51: Chapter 51 Potential Enemies

The moon rose to mid-sky.

Meereen fell quiet.

The bonfires in the plaza burned down to embers, the freed slaves returned to their temporary shelters, and the Unsullied completed their third watch shift.

Torches on the city walls flickered in the sea breeze, casting dancing shadows against the basalt.

On the top terrace of the Great Pyramid, Drogon had not yet moved.

He remained in his dragon form, half-crouched on the edge of the terrace.

His twenty-five-meter wingspan was tucked at his sides, his tail hanging down from the edge of the terrace, the tip swaying gently in the night breeze.

His vertical pupils stared at the thousands of lights in the city below.

Dragon Perception expanded within his consciousness.

Twelve Sub-runes were distributed throughout the city, like twelve inflamed teeth.

"Twelve. Plus one Main Rune. And three suspects setting the formation."

The tip of his tail traced a circle in the air.

"I'll take them all tonight."

Footsteps approached from behind.

They weren't Daenerys Targaryen's—she was sleeping in her chambers tonight; the blood bond conveyed that her heartbeat was steady, and she was already asleep.

Nor were they White Mane's—Drogon could feel her heartbeat through the brand; she was currently at the base of the pyramid conducting final pre-battle checks.

These footsteps were lighter, more rapid. It was Missandei.

She poked her head out from the stairwell, clutching a notebook. Her large amber eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"Lord Drogon. Commander White Mane asked me to inform you—all three suspects are in position. One is in his own home, and two are in the port warehouse district pretending to count cargo. The cavalry has sealed all exits."

Drogon did not look back.

"Let them pretend for a little longer. Wait for the next pulse of the Main Rune—I'll act during the interval between pulses, so they won't realize the runes have been destroyed right away."

Missandei opened her notebook and scribbled two lines.

"The time window?"

"The Main Rune pulses seven times. Each interval is twelve seconds. Twelve seconds is enough for me to burn three Sub-runes. There are twelve Sub-runes in the city—four rounds. After four rounds, the Main Rune will be isolated, and I will go down to finish it off."

Missandei's quill stopped.

"Four rounds... that's less than two minutes. Burning all the Abyss Demon Realm runes in the city in two minutes. This efficiency—"

"What is it?"

"...I'm calculating how to write this in the battle report. If the Great Masters see this number, they might be scared to death."

Drogon curled his lips. A cold, deep blue light flashed in his vertical pupils under the moonlight.

"Then just write 'in an instant.' They don't have the guts to come and verify it anyway."

The Main Rune flickered.

Drogon's Dragon Perception caught the deep blue pulse rising from the underground river, passing through the rock strata, through the base of the pyramid, and shooting northward. The pulse lasted 0.3 seconds. Then it extinguished. The next pulse was in twelve seconds.

Now.

He spread his wings. He didn't need to flap—he didn't need to. His twenty-five-meter wingspan cast a massive shadow in the moonlight, and his body slid silently off the edge of the terrace.

Gliding in dragon form, he adjusted the angle of his wings slightly, sweeping across the night sky of Meereen like a black triangular kite.

The first Sub-rune. Below the battlements on the west side of the city wall.

Carved into a crevice in the basalt. The rune groove was filled with ice crystal shards and some kind of congealed blood.

Drogon swept over the city wall. His dragon mouth opened slightly. A thin stream of deep blue Ice Fire sprayed precisely onto the rune. It wasn't a wide-area burning—it was a precision strike like a welding torch.

The moment the Ice Fire covered the rune, the ice crystal shards vaporized, the congealed blood evaporated, and a charred dragon claw mark was left on the basalt. When the rune was destroyed, it emitted a very faint crack. Pop. Like stepping on a thin sheet of ice.

"The first."

No pause. He adjusted his dragon wings, his body arcing through the air as he glided toward the east side of the city wall.

The second Sub-rune. Above the city gate, hidden behind a bronze decorative plate on the support beam. Drogon swept the plate aside with the tip of his tail and sprayed Ice Fire directly onto the surface. The blue light of the bursting rune flashed once beneath the bronze plate, then went out.

"The second."

The third Sub-rune was on the roof of a port warehouse. Drogon inverted himself—flying upside down in dragon form required core strength; he curled his tail into an S-shape in the air to maintain balance, sweeping over the warehouse head-down, his Dragon Breath completing aiming and firing in a fraction of a second. When the rune was destroyed, a very brief sound of ice cracking echoed in the warehouse district. The night-shift dockworker looked up, but saw nothing. The black dragon shadow had already flown far away.

The first pulse round ended. The second had not yet begun.

Three runes. Ten seconds.

Drogon landed on a protruding platform in the middle level of the pyramid. His vertical pupils scanned the city. The remaining nine runes were still flashing. The Main Rune's next pulse hadn't started yet.

"System. Start timer."

"Eight seconds until the next pulse. Current progress: 3/13. Ice Element absorption: Trace amount. Rune fragment energy has been automatically captured by the dragon crystal and stored in the elemental sac beneath the host's left wing scales."

Drogon licked his lips. Beneath his left wing scales, there was a slight swelling—that was the elemental sac storing Ice Element energy. This was the first time he had used this feature since unlocking it at Dragon Tooth Reef. It felt like having too many coins in his pocket.

"Eight seconds is enough to fly to two. Continue."

When the second pulse round began, Drogon was already at the base of the pyramid.

The fourth rune was hidden in the drainage culvert of the pyramid's foundation. He squeezed in through a ventilation opening on the outside of the tower—his twenty-five-meter wingspan was difficult to maneuver in the narrow space, so he switched to his half-dragon form.

Not human form. It was something in between: his size shrank to about three meters, retaining his wings and dragon tail, with dragon claws for limbs. The system hadn't taught him this form; he had figured it out himself. The posture was ugly. Like a dragon crawling through a dog hole.

"If anyone asks about this part after we get back, tell them I blew it up directly in dragon form. Don't mention anything about squeezing through a vent."

System pop-up: "The host's frequency of caring about his image is far higher than his frequency of caring about tactical rationality."

"Shut up."

Dragon Breath exploded in the narrow space. The Ice Fire filled the drainage culvert, burning the fourth rune, along with the surrounding moss and silt, into ash. The ashes contained shards of ice.

The fifth one was in the basement on the west side of the pyramid. That basement had originally been a cellar where the Great Masters stored collateral for usury; now it was empty, with only rusted iron hooks remaining on the walls.

The rune was carved in the center of the cellar ceiling. He didn't know who had climbed up to carve it—the ceiling was four meters from the ground, and there were no ladder marks. It might have been carved while floating using magic.

Drogon looked up. He sprayed Dragon Breath toward the ceiling. The ceiling was scorched by the Ice Fire, and the rune's light flickered twice in the center of the scorch mark before going out. Ice shards fell from the ceiling, rustling. He opened his mouth to catch one. He chewed it twice. The Ice Element energy slid down his throat into his stomach.

"The taste is bad. Not as pure as the ice crystal shards from Dragon Tooth Reef."

"That shard was a relic from the ancient war against the Others. These runes are mass-produced items condensed by low-level demon generals using their own frost power. The difference is roughly equivalent to that between dragon glass and river sand."

"Alright. Next one."

The sixth was on the foundation of an abandoned temple outside the city wall. This temple was built during the time of the Ghiscari Empire and had been abandoned for hundreds of years; the foundation had sunk into the reed marsh.

When Drogon flew over, he almost collided with a hidden sentry set by White Mane—a Dothraki Cavalryman lying in the reeds with reeds stuck in his helmet; he almost drew his bow when he saw the dragon shadow flying over. The cavalryman recognized the tip of his tail and lowered the bow.

The rune was carved on the remains of the temple altar. The altar was made of obsidian, and the rune was carved very deeply. Drogon sprayed a breath of Dragon Breath, but it didn't burn through—obsidian itself had anti-magic properties, and the rune was carved too deep; the Ice Fire only burned off the surface layer. He landed on the altar, dug his dragon claws into the grooves, and ripped the rune along with the surface layer of obsidian off. Stone chips flew everywhere.

"Six left."

The second pulse round ended. Before the third round began, Drogon flew to the port warehouse district.

There wasn't just one rune here. There were two. One on the east wall of the warehouse, and one under the warehouse floor—White Mane's people had only detected the one on the east wall; the one under the floor was only caught by Drogon using Dragon Perception just now as he flew over. It was hidden very deep. Buried under cargo boxes and covered with a layer of burlap soaked in fish oil.

Drogon landed on the warehouse roof. His dragon claws were silent. His vertical pupils looked down through the gaps in the wooden planks.

There were two people in the warehouse.

Not White Mane's people. White Mane's cavalry had sealed the perimeter, but these two people were not outside the blockade—they were inside the warehouse. One person was leaning against a cargo box, holding an oil lamp in his hand.

The other person was crouching in the corner, using a chisel and hammer to carve something into the stone floor tiles. His movements were fast. But steady. Not a stonemason—a stonemason's rhythm for chiseling stone is uniform; this person carved twice, then paused for half a second.

During the pauses, he was muttering. Not talking. Chanting.

"The one setting up the formation. He's adding the thirteenth Sub-rune."

Drogon didn't move. He lay on the roof, his vertical pupils staring down through the gaps in the planks. The two people didn't notice him. The oil lamp's light could only illuminate a three-foot radius; the roof was dark.

He was waiting.

The sound of chiseling stone stopped. The crouching person stood up, took an ice crystal shard from his bosom, and embedded it into the freshly carved rune groove. The rune lit up with a deep blue light. The first pulse synchronized with the Main Rune.

Drogon moved.

He didn't enter through the door. He smashed down directly through the roof.

His dragon claws tore through the planks, breaking a large hole in the roof. Before the wood chips had even landed, his Dragon Breath had already blown out the oil lamp. In the darkness, only the deep blue light of the rune and two clusters of dark golden vertical pupils remained.

"Good evening."

He landed on the cargo boxes. His dragon form shrank to four meters in length, his tail swaying slowly behind him. His vertical pupils stared at the two frozen people in front of him.

The one holding the oil lamp tried to run. Drogon used his tail to snap the man's lower leg. The sound of bone cracking echoed in the warehouse. The man fell to the ground screaming; the oil lamp fell to the floor, spilling oil everywhere.

The crouching person didn't run. He turned around—Drogon saw his face clearly. Not a Great Master. It was the Great Masters' steward. A man dressed in decent clothes. His hair was gray, and his face was etched with wrinkles. His eyes were dark brown, and there was no fear. Only a kind of resignation so calm it was unsettling.

"You are one of Ice Scum's men."

The old man didn't answer. He looked down at the rune he had just carved. The rune was still flickering. The deep blue light shone on his face, making the wrinkles look deeper.

"Ice Scum is already dead. Your mission has failed. Tell me what other cards the Abyss Demon Realm has in Slavers Bay, and I can let you leave Meereen alive."

The old man finally spoke. His voice was light. And steady.

"You do not understand the Abyss, Dragon. Ice Scum was not sent to kill you. He was merely a vanguard. The true envoy is still on the way."

"Envoy? When will he arrive?"

The old man smiled. Not a mocking smile. It was the kind of smile that said, "I have completed my mission."

"You will see him soon."

His body suddenly exploded.

Not a self-detonation. It was freezing—instantaneous freezing from the inside out. His body turned into an ice sculpture within a second, then shattered into countless ice crystal fragments. The fragments fell to the ground, each one reflecting the image of Drogon's vertical pupils."

Drogon stared at the pile of shattered ice. He was silent for a full three seconds.

Then he looked down at the two runes on the floor—one newly carved, one old. He lifted his dragon claw and pressed it onto both runes at the same time. Ice Fire sprayed from his claw tips, pouring into the rune grooves. The runes erupted with a final, blinding light, then shattered. Both runes went out simultaneously.

Drogon turned and flew out through the hole in the roof. His dragon wings spread, he circled over the port, and headed back toward the Great Pyramid.

"White Mane. The new rune in the warehouse district was added by the formation setter at the last minute. He has already self-destructed. I didn't get any information. As for the other two locations—have your people seize them directly. They might self-destruct too. But in case one of them doesn't."

White Mane's voice came back through the brand. Not language. It was emotion. She had received his warning. The brand was burning.