Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Planting trees on the pyramid steps did offer some surveillance advantages, but the roots could corrode the pyramid's walls and were only effective during the day.

From dusk until dawn, even if the dense flowers showed traces of someone passing through, the guards below wouldn't be able to see them.

On the contrary, the flower beds could become hiding spots for enemies.

So, Dorea wasn't actually getting smarter—she had just come up with a terrible idea. Dany only humored her for fun.

Losing the Dragon Horn only served as a wake-up call for Dany; it didn't truly pain her. She quickly regained her composure and commanded the Unsullied to install long bamboo poles along the 32nd step. These poles extended beyond the stone steps, with barbed fishing nets strung between them.

Unless someone cut through the nets, no one would be able to climb up from below. Moving forward, patrol teams would regularly check for any damage to the nets.

By the time these preparations were complete, the western sky had turned a deep red. Through Drogon's eyes, Dany saw the remaining seventy to eighty warships slowly retreating under the strenuous efforts of their rowers.

"Your Grace, are you heading to the city walls now to command the battle?" Seeing Dany walking toward the stairwell, Dorea asked with concern.

"What is it?" Dany stopped in her tracks, noticing the hesitation on her maid's face.

"Your Grace, you should rest for a while. The enemy fleet seems to be retreating—the battle is over for today," Dorea advised.

Dany sighed. "There's still a group of sailors cowering at the docks. I plan to offer them surrender and recruit them into our ranks. Besides, though my dragons inflicted heavy losses, the enemy's hundred-plus warships have been attacking relentlessly all afternoon. Our forces have suffered casualties too—I need to check on the wounded."

"This…" Dorea's expression turned strange. "Your Grace, at least take a bath first."

"Uh… is it that bad?" Dany lifted her arm and took a sniff. Indeed, a pungent mix of blood and sweat assaulted her senses.

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced around. A water pool sat at the edge of the rooftop garden—she could bathe while mentally controlling Drogon to chase down the enemy fleet.

With that thought, she turned to the Unsullied guards and said, "Wait downstairs. I'll bathe and change. Give me an hour."

Once the Unsullied left, Dany walked over to the pool. With Dorea's help, she removed her helmet and unfastened her gorget and armguards.

Her silky, silver-gold hair had been pinned into a tight bun with a jeweled hairpin to keep it from obstructing her view. But when she took off her helmet, she realized, to her dismay, that her hair had become stuck to the amethyst-encrusted hairpin, forming a hardened clump.

Loosening her gorget and armguards revealed the edge of her tunic. The once-white fabric was now stained yellow-brown with sweat, and a strong, unpleasant odor reached her nose, making her even more self-conscious.

She stretched out her arms to allow Dorea to use pliers to unscrew the bolts securing her breastplate at the waist. As the weight was lifted from her body, she exhaled in relief. "Gods, it feels like I've been carrying a mountain all day—I can finally breathe properly."

"It's Your Grace's first time wearing full armor in battle. You'll get used to it. I see Ser Mormont in iron every day, and he seems to enjoy it," Dorea remarked, efficiently removing the breastplate, freeing Dany's torso as if she were opening a tin can.

Dany let out an involuntary sigh of relief, itching to jump into the pool and swim a few laps.

"Dorea, your armor-removing skills have improved! You're much faster than before," Dany praised.

Dorea's body stiffened almost imperceptibly before she forced a smile, setting the breastplate aside. "Serving Your Grace is my duty. If you're pleased, then my practice has paid off."

"Haha, not bad! You even practice it," Dany chuckled.

Just then, a glint of cold light flashed across the still surface of the pool.

Dany's smile froze. She instinctively bent forward.

The cold light streaked toward her like a shooting star—too fast to completely evade.

Ssshhh!

The sound was like a blade slicing through silk. A chilling numbness suddenly spread across Dany's back. Though alarmed, her instincts remained sharp, and her counterattack wasn't delayed.

As she ducked, she planted her hands on the ground and kicked backward with her right leg—still clad in greaves and iron boots.

Her kick struck nothing but air.

There was no enemy behind her.

Dany had no time for frustration. Her eyes remained fixed on the pool's surface. Her smoky violet irises flickered with dark light, and as soon as she spotted a shadow darting left, she reacted.

Bracing against the ground, she pushed off hard—

"Ugh—"

A low groan escaped her lips.

The numbness in her back suddenly turned into searing fire. A scorching heat spread from the wound, engulfing her body like a fiery net.

Dany's mind reeled, her thoughts spiraling into chaos.

Her will burned furiously, but her body refused to obey.

She had meant to roll under a nearby table for cover, but the motion was only half-complete before her body locked up. She tumbled once and then lay stiffly on the floor, unable to move.

With great effort, she turned her gaze toward Dorea, who was watching her with an enigmatic smile.

Through gritted teeth, Dany forced out, "Who… are you?"

Her facial muscles were numb. Her throat felt constricted, making breathing nearly impossible. The words she managed to utter were barely a whisper.

Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as if struggling to say more.

The woman standing before her was exactly Dorea—her face, hair, eyes, nose, lips, even the faint flush on her cheeks, the small mole by her nostril, and the barely visible down on her lower lip.

If not for the fact that Dorea was utterly incapable of such swift, deadly movements, Dany might have believed her maid had betrayed her.

The assassin held a peculiar dagger—a long, nail-like blade fitted over her middle finger. It was about ten centimeters long, half the width of a scalpel, and as thin as a cicada's wing. A few beads of blood slowly rolled down its pale blue edge.

With a flick of her right hand, the beads of blood on the dagger flew into the pool. "Dorea," in a voice identical to the real Dorea's, spoke Valyrian with a Lyseni accent, "I didn't expect you to still be able to speak. As expected of the Mother of Dragons, who miraculously hatched dragons."

This assassin was nothing like the ones in movies who waste time monologuing to their victims.

She didn't even bother answering Dany's question. Instead, she merely sighed in admiration before lunging at Dany with the agility of a wildcat.

Her right fist shot forward, and before the attack even landed, the icy chill from her middle finger's blade made Dany's forehead tingle with a sharp pain.

As the wind rushed toward her, Dany's mouth struggled to form words, releasing only garbled syllables. Then, suddenly, her eyes flashed with brilliant black light, and her pupils morphed into vertical slits—no, not just any slits, but ones tinged with dark red, eerily similar to Drogon's.

"Begone!" At last, she managed to utter a single, clear word.

In Valyrian.

As the final syllable left her lips, Dany opened her mouth as wide as possible.

An invisible yet tangible shockwave burst forth from her mouth, expanding in a conical shape straight toward "Dorea."

"ROAR—!"

To the ear, it was silent, but within "Dorea's" mind, it was like a deafening thunderclap—a dragon's roar filled with rage and murderous intent. The sheer force of it made her consciousness tremble as if it were boiling.

Almost simultaneously, blood trickled from Dany's mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, creating a horrifying sight.

Meanwhile, five hundred meters above the sea, Drogon's body suddenly stiffened. His flight path tilted sharply, and he plunged straight into the ocean.

"Boom!" A massive splash erupted, shocking tens of thousands of soldiers on both sides of the battlefield.

Jorah Mormont cried out in horror. The enemy ships, which had been scrambling to retreat, slowed down as if they had finally witnessed the turning point they had been hoping for.

"Screech—!" Rhaegal and Viserion shrieked wildly, hurling the burning pots in their claws into the sea before flapping their wings furiously, shooting toward the Great Pyramid like arrows.

"Thud!" Mid-air, "Dorea" suddenly lost all momentum, her body dropping like a stiff wooden stake, crashing straight onto the ground.

"Clang—"

The small dagger slipped from her fingers and struck the side of Dany's armored leg. Simultaneously, her head smashed against Dany's iron boot with a solid impact.

Dany saw her assassin's wide eyes, filled with disbelief and shock. Though "Dorea" was paralyzed, her mind was still fully awake.

Indeed, she could see Dany slowly moving toward her, but she felt as though countless ghostly hands were dragging her soul downward into the depths of hell. She couldn't move a single inch, as if both her body and soul were sinking into a bottomless abyss.

"Clang—" Dany finally grasped the longsword on the table. But as she tried to lift it, she realized, with her current strength, she couldn't even wield the heavy blade.

"Hiss…" She tried to call for help toward the stairwell, but her throat muscles spasmed as if they had collapsed, and her vocal cords were barely functioning. Even breathing became increasingly difficult.

Noticing that the assassin was beginning to twitch and struggle—similar to how Barristan and Mormont had reacted under the Dragon Horn's influence—Dany stopped her futile attempts at calling for help. Instead, she gathered her strength, lifting her right foot and aiming the iron heel at "Dorea's" trembling head.

With a forceful stomp.

"Boom—"

Blood trickled from "Dorea's" nose.

Dany raised her steel-clad foot again.

"Boom—Pop!"

"Dorea's" eyeball burst like a squeezed grape, spraying red and blue fluids onto Dany's right leg.

But she remained unfazed, lifting her foot for a third time, then a fourth…

By the seventh stomp, Dany collapsed onto the ground, exhausted.

"Dorea's" face was now an unrecognizable mass of flesh and blood, like a dark red birthday cake smeared across the stone floor. Yet, she still struggled—her broken body twitching as she tried to rise, her right hand weakly raising the tiny dagger attached to her middle finger.

"Screech—" The white and green dragons finally closed the two-thousand-meter gap, soaring above the People's Square.

"Thud, thud, thud!" However, the Unsullied stormed into the rooftop garden before the dragons arrived.

The sight of Drogon falling into the sea and the other two dragons flying toward the Great Pyramid in a frenzy had not gone unnoticed by the Unsullied guarding the northern palace entrance.

They had called out to the queen, but receiving no response, they had immediately rushed to the top floor garden.

As they ascended the last step, they saw their queen slumped against the table leg, one foot soaked in blood.

Dark red blood pooled on the stone floor, and the grotesque, disfigured maidservant was still writhing, her right hand trembling as she gripped the tiny dagger, seemingly ready to strike again at the queen.

(End of Chapter)

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