GOT King of Dragon

What does it feel like to witness death up close? 

If you asked Rhaegar, he would reply: 

"I wouldn't know." 

Blood from the falcon's skull splattered all over, staining half of his silver hair red. 

Rhaegar felt no discomfort, fear, or trembling. 

He wiped the blood splashes off his face and quietly stared at the falcon's lifeless body, its mouth still slightly ajar. 

Blinking, he turned his gaze to the direction the bone arrow had come from. 

There stood a large pine tree, its branches dense with needles. 

Under its shade was Sander, still in the stance of releasing an arrow. 

"Dead?" 

After a long silence, Rhaegar murmured to himself, giving the falcon's corpse a nudge with his foot. 

The wildling leader had been decent—more rational and clever than the average wildling. 

Even while fleeing, he remembered to protect him. 

And now, just like that, he was dead? 

"Everyone, get up! The falcon is dead—we need to find another way out!" 

Sander sprinted up the hill, shouting orders at a few wildlings who hadn't yet noticed. 

At his words, they turned to see the falcon lying in a pool of blood in the distance. 

Apart from one tall wildling who grumbled about avenging the falcon and lunged at Sander, the others remained still, watching Sander warily. 

Sander drew his bow, aimed at the tall wildling, and released another bone arrow with a sharp *whoosh*. The man dropped instantly. 

Then, with bold strides, Sander stood before the group and declared: 

"The Peregrine Tribe is finished! Do you all plan to wander aimlessly in the pine forest?" 

"Follow me! We'll seek refuge with the White Pine Tribe, a stronger tribe free from curses." 

Sander's words began to sway the group, tempting them to defect. 

Wildlings were no fools. 

One of them stepped forward and questioned, "We're the remnants of the Peregrine Tribe. Why would they take in their enemies?" 

Sander pointed at Rhaegar, who stood frozen in place, and confidently proclaimed: 

"His father is a king, and he has plenty of gold and jewels. If we offer him to the White Pine Tribe, they'll surely accept us!" 

The argument made sense. 

The wildlings wavered. 

In the end, Sander tied Rhaegar up tightly, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack. 

"Let's go. We'll find the White Pine Tribe and see if we can locate anyone who got separated along the way." 

Sander had unofficially become the leader of the group. 

Rhaegar didn't resist at all. He allowed himself to be tied up without a word, his wide violet eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sander. 

"Kid, handing you over is the only way we'll survive," Sander sneered when he noticed the boy staring. 

"Fair enough. I am valuable," Rhaegar calmly admitted. 

"Hah! Then stay quiet, or I'll break your arms and legs." 

"Don't worry. I'll behave." 

--- 

By dusk, the group had gathered several scattered members. 

Men, women, and children—all were absorbed into the group. 

Nervously, they made their way toward the temporary camp of the White Pine Tribe. 

It was the same valley as before. 

Before they even entered, patrolling wildlings spotted them and called for reinforcements to capture the group. 

Once again, they were dragged into the valley. 

The stench of blood filled the air, and piles of corpses lay everywhere—mostly from the slaughtered Peregrine Tribe. 

Rhaegar and the other wildlings were brought before the White Pine Tribe's leader. 

This time, Rhaegar noticed that the attackers weren't just from the White Pine Tribe. 

Four other burly wildling leaders sat around a bonfire with the White Pine leader, all from different tribes. 

Kneeling before them, Sander pleaded desperately, but the White Pine leader looked at him with utter disdain. 

Without bothering to ask questions, the leader ordered their hands and feet broken. 

He pointed at Rhaegar, who had been dumped in front of the group, and impatiently said, "Throw the kid in with the women and children. The rest will be sacrificed to the spirits." 

"Yes, sir!" 

Sander and the others weren't even given a chance to explain before their limbs were shattered and they were dragged away. 

Despite their screams, they still clung to the hope that offering Rhaegar could save them. 

But the leaders didn't believe a word of it. They didn't even bother listening. 

They were just a bunch of wildlings from the mountains. Who among them had ever seen a king? 

Saying he was one didn't make it true. 

One of the leaders, a brutish man with a face full of scars, took a liking to Rhaegar's bracelet and yanked it off without a word. 

Rhaegar opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, he was shoved to the ground. 

"Take him away! He's just a useless brat—keep him alive for now." 

Rhaegar landed hard on his backside and struggled to his feet. 

He didn't say a word, nor did he scream. He stayed silent, accepting his fate without resistance.

And just like that.

Rhaegar was untied and thrown into a fenced-off area where the prisoners were held.

Among them were women and children of the wildlings.

Rhaegar immediately spotted Baolan and her brother.

At that moment, Baolan was covered head-to-toe in mud and filth, clutching Tormond as they huddled in a corner.

Seeing someone familiar, Rhaegar rubbed his aching stomach and walked over.

"It's you. Weren't you with Uncle Falcon? How did you end up here?" Baolan asked warily as soon as she noticed him.

Rhaegar hesitated, looking troubled, and mumbled, "Falcon was a good man, just a little unlucky."

"Uncle Falcon is… dead?" 

Baolan couldn't believe it.

"He was ambushed by a traitor while we were escaping," Rhaegar said with some regret.

"It's over. If someone as strong as Uncle Falcon is dead, we're doomed too," Baolan said, lowering her head in despair.

"There might still be a chance," Rhaegar said, trying to reassure her. He then changed the subject, "These wildlings plan to sacrifice the traitors to the undead. Is this some kind of wildling tradition?"

"I heard the ones who captured me say that nearby tribes have been attacked by monsters. They believe it's the work of the undead, so they're sacrificing people from other tribes to appease them," Tormond, who was crouched on the ground, explained fearfully.

Rhaegar nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

He quietly moved to another corner and squatted down.

He needed to figure out how to save himself.

The Falcon tribe was unreliable.

The gathered tribes in this valley didn't seem particularly bright either.

"Ugh, might as well stay put for now," Rhaegar sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

...

Night fell.

The victorious wildling tribe celebrated with a wild feast, lighting bonfires everywhere to release the emotions from the day's slaughter.

It wasn't until midnight that the commotion finally settled down.

Men embraced women as they slept, and women held their children. 

One by one, they slept like logs.

Whoosh—

A strong gust of wind swept through the valley, dispersing the stench of the wildlings' camp.

Rhaegar opened his eyes.

He silently stared at the dim night sky.

"It's time."

Whispering to himself, Rhaegar stood up, glancing at the frightened women and children who were too scared to sleep. Then, he walked alone to the edge of the fence.

There were a few wildlings on guard by the fence.

It was late, and the guards were sleepy and slacking off.

Rhaegar's thin frame, clad in black dragon rider attire, blended well into the shadows of the night.

He quietly slipped through the poorly built fence and tiptoed away.

Wildling patrols roamed the valley in teams of two or three.

Rhaegar avoided their line of sight and arrived at a cliffside.

Here, Sand and his group were being held.

Rhaegar observed them.

Each of them was covered in wounds, their hands and feet severed, tongues cut out, and they were tied together on the ground.

Rhaegar picked up a small iron axe from a nearby bonfire.

He walked over to Sand, who had lost too much blood and fallen unconscious.

Raising the axe, Rhaegar aimed it at Sand's head.

After a moment's thought, he lowered it.

Then, he aimed at Sand's neck.

After hesitating again, he lowered it once more.

Instead, Rhaegar nudged Sand's head with his foot and whispered, "Hey, wake up…"

The kicks grew stronger, and Sand was forcefully awakened.

He opened his eyes in terror, trembling all over, mumbling incoherently.

"Look at me, Sand!" 

Rhaegar's voice snapped him out of his fear.

Sand raised his head in panic and saw Rhaegar standing alone before him.

"It's you…" 

Thwack—

Before Sand could finish his sentence, Rhaegar swung the axe down, striking his neck.

The artery was severed, and blood gushed like a fountain, drenching half of Rhaegar's body.

Rhaegar glanced down at himself and muttered, "You and Falcon share the blame for this. This outfit is completely ruined now."

With that, he continued swinging the axe.

The adventure begins.

(End of chapter)