CHAPTER 164
Pyke.
Before the Drowned God's temple, the dying weirwood that had once stood on the right side of the courtyard had miraculously sprouted a pale white shoot after Euron's trial a few days earlier. The tender sprout remained curled at its tip, resembling a newly opened eye quietly gazing upon the world. As for the other withered weirwood, it had been carved into the sacred white staff and enshrined within the temple as the holy relic Galon of the White Staff had used to judge the kinslayer.
At this moment, Garon, clad in smoky black Valyrian steel scale armor, silently watched as Glover soldiers carefully placed the dragon horn upon the long table before the temple.
Asha stood beside him, unable to hide the worry on her face.
"Garon, are you truly going to sound the horn?"
"Euron claimed that any mortal who blows it will have his lungs burned to ash by dragonfire!"
Before Garon could answer, Rodrik Harlaw, standing opposite them beside the table, also spoke solemnly.
"I witnessed it myself when Euron forced a thrall to sound the horn."
"The poor man was burned from within. His body looked like roasted flesh. It was a horrifying sight."
Rodrik shook his head firmly.
"My lord, even if you truly are the reborn Galon of the White Staff and favored by the gods, this cursed relic could still kill you."
Ron, standing behind Garon and Asha, shared the same concern. His eyes lingered upon the priceless Valyrian steel scale armor Garon now wore before he earnestly advised,
"My lord, although this armor can withstand incredible heat, even Valyrian steel cannot protect your lungs."
"Why not let a condemned prisoner or a thrall test it first? If nothing happens, you may sound it afterward."
As his words fell, many people, including Rodrik, instinctively looked toward the dark Valyrian steel armor.
After all, it had become Garon's greatest trophy after he defeated and slew Euron Greyjoy.
He wore it now as naturally as though it had always belonged to him.
Garon listened quietly before raising one hand, signaling the soldiers carrying the dragon horn to withdraw.
"You are correct."
"Any ordinary mortal who sounds this horn will indeed find only death."
He stepped forward, placing one hand firmly upon Dragonbinder as his burning gaze swept across its black and crimson bands. His fingers slowly traced the ancient Valyrian runes before his eyes moved across Asha, Rodrik, Sparta, Ron, and every soldier gathered around the temple.
Finally, he spoke calmly.
"But under the protection of the gods..."
"A mere horn cannot harm me."
For ordinary men, Dragonbinder was a fatal curse.
For Garon, who already understood the method of claiming it, it was nothing more than another weapon.
His confidence was unwavering.
That confidence gradually infected everyone present.
Without another word, they all stepped back, clearing a wide space before the temple.
Garon slowly drew a steel dagger from his waist.
Its blade reflected a cold flash beneath the cloudy skies.
Without the slightest hesitation, he sliced deeply across his left palm.
Fresh crimson blood immediately flowed from the wound.
He tightened his bleeding hand around Dragonbinder, allowing the warm blood to soak every ancient Valyrian rune engraved upon its surface.
Then he slowly raised the horn to his lips.
The entire courtyard fell completely silent.
No one dared breathe.
Everyone simply watched.
Garon drew in one deep breath.
Then he blew the horn.
Woooooo...
A deep, ancient note echoed across Pyke like the voice of the world itself awakening.
The sound could scarcely be described with words.
Whether Northmen, Ironborn, or Skagosi, every soul present felt an instinctive trembling arise from the depths of their blood.
It was as though an invisible hand had seized their spirits, forcing absolute awe and submission upon them.
At the very same moment, Garon felt an incomparably terrifying heat erupt inside his body.
It was like molten lava pouring through his veins, threatening to consume every organ from within.
Steam rose faintly from his armor.
The surrounding air became scorching hot.
At the same time, Dragonbinder awakened.
The blood-soaked Valyrian runes lit one after another, glowing with a dark crimson radiance.
Within Garon's mind, countless chaotic whispers burst forth.
Give up...
Only by surrendering will you find salvation...
Mortals are unworthy to command the Dragonlord's horn...
"No!"
"You are nothing but a horn!"
"You will never make me submit!"
Garon roared silently within his own heart.
The blessing the old gods had placed upon his soul immediately answered his will.
A cold, tranquil power surged forth like the endless snows beyond the Wall.
In an instant, it extinguished the inferno raging through his flesh and soul.
To everyone watching outside, the blazing heat surrounding Garon was rapidly overwhelmed by a chilling aura that spread outward in every direction.
Even those standing nearby instinctively shivered.
Rodrik Harlaw stared with trembling lips.
"The favor of the gods..."
His eyes overflowed with reverence.
At that same instant, a mysterious connection formed within Garon's consciousness.
Dragonbinder had acknowledged him.
"It belongs to me now."
A faint smile appeared in his eyes.
He blew even harder.
The soul-shaking sound continued echoing across Pyke for several long minutes before finally fading into silence.
Garon slowly lowered the horn.
His breathing remained perfectly steady.
His complexion showed no sign of exhaustion.
There was not even the slightest trace of weakness upon his face.
It was as though he had merely sounded an ordinary war horn.
He released his grip.
The wound upon his palm had already stopped bleeding.
The crimson glow upon Dragonbinder gradually disappeared.
Yet Garon could clearly sense the difference.
Previously, it had been nothing more than an ancient artifact containing mysterious power.
Now...
It felt like another limb of his own body.
Deep within his soul, he instinctively understood the truth Moqorro, the red priest, would later reveal to Victarion Greyjoy.
No matter who sounded Dragonbinder...
No matter where...
No matter when...
Its true master would always remain him.
Likewise, every dragon it bound would ultimately answer only to him.
Silence engulfed the temple.
Everyone stood frozen like carved stone.
Then someone suddenly fell to one knee and shouted with every ounce of strength.
"Galon of the White Staff!"
Like a spark igniting wildfire, the entire crowd exploded.
Every Skagosi.
Every Glover soldier.
Every Ironborn.
Even Rodrik Harlaw himself.
All knelt upon one knee.
"Chosen of the Old Gods!"
"Galon of the White Staff!"
The followers of the old gods and the Drowned God alike found themselves instinctively linking the miracle before them with Garon himself.
Their voices merged into one thunderous wave that seemed capable of shaking heaven itself.
Only Asha remained standing.
She did not kneel.
Yet the way she looked at Garon had changed completely.
Admiration.
Reverence.
Dependence.
And the deepest instinctive attraction a woman could feel toward a man of overwhelming strength.
She understood clearly.
From this day onward...
This man would forever hold both her heart and the Iron Islands firmly within his grasp.
Garon remained calm, as though mastering Dragonbinder had been the most natural thing in the world.
His gaze drifted beyond the cheering crowd toward the distant east.
While everyone else celebrated the miracle, his thoughts had already reached the Riverlands thousands of leagues away.
"It's time."
"I should finally travel south."
"My true stage awaits."
"Stannis Baratheon will become the blade that removes Robb Stark from my path."
"And Roose Bolton..."
A faint smile appeared upon Garon's lips.
"I will erase every obstacle standing between me and complete control of the North."
"Bolton."
"Frey."
"Anyone who dares block my road will meet only death."
His eyes swept toward Rodrik Harlaw, who continued cheering excitedly.
A rough outline of another plan gradually formed within his mind.
"Rodrik will become my smokescreen."
"A smokescreen capable of deceiving both the Riverlands... and Roose Bolton."
"But before that..."
"I still need to settle matters concerning Skagos."
By then, the cheering had slowly begun to subside.
The crowd gradually rose to their feet.
Suppressing the thoughts within his heart, Garon walked directly toward Sparta before pointing at Dragonbinder.
"Chief Sparta."
"You have witnessed everything with your own eyes."
"This horn truly possesses the power to command dragons."
"I have fulfilled the promise I made to you and to Skagos."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"So now I ask you one final question."
"Will you take the horn and return to your homeland?"
"Or will you continue following me until my business in the Riverlands is complete, after which I shall personally lead you home?"
Sparta looked first at Dragonbinder, then at Garon.
Without hesitation, he knelt once again.
Ever since leaving Winterfell and following Garon across the sea to Pyke, every battle had strengthened his faith.
Now, after witnessing yet another miracle with his own eyes, there was no longer the slightest hesitation in his heart.
He lowered his head reverently.
"Wherever my lord's sword points..."
"There the axes of Skagos shall fall."
"Our lives."
"Our loyalty."
"Our honor."
"All belong to you, my lord."
"The Skagosi are willing to fight."
"And die."
"For you."
Garon smiled with satisfaction before personally helping Sparta to his feet.
"Very good."
"Then I promise all of you."
"My glory."
"My power."
"And even the favor of the gods."
"I shall share them with every loyal follower."
Sparta cared little for titles or lands.
Only glory and divine favor mattered to him.
Hearing Garon's promise, he immediately raised his great warhammer toward the sky.
"We are willing to fight and die for our lord!"
The Skagosi warriors instantly followed.
"We are willing to fight and die for our lord!"
Their thunderous cries echoed throughout Pyke.
Garon laughed softly before raising one hand to quiet the crowd.
He then turned toward everyone present and calmly issued his final orders.
"Rodrik Harlaw."
"Assemble the fleet."
"We sail immediately for Seagard."
"Asha."
"The defense of the Iron Islands is entrusted to you."
Amid Asha's reluctant gaze and the unified acknowledgment of everyone present, Garon led his army from Pyke.
The great game for Westeros was about to welcome its most dangerous player.
{🥳 Loving the story so far? Craving more chapters? 🥰
If you're enjoying the journey, don't forget to vote with your Power Stones! Every Power Stone helps the novel reach more readers and motivates me to keep the updates coming. 💙
Support me on Patreon and unlock 80+ advance chapters right now, plus 3 fresh chapters every two days to keep you hooked! 🎉
✨ Subscribe or grab lifetime access with a one-time purchase... your choice, no pressure!
👉 /mythborne }