Chapter 92 - The Ruins of the Dreadfort (V)

Chapter 92 - 92 - The Ruins of the Dreadfort (V)"Watch... watch as your hope is slowly reduced to ashes before your eyes." Aenar Targaryen whispering to Ramsay Snow.

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Seeing Roose return to the office with a terrified expression, Aenar smiled and drew Lady Lya from her scabbard. The sword came out with a slashing sound, resounding off the walls of the office. The milky-colored blade seemed to glow, even without the sun's rays falling on it.

Approaching Roose, despite the man's terrified look, Aenar spoke with a cold tone:

"Go to hell safely, Lord Bolton."

Without any hesitation, the sword pierced Roose's heart. To add to his suffering, Aenar slowly plunged the blade into his chest, in no hurry to kill the Lord of the Dreadfort. He enjoyed seeing the fear and terror in the man's eyes.

The same look that Roose's victims gave him during the skinning process, the same look of fear and terror that the women this man raped showed during the brutal act. For this reason, Aenar felt no pity for such human scum, it even increased their suffering.

Aenar then gently helped the Lord of the Dreadfort to his seat. Blood dripped from Roose's mouth, while the light from his eyes gradually faded, as did the last breath from his lungs. Even in the final moments of his life, he couldn't understand how he had offended someone so powerful.

Looking at the lifeless body of the great Lord of the Dreadfort, with a wound in his chest and blood dripping from his mouth, Aenar felt nothing but indifference. There was no special feeling in killing the descendant of the Red Kings of the North.

"Let's go to the second stage of the theater," Aenar muttered as he pulled Lady Lya from the chest of Roose's dead body and sheathed his sword again.

Leaving Roose's office, Aenar walked calmly through the corridors of the Dreadfort as if he were the master of the castle. If anyone saw him, they would think he was the owner, for he walked with confidence and firm steps.



Aenar stopped in front of a door after walking for a few minutes. It was Ramsay's room, the bastard's new bedroom after Domeric died. He had received this information from one of the servants, who had kindly offered it to him.

Opening the door, Aenar saw a luxurious room by medieval standards and, in the center, a bed with black sheets could be seen. In it, a young man with a terrifying face was sleeping peacefully. It was Ramsay. The young man was doped up on the wine served by one of the servants.

Aenar wanted Ramsay to wake up at the right time to enjoy the show.

Looking at Ramsay sleeping, Aenar didn't rush to wake the sleeping beauty. He sat in the chair next to the bed and sipped his wine with a leisurely expression. After destroying the Dreadfort, he would have to return to Winterfell and await the arrival of the Lords of the North.

At that moment, Aenar could imagine how much those brutish, brainless lords would try to challenge him, something he would gladly accept. After all, he needed something to de-stress, and beating up stupid people was a great relief.

Turning his gaze to Ramsay's sleeping face, Aenar's lips curved into a smile tinged with a touch of coldness. He was really looking forward to seeing the rapist's expression when he woke up and saw him at his bedside.

But at the same time, he didn't want to wait too long. He wanted to get back to Winterfell as soon as possible and wait for news of the ruins of the Dreadfort to spread. That wouldn't take long; ravens were surprisingly quick in their missions to deliver letters.

Aenar raised the goblet above Ramsay and swirled it around, pouring the entire contents into the bastard's face. The wet, suffocating sensation woke him up in an instant.

Just as Ramsay was about to shout angrily at whoever had woken him up like that, he looked up and saw a pair of purple eyes staring coldly at him.

The expression of fury on his face hardened. Absolute terror was reflected in his disfigured, grotesque face. However, all doubts, anger and resentment were swept aside when he pulled a knife from under his pillow and attacked Aenar without any hesitation.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Aenar commented in an amused tone as he calmly deflected the knife blows. Ramsay looked like an animal full of rage, brandishing the blade in all directions. None of the blows even came close to hitting the dragon prince.

Aenar tired of dodging and, with one swift blow, punched Ramsay in the stomach, making the young man clutch his stomach and take a deep breath. He fell to his knees, gasping violently as saliva mixed with blood dripped from his mouth. Aenar's blow had not been light, he had used a lot of force.

Although the Water of Life hadn't strengthened his body, the Immaterium dimension had. A strong body was needed to resist the deadly radiation of the Warp's energy.

Still kneeling, Ramsay looked at Aenar with a look like that of a wounded animal. But unlike someone who would feel sorry for having stepped on a dog or cat's ass, Aenar felt nothing but sadistic pleasure at seeing him like this.

Grabbing Ramsay by the hair, Aenar dragged the young man out of the room. Ramsay tried to struggle, but no matter how much he struggled, fought or bit, the hand holding his hair seemed to be made of steel.

"LET ME GO, YOU FILTHY BASTARD! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I'M THE DREADFORT HEIR, AND YOU'RE JUST A BASTARD! YOU CAN'T KILL ME! ONLY THE KING AND LORD STARK CAN SENTENCE ME TO DEATH!!!"



"GUARDS!!!!!!!!"

"GUARDS!!!!"

"GUARDSSS!!!!"

Ramsay cursed, struggled and shouted at the top of his voice for everyone to hear, but his desperation only grew when he saw the guards of House Bolton on either side of the corridor, standing erect and majestic. However, everyone's eyes were cold and indifferent.

The guards didn't even look at Ramsay, they stood erect and still, all holding swords as if they were performing a sacred task.

Dragging Ramsay shirtless across the cold northern earth, Aenar stepped out of the Dreadfort and released the bastard, letting him fall to the ground.

Ramsay didn't move, not by choice, but he found himself unable to do so because Aenar's foot was on his neck, preventing him from getting up or even moving. Which made him unable to take his eyes off the Ancestral Castle of House Bolton.

His face was pressed into the cold, wet earth of the North.

"I killed your father before I met you." Aenar commented with an amused tone. "Congratulations on becoming Lord of the Dreadfort."

Ramsay's eyes widened at his words. His father was gone and as the law of inheritance dictated, the heir designated by the Lord should take over the running of the Noble House. However, Ramsay wasn't happy at all, on the contrary, there was only terror bubbling in his chest.

If Jon had killed Roose, would he hesitate to kill him, a bastard?

"Caraxes, Dracarys." Ramsay heard Jon speak again, this time in a language he didn't know. He didn't understand what Jon had said, but he would understand in the next instant.

Ramsay, who was pressed against the earth, felt tremors approaching and soon a deafening flapping of wings sounded, along with the snow being thrown up.

Ramsay's pale eyes widened at the sight of the huge winged creature flying over the Dreadfort. Then the color crimson filled the vision of the Bastard Heir of House Bolton.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!" A furious roar came out of Ramsay's mouth as he watched his hopes being burned away by the crimson flames.

The Dreadfort was the only way for him to realize his ambitions and carry out his revenge, but in front of him, his hope was melting relentlessly in the crimson flames.

"Why? What have I done to you?" Ramsay asked with a lifeless look on his face, his voice hoarse and trembling.



"I have a plan and that plan has to be exactly as I want it, I needed to burn down a castle to make the Northern Lords more tame and you were chosen." Aenar replied with an amused tone. "You'll be the reason most people bend the knee to me, aren't you honored to have such a worthy mission?"

"Go to hell, Ramsay Snow." Aenar spoke calmly as he drew out Lady Lya. "I'll see you in hell if fate ever allows it and I'll kill you again."

He spoke with a cold tone as he cut off Ramsay's head with one swift blow. The Dreadfort Bastard's head separated from his body and blood gushed out onto the snow.

With Ramsay's death, the line of the Red Kings of House Bolton was officially extinct.

In the last moment of his life, Ramsay shuddered to hear Aenar's words, he thought he was cruel, but the young man pressing his face against the cold earth was a true demon.

He admitted that he was a Lesser Evil, but Jon was the Greater Evil.

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Note: I spent the day rewriting this Chapter and I still don't feel I finished it properly.

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