Amid the turmoil shaking King's Landing, the wildfire had at last arrived from Crown Town. Along with it came a raven bearing news from Maester Qyburn.
Three days ago, the year 295 After the Conquest had ended, and the calendar had slipped quietly into 296.
Standing atop a windswept ridge, Lo Quen gazed across the land, a faint melancholy stirring in his chest. After half a year of campaigning, only the lone city of Myr still stood defiantly by the bay—the final remnant of the Triarchy.
...
Below the walls of Myr, fierce winds howled over the scorched ground and grim encampments. The supply convoy from Crown Town unloaded crates of earthen jars glowing with a strange, green light.
"Your Grace, it seems those foxes from the Free Cities still lack the courage to fight in person..."
The Tattered Prince stepped beside Lo Quen, his tone laced with disdain as he looked out over the still waters. "Otherwise, their fleet would already be anchored in the harbor."
Lo Quen's calm gaze swept over the distant fields. He shook his head, his voice low.
"Never underestimate a merchant's cunning—or their resolve to spill blood by another's hand. They won't fill the trenches with their own blood, but they'll gladly use someone else's."
The Tattered Prince frowned. "Your Grace, are you saying..."
Lo Quen's lips curved into a cold smile. "Only a guess... but the answer will soon reveal itself."
He raised his hand and gestured forward. The pyromancers and siege soldiers, already standing by, moved at once. The heavy catapult winches creaked as the thick wooden arms were slowly pulled down. Soldiers carefully loaded the glowing jars into the slings.
On Myr's ramparts, the officers' faces turned deathly pale. They recognized those jars.
In fortress after fortress, it had been this hellish green fire that melted strong walls and devoured countless lives. Rumors of the easterners' wildfire had already spread through the city. They had tried to recreate it, but the siege had cut off their vital ore supply. Without the materials, even their pyromancers were helpless.
Now, despair settled over them like a shroud.
"Scatter! Quickly, get off the walls!"
The officer's scream broke with terror—but it was already too late.
"Whirr—THUMP!"
The catapults roared, tearing through the heavy air. Countless jars of death soared into the sky, arcing before smashing into Myr's scarred walls.
"Crash! Clatter—!"
The earthenware shattered on impact. Thick, foul-smelling green liquid splattered across the battlements, drenching terrified slave soldiers.
A heartbeat later, a flaming arrow streaked through the air, plunging into the spreading green slime.
BOOM!
The blast was deafening. A blinding emerald flame surged upward, alive and ravenous. It licked at stone and swallowed flesh alike.
The burning slaves barely had time to scream before they became writhing green torches, their skin crackling and blackening under the blazing light. Stone cracked and crumbled in the searing heat, bricks bursting and falling away in chunks.
In moments, the ramparts became a vision of hell—green fire roaring and churning, the air thick with heat, the stench of burning flesh, and the suffocating weight of despair.
The first wave of flames had barely subsided when the second wave of wildfire projectiles descended. They struck another section of the wall, some even crossing the ramparts and landing within the city.
More green pillars of fire shot skyward, mercilessly engulfing soldiers attempting to rush the breach or seek cover. Piercing screams, the sizzle of burning flesh, and the thunderous roar of collapsing walls echoed throughout Myr.
Tattered Prince gazed at the all-consuming green flames and addressed Lo Quen earnestly.
"Your Grace, once the wildfire subsides, my Windblown Company will lead the charge to level this city!"
Lo Quen gave a slight nod, yet his gaze remained fixed sharply upon the seemingly tranquil eastern plains. In the distance, something appeared to be charging toward them. His instincts had never failed him.
At that very moment—
Rumble... rumble...
A deep, resonant thunderous roar began to echo faintly from the distant horizon. At first faint, it rapidly intensified, like countless giant drums beating simultaneously across the heavens and earth.
The soldiers, who had been cheering excitedly during the wildfire assault, fell instantly silent. With a hint of unease and confusion, they gazed toward the gray-blue horizon in the east.
The sound drew nearer, growing ever louder. It was no longer mere thunder—it was the terrifying roar of countless hooves pounding the earth, interwoven with primal, feral snarls and roars. The sound coalesced into an invisible wave, rolling forward with a fury that threatened to shatter everything in its path.
Rumble—!!!
As if the earth itself had split open at its edge. A writhing, expanding black tide suddenly appeared on the eastern horizon. It was a terrifying flood of countless warhorses and riders.
Bare-chested beneath painted leather vests, they brandished blood-stained Arakh, charging forward on horseback. Tens of thousands of Dothraki warhorses!
They coalesced into an unstoppable torrent of steel, sweeping toward Lo Quen's flank and rear ranks with a savage momentum that threatened to obliterate everything in its path.
"Dothraki... Dothraki!"
A soldier shrieked, his voice warped by terror. The morale that had just soared on the wings of wildfire plummeted into an icy abyss.
Faced with this world-renowned horsemen tribe, famed for savagery and destruction, the overwhelming pressure made many new recruits' legs turn to jelly, their faces as pale as paper. Thirty thousand? Perhaps even more! This was a terrifying force that seemed almost impossible to defeat.
Tattered Prince's face twisted in horror as he snapped toward Lo Quen.
"Your Grace! This...!"
Even his elite Windblown Company couldn't withstand such a massive cavalry charge.
Yet Lo Quen showed no sign of panic. Instead, a cold, expected smile spread across his face.
"Behold, the 'reinforcements' from the Free Cities have arrived. They spare their own lives, yet spare no gold to buy the lives of the Dothraki to fill the breach. Jaelena! Chai Yiq! Sound the order! Form ranks! Long shields to the front, spears and halberds to the rear! Prepare to meet the enemy!"
Military orders are as immutable as mountains!
Well-trained soldiers suppressed their fear under the officers' roar and swiftly reorganized their formation.
At the very front, the towering, heavily armored Dragon Soul Guards stood like immovable rocks. They slammed their massive tower shields into the ground, their spiked edges sinking deep into the earth, forming a steel barrier.
In the second and third ranks, Dragon Soul Guards extended their ten-foot-long, razor-sharp Longspears through specially designed gaps in their shields. The cold, gleaming spearheads formed a dense forest of steel briars, flashing with the icy glint of death.
Behind them, the common soldiers took cover behind this iron wall, gripping their weapons tightly. Though their faces remained tense and their hands trembled, the formation had begun to stabilize.
Almost the instant the formation solidified, the Dothraki tide crashed upon them.