5: Chapter 5 Bloodline

When the Dragon Breath sprayed down, the sandy ground was like torn cloth.

Lava-colored fissures exploded across the sand surface; the sand was melted into glass by the high heat, falling down with a crackling sound.

Then the ground exploded.

One.

Two.

Three.

All of them were larger than Drogon. The smallest one was as thick as a water barrel. It opened its mouth, and layers of teeth churned in its throat like a meat grinder.

A foul wind rushed into its face.

Drogon rolled to the side.

The one on the left brushed past its wing, and the barbs on its carapace scraped off two of its scales.

It hurt.

But it was a satisfying kind of pain.

It was a pain that made it clear-headed.

The third one came from directly below.

Drogon did not dodge.

A thought flashed through its mind—not a calculation, but an instinct.

Add to bloodline.

It bit directly at the sand worm's head.

The feeling of its teeth sinking in was very strange.

It wasn't hard, but tough. After crushing the sand worm's carapace, the flesh underneath was soft, warm, and still twitching.

Drogon tore off a piece of meat and swallowed it, head tilted back.

Daenerys Targaryen's necklace was cold.

The dragon glass was cold.

But the blood was hot. Alive.

The remaining three sand worms were stunned for a second.

Not out of fear, but because they hadn't reacted yet.

Drogon didn't give them a chance to react.

It kicked off the falling corpse of the sand worm, using the force to spring up, holding the Dragon Breath in its mouth without releasing it.

The moment the third sand worm opened its mouth to bite it—

The Dragon Breath was poured into its mouth.

Burning from the inside out.

The sand worm's scream sounded like a crying baby.

Drogon didn't stop.

It turned toward the last sand worm and opened its blood-stained mouth.

Dragon Might.

Not a skill. An instinct.

Something seeping out from the black dragon bloodline—appearing earlier than claws and teeth, more primitive than Dragon Breath.

The last sand worm didn't run. It froze on the sand, its carapace trembling. When Drogon pounced, it didn't even open its mouth.

The system notification sounds rang out in succession:

"Killed Red Sand Worm (Larva) * 4! Obtained Attribute Points + 20!"

Drogon stood in the middle of the four sand worm corpses, panting like a bellows.

Its face was smeared with blood. It couldn't tell if it was the sand worm's or its own.

Its left wing was torn, and a claw on its right foot was split.

It hurt.

But the numbers on the system panel were jumping.

Not fake.

Every heartbeat was stronger. Its bones were heavier. Its scales were denser.

Experience points were not just numbers.

They were blood.

Every mouthful of blood it bit down on.

The sand was covered in signs of the fight, splattered blood, and shattered carapaces. Drogon looked down at the smallest sand worm.

It was still twitching.

It stepped on it. Its claw pressed down on the head.

"Your brother is bigger than you. Your father is probably even bigger. Sorry—I can't let you go back to report this."

Dragon Breath pressed against its face.

The Khalasar's campfire had already gone out.

It wasn't that no one would add firewood. It was that no one wanted to.

Araddo had already led the horses to the edge of the camp. Tied to his saddle were water skins. Not many. Enough for three people to drink for two days.

A dozen people stood behind him.

Daenerys Targaryen sat by the extinguished campfire, her face expressionless.

Jorah stood behind her; his sword wasn't drawn, but his fingers were on the hilt.

No one spoke.

Then the sound of the wind changed.

It wasn't the wind.

It was what was wrapped within the sound of the wind—wings.

Everyone looked up.

Under the moonlight, a dark shadow rose from the horizon. It was flying very slowly. Very low. As if it might fall at any moment.

It was dragging something.

Something huge.

Three times larger than itself.

Sand worm blood and dragon blood dripped down together, landing on the sand and splashing into wet spots.

No one in the camp spoke.

Until the dark shadow flew closer, until everyone could clearly see the sand worm corpse clenched in its mouth, the several scales torn off its body, and the unspent killing intent still glowing in its eyes.

Drogon slammed the sand worm corpse into the center of the camp.

Dust flew up and covered Araddo's face.

"Dinner."

Drogon said.

It stood on the sand worm corpse; its voice was hoarse, but every word was clear:

"Eat it while it's hot."