Chapter 422: Yet Another Dragonlord Family

Chapter 422: Yet Another Dragonlord FamilyAs far as Viserys knew, the words spoken by the Child of the Forest should have been in the ancient language. Even if the White Walkers—beings from the same era as the Children—did not use the ancient tongue, there was no reason for their speech to be in Valyrian, a language that had not emerged until thousands of years later.

Previously, when the Night King had communicated with him through the wight puppet, he had used the common tongue. By all logic, he should have continued using it now. So why had he suddenly chosen to speak in Valyrian? Surely, he wasn’t trying to flaunt his linguistic skills?

Caught off guard, Viserys remained silent for a moment before the Night King repeated his question:

“Viserys, why are you standing in my way?”

“Why do you think?” Viserys shot back. “You treat us like livestock, so I’m cutting a deal with someone else.” S~eaʀᴄh the ηovёlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The Night King let out a disdainful snort. “Hmph. Aren’t you Targaryens always eager to be Vystarion’s lapdogs? Your ancestor Zynarion once claimed it would be his greatest honor to serve House Vystarion. Are you now defying the teachings of your forebears?”

Damn it. How poorly had the Targaryens fared in Valyria?

This was the second time someone had mocked his bloodline. The first had been Shiera. Of course, she hadn’t meant it maliciously, but her words had revealed to Viserys that the Targaryens were little more than minor players in Valyria.

The second time had been Bloodraven. Aenar Targaryen had entrusted the safety of his descendants to the Greenseer in exchange for House Targaryen’s survival, a fact that further underscored their lack of influence in Valyria.

And now, the third was the Night King.

This bluntness was infuriating, but Viserys decided to endure it. If the Night King was willing to engage in verbal sparring, Viserys could use it to buy time for Benerro and the others.

“What a load of nonsense. House Vystarion? Never heard of it.” Of course, Viserys had heard of it—from Shiera, no less. Vystarion’s house was said to rival the Sennesta family. But to draw the Night King further into argument, Viserys decided to provoke his pride and let him elaborate.

Judging from the Night King’s mannerisms, it seemed he might have been a Valyrian once. That gave Viserys an angle to strike from.

“Look at you now—half-human, half-ghost—and you still dare to call yourself a Dragonlord? The Targaryens are the last true Dragonlords!”

To his surprise, the Night King did not react with anger. Instead, he laughed, a sound dripping with contempt. Even stranger, Viserys noticed that the severed heads adorning the Icebone Towers seemed to shift, mirroring the Night King’s expression. They stared at him, their frozen faces locked in the same mocking grin.

“Hahaha, Dragonlord? Do you think that title means anything to me?” The Night King’s laughter echoed eerily, his voice tinged with madness. “Dragonlords, dragons—they all grow old and die. But I am immortal!”

His expression grew increasingly unhinged, reminiscent of the Undying Ones Viserys had encountered in Qarth. That brought Viserys a moment of relief. He knew all too well the nature of those who sought eternal life—they were often delusional and vulnerable in their hubris.

With a manic glint in his eye, the Night King began to recount his transformation from a Valyrian Dragonlord to his current state. “Valyria reigned supreme for five thousand years, but it never dared to set foot in Westeros. Do you know why?” He sneered. “The power of the Greenseer. The magic that severed the Arm of Dorne, a feat no Valyrian sorcery could rival. Fear of the Greenseer kept Valyria at bay.”

He continued, his tone turning bitter. “With nowhere to plunder, the Valyrians turned inward, and their conflicts grew fiercer. The louder the dragons roared, the louder the infighting became. My house—House Vystarion—lost to House Sennesta. We were driven to the brink of extinction.”

The Night King’s voice dropped, heavy with venom. “Desperate, we turned to Westeros—the forbidden land. We sent members of our house, those thought to be dead, to seek out the remnants of the White Walkers. None returned to Valyria. I was one of those sent to make contact.”

His fists clenched, his face a mask of fervor. “You cannot stop me, Viserys. Not with your dragons, not with your armies. I will sweep across Westeros, reclaim Valyria, and create beings greater than dragons!”

Viserys studied him, unimpressed by the grandiose declarations. The Night King’s fervor bordered on ecstasy, his excitement spilling over as his voice rose. But to Viserys, it was clear—this was the ranting of a madman.

He couldn’t suppress a mocking laugh. If this was the extent of the Night King’s power, then there was nothing to fear. He was just a lunatic consumed by his delusions.

As Viserys smirked, he noticed Benerro subtly signaling to him. The red priest had completed his assessment of the Icebone Tower’s structure. Their operation had succeeded.

The Yellow Dragon, still circling above, descended with a mighty gust of wind. Its enormous wings scattered ice shards and debris from the White Walker Viserys had killed. Viserys turned back to the Night King with a sneer.

“Alright then, you just keep on living forever—”

Before he could finish, the Night King’s form began to waver and fade, growing indistinct. It wasn’t the invisibility magic he had seen Hali and Hermine use. No, this was more like the projection spell Quaithe had described to Daenerys.

Realization struck him like a blow.

Suddenly, an overwhelming and terrifying aura surged from the direction of Benerro and the red priests. The truth hit Viserys with brutal clarity:

He felt a sharp pang of shame for his earlier arrogance. He had underestimated the Night King, dismissing him as an overconfident fool. But the cunning behind this maneuver was undeniable.

Without hesitation, Viserys leapt forward, placing himself between the red priests and the oncoming threat. He collided with a blinding white mist of ice.

As the mist dispersed, two piercing azure eyes emerged, locking onto Viserys. This was the true Night King.

With his sword in hand, the Night King charged. Viserys met him head-on, their weapons igniting with flames and freezing with frost upon every clash. Each blow sent shockwaves through the air, accompanied by deafening, nauseating crashes.

The Night King was the strongest opponent Viserys had ever faced. Their skills were evenly matched—neither could gain the upper hand. But Viserys knew the truth: though his stamina was formidable, he could not match the Night King’s relentless endurance. If the battle dragged on, he doubted he could hold out, let alone emerge victorious.

“Get out of here!” Viserys shouted at Benerro and the others during a brief pause in their exchange. But the distraction proved costly. The Night King seized the moment, driving a sharp kick into Viserys’s waist and sending him hurtling into the Icebone Tower.

Viserys slammed into the grotesque structure, its broken limbs and jagged edges locking him in place. Severed heads snapped at him, their icy jaws gnarling dangerously close. Summoning his strength, Viserys twisted violently, breaking free from the tower’s grip.

The Night King moved to attack the dragons and the red priests, but Viserys intercepted him before he could land a blow. Their swords clashed again, the relentless sound of steel on steel echoing like a barrage of firecrackers.

Above, Benerro and the others had already taken to the skies on the back of the dragon. From their vantage point, they watched the battle below with growing trepidation. The sight of Viserys holding his ground against the Night King after having just slaughtered over two hundred White Walkers was awe-inspiring. Benerro had considered that feat terrifying enough, but this battle was beyond anything he had imagined.

Hali, hovering nearby on her dragon, was equally astounded. No swordsman she had seen in Braavos—no matter how skilled—could survive such a confrontation. Monterys, meanwhile, was filled with a mix of despair and admiration. He knew he could never match Viserys’s prowess.

The battle raged on, and Viserys found himself frustrated. He had yet to fully understand how to wield the “Lightbringer,” the weapon Melisandre had forged for him. Over the years, he had tried countless methods, enduring blisters and wounds in his attempts to unlock its secrets. According to Melisandre, the sword’s true power could only be awakened if it was plunged into its wielder’s body.

Despite Daenerys’s objections, Viserys had tested this claim in secret. He had driven the blade through his own chest, only to find that while the sword retained its dazzling glow, it remained cold and inert. Perhaps the legends of Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa held some truth.

The sword, however, was undeniably strong, and Viserys had entrusted it to Daenerys. She carried it with her now, and as the others hovered safely above, she urged her dragon closer to join the fight. Replacing Monterys, she observed the ferocious combat below, looking for an opening to intervene.

The Night King, sensing her approach, turned his attention to Daenerys mid-fight. “Ah, your wife. You Targaryen women were infamous in Valyria for offering yourselves to the highest bidder. If Valyria were still alive, she would be my concubine.”

Viserys did not rise to the bait. He smirked, his voice calm and unshaken. “Really? I’ll defeat you, reclaim Valyria, and gather the bones of all the Dragonlords. You can die with the old Valyria. I will build a new one.”

The Night King’s grin faded, his expression darkening. He quickened his attacks, but Viserys parried them all with precision. His calm response had rattled the Night King, who now understood that Viserys was no ordinary man.

At that moment, Daenerys descended from her dragon, landing beside Viserys. Unsheathing the , she held it high. Flames of yellow, red, and pink danced and shimmered along the blade, illuminating the battlefield.

The Night King froze, his expression betraying shock. “The Envoy of Light!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief.

Viserys, equally surprised, glanced at the sword. Could it be that Melisandre had truly created the Lightbringer?