Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

The midday sun hung high above the Gobi Desert in Milin, the sand and gravel scorching hot, the rising heat distorting the distant horizon. The winding grain transport convoy resembled a thirsty giant python, the crunching of its wheels over the gravel mingling with the low moos of the livestock, a particularly jarring sound in the silent wasteland.

The wagon's grain sacks and baskets were bulging with oats, chickpeas, cabbage, and turnips.

Each bag was a lifeline for the city, a source of hope for their families and friends in Meereen to survive the famine.

The light infantry escorting the convoy were mostly emaciated freed slaves and poor people. They wore soft armor made of coarse cloth, and their only weapons were spears, broken swords, and shields. Everyone could not hide the exhaustion between their brows; a night of vigilance had made their eyelids heavy, but they still dared not stop their march until the billowing dust rising on the horizon suddenly covered the sunlight like a black cloth.

"Enemy attack!" The officer on horseback galloped back, his roar shattering the tranquility of the convoy.

Panic spread like wildfire. Soldiers jumped up in alarm, some tripping over spears and others knocking over water bags in the chaos. Amid the splashing sounds, there were cries of women and children. Several freed slaves' family members were also with the convoy.

They staggered and hid behind the grain carts, trembling as they clung to the planks, watching the cavalry surge forward like a tidal wave. The sound of hooves shook the earth, banners fluttered in the wind, and the harpies on the banners were ferocious and terrifying, reminding many of the slave owners' whips.

"Form ranks! Form ranks now!" Mandela, the commander of the light infantry, roared through the chaos. He was a burly, somewhat lame, but tenacious old man. The slave brand on his left arm had been torn away, leaving only a healed scar. Mandela slashed down a soldier trying to escape with his sword. "Hold the supply wagons! Without food, the people of Meereen will starve!"

The soldiers, as if waking from a dream, hurriedly led their livestock and moved the supply wagons, attempting to form a makeshift defensive circle. Archers climbed onto the wagons, drew their bows, and aimed their arrows at the approaching cavalry; javelin throwers crouched behind the wagons, gripping their short spears tightly, their knuckles white from the effort. Their breathing was rapid, sweat streamed down their faces, hitting the scorching ground and evaporating instantly.

Vepras reined in his horse, which pawed restlessly. A sinister grin twisted across his face; he wouldn't grant his cavalry even a moment's rest. "Wind Blowers! Ravens!" His voice, like a poisoned whip, echoed across the battlefield. "Charge! Burn those supply wagons!"

The bugle sounded shrilly. Two groups of mercenary cavalry charged out in response, their equipment uneven, yet each one looking fierce and menacing. Hooves kicked up clouds of dust as the riders brandished their weapons and uttered bizarre shouts, charging fiercely towards the convoy.

"Loose the arrows! Throw the spears!" Mandela shouted the order.

Arrows rained down like locusts, and short spears pierced the air. Several cavalrymen at the forefront fell from their horses, their screams drowned out by the clatter of hooves. But more cavalrymen broke through the hail of arrows, paying no heed to the sporadic resistance. Their flaming arrows, trailing long fiery tails, were aimed precisely at the canvas of the grain carts; pitch cans were smashed against the grain sacks, black pitch splattering everywhere, igniting into a raging inferno.

"No!"

A mournful wail echoed across the wasteland. Flames licked at the grain sacks, billowing thick smoke that stung the eyes. The acrid smell of burnt grain mingled with the stench of asphalt, filling the air.

The light infantrymen, their eyes bloodshot, charged forward with a roar, using their cloaks to extinguish the flames and burying the fire with sand, completely ignoring the arrows whistling overhead. This grain was their family's lifeline; it could not be destroyed!

Vipras's cavalry gave them no chance to fight the fire. Taking advantage of their confusion, the cavalry circled the supply wagons, unleashing arrows like venomous snakes, pinning the fire-fighting soldiers to the ground. Some Dothraki mercenaries used ropes to lasso those engrossed in fighting the fire. Those bound by the ropes screamed as they were dragged to the ground, their bodies mercilessly trampled by horses' hooves, the cracking of bones sending chills down one's spine. Some had their legs broken by the horses' hooves, writhing and howling on the ground; others had their necks snapped by ropes, lying in pools of blood, eyes wide open.

Amidst the thick smoke and flames, the Second Sons' cavalry ranks lay silent. Adjutant Robert watched the trampled light infantry, their eyes filled with despair, and his heart clenched as if gripped by an invisible hand. These were not well-trained soldiers, but a group of impoverished civilians fighting for their lives; their struggles, beneath the iron hooves of the cavalry, were as insignificant as ants.

"Don't be soft-hearted, Robert." Merri glanced at Robert, her voice devoid of emotion. "We are mercenaries. Justice is meaningless to us; only the commission is real."

Robert turned his head away, unable to bear looking at the inferno-like sea of ​​fire any longer.

"Abandon the burning grain wagons! Now!" Mandela roared in despair. He watched the grain wagons engulfed in flames, his heart aching, but he knew no more futile sacrifices could be made. Several soldiers, terrified, dropped their weapons and tried to flee. Mandela, his eyes bloodshot, hurled two javelins, piercing their chests with deadly accuracy. The deserters' bodies crashed to the ground, their blood staining the sand.

"Those who want to live, follow me, form a shield wall!" Mandela roared hoarsely. "Back up to the supply wagons! Hold the line!"

The surviving light infantrymen were stunned. Looking into their commander's resolute eyes and at the corpses on the ground, they finally suppressed their grief. Half of the survivors huddled together, raising their makeshift wooden shields to form a barely solid square. Shields clashed, spears pointed diagonally to the sky, their faces stained with blood and tears, yet radiating the resolute determination of a desperate army.

The cavalry charge halted, standing in stark contrast to the shield formation. Only the crackling of flames and the heavy breathing of soldiers remained on the wasteland.

Robert could no longer restrain himself. He spurred his horse to Vepulas's side and said in a deep voice, "My lord, the supply wagons are already on fire. We have achieved our objective. Continuing the fight will only increase casualties. The Black Dragon King could arrive to reinforce us at any moment. Let's retreat!"

Although Vellas's eyes held the joy of victory, he wasn't blinded by it. "You're right, let's retreat."

Just then, a sudden, urgent bugle call rang out. It wasn't an attack horn, but an alarm horn, shrill and piercing, drowning out all other sounds on the battlefield.

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw another plume of dust rising on the distant horizon. The horn sound came from the Cats who had stayed behind!

Vepras's expression changed, and he immediately took the Mill Eye from beside the saddle and stood on the horse to observe.

On the distant wasteland, the Cat Clan's cavalry were fleeing in disarray, their formation scattered and many carrying bulging bundles, with a light infantry pursuing them.

"Useless!" Vepras cursed.

"Merry, take your men and rout those pursuers!"

Robert leaned closer to Vepras: "My lord, the Cat Band probably let their guard down because they were looting along the way, which gave the enemy an opportunity. They only have themselves to blame. Besides, cavalry can't be caught by infantry. We should just retreat and leave the Cat Band to cover our retreat."

Vepras lowered his Mill glasses, looking at Robert with a half-smile: "What? Are you trying to compensate for your pathetic sense of justice, Lieutenant?"

Robert's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly lowered his head: "I'm only thinking about the Allied Forces. The dragon hasn't shown up, nor has the Black Dragon King's elite knight order. Important supplies have been attacked, yet they haven't shown up yet. This is not normal. We should keep reserves."

Vepras paused for a moment. "Rout that pursuing light infantry force, then retreat immediately!"

Robert wanted to say something more, but Merri reached out and pressed down on his shoulder, her eyes carrying a hint of warning.

The cavalry of the Second Sons Regiment mounted their horses. They were one of the best-equipped mercenary groups in the allied forces, composed of noble second sons who had received knightly training, free riders, and squires, each of whom was skilled in mounted combat.

Merry took the lead, lance tucked under his ribs, while Dorne's sand steed pawed restlessly at the sand beneath its feet.

"charge!"

The thunderous sound of hooves echoed as the Second Sons' cavalry drew a graceful arc in front of the formation, cutting in diagonally and forcefully separating the fleeing Cats from the pursuing light infantry.

The Cat Clan cavalry, left behind, were still in shock. They dropped the bundles they had stolen and collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.

The light infantry, whose formation had been scattered by the pursuit, quickly lost their morale under the charge of the Second Sons' well-organized cavalry. Witnessing the horrific sight of their comrades being pierced by lances and trampled by warhorses, this cannon fodder force, composed of freed slaves and the poor, scattered and fled. Amidst this disorganized mass, a few strong and experienced former gladiators or slave soldiers stepped forward to try and salvage the situation, but they were like insignificant ripples in the face of the hordes of elite knights charging forward, vanishing in an instant into the torrent.

"Dispel them, don't pursue them for too long!" Robert shouted, his voice tinged with urgency.

Merri glanced at him but did not refute him. Robert was right—there was no need to lose manpower for a bunch of useless mercenaries.

The cavalry of the Second Son Regiment understood the intention. They stopped engaging in prolonged combat and instead split into groups of several dozen men each to drive away the fleeing soldiers. The cavalry's advantage was evident on the wasteland; the pursuing troops' formation was quickly broken, and many were trampled by horses' hooves, forced to retreat in disarray.

The dust and smoke on the wasteland gradually subsided. The cavalry of the Second Sons regiment regrouped, and many of them huddled together, loudly discussing their heroic exploits and complaining about Robert for not letting them pursue them further.

Merri reined in his horse, looked at Vepras on the high ground, and called out, "My lord! The pursuers have retreated!"

Vepras watched the retreating light infantry, then glanced at the Cat Order cavalry slumped on the ground, his irritation intensifying. These incompetent fools had tarnished the victory, and the mysterious knightly order remained a sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. "Order! All troops to retreat!"

The bugle sounded again, this time with a hint of urgency. The cavalry of the Long Spear Regiment and the Raven Regiment quickly regrouped, and the slaughter in the valley came to an abrupt halt. The Wind Blowing Regiment cavalry took one last look at the burning grain carts, let out a cheer, then turned their horses and followed the main force in retreat.

The Cat Clan's cavalrymen scrambled to their feet, trying to catch up with the main force, but were stopped by Vepras's personal guards.

"By order of the lord!" the captain of the personal guard said coldly, "The Cat Guard will cover the rear!"

The cavalrymen of the Cat Clan looked grim and slumped back onto the ground.

Vepras didn't look back. He spurred his horse forward, his scarlet cloak fluttering in the wind. He gazed at the endless wasteland ahead, a mixture of ambition and fear. The moment he burned the supplies reminded him of the thrill of stealing money from his mother's treasury as a child. But the elite knightly order and the jet-black dragon still terrified him, as if he were being discovered and punished by his father afterward. This made him both excited and afraid, both fearful and excited.

The sound of the allied horses' hooves faded into the distance across the wasteland, and the howls of the Cat Clan behind them were quickly dispersed by the wind. But they hadn't gone three miles when a long, eerie horn call came from behind the hill, causing Vepulas's heart to race. He abruptly pulled on the reins and raised his hand to signal the entire army to stop.

"Be on guard!" he shouted sharply, raising the Mill Eye with lightning speed.

At the top of the sand dune, a row of black figures slowly appeared, once again light infantry composed of freed slaves and poor people.

"Long spear regiment, rout them!" Vepras sensed something was wrong but still gave the order.

"Does he have any common sense to send cavalry to charge the spearmen on the slope?" Robert couldn't help but mutter under his breath.

"Shut up!" Merri gave him an elbow strike.

The spear regiment advanced as ordered, their charge slow but effective in breaking down the enemy's thin formation. Due to the terrain disadvantage, they suffered some minor casualties. Their commander seemed to have his own considerations, not pursuing them further, but instead dispersing along both sides of the road. Except for those on guard, the rest of the cavalry dismounted, allowing their horses a brief rest.

Robert followed closely behind the main force, marching at a pace across the cleared road. Nearly a hundred enemy light infantrymen lay scattered on the ground. These light infantrymen had pitifully low armor levels, and their only weapons were wooden shields and spears. The only piece of iron on their bodies was the tip of their spears.

"What's the point of this?"

"Deplete our horsepower and create opportunities for his elite cavalry." Merri slapped Robert on the back of the head, the steel gauntlets making Robert's helmet clang. He then pointed to the long-lance cavalry resting their horses, many of which were trembling.

"Doesn't he care about the lives of these soldiers?"

"Didn't you witness the territorial disputes in your family when you were a child? A dozen knights, dozens of personal guards, and hundreds of serfs would fight for a few days, then sit down together, talk, drink, boast, and complain about the lack of manpower for working in the fields. The knights' armor didn't even have a scratch; it was those lowly commoners with only a few pieces of iron who died."

"I thought he was different from those slave owners, after all, he liberated these poor people."

"Big shots are all the same; you have to feed them before you can get them to work for you. You're luckier, kid; you get gold in addition to food."

Why don't we sue?

"Bang!" Before Robert could finish speaking, he was hit on the head again.

"You're not the only smart one." Merri gestured towards the leader of the spear regiment, who was looking around, and then towards the small mercenary groups who were scavenging the dead and fighting over broken weapons: "Of course, there are plenty of fools too."

"Have you ever seen a red deer being chased by a pack of wolves? The wolves don't swarm at once, but rather take turns chasing the deer one after another until they are exhausted. Finally, they hunt down the deer that are too weak to keep. But they can't keep the young and strong deer. They can only get the sacrifices that are deliberately abandoned—the old, weak, sick, and disabled."

"Your analogy is inappropriate. So far, we have been the ones devouring the sacrifices."

"When your horse can no longer run in front of the enemy's elite cavalry, I hope you can still keep talking tough."

"Enemy infantry spotted ahead."

"Wind Blowing Group and Raven Group, move out!" Vepras gave the order without hesitation.

The cavalry charged, routed the enemy, and passed through.

"Enemy infantry!"

"Go around!" Vepras finally gave a different order; he sensed something was wrong.

"Enemy infantry."

"bypass."

"Enemy~"

"Go around!" Vepras rode his horse faster and faster, and many people noticed his increasingly tense expression and the fine beads of sweat on his forehead.

"It's cavalry!"