Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 427 Revealing the secret
The mud on the King's Road was stained dark red with blood, and arrows were stuck in the carriage like thorns. The two dead guards still held their spears tightly, as if trying to build a wall of flesh and blood to protect the carriage of the prince and princess at the last moment.

But it was obvious that human flesh could not resist a galloping horse.

The cavalry of Lord Clinton rolled over the battlefield like an iron stream, their spears piercing the leather armor of the bandits, their horses crushing the backs of the fleeing, the bandit knights could not outrun the well-trained cavalry. The bandit leader's head rolled to the ground, his scarred face still showing a look of astonishment before he died, he didn't know who he attacked until he died.

"Where are the prince and princess?" Earl Clinton dismounted from his horse, his iron boots stepping into the bloody mud, his voice as low as thunder.

Sir Roland Crakehall's helmet was cracked, blood was dripping from his forehead, but he still stood straight. "The princess is safe, but the prince," the old knight said in a hoarse voice, "got lost in the chaos."

"I found the prince's gloves." William said coldly, "I suggest looking for them along the river."

Clinton's face suddenly darkened. He turned around and shouted to the soldiers behind him, "Search! We must search this forest until we find the prince! And search the river."

The soldiers scattered into the woods, torches flickering like fireflies in the darkening sky. Clinton personally checked every body, pulled up every bush, and even ordered people to dig up a few suspicious piles of earth, but there was no silver-haired boy, only mud and silence.

The river was flowing too fast and no one knew where the prince would be washed away.

As night fell and the campfire crackled in the camp, a sharp scream was heard from the sky, tearing through the clouds.

The soldiers looked up in horror, only to see a giant rouge-red dragon swooping down, and the strong winds raised by its wings almost extinguished all the torches. The dragon Shayel's head was covered with heavy bone armor, like an ancient sea monster, and its breath had a faint smell of sulfur.

Damion leaped off the dragon's back, his silver hair flying and his purple eyes burning with cold anger. He strode towards Clinton, and the sound of his dragon-skin boots stomping on the ground made everyone hold their breath.

"I don't see the prince. Where is the prince?"

Lord Clinton frowned. "We are still searching."

Damion looked at everyone coldly. "You lost a bloodline of the Dragon King?" His voice was very low, but it made the soldiers around him unconsciously take a half step back.

Sir Roland stepped forward. "It was my fault, sir. But the rain of arrows was too dense and in order to ensure secrecy, our carriage was relatively fragile."

"Excuses are useless." Damion interrupted him and turned to walk towards Shayel. The dragon lowered its head covered with bone armor, and a low resonance came from its throat. Damion reached out and pressed the dragon's neck, closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly opened his eyes: "Shayel can smell his blood. Everyone stay where you are. Those who have already set out to search continue to search. Lord Clinton, please send someone to escort the princess to Dragon's Nest City. Igor is already waiting, and I will find the rest."

Lord Clinton frowned: "The forest is too big to search at night."

"My dragon is not afraid of the dark." Damion sneered and jumped onto the dragon's back.

Sayaer spread his huge wings, and his carmine scales looked like blood-stained armor under the moonlight. With a deafening roar, the dragon soared into the sky and soon disappeared into the horizon.

When Daenerys' carriage finally arrived at Dragon's Nest, the huge dragon head gate slowly opened with the groaning of the hinges. The torches illuminated the giant dragon reliefs on both sides of the gate, making them even more hideous and terrifying.

Igor Varese stood at the top of the stairs waiting to greet the princess. His voice was hoarser than Ringol's due to fatigue, but it was full of unquestionable majesty: "Come in, child. There is no plague here that can harm you."

Daenerys looked up at him. "Aegon has not been found yet."

"Damien went to look for him." Igor turned and walked towards the inner city. The rhythm of his boots hitting the ground sounded like some kind of ancient drum beat. "Shayer can tell the flavor of every dragon king's bloodline. As long as the child is still alive..."

He didn't finish his words. But Daenerys clutched the hem of her skirt. She noticed that Igor had said "still alive," not "still running" or anything like that.

She didn't know whether she should worry or relax.

The night was like an iron curtain covering the forest. The bonfire swayed in the wind, reflecting a dozen tired faces. The refugees huddled around the fire, wrapped in tattered cloaks, silently gnawing on the hard black bread. Old Sir Alan looked at the boy who called himself "Egg" with his only remaining good eye.

The boy's cut silver hair was stained a dirty brown by mud and grass juice, but Old Alan still noticed something strange: his fingers were too clean, his nails were neatly trimmed, and there was no callus on his palms. Even more suspicious was that when Duncan talked excitedly about the interesting things in the blacksmith shop, Egg's eyes were obviously confused for a moment.

"Boy," Old Alan spat out a mouthful of bad wine and deliberately knocked the ground with his scabbard, "You said your father was a blacksmith in Steel Street?" Aegon raised his head, his purple eyes flashing in the firelight: "Yes, ser."

"Then you must know how many times a sword needs to be tempered?"

The boy's eyelashes fluttered slightly. Duncan suddenly interrupted: "Three times! My father said that the first quenching should be..."

"I didn't ask you, fool." Old Alan glared at Duncan and continued to stare at Aegon.

Aegon pursed his lips: ".Three times."

The old knight sneered, "Wrong. It depends on the quality of the raw materials and the craftsmanship. The process other than quenching is called tempering." He narrowed his eyes, "Is your father really a blacksmith?"

Duncan realized something was wrong. He scratched his messy brown hair and looked at Aegon in confusion: "Wait, you said last time that your family was a horseshoe making family."

Aegon's face turned pale instantly.

Just then, the sound of branches breaking was heard in the bushes.

A skinny mountain lion walked into the open space, staring at the crowd with its dark green eyes. This beast, which should have been majestic, now had bulging ribs, drooling mouth, and scars from traps on its front paws. Hunger made it even more dangerous.

"Seven levels of hell, why is there a mountain lion here?" Before old Alan could finish his curse, the mountain lion pounced on him.

The old knight's sword barely blocked the claws, but he was forced to kneel on one knee by the weight of the mountain lion. Duncan roared and swung the burning wood at the beast, sparks flew, but only received a furious roar. The mountain lion turned its head and tore at old Alan's throat. The old knight barely dodged it with his head turned, and blood immediately dripped from his shoulder.

Aegon suddenly rushed to the fire. The boy picked up a red-hot stone and threw it with the posture of a child fighting on the streets of King's Landing. "Hey! Ugly!" The stone hit the mountain lion's nose accurately.

The beast howled in pain and turned around, and Duncan took the opportunity to swing the stick and hit its waist. But hunger made the mountain lion even more crazy, and it slapped the tall boy away with one claw, and its fangs went straight to Ego's delicate neck.
The sky suddenly caught fire.

The poisonous dragon flames poured down like divine punishment, and the moment the poisonous fire touched the mountain lion's fur, it turned it into a charred sculpture. The air wave brought by Sayer's dive overturned the campfire, and the burning wood flew like meteors. The dragon's head covered with bone armor lowered, and its yellow vertical pupils swept across the refugees lying limp on the ground, and finally fixed on Ego.

The look on Damion's face when he jumped off the dragon's back was even more terrifying than the dragon's flames.

“You little brat.” Damion’s voice trembled with anger. “Do you know how many people are looking for you?”

Old Alan's wound suddenly stopped hurting, and fear froze his blood. He had seen the dragon riders of House Vareses slaughtering the Blackfire rebels on the battlefield, those demigods riding terrifying beasts. And now, one of them was standing in front of him.

Duncan struggled to get up, his face covered in blood but still grinning: "Sir! Do you know Ego?"

Damion glared at him. "This kid is the prince of the kingdom, idiot."

Duncan's jaw dropped to the ground. He turned to look at Aegon, who had his head bowed, his silver stubble visible in the firelight.

"I just don't want to be recognized. I'm just too scared." Aegon whispered. "Uncle. Don't blame them. They saved me."

Old Alan suddenly knelt on one knee, and the pain in his wound made him grimace: "Your Highness, please forgive my rudeness."

Damion snorted coldly and was about to speak when Shayel suddenly snorted loudly. Amid the toxic smoke, it used its claws to turn over the charred lion carcass and began to eat slowly. The sound of bones breaking and the pungent smell of the toxic smoke made several refugees vomit.

"You've done a good job," Damion pointed at Old Alan and Duncan, "protecting the prince. The Vareses family will remember this."

(End of this chapter)