Conflict and the Dragon Egg

The words had barely left his mouth before he was already charging forward.

"Wh... what?"

Gillian froze, glancing left and right at the soldiers, never expecting that with a five-to-one disadvantage in numbers, the other side would choose a direct confrontation.

Daeren said nothing, grabbing the other man by the collar in one swift motion.

Gillian reacted a beat too slow, instinctively reaching for the sword at his waist.

The moment his fingertips touched the hilt, a knee slammed viciously into his stomach, nearly forcing last night's meal back up his throat.

"You bastard!"

The searing pain ignited his fury. Gillian gritted his teeth against the agony, one hand gripping the wrist that held his collar while the other swung a fist straight at Daeren's face.

Daeren reacted with lightning speed, catching the incoming fist in an instant.

"How is that possible?"

Gillian stared in disbelief. Despite a seven-year age gap, he couldn't break free from the other's grip, and even his thrown punch had been effortlessly caught.

"Idiot!"

Daeren let out a cold sneer, slowly twisting the captured fist, eliciting a series of sharp cracks from the joints.

With two upgrades to Farming and Gathering, plus daily consumption of Special Crops, his own Life Force had long since surpassed what it once was.

When it came to brute strength, he truly had no fear.

"I surr—"

Gillian panicked, genuinely frightened now.

But Daeren gave him no chance to surrender, jerking his own head back and slamming it forward into the other's face, cutting off the words mid-sentence.

The next second, his left foot, planted like a rooted tree, lifted and drove cleanly into the weakest point of the opponent's right leg—the joint between shin and ankle.

A sharp crack rang out, and Gillian, nearly unconscious from the pain, jolted awake with a bloodcurdling scream.

Bam!

Daeren hooked both arms around the man, spun, and executed a flawless back throw, then rained down fists like a storm.

Just a brawl.

As the saying went: one punch to the mouth to stop surrender, one kick to break the leg to prevent escape—the rest was free-for-all.

One punch, two punches, three punches...

After just a few blows, Gillian's face was a mangled mess.

Daeren's expression remained blank, still unsatisfied. He grabbed the man's conspicuous golden curls and smashed his head against the gravel ground.

"Hiss, this is going to be trouble."

Lord Owen hid in a corner, trying to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

But from the start of the conflict to now, only a few dozen seconds had passed, and the Lannister man was already beaten half to death.

"Prince, calm down!"

Lord Owen, frantic and terrified, stomped his foot and rushed out to intervene.

Using someone's head as a cosplay ball to pound—any more of that and it would burst.

Daeren slammed Gillian's arrogant face into the ground one more time, then paused to catch his breath and stopped, his voice utterly flat: "I am calm, my lord."

Served that idiot Gillian right for running into his hands.

Having grown up as the Mad King's beloved son, no one had ever dared show him disrespect to his face.

He'd use this as a lesson—kill the chicken to scare the monkey.

On the other side, the fight ended even faster. Ser Jon, longsword in hand, tore through a fully armed squad of Lannister soldiers with overwhelming force.

Following the Prince's lead on how hard to hit, he showed no mercy to the weak.

An entire squad of eight men was taken down: two were killed by slashed throats, one had his belly cut open with intestines spilling out, and the rest wailed in agony.

"Open your eyes and look. They all suffer because of you."

Daeren sat on top of Gillian, grabbing his prized golden hair to force his head up, making him witness the soldiers' gruesome state firsthand.

Gillian's face and hair were drenched in blood. Through nearly unconscious eyelids, he cracked them open, fear and regret welling up as tears in his eyes.

Crushed both physically and mentally, he fell into complete unconsciousness.

Daeren let go and said flatly, "At least there's some conscience left."

If he remembered correctly, Gillian was the mildest-tempered of Tywin's three brothers, who went missing while sailing in search of his family's ancestral sword.

Beating him this badly now might just keep him from dying at sea.

He ought to thank me for it.

Lord Owen stamped his foot in agitation and said, "You've struck a member of House Lannister. You're in trouble now."

"Targaryen hit a Lannister—how much trouble could it really be?"

Daeren wiped the bloodstains from his fingertips and said calmly, "Ship the materials back to the Prince's territory. Drag that wooden stump back to the Red Keep."

"Oh, and haul this one back too."

Consider it a good deed for the day.

Lord Owen was frantic with worry, but he couldn't talk the Prince out of it, nor did he know how to help.

After all, the King had barely presided over court since his coronation; for over a decade, the realm had been governed by Lord Hand Tywin.

Lord Tywin's power had long since swelled to the point of threatening the crown.

The Prince had struck his younger brother—the other side wouldn't let this go.

"What a mess this is!"

Watching Daeren walk off as if nothing had happened, Lord Owen sighed deeply and dutifully cleaned up the aftermath.

Half an hour later.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep shifted subtly. The servants began to tread on eggshells.

Daeren's expression didn't change as he crossed the bustling front hall.

The matter of hitting a Lannister didn't weigh on his mind.

Right now, he had to confirm one thing.

He climbed the stairs and walked down a long corridor.

A sharp glint flickered in Daeren's eyes. A battered iron axe quietly appeared in his right hand.

The strange dream last night hadn't been an illusion, and the White Wall materials he'd encountered today weren't coincidental. There had to be some deeper meaning guiding him.

He reached a door and shoved it open with one hand.

Shayani was inside. Startled by the harsh sound, she spread her arms to shield her two younger brothers.

This was Daeren's own room.

"Second Brother!"

Jaeherys called out in surprise and started forward, only to be blocked by Shayani's arm.

Shayani's eyes were full of confusion, fixed on the axe in her brother's hand.

Before the door had opened, the three siblings had been gathered around a wooden stump.

"Move aside."

Daeren's gaze locked onto the stump he'd hauled back. Silently channeling Life Force into his arms, he swung the axe and brought it down with a fierce chop.

Bam!

Golden Nanmu was indeed tough—the axe only chipped off a few splinters.

Shayani flinched, shielding her two younger brothers as they stepped back.

They'd heard Daeren had hit someone from House Lannister and had put a wooden lump in his room. They'd come to check on him, only to stumble into this absurd scene.

Bam! Bam!

Daeren's eyes blazed like torches as he kept chopping without pause.

Before Gillian had arrived, he hadn't been on Dawn.

But the moment he'd started throwing punches, his blood had boiled, as if triggering some hidden switch deep within.

He suspected...

No, he was certain something inside the stump was calling to him.

"Hah!"

Daeren mustered all his strength, raised the battered iron axe high, and delivered the final blow.

Thud!

The golden nanmu, once hard as iron, suddenly split open, revealing a special wedge-shaped cavity packed full of dry straw.

As if its purpose had been fulfilled, the wood let out a sharp tearing sound and crashed to the floor.

The stump split in two. Straw flew everywhere.

Under Daeren's piercing gaze, an oval red Dragon Egg tumbled out, landing lightly on the soft stalks.

"A Dragon Egg!!"

Shayani's eyes went wide. She covered her mouth and gasped.

Jaeherys and Viserys were drawn in too, their mouths hanging open.

The axe clattered to the floor with a clang. Daeren swayed slightly, a satisfied smile spreading across his face: "I knew it. My instincts were right."

The Dragon Egg was red, its scales intact, dotted with golden spots and black spirals.

It was an egg that still held a faint spark of vitality.