Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 390 Red Grassland: Battle of the Knights
The morning light pierced through the mist of the red grassland, and the two armies spread out across the plain like giant beasts.

The Black Fire side has deployed all its main forces, while the royal coalition forces are composed entirely of elite troops.

The horse flag of Lord Bracken fluttered in the morning breeze. Three thousand heavily armored infantrymen formed a wedge formation, with spears erected like a forest of steel. Behind them were a large number of defeated soldiers - their armor was covered with smoke and blood. Lord Bracken rode an armored warhorse and slowly inspected the front line. His voice was as low as thunder:

"From today on, if we win, we will take revenge. If we lose, the Stranger will lead the way for us. We will reunite with our brothers and family in the Stranger's Hall!"

He drew his sword.

"Let me clear the way for you."

The soldiers struck their shields with their spears and iron swords, and the sound was like thunder.

Quentin Pole's three thousand armored cavalrymen were silent as iron. Their horses were covered in smocks and mail, and their riders pointed their lances at the sky. Pole himself stood at the front, his black armor engraved with his own fireball emblem, his chain hammer across his saddle. He glanced at the knights of the valley in the distance, and a sneer appeared on the corner of his mouth.

As the left wing, he was responsible for breaking through the enemy's line.

At this point, he no longer had much confidence that he could win. The rebellion was too hasty, and King's Landing had failed to achieve its goals, so their rebellion could only rely on the favor of the gods, or luck, from the very beginning.

So now, the more he killed, the happier he was. If Damon and his men could kill a few dragons, that would be even better.

“Remember, when you charge, leave no one alive. Fight for the true king.”

The cavalrymen nodded silently, their iron hooves paddling the soil restlessly.

On the right wing, Lord Darry's infantry phalanx stood like a black reef. They had no heavy armor, but the axes and halberds in their hands shone coldly. Lord Darry stood in front of the formation, with an indelible sadness between his brows.

Lord Ambrose Butterwell's whispers seemed to echo in his ears.

House Darry can no longer afford to lose. Their loyalty to Aegon the Usurper led to them being hit hard by the Black Party. Their loyalty to King Aegon led to them being hit hard by King Daeron I and Daeron II. Now they are being hit hard again.

The farmers can no longer bear it.

Count Bartwell's reserve troops were like a dark cloud. His troops were composed of mercenaries, bandits, and forced peasants. They were poorly disciplined, but numerous. Bartwell rode a skinny horse, lazily chewed sour grass leaves, and smiled at the knight beside him:

"Just do our own thing."

The coalition forces loyal to the royal family also had many flags, and the elite troops from all over the country almost fought to get on the battlefield.

Lord Tully's silver trout flag flew high. Twenty thousand elite riverland soldiers formed a deep formation, with spears like a forest and heavy armor like a wall. Lord Tully rode a gray-dappled warhorse, and beside him stood Earl Quentyn Blackwood and Lord Harford Frey. His voice was steady and firm:
"Today, we fight for the rightful king, and the gods will bless us!"

The soldiers shouted in unison, their voices shaking the sky.

Lord Donal Arryn's knights of the Vale stood on the right wing as solemn as snow-capped mountains. Their armor shone like mirrors, and their spears were straight as pine trees. The white knight Galwyn Corbray stood in front of the battle, with Lady Hollow hanging at his waist. His eyes penetrated the battlefield and pointed directly at Quentyn Pole's black cavalry.

Today the knights of this valley shall be famous throughout the world.

The knights struck their shields with swords, and the horns of the Eyrie ripped through the sky. The northern army led by Rickon Stark was like a silent glacier on the left wing. They did not shout or beat drums, but just stood quietly, with the direwolf banners fluttering in the wind. The heavy axemen of House Umber, the spearmen of House Bolton, and the snow hunters of House Karstark, each face was as cold and hard as cold iron. Rickon rode on his warhorse, with his icy giant sword pointed diagonally at the ground.

The one who started the battle was Quentin Bold's Black Armored Cavalry.

Then, the two waves collided violently, causing a huge wave of blood.

As the prairie ground was crushed by the iron hooves, Quentin Pole had already picked off the head of the seventh knight. His lance had long been broken, and now he was wielding an axe pulled from a corpse, the axe blade stained with brains and broken bones. The blue moon flags of the Knights of the Valley kept falling around him, like wheat being harvested by a sickle.

"For Blackfire!" Bol's roar was hoarse like rusty iron. The horse under his crotch was foaming at the mouth, and three arrows were stuck in the mail. Behind him, three thousand cavalrymen stabbed into the enemy formation like sharp knives, tearing a bloody gap in the defense line of House Arryn.

Every moment, black-armored cavalrymen fell, but every moment, the fireballs were getting closer to the falcon.

The silver helmet of Lord Donnel Arryn gleamed in the chaos. The Duke of the Eyrie, holding a long sword gleaming with cold light, was commanding the archers to re-form their ranks. Bol grinned, kicked his horse and rushed forward. The moment the two horses collided, steel and flesh were deformed at the same time. The Duke's sword slashed across Bol's shoulder, and Bol's battle axe shattered the Duke's throat guard -

——But at the last moment, it was blocked by a pure white shield. Galwyn Corbray's white robe had turned red, and the Lady of the Empty glowed dangerously in the morning light. "Your opponent is me, traitor."

In the distance, Osser Bracken was pulling the sword out of Quentyn Blackwood's eye socket. The earl's fish beam longbow broke in two pieces, keeping the same angle as his neck. "Next!" Osser roared and shook off the blood on the sword, but did not notice that the knight wearing the twin towers emblem helmet had already rushed over.

An arrow pierced the eye of the still-laughing Other Bracken.

"For 'brave' Merry!" Harford Frey rode in his saddle, passing Other Bracken, who had fallen to his knees, his double-curved longbow quivering in his hands, and threw it away. The next second the mace smashed into the back of Other's head, the crack of the skull like a watermelon falling from a tower. Other's body fell into the mud, right on top of the enemy he had just killed.

At the other end of the battlefield, the sound of two swords clashing even drowned out the dragon's roar.

The Lady of the Hollow was alive in Gawwen Corbray's hands, the Valyrian steel blade cutting across Quentyn Por's breastplate in a smoking streak, and every breath the White Knight drew frothed with blood—two of his ribs were broken—from Por's chain hammer.

The chain hammer is more dangerous here than the sword or mace. It is not afraid of the sharpness of the Valyrian steel sword, but it can penetrate the knight's breastplate.

“Surrender, Bor.” Galwyn dodged a blow. “For honor.”

Quentin Bol laughed wildly in response. The battle axe in his other hand was broken, and a piece of the axe blade was cut off by Lady of Loneliness, but it was still as fierce as before. "My honor is to let the songs of future generations remember this day forever!" The axe blade scraped against Galwen's helmet, cutting off half of the flying eagle decoration.

They fought until the roar of a dragon swept across the battlefield, and the ground beneath their feet was soaked with blood. Bol's axe was as wild as a storm, and every blow of the chain hammer made the armor shatter with a wail, and Corbray's sword skills were as accurate as a debt collector. When Bol finally stumbled, the Lady of the Empty was at his throat.

"Kill me," gasped Pol, "or I'll come again."

The tip of Galwen's sword trembled slightly. Finally, he turned the hilt of the sword and smashed it hard on Bol's temple. "Your life belongs to the king's judgment." He said, looking at the Blackfyre army that had begun to collapse.

The most frightening thing was the silent slaughter of the northerners. The great axemen of House Umber chopped the heads of the deserters like chopping wood, and the swordsmen of House Bolton targeted the noble knights, blowing a bone whistle every time they cut off a family emblem. The heavy cavalry of the Silver Blood Army was like a silver tide, completely crushing the remaining resistance.

In the farther sky, dragon flames lit up the clouds. The war of humans was still going on, but the war of dragons had just begun.

(End of this chapter)