Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen
Chapter 223: Greyscale

Chapter 223: Greyscale

This was the advantage of having a living history book like Shiera. Her way of speaking, which seemed almost designed to spark curiosity, had completely piqued everyone's interest.

"This Sennesta was indeed gifted with powerful magical talent, but he also lost his mind. It seems he was controlled and secretly killed many of his own relatives. He..."

Shiera paused, letting the tension build. "At that time, the patriarch of House Sennesta had his own dragon burn him to death to protect the rest of the family."

Everyone felt a bit unsatisfied after hearing such a secret story. Yet, in their hearts, they felt even more awe for this 'Shrouded Lady.'

Viserys suddenly realized that this 'Shrouded Lady's' magic seemed to involve some kind of trade-off. Take greyscale disease, for example—those infected gradually turn to stone, but they also gain a peculiar benefit: they no longer need to eat. Although no one desires this so-called 'benefit.'

And this Viserys of House Sennesta, after obtaining powerful magical talent, also lost his mind. Of course, it’s possible she was targeting House Sennesta specifically. After all, the Valyrians once sent out 300 dragons at a time. House Sennesta, with its significant number of dragon rider, was bound to be involved.

If the Shrouded Lady agreed to the young Sennesta’s request out of revenge, it makes sense that the family met their fate. After all, the Valyrians sent out 300 dragons at once, and the Sennesta family, which had one of the largest contingents of dragon riders, would definitely have participated. It also makes sense that the Shrouded Lady agreed to the young Sennesta's request out of revenge.

From Shiera's description, it seemed feasible to approach the Shrouded Lady directly. 'I just don't know what price I would have to pay to pass through,' Viserys thought.

“Since that Vise... I mean, that Sennesta, was made that way by this... Shrouded Lord, why didn't House Sennesta punish him at the time and burn Chroyane again?” Regis asked, puzzled.

Shiera didn't answer his question, but Young Connington, who was standing behind the group, spoke up:

"I think Chroyane is already in ruins. There's no point in burning it down. At most, the House can forbid its people from going to Chroyane."

Regis's question was just a minor interlude. The group still didn't think it was a good idea to travel through The Sorrows. But Viserys had already made up his mind. With the blessing of blood magic, he wasn’t worried about getting infected with greyscale himself. No matter what price the Shrouded Lady demanded, or whether that price was acceptable, he had to try.

"I'm going with you," Dany said, leaning over as she saw his determination.

"Don't worry, Dany. You forgot? I'll be fine," Viserys replied, having already told her about the Blood Magic. It was just that the system panel was hard to explain.

But Dany wasn't just worried about the greyscale. It was Chroyane—the magical city second only to Valyria. Who knows what dangers lay within?

"Prince, let me go!" Young Connington, eager to impress Viserys, pleaded.

"Let me go, Prince!" he insisted again.

"I can go too!" others in the crowd chimed in, vying for the chance.

Jokingly, they thought, 'The dragons will return soon, so what if they die now? They are serving the Dragonlord!'

"Prince. please stay here. Let me go," Connington said, glancing at his son.

"Can you replace the Shrouded Lord? I'll go instead," Viserys decided, ultimately choosing to take only a few Unsullied with him.

To attract as little attention as possible, Viserys set off with twelve Unsullied, along with Regis and a few others.

...

In less than five days, the group had traversed the entire Disputed Lands. Each person had three horses, and they spent most of the day traveling. By the time they reached Chroyane, many of them had chafed thighs.

Viserys decided to let the group rest for a while. He himself took control of his golden eagle to observe the area from above.

However, from the sky, all of Chroyane was shrouded in a thick gray mist. It looked like a giant gray mushroom, obscuring everything within. The occasional glimpse of a human figure made the scene even more unsettling.

"Prince, that is not normal," Regis remarked, glancing at Viserys, who was still keeping up a relentless pace alongside the others.

The rest of the group had already taken a nap, but Viserys still looked full of energy. Young Connington was genuinely impressed. It was his first time venturing out with Viserys, and though he had wanted to prove himself, he found himself being looked after instead. Now that he had rested, Young Connington resolved to demonstrate his abilities fully and not let his guard down.

"Prince! Prince!" Regis's voice suddenly echoed from the riverbank not far away.

Viserys had recently discovered one of Regis's unique 'talents'—the man could sleep standing up with his eyes open! So, the days of relentless travel hadn't exhausted him as much as the others, and he eagerly volunteered to replace a boat for everyone.

But Regis, ever cautious like the rest of the group, had also equipped himself with a set of tightly wrapped silver chain mail and clothing that was said to be waterproof. His hands and feet were similarly well-covered. As the days passed, Viserys couldn't help but wonder how sour the smell inside that armor must have become.

"My lord, I found a boat, and the boatman is willing to serve you," Regis announced, pointing excitedly to the shore.

There, a small boat about ten meters long awaited them, with two cabins that could barely accommodate the group. The boat's weathered hull bore the marks of many years of service, and the boatman aboard eyed Viserys and the others cautiously.

The boatman, an old man in his fifties, was slightly stooped. He wore a smile of servility on his wrinkled face as he bowed to them. His clothes were bulky, likely to protect against the moisture of the Rhoyne. Beside him were two children, no older than twelve or thirteen, who peeked out from behind him, their wide eyes filled with curiosity and fear.

As Viserys and the group approached the boat, the old man hurriedly pulled his two grandchildren closer. Viserys noticed the frail appearance of the children and felt uneasy. He turned to Regis and asked, "Did you make it clear where we are going?"

"Of course, Prince," Regis assured him, patting his chest confidently. He then looked at the old boatman. "Old man, we're heading to The Sorrows. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord, I do," the boatman replied.

"Are you sure you want to take your two grandsons with you?" Viserys asked, concerned.

"Don't worry, my lord. These two little ones are very clever," the old boatman replied, mistaking Viserys's concern for fear that the children might slow them down. In reality, Viserys was worried for their safety and didn’t want to see the old man lose his family if anything went wrong. However, seeing the man’s resolve, Viserys decided not to argue further and led the group onto the ferry.

As the boatman ferried them across the water, the ferry gradually approached the gray mist of The Sorrows.

"My goodness, those are the stone men!" Regis exclaimed, leaning over the cabin and pointing, drawing everyone's attention to where he was looking.

As the ferry drew closer, the number of shadowy figures in the mist increased. These were the unfortunate souls afflicted with greyscale. Most had stiffened limbs and faces twisted by illness, appearing more like lifeless statues than living beings. Some of the more severely affected moved with an eerie, zombie-like gait.

All of them turned their hollow eyes toward the ferry, sending a wave of unease through everyone on board. Young Connington, feeling the tension, instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"My lord, don't worry. The stone men outside the gray mist won't attack us," the old boatman reassured Viserys as he ferried them across the river.

These stone men still harbored the mistaken belief that Viserys had come to bring them food. In reality, the only ones who ever provided for them were the people from Volantis, and that happened only once every three years. Though they managed to survive, the stone men were plagued by illness and hunger day and night.

"You say the stone men outside the gray mist won't attack us, but what about the ones inside? Are they aggressive?" Viserys asked, his concern evident.

"To be honest, my lord, I've ferried on the Rhoyne for over thirty years, but I've never ventured into the gray mist," the old boatman replied cautiously. In truth, if Regis hadn't offered enough money to buy three boats like his, the old man would never have agreed to enter the mist.

Viserys recalled that Tyrion Lannister and his group had been attacked by stone men when they passed through the Heart of the Sorrows. To prepare for a similar encounter, he had taken precautions in advance.

As the ferry entered the dense gray mist, it was completely engulfed, and visibility dropped drastically. The shore was no longer visible, and even the golden eagle, which Viserys had been using as a 'drone,' could no longer serve its purpose.

But that was just the beginning of their troubles. The closer they got to The Sorrows, the more treacherous the waters became. The river was choked with moss and littered with fallen statues and broken pillars. The old boatman navigated with extreme caution.

The once wide river was now fragmented into narrow streams by the obstacles in their path. In some places, they barely avoided grazing the damaged stone carvings as they passed. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the river, trying to steer clear of the submerged statues and half-buried pillars. The old boatman and his grandsons were even more vigilant, wide-eyed with concentration. Despite the cool temperature, a fine layer of sweat had formed on the old boatman's forehead.

"By the gods!" Regis suddenly exclaimed. The group turned to see what he was pointing at and were met with the sight of a humanoid figure staring back at them.

It wasn't a statue at all, but a person suffering from Greyscale, resembling a stone figure. Somehow, this poor soul had climbed onto one of the stone statues that had fallen into the river. His clothes had decayed into rags, and his hair had long since disappeared. The entire figure looked like a dried-up specimen, haunting and pitiful.