"Where did this Tyrosh army come from?!"
"And where did this Myr army come from?!"
Cassimir roared with a trembling voice; he was practically going insane.
A crossbow bolt was lodged in his back, the arrowhead pinned into a gap in his ornate plate armor; every stumbling step brought a piercing, heart-wrenching pain.
If not for this expensive armor, he would have already lost his life in the ambush just now.
He had just come out of the Governors Mansion when he heard a panicked soldier report that fires had broken out in multiple places across the city, and rumors were spreading everywhere that the tyroshi and Myr were attacking.
Cassimir snorted in disdain.
This was clearly the work of rats who had slipped through the net!
Those remnants of Roegar and Hain who were being purged were trying to make a final struggle before they died!
The City Guard were truly useless, unable to handle even such a small matter, and even daring to disturb Lord Cassimir's pleasure!
He immediately gathered a squad of Governors Mansion guards, about fifty men, intending to personally resolve the trouble and give those petty thieves "what for."
The result—
They rushed toward the burning warehouse district, passed through a narrow alley, and had just turned a corner.
A large group of fierce soldiers clad in plate armor, like a tide of steel surging from the darkness, collided with them head-on!
Cassimir was stunned on the spot.
Could it be... had Tyrosh and Myr really broken in? How did they break through the defensive line?! Where was the fleet at sea?! Where were the Mercenary groups?!
In his panic, he only had time to scream for his guards to hold the line while he turned and fled.
Behind him came the loud clang of metal, shrill screams, and... a heavy slash slammed hard against his backplate!
"Bang!"
The massive impact sent him sprawling forward; a sweet taste filled his throat, and he nearly spat out blood.
If not for this thick plate armor, that strike would have definitely cleaved him in two!
He scrambled away on all fours, fleeing desperately under the support and protection of a few loyal lackeys.
Fortunately, those plate-clad soldiers seemed to have a clearer objective.
They only held firmly to the main street leading to the harbor and did not pursue far, merely firing a few arrows at them.
Supported by his men, Cassimir ducked into an abandoned warehouse, panting, the sharp pain in his back burning like fire, reminding him how close he had just come to death.
But soon, he realized something.
No.
If it were the armies of Tyrosh or Myr, how could there be so few people? Why would they only occupy one street?
He had been fooled!
Humiliation and anger instantly overrode his fear; Cassimir's face turned the color of pig liver, and a venomous light erupted in his eyes.
He suddenly pulled a pitch-black short whip with a ruby-encrusted handle from his robes and shoved it into the hands of a startled lackey beside him.
"Go! Take this and go to the Perfume Garden! Bring all the Unsullied here!"
His voice was hoarse, carrying a hysterical ferocity.
"I don't care which gutter those bastards crawled out of."
"I'm going to grind them into meat paste, inch by inch!"
...On the main street leading to the harbor district, the battle was in full swing—or rather, it had fallen into a brutal war of attrition.
Nearly two hundred Skull Squad soldiers, clad in their newly acquired plate armor, formed a line of steel, stubbornly holding this vital thoroughfare.
Facing them were five hundred Unsullied, silent as iron and arranged in a tight phalanx.
The Unsullied held spears and large shields, their steps in perfect unison like a moving wall of steel as they advanced silently.
Their spears could always find the gaps in shields or armor joints with precise, lethal thrusts.
Meanwhile, the desperate slashes of the Skull Squad outlaws often only left deep gouges on the enemy's large shields or were forced back by several spears thrusting simultaneously.
The battle quickly turned into a meat grinder.
Relying on their plate armor protection and a reckless ferocity, the Skull Squad held firm against the spear thrusts, using battleaxes and heavy swords to smash at the Unsullied's shield wall; from time to time, an Unsullied was knocked over or pierced, but the gap was instantly filled by the rear rank.
These eunuch soldiers seemed to have no sense of pain or fear; they were nothing but killing machines that followed orders with absolute obedience.
A Skull Squad soldier roared as he cut down the Unsullied in front of him, only to have his thigh pierced by a spear thrust from the side; he fell to the ground screaming and was immediately pinned to death by several more spears.
Another Skull Squad leader, his eyes bloodshot, used his shield to knock aside a spear tip and swung his blade to sever the opponent's wrist, but another spear took the opportunity to pierce the gap in his armpit armor, causing him to grunt and retreat.
Casualties were mounting.
After all, the Skull Squad had only been formed recently; the desperate spirit they had gathered through bounties and Aegon's might began to show signs of fatigue in the face of a cold and efficient killing machine like the Unsullied.
The disadvantage in numbers and the gap in tactical discipline were being rapidly magnified by the cold numbers of the dead.
"Hold! Everyone hold your ground!" a scarred Skull Squad leader roared at the top of his lungs; a broken spear was lodged in his shoulder, and blood stained half of his armguards.
"Think of His Highness! The Dragon King will be here soon! Slay these ball-less eunuchs, and the bounty will be doubled!"
Upon hearing the Dragon King mentioned, the eyes of some flickering Skull Squad soldiers seemed to be injected with a stimulant; they roared and regained their courage, swinging their blades fiercely.
Their faith in and fear of Aegon and that pale-gold dragon became a vital pillar supporting them at this moment.
At a street corner not far away, Cassimir watched the battle from a distance, surrounded by several lackeys and a small number of guards.
Seeing his Unsullied advancing steadily and pushing those armored thugs back step by step, leaving the ground covered in corpses, his usual contemptuous and cruel smile returned to his face.
"Yes, just like that, crush them!" He spoke imperiously to the Unsullied Commander standing beside him like a statue, his tone like he was driving a pack of hounds.
"Make these tin-can bastards die faster! I'm in a hurry to get back to the banquet!"
The Unsullied Commander wore a spiked helmet, his face hidden in the shadows; he gave no response, only slightly raising the short spear in his hand that represented his command.
The offensive of the Unsullied phalanx ahead suddenly intensified; they completely abandoned defense, crushing forward with denser spear thrusts, regardless of casualties!
The pressure on the Skull Squad's defensive line doubled instantly, and it began to show signs of collapse.
The smile on Cassimir's face became increasingly triumphant.
Just then—
"BOOM—!!!"
A bolt of golden lightning, as thick as a bucket and brilliant to the extreme, carrying an aura of destruction, tore through the dawn sky without warning and swept across the front rank of the Unsullied phalanx with unerring precision!
There was no explosion, only annihilation.
Wherever the golden light passed, sturdy shields, fine spears, the silent bodies of the Unsullied, and even the stone pavement beneath their feet were instantly vaporized, carbonized, and vanished!
It left behind a scorched trench several feet wide, its edges shimmering with a dark red molten glow, and a pungent burnt smell suddenly filled the air.
At least thirty Unsullied were wiped out in that single strike.
The advancing tide of steel ground to a halt.
The triumphant smile on Cassimir's face froze completely; his pupils shrank sharply, and his mouth opened unconsciously.
He slowly and stiffly raised his head.
Then, he saw it.
A shadow descended.
A massive, pale-gold, terrifying silhouette that obscured the stars, moon, and firelight, like an apocalyptic beast stepping out of myth.
Tearing through the clouds, it plummeted toward his position with suffocating pressure and a violent gale!
"No... no..."
Cassimir only had time to let out a half-broken groan filled with ultimate terror.
The next moment.
"BOOM—!!!!!!"
The earth shook and the mountains swayed!
Ghidorah's massive body crashed down in the middle of the street, landing exactly on top of Cassimir and the few terrified guards beside him.
Dust mixed with rubble and remnants of flesh and blood swept outward in a wave like an explosion.
When the dust cleared slightly, the Unsullied and Skull Squad soldiers who were lucky enough not to be directly affected saw a scene they would never forget.
The pale-gold dragon stood in the center of the street; beneath one of its hind claws was a radial burst of dark red, viscous meat paste mixed with shattered ornate armor, bone, and viscera.
Only half of a twisted arm wearing a gemstone ring dangled limply from the edge of the dragon's claw, appearing to still twitch slightly.
Cassimir Antalion, son of the Magister of Lys, the noble young master who had just been imperious and insufferably arrogant.
Without even being able to let out a scream, he had been crushed into meat paste by the dragon's claw descending from the sky, as simply and directly as stepping on a bedbug.
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