A Song of Ice and Fire: Wrath of the Sleeping Dragon

"It's the guy with the crossbow."

Viserys hid in a wooden crate, barely daring to breathe, tightly clutching the 'large toothpick' in his hand.

His fingernails were turning white from the pressure, and his heart pounded rapidly. Peering through a small gap in the crate, he continued to watch the man.

The room was pitch black, save for the faint flicker of firelight that spilled in through the open door from the hallway.

The man holding the crossbow hadn't yet discovered the old, unremarkable crate tucked away in the corner of the storage room.

Crash—

The man kicked some debris on the floor, stirring up dust that made him cough and curse under his breath. Then he spoke in a threatening tone.

"Hey, little one, I know you're hiding in here."

"You can hear me talking, and you're watching me too, right?"

The man held his crossbow and waved away the dust, then stood up straighter and scanned the entire room, including the poorly lit areas.

He was experienced in dealing with children of this age.

Despite their talent for hiding due to their small stature, all he needed to do was intimidate them, and they would expose themselves.

The man tried to put on a menacing grin and continued to taunt.

"Stop hiding, I see you."

"Is that your cloak?"

Yet, even as the mercenary threatened and tried to intimidate, the storage room remained dead silent, devoid of any sound except for the man's voice echoing back and forth, making him look like a lovelorn fool.

"Damn it!"

The crossbow-wielding man gritted his teeth, realizing that the child might not be hiding in this room after all.

Still, he stubbornly ventured further inside, continuing his search in the dark, where Viserys might be concealed.

The mercenary ventured deep into the storage room, his figure quickly swallowed by the darkness. The light from the doorway only reached the spot he had just left.

Bang—

He kicked over an empty wooden barrel in frustration. The lid fell to the ground, revealing that no one was hiding inside.

"It seems the little one isn't hiding here."

"You're lucky."

The man with the crossbow muttered under his breath, preparing to leave and continue searching the next room.

However, just then, he caught sight of an inconspicuous wooden crate in the corner from the corner of his eye.

"Hmm?"

The crate wasn't very large, and it would be a tight fit for a seven-year-old child.

He didn't think about whether the Targaryen bastard would be hiding there. Instead, he wondered if the crate might contain some of the Targaryen family's 'treasures.'

Although the Targaryens had lost the Iron Throne, they had ruled Westeros for over two centuries, amassing considerable wealth.

Dragonstone was the Targaryen's stronghold, and it was possible that they had stored a significant amount of treasure within the castle.

The man holding the crossbow felt a twinge of greed.

Thinking it wouldn't hurt to try, he decided to check the crate. After all, the Targaryens were as good as dead, so it was foolish not to take what he could. Even a few Gold Dragons would be welcome.

Resolved, the man approached the crate in the corner.

Unsuspecting, he never imagined that such a small box could conceal a young boy. The man bent down slightly, intending to lift the lid of the crate.

But at that moment—

Bang—

The crate's lid was suddenly thrown open.

The silver-haired boy hid inside, gripping his dagger tightly and using all his strength, he fiercely thrust it into the bent-over man's throat.

At the same time, Viserys repeated his instructor's words in his mind.

'Pierce your enemy with the pointy end.'

In fact, after more than half a year of practice, Viserys couldn't say his swordsmanship was outstanding, but at least he was no longer unfamiliar with the use of weapons.

The instructor's teachings for the boy were primarily simple, just simple 'thrusts' and 'slashes,' then applying them flexibly.

The essence of swordsmanship is just that, simple techniques combined with reasonable application can be invincible.

The mercenary holding the crossbow had no time to react; the boy's blade was lightning fast.

Thud—

The dagger pierced his neck directly, just as he had shot the guard earlier. The sharp blade penetrated from the back of his neck, and blood splattered all over Viserys' face.

The man clutched at his throat, unable to stop the gushing blood, his face etched with disbelief.

He never expected that such a small hiding place would conceal a person, let alone that he would be ambushed and killed by a child.

A scream erupted in the silent corridor.

...

The towering mercenary, like a mountain, carried a battle-axe on his back as he searched another room.

He carelessly ransacked the place, showing no concern for a seven-year-old child who barely reached his height.

"Poor little fellow..."

Randon's facial muscles twitched, looking somewhat ferocious, and then he violently tore down a wooden door.

At that moment,

A clear scream echoed through the corridor.

"Huh?"

He recognized it as his companion's voice and frowned slightly.

"Did he actually get hurt by a child?"

"Hmph, what a waste."

Immediately, Randon threw aside the wooden door, took off his battle-axe, and strode out to take Viserys' life.

Meanwhile, the sleazy-looking mercenary left his room earlier than the larger man. He also heard his companion's scream and rushed out with his sword in hand.

He saw Viserys, who had escaped from the storeroom. They were very close, with Viserys' hiding place just next door.

The escaping silver-haired boy was covered in blood and dust, looking somewhat disheveled.

He held a dagger in one hand and the crossbow he had just taken from the dead enemy in the other.

At this moment, the bowstring was taut, and a bolt was already nocked.

Seeing the mercenary chasing after him, the two were extremely close, less than two meters apart.

Without hesitation, Viserys raised his hand and fired the bolt in his hand.

Thump—

The bowstring emitted a dull sound.

The bolt lodged in it shot out instantly, tearing through the air with a screeching sound.

Thud—

The sharp bolt effortlessly shattered the mercenary's hard forehead, crashing directly in, and brain matter splattered out along with blood.

At such a close distance, the mercenary had no time to react.

This time he died even more quickly, not making a sound. The body, impacted by the force of the bolt, fell face-up on the ground.