118 AC.
Early summer, morning.
A massive black dragon soared over King's Landing, its enormous shadow covering vast sections of the city.
"Screech..."
The dragon's roar echoed like thunder, startling countless citizens who stopped to look up.
Upon recognizing the dragon, they showed expressions of reverence before continuing on their way.
After seven years, the people of King's Landing had all come to know this black dragon.
It belonged to the king's eldest son, heir to the Iron Throne, the Kind Prince—Rhaegar Targaryen.
The first two titles were due to his royal status, while "the Kind Prince" was a name spread by singers and bards.
This prince was known for his benevolence, often supporting orphanages within the city, earning the deep affection of the people.
...
The black dragon circled once over King's Landing before slowly descending onto the hill where the Dragonpit stood.
"Prince, welcome back safely..."
Dragonkeepers and guards had been waiting for some time. When they saw the dragon land, they quickly gathered around.
On the dragon's back sat a silver-haired, violet-eyed, pale-skinned young man with striking features, his expression calm and composed.
"Where is Ser Elyque? Have him prepare the guards to receive the caravan from Mushroom Market."
Rhaegar frowned slightly as he gave his first order upon landing.
Maester Menas, dressed in scholar's robes, approached respectfully. "Prince, the White Knight was summoned back to the Red Keep."
Rhaegar nodded at the news. "Then send someone to prepare. The caravan should arrive before the afternoon."
"Yes, my prince."
Menas responded promptly.
With the tasks assigned, Rhaegar dismounted, climbing down the soft ladder. He reached out and stroked the menacing snout of his dragon, Glutton.
*Snort...*
Glutton huffed through its nostrils, its green slit pupils filled with reluctance.
Rhaegar reassured him, "Stay in the Dragonpit for now. I'll let you roam tonight."
"Screech..."
Glutton shook its head before striding into the Dragonpit. The dragonkeepers hurriedly stepped back, wary of the sweeping tail.
Seeing this, Rhaegar smiled slightly. "Let's go. I've been away for a few days—it's time to return to the Red Keep."
"Yes, my prince."
A dozen dragon guards responded, forming two columns as they escorted the prince to his carriage.
After years of effort, the Dragonpit had been cleansed of corruption and was now under Rhaegar's complete control.
In King's Landing, the Dragonpit was his personal domain.
...
**Red Keep, Training Yard**
Rhaegar had changed out of his dragon-riding attire. Now, he stood bare-chested, wearing a long pleated garment tied at the waist, a finely crafted sword in hand.
The garment, called a "horse-face skirt," was inspired by fragmented visions he had seen in dreams.
His dreams were chaotic and unordered, but occasionally, some images proved useful, and he would try them out in his spare time.
The sword he wielded was one of House Targaryen's ancestral weapons—
*Dark Sister.*
He owed it to his dear uncle Daemon, who gifted him the Valyrian steel sword on the night of the Great Council.
To be honest, Rhaegar often missed his royal uncle.
Whenever they met, Daemon would always bring him something valuable.
*Clang!*
The sharp ring of clashing steel echoed as Rhaegar swung *Dark Sister* against his opponent's blade.
"Prince, your swordplay is fast, but it lacks grace."
His opponent, a short man with curly brown hair, was none other than Syrio Forel, the Water Dancer.
Syrio smiled confidently, his steps light, his sword poised like a waiting serpent.
Rhaegar's first strike failed to land. He quickly stepped back, twirling his sword in a flourish, eyes narrowing.
Syrio had been his swordmaster since he was eight years old, and they often sparred.
Today, Rhaegar wanted to test whether his swordsmanship had reached its peak.
He lunged forward, *Dark Sister* flashing with a dark gleam as he unleashed a series of swift, brutal strikes at Syrio.
Syrio deftly defended himself, parrying each blow while retreating, always maintaining his signature stance—one hand gripping his sword, the other held behind his back.
"Syrio, a single-handed sword won't block a heavy strike!"
Rhaegar's voice was crisp as he kicked Syrio in the stomach before raising his sword for a powerful overhead slash.
At only thirteen, Rhaegar was already tall and lean, standing at 5 feet 9 inches (175 cm).
Using his size advantage, he was able to momentarily suppress Syrio's agile movements.
Syrio quickly steadied himself and raised his blade to parry.
*Clang!*
A sharp crack rang out as Syrio's sword snapped in two under the force of *Dark Sister*, the Valyrian steel blade stopping just above his head.
"You win, my prince."
Syrio swallowed, glancing up at the glinting steel, and cautiously stepped back.
"Your swordsmanship is unmatched in this land. I only lost because your weapon is superior."
Rhaegar sheathed **Dark Sister**, brushed past the observing **Ser Erryk**, and beckoned with his hand.
"Prince, catch!"
Ser Erryk flipped a finely crafted steel spear through the air. Rhaegar caught it firmly in both hands.
"Again, Ser Syrio."
With both hands gripping the spear, Rhaegar spun it with nimble precision, creating an impenetrable whirlwind.
He was not only skilled with the sword—his spear technique was exceptional as well.
Of course, his swordsmanship came from relentless training, while his spear skills were acquired through an ancient relic.
He summoned his **system panel**, and his personal information appeared:
**[Rhaegar Targaryen]**
- **Talents**: Dreamer (Gold), Longevity (Green)
- **Bloodline**: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (39%)
- **Skills**: Mastery in Swordsmanship, Mastery in Spearmanship, Mastery in Stone Carving...
- **Relics**: Blood and Fire as One, True Dragon's Blood, Knight's Oath
**Evaluation**: "A remarkable heir of an ancient bloodline. May your coin land on the side of greatness."
Gazing at the panel, Rhaegar smirked.
His mastery of the spear came from an **ancient broken spear** he had once discovered, granting him an impressive level of proficiency at a young age.
Facing the prince's spear, Syrio let out a helpless chuckle and retrieved a single-handed sword from the weapon rack.
This time, their duel became even fiercer.
Rhaegar's spear struck like a raging storm, a relentless flurry of thrusts and sweeps.
Syrio's footwork was fluid, his one-handed sword parrying and deflecting as he danced nimbly between attacks.
As the relentless assault continued, Rhaegar's breath grew heavier, his face alight with exhilaration.
He **loved** this feeling—the thrill of battle, the rush of blood—it was more invigorating than soaking in a hot spring.
With a final strike, the spear's tip twisted under his control, spiraling straight toward Syrio's forehead.
**Clang—**
The spear's tip grazed between Syrio's eyes, heading straight for his brow—only to be intercepted by the flat of his sword.
Syrio's expression turned grave as he gripped his sword tightly, struggling to hold back the spear.
**Clap! Clap! Clap!**
"Well done, Rhaegar…"
A crisp, melodic voice accompanied the sound of applause, drifting down from the balcony above.
Rhaegar turned toward the sound and saw **Rhaenyra**, dressed in a flowing black gown, smiling brightly as she clapped enthusiastically.
"Rhaenyra, you're back from Dragonstone?"
Retracting his spear, Rhaegar looked at her in surprise and delight.
Rhaenyra stepped toward the staircase, then hurried down, her heels clicking against the stone steps. She pouted, "I came back yesterday. You just didn't notice."
It had been a while since he had seen his sister, and Rhaegar was genuinely pleased. He quickly strode toward the stairwell.
As he brushed past Syrio, he suddenly swung his spear low in a sweeping arc—striking **hard** behind the swordmaster's knees.
With a **thud**, Syrio collapsed.
Before he could even groan in pain, Ser Erryk approached, shackles in hand, swiftly restraining Syrio's wrists and ankles.
"Training time is over, swordsman."
Ser Erryk's expression was solemn as he hoisted Syrio up with one hand and caught the spear Rhaegar tossed to him with the other.
After all, Syrio was not just Rhaegar's swordsmanship instructor.
He was also a **frequent guest of the Red Keep's dungeons**.
---
- **Rhaegar has now reached the age of 13.**
- **New arc begins!**
(End of Chapter)