Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

The Madam is a very classic ship name with a distinctively Reissian flair. The ship's hull is covered with Reissian-style paintings, and the bronze figureheads, as always, exude a hedonistic and decadent style. Even the crew members are fair-skinned Reissian lads. However, it is a real warship, and the atmosphere on its deck is extremely tense at this moment.

Boat boy Airi was very sensitive to this tense atmosphere because he had experienced relaxed and joyful times in the preceding months.

Back then, all you had to do was fire a stone projectile at the bow and stern of a passing merchant ship. Even without hitting the target, the sheer volume of water splashing on the surface signaled to the merchant ship: "You're within my firing range!" This forced them to stop, and then you could take whatever you wanted! Gold, silver, silks, rare goods, even the handsome men and beautiful women on board…

In those days, the crew laughed and joked on the deck, drank and reveled, and piled up the looted goods at will. The air was filled with the sweet smell of alcohol and the arrogance of victory.

But things are different now. The lookout on the mast stares nervously at the distant sky, his eyes stinging from the intense sunlight on the sea, yet he dares not let his guard down. The shields on both sides of the ship have been raised early. The old sailors who usually love to boast about their victories are now pursing their lips, holding their crossbows with the strings drawn and saying nothing. Even the crossbows are loaded with bolts and ready to fire.

Normally, these expensive weapons with limited lifespans would be subject to the captain's impatient whip if they were neglected in their maintenance or if the winding time was too long. But at this moment, the sailor in charge had no time to spare; he gripped the winch tightly with both hands and his eyes warily scanned the surrounding sky.

Ellie huddled in the shadow of the mainmast, able to clearly hear his own rapid heartbeat, mingled with the howling of the sea wind whistling through the sails. He knew what everyone was afraid of. Earlier, the twenty small warships that had attacked the transport ship had not yet completely disappeared from sight. His uncle, who had introduced him to the group, was on one of the small warships in the squadron. Ellie stood on the deck, witnessing from afar the entire process of three demonic dragons flying in and burning the squadron.

The crimson dragon launched the first attack, and even from a distance, its chilling, piercing roar could be heard. Its dragonfire, as hot as red light and as thick as a raging river of fire, spewed forth violently in an instant, setting the entire warship ablaze. The raging flames even steamed the surrounding sea.

Next came the small, smoky-gray dragon, which swooped down from the stern, spewing flames as it swept across the ship. Ships attacked by it burst into flames, thick smoke and fire billowing from the sails and rigging, almost reaching the sky. Airi watched helplessly as the warship, under the relentless heat of the flames, gradually tilted and slowly sank into the sea.

The largest dragon, its body almost entirely black with virtually no other colors, unleashed the most lethal attack. Its eerie blue breath, like hellfire, sliced ​​a small warship in half.

The desperate cries of the crew echoed across the sea, filled with fear and helplessness, mournful and heart-wrenching.

Airi understood that he couldn't hear people shouting at this distance, but his ears were unconsciously filled with these voices that made him feel scared.

The distant sea and sky were still shrouded in thick smoke and fire. The dragon's figure appeared and disappeared in the gloom, and every flap of its wings sent shivers down one's spine. He could only helplessly accept the images of the tragedy in the distance, like a prisoner bound by invisible chains.

"Get to work, you lazybones!" A rough voice suddenly came from behind, carrying an unquestionable rebuke.

Ari snapped back to reality, immediately feeling a burning pain in his neck—the captain's large hand had mercilessly slapped him on the back of the neck. Before he could even rub the spot, he hurriedly lowered his head, grabbed the heavy wooden bucket at his feet, and continued watering the canvas and deck.

The salty seawater, once dried, leaves behind stubborn salt stains that corrode the ship's hull. The captain, usually extremely concerned about this, would supervise the sailors and ship's boys to clean his "beloved wife" (the warship) thoroughly after each voyage, harshly reprimanding any crew member responsible for cleaning even the slightest trace of salt. But at this moment, he strictly ordered his crew to soak every corner of the warship with seawater, hoping this measure would slightly ward off the dragon's breath…

"Goddess of Lust, please protect your followers and help us escape this annihilation!" The tall and slender captain with platinum blonde curly hair murmured as he prayed for divine protection, completely unaware that this was actually an act of disrupting morale.

The atmosphere at the Valerian Island camp, far from the battlefield, was much more relaxed than that of the Three Cities Alliance fleet, which was on high alert as if facing a formidable enemy.

The three dragon riders sat around the camp table, feasting and replenishing their strength. Not far away on the beach, three giant dragons were also constantly spewing dragonfire, scorching and devouring live prey such as cattle and sheep.

Night Fury flapped its enormous wings, a single pounce creating gusts of wind and sending sand and stones flying. It snapped a bull in half with a single bite, its scalding dragonfire overflowing from its mouth, instantly vaporizing the blood splattering in mid-air. Sea Smoke, on the other hand, preferred to pin down charred sheep with its claws, tearing at them bit by bit, letting out satisfied growls. Korachuh, however, was even more ferocious. It burned a large swarm of livestock with its scarlet breath, then opened its blood-red maw and devoured the roasted sheep, skin and bones, one by one.

At the small table, the freshly roasted meat sizzled, its fat constantly releasing tiny droplets, filling the air with the rich aroma of ale and the charred fragrance of the meat. Damon held a crispy roasted leg of lamb in his left hand and a wooden cup in his right. He tore off a large piece of meat with his pearly white teeth, then tilted his head back and gulped down a mouthful of liquor, letting out a satisfied sigh as his Adam's apple bobbed.

"This tastes even more authentic and rustic than what the royal chefs in King's Landing make!" He said casually, his lips smeared with grease, his gaze occasionally drifting to the dragons feasting in the distance. "It seems our companions are also enjoying this feast."

"Is this really the right thing for us?" Still at such a well-behaved and sensible age, Lannino was anxious, unsure whether he was worried about his father who was still adrift on the sea, desperately waiting for a turnaround; or whether he was concerned about the unfortunate souls left on the beach.

Reed skillfully cut the steak on his plate with his steel dagger, and chuckled when he heard this: "After all, a tough battle is coming up. If we don't replenish our strength now, are we going to fight on an empty stomach?" He then put a piece of cut beef into his mouth, chewed it carefully, and looked very satisfied.

The sea breeze, carrying a salty, damp scent, seeped in through the gaps in the tents, mingling with the aroma of roasting meat. Lannino unconsciously twisted the hem of his clothes, his gaze passing over the flickering campfire to the dark, murky sea. But there, apart from the surging waves, nothing could be seen.

Damon seemed to read his mind, tossing aside the cleanly gnawing lamb bone and wiping his mouth with the back of his rough hand. "Your father fought in the Narrow Sea for years; this little storm couldn't capsize his ship. But you," he changed his tone, his eyes sharpening like an eagle's, "if you don't even have the patience for this much waiting, how will you ever take control of Tidehead Island?"

Lannino was taken aback by what he said, his cheeks flushed slightly, and he lowered his head to poke at the almost untouched roast meat on the plate.

"Don't be too harsh on the child; after all, this is his first time experiencing something like this." Reed put down his dagger and gestured to Damon, then paused and said to Lannino, "Damon is right, anxiety won't solve anything. Besides, you don't need to worry too much. A chase at sea is a very long process; it won't be over quickly. Moreover, your father's fleet is familiar with every reef and current in this area; he knows how to use wind direction and tides to gain the upper hand."

"But since we have time to eat, why not continue to cover the landing forces?" Lannino suddenly raised his head, his voice trembling slightly, his purple eyes filled with confusion and urgency.

Damon let out a low, snicker.

"Have you ever counted how many Three Cities Alliance warships we've burned?" Reed asked helplessly.

"Thirteen ships? What happened?"

"Six of them were your spoils, and even that, Sea Smoke's wings were trembling when it flew back. And have you forgotten that Night Fury and Bloodworms have been fighting fiercely all morning?"

"If Kolachu is well-fed, watered, and rested, I can burn all twenty ships to ashes by myself."

"So you sacrificed four thousand men just so we'd have time to eat?!" Lannino's hoarse voice suddenly rose, filled with barely suppressed rage. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his knuckles turning white from the force.

Damon's smile faded, his gaze darkened, but he didn't immediately respond.

Reed sighed. "This is nothing! And you're already having PTSD?"

He reached out and pressed down on Lannino's shoulder, trying to calm him down: "Kid, mercy is a virtue, but a merciful person is not qualified to be a commander! Because the essence of war is an exchange of pieces. As a commander, you must consciously decide which group to sacrifice in exchange for the final victory. Those four thousand sacrifices bought us more than just the time it takes to eat a meal; they gave the exhausted dragon a chance to catch its breath, and they gave us the opportunity to annihilate the Three Cities Alliance's naval forces!"

"Stop those childish emotions, put away those feelings of guilt and kindness that shouldn't exist on the battlefield, and give me a good meal and a good night's sleep! When your father clashes with the fleet of the Three Cities Alliance, we'll appear above the enemy ships and wreak havoc! At that time, if you spit out one less dragon flame because of internal strife, the sacrifice of dozens of soldiers will be wasted! Do you understand?"

Lannino's chest heaved violently, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Reed. His lips trembled, but he couldn't utter a single word. His mind flashed back to the still-burning wreckage on Bloodstone Island's beach, thick smoke billowing into the sky. Those countless vibrant lives that had crowded the sand were now likely reduced to cold numbers, becoming the "necessary sacrifices" Reed spoke of.

For a moment, even the sea breeze seemed to carry a heavy smell of blood. He suddenly shook off Reed's hand, turned around and staggered to the side. Looking at the surging black waves, his stomach churned, but he couldn't vomit anything. Only physiological dry heaving made him bend over.

Damon appeared behind him without his noticing and silently handed him a leather water pouch. Lannino took it, took a big gulp, and then a violent cough tore through his throat. The spiciness of the liquor made his eyes water.

Damon remained silent, simply standing quietly beside him, his gaze fixed on the distant sea. Lannino could sense the icy aura emanating from him, a kind of indifference that had settled after a life-or-death struggle, yet beneath this indifference lay a subtle, complex emotion.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Have a couple more sips. At times like this, alcohol is a good thing..."

"Give him less to drink! We're counting on him to do the work this afternoon!" Reed shouted to the two people not far away, but in his heart he was complaining about Corliss: This eagle father made him do this, the little brat who hasn't even finished puberty yet, he just had to drag him to the battlefield to suffer.