Chapter 132: The Horn Sounds
Furious, Euron Greyjoy returned to his fleet.
His brother, Victarion Greyjoy, was about to ask how the negotiations with Daenerys had gone—but the moment he saw Euron's expression, full of barely contained rage, he immediately pretended to notice nothing and turned to leave.
"Stop."
Euron's voice cut through the air.
"Have someone bring out the Dragon Horn. Tell them to prepare to sound it."
Victarion froze.
At the mention of the Dragon Horn, a chill ran through him.
He had personally witnessed what happened to those who blew it.
But he did not dare disobey Euron—especially not now, when his brother was in such a volatile mood.
---
Before coming here, Euron had already decided:
If Daenerys agreed to marry him, they would form an alliance.
If she refused, he would force her hand—with his army and the Dragon Horn.
What he hadn't expected was that Daenerys would reject him so completely, unmoved by either persuasion or threat.
If he had known this would happen, he wouldn't have wasted so many words.
He would have simply taken Meereen by force and made her submit.
And he certainly wouldn't have had to endure the mocking looks from Yara and the others.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
He had already begun imagining how he would break Daenerys and her council once Meereen fell.
---
To minimize the time Meereen had to prepare its defenses, Euron immediately summoned his captains and began planning the assault.
Even his commanders were surprised.
Before arriving, most of them had assumed Euron would marry the Queen of Meereen, forming a powerful alliance.
None had expected negotiations to collapse so completely.
---
Before nightfall even arrived, the fleet of five hundred warships advanced toward Meereen.
They spread out across the sea in a wide formation.
Onboard, the catapults were loaded with flaming projectiles, ready to bombard the city.
---
This time, Daenerys did not send Rhaegal and Viserion to defend the city.
Until she understood exactly how the Dragon Horn affected dragons, she refused to let them take such a risk.
Seeing the siege engines being prepared, Drogon leapt from Daenerys's shoulder.
Midair, he expanded into his full form.
With a powerful beat of his wings, he soared toward Euron's fleet.
His goal wasn't to burn the ships—not yet.
He intended to force Euron to use the Dragon Horn, to eliminate this unknown threat.
Only then could Rhaegal and Viserion safely join the defense.
---
Standing at the prow, Euron was just about to give the order to attack—
When suddenly, he noticed something.
A massive black dragon had appeared above Meereen's walls.
Its size was staggering—three to four times larger than the other two dragons he had seen.
For a moment, Euron was stunned.
Does Daenerys have four dragons, not three?
He stared at the enormous figure in disbelief, momentarily forgetting to give his command.
Only when Drogon drew closer did he snap back to reality, hastily waving his hand to signal the catapults to fire.
As he squinted, trying to get a clearer look, a strange sense of familiarity crept over him.
Have I seen this dragon before…?
But before he could dwell on that thought—
His eyes widened.
He saw it clearly now.
Four limbs.
A four-legged dragon.
At that moment, Euron stopped caring about why the dragon looked familiar.
All that mattered was this—
This was something he had never seen before.
Seeing the greed in Drogon's eyes flare brightly, Euron turned and retreated into the cabin. He immediately ordered his brother, Victarion, to have the Dragon Horn sounded.
Victarion had already prepared everything.
The moment Drogon's massive shadow swept across the deck overhead, he quickly had a man bring out the horn.
It was enormous—nearly two meters long—curved like an exaggerated pipe with both ends flared. Its surface was smooth as a mirror, etched with intricate golden runes that shimmered faintly.
A bare-chested brute with a black bird tattoo across his chest carried it onto the deck.
Victarion glanced in the direction Drogon had flown, then barked,
"Blow it!"
The man—Klagorn—hesitated for a brief moment before gripping the horn, left hand supporting its weight and right hand steadying the mouthpiece.
Then he blew.
WOOOOOOOM—
A deep, ancient, resonant sound rolled out from the horn.
At the same time, the golden runes across its surface lit up, flickering with a strange, ominous glow.
---
High in the sky, Drogon froze mid-flight.
The sound hit him like a spike driven straight into his mind—harsh, grating, unbearable.
A flicker of irritation surged within him.
With a powerful beat of his wings, he turned sharply and flew toward the source of the sound.
---
At nearly the same moment—
Inside Meereen, Rhaegal and Viserion let out agitated, restless roars.
As the horn's call continued, their unease quickly escalated into rage.
Their expressions twisted—part fury, part pain.
They lashed their claws against the stone ground, their massive heads whipping violently from side to side. Flames churned in their throats, threatening to burst forth at any moment, as if only fire could relieve the agony burning through their bodies.
"Rhaegal! Viserion!"
Daenerys shouted their names from the city walls, trying desperately to calm them.
For a moment, they paused—
Then the frenzy returned, even worse than before.
Watching them suffer, unable to release their pain, Daenerys felt her heart tighten with helpless urgency.
She could only keep calling to them, trying to soothe them with her voice.
At the same time, her gaze darted toward the distant sea—
She feared most that Drogon would be affected the same way.
---
The horn's influence extended beyond the dragons.
Everyone who heard it felt as if their blood was boiling.
Their chests burned, their veins throbbed, and only deep, desperate breaths could ease the suffocating heat within.
---
Following the sound, Drogon quickly located its source—
Klagorn, cheeks puffed, still blowing the horn with all his strength.
Drawing closer, Drogon carefully assessed its effect on himself.
It made him restless, yes—
But it was still within his tolerance.
However, just because he could endure it didn't mean the others could.
He had already heard Rhaegal and Viserion's pained roars.
Without hesitation, Drogon swooped down and snatched the horn from Klagorn's hands.
He didn't bother breathing fire on him.
Because he could already tell—
The man was as good as dead.
Klagorn's lips were covered in blisters, and blood poured from his mouth.
The blood itself seemed to be boiling, bubbling and steaming as it spilled out.
Whatever was happening inside his body, Drogon didn't need to see it to know—
His organs were likely being burned alive from within.
Klagorn coughed up a few more bursts of steaming blood, then collapsed to the deck.
Even after he stopped moving, faint heat continued to rise from his corpse.
---
So this is the price of blowing a horn meant to control dragons…
Drogon thought to himself.
No ordinary human can survive it.
---
Gripping the Dragon Horn, Drogon rose into the air and unleashed a blast of black-red dragonfire onto the ship below.
He knew there were still people hiding in the cabin.
This was the consequence of trying to enslave dragons.
---
He scanned the surrounding ships.
He remembered clearly—Euron was here somewhere.
Carrying the horn, Drogon circled higher into the sky, searching.
But Euron was nowhere to be seen.
Just as Drogon was about to return to the city walls to check on Rhaegal and Viserion—
His gaze caught something.
On a distant ship, behind a siege engine—
A familiar figure.
---
It was Euron Greyjoy.
He had removed his black leather eyepatch.
And beneath it—
His left eye was revealed.
A black pupil within a blood-red iris—
Exactly like the eye on his banner.
Euron didn't try to hide.
Instead, he looked straight at Drogon—
And smiled.
A twisted, unnatural smile.
Paired with that crimson eye—
It made even Drogon feel a deep, instinctive unease.