In late August, The Reach reached its highest temperatures; even the river water was no longer cool.
But the people of The Reach felt no distress, only joy at the arrival of the harvest season.
Highgarden.
Seventy thousand allied Reach forces had finished assembling. Led by Duke Mace and Count Mathis Rowan, they set off in a grand procession along the banks of the Mander River.
Such a massive army was more than enough to crush the rebels gathered by the House Baratheon and then some.
At the same time, the Redwyne fleet from The Arbor set out, heading north from the Summer Sea to support operations in the Crownlands.
Half of the Shield Islands fleet set out secretly under the cover of night to rendezvous with the Redwyne fleet.
For a time, the entire Reach was bustling, in a state of high excitement for war preparations.
"I sent a letter to Count Grandison of Allsight, telling them to stay put and gather their forces at Fawnton."
Daeron spread out a map, charting the marching routes for The Reach allied forces and Robert's rebels.
In the original story, Robert's offensive route was Summerhall and Ashford. If Randyll hadn't defeated him head-on, his next step would likely have been to occupy the lower reaches of the Mander River.
By doing so, he could deploy troops from Stormlands to intercept the Mander River, trapping The Reach allied forces at their own doorstep.
The Hand of the King at the time was Count Owen, who took a completely hands-off approach toward the Royalists army, letting them fight however they pleased.
His teacher, Tywin, had quit on the King and returned to the Westerlands.
The lords of Allsight, Fawnton, and Fallwood, after discerning Robert's marching route, assembled their armies for Summerhall on their own initiative, attempting to block Robert's advance.
But clearly, they failed.
Robert achieved the brilliant feat of 'three victories in one day' at the Battle of Summerhall. In the chaos, he hammered Count Fell of Fallwood to death and forced the other two Royalists counts to surrender.
Daeron was not Count Owen. As long as the three lords were willing to support the Iron Throne, he left the tactical details to their private decisions.
The forces of the three lords were not weak; they gathered at Fawnton to prepare.
Once The Reach allied forces headed north and clashed head-on with Stormlands rebels led by Robert, the two sides could meet in a direct confrontation.
With Caraxes's air superiority, the strength of The Reach alliance, and a commander like Randyll Tarly, it would be hard to lose.
When Stormlands rebels retreated, the three lords could strike from Fawnton and cut off their rear.
"If Robert wants to block The Reach allied forces, he won't let the three lords stay united," said Count Randyll.
Count Randyll's gaze was sharp as he pointed to the distance between Ashford and Fawnton.
"Robert will most likely attack Fawnton first, defeat the opposing vassals, and consolidate all Stormlands' forces before moving on to Ashford."
"In that case, we should station another army outside Fawnton. When Robert leads his attack, we can form a pincer movement to trap Stormlands rebels."
Daeron nodded in agreement. "I'll write to Lord Tywin and ask him to lead troops from King's Landing to Tumbleton, to wait for Robert's army to attack Fawnton."
Tumbleton was also known as 'Bumpy Town.'
It was located between King's Landing and Fawnton.
As long as Robert attacked Fawnton, they could support it at maximum speed and strike Stormlands rebels from behind.
It was like a giant net, waiting for the big fish to swim in.
Count Randyll pondered for a moment and said, "With Lord Tywin deploying troops, the worst-case scenario should be holding Fawnton until The Reach alliance arrives."
From his tone, it seemed he had some reservations about Tywin's military capabilities.
Daeron thought about it carefully; his teacher Tywin's military ability was indeed... average.
"Prince, rest for now."
After days of discussion, a hint of approval for Daeron appeared in Count Randyll's eyes. He said, "We still have to travel; we don't know when we'll encounter the enemy."
"Alright!"
The corners of Daeron's mouth curled up; he was somewhat eager for battle.
The Iron Islands, Pyke.
—
King Quellon rested his forehead on one hand, listening to the loud voices arguing below.
"The fleets of The Arbor and the Shield Islands have all withdrawn!"
"The Iron Throne is at war with the dukes of three regions. These Reach nobles all have to go support them; no one can stop us from paying the iron price."
"Exactly. The Shield Islands are still bluffing, sending out a dozen longships on patrol every day, but they're actually empty inside—"
Inside the damp hall stood dozens of Ironborn lords and captains.
The traditions of the Iron Islands were quite unique.
Every great lord and captain was considered a king.
Of course, only a king in their own eyes.
But it was precisely this exaggerated tradition that made the business of raiding grow larger and their strength grow stronger.
It formed a snowballing path for Ironborn promotion.
"Silence, all of you!"
Balon shouted, stopping the clamor of the Ironborn lords and captains in the hall. He said in a raspy voice, "Father, The Reach's defenses are empty. It is the perfect time for us to follow the old way."
There was a reason he would be able to hold the seastone chair for over a decade in the future.
In terms of intelligence gathering, he was better than his other brothers.
He was much like a famished kraken, constantly hiding beneath the waves, waiting for passing ships to run aground so he could pounce and drag them under.
King Quellon lowered his hand, regaining his usual majesty, and asked, "The Reach is preoccupied with its own troubles—how do you prove it?"
Balon was prepared and clapped his hands. "Bring him in!"
Two Ironborn escorted a middle-aged fat man dressed as a merchant into the hall.
"Heh heh—"
The Ironborn lords and captains were all grinning, and some even reached out to pinch the fat man's buttocks.
The fat merchant's face turned pale instantly, and he began to sweat profusely.
Balon said in a low voice, "Speak. What have you seen and heard?"
"It's... it's the Shield Islands. They went to Lannisport to secretly buy a batch of iron arrowheads and Fire oil, along with a large amount of supplies."
The fat merchant didn't dare lie and confessed everything in one breath.
An Ironborn lord stepped forward and questioned, "Why would the people of the Shield Islands buy supplies from Lannisport?"
"I'm not quite sure."
The fat merchant's head was spinning. After being glared at by the vicious wolves, he quickly changed his tune: "I heard that the Hightowers of Oldtown are supporting the Dragon Prince Daeron's march to the capital. All supplies were allocated to The Reach allied forces, so the Shield Islands had to buy from Lannisport."
Balon's lips curled up as he said with certainty, "Father, you see."
If it weren't for war preparations, why would the Shield Islands fleet buy iron arrowheads and oil in bulk, and do so secretly?
King Quellon frowned. "Is half the Shield Islands fleet really gone? Are the defenses empty?"
"I believe so."
Balon was incredibly confident.
Hearing this, King Quellon Fell into silence, secretly weighing the pros and cons.
He was an Ironborn with a broad vision, understanding the gap between the Iron Islands and the Seven Kingdoms.
The Westerlands had produced a Tywin Lannister. That man was extreme in character and used cruel, ruthless methods; he would wipe out an entire family if he said he would.
The 'Rains of Castamere,' famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms, was a song commemorating his deeds.
The Iron Islands and Lannisport were not far apart; a sea voyage would take only two or three days.
The Iron Fleet of the Iron Islands was equivalent in strength to the Redwyne fleet plus the Shield Islands fleet, which was equal to the Royal Fleet assembled by the Crownlands.
Once the Ironborn started raiding the coast at will, the Iron Throne's Royal Fleet would surely deploy.
And Lannisport, held by Tywin, would be the perfect military base from which to attack the Iron Islands at any time.
If Tywin were to serve as the commander, who knows how many Ironborn would die.
But now—
King Quellon calculated that with the Seven Kingdoms in civil war and The Reach empty, it was a god-given opportunity to follow the old way.
Most importantly, he was old!
He could no longer suppress his sons, and he was vaguely losing control over the hall full of aggressive Ironborn lords and captains.
If he went against their collective will again, he feared he wouldn't be able to spend his later years in peace.
"Then, we follow the old way!"
King Quellon slapped the armrest and made his decision.
The next moment, the cheers of the Ironborn echoed across Pike Island.
The Shield Islands.
The weather was sweltering, and a layer of dark clouds loomed overhead, as if a heavy rain were about to fall.
Count Grimm was stationed on Greyshield. Standing atop a tall watchtower, he scanned the sea as usual to see if it was calm.
Suddenly, a ship entered his field of vision.
"Hmm?"
Count Grimm was stunned. Once he saw the ship's silhouette clearly, he found a golden kraken banner flying from the mast.
That was the banner of House Greyjoy.
"Ironborn invasion!!"
Count Grimm roared, quickly descending the watchtower to notify his subordinates to light the Signal fires and alert the other three Shield Islands.
On the horizon.
Balon stood at the bow of the ship, wearing salt-stained leather armor and holding a long scimitar.
Today, he would lead the Ironborn to restore the old way.
This Ironborn fleet consisted of exactly fifty longships, filled with experts at sea raiding.
"Balon, don't go head-to-head. My goal is raiding,"
King Quellon said with a particularly solemn expression, standing in a flat-bottomed longship next to the main vessel.
This flat-bottomed longship was inconspicuous, as bloated as a pregnant woman.
This was the wisdom of the Ironborn.
Hiding the most elite troops in the most unremarkable vessels lowered the enemy's guard, allowing for a lethal blow at the critical moment.
Balon was expressionless, his heart a mix of respect and dissatisfaction for his father.
His father, King Quellon, was wise and martial. During his reign, the Iron Islands had seen fewer casualties, and life was relatively prosperous.
He had abolished the old way and granted freedom to the Thralls.
Although this sparked resistance among the Ironborn, no one dared to oppose him to his face due to his fiery temper and great martial strength.
But he was too cautious!
For this raiding expedition, he had actually left most of the Ironborn to guard the Iron Islands, fearing a sneak attack on their home base from Lannisport.
With two thousand Ironborn and fifty longships, how much iron price could they really take?
Meanwhile, Greyshield, Greenshield, Oakenshield, and Southshield all lit their Signal fires. The sound of horns echoed through the bay under the dark clouds, pushing the atmosphere to its most murderous edge.
"Ironborn, charge! The wealth of The Reach belongs to us!"
Balon strode onto the ship's Ram, his raspy voice carrying across the Ironborn fleet.
"We Do Not Sow!!"
—
The Ironborn cheered as if they had been injected with adrenaline, charging headlong into the Greyshield fleet, which hadn't had time to organize a naval defense and had only a few longships.
Battle broke out instantly.
The mouth of the Mander River.
Count Randyll's gaze was calm as he looked out at the thick signal smoke rising over the bay.
—
Behind him, an army composed of thousands of soldiers from Houses Tyrell, Hightower, and Tarly had set up camp. Wooden boats blocked the river, creating a blockade at the mouth.
"My lord, the fighting has started at the Shield Islands."
Baelor Hightower was on a battlefield for the first time and was pacing anxiously.
Count Randyll remained unfazed and waved him off. "Go down. Hide among your guards and just follow orders."
Baelor wanted to argue, but seeing the cold, hard face of the Lord of Horn Hill, he silently swallowed his words.
He was there on the orders of his father, Lord Leyton, to lead troops in support of the Iron Throne.
But Duke Mace had already departed with The Reach alliance. The two thousand Hightower troops Baelor had brought were also reassigned, leaving him here only to fight the Ironborn.
"House Hightower is regressing more and more."
Randyll watched the movements in the bay without blinking, secretly labeling Baelor as all show and no substance.
On the battlefield.
Balon easily tore through the Shield Islands' naval defense, sending the previously arrogant fleet into a full retreat.
"Euron, you continue attacking the Shield Islands!"
Out of a desire for revenge, he ordered the second brother to continue the fight while he led the main force downstream to raid along the banks of the Mander.
"Crow's Eye" Euron held a sharp sword, jumping between the bow and stern like an agile cat, his eyes already red with bloodlust.
Regardless of whether Euron heard him, Balon led the fleet through the Southshield fleet and officially entered the Mander River.
The view suddenly opened up.
It was no longer the deep blue sea and gloomy sky, but green lawns and a murmuring river. The air was filled with the moist fragrance of soil.
"Hahaha! Reach, welcome King Balon!"
Balon laughed wildly, having long since put his old man out of his mind.
King Quellon: —
Thirty longships sailed into the Mander, following the rapid current downstream in search of a beach where they could land.
Suddenly, a cold and ruthless voice rang out.
"Loose!!"
Two wooden camps appeared on the north and south banks of the Mander River, and hundreds of longbowmen loosed their arrows in unison.
Faced with the rain of arrows, Balon was stunned. "How can this be!?"
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
The Ironborn rarely wore armor during sea battles, and they were instantly mowed down by the dense volley of arrows.
"Damn, it's an ambush!"
Victarion was one of the few Ironborn who loved wearing heavy armor. He swung his greatsword to deflect arrows, instinctively looking toward the flat-bottomed longship where his father was.
King Quellon possessed Life Force and could still fend off the arrows.
But the Ironborn on the ship were in chaos. He was knocked toward the stern and accidentally took an arrow to the chest.
"Ah!" King Quellon let out a scream of pain.
Balon and Victarion's expressions changed drastically as they steered their ships toward their father.
"Loose again!!"
Count Randyll stood behind the Chevaux-de-frise blocking the riverbank, holding the greatsword 'heartsbane,' and ordered another volley.
The Ironborn tried to flee.
But there were obstacles made of fishing boats ahead, and wooden camps set up on both sides.
Even if they rushed ashore, they wouldn't even get past the Chevaux-de-frise.
Want to retreat?
Being at the river mouth with thirty longships sailing downstream, how could they successfully turn around in the middle of such chaos?
Balon was covered in the blood of his fellow Ironborn. With dark eyes, he roared, "Everyone, attack the north bank with all your might! Break that damn camp!"
In the past, he would certainly have been helpless.
But he possessed Life Force and unparalleled strength; no mere group of longbowmen could hope to stop him.
"Ignorant!"
Count Randyll muttered softly, instantly seeing through the Ironborns' intentions.
Boom—!!
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the sky, and a pillar of scorching fire descended, crashing into the crowded Ironborn fleet on the river.
"Dragonfire!"
Daeron descended like a god on Caraxes. The Red Dragon's massive body flew over the Mander River, specifically targeting the ships flying the golden kraken banner.
Balon looked up abruptly and was instantly horrified. "No!!"
A second later, the pillar of scorching fire swept across the ship. The towering mast snapped instantly with a piercing creak, crashing down toward the Ironborn on deck.