Daenerys looked up, staring at the brilliant crown hanging from the blood-stained spear tip just inches away, feeling somewhat at a loss.
The golden vines, the luster of the gems, and the warmth of the pearls formed a contrast so stark it was almost cruel against her faded, coarse cloth cloak and worn-out cuffs.
Subconsciously, she reached out. Her fingertips didn't touch the magnificent crown but instead lightly brushed the old, faded black-and-red ribbon fluttering slightly below the spear tip as she moved.
The rough texture of the ribbon carried a faint, almost imperceptible chill belonging to days gone by.
Aegon looked down at this movement, watching the light shimmering in the girl's eyes—a mixture of confusion, trepidation, and an instinctive sense of closeness.
With an extremely slight dip of his wrist, the crown slid off the spear tip.
Unerringly, it landed squarely and gently onto Daenerys's silver-gold, slightly dry, soft hair.
Cold metal met warm strands of hair.
The heavy weight pressed down, causing Daenerys's slender neck to dip slightly and involuntarily.
The light from the gold and gems instantly illuminated her pale little face, making those violet eyes appear even clearer, yet it also made her shabby clothing seem all the more distressing.
This combination of extreme magnificence and extreme destitution formed a highly impactful image.
"Ah..." In the stands, a suppressed wave of gasps and low cries filled with jealousy and resentment instantly rang out.
The noblewomen of Lys, who had dressed up meticulously and waited in high anticipation, watched as the crown—symbolizing supreme glory and admiration—
Actually landed on the head of that Targaryen girl in the corner who was dressed like a beggar. They nearly ground their teeth to dust, their gazes shooting toward Daenerys like poisoned daggers.
Aegon seemed completely oblivious to all of this.
He retracted his lance, his gaze lingering briefly on Daenerys and Viserys beside her, whose back had suddenly straightened and whose eyes had erupted with an astonishing brilliance.
"Be brave."
His voice carried out, possessing less of the icy slaughter of the battlefield and more of an indescribable gentleness—one perhaps even he hadn't noticed—yet it still bore an unquestionable power.
The words were very soft, yet they fell clearly into Daenerys's ears.
After speaking, he gave the siblings a deep look—
Now was not the time for recognition.
Aegon jerked the reins, and the black warhorse gave a long neigh before turning around, carrying him away through the still-unabated waves of fanatical noise.
He headed toward the arena's exit without looking back, leaving the earth-shaking clamor, the countless following gazes, and the siblings whose fates seemed to have reached a subtle turning point behind him.
"Wait! Knight! Please stay!" Viserys snapped out of his daze, springing up from his stool and stumbling forward a few steps, reaching out his hand as if to hold back that powerful figure.
His face bore a distorted expression of mixed ecstasy and urgency; in his mind, he had already sketched out countless blueprints for recruiting the man and relying on him as a powerful aide.
"I am Viserys Targaryen, in the name of the King..."
His shouts were drowned out by the even greater clamor.
Aegon's back didn't pause for a moment as he quickly disappeared into the shadows of the exit, leaving all the cheers, pleas to stay, and inquisitive gazes behind him.
Viserys wanted to chase further but was politely stopped by two decently dressed attendants who appeared at his side at some unknown time.
"Prince Viserys, Princess Daenerys," a soft and charming voice spoke with just the right amount of respect.
Sa Melis had approached them unnoticed, an impeccable smile on her face as she gave a slight bow. "The Magister requests your presence."
"You have come from afar, and we have been negligent. Please move to the inner court; the Magister has prepared wine and refreshments, hoping to have a... good talk with you both."
Her attitude was completely different from the cold perfunctoriness of yesterday and their first meeting today; it was much more respectful, even carrying an imperceptible sense of scrutiny and importance.
Clearly, the sudden emergence of that silver-haired knight on the field and his final act of "gifting the crown" had caused the scales in certain people's hearts to tilt subtly.
Viserys was stunned by this sudden "courtesy." Then, a massive, long-lost feeling of "being valued" surged into his heart, mixed with regret for the departing knight, leaving his mind in a complex state.
He glanced at the crown on his sister's head, then at Sa Melis's proper smile. Eventually, he puffed out his chest, trying to maintain a final shred of dignity, and nodded. "Lead the way."
Daenerys remained sitting there in a daze, her small hands tightly supporting the heavy, cold crown on her head.
Her eyes stared blankly toward the exit where Aegon had disappeared, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing the black-and-red ribbon she had quietly untied from the spear tip and clutched in her palm... Outside the Perfume Garden, under a relatively secluded eave.
Henry and the other Bloodsworn soldiers who had rushed over were already waiting there.
Aegon dismounted nimbly and, with Henry's help, quickly removed the heavy armor.
Sweat soaked his undershirt, clinging to his firm muscles.
"Your Highness, this armor?" Henry pointed at the set of armor on the ground, covered in dust and a bit of blood.
"It's paid for, so it's ours." Aegon wiped the sweat from his face with a cloth, his voice steady. "Pack it up. Have someone go to the master of ceremonies to collect the five hundred gold coins, take them back to the ship immediately, give them to Karl, and have them inventoried."
"Yes!"
Aegon changed into his usual black clothes, casually brushing his sweat-dampened silver hair back to reveal a smooth forehead and cold, sharp features.
He no longer looked at the garden from which faint clamor still drifted, taking the lead. "Let's go, back to the docks."
The group quickly left the Perfume Garden area, blending into the Lysene streets that were starting to grow languid in the afternoon. The floral scent in the air faded, replaced by the more complex atmosphere of the marketplace.
Aegon walked in front with steady steps, yet his heart was not entirely without ripples.
Viserys, Daenerys... why would they appear in Lys at this time?
And why did they happen to run into this prelude to the "False Aegon" conspiracy?
Was it a coincidence, or was someone pushing behind the siblings, or... was it just another cruel joke of their pathetic wandering fate?
His intervention today was certainly because he couldn't stand to see the last dignity of the Targaryens trampled upon; it was driven by some resonance deep within his blood that he himself might not fully understand.
But reason also issued a warning: this move would undoubtedly put him in the sights of certain people, disrupting his original plan to act low-key and potentially dragging him into the murky waters of Lys ahead of schedule.
Trouble.
But... Aegon's violet eyes looked toward the distant harbor, where his ship, his Bloodsworn, and his... 'Dragon' were moored.
Some things, once seen, cannot be treated as if they weren't.
If one always uses the coldest logic to calculate gains and losses and weigh pros and cons, how is that living any different from a machine? How is it different from when he struggled just to survive in the Valyrian Ruins?
Since it was done, it was done.
If trouble comes... He sensed the few hidden presences that had been quietly tailing him like maggots on a bone since shortly after they left the Perfume Garden, thinking they were concealed.
Like rats peeping from the dark.
The corner of his mouth curled into an imperceptibly cold arc... Then let it come.
His pace didn't stop, but he gave a very quick hand signal to Henry beside him.
Henry's gaze sharpened, and he gave a nearly invisible nod before whispering a few instructions to the soldiers behind him.
Soon, at a fork in the road, Aegon led a few people straight ahead, while Henry led the rest to quickly turn into another alley and disappear.
Aegon walked at a leisurely pace, specifically choosing secluded alleys.
The "tails" behind him followed closely indeed, seemingly excited because the target had entered a less populated area, drawing even nearer.
Just as they passed through a narrow alley filled with clutter and the smell of slop, a figure flashed at the entrance. Henry, with four Bloodsworn soldiers, blocked the way expressionlessly, their blades half-unsheathed.
Aegon stopped at the same time and slowly turned around.
Behind him, three men dressed in ordinary sailor or laborer shirts—but with sharp eyes and agile movements—found themselves trapped in this dead alley, their expressions changing instantly.
They instinctively stood back-to-back, their hands reaching for the bulges at their waists.
Deep in the alley, a couple fornicating behind a pile of junk was startled by this sudden confrontation. They screamed and scrambled out of another gap in the corner with their clothes in disarray, leaving a mess behind.
Aegon ignored the illicit lovers, his gaze like a cold blade scraping over the three trapped men, finally landing on the face of the man in the middle who looked like the leader, who had a shallow scar on his cheek.
"You've followed me all this way," Aegon spoke, his voice sounding exceptionally clear and cold in the silent alley. "Tell me, who sent you rats?"
The scarred man's Adam's apple bobbed. He felt the undisguised killing intent from both front and back, especially the icy pressure radiating from the silver-haired, black-clad youth in front of him—pressure far more heart-stopping than his youthful appearance suggested.
He forced out a small smile, trying to explain, "This... My Lord, a misunderstanding, it's all a misunderstanding! We mean no harm! It's just that my leader wishes to invite you for a chat, to make a friend..."
"Make a friend?" Aegon interrupted him, taking a step forward.
With just one step, the scarred man felt his breath hitch, as if he were being stared down by a predator. "Sending a few rats to follow me stealthily is your way of making friends?"
The coldness in his eyes nearly solidified into physical frost.
"Clang!" "Clang!"
The Bloodsworn soldiers blocking the path at both ends drew their blades completely, the bright steel shimmering with a cold light in the dim alley.
Intense killing intent instantly filled the narrow space.
Sweat immediately broke out on the scarred man's forehead. He knew the other party truly dared to kill people here!
He waved his hands frantically, speaking rapidly, "My Lord, calm your anger! It really is a misunderstanding! I... my leader's identity is special, and it's not convenient to appear in public, which is why we resorted to this! I truly only came to deliver a message, with no ill intent!"
Seeing Aegon's unmoved face, his heart went cold, and he hurriedly added, "Shipwreck Rock! My Lord, do you still remember Shipwreck Rock? The... Hain Village of Shipwreck Rock!"
He stared intently into Aegon's eyes, saying word for word, "Our leader said that if I just told you this, you would understand."
"She has some things she must say to you, but it's truly not convenient for her to be seen."
"If you agree, please allow me to lead the way."
Shipwreck Rock. Hain Village.
Aegon's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
His face remained expressionless, but those violet eyes locked onto the scarred man's eyes as if to pierce through his skull and see the truth within.
The alley was deathly silent, with only the faint sounds of the city drifting from afar.
The scarred man felt his skin crawl under this gaze, and he could barely hold his ground.
A long time passed.
Aegon slowly raised his hand and waved it toward the front and back.
"Zeng-lang—"
The Bloodsworn soldiers sheathed their blades in a single, synchronized motion, but their gazes remained coldly locked on the three men.
Aegon's gaze finally moved away from the scarred man's face, looking toward the azure sky outside the alley before falling back onto the man's face. His voice held no emotion, only a coldness like a deep pool:
"Lead the way."
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