Outside the gates of Tyrosh.
The gaunt figure of "Lord Paxter Redwyne," his striking orange-yellow hair blazing in the sunlight, stood arrogantly before the Tyrosh soldiers. Behind him, over a thousand "Seven Kingdoms soldiers" clad in fine, varied armor stood in perfect formation. They radiated the grim air of battle-hardened veterans, exerting a suffocating pressure on the Tyrosh defenders along the walls.
The Archon's summons came, and with a long groan of the winch, the heavy gates creaked slowly open.
"Paxter" strode forward, his "army" poised to march into the city.
A Tyrosh officer stepped forward with visible reluctance, blocking the way.
"Lord! By protocol, your men must remain outside the city…"
"Paxter" halted, sweeping the man with a look of utter contempt. A cold, derisive snort escaped his lips.
"What did you say? A mere thousand soldiers—are Tyrosh's gates too small to admit them? Is this how you treat the commander of your allies?"
His voice was not loud, but the weight of authority behind it made sweat bead on the officer's brow. Words failed him.
The instant the gates swung fully open, a flash of cold light flared in "Paxter's" eyes. He drew his sword with a sudden motion and roared,
"Charge!"
Before the word had even left his lips, the blade darted forward like a striking serpent, piercing the Tyrosh officer's chest in a single thrust.
The officer looked down in disbelief at the steel buried in his chest. When he raised his eyes again, horror seized him—"Paxter's" arrogant face rippled and twisted like melting wax, settling into the sharp, cold features of a young Eastern man.
It was Lo Quen.
Meizo's plan had worked flawlessly.
Lo Quen had disguised his men with captured arms and armor of the Seven Kingdoms, while handpicking Lannister soldiers to don rags and play the part of pirates. On Broken Spear Isle, they had staged a convincing spectacle of "Seven Kingdoms coalition forces wiping out pirates," which fooled the Tyrosh navy completely.
Envoys were then sent to parley. When the Tyroshi saw the banners and armor of the Seven Kingdoms, they scarcely hesitated before granting them harbor. Lo Quen himself landed with a thousand soldiers and waited outside the gates for the Archon's order.
And then came the moment he had been waiting for—his ruse to throw open Tyrosh's gates.
At Lo Quen's command, the disguised pirates surged into the city like caged tigers unleashed.
At the same time, the fleet disguised under Seven Kingdoms banners suddenly turned on the Tyrosh warships at anchor, slamming into them with brutal force. A savage boarding battle erupted in an instant.
Roro and Hal led their pirate ships straight into the fray, locking onto Tyrosh's vessels. Grappling hooks flew, planks clattered into place, and roaring pirates stormed across onto enemy decks.
But the Tyrosh navy was no mere name. Seasoned by years of battling Lys and Myr for trade routes, their seamanship and naval combat skills were unmatched. The pirates felt the weight of their experience at once.
Tyroshi sailors moved with speed and flawless coordination, using their mastery of ship combat to full advantage. Many pirates who had barely set foot on deck were cut down and hurled into the sea before they could steady themselves.
Hal's flagship was even driven back against the rail, teetering on disaster.
"Hold fast—for the Lord!" Roro bellowed hoarsely, his longsword cutting down a Tyrosh sailor as he rallied his men.
But the Tyrosh defense was fierce, slowing the pirates' assault to a crawl.
At that critical moment, Jaelena arrived with a detachment of Dragon Soul Guards, cutting across the waves in swift boats.
Silent as death, clad in Valyrian steel that gleamed with a ghostly sheen, they ignored the storm of arrows and blades raining upon them. They stepped onto the rocking decks with the steadiness of stone.
Their strength was beyond that of ordinary men. Each swing of their swords split the air with a shriek. Common steel shattered or flew from its wielder's grasp when striking their armor, leaving not even a scratch.
And when their Valyrian steel blades swept through the Tyroshi, they cut through weapons and flesh alike as though slicing soft butter. Severed limbs spun through the air, blood drenched the planks, and the decks of Tyrosh ran red in an instant.
"Monsters! They're monsters!"
A Tyrosh officer screamed in despair as he saw a Dragon Soul Guard drive his sword clean through the throat of the bravest sailor under his command.
The sight spread like a plague, and the morale of the Tyrosh navy collapsed in an instant. Some men wailed, throwing down their weapons and dropping to their knees with hands clasped over their heads. Others hurled themselves into the freezing sea, trying to swim toward the shore or reach drifting debris, only to become easy prey for the pirate archers.
Jaelena's cold, cutting voice rang through the chaos of battle.
"Surrender and live!"
The words fell like a lifeline. One after another, desperate Tyrosh sailors cast down their weapons and fell to their knees on the blood-soaked decks.
Roro and Hal immediately ordered the pirates to seize the weapons and bind the prisoners. Jaelena left a detachment to secure the ships, while she herself led the Dragon Soul Guards and a force of elite pirates toward the city through the gaping gates.
...
At the gates, Lo Quen's thousand elite pirates had already driven into the city like a dagger thrust deep. He left part of his men to hold the gate corridor at all costs, then personally led the main force up the broad stone steps toward the ramparts.
On the walls above, the Tyrosh defenders had rallied and were scrambling to mount a counterattack. Arrows rained down like swarms of locusts, while logs and stones were heaved from the battlements.
"Then die you shall!" Lo Quen's voice was cold as steel.
When a squad of Tyrosh spearmen moved to block the stairs, he opened his mouth wide.
A column of blazing golden fire erupted forth.
[Dragonflame Breath]!
Even in human form, the torrent of flame reached seven meters, its heat and force utterly lethal. The fire swallowed seven or eight soldiers at once, turning them into writhing, screaming torches before they tumbled lifelessly from the walls.
"Witchcraft! The Eastern sorcerer!"
The defenders on the ramparts froze in terror. At the sight of Lo Quen's face wreathed in fire, their will to resist was shattered.
Panic spread like a contagion. Men dropped their weapons, screaming as they fled the battlements.
"Kill!"
Behind Lo Quen, the pirate soldiers roared, their morale surging. Hardened by countless battles and fed well under Lo Quen's command, they were broad of chest, thick of arm, and fierce beyond compare.
Like tigers loosed from their cages, they charged after the fleeing Tyroshi, blades flashing, blood spraying. The narrow walls became a slaughterhouse. Corpses piled high, and blood seeped down through the cracks of ancient stone.
By the time Lo Quen had cleared a section of the ramparts and prepared to press further, he spotted Jaelena arriving below with reinforcements.
"Jaelena! Seal every gate in Tyrosh. Not a single bird is to fly free."
Lo Quen's order was sharp and absolute.
"At once!" Jaelena replied without hesitation, immediately dividing her men to storm the other gates.
In the streets, terrified Tyroshi citizens screamed as they scattered, slamming doors and shutters, hiding in their homes. From cracks in the wood they dared only peek, watching as an army like death itself swept through their city.
Lo Quen did not slow. His path led straight for the city's heart—the Archon's palace.
...
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