Greyscale—in the world of *Game of Thrones*, it was essentially a death sentence.
It would gradually turn a person’s skin and flesh to stone, eventually eroding their mind until they became mindless, bloodthirsty “stone men.” Shireen Baratheon was the sole exception, but that had only been achieved during her childhood by marshaling the full power of Dragonstone and summoning countless maesters and sorcerers to barely halt its spread.
And now, in these cursed ruins of Valyria, who could possibly save him?
The spark of hope that had just been ignited felt as though it had been doused by a bucket of ice water.
Victor Vance’s heart sank, but only a few seconds later, an even fiercer drive to survive overwhelmed all his fear and despair.
He glanced at Comet, who was curled up at his legs, fast asleep after exhausting all its energy.
The little creature had fought with everything it had to protect him.
Now, it was his turn to protect it—and himself.
“I can’t die…
I absolutely cannot die here,” Victor murmured, his gaze turning sharp and focused once more.
He was a PhD holder—a top-tier mind forged through countless research projects, wired to solve problems.
The harsher the environment and the more severe the conditions, the calmer and clearer his thinking became.
He quickly began assessing his situation and establishing rules for his survival.
Rule One: Secure basic survival.
This was Valyria, and the air was thick with lethal toxins.
Ripping off the inner lining of his sturdy windbreaker, he found a small puddle formed by an explosion during the earlier battle.
Though he knew the water likely contained heavy metals or other dangerous contaminants, he couldn’t afford to be picky right now.
He soaked the cloth, folded it into several layers, and tied it across his face, fashioning a crude mask capable of filtering out most dust particles and some soluble gases from the air.
Rule Two: Find a safe shelter.
Sitting around waiting to die would only leave him vulnerable to more stone men or other unknown dangers.
He needed to find a place where he could rest temporarily and stay out of harm’s way.
Scooping up the sleeping Comet, he gathered the pieces of its eggshell, knowing they could help replenish the little creature’s energy.
Normally, a newborn dragon would eat its eggshell as its first meal.
However, the dire situation earlier had forced the hatchling to plunge into intense combat immediately after emerging, leaving it exhausted and asleep.
Victor began exploring.
Rather than wandering aimlessly like a headless fly, he carefully analyzed his surroundings as if dissecting a complex academic paper.
His eyes quickly locked onto the stubborn black moss growing on the ground.
As a PhD in mechanical engineering, he had also minored in biochemistry.
He knew that any plant able to survive in such an extreme environment had to possess unique adaptations.
The moss was likely a chemoautotrophic organism living off specific airborne compounds.
By extension, its presence proved that the concentration of lethal toxins that could instantly kill most organisms was relatively low in this specific area.
“A safe path,” Victor concluded.
Following the trail of moss, he proceeded cautiously, avoiding areas where nothing grew.
Next, he began evaluating the massive architectural ruins around him.
His specialized expertise proved invaluable.
At a glance, he could tell that the towering, standalone spires were the most hazardous; their structural integrity had long been compromised, meaning even a strong gust of wind could send them tumbling down.
Instead, he targeted structures built against the mountainside or laid out in L- or U-shaped configurations.
In structural mechanics, asymmetric designs with external support offered far greater stability against kinetic impacts.
After nearly half an hour of searching, he finally discovered an underground entrance half-concealed beneath a fallen boulder among the ruins of an aristocratic manor on a mountainside.
Rather than rushing in blindly, he picked up a stone and tossed it through the gap.
The stone hit the ground, producing a dull, brief echo.
*Roughly five meters deep.
Plenty of space, and the echo lacks resonance, meaning the interior is relatively sealed with slow airflow,* Victor quickly judged.
It was a perfect temporary shelter.
Exerting every ounce of his strength, he cleared enough rubble from the entrance to create a narrow passage just wide enough for a single person, then slipped inside while cradling Comet.
The subterranean level was a spacious wine cellar, and the air was indeed much better than outside, with the acrid stench significantly diminished.
Rows of wooden racks had long rotted away, and the clay wine jars that once sat upon them lay shattered across the floor.
Victor carefully placed Comet onto a pile of relatively dry rags, laid the eggshell pieces beside it, and collapsed to the ground.
His frayed nerves finally caught a brief reprieve, and he let out a long, deep sigh.
Only now did he realize that cold sweat had completely soaked the back of his shirt.
He checked his leg.
The spread of the greyscale seemed to have slowed slightly due to his increased body temperature and physical exertion, but the grey, deadened patch of skin continued its relentless expansion.
Time was running out.
Rule Three: Resolve the energy crisis.
Before long, Comet stirred and woke up.
It let out a weak whimper, nuzzling its small head against Victor, sending a clear impression of *hunger* directly into his mind.
Victor hurriedly handed over the eggshell pieces.
As if catching the scent of a delicacy, Comet clutched the shells and began crunching away.
*Crunch, crunch.* The sound of the hatchling eating echoed softly through the quiet cellar.
Feeling a pang of hunger himself, Victor reached into his pocket and found a bar of chocolate.
He broke off a small piece, slipped it into his mouth, and let it slowly melt on his tongue.
Having finished its meal, Comet scampered over, sniffed curiously at him, tilted its head, and beamed a thought into Victor’s mind: *That stuff tastes terrible.* Victor carefully tucked the rest of the chocolate back into his pocket.
Unless he had no choice, he had no intention of eating anything found in the ruins of Valyria, making this his final ration.
Comet stood up and trotted around the cellar, sniffing here and there while completely ignoring the dirt and stone.
Finally, it returned to Victor’s side, staring at the metal zipper pull on his jacket, and sent him a longing thought: *Want to eat.* Victor blinked, startled, before realization dawned on him.
Valstrax…
consumed metal!
Its Dragon Energy crystals were essentially the product of devouring metal, which was then subjected to ultra-high-pressure compression and energy conversion inside its biological core.
Without metal, there was no energy.
Without energy, Comet couldn’t fight—it couldn’t even survive.
Feeding this golden ticket of a companion had just become his most pressing task.
Victor looked down at the weakened hatchling, then touched the expanding patch of petrified skin on his leg.
A flash of resolve settled in his eyes.
He could no longer afford to passively search for shelter.
He needed to take the initiative.
He needed a vast supply of metal to feed Comet and restore its combat capabilities.
He also needed to find a cure for greyscale—or at least a means to arrest its spread.
In the stream of information conveyed by the Dragon God, he recalled Bahamut mentioning that this was a “land of magic and fire’s remnants.” Fire…
perhaps extreme heat could suppress this stone-like pathology?
Questions and hypotheses rearranged themselves rapidly in his mind, ultimately coalescing into a clear plan.
He needed a target—a location that held both abundant metal and potential fire or other useful resources.
In these vast ruins, only one place could meet both criteria.
Victor stood up, walked to the cellar entrance, and peered through the gap toward the absolute center of the ruins.
There stood the grandest, tallest black spire of all.
Even though half-collapsed, it still loomed like a defiant giant claw reaching toward the heavens.
It was the fortress of this region’s former ruler—a Valyrian dragonlord.
There would surely be an armory, a treasury, structural reinforcement of the highest quality, and perhaps…
even a furnace holding the legendary “everburning subterranean fires” that Valyria took such pride in!
High risk, high reward.
The look in Victor’s eyes transformed.
No longer was there the horror and confusion from when he first arrived, nor the fear and despair when facing the stone men.
It was the intensely focused, icy calm of a researcher confronting a complex problem.
His brain was the software; Comet was the hardware.
What he needed to do now was secure sufficient “power sources” and “upgrade modules” for this top-tier hardware.
“Let’s go, Comet,” Victor said as he secured the hatchling onto his back once more.
His voice was quiet, but unshakeably firm.
“We’re going to raid a dragonlord’s lair.”