Chapter 16 – The Missing Legion
Sensing no blood fluctuations similar to the Firewyrms within the city, Dragonzel motioned for everyone to follow him toward the ruins.
The road to the ruins was not far. In the height of Valyria, although the Dragonlords often disdained ordinary men, their public works were masterful. Even after the Doom shattered the peninsula, the surviving Valyrian roads remained remarkably smooth.
If not for the toxic air that prevented horses from surviving in the ruins, they might have advanced faster.
"Dragonzel, I can feel the magic weakening," Valarr said. His nose and throat burned—signs that the protective sorcery was fading.
"If you feel unwell, drink the second draught," Dragonzel replied.
He too sensed subtle changes in his blood. They had not ventured deep, yet already the protective magic was nearing its limit.
The others understood and drank their potions. Some could endure longer, but caution prevailed.
"The protection will last approximately seven days," Dragonzel ordered. "Our search area is this city. Lynn and Ago will remain with me. Sebastian, Aslan, Amos, and Hofa—you four will each lead a team. We establish camp in the abandoned tower and conduct separate searches. Seek valuable relics. Do not touch anything that glows or radiates heat. Report findings back to camp. Understood?"
"Yes, my lord."
The Red Priest Marakh stood beside Dragonzel, eyes gleaming with fervent excitement.
The group established a simple camp within the ruined tower. Then Dragonzel's party departed first, their stronger magical protection allowing them to scout farther and secure safe zones.
"My lord, this appears to be the legion that vanished long ago," Marakh said.
Having studied for twenty years in the Great Temple of the Lord of Light, Marakh possessed not only theological knowledge but also a solid understanding of the eastern continent's history.
He gestured toward a humanoid stone figure.
"Master Marakh, what is this?"
Marakh did not touch it. He pointed to the horn-like protrusions atop the petrified shape.
"If I am correct, these are riders of the Black Goat of Qohor."
The Dragonlords would never permit colonial troops near their homeland. Therefore, these soldiers must have come from beyond Valyria.
"Gods…" Dragonzel murmured, surveying the countless stone figures scattered through the ruins. "What happened here?"
"Too much time has passed," Marakh said regretfully. "The magic that petrified them has long since faded."
"Any discoveries?" Dragonzel called.
"Brother!" Ray shouted. "Come quickly—there's something valuable!"
Lynn and Valarr were assisting, while Ago carefully supported a warped humanoid remnant.
Dragonzel immediately saw what they had uncovered.
A suit of black plate armor—smooth as a mirror.
"Valyrian steel armor," Valarr breathed. "A complete suit of Valyrian steel armor!"
Even House Varezes did not possess a full suit.
"This likely belonged to a commander serving Emperor Orion," Marakh judged. "Perhaps a cadet branch of House Varezes. Among the Dragonlords, it was not uncommon to arm favored retainers in Valyrian steel."
"Brother, look at this!" Ray dragged over a longsword.
Dragonzel accepted it.
A Valyrian steel blade, dormant for centuries. Strange red-black stains marred its surface—likely residue of magical corruption from the Doom—but its sharpness remained undiminished.
The hilt bore a griffin of Valyrian steel, wings spread in defiance. Rubies formed its eyes, amethysts its teeth, and traces of gold lingered along the wings.
"Even if we fail to find dragon eggs," Dragonzel smiled faintly, "this alone makes the expedition worthwhile."
The search continued.
Ago recovered a plain arakh of Valyrian steel from beside the shattered remains of a cavalryman.
Ray discovered another suit of Valyrian steel brigandine and a spearhead—its wooden shaft long decayed.
After combing the outer ruins, they advanced toward the colossal dragon skeleton.
Only upon standing beneath it did they comprehend its enormity.
Though broken and incomplete, it towered like a mountain.
"The family chronicles say Emperor Orion's dragon was a cunning red beast of one hundred and forty years," Dragonzel said softly. "Our ancestor rode it to crush the remnants of the Rhoynar and won twelve dragon duels against rival houses."
He stared at the remains.
"I never imagined it would be this vast."
"Perhaps our ancestor still sits astride it," Valarr joked lightly.
"It seems… he does," Ray whispered.
On the dragon's back lay a mound of ash, barely retaining form within gleaming scale armor.
Beside it stood a longsword of pure Valyrian steel.
Its hilt bore twin roaring dragons, wings entwined, crowned with a great ruby that seemed to drip blood down the blade.
House Varezes' ancestral sword:
Silver Blood.
Nearby, a Valyrian steel lance remained embedded in what little was left of the dragon saddle.
"Ancestor, forgive me," Dragonzel prayed silently. "All is for the family."
Then, with irreverent efficiency, the heirs of House Varezes climbed the skeletal remains and stripped Emperor Orion's ashes of their treasures.
"Did you find any dragon eggs?" Ray asked eagerly once they descended.
"Our ancestor would not have carried dragon eggs into battle," Dragonzel replied dryly. "Search the surrounding area once more."
"My lord, we should rotate with the next team," Marakh advised. "The men require rest. And you must restore your strength."
Dragonzel realized his blood felt cold.
A dangerous sign.
He agreed to conduct one final sweep before returning to camp.
—
In a shadowed corner, unseen by all—
A rough stone flickered faintly with light.
Then it fell silent once more.
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