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BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
On the streets of Pryr Town, the figure known as Scorpion fled through the chaotic, densely packed crowd, constantly being jostled and struck by the flailing limbs of others.
The terror of a dragon laying waste to the city had driven most people into blind panic.
People screamed in fear, fleeing in all directions. Some, in their desperation, lost all sense of reason and ran straight into the raging flames that were rapidly engulfing the town.
Scorpion pushed forward with all his strength, struggling through the throng of terrified citizens. But after what felt like an eternity, he realized he had only moved about ten meters from where he had started.
Lifting his gaze to the sky, he saw the emerald-green dragon circling in a counterclockwise pattern. It would not be long before the creature swooped back over this part of the town once more.
This wouldn't do.
Scorpion could no longer afford to maintain the weak and delicate facade of the woman he was disguised as.
With a sudden motion, he drew a dagger from his waist and began attacking the civilians blocking his path. As he lashed out, he bellowed at the top of his lungs, "The dragon is coming back! If you don't want to die, follow me and charge into the town!"
In moments of such utter chaos, the instincts of ordinary people made them prone to follow the crowd.
One after another, desperate townsfolk gathered around Scorpion, forming a loose group at his side and behind him. Like him, they showed no mercy, striking down anyone who tried to flee in the opposite direction.
As their numbers swelled, the force of their momentum grew. By sheer brutality, they carved a bloody path through the frantic masses.
The larger their group became, the fewer people dared to stand in their way.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The sound of massive wings beating against the air echoed from above.
The next moment, a flood of orange-red dragonfire rained down from the sky, instantly turning the street Scorpion and his followers had just vacated into an inferno.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Pryr Town had its fair share of wooden structures, but it also had buildings of stone.
Yet under the dragon's relentless flames, even solid stone crumbled as if it were nothing more than a child's tower of wooden blocks.
Any wounded civilians who had not managed to escape in time, as well as the corpses left behind by Scorpion's ruthless advance, were instantly buried beneath the collapsing ruins.
From a vantage point high above the town, one would see a terrifying sight—
The emerald dragon used the two harbors to the east and west as reference points, unleashing swirling torrents of dragonfire, systematically reducing the town to embers.
Through this fiery onslaught, it drove thousands of panicked citizens toward the central square.
By the time the third wave of dragonfire came to an end, nearly half of Pryr Town lay in ruins.
During its second pass, many had yet to grasp the full horror of what was unfolding.
But by the third, with the flames falling in such a methodical pattern, the survivors had no doubt—this was no mindless destruction. It was deliberate.
Their only choice was to flee toward the central square.
Even if the dragon was merely herding them together to incinerate them all at once, yet they clung to a single, desperate hope—if death was inevitable, then let them be the last to burn.
---
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The terrifying emerald dragon descended upon the central square, its wings stirring up gusts of scorching wind.
Yet this time, it did not unleash its deadly breath. Instead, it loomed, its presence alone suffocating the terrified masses.
"I have money! I'll give you half—no, all of it! Please, spare my life!"
"My child is only a year old… I beg you, show mercy!"
"Great lord, please! I am strong and healthy—I will willingly become your slave!"
"Please! Please, have mercy!"
The moment the people saw the figure seated upon the dragon's saddle—clad in dark armor, like a god of death looming over them—thousands broke down in tears, falling to their knees, pleading for their lives.
CLANG!
*ROOOAAARR!!!*
With a thunderous crash, the emerald dragon landed atop two sturdy stone buildings, its talons gouging deep into the stone, reducing them to rubble. Then, it stretched its long neck forward and unleashed a thunderous roar that shook the very air.
There was no need for further intimidation.
The deafening wails of the crowd were instantly silenced. Thousands who had been begging for their lives now cowered in absolute stillness, their trembling bodies pressed against the ground.
From his lofty perch, Jacaerys coldly surveyed the sea of fearful faces below.
Then, his voice rang out, sharp and commanding:
"Anyone who understands the Common Tongue or Low Valyrian—step forward and relay my words!"
As a bustling port town, Pryr was home to many who spoke the languages of both continents.
The order spread quickly, and within moments, two to three hundred individuals pushed forward, scrambling to the front—each one desperate to prove their worth.
Once they had gathered and arranged themselves into rough lines, Jacaerys spoke again, his tone as cold as steel,
"I know you are not so easy to kill, and I know that I will not find you by mere chance. But there are still… hmm, about four thousand people left in this town."
"If you do not reveal yourself, I will continue burning the city—until every last one of them is dead!"
Then, fixing his cold gaze on the trembling translators, he commanded,
"You will repeat these words at the top of your lungs—three times in both languages!"
At Jacaerys' command, the gathered translators exchanged frantic glances, hastily deciding how to alternate between the two tongues.
Then, without hesitation, they raised their voices in unison, their cries ringing out across the square.
Over and over, they repeated his chilling ultimatum—six times in total.
Their combined voices, amplified by sheer numbers, reverberated through the smoldering ruins of Pryr, carrying Jacaerys' words to every last soul still breathing within the doomed town.
The thousands of remaining townsfolk, upon hearing the proclamation, immediately began glancing about, searching for the one responsible for their suffering.
Desperate eyes darted back and forth, each hoping that the culprit would step forward on their own—so that the rest might live.
But their prayers were in vain.
The one they sought had long abandoned such trivial concerns.
The Faceless Man known as "Scorpion" did not care for their lives in the slightest.
Minutes passed, yet no one emerged.
Jacaerys, however, did not seem the least bit troubled. His expression remained calm—unmoved.
This outcome had been within his expectations from the very beginning.
Threatening people with death was an effective tactic—against most.
For ordinary men and women, nothing was more terrifying than the prospect of dying.
But the Faceless Men were different. To them, death was not a curse but a sacred offering—bestowed and received in the name of the Many-Faced God.
And yet, for all their piety, they were still human.
And humans had weaknesses.
If faith was their strength, then faith would be the key to breaking them.
Jacaerys' voice rang out once more, this time slower—each word deliberate, each syllable striking deep:
"I swear upon all the gods above—I will not harm you, should you step forward of your own will."
A pause. Then, he continued, his words laced with a subtle, almost mocking edge:
"Moreover, for every question you answer, I will spare one thousand lives."
The people in the square held their breath.
Jacaerys gazed down upon them with an icy detachment.
"These innocent men, women, and children… they all had a chance to survive."
"But if you refuse to reveal yourself, then every death that follows will be on your hands. You will have stolen thousands of souls from the Many-Faced God—without paying the price.
"And tell me, when you finally die… will your god bless you?"
A cruel smile flickered at the corners of Jacaerys' lips.
"Or will He cast you aside?"
The Faceless Men were not all as unwavering as Jaqen H'ghar.
Among their ranks were lesser disciples, those whose faith wavered in the face of true reckoning—like the "Waif" who had once hunted Arya Stark.
And in this moment, Scorpion hesitated.
It was not death that he feared.
But if he were to die having angered his god, cast away from the Many-Faced One's embrace… what awaited him then?
A loud rustling sound suddenly filled the air.
One after another, the townsfolk collapsed onto their knees, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
"Please! I beg of you! Show yourself!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Have mercy! Save us!"
Tears and snot streamed down their faces as they pounded the earth, their voices hoarse with desperation.
A heavy sigh slipped from Scorpion's lips.
He had expected this moment, but that did not make it any easier.
Steeling himself, he took a step forward, emerging from the mass of bodies.
Jacaerys watched as a single figure walked out from the midst of two or three hundred wailing supplicants. A flicker of emotion crossed his face—just for a brief moment.
The Faceless Men and their abilities were truly strange.
The same man who had once been the towering knight, Ser Rickard, now stood before him as a frail, delicate woman.
Still, as Scorpion's true form began to resurface, Jacaerys cast aside his doubts. Instead, he simply gestured for the assassin to come closer.
Scorpion carefully climbed onto the ruined stone structure where Jacaerys stood.
But no sooner had he reached the top—a pair of slitted, reptilian eyes locked onto him.
VERMEX.
The dragon did not blink.
Its pupils, thin as dagger slits, carved into him like silent judgment. Its mouth parted slightly, hot breath billowing out—ready to strike at a single command.
Jacaerys wasted no time.
"First question—who hired you?"
"Archon Pachek. And Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne."
Since he had already made his decision, Scorpion did not hesitate. He answered swiftly and clearly.
"Second question. What poison did you use?"
"Manticore venom," he replied evenly. "The antidote can be found in the Black and White House of Tyrosh."
Jacaerys studied him for a moment. The assassin was far too cooperative. It seemed Scorpion had resigned himself to his fate.
Seeing this, Jacaerys abandoned the many torturous methods he had initially considered.
"Very well then," he said simply. "Give my regards to the Many-Faced God."
"...What?"
A fraction of a second too late, realization struck like a dagger to the gut.
"But you swore—"
WHOOSH!
Before he could finish his sentence—blazing dragonfire swallowed him whole, cutting off his final words in a searing inferno.
No matter how many faces or identities a Faceless Man could assume, in the face of overwhelming power, none of it mattered.
Jacaerys looked down at what remained—a charred husk, barely recognizable as the man who had stood there moments before.
A quiet smirk curled at his lips as he murmured, "I swore I would not harm you, But Vermex? He has a will of his own.
Then, turning away from the smoldering corpse, his gaze swept over the vast crowd in the town square—over four thousand people, still on their knees, still trembling.
"I am a man of my word," he declared, his voice carrying across the square. "He answered two questions, so I shall spare two thousand of you."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, letting the brief spark of hope settle into their hearts.
"And as for the remaining two thousand…"
Jacaerys smiled.
"They shall serve one final purpose."
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[Chapter End's]
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