61: Chapter 59 Ice Dragon Form

The scales began to change color from the tail upward. It wasn't fading.

It was that every single scale was covered in a thin layer of ice crystal armor. Once the ice crystals covered his entire body, the dragon refracted a diamond-like cold light under the torchlight—not bright, but translucent.

His black scales were wrapped inside the ice crystals, like obsidian sealed within millennium-old ice.

Rugged ice spikes condensed on his dragon horns, his tail spike turned into a transparent ice cone, and frost-like patterns appeared on his wing membranes. He gently flapped his dragon wings. The wind stirred up by the wingtips lifted the crushed ice on the river surface.

The crushed ice condensed into tiny ice crystals in the air, falling in a flurry—a light snow began to fall in the underground space. Snowflakes landed on the water, settled on the ice layer, and clung to the rock walls.

He looked at his new form in the reflection of the river. He turned his head and looked at his ice-covered tail.

He flicked it gently—the ice cone at the tip of his tail grazed the stone wall, leaving a deep, instantly frozen gash. A layer of frost immediately condensed on the edges of the gash.

"Not bad. In the future, I can cool myself down in the summer. And in the winter—I'll be even less afraid of the cold."

His voice had an extra layer of cold resonance than usual. He wasn't acting. It was the ice crystal armor changing the acoustic resonance.

"Ice Dragon Form: Pseudo lasts 15 minutes. Remaining time: 14 minutes and 12 seconds. Note: In this form, the host's resistance to fire elements is reduced by 30%. It is recommended to use with caution when engaging pure fire-type enemies. However, it provides a very high attribute suppression bonus against ice-type enemies."

"Suppression bonus? In other words—if the Night King slashes me, it might take three strikes to kill me. If I breathe on him, he'll freeze into an ice sculpture instantly. Fine. This investment is worth it."

He was just about to exit the Ice Dragon Form when he suddenly heard footsteps.

Light footsteps came from the entrance of the underground river. They weren't the sound of the Unsullied on patrol. They were lighter—the soles of leather boots tapping lightly on the stone floor. The pace was steady. The rhythm was as slow as a heartbeat.

White Mane.

She was wearing her light patrol armor. A greatsword was slung over her shoulder. Her silver-white braids appeared particularly striking under the blue light reflected by the ice. Her amber eyes widened slightly. She looked at the ice dragon in front of her, shimmering like a diamond, and fell silent for three seconds. Then she spoke. Her voice was flat.

"So now you have two colors. Black. And this—ice."

Drogon exited the Ice Dragon Form. His scales gradually returned from ice-blue to dark gold. The ice crystal armor began to melt from the tip of his tail, turning into a thin layer of water mist.

He turned around and lowered his dragon head to be level with White Mane, who was standing at the entrance of the underground river. His dragon head was so large that she was not even as tall as one of his eyes.

"Here to patrol? Or to check if I've collapsed the underground river?" His voice returned to its usual roguish tone.

"Neither. The Mother of Dragons sent me to inform you—the fleet has finished gathering. We set sail tomorrow morning at high tide. Your treasury needs to be packed; you'd better finish counting how many crates there are tonight."

She untied a small cloth bag from her waist and tossed it in front of him. The bag landed on the ice, making a crisp metallic clinking sound.

"Also—the ring you swiped on the public trial platform earlier, she wants you to deliver it to her bedchamber tonight. Don't forget."

Drogon curled his tail around the cloth bag. He sighed. The tip of his tail pinched the opening of the bag and tapped it lightly on the ice.

"When did you start acting as her messenger?"

"Ever since she increased my military pay. Three times as much. More than what you pay."

Drogon's tail froze in mid-air. Then it dropped limply onto the ice.

"...She's using my military funds to increase your pay."

"Your military funds are hers too. What is hers is hers."

White Mane turned and left. She walked to the entrance of the underground river and paused for a moment. She didn't look back.

"That ice form—it will look very good in the snow."

She disappeared into the secret passage. Her footsteps gradually faded away.

Drogon looked down at his reflection on the ice. Dragon head. Dark gold scales. The ice-blue at the edges hadn't completely faded yet, shimmering with a very faint blue light under the torchlight.

"...Did she just compliment me?"

"White Mane's evaluation of the host's Ice Dragon Form is positive. Probability: 86%."

"Then why didn't she just say 'it looks good'?"

"Because she is White Mane."

Drogon flicked his tail. A tiny crack appeared on the ice where the tip of his tail struck.

Deep in the night. The treasury was a mess. Gold coins were packed into dozens of iron-clad boxes, each lid sealed with wax. Gemstones were sorted by color and placed into small velvet-lined boxes. One box for rubies. One for sapphires. One for emeralds. One for diamonds.

There was also a box for 'Miscellaneous'—any gemstones that Drogon couldn't accurately classify were shoved into this box. The label, written by Missandei, read: 'Category Pending; Dragon Lord has initially identified them as "all very shiny".'

The Old Ghis gold statue was moved onto a trailer in one piece. Drogon insisted, "The statue is not to be dismantled; it must be transported to Dragonstone in its entirety."

Grey Worm expressionlessly directed eight Unsullied to use a pulley system to hoist the statue and carefully place it onto the trailer.

The statue's eyes—those two fist-sized rubies—glinted under the torchlight. The tip of Drogon's tail tapped anxiously on the ground. He was terrified that the Unsullied might chip a corner.

He leaned against the remains of his gold bed. After the gold coins were moved away, only a thin layer of gold sand remained on the gold bed. His fingers traced circles in the gold sand unconsciously. His slit pupils were half-open, half-closed. His expression was as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend about to go on a long journey.

White Mane entered from the doorway. In her hand, she held a small wooden box—the sapphire she had accepted earlier. Pear-shaped. About forty carats. She placed the wooden box on the pile of gold sand next to him.

"This one isn't being packed. Returning it to you."

Drogon raised his slit pupils. He looked at her. "Why."

"It's too heavy. It's inconvenient to wear while on patrol. Besides—I checked. The emerald you gave to the Mother of Dragons was a mate's gift. When you gave me this sapphire, you said it was 'commission'. It is normal for a mercenary to receive commission, but this sapphire is worth a lifetime of my commission. I cannot accept it."

Drogon was silent for a moment. He reached out and pushed the wooden box back in front of her. "Then it's not commission. It's spoils distribution. You were the first person to discover the Grey Cloaks on the day of the siege. That gemstone is worth your judgment at the time."

His tail flicked gently behind him. It was as if he were organizing his words. "—If you think the word 'commission' is too cold, we can change it. For example, 'partner's share'."

White Mane's amber eyes stared at him. She was silent for a long time. "...Partner."

She picked up the wooden box. She didn't put it back in her pocket, but placed it on her lap. Her fingers slowly stroked the surface of the wooden box. Then she stood up, turned, and walked toward the door. When she reached the door, she paused.

"I'll accept this gemstone. But it doesn't count as commission. It counts as a partner's share—deduct it from the military pay you owe me."

The corners of Drogon's mouth curled up. "Fine."

White Mane walked out of the treasury. The door closed slowly behind her. Her finger tapped lightly on the edge of the wooden box. Click. The wooden box closed tight.

Only two people remained in the treasury. Grey Worm had just left with the last chest of gold coins. The treasury door was left ajar. The light from the dragon glass shards bathed the treasury in dark gold. The gold sand shimmered under the light.

White Mane did not leave. She walked to the pile of gold sand where Drogon was coiled. She crouched down. Level with him. She raised her hand and touched the Brand on the back of her neck.

The bandages had long been removed. The dark gold dragon claw print was exposed, faintly visible under the faint light of the dragon glass. The edges of the claw print had blended naturally with the surrounding skin—it was not a fresh wound, but an old scar.

"This Brand. You said that once I was willing to swear allegiance to the Mother of Dragons, you would tell me its full meaning. I have sworn allegiance. Tell me tonight."

Drogon's slit pupils watched the back of her neck. He could feel the resonance of the Brand. Her heartbeat was steady, but there was a calmness in her emotions that he hadn't seen before. It wasn't anger. It wasn't confusion. It was a kind of calmness that came after careful deliberation. Like someone sitting at a negotiation table, having gone through all the conditions in their mind, and then saying—state your price.

"The Dragon Race's Mark of Domination. The full name is 'Secondary Mate Brand'. You know the effects: you cannot actively attack me, and I can sense your general location and emotions. But the part you haven't asked about is—"

He paused. His tail slowly drew a circle in the gold sand.

"—In dragon society, a secondary mate is a formal social rank. Not a slave. Not a servant. It is a member of the dragon nest who is subordinate to the core mate but possesses independent rights. If translated according to human laws—it is roughly similar to a combat partner who has signed a lifetime contract. You can unilaterally terminate the contract. The method is to use valyrian steel to pierce the Brand on your own neck and cut it off. It will be very painful. It might leave a scar. But you can regain your freedom."

White Mane listened quietly until the end. No rage. No drawing of her sword. She just nodded.

"So I am not your property."

"You never were. You are a high-level mercenary who was bitten by me and then forced to sign a lifetime contract. If you are unhappy, you can terminate the contract at any time."

The corners of White Mane's mouth curled into a tiny arc. It wasn't a sneer. It was a slight sense of relief after being confirmed.

"I'm not unhappy to that extent at the moment. But I want to add two additional clauses."

Drogon's tail stopped. "Speak."

"First. In the future, if you need a temporary mate outside of the mate contract. Don't go looking for those unknown women in the square. Your dragon nature needs an outlet—I will be it. Not because the Brand forces me. It's because I've thought about it, and for the time being, I don't want any other woman to take my place. A secondary mate is still a mate."

Drogon's slit pupils constricted. His tail stiffened for a full three seconds.

"...How long have you thought about this?"

"From the moment the news that you were chained to the bed reached me. About three seconds."

"You made this decision in three seconds?"

"Mercenaries have always made decisions quickly."

She held up two fingers. "Second. From now on, give me a copy of your treasury inventory. I don't want your gold coins. I want to confirm that you haven't exchanged military funds for gemstones."

Drogon's tail lashed on the ground. "...Can I refuse this one?"

"You can. But I will have Missandei add a new chapter to 'Dragon Social Behavioral Studies': 'On the Impact of the Dragon Lord's Greed on Military Budgeting'. Do you want your mother to read that?"

Silence. His tail lashed on the ground for the second time.

"...I'll give you the list tomorrow."

White Mane stood up. She picked up the wooden box. She turned and walked toward the door. When she reached the door, she paused. She didn't look back.

"That Brand—you said I could terminate the contract. But I won't. Not because I'm used to it. It's because the partner's share hasn't been settled yet. At least finish settling this quarter's."

She disappeared outside the door.

Drogon sat on the gold sand. His slit pupils watched the empty doorway. His tail slowly drew a circle behind him.

"...Is she trying to find a reason to stay by my side?"

"White Mane's trust in the host has exceeded her fear at this stage. This is a normal manifestation of deepening bonds. It is recommended that the host does not question her personally—questioning may trigger her defense mechanisms, causing her favorability to regress."

"I don't intend to ask."

"The host's tail is drawing circles. Drawing circles means the host is in a state of 'self-persuasion'."

Drogon pinned his tail down.