GOT King of Dragon

*

"Just wait and see." 

Xilieu crossed his arms nonchalantly behind his back. 

As it turned out, the sharp eye of a skilled swordsman was indeed piercing. 

In less than five minutes, Xilieu's sword strikes became noticeably less frequent, and his futile attempts at chasing his opponent came to a halt. 

The young Dornishman grinned, knowing his moment to counterattack had arrived. 

Using the same tactics he employed against Bart in the previous duel, he maneuvered around Xilieu, shifting his position and maintaining distance while stabbing with his spear. 

Xilieu defended with his sword, but even the most vigilant guard has its lapses. 

Feigning an opening, the Dornishman baited Xilieu into attacking. 

The moment he was about to strike, the Dornishman executed a deceptive move—a swift reverse thrust nicknamed "Golden Rooster Nods Thrice," blinding Xilieu in one eye. 

"Ah! I surrender! Stop the duel!" 

Knowing the tide had turned irreversibly against him, Xilieu gritted his teeth through the excruciating pain and yelled out his concession, humiliated and unwilling to fight any longer. 

Bart's grim fate served as too stark a warning—he had no intention of following in his footsteps. 

With Xilieu's surrender, the Dornishman's arrogance grew even more pronounced. He strutted about, taunting wildly, showing no respect for the other knights. 

He had come here to humiliate these noble lords, plain and simple. 

As for the consequences? 

Ha! If he dared to show up, it meant he had something to rely on. 

From his high seat, King Viserys glared menacingly at the Dornishman pounding his chest. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrest of his chair. 

"Damn Dornishmen! Find a strong knight to take him down!" 

He barked the order to Leonor. 

"Understood, Your Grace," Leonor replied without hesitation, heading backstage to find a knight capable of defeating the Dornishman. 

There were plenty of participants in this tournament, and the Dornishman's triumph wouldn't last long. 

… 

In a corner of the arena, Rhaegar turned away with a grim expression, unwilling to watch the Dornishman's provocative antics any longer. 

"Don't let it bother you. That Dornish youth is not only skilled but also cunning. Most people wouldn't stand a chance against him," Xilieu remarked casually. 

"I know. The kingdom has no shortage of warriors. That man won't remain undefeated for long," Rhaegar replied firmly. 

"Exactly. Every great warrior has their unique way of fighting," Xilieu said before changing the subject. "If I were to face that Dornish youth, the best strategy would be to feign weakness, bait him into attacking, and then seize the opportunity to counter." 

Rhaegar glanced at him with a strange look. "What, are you planning to step into the arena?" 

"A wandering swordsman doesn't draw his blade lightly, unless he finds a worthy reason to do so," Xilieu replied with a sly smile, his gaze meaningful as it settled on Rhaegar. 

"Let me guess—you want to be hired as the Red Keep's dance instructor?" 

Rhaegar wasn't surprised to see the fox's tail revealed. 

Dropping to one knee, Xilieu said sincerely, "If Your Highness wishes it, Xilieu would gladly remain in the Red Keep as a dance instructor." 

"Why?" 

"No reason. I simply wish to do so." 

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "That's not a good enough reason. I wouldn't dare keep a dangerous man in my household." 

Hearing this, Xilieu fell silent for a moment before responding, "You are the eldest son of King Viserys I, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Your status and potential are worthy of my loyalty." 

"Not bad, but it still lacks sincerity," Rhaegar replied, his distrust evident. "One more thing—the Iron Throne's heir is my sister. I have no intention of competing with her for it, and no one should attempt to sow discord between us." 

With that, Rhaegar turned and walked away without sparing Xilieu another glance. 

This man had appeared too abruptly, deliberately trying to get close to him from the start. 

First, he demonstrated extraordinary skill by snatching pastries, then impressed with his sharp insights during the duel. 

Every move seemed calculated to showcase his value. 

But unfortunately for him, he revealed his intentions too soon. 

Did he really think Rhaegar was some naive child? 

That a lofty display of charisma would make people bow down and swear fealty? 

"Low-level tricks and malicious intent. If I see Xilieu again, have him thrown into the dungeon," Rhaegar muttered angrily to Ser Erryk as he headed toward Rhaenyra's seat. 

"Yes, my prince," Ser Erryk nodded, though there was a trace of hesitation on his face. 

Noticing his reluctance, Rhaegar asked curiously, "What is it, Ser?" 

"As the prince said, Syrios' methods are too crude and lack the wisdom befitting a master swordsman," Elric voiced his doubts. 

Rhaegar's eyes flickered. "A good swordsman is not necessarily a good scholar." 

Even so, he remained slightly vigilant. 

Ever since news of his recovery had mysteriously spread, the atmosphere in King's Landing had shifted. 

The focus had moved from urging Princess Rhaenyra to marry to discussions about Rhaegar being favored by the white hart, a symbol of kingship, and having the qualities of a ruler. 

It wouldn't be long before an impatient courtier would suggest to the king that Rhaenyra's status as heir be revoked in favor of Rhaegar, the eldest son. 

From Elric, Rhaegar learned that the reason Viserys had confined him for half a year was to shield him from excessive gossip, which could unsettle his mind and leave him vulnerable to manipulation. 

Rhaegar didn't object, choosing to accept his father's good intentions. 

Perhaps he was still too young. 

Rhaegar wasn't particularly interested in the Iron Throne. 

Rhaenyra had been the named heir for years. Why should he interfere and take something he didn't value? 

"Hiss… screech…" 

Suddenly, a strange roar echoed from afar. 

Rhaegar looked up, and his expression immediately changed. 

A massive crimson figure appeared in the sky, moving swiftly toward the tournament grounds. 

Sharp horns, a serpentine neck, broad and powerful red wings… 

"It's a dragon!" 

Rhaegar instinctively gasped, his eyes fixed on the flying beast. 

The arrival of the dragon didn't escape the notice of others. 

The spectators were caught in a whirlwind of powerful winds stirred by the dragon's wings, tossing their hair and forcing their eyes shut. 

Some women's skirts were accidentally blown upward, much to the delight of nearby gentlemen. 

The scene quickly descended into chaos as the crowd screamed and scrambled to escape the dragon's shadow. 

"Silence! This is a Targaryen dragon! The king is with you. Do not panic or run!" 

At that moment, a commanding voice rang out, quelling the crowd's fear. 

It came from a burly old man with white hair and a white beard. 

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. 

Beside him sat the king, unperturbed on his high seat. 

Viserys remained calm, gazing at the dragon with composure, exuding the presence of a true king. 

Seeing the king reassured the crowd, and the chaos began to subside. 

As the initial fear dissipated, reason returned to the onlookers. 

Many recognized the dragon and exclaimed in shock. 

"That's Caraxes, Prince Daemon's dragon!" 

"Yes, it's Caraxes! I once fought alongside Prince Daemon—I wouldn't mistake it." 

"Look! There's someone on the dragon's back—it's Prince Daemon…" 

Hearing its name, Caraxes roared excitedly, spewing fiery red flames mixed with thick black smoke from its maw. 

Under countless watchful eyes, Caraxes circled the tournament grounds three times. 

Finally, at the command of its rider, the dragon slowly descended into the dueling arena. 

Once Caraxes landed, it cast a greedy gaze toward the Dornish youth who had been so boastful moments before. 

The dragon extended its snake-like neck, exhaling hot breath through its nostrils. 

"Your… your esteemed… Prince Daemon…" 

Facing a dragon capable of devouring him whole, the Dornish youth was nearly paralyzed with fear. 

He trembled as he stumbled backward, stammering as he bowed to the figure on the dragon's back. 

---

*Note: Daemon's entrance must be impressive—it wouldn't do to downplay this rogue prince.* 

(End of Chapter)