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The Kingdom of the Three Daughters and Dorne stood as mutual allies, each supporting the other in times of need. The many uninhabited islets to the south of the Stepstones were undoubtedly hiding small enemy reconnaissance ships, keeping constant watch.
If the Velaryon fleet launched a full-scale assault on either faction, the other would immediately send reinforcements, trapping the Velaryons in a battle on two fronts.
No wonder the stalemate in the Stepstones had dragged on for so many years.
Now, with seven to eight thousand troops stationed here, the daily consumption of supplies had turned this war into a battle of endurance, a contest of each faction's resources and foundation.
After learning the full extent of the situation in the Stepstones, Jacaerys couldn't help but admire Lord Corlys's audacity—standing against two entire kingdoms with the might of a single noble house.
But for Jacaerys, he had his own reasons that left him no choice but to partake in this war!
The wealth of House Velaryon, which had made it the richest noble family in Westeros, was entirely due to Lord Corlys.
As the first Westerosi to reach Asshai, near the Shadow Lands, he had traded his fleet's goods for vast amounts of gold and gemstones from that mineral-rich land.
With part of this newfound fortune, he had purchased twenty new ships in Qarth, along with the city's famed exports—spices, elephants, and the finest silks.
Though he suffered some losses to storms and pirates on his return journey to Westeros, the treasures and exotic goods he brought back still surpassed the wealth of House Lannister and House Hightower combined.
With the experience of nine legendary voyages under his belt, Lord Corlys had meticulously established several maritime trade routes for his house. These routes secured House Velaryon's dominance over Westeros' trade, solidifying their status as the wealthiest noble family in the Seven Kingdoms.
And at the heart of these trade routes, stood the Stepstones—the key gateway between Westeros and Essos.
---
"Oh? Weren't you boasting just now that you could change the war's course in a month?"
"Why so silent now? Did you finally realize that war isn't as simple as the books make it seem?"
"Hahaha!"
Jacaerys ignored the taunts of the walking corpse who continued to provoke him. Instead, his mind raced furiously as he looked up and spoke to Lord Corlys,
"Dorne is far weaker than the Kingdom of the Three Daughters. Grandfather, our focus should be on them."
Lord Corlys nodded slightly.
"Hmm, that was my initial thought as well," Corlys replied. "But it won't be that simple. Unless we launch a full-scale attack on Bloodstone Island, Dorne will not take a single step away from Grey Gallows. And an island assault would mean stepping right into their trap."
"We've already suffered losses before. Even with your dragon now in the fray, the situation won't change much."
"The Dornish have extensive experience fighting dragons, and Grey Gallows Island is heavily fortified with anti-dragon defenses."
"Even the infamous 'Crab Feeder' tactic of digging tunnels like a rat was originally learned from the Dornish!"
Lord Corlys shook his head at this. To him, Jacaerys was oversimplifying the complexities of the war. But the young man remained unfazed.
"Grandfather, I've already devised a plan to deal with them. But I need your full cooperation . . .. and Uncle Vaemond's as well!"
The moment those words left his lips, Corlys and Vaemond exchanged glances.
The former seemed skeptical, while the latter outright refused to believe it.
But Jacaerys only smiled, his confidence unwavering as he began to explain his battle plan in detail.
---
Splash!
Three medium-sized, flat-bottomed sailing ships surged through the waves, speeding toward Grey Gallows Island from the direction of the Dornish Sea.
A strong tailwind filled their sails, pushing them forward at an even faster pace than usual. Thanks to the favorable conditions, they reached the island's southwestern harbor far ahead of schedule.
Years ago, Grey Gallows had been a haven for the pirates of the Narrow Sea—a place to resupply, squander stolen gold, and indulge in every vice imaginable.
Its bustling town and prosperous port had once teemed with life.
However, during the previous Stepstones War, to starve out the Crab Feeder, Daemon Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon had taken turns scorching the island with dragonfire.
Since then, the once-thriving settlement had been reduced to a blackened ruin.
The inhabitants who had fled in time, eventually building a new supply town on a mid-sized island within the Stepstones' central region.
After Dorne occupied Grey Gallows Island, they revived the ruined port and town to active use, seemingly intending to make it their stronghold in the Narrow Sea.
---
Within the charred ruins of the town, most of which still lay burned and abandoned, a lone Dornish soldier stood watch near the harbor.
Clad in a bright yellow cotton gambeson, his head wrapped in a scarf, he had positioned himself atop the half-melted remains of a tall tower.
Oooooooh~~
The moment he spotted the three approaching ships, each bearing the golden sun-and-spear banner of House Martell, he raised his horn and blew a long, urgent note.
Rustle! Rustle!
All across the ruined town, hidden trapdoors, cleverly disguised as debris, were suddenly thrown open.
Dozens of Dornish soldiers, who had been lying in wait beneath, now clambered eagerly to the surface.
At the same time, more troops poured down from the surrounding hills, their numbers swelling by the second.
What had moments ago been a desolate, silent wasteland was now alive with activity and anticipation.
The thousand-strong Dornish soldiers stood eagerly at the shore, their excitement palpable—the three approaching ships were supply vessels.
On Grey Gallows, aside from a few underground wells and whatever fish they could catch, there was little to sustain them. The island had no natural food sources, making these monthly supply shipments their lifeline.
They had been waiting for this monthly supply shipment to bring them much-needed food and provisions.
The moment the ships docked, the starving soldiers surged forward, scrambling aboard in a frenzy to unload the much-needed provisions.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Suddenly—the Dornish lookout, perched atop the ruined tower, froze. A faint yet distinct sound cut through the sky.
He looked up.
The clouds above swirled unnaturally, disturbed by an invisible force.
Ooooooh! Ooooooh!
The war horn sounded again, this time sharper and more urgent—signaling an enemy attack.
Over a thousand Dornish soldiers, still scanning the sea for threats, instinctively lifted their heads toward the sky.
And then they saw it.
From beyond the white clouds, a massive dragon burst into view, its emerald-green scales shimmering under the sun. Jagged horns crowned its head, its powerful wings carving through the air as it swooped down at breakneck speed—straight for the supply ships.
Whoosh!
Scorching flames, bright as molten gold, erupted from the dragon's mouth, engulfing the nearest Dornish soldiers before they could even react. In mere moments, their bodies turned to charred husks.
But dragonfire was more than mere heat—it was a force of devastation. The searing flames roared forward, carried by blistering winds that swept across the battlefield like a hurricane.
The blackened corpses of the first victims marked the beginning of a blazing trench — a searing path of flames that carved through the ranks of Dornish troops, racing relentlessly toward the shore and the vulnerable supply ships.
Boom! Crack!
Scorched stones and burning debris exploded outward, raining searing projectiles upon the fleeing soldiers.
"Aaaahhh!"
"Help me!"
"Run! Run!"
Screams of agony, cries for aid, and shouts of panic filled the air.
And then—
*BOOOOM!!!*
A deafening explosion tore through the battlefield, silencing all other sounds in an instant.
The Dornish soldiers rushing toward the underground tunnels halted, their heads snapping back toward the harbor.
Their eyes widened in horror.
One of the supply ships—now engulfed in dragonfire—had violently exploded, splitting cleanly in two, sending shockwaves rippling across the harbor.
Even as the wreckage continued to burn, a chain reaction ignited—barrels of sealed alcohol within the ship caught fire, triggering a second, then a third explosion.
Within moments, the other two supply ships were also ablaze, their wooden hulls devoured by the relentless flames.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Jacaerys, perched atop Vermax, watched his plan unfold flawlessly. Just one swooping attack, and he had accomplished his objective.
Satisfied, he immediately commanded Vermax to change direction through their mental connection.
ROOOOAR!!!
In the face of a powerful dragonfire, human bodies were pathetically fragile.
Dornish soldiers melted away like wax in a pool of lava, their screams lasting mere heartbeats before vanishing into the inferno.
In the lower left corner of his vision, Jacaerys noticed—his trait points count was climbing.
It reminded him of a game, an AOE farming session, racking up points in the most satisfying way possible.
"Now this is how trait points should be earned!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
But just as Jacaerys was about to loop back for another low-altitude dive, a storm of arrows rained down from the surrounding cliffs.
He swiftly maneuvered Vermax, guided the dragon into a swift roll, letting its thick, emerald-green scales take the brunt of the barrage.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Ordinary arrows bounced harmlessly off Vermax's armored hide, producing nothing more than a sharp metallic ringing. They might as well have been pebbles against a castle wall.
However, Jacaerys' sharp eyes caught something far more dangerous.
Scorpions.
From hidden positions, teams of Dornish soldiers were rolling out massive siege ballistae—anti-dragon weapons designed for a single, deadly purpose.
Clusters of men moved with practiced efficiency, working in groups of three or five, winding the heavy strings, slotting in thick iron-tipped bolts nearly as long as a man.
A direct hit from one of those could cripple Vermax—if not kill him outright.
Jacaerys' gaze swept over the dense ranks of enemy troops below.
A wicked grin curled at the edges of his lips.
"A little appetizer for today—I'll save the main course for later."
Greedy for more destruction, he cast one last, lingering glance at the teeming Dornish forces—before wrenching Vermax skyward.
In a single powerful beat of the dragon's wings, they shot upward, vanishing once more into the thick white clouds. And just like that—they were gone.
All that remained was devastation.
A battlefield littered with charred corpses.
Three supply ships, now reduced to roaring infernos, their flames consuming everything in their wake. And the lingering, haunting proof of dragonfire's absolute supremacy—
Unmatched aerial dominance.
Unstoppable destruction.
The might of the world's deadliest war beast.
..
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[IMAGE]
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[Chapter End's]
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