GOT King of Dragon

The Bren family's secrets were finally exposed, and the eerie truth surfaced. 

"Has anyone in your family interacted with a Shadowbinder? Do you have a way to deal with this?" Rhaegar scrutinized the group. 

Babart swallowed nervously and cautiously replied, "No, but the severed head of the Shadowbinder is still kept in the castle." 

The headless corpse of the Shadowbinder had undergone strange changes. 

Wells believed its head was also unusual, so he ordered the soldiers to bring it back. 

"Take me to see it," Rhaegar commanded. 

"As you wish, Prince," Babart bowed slightly and led Rhaegar to the sunlit side of the castle's attic. 

The attic was empty and covered in dust. 

In the center, a circle of tallow candles illuminated a single object— 

A ghastly pale severed head. 

Babart explained, "The curse can lurk in shadows. By lighting candles around the head, the curse can't take it away." 

"The shadow creature has tried to retrieve the head?" Rhaegar frowned at the severed head, puzzled. 

"No, the curse doesn't seem to have intelligence. We're just taking precautions," Babart answered respectfully. 

**Thump, thump, thump…** 

Before Rhaegar could examine the unsettling head closely, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the stairs below. 

Solor rushed into the attic, his expression urgent. "Prince, a large group of wildlings has surrounded the castle. They claim to be your people." 

Rhaegar was slightly taken aback. 

"I gathered a group of Free Folk to serve me and avoid being picked off by shadow creatures." 

After a brief explanation, Rhaegar turned to leave, instructing, "Keep an eye on the head. We may need it later." 

Babart nodded repeatedly. "Yes, Prince." 

Solor shot him a look of frustration before following closely behind Rhaegar. 

--- 

As they exited the castle, the sound of wildling cries filled Rhaegar's ears. 

**"Hisss—Gaaah!"** 

Waiting outside, the Devourer lowered its upper body to the ground, offering its back for Rhaegar to step onto. 

"Go to the wall," Rhaegar ordered simply before mounting the creature's back. 

In Solor's awestruck gaze, the pitch-black dragon took two strides forward before flapping its wings and soaring into the sky. 

Beyond the castle walls, over a thousand wildlings had gathered. 

Most of them looked terrified, while a few bore bloodstains on their bodies. 

The Devourer circled twice over the crowd. 

Upon seeing the dragon, the wildlings hastily scattered and dropped to their knees. 

**Boom!** 

The Devourer descended, shaking its fierce dragon head, its green slit pupils filled with cold indifference. 

Seated on the dragon's back, Rhaegar looked down and asked, "What happened? Why have you come here?" 

A burly, clumsy-looking figure stood up from among the wildlings. 

"Prince, we were searching for other tribes when we were attacked by the curse. Many of us were wounded," the man said gruffly. 

"We saw your dragon flying overhead and decided to follow it." 

The speaker, Trangrel, had a bleeding wound where his shoulder had been pierced. 

"How many were injured? How large was the shadow creature?" Rhaegar asked in surprise. 

"About a hundred wildling warriors and three hundred from the local tribe. The cursed shadow covered a vast area," Trangrel answered. 

"If it weren't for the bonfire setting the tribe's hide tents ablaze and forcing the curse back, we wouldn't have escaped." 

As he spoke, fear flickered across his ugly face. 

"Can you still find the shadow creature?" Rhaegar considered hunting it down with his dragon. 

"I doubt it. The curse hides in shadows—no one can catch it," Trangrel replied dejectedly. 

Hearing this, Rhaegar furrowed his brows, growing more cautious of the shadow creature. 

The only thing that could harm it for certain was dragonfire. 

But the creature avoided direct confrontation, striking only from the darkness. That put him at a disadvantage. 

From atop the city wall, Rosor had heard everything clearly and voiced his concern. "Prince, this curse is dangerous. If we let it grow unchecked, the peninsula will never know peace." 

"I know. The shadow creature stems from some sinister magic. It won't be easy to deal with," Rhaegar replied, deep in thought about how to lure the monster out. 

After a brief silence, he proposed, "Prepare enough food and water for these Free Folk. Lord Sam will come when he hears the news, and we'll discuss our next move together." 

He was still too young—his mind lacked the intricate scheming necessary for this kind of threat. 

He needed experienced strategists to advise him. 

--- 

At noon, Sam Cliber led a squad of soldiers and hurried toward Terror Pit Keep. 

Seeing the massive silhouette of the Devourer from afar, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. 

Guided by Babart, who had been waiting for him, Sam strode into the keep with an imposing presence. 

He had only come because he had learned that Wells was dead and the prince had arrived. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered. 

In the reception hall— 

As soon as Sam saw Babart and Solor, tension filled the room, their expressions hostile. 

And when he heard the truth about Wells murdering the Shadowbinder, his fury became uncontrollable. 

He was not only wrongfully accused by Wills but also framed further, as Wills stole a large portion of farmland from his territory. 

This humiliation and hatred were unbearable for him. 

As tensions between the two sides grew, Rhaegar could not stand by and watch internal strife erupt, so he stepped in to intervene. 

Ultimately, Babatt inherited Terrorhole Keep, apologized formally on behalf of Wills, and offered double compensation for the farmland loss, along with a thousand gold dragons. 

Sam still felt dissatisfied. 

However, considering the prince's intervention and the looming threat of the shadow monster, he reluctantly accepted the compensation from the Brenn family. 

After all, Wills was already dead, and pursuing a vendetta against the Brenn family was not a wise decision. 

Following this heated dispute, Rhaegar and the others sat around the council table to discuss how to handle the shadow monster. 

Solror bluntly proposed, "With ninety percent of the peninsula's wildlings gathered together, we can use some of them as bait in the wild." 

"You heartless bastard! Why don't you send your father out there as bait!" Tranger cursed furiously. 

"Stupid wildling, you're lucky to even set foot in the castle! Don't push me, or I'll chop off your head!" Solror snapped back without backing down. 

"Come on, then! Let's see if I don't take your head first and use it as a wine jug!" Tranger shouted, moving aggressively toward him. 

"Enough! If you two don't shut up, get out!" 

Seeing the two about to come to blows, Rhaegar slammed the table and shouted, glaring at them angrily. 

At a time like this? 

Still infighting? 

"Hmph…" 

Both men snorted coldly and turned away from each other. 

Sam, who had been watching the argument with interest, stood up once the commotion ended and said, "Prince, the curse stems from magic. We should use the same kind of power to counter it." 

"Magic is dangerous. Other than dragonfire, who here knows anything about magic?" Rhaegar scanned the room, looking at the others. 

Sam's face lit up with pride as he said, "Prince, you've surely heard of my ancestor, Clarence Crabbe, the legendary hero who united the Claw Peninsula. He left behind many incredible legends." 

"For example, do you know why the Crabbe family's castle is called Whispering Keep?" 

Rhaegar frowned in confusion; he really didn't know much about that part of history. 

He turned to Babatt, who was shifting nervously. 

Understanding the prince's signal, Babatt quickly explained, "There's a legend that Clarence possessed immense strength, and his wife was a forest witch. Every person he killed would have their head taken back to his castle." 

"The forest witch would kiss the lips of the severed heads, bringing them back to life so they could serve as Clarence's advisors." 

"Since they were only heads, their voices couldn't be very loud, and they passed the time chatting endlessly out of boredom." 

"Thus, his castle became known as Whispering Keep." 

Rhaegar's eyes lit up with excitement as he turned to Sam, his gaze full of anticipation. "Lord Sam, do you know how to perform this incredible magic?" 

Heads that could come back to life and talk? 

How fascinating. 

Sam coughed lightly and replied in a low voice, "The glory of my ancestors is something we cannot replicate." 

"You don't know how?" 

Rhaegar was deeply disappointed. 

Why even bring it up, then? 

Sam quickly explained, "While I don't know any magic myself, the forest witch's notes that describe this magic are still preserved in Whispering Keep." 

"The notes are written in Valyrian, and no one in my family can read them." 

"But you, as a descendant of Old Valyria, must be able to make sense of them." 

"You're willing to share such a precious magical record?" Rhaegar's youthful face grew serious. 

"The knowledge of magic isn't rare; the Citadel even teaches the study of mysticism, though it's never been very practical." 

As he explained, Sam rose from his chair and knelt on one knee before Rhaegar, speaking with respect. "But I still hope to assist you, Prince, in restoring peace to the peninsula and achieving unmatched glory." 

---

**(End of Chapter)**