Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 225: Palace of Sorrows

The crowd that had climbed ashore from the embankment advanced in battle formation, weapons in hand, across the Bridge of Dream. Viserys realized that even in this isolated part of The Sorrows, there were resources worth fighting over—like the lights on the bridge, which he found surprisingly bright. It was mainly due to the heavy fog, but upon closer inspection, the brightness of these street lamps was not inferior to the electric lights Viserys had been accustomed to in his previous life. Around these lamps, faint magical runes seemed to be at work.

Beneath the street lamps were simple tents. The owners of these tents were able to enjoy the light brought by these magical lamps to the greatest extent. As he moved forward, Viserys wondered, 'Could it be that people with grayscale disease like the light?' Setting aside this irrelevant conjecture, he focused on the task at hand.

The sound of their footsteps and the clashing of their armor soon attracted the attention of a group of natives. These stone men, marked by the lines and colors of stone on their bodies, cast wary and assessing glances. The group's armor and the cold weapons they wielded served as a strong deterrent to these people who lived on the border of death.

However, when they reached the middle of the bridge, the stone men gathered together, blocking their way. With stone men in front and behind, Viserys realized they were surrounded.

"Everyone, we just want to pass through. We won't hurt anyone," Viserys said, pounding the heavy halberd in his hand on the ground. The force of the blow caused several cracks in the stone slabs of the bridge, and everyone around him could feel the vibration beneath their feet. The stone men blocking their path instinctively took a step back.

Viserys nodded, and the group threw the extra dry food they were carrying in front of them. The stone men behind them, seeing the cloth sacks on the ground exuding the aroma of food, immediately started to loot them, while the stone men in front looked a bit disdainful. Their goal was not the food that Viserys and the others were offering, but rather their bodies.

One of the leading stone men stepped forward. For some reason, this man's petrified left hand remained raised high.

"Stay... half of you... leave... before..." The man spoke in stutters, each word seemingly forced out of his throat as if the grayscale had infected his vocal cords.

"This is impossible!" Viserys exclaimed, locking eyes with him. The leader of the stone men, the one who always held his left hand aloft, took a step back, while the other stone men, armed with spears and clubs, began to close in on Viserys and his group.

Young Connington swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his spear, but Viserys had no intention of engaging them directly. With a wave of his hand, the Unsullied behind him hurled their flaming bottles. The bottles, filled with a volatile mixture of wildfire alcohol and animal fat, shattered upon impact, dousing the stone men in flames.

Viserys snapped his fingers, and the stone men were transformed into living torches. This was unlike the usual encounters—these stone men moved sluggishly, and with their damaged vocal cords, they could not even scream properly as the flames consumed them. Only those who were not yet fully infected writhed and convulsed in the fire.

The stone man with the raised left hand turned and fled, his legs still functional. But no matter how fast he ran, he could not outrun Viserys's long halberd. The weapon pierced his chest from behind, pinning him to the ground.

Viserys glanced back at the remaining stone men. They had been watching, hoping to gain some advantage, but upon seeing the gruesome fate of their comrades, they were overcome with fear and turned to flee. They moved clumsily, some limping, creating a comically pathetic sight.

After retrieving the halberd from the fallen man, the group continued on, unafraid of infection. They soon reached the collapsed section of the Bridge of Dream. Although they had not yet passed through the rubble, the thick fog ahead revealed glimpses of their destination—the Palace of Sorrows.

Once a glorious capital, Chroyane had become a waterlogged ruin, its once-proud Topless Towers now broken and submerged. Yet, even in their dilapidated state, Viserys recognized them as the legendary Palace of Sorrows. The two Towers in Sunspear, built by Nymeria, had been modeled after these very structures.

Carefully stepping over the loose rocks, the group narrowly avoided falling and finally set foot on the grounds of the Palace of Sorrows. Everyone strained to peer through the gloom. Viserys could vaguely make out a thick grey mist in one direction, as if all the mist in the area was emanating from that one place. 'Perhaps that is where the Shrouded Lady resides,' he thought.

As they ventured deeper into the palace, they noticed the terrain rising, and the water around their feet gradually became shallower. Viserys’s keen eyes caught sight of something unusual—a hand-width-wide groove on the exposed ground. 'A groove... No, these are tracks!' he realized.

Viserys crouched down and ran his hand along the two smooth, parallel lines etched into the ground, confirming his suspicion.

He dared to bet that the Rhoynar people must have had their own magical vehicles back then. As for the others, they were at a loss to understand the purpose of these tracks.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before a vehicle resembling a bus pulled up to the curb. However, instead of the boxy shape he remembered, it was more like the streamlined locomotive of a high-speed train. The vehicle was adorned with intricate reliefs of flowers, plants, fish, and insects.

Viserys closed his eyes and imagined the appearance of the festive capital in its heyday. The speeding 'magic tram' would have carried people to all kinds of destinations—parks, stadiums, libraries, and perhaps even schools and universities.

But then... Viserys thought again of the Valyrians, whose glory was built on the exploitation and oppression of other peoples. Perhaps the Rhoynar were no different.

Suddenly, Viserys realized that ever since entering The Sorrows, his attention had been drawn repeatedly to strange sights—first the Bridge of Dream, and now this.

“Prince, look, there's another bridge ahead!”

"What?" Viserys turned to look at Regis and the others, only to see that they were all slack-jawed with shock. Regis’s reaction was the most unsettling of all, as he pointed at a wall and claimed he saw another Bridge of Dream.

A low, eerie sound filled the air, reverberating ominously...

Then, another disturbing event occurred. Several Unsullied burst into tears.

"No, don't cut off my penis, give it back to me!"

"Don't kill my puppy, no!"

"I'm so scared..."

Viserys's eyes narrowed. 'There's definitely something wrong with this gray mist!'

"Lord Regis, what's wrong with you, Lord Regis!" Young Connington, realizing that something was amiss, turned to Viserys in panic.

"Prince, they... they..."