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After the aerial assault on Grey Gallows Island, Dorne dispatched a total of three fleets over the next half-month to deliver supplies.
However, Lord Corlys had arranged his fleet like an impenetrable fishing net, effectively sealing off the supply routes.
Whether it was day or night, the moment a Dornish supply fleet was spotted, specially trained ravens would be sent to the Stepstones with urgent messages.
With dragons capable of flying hundreds of kilometers per hour, it never took long before one arrived over the contested waters.
Lacking any large-scale anti-air weaponry, the supply ships were utterly defenseless against the searing onslaught of dragonfire.
Perhaps because these vessels no longer carried large quantities of sealed barrels of wine, the massive explosions that had marked the previous raid did not occur this time.
Furthermore, many Dornish soldiers, upon realizing the hopelessness of their situation, chose to leap into the sea rather than be consumed by dragonfire, preferring to drown rather than burn alive.
As a result, Jacaerys only gained 1,120 trait points from these air raids.
Now, his total trait points stood at 4,878—on the verge of surpassing the 5,000 mark.
A premonition stirred in his heart. Once his points broke through 5,000, he had no doubt that the system panel would undergo some kind of transformation.
Time passed.
The Dornish commander of Grey Gallows Island could feel the noose tightening as the Velaryon fleet and the ever-present dragon cut off their supply lines.
Fighting was out of the question!
Though these Dornishmen were Salt Dornish—long accustomed to life along the Broken Arm and the Sea of Dorne, and most were seasoned fishermen and sailors well-versed in naval combat—they remained hindered by the limited number of ships in their fleet and the crudeness of their weaponry.
The seven medium-sized warships at their disposal would likely suffer heavy losses before even getting close enough to the Velaryon fleet for a boarding assault.
And that was without accounting for the dragon that periodically circled the island, a silent but ever-present threat.
Escape was impossible as well!
While the Velaryon fleet had not fully sealed off the eastern waters of Grey Gallows Island, making it theoretically possible to flee toward Bloodstone or Essos—abandoning this stronghold, painstakingly maintained over the years, was unthinkable.
Even if they somehow made it back to Dorne alive, Prince Qoren would surely have them executed.
For days now, the garrison had survived on nothing but the small fish they could catch from the sea.
Gritting his teeth, the Dornish commander summoned his personal guards.
He would send one final raven to Bloodstone, despite the fact that none of his previous messages had received a reply.
Unimpeded by any interception, the raven flapped its wings and swiftly made its way from the southwestern Stepstones toward the northeast.
Bloodstone—named for the island's striking red sandstone, as vivid as fresh blood.
These red sandstones served as a natural building material.
Using it, the soldiers of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters had constructed numerous sturdy red fortresses across Bloodstone.
To defend against dragon attacks, these fortresses were built low and flat on the outside—yet within, they held far more than met the eye.
Inside one such fortress, deliberately disguised to blend seamlessly with its surroundings, laughter and merriment filled the air.
In a spacious underground hall, several soldiers, each holding different musical instruments, were playing a lively tune native to Essos with great enthusiasm.
At the center of the cleared dance floor, a figure in a long, purple-striped dress swayed with their back to the crowd, dancing with unrestrained passion.
The gathered soldiers clapped and cheered, some even whistling playfully, their tones filled with teasing amusement.
Hearing the cheers and whistles, the purple-clad figure suddenly spun around, striking a coquettish pose toward the rowdy audience, flaunting their so-called charms.
However, not just anyone could hope to enjoy this spectacle of "allure."
The so-called enchanting dancer was, in fact, a towering man nearly two meters tall, his face obscured by a thick, purple-tinted beard.
Though his features were not particularly unsightly, the combination of heavy makeup and garish purple facial hair made for a bizarre, unsettling sight.
And now, as he laughed heartily, revealing a mouthful of blackened and yellowed teeth, the image became even more grotesque—enough to churn the stomach.
Yet, not a single soldier in the hall dared to show the slightest discomfort.
On the contrary, every one of them bore expressions of unrestrained enthusiasm, as if they were truly watching a mesmerizing goddess beloved by all.
They had no other choice—after all, the one performing was none other than the commander-general of Bloodstone Island.
Racallio Ryndoon, known far and wide as "Queen Racallio."
This infamous Tyroshi captain had gained considerable renown, waging war against House Velaryon in the Stepstones for years at the invitation of the Archon of Tyrosh—without ever losing ground.
As the flamboyant commander twirled and swayed in exaggerated fashion, reveling in the thunderous applause, a soldier entered from outside, clutching a raven-delivered letter.
Yet, he dared not interrupt Racallio's moment of enjoyment.
Only after the self-proclaimed "queen" lifted his skirt in grandiose fashion, basked in the adulation, and gracefully accepted the praise did the soldier finally summon the courage to speak.
"Captain Racallio, the Dornishmen from Grey Gallows Island have sent another letter!"
At the mention of serious matters, Racallio muttered a low curse before waving his hand, signaling for the common soldiers to leave the hall.
As the crowd dispersed, only Racallio and his two trusted aides remained.
"Coleman, take a look at what's written in the letter," Racallio commanded as he settled into the grand seat at the far end of the hall, casually scooping up a black-and-white kitten and stroking its soft fur.
The Westerosi spoke the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms, while the Free Cities of Essos primarily used Low Valyrian.
Not everyone was fluent in the languages of both continents.
Coleman quickly scanned the letter before relaying its contents.
"As with the previous letters, they demand that we either assist them in attacking the Velaryon fleet or supply them with provisions."
"Hmph. Filthy, worthless scum."
"They expect us to help them, yet they don't even know how to show proper humility?"
Hearing his aide recite the message, Racallio sneered, his tone thick with disdain.
"Uh… Captain," Coleman hesitated before continuing, "the Dornishmen wrote at the end of the letter that they can hold out for at most five more days. If they do not receive our support by then, they will pledge allegiance to House Velaryon… and join them in attacking Bloodstone Island!"
"Pah! Attack Bloodstone Island? Do they even deserve the chance?"
Racallio spat in contempt before breaking into another furious tirade.
"If it weren't for the Archon insisting we ally with these Dornish bastards, I would've chopped them into pieces and fed them to the fish long ago! They should count themselves lucky they even managed to take Grey Gallows Island! Filthy scum, sons of whores, maggots—"
Already in a foul mood, Racallio's anger boiled over upon hearing the ultimatum.
One of his trusted aides, a tall and imposing man, waited patiently for his captain to finish venting before speaking in a calm, measured tone.
"Captain, the Archon's last letter mentioned that most of the magisters in the High Council of the Triarchy have already voiced their discontent with you.
Although letting Grey Gallows Island fall won't directly endanger Bloodstone, the High Council will surely seize the opportunity to undermine your standing. There's a real chance they'll move to strip you of your command and send you back to Tyrosh."
At these words, Racallio's furious expression shifted in an instant.
A slow, unsettling grin spread across his face.
With a sinister chuckle, he spoke.
"Hehehe, Forrest, remember this—only those who change the tide at the most crucial moment are remembered as heroes!
Enough—our brothers have feasted and drank their fill. It's time for them to earn their keep!"
That very night, twelve large warships and dozens of smaller vessels from the Kingdom of the Three Daughters set sail in full force.
Their destination: the western waters of Bloodstone Island, where Lord Vaemond's fleet lay in wait.
For years, the Stepstones had been plagued by skirmishes but had seen no true large-scale battle.
But from this moment on, war had begun.
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[Chapter End's]
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