Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 151: The Smell of Fresh Graves
“Even setting family ties aside, the Lannisters tried to murder my crippled son in Winterfell.”
Eddard’s voice turned cold as iron.
Arya cried out immediately, shock flashing across her face.
“Bran?! What happened to him?!”
“He’s alive. His Direwolf tore the Assassin’s throat out. The Assassin used this dagger at the scene, Dragonbone hilt, Valyrian Steel Blade. There is only one like it in all Westeros. It belongs to Tyrion Lannister.”
“Dragonbone.”
“Valyrian Steel.”
Two names that had already lodged themselves deep in Lannor’s mind now came together upon a single dagger.
“May I see it?”
Eddard nodded.
Steel hissed from leather.
For the first time, Lannor finally laid eyes on the legendary metal itself.
The surface of the Blade rippled like dark water. The black veins within the steel looked less like metal than drifting smoke trapped beneath the surface.
Eddard offered the Knife Hilt first.
The moment Lannor took it, he realized Gendry had not exaggerated in the slightest.
The weapon was absurdly light.
Not merely balanced, light.
At minimum, it weighed half what ordinary metal should. It reminded him of the aluminum window frames from his old world, something impossibly insubstantial for its strength.
And when his hand closed around the Dragonbone hilt, the Roaring Bear Head Necklace resting against his chest remained perfectly still.
No vibration.
But when Lannor carefully guided a thread of mana into the Dragonbone itself, a strange sensation flooded through him.
Life.
Violent, overflowing life.
A force that seemed to swell endlessly upward, as though every living thing beneath the heavens were pushing toward growth at once.
A line from Blood Dragon Dance surfaced immediately in his memory:
“A Dragon never ceases growing throughout its life, until death claims it. The greatest known among them, the Black Dread Balerion, could swallow a mammoth whole.”
Based on Lannor’s own estimates, the creature’s wingspan had to exceed two hundred meters.
Far beyond the Dragons of the Magical World.
The sort of monster that could wander into a Godzilla tale and still look right at home.
And now, through this tiny fragment of bone, he could feel the inexhaustible vitality those Dragons once carried.
“A fine blade.”
Lannor handed the dagger back calmly, though inwardly his interest in both Dragonbone and Valyrian Steel had only deepened.
Then his tone shifted.
“But if Winterfell already sent you both the warning and the dagger, why would an Assassin use a weapon this unique in the first place? If Tyrion truly wanted your son dead, he may as well have sent the killer charging in while screaming his own name. At least then he could’ve saved himself a priceless dagger.”
Lannor lifted his eyes toward Eddard.
“Rather than suspecting Tyrion, perhaps you should explain who told you the dagger belonged to him.”
He paused.
“Let me guess. Another relative?”
Eddard’s jaw tightened.
“You needn’t mock me so much. The information came from a man who loved my wife in his youth. My wife trusts him.”
“With respect, my lord.” The young Witcher spread his hands lightly. “If every person vouched for by a relative were truly trustworthy, then trade, politics, even simple craftsmanship would become easier than dreams.”
Eddard opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
After a long silence, the stern-faced Lord finally exhaled heavily.
“I have no choice. In King’s Landing ... I have no one I can trust.”
Lannor merely nodded.
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