He sprang to his feet and hurried back into the underground chamber, thick with the stench of blood.
Without hesitation, he burst into golden light, and an enormous golden dragon replaced his human form.
The claws of his powerful hind legs dug deep into the base of the black stone. His wings whipped up savage gusts before he could slowly drag the immense weight out of that dim chamber.
After returning to human form, he immediately summoned Janice and pointed at the strange black stone. "Load this onto a ship too. Be careful where you put it."
"Of course..." Janice hurried over, her cheeks faintly flushed, not daring to look directly at Liu Qian.
She quickly took a clean linen robe from the small bundle she carried and pressed it into Liu Qian's hands. Then, like a startled fawn, she lowered her head and scurried away to direct the guards.
Holding the soft robe, Liu Qian froze for a moment, then looked slightly embarrassed.
Ever since the two women had discovered that transforming into a dragon left him "bare for all to see," the thoughtful Janice had quietly kept several spare robes in her pack, just in case.
Against the brutal backdrop of the ruins, that silent care and consideration felt especially precious.
Liu Qian sighed inwardly. Now this was chivalry-serving the person you swore allegiance to with your whole heart.
The guards searching for Teres eventually returned empty-handed, having found neither any trace of him nor the sword.
Liu Qian did not mind.
He did not care which corner Teres was hiding in. Even if the man had a Valyrian steel sword and armor, he was not worth wasting more time in this cursed place that set Liu Qian's nerves on edge.
The sense of danger prickling at his back urged him to leave as quickly as possible.
Jelena keenly noticed his resolve and unease, and no longer insisted on searching for Teres.
The three of them headed toward the harbor with the remaining Dragon Spirit Guardians and the last batch of plundered supplies.
The harbor was not far from Tyria, only four or five li away.
It resembled an enormous pocket stretching deep into the land.
Damp gray mist, sour with decay, hung low over the sea like a tangible burial shroud, leaving visibility extremely poor.
Dozens of ancient two-masted and three-masted sailing ships lay quietly stranded in the shallows like a ghost fleet. The Dragon Spirit Guardians were straining at ropes to haul more than ten other vessels out of the grounded area and into deeper water.
Thick layers of barnacles and seaweed covered their hulls. Long corroded by the acidic mist, the weathered wood had turned a rotten gray-black. Broken masts leaned at angles, and rigging dangled like rotting intestines.
Yet on the mainsails of several larger, relatively intact flagships, an elaborate coat of arms caught Liu Qian's eye. Though faded, it remained recognizable: a golden lion on a crimson field, its head raised in a furious roar, its mane flying!
Lannister!
Shock jolted through Liu Qian.
He remembered Gerion's face, twisted by madness.
Liu Qian shook his head. These ships were far too old to be Gerion Lannister's Laughing Lion.
"My lord," a Dragon Spirit Guardian appeared beside him, his flat voice devoid of inflection. "We found a well-sealed cabin aboard one of the larger ships. The contents are reasonably well preserved."
Liu Qian's interest stirred, and he followed the guardian aboard the largest flagship, its prow carved with a lion.
They crossed the rotting deck and passed through the dim passages below, reaching a heavy oak door deep inside the ship.
The guards had already forced the iron lock.
He pushed open the heavy door, and a smell of aged timber, dust, and faint mildew washed over him.
In stark contrast to the decay outside, this cabin seemed to have been forgotten by time.
Silver candlesticks, goblets, and plates lay scattered across a woolen table covering thick with dust.
A broad mahogany desk stood against the wall, with several parchment scrolls scattered across it. Most striking of all was a sturdy wooden weapon rack nearby, securely holding a sheathed longsword.
Liu Qian's gaze was instantly riveted to the sword.
He stepped forward.
The scabbard was made entirely from some metal as dark as night. Rather than being smooth, its surface was studded with countless gems gleaming dark red, with intricate, ornate strands of openwork gold winding among them, lending it a regal beauty.
At the pommel, a lifelike lion's head painstakingly cast in pure gold glared with furious eyes, its mane bristling, silently roaring of its master's former majesty and power.
Liu Qian reached out with his right hand, firmly grasped the smooth, cold hilt, and slowly drew the blade.
Clang-!
A clear, lingering ring suddenly echoed through the deathly silent cabin, its resonance hanging in the air.
The long, narrow blade emerged into the dim light, gleaming with a cold sheen like flowing mercury. Its brilliant edge clearly reflected the faint surprise on Liu Qian's face.
"This is a fine Valyrian steel sword," Jelena said behind him, her tone leaving no room for doubt.
As a descendant of the dragonlords, she was intimately familiar with the feel of this metal.
For it to earn such praise from her, it had to be extraordinary.
Liu Qian turned his wrist slightly, casually sweeping the edge through a corner of the heavy mahogany desk and a silver plate lying on it.
He felt no resistance and heard no harsh scrape, only the faintest hiss.
Like the sharpest razor passing through the most delicate silk, the thick desk corner and the hard silver plate fell in two. Their cut surfaces were smooth as mirrors, the exposed metal gleaming freshly.
"A fine sword," Liu Qian praised sincerely.
Yet he also felt some regret. There were no magical runes engraved on the blade.
In an instant, he realized what this sword was.
It had to be the lost ancestral treasure Gerion Lannister had dreamed of finding, risking his life by venturing deep into the Smoking Sea: the sword of the King of Casterly Rock, the Valyrian steel blade that symbolized House Lannister's supreme martial might and glory-Bright-Roar.
The dust of history stirred in his mind.
More than a century before the War of Conquest, the ambitious King of Casterly Rock, Tommen Lannister II, had led a vast fleet into Valyria's sea of death, laden with the gold of the Westerlands and dreams of conquering the ruins. Nothing had ever been heard from him again, leaving a tragedy still remembered in Casterly Rock.
So his enormous fleet had finally come to rest in Tyria, a harbor cursed in its own right.
What, then, had become of that proud King of Casterly Rock and the thousands of elite soldiers and seasoned commanders under him?
Liu Qian's gaze swept over the rotting hull and the deathly stillness beyond the cabin.
The ruins of Valyria had swallowed them without a sound.
Perhaps parasitic Fire Dragon Worms had claimed them, perhaps Scaleclaw Monsters had surrounded and slaughtered them, or perhaps some ancient plague had long lurked deep within the ruins. Even Tyria's
warlocks might have played a dishonorable part in it.
They could not possibly have vanished quietly into the bellies of fish. Their end must have been brutal and uncanny.
After all the passing years, this ancient fleet that had carried ambition and destruction, along with the gold and gems still left aboard, had now become Liu Qian's ark out of hell and an unexpected windfall.
In the end, the relatively experienced Jelena helped the Dragon Spirit Guardians confirm that, after emergency repairs and cleaning, sixteen ships still had reasonably sound hulls. Their sails were worn but could barely be raised, leaving them fit for a short voyage.
When the last supplies, the weary survivors, and the silent Dragon Spirit Guardians had boarded their respective ships, Liu Qian stood at the prow of the flagship that had once flown the lion banner and took one final look at the outline of Tyria's ruins, shrouded in lead-gray deathly mist.
Too many secrets, too much madness and despair lay buried there.
He drew a deep breath of the briny air, and his voice pierced the thin mist, carrying clearly across the fleet:
"Cut the mooring lines! Raise the sails! Set sail!"
Before you continue