Old Valyria Dragon Clan Bloodline, but instead fused the Ice Element with the Dragon Clan Bloodline. The disadvantage was that it could only be maintained for less than thirty minutes once activated, but the advantage was a forty percent leap in Ice Element affinity during its duration.

The silver-gray rim of his vertical pupils locked directly onto the pure silver vertical pupils of the Space-Time Dragon Captain from less than three hundred meters away.

In the air, two forces of dragon aura ground against each other.

The Space-Time Dragon Captain's dragon aura carried the distinct pressure of spatial distortion—as if an invisible force was squeezing the surrounding air.

Drogon's dragon aura, however, was a hybrid field of the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Ancestral Dragon Domain and the Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form—the Ice Element condensed into extremely fine ice crystals within the Domain, gradually eroding the Chronos Dragon's Space Perception precision.

The two dragon auras collided along the three-hundred-meter midline, and the air around the collision point rippled visibly—not from a Space-Time Fold, but from the air pressure fluctuations generated by the pure clash of dragon auras.

Even the roofs of Flea Bottom below began to vibrate slightly—tiles clattered against each other under the dragon aura, making a fine clicking sound. The residents of Flea Bottom looked up at the sky, seeing a dark gold and a silver-white silhouette facing off beneath the clouds. Some thought two stars had fallen from the sky.

System pop-up.

"Current Opponent Evaluation—Space-Time Dragon Captain.

"Estimated Bloodline: 2,800 points. Attribute: Space-Time. Passive: Space Perception—allows pre-sensing of attack trajectories.

"Space Folding—can distort the direction of ranged attacks.

"Spells Cast: Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Void Rift, Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Space-Time Fold, Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Space Rift, Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Consciousness Resonance.

"Weakness: The Space-Time attribute's resistance to the Ice Element is lower than to other elements—because the Ice Element solidifies space, interfering with the Chronos Dragon's Space Perception precision.

"Recommended Tactics: Suppress his Space Perception with the Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form, neutralize his Space Folding advantage through close-quarters dragon combat, and attack the base of his left wing with Bloodline Burning Ice Flame—the Chronos Dragon's Space Perception organs are concentrated in the spatial gland at the base of his left wing.

"Tactical success rate is approximately 47%—but if the host overlaps and releases the Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form and the Ancestral Dragon Domain, the success rate can be increased to 62%."

The Space-Time Dragon Captain's silver vertical pupils swept over Drogon's dark gold scales, the silver-gray rims of his eyes, and the newly grown scale at the base of his left wing—that scale was slightly thinner than the others, its edges still carrying translucent keratin.

His voice rang directly in Drogon's consciousness, devoid of any rhetoric, like a judge reading a verdict.

"Designation DK-0001. You have inherited the Bloodline of the Storm Devourer. You have also absorbed the dragon bones of Orys Targaryen. You carry the stench of evolution shards on you—in Space Perception, that smell is a mass of unfoldable Chaos.

"You are a variable. The Senate's evaluation recommendation—priority purification."

His silver vertical pupils contracted slightly, and space let out a deep hum around him—the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Space-Time Fold was condensing beneath his wings.

"You have one last chance: surrender all Dragon Clan Bloodlines and hand over the evolution shards. You will survive as a human of the lower planes. Refuse—and you will be erased from the level of Karma, just like the Storm Devourer."

Drogon's vertical pupils locked onto the base of the Space-Time Dragon Captain's left wing.

There was a slightly thinner, slightly raised area there compared to the other scales—the location of the spatial gland, the weakness marked by the System. His voice was low, but every word was as clear as cracking ice crystals.

"You mentioned the 'Storm Devourer'. You know him. He was executed by your The Tribunal.

"You are probably not the chief justice—you are just the Enforcement Captain of The Senate. Have you seen the execution records of the Storm Devourer?"

His wings suddenly unfurled.

Faint blue Ice Fire gushed from the edges of his wing membranes, drawing two gorgeous arcs in the night sky—wherever the arcs passed, the air condensed into extremely fine ice crystals that drifted in the night wind like two frozen galaxies.

The ice crystal armor of the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form covered his entire body within a few breaths—starting from the tip of his tail, an extremely thin layer of ice crystals condensed on the surface of his scales, spreading along his spine to his head, wrapping his entire dragon body in translucent ice armor.

The surface of the ice armor refracted countless tiny, faint blue points of light, each point being starlight captured by the Ice Element.

The Dragon Breath condensed in his throat into a dark gold and faint blue beam that fused Ice Fire and Bloodline searing—Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Bloodline Burning Ice Flame. This was Drogon's unique composite Dragon Breath, merging the Ice Element of the Pseudo-Ice Dragon Form with the searing traits of the Ancestor Dragon Bloodline.

As the Dragon Breath churned in his throat, it let out an extremely low hum, a frequency too low for human ears to hear, yet they could feel it—the residents of Flea Bottom instinctively clutched their chests, feeling as if their heartbeats had been suppressed by something.

At the same time, the passive effect of the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Ancestral Dragon Domain was actively released—within a hundred-meter radius, the Space-Time Dragon Captain's Space Perception precision was suppressed and reduced by an additional twenty percent by the Ancestor Dragon Bloodline.

"Before he died, he said—'Evolution cannot be erased.' Now his successor stands before you. Do you think I am here to beg for mercy, or to pay back his debt?"

For the first time, a caution beyond combat evaluation appeared in the Space-Time Dragon Captain's silver vertical pupils.

He felt his spatial gland stiffen slightly under the diffusion of the Ice Element—a physiological reaction to the drop in Space Perception precision, like a mirror's surface suddenly fogging up.

He spoke no more.

He responded in the way of the Dragon Clan to the Dragon Clan—unfurling both wings simultaneously, the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Space-Time Fold unfurled to its limit beneath his wings, compressing the air within a three-hundred-meter distance into visible, translucent ripples.

The ripples spread outward, shaking loose a few stones when they hit the walls of King's Landing. The surviving Gold Cloaks on the walls looked up to see two streaks of light charging at each other, and someone instinctively yelled, "Dragon is fighting dragon!"

The two dragons simultaneously dived toward each other in the sky above King's Landing.

The two dragons charged at each other at full speed.

Drogon's wingspan was thirty-four meters, while the Space-Time Dragon Captain's was forty meters—a six-meter wingspan difference meant a larger turning radius and slower direction-changing speed in aerial combat, but it also meant stronger wing-bone impact force.

Drogon did not choose a head-on clash of Dragon Breaths—he knew the Chronos Dragon's Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Space-Time Fold could distort the trajectory of ranged attacks. His tactic was to use close-quarters dragon combat to neutralize the opponent's spatial Spell advantage.

The first strike was wing-bone against wing-bone.

At the moment they crossed paths, both dragons swung out their left wings simultaneously.

The outermost wing-bones—some of the hardest bones in a dragon's entire body, with a hardness exceeding valyrian steel—slammed violently into each other in midair.

The moment of impact exploded with a dull bone-on-bone crack—not a fracture, but a shockwave produced by two extremely dense bones colliding at full speed. The shockwave expanded in a ring, pushing the clouds around the two dragons into a void nearly a hundred meters in diameter.

The ice crystal armor on Drogon's left wing-bone shattered into a cloud of faint blue light dust from the impact, the shards exploding in the air like an ice flower that bloomed and withered in an instant.

He felt a sharp pain in his left wing—the bone wasn't broken, but the periosteum was bruised, sending a dull ache with every flap. But he did not slow down. Utilizing the force of the impact, he rolled to the side, executing a nearly one-hundred-and-twenty-degree barrel roll pivoted on his wingtip, maneuvering his body to the left side of the Space-Time Dragon Captain.

The Space-Time Dragon Captain's right wing membrane was scorched by the Ice Fire during the impact, leaving a tear nearly two meters long.

Ice crystals condensed along the edges of the tear, spreading through the blood vessel network of the wing membrane, causing his Space Perception precision to drop by at least thirty percent in that instant.

His silver vertical pupils contracted slightly—he realized this dragon, with a wingspan six meters smaller than his, wasn't here to match strength, but to match angles.

After crossing paths, both dragons swung their tails simultaneously.

The dragon tail was one of the most lethal weapons in close-quarters dragon combat—the tip of the tail could exceed the speed of sound, and the impact of the tail club was enough to shatter dragon scales.

Drogon's tail club—that dark gold tail bone polished harder than valyrian steel through countless battles—drew a dark gold arc in the air, smashing into the Space-Time Dragon Captain's ribs.

The moment it struck, a muffled thud exploded, like a hammer hitting an anvil. Three translucent silver-white scales shattered under the tail club, their fragments refracting fine starlight as they tumbled through the air.

The Space-Time Dragon Captain's tail whip lashed across Drogon's left shoulder.

His tail whip was not a purely physical attack—the tip of the tail released a miniature version of the Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Space Rift at the moment of the strike.

The power of spatial distortion tore a crack through the ice crystal armor, and dark gold dragon blood seeped from the rift, condensing into a string of fine blood beads in the night sky.

The falling blood beads were frozen by the Ice Element, turning into tiny dark gold ice beads that clattered crisply against the roofs of Flea Bottom.

Drogon felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder—it wasn't a broken bone, but the Space Rift had torn an extremely fine crack in his scales.

The crack was not deep, but the residual energy of the Space Rift continued to vibrate along its edges, each vibration feeling like an invisible needle stabbing into the wound.

He paid no heed to the wound.

At the same moment the tail whip struck him, he used the momentum to spin, shifting his center of gravity to his rear wings to execute one of the most difficult maneuvers in dragon aerial combat—Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic: Wing-Turning Gale, pivoting on his rear wings to make a sudden stop and turn while flying at high speed.

The air beneath his wings was compressed into a visible air cushion, then suddenly released, propelling him through a sharp turn of nearly one hundred and eighty degrees in less than two seconds.

The cost of this maneuver was the worsening of the injury to his left wing's periosteum—he felt as if he were tearing a strained muscle with every flap of his left wing. But the reward was worth it.

He was now directly facing the base of the Space-Time Dragon Captain's left wing—the location marked by the System, that slightly thinner, raised area where the spatial gland resided.