GOT King of Dragon

Rhaegar's voice was still youthful, his slight frame devoid of any intimidation. 

Yet, beneath him stood a massive dragon, as towering as a mountain. 

All the wildlings could only look up in awe. 

Upon hearing his voice, the wildlings had no choice but to submit, bowing down before the imposing figure of the Glutton. 

With the situation firmly in his favor, Rhaegar continued, "Since you now bow to me, you must strictly follow my commands. Disobedience will not spare you from dragonfire." 

"Please, give your orders…" 

The leading wildling chieftains wore expressions of fervent loyalty, showing no trace of defiance or hatred for being conquered. 

Wildlings, after all, are still human. 

And humans know how to choose between benefit and harm. 

Curses could kill them, but dragonfire could preserve their lives. 

Faced with the terrifying dragon, the wildlings—disorganized and undisciplined—competed to pledge their allegiance to a stronger leader. 

Receiving the adoration of the wildlings, Rhaegar raised his eyebrows slightly, a peculiar feeling rising in his chest. 

After a moment's thought, he issued his first command. 

"The shadow creatures will attack every wildling tribe. Before they grow stronger, you will unite all the wildling tribes under my command and conquer the peninsula!" 

This was a plan he had come up with on the spot. 

By gathering all the wildlings together, any shadow creature attacking them would inevitably be exposed to Rhaegar's view. 

And sooner or later, it would fall to dragonfire. 

"Ohohoho!" 

The moment they heard about conquering the peninsula and defeating all the wildling tribes, the group of wildlings went wild with excitement. 

They cheered incessantly, eager to set off immediately. 

For these wildlings, who had fought amongst themselves for years, nothing was more thrilling than war and pleasure. 

--- 

The next day. 

Rhaegar gathered the wildling chieftains and instructed them to manage their respective tribes. 

The Whitespruce Tribe, which had lost its leader, elected a new one. 

Collectively, they were now called the Crabclaws, symbolizing their status as Rhaegar's claws and fangs, each ruling over their own people. 

The valley served as an excellent base. 

Rhaegar ordered the women and children to stay in the valley, leaving a hundred wildling warriors to guard it. 

The five wildling tribes had over 3,000 people, including the elderly, women, and children. 

Removing those who couldn't fight left just over 1,000 who could bear arms. 

For Rhaegar, that was more than enough. 

This force of 1,000 was sent out across the swamps and pine forests to locate the peninsula's wildling tribes. 

Whenever they found a tribe, Rhaegar would ride the Glutton and circle above their heads a couple of times. 

No further words were necessary; the wildlings would kneel and submit on their own. 

In just five days, Rhaegar had flown over the eastern part of the Crabclaw Peninsula, subjugating more than a dozen small tribes and bringing over 10,000 wildlings under his rule. 

--- 

At the edge of a foul-smelling swamp, Rhaegar sat inside a temporary hide tent made of animal skins. 

"How many people did we consolidate today?" he asked. 

"Your Highness, over 2,000 in total, with only 800 capable of fighting," Baolan reported, standing before him in rough linen clothing. 

It had to be said: the strategy for uniting the peninsula's wildlings was almost laughably simple. 

Rhaegar barely had to put in any effort. 

Occasionally, he would ride his dragon to intimidate unruly wildling tribes, but most of the time, he simply let the Crabclaws handle things. 

Baolan continued his report, "Your Highness, we've covered all the wildling tribes in the eastern peninsula with your dragon. There's a noble castle in the west, but we didn't dare act without your command." 

"No matter, the peninsula's nobles must also pledge allegiance to the Iron Throne," Rhaegar replied, his tone indifferent. 

Conquering the peninsula had turned out to be far less thrilling than he had imagined. 

To him, it felt more like playing a child's game. 

A group of ignorant wildlings, so terrified of the Glutton that it didn't even need to breathe fire to make them surrender. 

Just then, the tent flap was pulled aside, and a tall figure entered. 

"Your Highness, the chieftain of the Whitecrow Tribe refused to submit. I have taken his head as an offering to you." 

One of the first Crabclaws to submit, Trangrel, knelt before him, holding a bloodied head in both hands with reverence. 

They often interacted with Rhaegar. 

Rhaegar forbade them from calling him Dragon King, insisting on being addressed as Prince instead. 

The Crabclaws took pride in this, believing it signified a closer relationship with Rhaegar than ordinary wildlings. 

Rhaegar frowned, displeased. "Take it away and burn it. Don't bring such bloody things before me." 

Were it not for the need to eliminate the shadow creatures, he wouldn't have spent a moment longer with this bunch of fools. 

Each one of them was as dim-witted as could be. 

He was still so young, and they were already showing him these gruesome things. 

Scratching his head awkwardly, Trangrel muttered, "Your Highness, the Whitecrow Tribe has been fully integrated. The eastern peninsula has no other tribes left." 

"Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we march west," Rhaegar declared, already having planned their route. 

"Yes, Your Highness." 

Trangor pounded his chest heavily and got up to leave. 

With a hesitant expression, Baolan reminded him, "We don't have much food left. The prey isn't enough to go around. There are too many burdens in the valley. If this keeps up, we'll all go hungry." 

"How much longer can we hold out?" Rhaegar sat up straight. 

"Three days at most," Baolan answered decisively. 

"Sigh, tens of thousands of mouths to feed every day. How did you all survive before?" Rhaegar sighed deeply. 

"I only handle conquest. I've never learned logistics." 

Baolan replied helplessly, "Tormund and I were taken in by Uncle Falcon six months ago. Most of that time, we didn't have enough to eat." 

"Start migrating west to the peninsula as soon as possible. We need to resolve the shadow creature issue quickly." 

With a troubled look, Rhaegar asked, "Has the shadow creature shown up yet?" 

"No, it seems to know we're looking for it, so it's hiding," Baolan said earnestly. 

---

**Two days later.** 

On a desolate mountain path, a long procession of wildlings marched westward. 

A massive black dragon soared high in the sky, its broad wings casting a shadow over vast stretches of land. 

After unifying the eastern peninsula, Rhaegar led the wildling clans in a great migration. 

He wasn't foolish enough to bring everyone along. 

All the elderly, women, children, and half the wildling warriors were left behind in the eastern peninsula to fend for themselves by hunting. 

The remaining half of the warriors, carrying enough food for three days, followed Rhaegar to the west. 

Among them were over twenty Crabclaw commanders, leading a total of more than 2,300 people. 

It was far from enough for a war that would become famous across the continent. 

But on this barren peninsula, it was already an extraordinary armed force. 

Along the way, they encountered several small noble factions. 

These nobles had lived in the same valleys for generations, holding onto their titles but living in poverty all the same. 

When the wings of the Devourer passed over their strongholds, these minor nobles hurried out of their homes to pledge their loyalty to the prince. 

Unfortunately, loyalty was worthless. 

Rhaegar requested to borrow food. 

But when they heard it was for the wildlings, their attitudes flipped faster than turning a page. 

Even when Rhaegar promised to repay them double, they were still stingy. 

In the end, it was only thanks to the Devourer's show of force that they managed to borrow a meager amount of food. 

---

"Kill them!" 

"Cut down those Bren Family dogs..." 

"That bastard Kleber—kill them all!" 

Soaring in the sky, Rhaegar flew over a clearing and heard the chaotic sounds of battle. 

"Devourer, let's go down and take a look." 

Rhaegar patted the Devourer's back, and the man and dragon descended. 

Below, a large group of "soldiers" armed with iron weapons were locked in fierce combat. 

These soldiers wore no proper armor; most were dressed in coarse cloth or sackcloth. 

Their weapons were old and worn, far from the standard of a professional army. 

Rhaegar overlooked the chaotic melee. 

Both sides were fighting with ferocious determination, charging recklessly at one another. 

Some of the soldiers, dressed as farmers and armed with only hoes and hammers, still managed to crush their enemies' skulls. 

Rhaegar surveyed the area and noticed two flags standing on opposite sides of the clearing. 

One bore the symbol of a swamp marigold, while the other displayed a withered tree adorned with a hanging skull. 

*(End of chapter)*