Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

Reid's heavy cavalry and horse archers finally stepped over the weary shadows of the Vepulas coalition, pressing down like two moving iron walls.

No one needed to shout "Final Battle!" The air thick with the smells of sweat, horse stench, and the metallic tang of weapons and armor had already etched those words into everyone's minds. Merri glanced at Robert beside her; the man who could usually talk the dead back to life was now tightly pursed, his witty banter completely drained by the overwhelming sense of oppression.

Merri's Adam's apple bobbed violently. His gaze swept over the sea of ​​iron-gray armor of the enemy heavy cavalry, over the dense array of red banners with black dragons fluttering at the tips of their spears, and a wave of bitterness surged through his stomach.

His fingertips unconsciously rubbed the chipped dagger at his waist. It was left by his brother-in-law. A month ago, when he was fast asleep in the middle of the night, his wife—that crazy old woman from the Ule family—pinned him to the side of his pillow. A chill ran down his spine, and he, a man in his late thirties, almost wet the bed.

"Either bring back the head of my brother's enemy, or I'll plunge this dagger into your chest." These were the madwoman's exact words.

After snatching the dagger, Mei Li slapped the crazy woman a dozen times, but still couldn't extinguish the woman's ghostly eyes.

He didn't dare seek revenge on the dragon rider, nor did he dare sleep at home. That night, he packed his bedding and went to the old tavern where mercenaries congregated.

With the Meereen trade routes cut off, mercenary groups actually prospered. Astapor, Yunkai, various small towns, and even merchants of all sizes were vying to hire them, offering free drinks and increasingly higher prices. The highest bid came from an Astapor broker, who casually remarked that it was just an easy job of "dealing with rebellious slaves," while the master's steward grinned from ear to ear, patting his money bag.

At the time, he was preoccupied with his own worries and reeking of alcohol. Dazzled by the gold coins, he inexplicably accepted the contract. Looking back now, it wasn't a contract at all; it was clearly a shroud wrapped in honey.

As the dragon's roar crashed down like a thunderbolt, Merri's heart clenched painfully, his ribs aching. He looked up and saw the black dragon's wingspan blocking out the sunlight; its enormous shadow, like a heavy black cloth, flew close to the ground towards the Allied forces.

The poorly trained warhorses neighed and kicked, camels collapsed to the ground, and the fleeing mercenaries ran away like headless flies. In the chaos, he saw Vepras's pale face and heard him shouting incoherently.

"Fools!" Merri cursed inwardly, but there was no real conviction in his words. He knew better than anyone that this rabble was no match for them; defeat was inevitable, that was obvious.

But he can't run.

Merri clenched his teeth, tasting a hint of blood on his tongue. If he ran away, his brothers would lose the money they had earned fighting for them, and he couldn't face the wives and children of his dead brothers empty-handed; if he ran away, the reputation of the Second Sons would rot in this wilderness, and he would never again be able to get a high-paying contract that only large mercenary groups were qualified to receive.

More importantly, he looked at Vepras, the timid and weak-kneed son of the benevolent master, the burden whom the master had repeatedly instructed him to protect. He had to keep this fool alive before they could talk about money.

Merri wiped the dust off his face, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, but his tone carried a desperate, reckless edge: "I used to listen to those dragon legends in taverns, but I was drunk and didn't take them seriously. Now I really want to slap myself for taking on such a terrible job."

Merri turned to look at Robert, his eyes filled with fear and resentment, but not with any sign of backing down. "Once the fighting starts, lead your men and slowly retreat. Don't go forward, and don't stay in the middle of the formation. Stick to the edge and keep a close eye on that foolish young master. Try to persuade him if you can, and if you can't, knock him out. In short, you must bring him back to Astapor alive."

"And what about you?"

"Me?" Merri grinned, revealing two rows of yellow teeth. "Relax, you little brat. I'm not giving my last instructions. With the battle going like this, most of our brothers are probably dead or wounded. We have to make up for the money they risked their lives for. We need to show our Lord that we risked our lives, and we also need to keep that fool alive so we can give our brothers' families an explanation."

Before the aftershocks of the dragon's roar had even subsided, Reed's heavy cavalry moved.

A torrent of iron-gray armor thundered across the wilderness, horses' hooves crushing the dust, and in the swirling sand, red flags with black dragons fluttered like clusters of burning flames.

Merri repeatedly stroked the crooked flame patterns engraved on the hilt of the knife with his fingertips.

"Cavalry, form ranks! Charge against me!" he roared at the top of his lungs, his voice broken and torn by the wind.

Despite the fierce shouts, Merri quietly made a change, directing the charging second son regiment to take a diagonal route, giving up the center position, and aiming the charge at the junction of the heavy cavalry's flank and the horse archers.

The spearmen not far away had the same idea. By sheer luck, their horizontal formation transformed into a deformed V-shaped formation.

"Old fox!" Merri cursed under his breath.

The allied cavalry were mostly hastily assembled mercenary groups, their horses varying in height and their armor a motley collection. But Merri's Second Son's Regiment was entirely composed of men clad in plate or chainmail—scratched and rusted at the edges, yet undeniably protecting their vitals. Compared to the well-equipped heavy cavalry opposite them, the allied forces looked like a disorganized rabble. But Merri knew that retreat meant death; he had no choice but to charge forward.

"Hiss~!" The dark blue dragon flames preceded the sharp edge of the iron spear, plunging into the ranks of the allied cavalry before the arrows of Reid's heavy cavalry could reach them, tearing a huge, charred gash in the charge of the heavy cavalry.

The hooves of the heavily armored cavalrymen pounded the scorched ground where the embers had not yet been extinguished, and in an instant, they collided with the allied cavalry, creating a deafening metallic clang.

The heavy cavalry's lances were a full half foot longer than those of the allied forces, their tips gleaming coldly. Using the momentum of their charging horses, they plunged their lances deep into the breastplates of the allied cavalrymen.

Merri witnessed a mercenary beside him being pierced by a lance, his entire body thrown off his horse, blood splattering all over his face.

Merri, devoid of chivalry, aimed his lance at the chest of the charging enemy horse, thus striking first. The lance shattered, splinters flew, the enemy horse neighed and collapsed, the rider's neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

Merri tossed aside the broken lance, turned his body to the side, letting the tip of the second lance aimed at him slide off the curved surface of his scale armor. He shook his arm, which was numb from the recoil, a couple of times, drew his sword, and, using the speed of his warhorse, slashed the neck of the third enemy's warhorse in the instant they passed each other.

But this was of no use. The heavy cavalry's charge was too powerful, like a heavy hammer slamming into the allied forces' fragile lines, causing their formation to collapse instantly.

The allied cavalry continued to retreat in disarray, some fleeing in panic, their horses colliding and falling to the ground.

Before Merri even reached the anticipated weak point, he was swept back by the fleeing soldiers. He saw Vepras's mount knocked over by a runaway horse, the fool rolling on the ground, still screaming "Help me!"

Just then, the shadow of the sky suddenly loomed down. The black dragon swooped down, its eerie blue flames sweeping across the wilderness. The fleeing cavalrymen, unable to dodge in time, were instantly engulfed by the flames. Their screams were distorted by the intense heat and torn apart by the wind in an instant.

"Robert! Drop the flag and take that fool away!" Merri roared, his voice hoarse. He saw Robert grab Viplass by the back of his collar, lift him onto a horse, and lead a group of his men at breakneck speed toward the hills to the side.

Before the allied troops could run far, the horse archers on both flanks moved.

The horse archers, clad in half-body chainmail, spread out like a flock of crows drawn to blood, flanking us in a fan shape. With bows in their left hands and arrows in their right, their movements were astonishingly fast, and arrows rained down like a storm.

Among the fleeing soldiers, screams echoed as they fell from their horses, arrows piercing their thin leather armor and embedding themselves in their flesh. But when the rain of arrows fell on the Second Son Regiment, it produced a series of crisp "clanging" sounds—the arrows struck the plate armor, either bouncing off or grazing the edges. The horse archers chased after them for a long time, and only a few unlucky souls were hit in unarmored areas and fell from their horses.

"Get out of the way! Maintain formation!" Merri pulled a young mercenary by the reins and dragged him behind his horse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Second Sons' brothers hunching over their horses, their plate armor gleaming dullly in the sunlight, looking like a group of moving lumps of iron.

A mounted archer spotted Merry and fired three arrows in quick succession. The first arrow struck his breastplate and bounced off; the second grazed his shoulder armor, sending sparks flying; and the third was aimed straight for his face, but he ducked and blocked it with his helmet, the shaft breaking in two and falling to the ground.

The arrows of the horse archers were effective against unarmored or lightly armored fleeing soldiers, but they were helpless against the Second Son's Regiment, a tough nut to crack. In frustration, they turned to attacking their warhorses. The horses' hindquarters were thick-skinned, so the arrows that hit them were unlikely to be fatal, but they did increase the Second Son's Regiment's escape speed to some extent.

As he fled, Robert pulled on the reins and gasped for breath. He looked down at his warhorse; its belly heaved violently, white steam billowed from its nostrils, its bit was covered in foam, and the dust kicked up by its hooves was dwindling. Even if they escaped, this Dothraki steppe warhorse, which he had bought for ten gold dragons, would be ruined.

His trusted men behind him also reined in their horses, their neighs filled with exhaustion. Vepras was still trembling on his horse, muttering, "Stop chasing, stop chasing."

Robert wiped the sweat from his face, his gaze sweeping over the pursuing horse archers, then down at his own plate armor. An arrow had struck his breastplate, leaving only a faint white mark. He suddenly grinned and roared, "Brothers! Look at your gear! These worthless arrows couldn't even scratch our skin!"

These words were like a blazing fire, instantly igniting the fighting spirit of the remnants of the Second Son Regiment.

"What are you afraid of! Fight them!" someone roared.

"If our warhorses can't run anymore, then let's charge back! Arrows can't pierce us, what are we afraid of!"

Robert grabbed the still-trembling Vepras and slammed him to the ground, yelling at his henchmen behind him, "Keep an eye on this idiot! Don't let him run off!" He then grabbed the spear he hadn't yet used, "Merry's still up ahead! Let's charge back and get him out of trouble!"

Before he finished speaking, the remnants of the Second Son's Regiment followed suit, charging towards the direction of the archer cavalry amidst the clanging of their plate armor.

The horse archers were clearly caught off guard by the retreating soldiers' audacity and panicked for a moment. They hurriedly turned their horses around, trying to create distance and continue firing arrows, but the Second Son Regiment was incredibly fast and closed in the blink of an eye.

Merri was being engaged by two mounted archers when he caught a glimpse of the commotion behind him and was instantly stunned. Then, he recovered, grinned, his mouth reeking of blood: "Good lad! You've got guts!"

He swung his sword backhand at a mounted archer, the chipped blade failing to pierce the fine half-body chainmail, but sending the man sprawling from his horse. He then roared towards Robert and his men, "Brothers! Kill!"

On the open field, the sound of iron clashing with blood rang out once again.

Just as the second son's plate armor formation tore through the flanks of the archer cavalry, and the sound of scimitars and axes slicing through the air drowned out the crisp sound of arrows, a dragon roar that could shake one's very bones resounded from the sky.

The overwhelming black shadow pressed down again, the black dragon's massive wings whipping up a gale that swept in dust and the stench of blood. Several soldiers in the front ranks of the Second Son's Regiment were thrown off balance by the wind, their weapons nearly slipping from their grasp. Before they could regain their footing, a torrent of eerie blue dragon flames cascaded down like a waterfall. This time, the dragon did not aimlessly sweep across the open field, but instead breathed its flames precisely at the center of the Second Son's remaining troops.

The intense heat instantly distorted the air, the rust on the plate armor sizzled, and the sweat seeping from the gaps in the armor evaporated into white mist in the blink of an eye. The soldiers' screams were swallowed by the heatwave; some tried to block with their shields, but could only watch helplessly as their oak shields charred and cracked in the dragon's flames. Flames seeped into the seams of the armor, scorching the flesh and emitting a nauseating smell of burning flesh.

"Scatter! Scatter now!" Merri roared, grabbing a brother whose hair was singed by the flames and staggering to the side.

Where the dragon's flames swept, the plate armor melted into molten iron, and the dripping iron beads hit the ground, burning small, smoking craters. Those Second Son Regiment soldiers who had just relied on their plate armor to show off their power were now moving targets of fire. The heavy armor became a cage, trapping their bodies that wanted to escape and locking away the ever-growing flames.

Reid's horse archers took the opportunity to retreat beyond the range of the dragonfire. They drew their bows again, and this time, instead of aiming at plate armor, they targeted exposed faces and unprotected warhorses.

Robert's longsword felled two horse archers, but a stray arrow struck him in the calf. He groaned and fell to his knees, watching helplessly as the black dragon circled and turned, the dark fire in its eyes reflecting on his face.

Vepras's scream pierced the chaos. The fool had somehow broken free of his restraints and was running madly into the depths of the wilderness, completely unaware that the black dragon's gaze had already locked onto him. In the dragon's eyes, this panicked nobleman was perhaps more like a lamb to the slaughter than the fighting soldiers.

Meili's heart sank to the bottom.

He saw the black dragon fold its wings, like a black arrow, and swoop down towards Vepras.

Behind Vepras were the Reid heavy cavalry, who had rearranged their ranks, their iron-gray armor gleaming with a cold light.

"It's over..." Merri murmured, looking at Vepras engulfed in dragon flames in the distance.

……

After the heavy cavalry and the Dragonfire combination routed the main force of the Giskali cavalry, Reid's preferred horse archers began to demonstrate their most effective use—pursuit and kill.

The allied troops, whose horses were nearly exhausted, were no match for the horse archers who wore light chainmail and rode Arabian horses known for their endurance.

The horse archers did not rush into close combat, but maintained a perfect distance, chasing after the enemy like a pack of wolves.

When the number of fleeing soldiers was large, several hundred-man squads would unite together; when the fleeing soldiers were scattered, the horse archers would disperse into ten-man squads and pursue them separately.

A barrage of light arrows whistled through the air, piercing the backs of deserters and the necks of their horses. Those struck screamed and tumbled from their horses, instantly crushed by the thundering hooves behind them, barely having time to struggle. Some tried to rein in their horses and turn to retaliate, but were immediately met with a volley of arrows and fell to the ground in the dust.

The horse archers controlled their horses with both legs, calmly drawing their bows and releasing their arrows with precision. Their movements were fluid and graceful, making the battle resemble a ruthless hunt.

They did not engage the fleeing soldiers in close combat, nor did they covet close-quarters combat; instead, they relied on fear, scare them away, and precise archery to gradually reap the scattered lives.

As the two pursuing forces gradually disappeared into the distance, the wasteland was left with a trail of dead warhorses, corpses lying on the ground wounded by arrows, scattered weapons, and increasingly distant and sparse figures of fleeing soldiers.

……

On the high slope, Reed, who had just dismounted from the dragon's back, looked through the Mill lens at the distant battle scene of countless horse archers chasing rabbits like dogs, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

"Aren't you really going to consider taking this opportunity to attack Yunkai? You know they are the weakest of the three major trading cities in Slave Bay. Their army consists only of slave soldiers, and their city walls are dilapidated and on the verge of collapse," Wolf urged, leaning forward.

"It's not a matter of whether we can take it or not, but that we can't afford to feed it after we do. Kaiser City's food production rate is four to five times that of these other worlds, but even so, it's barely enough to feed our own army and, incidentally, prevent the 1.2 million people in Meereen from starving to death."

"Yuankai City has 200,000 people, and the suburbs have two to three times the population of the city. If we add this population, people will really starve to death under my rule."

"All right……"

Newly established regimes always face trials. Food production couldn't keep up, the economy was under blockade, and there were a multitude of enemies. Reed scratched his head in exasperation. "Why did I ever have the nerve to choose such a godforsaken, impoverished place as Slaver's Bay?"