Chapter 8 - 8

Gavin secretly sent the news to Jon Arryn that Robert Baratheon's three children, including his heir, were actually illegitimate, born from incest between Queen Cersei Lannister and her twin brother Jaime Lannister.

He also informed Queen Cersei and Littlefinger Petyr Baelish that Jon Arryn had learned about this matter. Gavin believed that Cersei would try to eliminate Jon Arryn, the insider, to protect herself, and Littlefinger, who had long sought to create chaos, would certainly add fuel to the fire.

King's Landing - Maegor's Tower

Cersei's face was dark, a mix of anger and fear in her eyes. She gripped the letter tightly, her hand trembling slightly, while her other hand clutched Jaime's arm.

"Jaime!" Her voice was sharp and urgent. "How could our secret be discovered? This damn letter says that not only does someone know about what happened between us, but Jon Arryn already knows! You must kill that old fool as soon as possible, or it will be too late."

Jaime frowned, looking troubled. "The guards of the Lord Hand's Tower were brought by Jon from the Vale, making it difficult for me to find an opportunity. Besides, what should I do after killing Jon Arryn?"

"What do you mean?" Cersei glared at him. "Are you going to let our affairs be exposed? If Robert finds out, our children—Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella—they will all die! Do you understand?"

She paced angrily. "I hate being a woman! I should be taking a sword to solve this problem instead of worrying here!"

Jaime took a deep breath, trying to calm her. "Cersei, calm down. I'll find a way to send you and Joffrey back to Casterly Rock."

"Calm down? How can you tell me to calm down!" Cersei stopped and stared at Jaime fiercely. "Jon Arryn is already investigating. Time is running out! We must find a way to get rid of him as soon as possible, or everything will be over! Even if you send me and the child back to Casterly Rock., Robert will not let us go, and Casterly Rock. cannot stop the Iron Throne."

"I know, dear sister." Jaime's expression turned serious. "But this matter can't be rushed. Once discovered, the consequences will be disastrous. We must act cautiously and find the most appropriate time."

Cersei bit her lip, remained silent for a moment, and then slowly said, "Okay, find a way as soon as possible. Remember, we have no way out, for the children and for ourselves..."

Jaime left Maegor's Tower, looking flustered, with beads of sweat on his forehead and erratic eyes. His steps were hurried, driven by invisible fear, and every step seemed heavy and fraught with anxiety. His hands clenched unconsciously, veins standing out on his fair skin.

Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Petyr. Petyr maintained his characteristic humble smile and bowed slightly. "Good day, Ser Jaime."

At this moment, Jaime had no intention of engaging. He lowered his head and said hurriedly, "Sir Petyr, I have urgent business, so I can't chat with you." Without waiting for Petyr's response, he hurried away, leaving only the sound of his hurried footsteps.

Petyr watched Jaime's retreating figure, his eyes following him up the stairs from which Jaime had come. His gaze was deep and inscrutable, the smile on his lips fading into a thoughtful expression. His thoughts remained hidden, and a complex conspiracy seemed to lurk behind his eyes.

After a moment's hesitation, he took a deep breath, straightened his clothes, and ascended the stairs of Maegor's Tower with careful steps.

Meanwhile, in the Lord Hand's Tower, Jon Arryn held the letter, his hands trembling slightly. The letter rustled faintly in his grasp. He frowned, staring at the words. His heart was tumultuous, unable to calm down.

His eyes were filled with disbelief, yet the evidence in the letter was so compelling that he was forced to confront this harsh reality. He paced back and forth, each step heavy and uncertain.

His face was marked by embarrassment and inner turmoil, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. He grappled with the dilemma: "Is this... true or false? Should I tell Robert now? If I hide this, how can I live with myself? But if I tell Robert, he'll be furious, and no one can control his rage. The Seven Kingdoms will be thrown into chaos, the Iron Throne and the West will be at war, and the kingdom will be engulfed in endless strife. What should I do?"

Jon Arryn was engulfed in worry. He did not know who had sent the news, but that person must have a larger agenda. Once he made a decision, he would likely fall into a greater trap.

He stopped, sighed deeply, and placed his hands on the edge of the table, lowering his head. The wind outside howled, rustling the curtains, but it could not dispel the gloom in his heart.

At this moment, a servant pushed open the door, bowed to Jon Arryn, and said respectfully, "Lord Hand, His Majesty has called a royal meeting and hopes you can attend now."

Jon Arryn was momentarily stunned. When he regained his composure, the worry on his face remained. He took a deep breath, attempted to calm himself, and said in a steady voice, "I understand. I'll go right away."

He quickly placed the letter in a drawer, adjusted his clothes, a trace of fatigue flashing in his eyes, and followed the servant to the royal meeting.

Since the news of Gavin Belaerys' impending marriage to Princess Daenerys reached King's Landing half a month ago, Robert had been enraged and vowed to attack the Stepstones and eliminate Gavin Belaerys, whom he saw as a traitor and remnant of the Targaryen family.

Robert's fury had been somewhat restrained due to ongoing persuasion, but it was evident that his anger overshadowed his reason.

In recent days, Robert, who rarely attended royal meetings, had taken to calling them himself, eager to launch a war against the Stepstones. He even summoned his brother Stannis to King's Landing for this purpose.

At each meeting, Robert's face flushed with rage, his voice booming as he waved his arms, as if he wanted to kill Gavin Belaerys immediately.

The ministers stood silently by, none daring to speak, fearing Robert's wrath. Only Jon Arryn, the experienced Lord Hand, continued to struggle to calm Robert.

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Jon Arryn walked towards the Lord Hand's Tower with steady steps. The sunlight illuminated him, but could not dispel the gravity of his expression, which was as heavy as a thick cloud.

Just as he was about to ascend the steps to the Lord Hand's Tower, he abruptly halted. His eyes grew deep, as if struck by a significant realization, and he turned decisively, hurrying towards the residence of Grand Maester Pycelle.

Jon Arryn entered Pycelle's quarters, which were filled with the distinct aroma of old books and herbs. Pycelle was seated at a table cluttered with scrolls and books, deeply engrossed in his study. Hearing the footsteps, he slowly looked up, his face growing more wrinkled with anxiety, and a trace of panic appeared in his eyes.

"Grand Maester Pycelle," Jon Arryn's voice was low and resonant, echoing in the small room.

Pycelle stood up with some difficulty, his slightly stooped frame swaying slightly due to age, and replied, "Lord Hand, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Jon Arryn fixed him with a sharp gaze and stated directly, "I need detailed records about the children of nobles. Do you have any such records here?"

Pycelle paused for a moment and asked cautiously, "My Lord... what specific details are you seeking? Are you interested in marriage histories or family inheritances?"

Jon Arryn frowned and responded, "I need both. Are there many records like this? It is fine if they mostly cover the great nobles."

A flicker of thought crossed Pycelle's cloudy eyes. He trembled and rummaged through the bookshelves for some time before finally retrieving a large book that was so heavy it almost bent his arm from a pile of nearly buried volumes.

"Sir, I hope this book, *Genealogy and History of the Major Nobles of the Seven Kingdoms*, meets your needs," Pycelle said as he handed over the book with great care, as if it were an extremely valuable and fragile treasure.

Jon Arryn took the book and skimmed through a few pages. His expression grew increasingly grim, and he said, "Excuse me, Maester Pycelle. I would like to borrow this book for a few days."

Pycelle nodded quickly, beads of sweat rolling down his wrinkled forehead, "Of course, sir, you may borrow it as long as you need. If you have any further questions, do not hesitate to ask."

Jon Arryn nodded, then opened the door and left.

The Prime Minister's Tower was silent at night. Jon Arryn sat at a large table, the faint candlelight flickering in the darkness, casting shadows on his solemn face.

Outside, the night was pitch black, thick enough to swallow everything. No starlight pierced the heavy night, only a dim moon, partially obscured by clouds, cast a faint glow.

The room was so quiet that the slight "crackling" of the burning candle and the occasional rustle of Jon Arryn turning pages were clearly audible. The heavy and tedious *Genealogy and History of the Major Nobles of the Seven Kingdoms* lay open before him, its yellowed pages and faded handwriting seeming to recount the passage of time.

Jon Arryn read intently, his eyes moving carefully between the lines, searching for the answers within the complex records.

After a while, he finished the book, closed it slowly, and sighed deeply.

Reflecting on what he had just read, Jon Arryn muttered, "Seed is strong."

The hair of every illegitimate Baratheon child recorded in the book was as black as night.

Over ninety years ago, in the last union between the stag and the lion, Tia Lannister married Gwen Baratheon, the third child of his family. Their only child was a premature baby boy described in Melion's book as "large, a good eater, and covered with black hair."

Thirty years earlier, a member of the Lannister family married a girl from the Baratheon family. She bore him three daughters and a son, all with black hair.

No matter how far he traced back through the thin, yellowed pages, gold would always give way to black.

He stood up, stretched his stiff body, walked slowly to the window, and gazed outside. The night remained deep, shrouded in an endless mystery.

Jon Arryn's eyes wandered in the darkness, his thoughts in turmoil. Initially, he had been hopeful, but now the evidence was undeniable.

His hands unconsciously gripped the windowsill, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. The breeze brushed his face but could not calm the turmoil within him.

As Jon Arryn was lost in thought, his wife, Lysa Arryn, née Tully, gently opened the door.

She carried a jug of wine, her face marked with concern and a hint of barely concealed panic in her eyes.

"Jon, it's so late. Why don't you rest? Don't tire yourself out," Lysa said softly, her voice filled with tenderness and worry. Her hand holding the jug seemed to tremble slightly.

Jon Arryn turned and looked at his wife with a touch of kindness, smiling as he said, "It's nothing important, just some government affairs. I'll go to bed soon."

Lysa Tully approached and poured a glass of wine for Jon Arryn, the wine glowing a strange red under the candlelight.

She urged him, "If there are any problems, let the Royal Council handle them. You must take care of your health."

Jon Arryn looked at Lysa, feeling reassured. He took the wine glass and drank it all.

"Don't worry, my lady, I am aware of my health." He then gently patted Lysa's hand.

He added, "Lyssa, I have a thought. Robert is growing up. I believe it would be better for his future if he were sent to Stannis for raising."

Lysa Tully was reluctant but masked it, replying, "My dear, the child is still young and in poor health. Perhaps... we should wait until he is a bit older."

Jon Arryn frowned, thought for a moment, and said, "Stannis could indeed provide Robert with better education and training. I understand your hesitation, but this is vital for Robert's future."

Lysa Tully's eyes showed eagerness. She grasped Jon Arryn's arm tightly, saying, "I truly can't bear to let him go at such a young age. Please give me a little more time, dear."

Jon Arryn looked at his wife, feeling a bit torn but eventually nodded, "Alright, we will wait until he is a bit older."

The two then smiled at each other and left the room together. However, Jon Arryn did not notice that, after he turned away, a fierce and resolute look flashed across Lysa's face.

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Early the next morning, Jon Arryn woke up with such intense discomfort that it felt nearly suffocating. His head was dizzy, as if an invisible giant mountain was pressing down on him, and his entire body felt as if it had been struck by a heavy hammer. Every muscle was so sore that he had no strength.

Despite this, he gritted his teeth, knowing there were urgent matters to address, particularly the envoys to the Stepstones who still needed to be arranged. He forced his weak body to stand up.

He staggered out of his room, but just a few steps away, a wave of dizziness hit him like a raging tsunami. The world around him became blurry and spun, and his legs gave way. He collapsed helplessly onto the cold ground.

A nearby servant, panic evident on his face, rushed to help him and asked tremblingly, "Sir, are you okay?"

Jon Arryn's face was as pale as paper, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He waved his hand weakly and said in a strained voice, "It's fine, I just feel a bit unwell. It's probably because I didn't rest well last night."

With the servant's careful assistance, he slowly made his way back to his room, resembling a candle flickering in the wind. Lysa Tully, alerted by the commotion, hurried over with a face full of concern and anxiety, her eyes reflecting deep worry.

She quickly approached, grasped Jon Arryn's hand tightly, and asked softly but with a noticeable tremor, "My dear, what's wrong?"

Jon Arryn's eyes were unfocused as he replied weakly, "I'm not sure. When I woke up today, the world felt like it was spinning, and I felt utterly weak."

Upon hearing this, Lysa Tully turned to the servant with urgency, "What are you waiting for? Go and summon Grand Maester Pycelle immediately!"

The servant, visibly frightened, responded quickly, "Yes, madam, I'll go right away." He then rushed out as if propelled by a gust of wind.

Lysa Tully hurriedly ordered someone to bring warm water and gently wiped Jon Arryn's forehead herself. Her careful manner suggested she was tending to a precious treasure, though a glint of excitement and pleasure was barely perceptible in her eyes.

In Maegor's Tower, Cersei was fuming, her face flushed and eyes blazing with anger. She demanded furiously of Petyr Baelish, "Why isn't that old man dead yet? If he isn't dead, don't even think about getting any benefit from the Lannister family!"

Petyr, maintaining his calm demeanor, responded, "Your Majesty, please calm down. Direct methods like stabbing or poisoning are too risky. If exposed, we'd face serious consequences. However, his life and death are now in your hands. If he is ill, he will need medicine, which we can administer discreetly. Let him return to the West without suspicion."

Cersei's expression softened slightly, and the tight corners of her mouth relaxed as a proud look emerged. She walked slowly to the window, and Petyr's voice followed, "Queen, you need not worry; everything is under your control."

Cersei paused, turned slowly, and stared at Petyr with piercing eyes, saying coldly, "Do you think it's appropriate for Jon Arryn to lie around and die for a few more days?"

Petyr bowed respectfully and said, "It depends on your will, Queen. He will go to the Seven Gods whenever you decide."

Petyr then stood with his head bowed, like a submissive servant, awaiting further instructions. Cersei narrowed her eyes and pondered deeply.

Over the next few days, Jon Arryn's condition deteriorated rapidly. He lay in bed, his complexion as sallow as the earth and as withered as fallen leaves. The once-majestic presence and power were gone, leaving only frailty.

He would briefly awaken, screaming for someone to find Robert.

Lysa Tully would reply indifferently, "Your Majesty is hunting in the Kingswood. We've sent people after him, but we don't know when he'll return."

Every moment of waiting seemed interminable and torturous. Jon Arryn's condition worsened like a flood, and his breath grew weaker, like a candle flickering in the wind.

Finally, on a gloomy and dreary day, Jon Arryn's life came to an end. With his last bit of strength, he hoarsely cried out, "Strong caste!" before closing his eyes, plunging the room into a deathly silence.

Lysa Tully stood beside the bed, her face showing no sadness but a hint of elusive and chilling pleasure.

Dragon Flame Bay

In the spacious dragon cave, a tense atmosphere prevailed in the dim light. Three young dragons fought fiercely over a piece of fresh meat.

They opened their small mouths, exposing sharp teeth, and roared threateningly at one another. The sound was shrill and harsh. They flapped their underdeveloped wings, and their small tails whipped the ground, stirring up dust.

As they battled, Viserion, who was twice their size, burst in like lightning.

It charged forward, its strong body knocking the three young dragons aside, then grabbed the piece of meat. It spewed hot flames from its mouth, searing the meat, causing it to sizzle and partially cook.

Viserion began to chew with satisfaction, emitting contented rumbles. Its chewing was powerful and swift.

The three young dragons, unwilling to have their food taken, roared angrily at Viserion. Their small bodies trembled with fury, and they opened their mouths, baring sharp teeth, making threatening hissing sounds as if protesting Viserion's dominance.

At that moment, a deafening roar echoed from outside the cave. The sound, full of majesty and power, made the entire dragon cave tremble.

Then, a massive golden dragon flew in. Its enormous form radiated a chilling aura, and its golden scales gleamed brightly in the dim light.

The four young dragons, who had been fighting, instantly fell silent. They ceased their bickering, their anger and defiance replaced by deep fear. They quickly curled up, trembling, and sought refuge in a corner, not daring to move or make a sound.

Seeing the four young dragons huddled in the corner, Gavin knew they had fought over food again. He smiled and scolded them in High Valyrian, "Can you be a bit more civil?"

The young dragons roared in response, clearly indifferent to the scolding. Blazing Shadow, sensing Gavin's intention, approached the dragons with a slow, deliberate stride. As it moved, it let out low roars that rumbled like distant thunder. The sight of Zaldrīzharys''s imposing presence made the young dragons immediately more obedient. They ceased their squabbling and fell silent. Gavin smiled, patted Zaldrīzharys''s neck, and dismounted.

At that moment, Daenerys entered the dragon cave with a letter to greet Gavin. She quickly understood what had happened and smiled with a hint of resignation.

Recently, Gavin and Daenerys had used the blood of the Unburned to successfully hatch three new dragons. With the addition of these dragons, Gavin's panel had shown some significant updates.

Host: Gavin belaerys

Age: 18

Bloodline:

Bloodfire Dragonborn (developed 65%): Bloodline of the Dragon Lord, with the ability to control dragons and flames, and resistance to fire.

Rule:

60/63 (Your subordinates can be upgraded through the panel)

40 primary blood dragon guards (blood puppets made with dragon blood, can be advanced twice)

8 senior blood dragon guards (cannot be advanced anymore)

1 adult advanced magic dragon (magic creatures composed of blood and fire, cannot be advanced)

3 baby dragons (magic creatures composed of blood and fire, cannot be advanced in infancy)

8 dragon eggs (unhatched baby dragons, can be hatched)

Skills:

Flame control: Legendary

Swordsmanship: Legendary

Flame blade: Legendary

Bow and arrow: Master

Lance: Mastery

Energy points: 12 (obtained by automatically absorbing floating magic power or actively absorbing it)

Gavin also confirmed that he could control multiple dragons through the panel, breaking the usual rule of one dragon rider per dragon. This was similar to Daenerys's ability in the story, which made him eager to acquire more dragon eggs.

The two gray-white dragons were named "Ōrbarael the Cloud Fire" and "Ōrbarsādor the Mist Shadow," and the brown dragon was called "Kalishaera the Sting Horn."

Cloud Fire and Mist Shadow had a similar appearance, with scales of light gray and white that resembled morning frost, giving them a mysterious and hazy look. Cloud Fire's eyes were clear blue gems, while Mist Shadow's were deep and lake-like, unpredictable. Though their wings were not yet fully developed, their future strength was evident.

Sting Horn differed significantly. Its brown scales resembled ancient bark, rugged and tough. It had a distinctive pair of sharp chamfers on its head, which gleamed with a cold light. Its eyes showed a blend of stubbornness and wildness, making it the most fierce of the three.

Despite being born at the same time, these three dragons often fought endlessly over their food.

When given three pieces of meat, they would fight over just one. Viserion would frequently join the fray, rushing in to claim the meat for himself, which only intensified the chaos. The dragon cave often resonated with the sounds of roars and flapping wings.

Daenerys frowned slightly and asked seriously, "Gavin, how is the situation in King's Landing?"

Gavin remained calm and replied, "Jon Arryn has been poisoned by the Lannisters and Littlefinger. Robert Baratheon is still hunting, leaving King's Landing in chaos. I've sent word to Stannis, who now suspects Lannister intentions and has retreated to Dragonstone, refusing to go to King's Landing. Without the royal fleet, the Iron Throne is no immediate threat."

Daenerys sighed with relief and asked, "What will you do next? Wait for the messenger from Volantis to return?"

Gavin's determination was clear. "I'll soon replace all the warships' crossbows, so we are well-prepared. I don't plan to wait for the messenger from Volantis. This is a rare opportunity. We can directly attack Lys."

Daenerys nodded slightly, then handed Gavin the letter she was holding. With a faint smile, she said, "Margaery Tyrell, daughter of the Duke of Highgarden, has invited you to her sixteenth naming day."

Gavin looked at Daenerys and replied gently, "Don't worry. With the war imminent, I can't afford to attend any naming day. I'll send a reply later."

Daenerys's eyes showed a hint of hesitation. "Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. As a Dragon Lord, if you want to go, it's still possible to ride a dragon."

Gavin smiled awkwardly. "It's not necessary. The matters with Lys are more pressing. I won't be able to attend."

Daenerys sighed softly. "By the way, Maester Qyburn came to see you. He might have important news."

Gavin smiled and said, "I'll head there now. Keep an eye on these little ones and make sure they don't fight again."

Daenerys agreed, "I will, but they can't fight with Zaldrīzharys here."

After saying goodbye to Daenerys, Gavin walked toward the tunnel leading to the manor. Soon, he arrived at a dark, damp secret room. Sunlight filtered through a narrow window, casting dust motes into the air. The room's walls were lined with strange instruments and maps, while jars of odd-smelling substances were stacked in the corners.

Qyburn looked serious as he carefully unscrewed an old lid. A sharp, pungent odor wafted out, revealing a green, viscous liquid that shimmered oddly in the sunlight.

Qyburn turned to Gavin and said in a low voice, "My lord, this is wildfire."

Gavin's curiosity and vigilance were evident as he studied the liquid.

Qyburn took a deep breath and continued, "This wildfire is extremely dangerous. It ignites easily even at high temperatures, and its flames are nearly impossible to extinguish." He spoke with a trace of awe in his eyes.

Gavin thought for a moment before saying, "Take a can and find an open area. Let's test it."

Qyburn looked concerned. "Sir, wildfire's flames are unlike ordinary ones. Are you sure you can control it?"

Gavin responded confidently, "Don't worry. Even if it's uncontrollable, it won't harm me."

With that, they made their way to the beach with a can of wildfire.

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At the seaside, the sea breeze howled, and the waves crashed against the rocks.

Gavin found an empty beach, placed the wildfire jar on the ground, unscrewed the lid, and the two quickly moved away.

Qyburn watched nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Gavin took a deep breath and prepared to light the wildfire.

He raised his hand, and a ball of blazing flame shot out quickly, like an arrow from a bow, speeding toward the wildfire jar in the distance. In an instant, the wildfire jar was ignited, and with a loud "boom," the jar exploded. Green flames erupted like a demon and spread rapidly, covering an area of more than ten square meters.

The flames burned fiercely with a crackling sound, as if they were going to devour everything around them. Gavin began to control the flames with a focused and sharp expression. The flames, guided by his will, became more intense and violent, their reach expanding with increased ferocity.

Seeing the impressive effect, Gavin laughed, his smile full of pride and excitement. He turned to Qyburn, who was still stunned, and asked, "How many cans of wildfire do we have now?"

Qyburn, finally recovering from the shock, stammered, "Sir, there are probably hundreds of cans left."

Gavin immediately said, "Order more wildfire. The more, the better."

Qyburn responded quickly, "Understood, sir, but transporting wildfire is dangerous. The alchemists must be cautious, and we should transport it in smaller quantities each time."

Gavin nodded solemnly, "Send more ships and ensure safety during transport."

Gavin then looked at the still-burning wildfire, his eyes filled with anticipation, as if he could already see the enemy defeated by this powerful wildfire.

Lys is one of the nine free trade city-states, located on the southern coast of Essos, southeast of Tyrosi and west of Volantis.

It spans three islands and part of the Essos coastal area. It has a cool climate, abundant sunshine, fertile land, numerous palm trees, fruit trees, and a turquoise ocean with active fish life.

Lys is a city built on a rock on the island of Lys and is ruled by a council of governors elected from among the wealthiest men in the city.

Governor Byron Heywood was born into poverty and would do anything for wealth. He was ruthless, initially colluding with pirates to gain population and accumulate capital. In the slave trade, he used cruel methods to suppress his opponents without mercy.

With this, his wealth increased dramatically. He not only expanded his slave trading operations but also got involved in training and management, making his business increasingly prosperous. Ultimately, his astonishing wealth earned him the position of Governor of Lys, though his ruthless style remained unchanged.

Since Lys is dominated by islands, its naval power is the strongest among the Three Daughters, with three ports and 92 warships, including 26 sailing warships. In addition to the two thousand standing soldiers on land, there are also over a thousand mercenaries.

Although Nightsong Island is the smallest of the three islands in Lys, it holds significant strategic importance. The island's port is Lys's only military port, and it houses two large shipyards. Since the Thorn family took refuge in Lys, warships have been docked here. A military camp is located close to the port to ensure that soldiers can quickly board ships at any time.

The island is lined with green trees and undulating peaks. Under the moonlight, the outline is clear and mysterious. Dense vegetation covers the hillside, with branches and leaves swaying gently in the sea breeze, making a rustling sound.

The night was tranquil, broken only by the occasional chirping of insects.

The port was bustling with activity. Seventy warships were moored neatly in the harbor, forming a spectacular scene.

The forty Thorn family warships were in varying conditions. Some were new and sturdy, others old, and some even converted from merchant ships. The hulls bore traces of past battles, as if telling the story of fierce conflicts.

Their bows varied in design; some were sharp, others blunt. The ballistae on the decks varied in size and model.

In sharp contrast were the thirty warships of the Lys fleet, including ten massive sailing warships. The towering masts, with their huge sails, were vaguely visible in the moonlight. These sailing warships were magnificent, with strong hulls and exquisite decorations, showcasing Lys's strength and craftsmanship.

The remaining twenty or so ships were longboats with outstanding speed. Although their hulls were lower, they were sleek, well-designed, and extremely fast, allowing for greater maneuverability in battle.

The sea breeze gently moved through the military port, causing the warships to sway slightly with the waves. The ropes creaked as they rubbed against each other, as if the warships were talking in their sleep. The moonlight reflected off the water, creating shimmering patches of silver light that danced with the waves. The entire military port was immersed in a tense yet peaceful atmosphere. The warships seemed ready to rush to battle at a moment's notice, showcasing their formidable strength and fearless courage.

Under the deep night, the sea appeared as an endless expanse of black satin, gently undulating. A bright moon hung high in the sky, casting a cold light and illuminating the turbulent world. A standard warship flying the flag of Lys slowly sailed toward the military port of Nightsong Island.

The warship looked shaky in the moonlight. The planks of the hull were broken in many places. Despite simple repairs, many damaged areas were still visible. A huge hole appeared at the stern, as if struck hard by a sharp ram. Several crossbow hits on one side of the ship left jagged edges.

The statue on the bow was incomplete, losing its former majesty. The sails were severely damaged and riddled with holes, making progress with the wind nearly impossible.

On the deck, deep knife and sword marks crisscrossed the surface. Although the bloodstains had been washed away by the sea, the brutality of the battle was still evident. Although the warship had not sunk, it no longer held its previous glory.

However, the mast stood tall, and the Lys flag fluttered in the night wind.

At this time, a sailor on the deck tightly gripped the steering wheel, his eyes vacant, mechanically adjusting the direction with the rhythm of the waves. His movements were stiff, as if guided by an invisible force. Another sailor worked at the stern, pulling ropes and controlling the sails with an expressionless face. They were silent, with only the whistling of the sea wind and the crashing of the waves filling the air.

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At the military port of Night Song Island, a towering observation lighthouse stood solid and imposing. Constructed from rough stone, its exterior bore the scars of sea wind erosion, yet it remained steadfast. The observation deck at the top provided a broad view, where a soldier scanned the horizon with sharp vigilance.

The soldier's eyes were keen, missing nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, he spotted a ship approaching, and his senses immediately heightened.

As the vessel neared, the soldier discerned the flag of Lys fluttering above it. Recognizing the familiar insignia, he allowed himself a moment of relief, thinking, "It's Lys' ship; there should be no problem."

However, as the warship drew closer, the soldier noticed something peculiar. The ship was badly damaged, and, more astonishingly, only two figures were visible on its vast deck.

His eyes widened as he tried to observe the movements of the two men. Their actions were awkward and stiff, starkly different from those of seasoned sailors.

The soldier frowned, a thought crossing his mind—Lys' ship must have been attacked. This vessel was the lone survivor, with heavy casualties among the crew, leaving only two able to operate it.

As the warship finally reached the military port's entrance, the lighthouse cast a bright beam, guiding it to safety.

The warship drew nearer, revealing its battered hull and tattered sail. The soldier's heartbeat quickened, an ominous feeling gripping him.

The ship began to turn, seemingly inspecting the docked warships. It sailed sideways, making an arc in the harbor. One of the men on board ceased his work on the sail and started lifting a wooden barrel, tossing it towards the docked ships. The barrel splashed heavily into the water, with only half of it remaining visible above the surface, indicating its contents were heavy.

As more barrels were thrown overboard, the soldier, sensing something was amiss, quickly sounded the alarm. Suddenly, the campground burst into activity. Torches flared, and the air filled with the sounds of shouting, clashing weapons, and hurried footsteps, shattering the night's stillness.

Panic-stricken soldiers rushed out of their tents, many without even pausing to dress. Generals bellowed orders, trying to impose order amidst the chaos. The flickering torchlight danced across anxious, fear-stricken faces.

Then, a deafening roar ripped through the sky, making the ground tremble. The sound was so terrifying it seemed to tear the heavens apart.

Several watchmen, recognizing the danger, blew their horns—sharp and urgent.

As the horns blared, panic spread through the camp like wildfire. The fear was palpable.

The generals screamed at the top of their lungs, "The dragon is coming! The dragon is coming! Get to the ships and ready the dragon-hunting crossbows!" Their voices were raw with desperation.

"Board the ships! Board the ships!" The shouts echoed across the camp. Soldiers and others scrambled frantically towards the docked ships, the crowd surging like a tidal wave. Some were knocked down and trampled underfoot, their cries of agony lost in the chaos.

The shrieks of children and the wails of women mingled with the chaos, creating a scene reminiscent of the end of days. People ran desperately, clutching their weapons, their eyes wide with fear, hoping to survive the dragon's assault.

Meanwhile, the damaged warship ceased throwing barrels and accelerated towards the densest cluster of docked ships. It showed no signs of slowing down, seemingly unconcerned for its own safety.

With a loud crash, the damaged warship collided with the docked vessels, sending shockwaves through the harbor. The impact was brutal, shaking the surrounding warships violently. The sound of splintering wood was sharp and grating. At the point of collision, splinters flew like fireworks. Soldiers lost their footing and plunged into the sea, creating massive splashes.

The struck warship suffered a deep gash, its sides torn open as seawater rushed in. The once orderly formation of docked warships descended into chaos, jostling and crashing against each other. Masts snapped, sails crumpled, and the scene became one of utter disarray. Cries, curses, and pleas for help formed a desperate symphony.

The soldier who had first sounded the alarm stood above, overlooking the chaotic scene below. Panic flickered in his eyes as he observed the damaged warship, now immobilized by the crash.

On the deck, the two figures stopped. One took up a torch and began moving towards the cabin, the other close behind.

As they moved, the soldier's sense of impending doom intensified, as if an invisible hand were tightening around his heart.

When the two figures disappeared into the cabin, leaving the deck empty, the soldier's heart sank. A deep, gnawing fear consumed him, as though a massive disaster loomed on the horizon.

Gavin rode Zaldrīzharys, soaring through the night sky. From above, he looked down upon the military port of Night Song Island, where lights blazed and chaos reigned. The crowd below swarmed like a colony of ants, their shouts, footsteps, and the clash of metal filling the air. Warships crashed into one another, splintering wood flying, while the sea churned below.

One soldier, veins bulging in his hands, reached the deck first. He tore off the oilcloth covering the dragon-hunting crossbow and cast it aside. With a firm grip, he turned the wheel with all his might, each movement accompanied by labored breaths. The wheel creaked as it wound the string. He quickly pulled out a long crossbow bolt and placed it into the slot with practiced precision.

His expression became intensely focused as he aimed the dragon-hunting crossbow into the air, eyes fixed on the dark sky. His gaze was so sharp it seemed to pierce the endless night. He squinted slightly, his entire being tensed for battle.

Soon, most of the soldiers had boarded the docked warships. They moved swiftly, readying their dragon-hunting crossbows, their eyes tense and alert as they scoured the dark sky for the approaching threat.

For a moment, the scene grew eerily quiet, the calm before the storm. Everyone held their breath, bracing for the unknown danger.

Suddenly, without warning, the damaged warship exploded in a violent burst.

A blinding green flame erupted like a demon unleashed, engulfing everything in its path.

--

The powerful shockwave from the wildfire explosion spread in all directions, and the scorching air made the atmosphere blisteringly hot.

Soon after, the wooden barrels floating on the sea ignited one by one from the spreading wildfire, resembling a chain of firecrackers igniting in succession. "Boom! Boom! Boom!" The continuous explosions were deafening, each one bursting into green flames, like flowers of death blooming across the sea.

The fire spread rapidly, sweeping through the entire port with unstoppable force. The flames burned fiercely, illuminating the night sky as if it were daylight. The wooden boards of the warships twisted and cracked under the intense heat, emitting a terrifying "crackling" sound.

The screams and cries of fear, combined with the explosions, created a nightmarish scene of purgatory on earth. Soldiers struggled within the inferno, their skin blistering and their clothes turning to ash in an instant. Some attempted to leap into the sea to escape, only to be struck by burning debris and swallowed by the flames.

The entire port descended into chaos and despair, the flames raging and ruthlessly destroying everything, as if determined to erase the military port of Night Song Island from existence.

Gavin was in shock as he observed the horrific scene of the wildfire explosion from above, gaining a new understanding of the destructive power of wildfire.

Seizing the opportunity brought by the explosion, he quickly patted the neck of Zaldrīzharys, who immediately understood the signal and dove toward the port below.

As they drew closer to the burning wildfire below, the heat intensified. Gavin focused his energy, slowly extending his hand in an attempt to control the raging flames.

"Boom!" For a moment, the flames became even more ferocious, like a wild beast, spreading uncontrollably toward the port. The remaining ships caught fire, and the flames even surged toward the shore.

Moments later, Zaldrīzharys quickly ascended. At that point, Gavin was overwhelmed with a splitting headache, drenched in cold sweat, and had to stop his efforts to control the flames.

He felt exhausted and weak, realizing that this enormous fire was beyond his current ability to control.

Nevertheless, that brief moment of control had made the battle's outcome even more devastating. The fire in the port raged on, the crackling of burning warships unceasing, and thick smoke billowed into the sky. The seemingly impregnable defense was easily undone by the wildfire.

With a roar, Zaldrīzharys, now free from the threat of the dragon-hunting crossbows, dived toward the port once more. Its massive body generated strong winds as it flew low, charging toward the soldiers who had either not yet boarded the ships or had tried to escape to the shore.

"Dracarys," Gavin commanded, and the searing dragon flame immediately erupted. The flames poured over the port like a torrent, transforming everything in their path into a sea of fire. Zaldrīzharys unleashed the dragon flame again and again, ensuring the catastrophic destruction continued to spread.

Instantly, the air was filled with the sounds of people screaming. "Help!" "Run!" The panicked cries below were deafening. Some officers attempted to organize a defense, but in the face of such overwhelming force, all efforts seemed futile. Some soldiers tried to jump into the water to survive, but were deterred by the raging wildfires on the water and could only wander the shore in despair.

The port had turned into a hell on earth, with charred corpses and burning debris everywhere. What had once been a bustling hub of activity was now steeped in death and despair.

Gavin sat on Zaldrīzharys' back, watching it all with indifference. There was no mercy in his eyes, only a resolute determination to win.

Suddenly, a crossbow bolt whizzed through the air from a sentry tower on the island. Just as the bolt was about to strike, the sharp-eyed Zaldrīzharys seemed to sense the danger. It abruptly turned sideways, its massive wings beating hard, creating a gust of wind that seemed to tear through the air. The crossbow bolt narrowly missed its body by mere millimeters.

However, with the appearance of that first bolt, more crossbow bolts were launched from different directions, cutting through the night sky with a chilling sound.

It was clear that the Lyseni had also positioned numerous dragon-hunting crossbows along the shore. Realizing that the situation was turning against him, Gavin, having achieved significant results, decisively ordered Zaldrīzharys to ascend.

Zaldrīzharys raised its head and let out a long roar, flapping its wings rapidly. The powerful motion generated a whirlwind, and its body shot into the sky like a rocket, swiftly escaping the range of the crossbows.

High above, Gavin noticed the other side of Lys Island was brightly lit, clearly indicating that the massive commotion at the naval port had drawn their attention. He gently patted Zaldrīzharys, who immediately turned and flew into the dark night sky.

At that moment, the port resembled a scene from the end of the world. The raging fire continued unabated, lighting up the entire port as if it were day. Billowing smoke rose into the air, obscuring the sky and the moon.

The warships gradually crumbled and sank into the sea of flames, producing a dull, cracking sound. Charred wooden boards, shattered weapons, and countless bodies of soldiers floated on the sea, staining the water black with blood and ashes.

Those soldiers who failed to escape struggled and wailed in the sea of fire, only to be ultimately consumed by the merciless flames, their bodies reduced to charred remnants.

The stench of burning, blood, and gunpowder filled the air, nauseating those who breathed it in. What was once a thriving military port had been reduced to a desolate ruin, a scene made even more tragic and bleak by the night, as if cursed by death itself.

By dawn, the sky had begun to lighten, the hazy morning light casting a soft glow over the sea. On the vast waters, a huge fleet appeared, sailing steadily through the waves like a moving fortress.

This fleet consisted entirely of towering sailing warships, their masts reaching into the clouds, and their huge sails billowing in the breeze.

The rising sun cast a golden glow on the white canvas. The warship's hulls were solid and imposing, their wooden exteriors meticulously polished, radiating an ancient and majestic aura.

The fleet was perfectly aligned, cutting through the waves as the bows split the whitecaps, leaving long trails in their wake. The sea breeze stirred the flags, and the rustling sound mingled with the crashing waves and creaking ships, creating a magnificent symphony of the ocean.

Accompanied by a loud dragon roar, the soldiers of the Belaerys quickly cleared the deck. Moments later, the Zaldrīzharys could be seen soaring toward the Belaerys. Its immense body cast a colossal shadow in the morning light, slowly descending with overwhelming force.

Zaldrīzharys' powerful wings beat the air, sending gusts of wind that billowed the soldiers' clothes. When its claws touched down on the wide deck at the bow, the entire warship trembled slightly.

It raised its head and let out a low, rumbling roar, as if proclaiming its dominance over the sea.

--

Gavin dismounted from Zaldrīzharys's back, his body light but weighed down by the exhaustion following the battle.

Hassan, who had been waiting for a long time, hurried over the moment he saw Gavin land, his face filled with eagerness and respect.

"Lord, what was the outcome of the battle?" Hassan bowed slightly and asked in a tone dripping with deference.

Gavin appeared slightly tired, but the glint of victory still shone in his eyes. "The power of wildfire is indeed beyond imagination. All the warships in the Night Song Island military port have been burned," he said. Pausing, his brow furrowed slightly before he added, "Unfortunately, there isn't much wildfire left now, and this was a one-time opportunity."

Hassan quickly responded, "That's excellent news, my Lord. Lys now has fewer than seventy warships left; they won't stand a chance against us in a naval battle." He raised his head, his eyes full of concern. "You've been up all night; please, return to your room and rest. I'll keep watch. The fleet isn't expected to reach Lys until tomorrow."

Gavin nodded and walked towards the cabin, his steps heavy.

Once in his room, he collapsed onto the bed. Despite his exhaustion, his mind remained active, contemplating the success of his plan.

In this assault on Lys, almost all the fleets from the Stepstones were deployed. Gavin had decisively split the fleet into two. Sixty massive sail warships, like formidable giants, sailed directly to Lys Island as the main force, responsible for destroying Lys's fleet and capturing the city.

The remaining thirty or so longships had a different mission: to buy time by blocking the sea routes between Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr, delaying the response of their enemies and gaining more time for their own forces.

Based on accurate intelligence gathered earlier, Gavin knew that Lys's fleet was docked at three ports. So, he cleverly used the Lysian longship captured during the raid on the Lysian envoy to plan a night attack meticulously.

The longship was filled with wildfire, and under the cover of night, Gavin prioritized burning the largest military port in Lys and its warships in one swift stroke. Additionally, this move aimed to destroy the Sann family warships that might assist the enemy. It seemed the first phase of the plan had been executed with great success.

Next, if they could swiftly eliminate the remaining Lysian fleet and capture Lys Island before Tyrosh and Myr could react, Gavin would secure victory in this war.

By that time, Tyrosh and Myr would face a fait accompli. Even if they were reluctant, they likely wouldn't dare to act rashly, begrudgingly accepting that Gavin had seized Lys.

Inside the Governor's Palace of Lys

When Byron Heywood, the Governor of Lys, learned of the catastrophic news that the military port and warships on Night Song Island had been burned, his rage erupted like a violent volcano, the fury seemingly swallowing everything around him.

"A bunch of fools!" he roared at his subordinates, his voice echoing through the massive chamber, so loud it seemed to shake the very walls.

He paced back and forth like a caged beast, his eyes bloodshot and terrifyingly red, his face so dark it looked like it could spill ink.

But once the storm of anger subsided, worry and fear surged into his heart like a tidal wave, overwhelming him. He hadn't anticipated that the dragon would wield such devastating power, its destructive force making him involuntarily tremble with fear.

His body quivered slightly, cold sweat dripping from his forehead and sliding down his cheeks. He couldn't help but wonder, "Did the Faceless Men fail? Why is Gavin still alive? Curse the House of Black and White! What are they doing? Can Lys withstand such a powerful force?" His once resolute, confident eyes were now clouded with confusion and unease.

"Convene an emergency council!" Byron Heywood ordered in a voice nearly reduced to a roar. "All warships must depart immediately and regroup without delay!" Though his tone remained commanding, a closer listen revealed a lack of the confidence he once had.

"Relay my orders to the weapon smiths—they must work around the clock to produce dragon-hunting crossbows! We need a sufficient number ready in the shortest time possible to prepare for any emergencies!" His words were urgent and resolute.

Then, he suddenly shouted at the trembling attendants beside him, "Send word to Tyrosh and Myr immediately. I demand an emergency meeting of the Three Cities Alliance!"

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with anxiety, making it hard to breathe. At this moment, Governor Byron Heywood's heart was entangled in a web of anger, worry, and fear, a snare he couldn't escape.

After Byron Heywood's orders were issued, the entirety of Lys seemed to ignite in response.

At the port, the remaining sixty-one warships sprang into action, their sails hoisted high and flapping in the sea breeze. Soldiers busily moved among them, fully equipped, their expressions solemn and tense.

One by one, the warships slowly left the port, their oars rising and falling in unison, striking the water and sending up white sprays. A tense atmosphere pervaded the air, the shadows of the masts stretching long under the sun.

Meanwhile, two specially designated ships set off like arrows, one heading to Tyrosh and the other to Myr. Their bows cleaved through the waves, their sterns leaving wide trails in the water. The wind filled their sails to the brim, propelling them at full speed as if they carried the last hope of Lys.

In Lys, soldiers moved back and forth, carrying weapons and supplies. The clang of hammers echoed from the blacksmith's forge as final preparations for war were made. The entire city was shrouded in a tense atmosphere of impending conflict, waiting for an uncertain fate.

The next morning, the sky was like a flawless blue gem, with not a cloud in sight, and the sun shone down unhindered. The sea lay calm as a mirror, disturbed only by the occasional ripple from a gentle breeze.

The remaining 61 warships of Lys were arrayed neatly on the sea, their hulls rising and falling gently with the waves.

But in stark contrast to the serene scene, the mood aboard the ships was tense and oppressive. The soldiers stood at attention on the decks, their postures stiff, but their eyes betrayed deep worry and fear. Even the weapons they gripped tightly couldn't quell the anxiety roiling within them.

The sea breeze caressed their faces and tousled their hair, but it couldn't dispel the heavy atmosphere that hung in the air.

The soldiers remained silent, with only the sound of waves lapping against the ships and the occasional low sigh breaking the quiet.

---

Fleming was a 16-year-old boy who had just joined the Lys Navy. His youthful face, still bearing traces of innocence, was full of vitality, like a newly blossomed flower.

Thanks to his father's generosity and financial means, Fleming managed to secure a relatively safe position as a lookout on the ship.

Whether it was due to his youthful energy or the deep-seated yearning for the sea, Fleming, alone at the observation post, remained unaffected by the oppressive and heavy atmosphere among the crew below. Though nervous inside, he maintained a calm exterior.

Occasionally, he would gaze out at the vast sea, feeling the breath of freedom carried by the sea breeze; other times, he would look down at the busy, chaotic port of Lys and observe the hurried figures moving about.

Suddenly, his gaze froze on the distant horizon. At first, it was just a tiny black dot, barely discernible against the blue backdrop. Gradually, a sail appeared above the horizon, breaking the stillness of the sea. Then, like stars emerging in the night sky, countless black dots appeared one after another, becoming increasingly clear.

Fleming was momentarily stunned, his mind going blank. It wasn't until a rapid, high-pitched horn blared from the nearby warship that he snapped back to reality. Immediately, he raised the horn in his hand and blew it.

As the warning horns echoed, a large fleet slowly emerged on the horizon, like a giant beast.

Under the clear sky, with the sun shining brightly and no clouds in sight, the calm sea resembled a vast expanse of blue satin.

The Belaerys led the fleet through the waves, its bow slicing through the white crests like a sharp blade. The hull rose and fell with the waves, its rhythm powerful and steady. The sails swelled with the wind, as if eager to break free from their restraints and stretch far into the distance.

Gavin stood at the bow of the Belaerys, calmly watching as Lys Island and the Lys fleet, already arrayed in formation, became clearer in the distance. His expression remained calm and determined, with no trace of nervousness or panic.

He then calmly nodded to Hassan beside him.

Hassan understood immediately. After bowing respectfully, he quickly turned around with a solemn expression and shouted loudly, "Blow the battle horn! The entire fleet is to prepare for engagement! Adjust the angle of the sails on all ships."

The sharp, stirring sound of the battle horn instantly shattered the calm of the sea, like thunder erupting in the sky.

The loud trumpet call carried an overwhelming fighting spirit, as if it could rend the heavens.

The warships moved swiftly and in perfect order. The crew's movements were agile and practiced. They quickly adjusted the sails' angles, deftly pulling on the ropes and precisely controlling the sail yards so that the sails could fully catch the sea breeze.

Under their skilled operation, the ships changed course smoothly, like nimble fish darting through the waves.

The entire fleet swiftly reformed, like a massive, agile beast dancing gracefully on the sea, displaying astonishing coordination and teamwork.

Boxes of special crossbows were swiftly brought up from the hold, the heavy wooden crates standing out on the soldiers' sturdy shoulders.

The soldiers struggled to tear open the rainproof tarps covering the ballistae, revealing the fearsome weapons hidden beneath.

The strong soldiers worked together to wind the ballistae, their heavy breathing and low grunts accompanying the steady turning of the wheels. Every turn was full of power, as if they were accumulating destructive energy.

At the same time, the archers prepared their equipment with methodical precision.

They carefully checked the tension of their bowstrings, gently plucking them to feel the subtle vibrations and ensure they were in optimal condition.

They selected their arrows with care, the sharp tips gleaming coldly in the sun. Then they notched the arrows to the bowstrings and drew them back, their eyes focused and deadly.

The soldiers gripped their weapons tightly, their bodies as taut as drawn bowstrings, muscles twitching slightly, betraying their inner tension and anticipation.

Gavin's face was as cold as an iceberg. He quickly donned his fine armor, which glinted dazzlingly in the sun, each plate seemingly brimming with immense power. He tightly gripped the mighty dragonbone bow and mounted Zaldrīzharys's broad, solid back.

The Zaldrīzharys, which had been lying quietly at the bow of the Belaerys, now sensed Gavin's fiery fighting spirit and fierce killing intent. Its massive, powerful body trembled slightly, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Flames of intense battle lust ignited in its eyes, as though ready to burn all enemies to ashes.

At Gavin's low command, Zaldrīzharys suddenly spread its enormous wings, flapping them forcefully. In an instant, a powerful wind rose, making the clothes of those around flutter wildly, their hair whipping in the gale.

Then, with Gavin on its back, Zaldrīzharys leaped from the bow of the Belaerys and shot into the sky like a bolt of lightning. The speed was so swift that it was merely a blur to those below. Under the sunlight, its sleek form gleamed with a mysterious and majestic light, like a god of war descending from the heavens.

The Zaldrīzharys soared higher and higher, its powerful wings beating the air with thunderous force, the sound reverberating in the hearts of all who heard it. Gavin sat firmly on Zaldrīzharys's back, gazing coldly down at the sea below, his eyes piercing through the mists. The Lys fleet was also advancing, the bows of their warships slicing through the waves, sending up sprays of water like the fangs of a giant white beast.

The atmosphere on the sea surface grew intensely charged, as if even the air itself was thick with tension.

Hassan, standing on the Belaerys, looked at the approaching enemy, took a deep breath, and shouted to the soldiers, "Loyal warriors of the Belaerys family! We stand here to conquer the unjust Lys! Show your courage, keep your wits about you, and may the gods bless this army with its sacred mission. For victory, for the Stepstones, and for Gavin Belaerys, charge!" His voice rang out like a great bell, echoing across the sea, stirring the hearts of every soldier and making their blood boil with fervor.

Following Hassan's command, Gavin's fleet surged towards the Lys fleet like a tidal wave, unstoppable in its momentum. More than a dozen warships unfurled their oars on both sides, swiftly accelerating like wild horses, racing past the Belaerys in front, and charging fearlessly towards the enemy with unyielding determination.

----

As the warships from both sides approached, the tension in the air grew thicker, almost suffocating. Gavin's ballistae, taking advantage of their superior range, were the first to unleash their fury. The sky darkened as a swarm of crossbow bolts flew toward the Lys fleet, whistling through the air with deadly precision.

The lead ship of the Lys fleet was instantly bombarded by the barrage. Wood splintered like snowflakes, and gaping holes appeared in the hull, letting seawater rush in as if drawn by some wild, uncontrollable force.

Despite the initial assault, the Lys fleet was not deterred. They closed in quickly, returning fire with their own powerful dragon-hunting crossbows. The air was soon filled with crisscrossing bolts, resembling black lightning, their whistling sounds adding to the chaos of battle.

The larger sailing warships attempted to withstand the onslaught, but even they couldn't fully resist the devastating power of the dragon-hunting crossbows. Splinters flew everywhere, as if torn apart by invisible hands.

Suddenly, a massive bolt fired from one of Gavin's ballistae streaked through the air like a demonic spear, plunging into the deck of a Lysian ship. The sound of its impact was deafening, and the bolt tore through the ship's guard plate with unstoppable force, carving a bloody path through the deck.

A dozen soldiers in its path were skewered before they could even scream, their bodies torn apart as blood sprayed like a fountain. The area, once crowded with men, was now eerily empty, the gruesome scene a testament to the bolt's power.

A nearby sailing warship, using its reinforced hull and collision angle like an enraged beast, rammed into a Lysian ship that was already listing from the influx of water. The impact was like a soul-rending roar as the ship was split in two, debris exploding into the air like fireworks. Towering waves rose from the sea, casting the Lysian soldiers into the water like scattered leaves, their screams for help merging into a chorus of despair.

The warships of both sides had closed to the range of bows and arrows, and the archers wasted no time. Gavin's men fired first, unleashing a hail of arrows that rained down on the enemy. The sheer volume of arrows created the impression of an overwhelming force that would consume everything in its path.

Caught off guard, the Lysian soldiers failed to raise their shields in time, suffering heavy casualties. Their screams echoed across the battlefield, sharp and heart-wrenching, as the onslaught continued.

Surviving Lysian archers, their eyes burning with defiance, quickly readied their bows and returned fire. Arrows flew through the air, striking down Gavin's men and sending them to the ground, lifeless. Desperate to turn the tide, the Lysian archers continued their barrage, filling the sky with crisscrossing arrows.

As the warships closed in, the soldiers on both sides braced themselves, gripping their weapons tightly and steeling their nerves. They were prepared for the inevitable hand-to-hand combat that would come with docking.

The battle was now in full swing. Most of the warships were locked in close combat. The Belaerys, with its powerful and sturdy hull, charged into the fray like an unstoppable steel fortress.

Waves rose several feet high in its wake, collapsing like giant walls of white water. The noise of the collisions between the towering warships of Gavin and Lys seemed to shake the very heavens, causing the world to tremble in response.

The tall hull of the Belaerys unleashed a continuous barrage of arrows, so dense it seemed to blot out the sky.

Seizing the opportunity of the chaotic melee, Gavin dove into the fray atop Zaldrīzharys, instantly turning the battlefield into a scene of utter pandemonium. When some of the Lys crossbowmen spotted the approaching dragon, their hearts filled with dread, and they scrambled to adjust their dragon-hunting crossbows.

But they were hindered by the relentless rain of arrows from Gavin's fleet. The Lysian crossbowmen, hands trembling, struggled to focus on their targets, unable to operate the dragon-hunting crossbows effectively.

As Gavin and Zaldrīzharys closed in, only two or three crossbows managed to fire. But Zaldrīzharys, with a graceful and agile sweep of his powerful wings, easily evaded the shots.

Gavin quickly drew his bow, his eyes sharp as he aimed at a Lysian warship that had just fired a crossbow. The flaming arrow streaked through the air like a vengeful meteor, striking the dragon-hunting crossbow with a resounding explosion. The weapon shattered into fragments, sending parts flying in all directions. The nearby Lysian soldiers were caught in the blast, their bodies torn apart, leaving the others in a state of panic and fear.

Zaldrīzharys soared over the warship, opening his massive jaws to unleash a torrent of dragonfire. The deck below was instantly engulfed in flames, the heat so intense it seemed to ignite the very air. Soldiers' screams echoed as they were consumed by the fire, the once-crowded deck now a barren wasteland of charred remains. The flames spread rapidly, igniting sails and ropes, turning the Lysian fleet into a floating inferno.

Zaldrīzharys did not stop there. He charged forward, spewing dragonfire at another Lysian ship. The impact of the fire was so severe that it tore a gaping hole in the ship's side, and the flames surged into the cabin, consuming everything within. The fire even burst through the deck, and the entire warship was soon enveloped in flames.

With the combined force of their warships and the devastating dragonfire, Gavin's fleet quickly gained the upper hand. The sea was a scene of utter chaos, filled with smoke, flames, and the cacophony of battle. Screams, the clash of steel, and the sound of ships breaking apart created a symphony of destruction.

Driven by an uncontainable fighting spirit, some of Gavin's soldiers, their eyes bloodshot with determination, leaped from their warships. Fearlessly, they boarded the Lysian vessels, ready to engage in fierce hand-to-hand combat, intent on seizing the enemy ships.

"Kill!" Gavin's soldiers roared, their weapons gleaming coldly in the sunlight, reflecting their unwavering belief in victory. Though filled with fear, the Lysian soldiers stood their ground, gritting their teeth and fighting back with a final surge of determination.

----

The soldiers on the deck instantly plunged into a bloody melee. Swords and knives clashed, creating dazzling sparks, like fireworks bursting in the night sky. The figures of the soldiers intertwined amidst fire and smoke, each clash a deadly contest. Blood splattered, dyeing the wooden boards beneath their feet red, making the once solid deck slippery and perilous.

Gavin rode on Zaldrīzharys, circling and diving in the low sky. Each dive was like the arrival of the God of Fire, utterly destroying an enemy ship. Flaming arrows shot from his hand with deadly accuracy, striking the dragon-hunting crossbows with destructive force.

The dracarys spewed from Zaldrīzharys' mouth like the flames of doomsday, mercilessly obliterating the warships of the Lys fleet. Under this powerful assault, the Lys Navy's resistance gradually crumbled, their soldiers' eyes filled with despair and helplessness.

Some burning Lys warships lost control, colliding chaotically with one another, spreading the fires to other ships. Broken planks and shattered masts fell into the sea like shooting stars, splashing the waters with force.

The setting sun bathed the sea in blood-red light, as if a thick layer of plasma had been poured over the entire surface, creating a shocking sight.

The fierce and prolonged naval battle lasted the entire day, gradually subsiding as dusk approached. The shattered remains of warships lay scattered across the surging sea, like the torn limbs of a giant beast. Many of the wrecks still burned, sending billowing black smoke into the sky, where it mixed with the blood-red sunset, forming a hellish scene.

Charred planks, broken masts, and twisted metal collided under the fierce waves, making dull, heavy sounds like the battlefield's final, unwilling wail. Blood continued to merge with the sea, staining a large area of water red. The mingling of black smoke, burning flames, and blood created a pungent, eerie smell.

Corpses floated in all directions, some half-sunken, their faces frozen in the last moments of their lives—some filled with fear, others with pain, and some with despair.

The sea breeze howled, carrying the strong, nauseating scent of burnt flesh and blood, like the breath of death, nearly suffocating those who remained. The once indomitable warships were now dilapidated, their sides torn apart, their sails shredded like leaves in the wind.

This naval battle was won at the cost of Gavin losing five warships, while Lys's fleet suffered a devastating blow. Apart from eleven longships that managed to escape with their speed, the rest were either captured or ruthlessly sunk. The sea was eerily silent, with only the broken wreckage and floating corpses bearing witness to the deep scars left by this brutal conflict.

Byron Heywood, Governor of Lys, stood on the high city wall, staring at the distant sea where the naval battle had just taken place. His face was as pale as parchment, his body trembling uncontrollably. His eyes were filled with fear and despair, as if his soul had been stripped away.

The once familiar sea had become a deathly purgatory, dragging his heart into an abyss of hopelessness. He gripped the edge of the city wall tightly, his knuckles white from the strain. The sea breeze brushed against his face, but it could not calm the storm raging within him.

He knew the fleet's catastrophic destruction meant his power and position were now in grave danger. The future seemed as uncertain and perilous as the sea littered with wreckage and corpses. He imagined the furious eyes of the people and the triumphant cheers of the enemy. All of it pierced his heart like a sharp blade.

Fear clung to him like a shadow, tightening its grip on his thoughts. He regretted hiring the Faceless Man and provoking Gavin, now dreading the inevitable retribution. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, unnoticed, as he stared blankly at the horrifying sea, lost in deep fear and regret.

After a brief cleanup of the battlefield, Gavin immediately sent envoys to demand their surrender. Simultaneously, his fleet swiftly blockaded the sea around Lys Island, completely cutting off Lys's contact with the outside world.

Warships were positioned tightly around the island, forming a steel wall that blocked all possible escape routes. On the sea, the flaming banners snapped fiercely in the wind, a warning that any attempt to breach the blockade would end in failure.

The next day, as news of the blockade spread through the city, the people fell into extreme panic. They could already foresee the aftermath: the supply lines would be severed, trade would cease, and life would rapidly deteriorate.

Those with relatives in the navy grew increasingly anxious. Their eyes red and swollen from crying, they shouted and wept hysterically, surging towards the Governor's Mansion like a tidal wave. The noise, like a storm, quickly engulfed the mansion.

The gates of the Governor's Mansion were closed, but they could not contain the people's fury. They pounded on the gates, their fists falling like rain, shouting the names of their loved ones, demanding answers from the Governor.

"My husband is on the front line, and I don't know if he's alive or dead. How can you just sit there and do nothing!" A woman's face was streaked with tears, her voice raw from crying.

"My son is still so young—he can't just disappear like this!" An old man trembled as he leaned on his cane.

At that moment, the door to the Governor's Mansion slowly opened, and an official stepped out. He looked solemn, trying to calm the crowd, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the noise. The people pressed forward, forcing the officials to retreat helplessly, and chaos erupted.

Inside the Governor's Mansion, Byron Heywood stood by the window, staring blankly at the crowd outside. The despair in his heart felt like a heavy stone, pressing down until he could hardly breathe.

One of his confidants hurried toward him, disregarding the usual formalities. He looked flustered and spoke urgently, "Governor Heywood, we have a serious problem! Senator Alek just held a secret council meeting without informing you. He also brought Gavin's envoy to discuss surrender."

Byron Heywood's face turned deathly pale. His eyes widened in disbelief, nearly bulging from their sockets as he roared, "That damn Alek has always coveted my position. I never thought he'd have the nerve to convene a council without me. I swear, Alek, I'll kill you for this!"

--

The confidant's voice was barely audible, and his expression was so tense that his facial muscles twitched slightly: "Lord, the situation is worse than we feared. In the council, the prisoner brought by the messenger has accused you of hiring the Faceless Men to assassinate Gavin. The secret is out. Now, the councilors are furious, blaming you for the devastation Reese has suffered in this war. The situation is spiraling out of control. You must act quickly!"

Byron Heywood swayed, nearly collapsing to the ground. He gripped the armrests of his chair tightly, his knuckles whitening with the effort, as he struggled to regain his composure: "What should I do? Quickly, go and summon my Unsullied Guards. Surround the council chamber. No one is to leave without my order. I'll go and deal with it immediately."

Byron Heywood rushed to the council chamber, his steps quick and heavy, his face tense with panic and anger.

The members of the Governor's Council were composed of wealthy merchants and high-ranking military officers from Lys. Due to the destruction of the fleet, nearly half of the members were absent, and the usually crowded council chamber now felt quite empty.

As Byron Heywood pushed open the heavy door of the council chamber, everyone inside turned to stare at him, and a sudden silence fell over the room. All eyes were on the governor who had just arrived, some filled with barely restrained fury.

Byron Heywood entered with determined strides, unceremoniously pushing aside those in his way, and marched straight to the center of the hall.

He feigned calmness and composure, surveying the room with sharp eyes, then shouted: "Councilors, listen to me! This is nothing more than a conspiracy by Gavin Belaerys. He seeks to invade our free Lys and plunder our wealth. To that end, he has sent someone to frame me, hoping to justify his aggression. We must not fall for it! We must unite to resist this evil Dragon Lord!"

He then sought to rally them: "Do not worry too much about Lys' safety. Even if we've lost our navy, Lys still has two thousand standing soldiers and more than three thousand mercenaries. Additionally, the city is full of mercenaries who can be hired at any moment. With Gavin Belaerys' current forces, he cannot hope to breach Lys. I've already sent messengers to Tyrosh and Myr; once their fleets arrive, it will be the end of Gavin Belaerys, and we can reclaim the Stepstones." Although his voice trembled slightly, he maintained a strong and resolute demeanor.

After his speech, the room filled with murmurs, and the noise returned to the council chamber.

However, some councilors remained unconvinced. One of them stood up, pointed at Byron Heywood, and accused him angrily: "Byron Heywood, what we are discussing now is your conduct, your actions. Instead of making excuses, you should acknowledge the truth! It was your greed that plunged Lys into this war, leading to the deaths of countless sailors and putting Lys in peril!"

The councilor's denunciation triggered a wave of accusations. In response, some who supported Byron Heywood rose to defend him. A fierce argument erupted, and the tension in the council chamber escalated rapidly.

At that moment, Councilor Alek stepped forward, raised his hands to signal for silence, and then turned to Byron Heywood with cold eyes and a sneer: "Governor Byron, your guilt is evident and cannot be concealed. You provoked the Dragon Lord and dragged Lys into the abyss of war. Today, you must give us all a satisfactory explanation!" He then addressed the assembly, his voice rising: "I propose that, in light of Governor Byron's gross incompetence, we immediately remove him from his position and hand him over to appease the Dragon Lord's wrath."

Byron Heywood's eyes widened in fury, veins bulging in his neck as he roared: "Alek, you traitor! How dare you convene the council without the governor's consent? I haven't yet held you accountable! I suspect you've been colluding with the invaders all along. Your glass and paper business comes from the Stepstones. You're behind all of this! You traitor to Lys, I hereby strip you of your council membership!"

An elderly councilor stood up, trembling with rage, and shouted: "Byron Heywood, even as governor, you do not have the authority to remove a councilor. Only the Council can vote to remove a member. You show great contempt for all of us and this council."

The chamber descended into chaos, with even those who had previously supported Governor Byron now denouncing him.

Just as the situation threatened to spiral out of control, the messenger sent by Gavin stood up slowly, a calm expression on his face. He forcefully dragged forward a man who was tied up and badly beaten. The messenger's eyes were cold as he spoke: "Byron Heywood, this is the man you sent to Braavos. He went to the House of Black and White on your orders. How can you deny knowing him? I'm sure everyone here is familiar with your confidants."

Byron Heywood's face turned ashen, as if all the blood had drained from his body. But he refused to back down, continuing to argue: "This is a plot! He disappeared earlier, and I searched everywhere for him, but found no trace. It turns out he was kidnapped by you! You tortured him into confessing and forced him to frame me!"

Councilor Alek sneered and said, "Byron Heywood, things have gone too far for you to cling to these lies!" He then raised his voice, proposing passionately: "Councilors, the evidence is clear. I propose a vote to remove Governor Byron from his position. Those in favor, please raise your hands."

As Alek's words echoed through the chamber, time seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, a few councilors raised their hands without hesitation, signaling their agreement. Seeing this, others followed suit, and soon, the majority of the council raised their hands. The vote in favor became overwhelming.

Byron Heywood knew that everything was falling apart. The wealth he'd spent his life accumulating would be ruthlessly stripped away, his lovers would flock to others, and his offspring might face death alongside him. Despair and fear clutched at his throat, leaving him in a state of panic.

Faced with the inevitable loss, Byron was determined to bring everyone down with him.

Before the voting concluded, he abruptly turned and rushed toward the door. The council hall was momentarily stunned into inaction; no one moved to stop him.

Bursting through the door, Byron shouted hoarsely to the Unsullied guards stationed outside, "Control everyone in here! Anyone who dares to move will be killed!" The Unsullied responded immediately, drawing their weapons and flooding into the hall, surrounding the council members.

The councilmen looked at Byron in horror, unable to reconcile the man they knew with the demon standing before them. The hall fell into an eerie silence, as if the air itself had frozen.

Byron ignored the terror in the room, quickly summoning his loyal followers. "Search the councilmen for the whips that control the Unsullied, and send people to seize their mansions," he commanded. "Anyone who resists will be killed. Post a notice in the city—I'm hiring all mercenaries at double the price to join the war."

His followers stared at him in shock, struggling to comprehend the madness of his orders. It wasn't until Byron lashed one of them with a whip that they snapped out of their daze, hurriedly obeying his commands.

Meanwhile, on the Belaerys, Hassan reported the carefully calculated casualties to Gavin with a grave expression.

"Sir, in yesterday's battle, over 500 of our soldiers were killed, and nearly a thousand were injured. Five of our warships were lost, and two were severely damaged, though they were successfully towed to Night Song Island for repairs. We sank 27 enemy ships and captured 23, though many of them were longships and not immediately usable. Additionally, we've captured over 1,500 soldiers, who are now being held on Night Song Island."

Gavin nodded slightly, acknowledging the report. He had committed most of the Stepstones' naval power to this battle, with sixty warships and more than 4,000 soldiers.

Despite the aid provided by the dragons, Gavin was satisfied with the casualty ratio. His decision to gradually replace the fleet with sail warships seemed to be paying off. After securing Lys, he intended to further modernize the fleet to maintain absolute control over the sea.

Gavin's expression remained calm as he instructed, "Take care of the wounded. We won't be launching a ground assault yet; the casualties would be too high. Have the fleet maintain a tight blockade around Lys. It won't be long before the city's food supplies run out. We'll strike when the city descends into chaos. Has the envoy we sent to negotiate their surrender returned?"

Hassan replied immediately, "Not yet, sir. I approached Alek, who has done business with us before, but I doubt Byron Heywood will surrender easily."

Gavin smiled. "I never expected him to surrender. Our terms were deliberately harsh. As long as Byron Heywood wants to live, he won't surrender. My goal is to create division among them. Civil strife in Lys will weaken them, making our job easier when we finally attack."

As Byron Heywood's forces mobilized throughout Lys, panic spread through the streets. Shops closed their doors, and the once-bustling markets became deserted. Only the hurried footsteps of soldiers broke the uneasy silence.

Byron Heywood's troops, like wild beasts, plundered not only the mansions of the councilmen but also looted merchant shops across the city. They smashed down ornate doors, stole all valuables, killed any merchants who resisted, and violated women, trampling on the dignity of the people.

This brutality provoked fierce resistance from the wealthy merchants, who summoned their own guards to fight back against Byron Heywood's forces. The entire city became a battlefield, filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and cries of the dying.

Blood stained the streets, and flames consumed the houses. Women and children screamed in terror, desperately seeking safety. Soldiers fought hand to hand in the narrow alleys, where every moment saw someone fall.

Innocent civilians, caught in the crossfire, became victims—struck down by stray arrows or killed by rampaging soldiers. The once-peaceful city had become a hellish landscape of chaos and despair.

The turmoil in Lys had raged for ten days. Resources were depleted, and food and water were scarce. Hunger and disease spread among the people, and the wounded lay groaning without treatment.

The mercenaries, consumed by bloodlust, ignored all orders, driven only by their instincts to burn, kill, and loot.

Byron Heywood's control over his army waned. Mutinies broke out daily, and some soldiers even defected to the opposing camp.

The streets were littered with corpses, left to rot and fill the air with a nauseating stench. Desperate for food, the starving began attacking soldiers in their frenzied search for anything edible.

Most of the city's wells had dried up, and the few remaining water sources were heavily guarded, yet conflicts over water were frequent and deadly.

Byron Heywood struggled to regain control and restore order, but his commands were powerless against the overwhelming chaos. Even his closest confidants began to lose hope, uncertain of when—or if—this nightmare would end.

During the more than ten days when Lys was in chaos, the fleet that Gavin had sent out to block the news was also under tremendous pressure.

Although the ship that reported the news to Lys was sunk, the long-term blockade of the waterway had reached its limit. Due to the news that Lys's maritime trade route was cut off, Tyrosh and Myr finally realized that something was wrong, but then there was news that Gavin sent an envoy to Volantis.

That made them dare not act rashly, and they only sent a few warships to Lys to try to see what happened. They were successfully blocked by Gavin's blockade fleet, resulting in the current confrontation between the two sides.

Gavin, who felt that the time was almost right, looked at Lys in chaos, with a flash of determination in his eyes. He raised his sword high and issued an order for a general attack.

The fleet began to approach Lys, and the crossbows on the warships vented frantically at the enemies on the city wall. Some Lys defenders who had no intention of fighting began to flee for their lives. Except for a few scattered positions that resisted, they did not even make any effective counterattacks. For a while, countless small boats full of soldiers rowed towards the shore.

Zaldrīzharys flew into the sky, carrying Gavin on his back and galloping towards the sky above the city of Lys.

Gavin rode on Zaldrīzharys's back, looking down from a high position, and saw several catapults madly throwing huge stones at their own fleet. Each throw was accompanied by a deafening roar, and the sound of the huge stones breaking through the air was terrifying.

Zaldrīzharys seemed to be able to sense the anger burning in his master's heart, and he dived without hesitation. It was as fast as lightning, rushing straight towards the catapult with a thunderous force.

Accompanied by a thrilling roar that resounded through the sky, the extremely hot and surging dracarys roared and swept over the city walls like a violent wave. The soldiers who controlled the catapults had no time to react and were instantly engulfed by the dracarys that could turn everything into ashes. In an instant, they disappeared without a trace, leaving only a pool of ashes.

Under the ruthless scorching heat, the catapults quickly twisted and melted, turning into a pool of scrap iron. The powerful tail of Zaldrīzharys swung violently with the power to destroy everything, carrying the momentum of overwhelming the mountains and seas, instantly shattering another catapult behind him, and the parts flew like meteors, drawing dazzling arcs in the air.

Under the cover of the intensive attacks from the bed crossbows and the terrifying deterrence of the dracarys, most of the soldiers were able to land smoothly and successfully. They moved quickly and began to assemble in an orderly manner. Seeing this scene, Gavin ordered Zaldrīzharys to fly towards the city gate without hesitation.

The tightly closed tall city gate seemed to be extremely solid, but in front of Zaldrīzharys, it was like a fragile piece of paper.

As the rolling dracarys sprayed out of Zaldrīzharys's mouth, the scorching heat instantly swallowed up the heavy and solid city gate, and the city gate instantly turned into a blazing sea of ​​fire. The hot flames soared into the sky, completely clearing the way for the army to move forward.

Zaldrīzharys then flew towards the city again, and its majestic figure shuttled through the firelight. Any place that had the power to fight back and could shoot crossbows would be ruthlessly destroyed by its devastating dracarys. The houses burned violently in the flames, crackling, and the thick smoke rolled like dark clouds, covering the sky and the sun. Miserable cries and desperate cries for help echoed one after another in this sea of ​​fire, as if it was the painful wail of the city.

At this time, Byron Heywood could no longer control the army in the chaos. In a hurry, he led hundreds of Unsullied to the city gate. His steps were quick and heavy, and the expression on his face was tense and resolute, with a trace of tragic and heroic fighting to the death.

After Gavin discovered this team, he made a prompt decision and immediately drove Zaldrīzharys to dive down quickly. At this time, Byron Heywood, who was in extreme anger and tension, also keenly captured the figure rushing in the air. He widened his eyes, and the outlines of Gavin and Zaldrīzharys became clearer and clearer in his pupils.

The Unsullied were well-trained. They quickly took out their short spears. Their muscles were tense, the veins on their arms were bulging, and their eyes were like torches, staring at the rapidly approaching threat.

As Zaldrīzharys approached with the wind, the Unsullied roared in unison and threw their short spears into the air with all their might. The short spears shot at Zaldrīzharys like dense raindrops. However, when these short spears touched Zaldrīzharys's iron-hard scales, they only made a series of crisp and rapid ding-dong sounds, as if fine iron was colliding, but they did not cause even the slightest damage to Zaldrīzharys.

Then, Zaldrīzharys opened its mouth and a surging and extremely hot dracarys gushed out.

The dracarys was like a roaring fire dragon, and it instantly devoured the team of Unsullied with overwhelming force. In this suffocating heat, the Unsullied did not even have time to scream before they turned into ashes in an instant, dissipating in the scorching air without leaving even a trace.

Looking at the blazing sea of ​​fire in front of him, Byron Heywood was as angry as a wild beast that had lost its mind. His eyes were red, his eye sockets were about to burst, and the veins on his neck were bulging, each vein clearly visible. He screamed hysterically: "Gavin Belaerys, I will never reconcile with you! I curse you to die a miserable death!" The voice was full of endless despair, anger, and unwillingness, as if to tear the whole world apart.

Gavin clearly heard his hoarse shouting, but there was no ripple in his eyes, only a trace of cold and ruthless coldness flashed. Zaldrīzharys seemed to have accurately felt the master's firm will, flapping his huge wings without hesitation, and rushed towards Byron Heywood with a thunderous force.

Another mighty dracarys spurted out from its mouth, and the blazing and dazzling flame instantly enveloped Byron Heywood completely. His hateful curses came to an abrupt end, and no sound could come out of his throat anymore. Only the sizzling sound of the flames burning his flesh was left, which was creepy. The air around him seemed to be distorted violently by the extremely terrifying high temperature. Gavin looked at all this coldly, without a trace of pity in his heart. In his eyes, Byron Heywood's fate was already doomed.

As Gavin's army advanced step by step, they quickly controlled the city defense with thunderous force. Soldiers poured into the streets and alleys like a tide, and launched a cruel and ruthless purge of the mercenaries in the city.

The soldiers holding sharp blades had grim faces. They did not miss any corner and searched for the traces of mercenaries from house to house. Once the target was found, it was a bloody fight. The swords and shadows intertwined, and the shouts of killing were deafening. Although the mercenaries fought desperately, they were gradually trapped in the face of Gavin's well-trained and well-equipped army. The mercenaries occupying the tall walls were also burned to death by Zaldrīzharys's dracarys.