60: Chapter 60 The Ring

The execution was complete.

Drogon should have retreated behind Daenerys. He should have maintained his dignity, upholding the majestic image of the Dragon's Consort on the public trial platform.

Then, he saw the ring.

Grazdan's right hand rested on his knee. His fingers were already stiff, but the gold ring on his ring finger still sparkled in the sunlight. A square sapphire.

The cutting technique was exquisite. The face of the ring reflected a hexagram-like light in the midday sun.

Drogon's vertical pupils locked onto the ring.

The logic in his mind was still speaking, but the voice was getting quieter and quieter. Another voice surged up from the depths of his consciousness—not language, but impulse. It was the possessiveness of instinct burning in his chest.

"So shiny. So big. Square-cut—the treasury doesn't have a square sapphire yet. The one White Mane has is pear-shaped; this one is square. It would fit perfectly in the fourth slot of the third row on the north wall. What to set it on? Doesn't matter.

Take it first. This is spoils of war. You killed the enemy in front of the whole city. His things are yours. Take it. Now. My hand is itching. Take it. My tail is already moving. Take it—"

Under the gaze of thousands, Drogon—the dragon who had just executed three traitors with the posture of a grim reaper—crouched down. With his tail, he skillfully wrapped around the right hand of Grazdan's corpse and slid the ring off the stiff ring finger. His movements were fluid and extremely practiced.

He stood up and examined the ring against the sunlight. The sapphire emitted a hexagram-shaped flare in the sun. He nodded in satisfaction and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robe.

The whole audience was silent.

Grey Worm blinked. In the phalanx of Unsullied behind him, the eyes of a few men shifted—on the faces of the Unsullied, this was already an expression of extreme shock.

White Mane covered her forehead, her fingers pressing against her brow, and closed her eyes.

Missandei's quill slipped directly from her hand, falling onto the papyrus. Plop. It splashed a small patch of ink.

Jorah's lips twitched. He turned his head and lowered his voice to say to Barristan, "Did he just—from the corpse—swipe a ring?"

Barristan's facial muscles tightened. He used all his life's discipline to keep from laughing. His voice was extremely low: "Ser Mormont, this is called claiming spoils of war. It's a very ancient dragon tradition. I've read about it in ancient books. Probably."

Daenerys turned her head slowly.

Not a sudden turn. It was slow. Her purple eyes looked calmly at Drogon.

She didn't speak. She didn't frown. She didn't sigh. She just looked at him. Her right index finger tapped gently on the armrest of the throne three times.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Drogon's tail stiffened under her gaze. The tail that had been so nimble at removing the ring just a moment ago was now planted behind him like a stone pillar.

He quickly took the ring out of his inner pocket again and handed it to Daenerys. His voice was extremely low but his speech was rapid.

"This is stolen goods and should be confiscated. I helped you appraise it—it's a real sapphire, square-cut, estimated to be worth about three shipfuls of grain. You keep it."

Daenerys didn't take the ring. She just said a sentence softly. The voice was so quiet that only Drogon and White Mane, who was standing not far away, could hear.

"After the public trial is over, bring it to my bedchamber. Put it with that chain."

Drogon's vertical pupils constricted. His tail stiffened into a stick behind him.

"...The chain?"

"Tonight you may need to review the contract terms. Regarding 'No confiscating private relics on the public trial platform'—Missandei just looked it up yesterday. Code of Conduct for Consorts of Old Valyrian Dragon Lords, Appendix Seven."

Drogon's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

"...Appendix Seven. She even translated the appendices."

White Mane stood to the side, arms crossed. A very obvious sneer curled the corners of her mouth. Her amber eyes turned to Missandei, and she mouthed silently: "You win."

Missandei bent down to pick up the quill. She started a new page in her notebook and wrote rapidly:

"Case of Misconduct After Execution on the Public Trial Platform, Case One. Note: The Dragon Lord was unable to suppress the impulse to seize treasure from a corpse under the gaze of thousands. Hypothesized reason: The square sapphire triggered the dragon race's instinctive possessiveness for 'scarce items.' Disciplinary recommendation: The chain. Already verbally sentenced by the Mother of Dragons."

Two hours after the public trial ended.

The underground dark river. Thin ice flurries floated on the surface of the water. The obsidian surface on the central stone platform, scorched by runes, was as smooth as a mirror. Torches burned on the rock walls, reflecting the grey-blue river water into a ghostly blue.

Drogon was coiled on the stone platform in his dragon form. His black dragon body, with a wingspan of nearly thirty meters, was a size larger than when he was laying siege. Dark gold scale patterns shimmered faintly under the firelight. His right front claw held an ice crystal.

It was the size of a fingernail. Inside, ghostly blue Ice Fire flowed, pulsing. Once. Twice. Three times. Synchronized with his heartbeat.

The Night King's source ice crystal.

System pop-up: "Current Ice Element: 280 points. Only 20 points away from the intermediate threshold of 300 points. Breakthrough recommendation: Directly absorb the Night King's source ice crystal. The ice crystal contains a wisp of the Night King's source of eight thousand years of frost power, which is highly synchronized with the Ice Element already in the host's body. Estimated Ice Element after breakthrough: 300 → 350.

Estimated skill unlocked: Ice Dragon Form (Pseudo)—In dragon form, you can temporarily transform scales into ice scales, and Dragon Breath into pure ice attribute, causing double damage to fire-resistant targets. Cooldown 24 hours, duration 15 minutes. Risk: An extremely low-temperature field will be generated during the breakthrough process, causing freezing to the surrounding environment. Current location assessment—Underground dark river: Enclosed, the water can absorb the aftershocks. Rating: Ideal."

Drogon flipped the source ice crystal in his dragon claws. The ice crystal rolled on his claw tips, leaving a trail of ghostly blue light.

"That old guy, the Night King, has sent two experience packages. The ice spear once, and the source ice crystal once. Next time I see him, I'll have to thank him in person."

"Host. The Night King almost killed you when he sent the ice spear."

"So when I say thank him, I mean—spraying him in the face with Ice Scum using the Ice Dragon Form. This doesn't count as biting the hand that feeds you. It counts as an equivalent exchange."

He opened his dragon mouth, stuffed the source ice crystal in, and closed his teeth.

The ice crystal exploded in his throat.

Not an explosion. It was a diffusion. Ghostly blue light gushed out from his throat, poured down his esophagus, into his stomach, and then exploded from his stomach into his limbs and bones.

Blue light erupted from the gaps between his scales simultaneously—the entire dragon looked like it had been ignited from the inside in that instant. Blue fire. Not hot. It was cold. Piercing. Every single scale was scorched from the inside by Ice Fire.

The dark river began to freeze. Not from the surface. It froze from the bottom of the river upwards.

The grey-blue river water turned into semi-transparent ice pillars within a few seconds.

The ice pillars refracted the torchlight into countless tiny blue beams, hitting the rock walls and his scales. The entire underground space was dyed ice-blue.

His dragon body trembled violently in the Ice Fire.

His scales repeatedly cracked, healed, cracked again, and healed again. Every time they cracked, it hurt so much he wanted to roar, but he gritted his teeth and didn't let it out. Not because he was afraid of losing face.

It was because he was afraid of startling the residents on the surface. He had long known the price of tempering his body with the Ice Element—if you want to get the Night King's eight thousand years of cultivation for free, you have to pay something.

After the scales healed, they had an extra, extremely thin ice-blue edge. Not fading. It was a plating. Every black scale was rimmed with a circle of frost-crystal-like ice blue. It looked as if someone had used a chisel made of ice to re-outline every single one of his scales.

"Ice Element breaking through—280 → 290 → 300. Breakthrough to intermediate threshold. 300 → 310 → 320... Final value: 352. New title unlocked: Master of Ice Fire (Pseudo, stacks with the Ancestor of All Dragons pseudo title). Passive skill 'Ice Dragon Affinity' unlocked: All ice attribute skill consumption reduced by 20%. Active skill 'Ice Dragon Form (Pseudo)' unlocked. Test immediately?"

Drogon opened his dragon eyes. His vertical pupils were no longer dark gold—they had turned into a pure ice blue, with a wisp of flickering ghostly blue Ice Fire in the center of the pupils.

He stood up. A large patch of the ice layer on the dark river was shattered by the vibrations caused by his body. The broken ice flipped up and drifted away on the water with a clattering sound.

"Test."