BOOM—
Balon's vision blurred as he abruptly fell into the water. His entire body burned with pain, and he sank helplessly toward the riverbed, staring up at the surface.
His mind went blank; he couldn't remember a single thing.
Through his fractured vision and the firelight burning on the river's surface, he saw his familiar Ironborn comrades all in the water—some suffocating, some terrified, all struggling in the river.
Balon didn't understand.
It wasn't that he didn't understand why there was a dragon, but that every Ironborn was a master of the water; how could they be drowning?
But he had no time to think.
He was choking and struggling too, his body sinking steadily as if filled with lead.
In a daze, he felt as if the drowned god were gazing upon him.
"No—!!"
Panic seized Balon's heart. Fear dispelled the chaotic fog in his mind, driving him to use every limb to swim frantically toward the surface.
It was only then that he suddenly realized the water above him had turned into scalding, boiling water.
The Ironborn scalded by the boiling water were like skinned seafood, left with no choice but to wait for death where they floated.
"I don't want to die yet!"
Only one thought remained in Balon's mind: swim up, keep swimming up.
Ignoring his skin being scorched by the boiling water and his hair scalding and falling out, he clawed his way upward like a vengeful spirit from hell.
Splash!
Balon broke the surface and gasped desperately for air. A sharp wheeze came from his throat as his mind gradually regained clarity.
Turning around, he saw the river battlefield had turned into a sea of fire.
The mast of his own ship crashed down heavily, tilting the stern high into the air as the Ironborn aboard spilled into the water like scattered beans.
The hull burned fiercely, emitting thick smoke and a pungent stench.
It was the charred smell of roasted corpses.
Balon's spirit trembled; he was completely stunned by the sight.
.
Above the Mander River.
Daeron Targaryen rode Caraxes, circling in the sky, igniting one longship after another and turning the crowded river into a mountain of flames.
Looking down, he noted with surprise: "Eh, one didn't die?"
It was the first ship he had ignited, flying the Greyjoy banner with its Golden Kraken.
Under his gaze, the badly burned Balon, with his sparse and soaking wet long hair, swam desperately toward the shore, searching for a place to land.
"Burn him!"
Daeron's eyes flashed; he would not let a single Ironborn escape.
Caraxes screeched with excitement, locking onto the little insects struggling in the water and relentlessly breathing Dragonfire.
A dragon's nature was inherently cold-blooded, cruel, and murderous.
The rider's madness only made it more infatuated with the slaughter.
"Dragonfire!!"
Another command in that death-knell-like foreign tongue rang out. Balon plunged beneath the surface with a splash, narrowly avoiding the Dragonfire's strike.
However, the sheer impact of the Dragonfire still left him dazed and lightheaded.
"Hold the shore! Do not allow a single Ironborn to land!"
Earl Randyll Tarly showed his cold, soldierly side. Seeing Ironborn luckily crawling ashore, he immediately dispatched a squad of spearmen to stab them repeatedly through the chevaux-de-frise.
"Agh—!!"
The Ironborn had no way to the heavens and no gate to the earth, letting out shrill wails in their despair.
This was the consequence of poor intelligence work and being caught on the wrong side of an information gap.
The Reach coalition had indeed marched north early, and the Redwyne Fleet along with half of the Shield Islands fleet had also sailed out of the bay.
But this was a fatal bait to lure the Ironborn into the trap.
Daeron had anticipated it.
The Ironborn could not restrain their greed for the old way; they would launch a surprise attack while The Reach was seemingly undefended.
He had deliberately leaked rumors, making The Reach appear incredibly weak.
He sat back and waited for the Ironborn to take the bait!
Half of the Shield Islands fleet retreated to the islands, abandoning the sea routes to allow the Ironborn to enter the Mander River.
Randyll Tarly commanded a thousand soldiers stationed on both the north and south banks, blockading the downstream estuary.
He appeared on Caraxes and set the Ironborn fleet ablaze.
In a short time, few sound ships remained on the river.
At that moment, the Ironborn fleet emerged again at the river mouth, sailing rapidly with the current.
Daeron looked closely and saw another ship leading the way, flying the Golden Kraken banner.
This vessel was different from a longship—it was larger and more stable, a combat-class Greatship capable of facing giant waves.
Even in the Iron Islands, only House Greyjoy, great lords, and captains could afford them.
"This way, Caraxes!"
Daeron commanded in High Valyrian, steering the Red Dragon upstream.
On the other side, Euron Greyjoy aboard the 'Silence' was covered in blood. He stood on the mast's rigging holding a sharp blade, laughing loudly as he gazed upon this green land.
The Shield Islands fleet had been pathetic, cowering on their islands under his assault.
His cunning elder brother Balon had made him bring up the rear while leading the fleet to plunder for himself—it was pure fantasy.
He would pay the iron price too!
"Lads!"
Euron shouted, declaring like a vow: "What is dead may die!"
"What is dead may never die!!"
The Ironborn following him were even more frenzied, letting out a collective howl like wailing ghosts.
But soon, the high-spirited atmosphere of impending success came to a screeching halt.
What was that ahead?
Flames reached the sky, and thick smoke rose everywhere.
The fleet of thirty longships was in total chaos, swallowed by fire, with wails and screams echoing everywhere.
"What?" Euron froze on the spot.
The next moment, an even bigger'surprise' arrived.
"Screee—!"
Caraxes tore through the sky, its snake-like body diving rapidly toward the fleet of over a dozen longships.
Its dragon maw opened wide, and searing flames gathered deep in its throat, ready to be unleashed.
"Dragon!!"
Sharp-eyed Ironborn spotted the Red Dragon and immediately let out terrified screams.
The Ironborn were aghast. The bravado they had felt while beating the Shield Islands fleet vanished instantly, replaced by panicked helplessness before the aerial behemoth.
Didn't they say the Dragon Prince was riding his dragon leading an army north?
Which blind fool had gathered that intelligence?
"Euron, what do we do!?"
An Ironborn lord turned hastily, looking to the leader, 'Crows Eye' Euron, for a solution.
Splash!
A figure leapt directly from the mast into the water, his body as flexible as a kraken, vanishing beneath the waves in the blink of an eye.
The Ironborn lord was stunned!!
Damn that 'Crows Eye' Euron; he had actually deserted in the heat of battle.
In truth, Euron had already shown him the solution.
"Dragonfire!!"
Death arrived as crimson Dragonfire descended from the heavens, irresistibly striking the 'Silence', instantly shattering the warship—
And igniting it.
After more than a hundred and fifty years, dragons had returned to the eyes of the world.
This group of Ironborn could be considered "blessed" to enjoy the exclusive treatment of a dragon.
"No, no, no!!"
The Ironborn lord, who had spent his life roaming the seas, could think of no way to save himself. He begged for mercy in terror before being burned to ash by the Dragonfire.
"Oh, who ran away so fast?"
Daeron leaned forward, seeing a blurry figure swimming out of the river mouth.
That speed was truly rare.
However, there were many Ironborn below; he couldn't give up a whole forest for a single tree.
He steered Caraxes and continued breathing fire!
In contrast, Victarion fell into a violent rage.
"Euron, you deserted!"
He had seen with his own eyes his second brother Euron arrive with a fleet, yet Euron didn't even look at his father and brothers trapped in the sea of fire, abandoning all his subordinates.
He had dived into the water and swam away alone.
"Third brother, give me a hand!"
Balon swam out of the water. When he was pulled onto the only remaining undamaged longship, several arrows were stuck in his chest and back.
Fortunately, the underwater resistance was high, and the arrowheads hadn't pierced his chest cavity.
"Brother, Father is wounded."
Victarion had already given up resisting the longbowmen on the banks. He only swung his sword to drive away Ironborn trying to climb the ship, his tall frame clad in heavy armor shielding his father.
King Quellon had been hit by an arrow in his chest. He was temporarily conscious but had lost his fighting ability.
"There are too many people on the banks; we can't charge up, and even if we did, we couldn't win."
Balon's face was unrecognizable, looking like a demon from the human world.
Victarion looked around and found a small, intact boat, pushing his father and elder brother onto it.
If someone didn't risk their life, no one would get away.
He would bring up the rear to create a chance for his father and brother to escape.
"Third brother!"
Balon shouted the name, but his body was already on the boat.
Victarion ignored everything else, rallying a group of Ironborn who could still fight to row and charge toward the river mouth.
Only by returning the way they came was there a glimmer of hope.
"Quick, escape!"
"Get on the boats, everyone on the boats—"
The remaining Ironborn picked the best ships and, regardless of anything else, rowed toward the river mouth to flee.
When they encountered Euron's fleet, they even seized the other side's ships, pushing off other Ironborn to draw fire.
"Screee—!"
Caraxes soared in circle after circle, breathing Dragonfire recklessly as if its energy were inexhaustible.
"Let's go, Caraxes."
Daeron did not finish them all off, turning back to clear the fleet.
Some people being alive was more meaningful than them being dead right now.
Evening.
Earl Tarly commanded the soldiers to clear the battlefield, salvage the weapons carried by the Ironborn, and eliminate any survivors.
"My Lord, news has come from Earl Paxter Redwyne."
Davos Seaworth hurried over.
Opening the letter, he saw that the Redwyne Fleet and half of the Shield Islands fleet had already set sail back from the Summer Sea. They would stop at the Shield Islands to pick them up and carry them to the Iron Islands.
Earl Tarly nodded privately and walked up the hill: "Prince, we are about to depart."
"Screee—!"
Caraxes had burned to its heart's content and was still restless now. A large blast of Dragonfire roasted a sheep, leaving a large patch of gray ash on the spot.
After reading the letter, Daeron smiled faintly: "We only caught one Greyjoy this time. There's a whole group of them on the Iron Islands, so naturally—"
"—we can't let them go."
The original plan was to leak the news of The Reach's empty defenses to lure the Ironborn out in force.
He could then logically eliminate a major future threat.
He hadn't expected that King Quellon would be so cautious, only leading fifty longships out to sea to plunder while keeping most of his forces to guard the Iron Islands.
Daeron had changed his plan on the fly, letting the longship suspected to carry King Quellon escape.
As the saying goes, don't drive a dog into a dead end.
Killing King Quellon would only enrage the Ironborn on the islands, which would be unfavorable for the progression of the subsequent war.
Now he held the moral high ground and had a reason to attack the Iron Islands.
He could take his time with the fight until the Ironborn were beaten into submission.
"Prince, this is that Greyjoy!"
Jaime Lannister, in his silver armor and white cloak, led two soldiers to bring forward a tall man clad in heavy armor.
"A Greyjoy?"
Daeron became interested.
Having become a Kingsguard, Jaime still couldn't change his flippant personality, saying smugly: "I've interrogated the other Ironborn. His name is Victarion Greyjoy, the third son of King Quellon."
As he spoke, he yanked up the tall man's black hair.
"Speak, Greyjoy!"
Victarion was in a wretched state, his hands and feet firmly bound by hemp ropes as thick as a wrist. He knelt on the ground like a weary, exhausted bull.
Supposedly, this fellow had fought off over a dozen soldiers without retreating, only being captured alive once he was completely spent.
Daeron crouched down, looking directly into those dull, grayish-black pupils, and said with a smile: "Would you like to bend the knee to me and enter my service?"
His smile contained no mockery; it was like a greeting between ordinary acquaintances.
Victarion recovered slightly, his pupils regaining their light, and a slight change in emotion appeared on that rigid face.