Game of Dragonborn.

Chapter 163 - Dealing with the Mountain Clans of the North 04.

[Chapter Size: 2200 Words.]

Third Person POV.

North.

...

...

All the shouts of excitement had been replaced by eyes of horror at that moment, while everyone stood in silence, watching young Roderick rolling on the ground, screaming and trying to hold his arm, but unable to do so, clearly indicating that his arm was broken.

Among all those who were there, looking between the boy screaming in pain on the ground and Daemon starting to walk again in their direction, they didn't know whether they should shut the gate immediately and abandon their companion or try to face the man who had used only his fist to strike one of their warriors, injuring him in such a way.

Daemon, tired of the boy's screams, then launched another telekinetic blow to press his head against the snow, making it hit the ground. The impact was strong, and the young man lost consciousness in an instant, falling unconscious. Soon after, his body began to rise into the air, suspended as if it were by invisible strings, while everyone watched in terror, unable to comprehend how such a thing was possible. Daemon, for his part, calmly approached the gate.

No one had the courage to shoot at him from the towers, and all watched in silence as he entered the place.

"So... This is how the tribe usually welcomes outsiders, it seems like a strange reception." Daemon's voice broke the silence, full of irony and a touch of amusement, while the men swallowed hard.

"Sir... you... I mean, sir, how are you doing this?" Someone stammered, seeing Roderick's body still suspended in the air.

"Just a trick I learned." Daemon said as if it were nothing, while the men remained stunned, without the courage to act or even know how. "But I am not here to show off my skills or explain them." He then turned his gaze to the one standing in front, who seemed to be one of the leaders.

"Who are you?" Daemon asked, his voice firm.

Harlon hesitated, not knowing what to answer. "You... Daemon Targaryen?" He murmured, more as a statement than a question.

"I asked first. Who are you?"

The man blinked a few times, realizing his mistake. "I am Harlon, son of Baroque, one of the candidates for leadership of the tribe. Just like the boy you are making float with magic... I think." He said cautiously.

Daemon tilted his head slightly in understanding. "I see... I see. Well, it seems this young one wanted to avenge his father, but unfortunately he is not someone capable of dealing with me. Either way, I remember well his father's group that was in the North. We were outnumbered when they attacked us. If you believe it was my dragon who burned them, know that it is a lie. My dragon is an ice dragon — she only spits white flames that freeze anything. If it had been him, you would have found frozen corpses like popsicles and cracked, or perhaps shattered like glass with all their bodies scattered across the place." Daemon spoke calmly, but his purple eyes glowed with a dangerous tone.

"If you really want someone to blame for the death of those men, well... he is right here in front of you. I may be human, but I also speak the language of dragons. I can unleash flames like they do, using words in their tongue."

The last words made the men tremble even more.

After all, there was no way he could lie about something like that, and it didn't help that the glimmer in Daemon's eyes seemed to spark like a dangerous light, leaving everyone unable to breathe in the face of the scene. It was something far too mystical, much more than they were used to dealing with.