Aegon

By the time his gaze focused on his own body again, cold sweat had covered his forehead.

As the ship rocked, the dim oil lamp cast shifting light and shadow over Aegon's pale, weakened face.

Letting out a long breath, Aegon braced himself against the cabin wall, supporting his weakened body as he struggled to recover.

The vision had further confirmed his earlier suspicions. He was absolutely certain that the man traveling with them was Euron Greyjoy.

But he still did not understand. If their employer was willing to spend so much money recruiting this ragtag assortment of mercenaries, why bring Euron Greyjoy aboard as well? Did the employer doubt this sorry bunch's abilities?

Then why not simply hire an established mercenary company? The money their employer was paying them would easily cover a powerful company with a name for itself. A force ten thousand strong like the Golden Company was out of the question, but negotiations could have secured a contingent from the Windblown or the Second Sons. Hiring an even smaller company would have been no problem at all.

Their fleet had already entered the Smoking Sea before Euron Greyjoy was brought in halfway through to escort them. Did their employer not know he was an Ironborn pirate captain?

Besides, to Aegon, this looked less like an escort and more like being held under guard. Yes, under guard. Those great black-sailed ships, their hulls coated in scorched-red paint, surrounded the mercenary vessels like jailers guarding prisoners, as though terrified they might escape.

What purpose did mercenaries like them serve? Were they mascots?

Euron, that Ironborn pirate captain, had taken up honest work escorting ships?

Not even White Walkers with brains frozen solid would believe that!

Faced with one mystery after another, Aegon shook his head. There was no point overthinking it. The Valyrian Ruins were just ahead. Could he really back out now? And even if he wanted to flee, how would he do it? Swim back to Essos from the Smoking Sea?

For now, he could only deal with whatever came his way and observe quietly, at least until they reached land. Then he would have some room to maneuver, wouldn't he?

Feeling a little strength return to his body, he walked to the cabin door on still-unsteady feet, shut it, and slid the bolt into place.

Though the earlier vision had proved that this offered no real safety, at least it could provide some warning.

He slowly made his way to the battered bed and sat down to rest. The nightmares had already left him mentally exhausted these past days, while his body felt as though this region were rejecting him like some loathsome insect. Nothing he did felt right. Add the daytime battle and now a replay of someone's death, and Aegon felt numb all over.

As for being able to see the dead, and even the moments before their deaths, Aegon was surprised, but not puzzled.

He had experienced similar things several times before, though never anything as outrageous as seeing a spirit directly and entering its perspective.

Perhaps it was because of his transmigration. An adult soul had crossed over, been reincarnated, and gestated all over again, leaving it unusually powerful.

Or perhaps it was because the Mountain had cracked his skull open, which should have killed him on the spot, only for the system to force him to remain alive, locking his consciousness inside his ruined body. Until the system slowly restored his body with its energy, he had spent a considerable time living as one of the walking dead.

Or perhaps both were responsible. In any case, since childhood, he had been able to see and sense things ordinary people could not, such as hearing the dead murmur in their graves.

To put it in the terms of his previous life, he really was seeing ghosts.

Having grown accustomed to it, Aegon felt no fear. Besides, he could control this ability. As long as he concentrated, these things would not bother him, and he was no different from anyone else. Today, however, he had simply been too exhausted and had relaxed his control. In fact, this was the first time he had seen such a complete spirit, so much like a living person that even he had been fooled. That was why the encounter at the door had happened. Otherwise, he would not even have been surprised.

Gathering his thoughts, he lay down on the bed and looked up at the shabby, moldy ceiling. The oil lamp hung from an iron hook dangling beneath it, still swaying without pause.

As he thought it over, Aegon remained uneasy. I only wanted to check in at the Valyrian Ruins. Why did it have to be so difficult? It had been fifteen years, and I still hadn't managed it. Just when success was finally within reach, this mess had to happen.

So why had Aegon insisted on joining a fleet he knew nothing about, landing himself in so much trouble?

Couldn't he simply take a ship to the Valyrian Ruins himself?

Never mind whether any captain would dare accept a commission to cross the Smoking Sea to the Valyrian Ruins.

Even if one would, that still would not work, because Aegon had no money!

Yes, no money!

If he had money, Aegon would not have become a mercenary, risking his neck for a living.

Back when he had first fled Westeros for Essos, Aegon had nearly earned the achievement of missing all nine meals over three days.

Although a kindhearted old fisherman had ruined that streak with a salted fish, Aegon was still deeply grateful to him, because he had truly come within a hair of starving to death.

Remembering that, Aegon could not help feeling dejected.

He had been a broke bastard before transmigrating, and he was still a broke bastard afterward. Aegon felt that crossing worlds had been a complete waste.

Then wasn't this dragonlord bloodline supposed to be a perk? Aegon was speechless.

So far, never mind a dragon-he had not seen so much as a single dragon hair. What good was this dragonlord bloodline to him?

It was now 297 AC. The original story had not even begun, and the Mother of Dragons' eggs were still stone.

So when Aegon heard at the port of Volantis that mercenaries were being recruited for a voyage to the Valyrian Ruins, he joined without hesitation, thinking he could hitch a ride. Better still, he would get paid.

Who could have known he was stepping straight into such a deep pit? He had been too rash and careless after all. Aegon sighed. If he counted only this life, he was just fifteen, so recklessness was normal. But he had his previous life too. Put them together, and he was already middle-aged, he reflected.

He pushed aside his tangled thoughts. His previous life was his previous life, and this life was this life. The frivolity belonging to his former self vanished from Aegon's face, and his usual stern coldness settled over his chiseled features once more.

In this life, he was Aegon Targaryen, grandson of the king of the Seven Kingdoms, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, and one of the few surviving descendants of the Targaryen Dynasty. There was still an unfulfilled obsession in his heart!

As his thoughts turned, exhaustion washed over him, and Aegon sank into a deep dream.

Yet in his sleep, his fingers curled into a tight fist once more!