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Chapter 280: Lava Dragon
🕑 Added 2025-04-20 11:00:07 +0000 UTC“Dragonhorn?” The moment Lynd laid eyes on the massive horn, the name surfaced in his mind.
The horn stretched nearly two meters in length, its surface marked with red-gold and Valyrian black steel patterns. These swirling bands were etched—or rather, grown—with dense Valyrian runes, each one brimming with powerful magic. Unlike typical engravings, the runes seemed to have emerged organically from the metals themselves, giving the surface a smooth, mirror-like sheen, capable of casting reflections despite being covered in intricate markings.
“Isn’t the Dragonhorn supposed to harm the one who blows it? Then why were even the listeners burned to death?” Recalling everything he knew about the artifact, Lynd couldn’t help but frown in confusion.
He picked up the Dragonhorn and turned over the corpse lying on the altar to get a better look.
“A warlock of Qarth?” The blue skin, lips, and fingernails made it instantly clear—this corpse had once been a warlock from Qarth.
As he took in the scene, a plausible story began to form in Lynd’s mind. Gerion Lannister had come to explore the Valyrian ruins, hiring slaves along the way. Perhaps a Qartheen warlock had voluntarily joined the expedition. They made it deep into the heart of the ruined city. At some point, for reasons unknown, the warlock attempted to blow the Dragonhorn. Gerion Lannister and the others may have tried to stop him—but too late. The result: the one who sounded the horn was incinerated, and those who merely heard its call were burned to husks as well.
Whether that theory was accurate or not didn’t matter much to Lynd. The dead were irrelevant. The horn was what mattered. Judging by the magical resonance he could see through his special vision, the Dragonhorn’s power rivaled that of his Banished Knight armor. It was without question a formidable magical artifact.
Now that he had it, Lynd felt the journey had already paid off. There was no longer any need to remain. As he turned to leave, he passed Gerion Lannister’s body—and noticed something beneath it. From the posture in which Gerion had died, it was clear whatever he had been trying to shield was of great importance.
Curious, Lynd shifted the body slightly, revealing the object underneath.
“A Valyrian steel sword?” The unmistakable patterns of Valyrian steel shimmered along the broad blade. His gaze landed on the golden lion-head pommel. “Could this be... Brightroar?” he murmured.
He remembered then—Gerion’s original goal in Essos had been to recover House Lannister’s lost ancestral sword, Brightroar. And judging by what lay before him, it seemed he had succeeded.
Lynd lifted the massive sword and studied it. It was longer and thicker than his Banished Knight greatsword, though the hilt was about the same size. Most would need two hands to wield it. It was easily the largest Valyrian steel sword he’d ever seen.
But Lynd had no intention of keeping Brightroar for himself. He planned to return it to House Lannister when the time was right. Valyrian steel was still rare and immensely valuable—especially after Lynd had revealed it could kill White Walkers. The price of such weapons had since skyrocketed to astronomical levels, and even then, they were nearly impossible to find.
Yet ever since Lynd had learned to forge his own magical metals, Valyrian steel had lost much of its appeal. True, his creations couldn’t yet match Valyrian steel in hardness or weight, but they were comparable in their ability to hold magical runes—and, more importantly, they could be mass-produced.
Now that he’d found a promising, sustainable magical material source, Valyrian steel was becoming less and less relevant to him. Rather than let Brightroar gather dust, he might as well trade it for something useful from the Lannisters.
He strapped the greatsword to the back of his armor, using the harness normally meant for his hand-and-a-half sword. It didn’t fit perfectly, but it would do for now. Then, hoisting the Dragonhorn, he left the temple.
...
On his way back, Lynd suddenly sensed a spike in Deltos’s emotions—agitation, fury—like it was under attack. In the distance, the pitch-black edges of the ruined city lit up with lightning and thunder. Deltos was clearly engaged in battle.
Lynd didn’t hesitate. He activated the Storm Dragon rune and shot into the sky, racing toward the flashes of lightning. What had taken him half an hour before now took mere minutes.
By the time he arrived, Deltos was already airborne, bolts of lightning crackling around it as it tore open the toxic cloud layer of ash and smoke. For the first time in centuries, rays of sunlight broke through and shone upon the ruins of Valyria. In the sudden illumination, Lynd saw what Deltos was fighting.
“Neltharion?” The sight instantly reminded him of a famous character from a game in his past life—the resemblance was uncanny.
The opposing dragon’s chest glowed with molten lava, casting a fierce light through its exposed ribs. Its body was laced with deep cracks, from which lava seeped, dripping into the air and vaporizing into poisonous smoke. Inside its open jaws, a molten core pulsed with flame, and its eyes blazed with the same fiery light. Even the veins running through its wings carried molten flow. Calling it a dragon felt almost inaccurate—it was more fitting to call it a lava dragon.
It was enormous—though not quite as massive as Cannibal, it was easily five or six times the size of Deltos. The only major difference between it and the fictional character Lynd remembered was that this dragon had no flesh—just dragonhide stretched over bones, with lava coursing through its heart and veins.
Its state immediately brought to mind the dragon corpses Lynd had passed earlier. Clearly, they had once been just like this creature.
Although Deltos currently held the advantage—its agility allowing it to dodge attacks with ease—Lynd didn’t intend to just watch. He set the Dragonhorn down and prepared to assist, hoping to end the battle quickly before more of these creatures appeared.
But just as he was about to take off, he paused. His gaze fell back on the Dragonhorn resting on the ground. After a moment of thought, he turned, picked it up, and wedged it between some rubble.
Channeling the power of the Nameless King rune into the horn, he watched as its mysterious Valyrian runes lit up one by one, glowing with the same deep red light as the lava dragon.
Once all the runes had ignited, Lynd raised the horn to his lips, took a deep breath, and blew.
A thunderous blast echoed across the Valyrian Peninsula—so loud it even reached the distant shores of the Lands of the Long Summer.
The moment the sound rang out, Lynd felt Deltos react. A primal force, buried deep in bloodline or even genetic memory, tried to take hold. But Deltos resisted and quickly regained control of itself.
The lava dragon, however, was not so fortunate. It too tried to resist the deep-rooted compulsion triggered by the horn, but its will and mental strength were far inferior to Deltos’s. It faltered and began descending, slowly and helplessly, toward the ground.
But Lynd barely noticed. A surge of scorching, potent magic surged into his body from the horn. It was so powerful he had to immediately activate the Nameless King rune to absorb it, and fortunately, it wasn’t chaotic—just explosively intense. The rune managed to contain and integrate the energy.
As it did, a new, incredibly complex rune formed within the Nameless King’s matrix. It seemed to be the origin glyph—the base symbol—from which all the Valyrian runes on the horn were derived. Every feature of those outer runes could be found in this one.
“No wonder anyone who blows the Dragonhorn ends up burned to death,” Lynd muttered. The corners of his mouth and throat had already blistered from the heat. “Even I got hurt—what chance would a normal person have?”
Still, he didn’t have time to dwell on his injuries. More important was the lava dragon now obediently sitting before him.
It wasn’t attacking. It had landed and was calmly staring at him with molten eyes, completely docile.
“Down,” Lynd commanded in High Valyrian.
Like a trained hound, the lava dragon lowered itself immediately.
By now, Deltos had also descended, the effects of the horn’s power completely gone. It eyed the newly submissive dragon with confusion—just moments ago, they’d been locked in a fierce duel. Though its body still crackled with residual lightning, Deltos remained on guard.
Lynd told it to stand down, then approached the lava dragon, inspecting it carefully.
Its magical energy was intense—comparable to Deltos’s. But unlike most dragons, it had multiple sources of power: heart, throat, both eyes. That distribution explained its terrifying form.
Lynd formed a chill in his palm using the Frost Dragon rune. The moment the cold energy emerged, the lava dragon instinctively tried to back away—but the Dragonhorn’s influence held it still.
Everything he had suspected was now confirmed. This lava dragon had once been a normal dragon, parasitized and transformed by those soft-bodied creatures. And yet, something primal remained—its dragon blood, its essence. Possibly even its consciousness. That would explain why the horn had been able to influence it.
Lynd could feel it—any dragon whose bloodline had been stirred by the Dragonhorn could be controlled through Valyrian runes. And he alone held the root glyph, the origin of them all. Even if someone else used the horn to control a dragon, he could easily override them.
What other secrets lay hidden in these runes and the Dragonhorn? Someone would need to study them carefully. Lynd couldn’t wait to return to Summerhall.
But first, there was one more thing to verify—could this lava dragon leave Valyria? Or was it tethered to this chaos-infused region by the parasitic transformation?
After all, in all these years, there had been no stories of lava dragons beyond the Smoking Sea. If they had ever flown beyond, surely someone would have noticed.
Then again, maybe they had—just under a different name.
For generations, rumors of demons and sea monsters had swirled around the Smoking Sea. The kraken had proven real. And perhaps these so-called demons were actually lava dragons. In the dense smoke of the Smoking Sea, such a beast would indeed resemble a demon from the seven hells.
Lynd left Deltos to guard the horn and walked back to the lava dragon. Climbing onto its outstretched wing, he scaled up to a section of smooth, uncracked hide near the base of its neck and sat down. Then he gave the command to take off.
Unlike Deltos, who could rise vertically, the lava dragon needed a running start. But once airborne, its speed matched Deltos easily. With each powerful wingbeat, it generated jets of superheated air, propelling it forward like a living rocket.
Its maneuverability, however, was far less refined—explaining why Deltos had dominated their fight earlier.
This was only a test. Lynd had no plans to leave the peninsula just yet. He directed the lava dragon to ascend vertically, plunging into the cloudbank of poison smoke and volcanic ash. Soon, they reached the upper edge of the storm.
The lava dragon hesitated—an instinctual resistance, not from the dragon itself, but likely from the parasite’s lingering influence.
But Lynd pressed on. Under his control, the dragon pierced through the cloud layer and emerged into the frigid upper atmosphere.
Flames flared across its body to counter the cold. Yet unlike the parasites, it didn’t petrify or die.
Seeing it thrive even in the extreme cold, Lynd nodded in satisfaction.
“Let’s give you a name… Neltharion.”
He wasn’t sure if the dragon understood—but it let out a long, joyful roar.
