"Where are the scouts?"
Robert the 'Golden Son' anxiously tapped his gilded helmet. They were already approaching the Free Cities of Ricca Lacron, yet they hadn't seen any Westerosi.
However, his army's supplies were already lagging. The Disputed Lands were accustomed to small-scale battles, and it had been a long time since a large-scale war involving tens of thousands of people. The warlords were used to fighting their competitors on their doorsteps, which led to a chaotic road system and disorganized supply lines throughout the Disputed Lands. The anti-Iron Throne alliance was also formed too hastily, and its three leaders didn't even have time to consider the issue of supplies.
As a result, the large army led by Robert could only forage for food on the spot, barely sustaining themselves with provisions from the warlord tyrants they encountered along the way and the armies that came to join them.
Robert had to eliminate the Iron Throne's army as quickly as possible.
"Where are our scouts?" the commander said through gritted teeth, sitting in a war elephant-drawn chariot.
"Commander, no one has returned," his deputy stammered, trembling. "None of the scouts have returned. Our men don't dare to stray too far from the main army, so we can't search for them."
"Useless!" Anger contorted Robert's face. "Where is the Iron Throne's army stationed? How can we proceed without knowing?"
Robert looked with some concern at the wagons being transported in the middle of the procession. The contents of these wagons were extraordinary; it was said that the arrows fired from these detachable large ballistas could pierce the scales of a dragon.
But no one knew how effective they truly were.
The patrons, who were unwilling to reveal their identities, provided thirty ballistas. But Robert never held out hope that he could shoot down a dragon.
He knew what kind of motley crew his subordinates were. Aside from his ten thousand mercenaries, who still had some fighting power, the remaining Dothraki, who could be considered combatants—a difficult-to-describe equestrian people who had ravaged many regions—Robert truly looked down on these light cavalry. He didn't believe these unarmored fellows could truly withstand armored infantry and crossbows.
And the troops assembled by those warlords—
Disgruntled second sons, farmers still wielding hoes and pitchforks, bastards, merchant's sons, desperadoes, criminals—
The quality of this army, assembled by hundreds of warlords, was truly touching.
For hundreds of years, the Free Cities, especially the Three Daughters and Volantis before their collapse, had engaged in open and covert struggles over this land. These countless warlords were a product of this era. They used money from the Free Cities to recruit soldiers and horses, acting as their enforcers, keeping this land in a state of division and turmoil.
Alas, everything had changed.
Not a single Free City wanted the Dragonlords to truly return to the East Continent.
Even Lys felt the same way.
Thus, the once mortal enemy warlords suddenly became comrades fighting side by side. They used money to upgrade their equipment, making this large army appear well-equipped and battle-hardened.
Robert could only continue along the roads left by the Rhoynar—severely damaged during the Valyrian-Rhoynar War and further ruined after the Doom. The army's direction was precisely the logging village built by the roadside.
Robert was completely in the dark about the Iron Throne's army, but with the help of the dragons, Daeron and his forces were perfectly aware of Robert's army's movements.
Robert's fifty-five thousand strong army was divided into three routes. At the center were the Golden Hammers and the ten thousand men of the Ninth Legion, which Robert had selected from the warlords' armies. The twenty thousand strong army formed four massive phalanxes, slowly advancing along the road.
The warlords' twenty thousand strong army was scattered across the mountains and plains behind the main force. Robert did not expect these undisciplined weak soldiers to achieve any results, nor could he afford the consequences of them potentially intervening with normal operations, so he could only use them as a rear guard and reserves.
Meanwhile, the fifteen thousand cavalry from the four Khalasars, divided into dozens of horse groups of varying sizes according to their respective tribes, rapidly advanced towards the Redwoods.
"Rhaegar, Ilion, you two are responsible for dealing with the Dothraki." Daeron rapidly issued commands. The young King had never been so nervous. His army was entirely cavalry, and thanks to the extensive sailing experience of the Silver Fleet and the Redwyne fleet, not a single one of the seven thousand warhorses they brought died, and five thousand armored cavalrymen were ready to mount and fight at any moment.
"You must prevent them from approaching our main force." Daeron looked at Dan and Jacaerys. "Uncle, we will charge the enemy's main force together."
Dan and Jacaerys nodded.
"Aemon, Uncle Joffrey, I trouble you to deal with those stragglers."
After arranging the dragon knights, Daeron abruptly put on his crown-shaped helmet and looked at the cavalrymen who had already mounted their horses, ready for battle.
Five thousand cavalrymen, like a vast ocean, their varied armors gleaming in the sunlight, even the spear tips, standing like a forest, shimmered with a cold light.
"Everyone, conserve your horses, don't advance too quickly." Daeron laughed as he raised Blackfyre. "Once our dragonflame tears through the enemy's formation, then you will charge. Remember, no prisoners, no heads, just win this battle, and all of you will gain land."
Daeron pointed to the flat plains in the distance: "Your enemy's land! Everyone, use your lances and swords to seize land. Honor, land, wealth, all are beneath your feet."
The young King grabbed the saddle strap hanging from Dreamfyre's dragon saddle, leaped up, and quickly climbed onto Dreamfyre's dragon saddle. He hastily drew a seven-pointed star on his chest: "By the Seven Above, and the Warrior's blessing, we shall be victorious."
He raised Blackfyre again: "Long Live Victory!"
"Long Live King Daeron!"
"Long Live Victory!"
"Kill them!"
Cheers echoed among the cavalrymen, one after another, like a tide.
This multicolored sea of steel moved. The knights advanced at a steady pace, conserving strength for the charge.
Dragons flew into the sky one after another. Each time a dragon flew over the cavalrymen's heads, it was met with countless cheers.
Robert's face was ashen as he watched the fleeing Dothraki cavalry. These damned savages hadn't even encountered the Iron Throne's main army.
But they had encountered dragons.
These ignorant barbarians even thought the dragons were the warhorses of gods. More than half of the Dothraki, upon seeing the dragons spew fire and incinerate an entire tribe attempting to charge, actually drew their knives and attacked their other half of companions. And some barbarians even knelt and worshipped those two 'Winged Steeds' of the gods until their companions' arakhs chopped off their heads.
Almost simultaneously with the dragons spewing dragonflame, the entire Dothraki army fell into infighting.
There were dead Dothraki and riderless warhorses everywhere. Fifteen thousand men were shattered by two dragons.
What made Robert's face even more ashen was that he, too, had seen the dragons.
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