Game of Thrones: Starting by Escaping with the Mad King

Chapter 212 212: Corrupted Blood

Night.

Deep and suffocating.

The thick stone walls of Stokeworth Castle lay silent beneath the weight of midnight. Only the hollow wind wandered through the corridors and towers, whispering through empty passageways.

Deep within the keep, a small room had been forgotten in a corner.

Moonlight slipped sparingly through the narrow slit of a high window, casting pale, twisted beams across the cold stone floor.

Lollys Stokeworth lay curled up on her narrow bed.

Her plump body nearly filled the entire frame, forcing her to tuck her legs tightly against herself—knees pressed into her belly—just to keep her round little feet from dangling in the cold air.

The bed was too small.

And she was too big.

It had been made for her when she was five years old—a time when a noble girl of King's Landing should have been full of promise and possibility.

But that promise had faded.

And her future had dimmed into nothing.

When Lollys's severe intellectual limitations became impossible to ignore—when the maesters declared that no remedy existed in this world—she was quietly set aside.

Ignored.

Forgotten.

No one ever thought to replace her bed.

As if she herself were a stain—something that should never have existed in the noble lineage of House Stokeworth.

And yet, she slept.

Deeply.

Her slow breathing accompanied by a faint, harmless snore.

A thin strand of glistening drool slipped from the corner of Lollys's open mouth, trailing down her chin and soaking into the worn linen of her pillow.

In her hand, she still clutched a piece of candy.

Precious.

She couldn't bear to eat it all at once.

She wanted to save some—to share it with her sister.

Falyse had always been so smart… so beautiful… like a lady stepped out of a painting.

Even if, sometimes, she pushed Lollys away in impatience…

Her sister was dead?

For someone like Lollys, whose mind struggled to grasp even simple things, the concept of death was far too vast.

Too abstract.

Too distant.

She simply believed—

Falyse was asleep.

And when people slept… they woke up.

And when they woke up…

They were usually hungry.

At least… she always was.

---

The castle lay in near absolute silence.

Only Lollys's heavy breathing and faint snores echoed within the small room.

Then—

From far away… drawing closer…

Footsteps.

Soft. Measured.

Carrying a strange, deliberate rhythm as they emerged from the darkness beyond the corridor.

Creak—

The door slowly opened.

A cold draft seeped in—sharp and biting—carrying with it the scent of rust, deep-sea salt…

And death.

A tall, gaunt figure stepped inside.

No candle.

No light.

He blended perfectly into the shadows cast by the doorway.

On his chest, a golden kraken sigil seemed almost… to writhe.

Moonlight outlined his shoulders, but his face remained swallowed by darkness.

Only his eyes were visible—

Blue.

Burning with a mix of fanaticism and cruelty.

Locked onto the unaware girl on the bed.

The cold air made Lollys shiver slightly.

She frowned, scratched her backside, shifted a little—

…and kept snoring.

"Betrayal…"

The man slowly drew a dagger from his waist.

Its short blade shimmered with a dim blue glow—still stained with traces of half-dried blood.

His voice was soft.

But carried an eerie, chant-like cadence.

"Greed…"

"Cowardice…"

He licked his lips, gaze fixed on Lollys's neck as he leaned forward.

"Now… only you remain."

"Foolishness."

The last word came with a grin—twisted, expectant.

"Corrupted Blood…"

"Almost complete…"

His eyes burned.

The dagger descended—steady, precise—toward the thickest vein in her neck.

---

ROAR!!!

Without warning—

A violent, earth-shattering roar tore through the midnight silence.

Euron's hand trembled.

The blade's trajectory shifted slightly.

At the same time, Lollys stirred, letting out a faint, unconscious whimper and curling inward.

The glowing blade sliced across her cheek—

leaving only a thin line of blood.

A droplet slid down—

absorbed instantly into the blade.

"Damn it…"

Euron's eyes turned icy.

Without hesitation, he raised the dagger again—

But—

A massive shadow burst through the doorway!

BOOM!

It slammed him to the ground.

"GRAAAHHH—!"

A blast of heat and sulfur-filled breath struck his face.

Euron's pupils shrank.

A pair of molten, vertical dragon eyes glared down at him.

A dragon.

The Regent's dragon—

Ilyon.

Dark gray scales like volcanic stone.

Wings spread wide—nearly ten feet across—filling the entire room.

"RAAAH!!!"

Instead of fear—

Euron roared back.

Madness met fury.

He thrust the dagger toward the dragon's throat—

But—

CRACK!

A claw slammed down first—

Pinning his arm to the ground.

Bone screamed.

Muscle tore.

His body was completely immobilized under overwhelming force.

Death loomed.

The dragon's jaws opened—

A blazing orange light began to gather within—

Heat surged, thick with sulfur.

Euron panicked.

For the first time.

All plans—

All ambitions—

Valyria. Rituals. Thrones.

Meaningless.

If he died here—

Nothing mattered.

And so—

He did something even more insane.

He released the dagger—

then grabbed the blade itself.

SLICE!

Steel cut through flesh.

Blood poured from his palm.

Bright red—

Spreading across the dark blade like something alive.

Then—

In a crazed voice—

He chanted in ancient Valyrian:

"My corrupted blood—!"

"You cannot escape the chains of human nature!"

---

Five bloods.

Betrayal.

Greed.

Cowardice.

Foolishness.

And now—

His own.

They stirred—

Merged—

Twisted together—

The dagger shattered—

Becoming a thick, rotting black mist.

It surged forward—

Straight into Ilyon's nostrils.

---

The dragon froze.

Its molten eyes flickered—

Then—

A cold blue hue spread within them.

Confusion replaced fury.

Its head tilted.

Something… was wrong.

It looked at Euron—

…and felt…

a strange sense of familiarity.

"Ha…"

Euron exhaled, relief washing over him.

Then—

Mad laughter.

"It works!"

"That damned drowned priest didn't lie!"

"I'm a genius—Euron Greyjoy, a genius!"

"Using this on humans is a waste—!"

"Only dragons are worthy!"

He grabbed the broken blade—

And stabbed it into his own chest.

RIP—

Blood carved symbols into flesh.

A grotesque pattern formed—

Like living veins.

"Blood contract…"

"Chains… submission…"

Three crimson chains burst forth—

Wrapping around Ilyon's neck—

And hind legs.

The dragon screamed.

Struggled.

But the chains held.

Tighter.

Stronger.

Feeding on resistance.

"Struggle!"

"Roar!"

"You will submit!"

Euron's eyes burned.

"With blood as the guide—!"

"All shall return to me!"

---

The chains tightened—

Pulling at the dragon's very soul—

"GRAAAAAHHHH!!!"

Ilyon convulsed.

Its fire extinguished.

Its body weakened.

It was breaking.

And Euron—

laughed like a mad king.

"Yes… yes… surrender…"

"To your king—!"

---

Then—

A light.

Pure.

White.

Like dawn breaking through night.

It struck—

BOOM!

One chain—

shattered instantly.

Gone.

The dragon roared—

freed.

The room cleared—

the stench fading.

Euron staggered.

His chest exploded with backlash.

Blood spilled.

His smile froze.

Shock.

Rage.

Fear.

He looked up.

At the doorway.

A figure stood there.

Tall.

Silent.

White armor glowing softly.

A massive black sword in hand—

drinking in the light.

Flames flickered along its edge.

"Lance Lot…"

Euron growled.

Recognition immediate.

The man said nothing.

He simply raised his head.

Blue eyes—

burning with fire.

Not metaphor.

Real.

Flames danced within them—

as if his very soul burned.

Euron stepped back.

Instinctively.

Fear.

For the first time.

---

Lance shook his head slightly.

Disappointed.

Then rested the greatsword on his shoulder.

"Pathetic."

His voice was calm.

Mocking.

"You stole two women from House Stokeworth…"

"And now you try to steal my dragon."

He pointed the blade at Euron.

"Compared to your brother—who cut off his own arm…"

"You are…"

A pause.

Then—

"Nothing but trash."