The figure moved quickly and deftly, emerging from the shadows and running down the hill into view.
"Rhaegar!" Rhaenyra called out, startled. She pulled Helaena with one hand and stopped Rhaegar with the other.
"Roar..."
Cannibal roared, its pupils fixed on the short figure, hot streams erupting from its mouth and nose. The smell it sensed came from this small intruder.
Rhaegar held up his torch, the light piercing the darkness to reveal the figure's face. It was a small, stocky old man dressed in coarse linen. Despite his age, he had dark, curly hair and a beard. A wreath of flowers and vines adorned his head.
"Don't be afraid, it's just an old man," Rhaegar said, stepping forward to reassure his frightened sisters.
The old man held a twisted walking stick made from a weirwood branch, his flesh trembling slightly as he ran toward them.
Rhaegar quickly drew his Dragon Claw sword and coldly demanded, "Who are you and why are you on the Isle of Faces?
Everyone knew that the Isle of Faces was supposed to be deserted.
The old man raised his walking stick above his head with both hands and replied honestly, "My name is Greenhand Gal. I am a Green Man, guardian of the Oath of Allegiance."
As he spoke, his green eyes darted back and forth between Rhaegar and his sisters, his large belly wobbling with each movement.
"A Green Man!" Rhaegar was stunned and lowered his sword slightly.
The Green Men were not a specific race, but a mysterious and ancient order. After the Children of the Forest and the First Men had sworn their oaths on the Isle of Faces, the sacred organization of the Green Men had been formed to guard that weird island. But the Green Men, like the Children of the Forest, had long since vanished from the history of the world.
Rhaegar remained cautious. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "What proof do you have?"
"The Green Man is the Green Man, there is no proof," Greenhand Gal replied bluntly. "I really am a Green Man, but that's all there is to it."
"You've been living on this island?" Rhaegar pressed, still skeptical.
"There's nothing to eat or drink on the island. I'd starve to death," Greenhand Gal said sincerely, with a broad smile. "I usually work as a witch doctor in a village near Harrenhal, exchanging my services for food."
The Green Men were human, after all. Like any human, they needed to eat, drink, and sleep, making it impossible to completely escape human society.
Rhaegar frowned, half believing what he heard. He turned back to Rhaenyra, who looked equally puzzled.
Rhaenyra's thoughts shifted and she asked, "What is your last name and how are you related to Greenhand Garth?"
Greenhand was a title given to a king of the First Men during the Heroic Era. This king was said to be broad and fat, with antlers, green hair and eyes.
He had magical powers that caused flowers and grass to grow wherever he went. With his blessing, virgins had their first menstruation, old women returned to menstruation, and pregnant women could give birth to two or three babies at once. There were many legends about him.
Garth the Greenhand sired many children. His eldest son, Garth Gardener, founded House Gardener and became the first King of the Reach.
House Gardener fell in the Conqueror's War, and the current Wardens of the South, House Tyrell of Highgarden, were chosen by Aegon the Conqueror because of their close intermarriage with the Gardeners and their shared bloodline with Garth the Greenhand.
Hearing Rhaenyra's question, Greenhand Gal scratched his head uncertainly. "I don't have a family name. I'm from the Reach. I heard the weirwood say I should become a Green Man, so I came to the Isle of Faces."
"As for my relationship with Garth the Greenhand..." He thought for a moment before smiling sheepishly. "I suppose I have a bit of his blood in me, enough to boast the nickname."
In fact, most of the nobles in the Reach had some blood of Garth the Greenhand.
With a question and an answer, the situation became clearer.
Rhaegar frowned. "Why do you want to keep me from touching the Weirwood?"
"The old gods guided me. They forbid your touch," said Greenhand Gal, trying to look as serious as possible. "The Isle of Faces is the last remaining piece of rich land in the south, dedicated to the Old Gods. The dragons will destroy it."
In utter disbelief, Rhaegar clarified, "I touch the Weirwoods and it destroys the Isle of Faces? What kind of logic is that?"
The Isle of Faces was just a deserted island with no people and no value except the Weirwoods. How could he destroy it? Unless...
Rhaegar's eyes flashed as he glanced at the last Weirwood, his thoughts racing. With that in mind, he walked a little closer to the Weirwood.
"Wait!"
Greenhand Gal shouted hastily, his forehead glistening with sweat. "Prince, I have a very bad premonition. Please stay away from here."
As Rhaegar approached the weirwood, he could almost hear a wailing sound coming from it. His heart pounded and his body grew hot with tension.
Ignoring Gal's plea, Rhaegar placed his palm on the rough bark of the tree. The appearance of a fat old man claiming to be a Green Man and trying to dissuade him with a few words seemed absurd.
Cannibal, eyes fixed on the weirwoods, appeared expectant. Rhaegar dismissed the myths of the Children of the Forest, the First Men, and the Green Men. These ancient beings had been relegated to legend, their power diminished long ago.
At their peak, they had been no match for the Dragonlords of the Freehold. As a descendant of the ancient Valyrian dragonriders, he had no fear of the so-called Old Gods.
As his palm touched the bark of the weirwood, the system echoed in his mind.
"This mission is open. The target is the Weirwood bearing the Oath of Allegiance."
[Weirwood of the Oath of Allegiance]
Exploration progress: 0.1%
There was no cataclysm, no celestial upheaval. No gods watched, and no demons cursed. Everything was calm and quiet. A smile touched Rhaegar's lips as he stroked the bark of the weirwood.
"Unexpectedly, I've activated an explorer mission," he thought, secretly pleased.
"Nothing happened?" Greenhand Gal stood frozen, stunned by the scene.
Rhaenyra stood, holding her torch and shaking it slightly.
"You want something to happen?" Rhaenyra replied, her tone slightly mocking.
He felt uneasy, but the weirwood seemed unharmed. Listening to their conversation, Rhaegar's mind raced with possibilities. The relics this time might affect the Isle of Faces.
"Rhaenyra, let's spend the night here," Rhaegar suggested, pulling a spare blanket from his space bracelet. He needed to stay close to the Weirwood to maintain the progress of his exploration.
Rhaenyra didn't object, though she eyed Greenhand Gal warily.
Sensing the change, Gal backed away, "My boat is at the shore. I'll leave now."
With the Weirwood unharmed, there was no reason for him to stay. Reluctantly, he took one last look at the Weirwood, then turned and disappeared into the night, carrying his walking stick.
"Roar..."
Cannibal's low growl echoed as the dragon lay protectively beside Rhaegar and his companions. Rhaegar lit a campfire for warmth as Rhaenyra and Helaena slept beside him under the stars.
...
The sun shone brightly the next morning, filtering through the red leaves of the weirwoods and illuminating Rhaegar's face.
"Roar..."
A distant dragon's roar and the sound of running water woke Rhaegar from his sleep. Groggy and disoriented, the first thing he saw was the eerie, bleeding face of a Weirwood, causing him to roll away in panic.
Regaining his composure, Rhaegar propped himself up on the damp ground, feeling both frustrated and helpless. He muttered angrily, "What taste did the Children of the Forest have to carve these faces?"
Calming his racing heart, he noticed the blanket wrapped around his waist. The campfire had burned out, and Rhaenyra and Helaena were nowhere to be seen, probably out exploring.
A system notification rang in his ears. "Exploration complete. Please retrieve the relic treasures."
Rhaegar's mood lifted. He checked the system interface.
[Weirwood of the Oath of Allegiance]
Exploration Progress: 100%
The once repulsive Weirwood seemed softer now. Rhaegar stood and circled the tree, finding a watermelon-sized reddish glow on its canopy.
"Found it," he murmured, reaching out to touch the glowing spot.
With a gentle touch, the red halo exploded into brilliant points of light and merged into his hand.
"Relic picked up successfully. Detection in progress..."
"Recognition successful. Judged as a Legendary Relic: Slash and Burn."
"Legendary level," Rhaegar thought elatedly. He saw a sickle and a piece of charcoal.
He tried to pull out the sickle and the charcoal.
"Relic not yet activated," the system informed him.
Rhaegar hesitated before examining the [Slash and Burn] relic alert.
"Slash or Burn?"
A simple prompt appeared. Rhaegar guessed it was a multiple-choice question. Without hesitation, he chose the Burn option, aligning with the Targaryen motto: Blood and Fire.
The bronze sickle shattered, disappearing from his mind. The charcoal ignited, glowing red-hot.
With a thought, Rhaegar tried to manifest the charcoal. It appeared, hovering before him.
Just as he reached out to grasp it, the charcoal exploded, scattering ash into the soil and merging with the land.
Suddenly, the entire Isle of Faces began to tremble as if struck by an earthquake.
"Gahhhhhh..."
The tremors sent black swans fleeing from the lake in terror.
Rhaegar struggled to maintain his balance as another system notification chimed.
"Congratulations, Slash and Burn has been activated. You have obtained..."
[Earthbreaking Fire]
Grade: Legendary (Red)
Function: Taps into the flames deep underground, subliminally transforming the land.
Evaluation: "A disposable fire, fleeting."
(Word count: 1,645)