The Brave Companions had positioned their forces on both wings and even sent Qyburn—still serving as a healer—to Lothan's command tent so they could monitor the situation more closely.
On paper, the battlefield looked like a one-to-four matchup. In truth, it was more like twenty-to-one.
It would be the combined armies of the Targaryens and the Rhoynar crushing a single mercenary company in one blow.
Their horses, their armor, the coins in their pouches—even their bodies—would all be counted as spoils.
Inside Viserys's tent, the officers crowded around the sand table, conducting their final simulation and discussion.
Regardless of rank or seniority, everyone argued fiercely.
Some jabbed at the map with their fingers again and again, as though they might poke a hole straight through it.
This battle would decide whether Viserys's conquest of Gohor reached its final victory.
If they won, it meant everyone would finally have a place to call home. If they lost, the future would be troubled and uncertain.
Baelor stood beside Viserys.
He had now completed his transformation into a loyal Targaryen retainer.
He had seen Viserys levy taxes on the Rhoynar that were only a third of what their elders once collected.
He had seen Rhoynar children accepted into the academy. His mother and sister had been safely settled. Most importantly—he had seen the Prince's Spear.
Its miraculous ability to "hide in water" was no mere craft.
For this battle, he would be sent to the very front to control the intensity of the clash and prevent heavy casualties.
To Baelor, this duty was his responsibility.
At that moment, Mathos entered carrying a raven. Everyone knew his job, so all eyes turned immediately toward the message on the raven's leg.
"Your Majesty."
He handed the letter to Viserys.
Arthur, Ock, and Oberyn stepped forward at once.
The message contained the Brave Companions' deployment, their battle plan, and the signaling method Lothan had prepared in advance.
Viserys skimmed it swiftly and passed it along.
After reading it, Arthur's opinion of the young king rose yet again. This boy was willing to risk everything for victory—his own safety meant nothing to him.
"You truly intend to risk yourself like this? With your strength, it shouldn't be necessary."
Viserys had, through Lothan, spread word that the guards around him were only fourteen or fifteen years old.
That was bait—to lure Vargo Hoat and most of the enemy cavalry straight toward him.
"It will end the battle faster and more cleanly. If this drags on, things may go wrong. Our real enemies are not the Rhoynar, but the mercenaries."
Viserys did not want the fight to last long.
If it did, the sellswords might notice something amiss. And then the fake battle might very well turn into a real one.
Even if they disengaged safely, the mercenaries would become suspicious. After that, it would be much harder to eliminate them.
"Baelor, your men are at the very front. Remember—act well. Make it look convincing."
"Yes, Your Majesty. I've already ordered their spears filed blunt."
Viserys nodded. After all, apart from the mercenaries, both the Rhoynar and the Andals would be his subjects in the future.
Even one unnecessary death was a loss.
"Ser Arthur, the left flank is yours. Keep those sellswords away from the main battle."
"Yes—yes, Your Majesty. As you command!" Arthur's voice wavered. He clearly disliked Viserys's plan of using himself as bait.
"Prince Oberyn, you will enter the battle early. But keep your eyes on my position.
I will hold the mercenaries.
You must return at the right moment. When the time comes, raise the sun-burst banner and wield the Prince's Spear, and you'll be able to disengage quickly."
Because Oberyn resembled the Rhoynar more closely—and spoke their tongue—Viserys assigned him the task of returning and completing the encirclement.
Viserys had barely finished when objections erupted.
Arthur, of course, was the first.
"Your Majesty, how can I allow you to take such a risk?"
"Ser Arthur, I understand how you feel. But you know my strength, and the strength of the Model Guard and First Guard. Besides—they are trained by you. Do you not trust your own students?"
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Viserys cut him off.
"No need to argue. It's decided. I am a dreamwalker—no accidents will happen."
"Then let me switch roles with Prince Oberyn. Let me be the one to ride to your aid."
"What?! Ser Arthur!"
Oberyn, who had just been admiring the Prince's Spear and nearly drooling over it, immediately protested.
Arthur looked him straight in the eye and said openly, "I'm sorry, Prince Oberyn. But entrusting His Majesty's safety to you—I cannot feel at ease.
In fact, entrusting it to anyone here would make me uneasy."
He said this while giving a very earnest look to everyone present.
"You—" Oberyn was speechless.
Arthur's words were blunt—too blunt—but also undeniably true.
And the tent was full of officers: Ock, Elisar, and the nobles who had come from the Wall.
But no one took offense. Because everyone knew Arthur wasn't targeting Oberyn. He would say the same about anyone else.
And besides—Arthur really was the strongest fighter among them.
After a moment's thought, Viserys accepted Arthur's proposal and handed the Prince's Spear to him.
Seeing the prized weapon slip from his grasp at the last moment, Oberyn's mood soured instantly. But he could not argue—Arthur was indeed the most formidable.
After settling that matter, Viserys turned to the rest of the officers.
"Ser knights, this battle is special. Our true enemies are not the Rhoynar but the sellswords hired by Braavos.
You must control the intensity of the fight. Protect yourselves, but maintain our advance."
"As you command!"
They had known beforehand that this battle would be unusual—but hearing it directly still felt strange.
"Knights, this battle is critical. It will decide whether in the next five years we prosper or fall into hardship.
It will also determine whether you survive long enough to overthrow the Usurper and return home.
Fight! Victory to us!"
"Victory!"
The commanders roared together, their earlier doubts swept away.
When the last preparations were made, Viserys donned his armor with Mathos's help.
The others followed, each heading toward their assigned positions on the battlefield.
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