The sea breeze in the early morning carried a hint of chill, but because Myr's latitude was low, the overall climate remained warm and pleasant.
The fertile land, suitable climate, and coastal advantages made all Three Daughters incredibly wealthy.
As the sun gradually rose, the dew on the grass began to slowly evaporate.
The land outside Myr Fortress was torn by dothraki hooves, and Dothraki Screamers roared, brandishing their arakhs, as they charged towards Myr Fortress.
Myr Fortress also awakened to the roars of the Dothraki; warriors repaired their equipment, coldly watching the dothraki warriors surge towards them like a tide.
The horse people were tall, with bronze skin, light brown eyes, and black hair.
"It seems the Dothraki haven't lost many sheep men slaves; this time it's a cavalry unit," Gendry said.
"Their numbers are only a few thousand; it looks like a symbolic attempt by Khal Drogo," The Red Viper said.
As the mournful and chilling sound of the military horn echoed from Myr Fortress, it sent shivers down one's soul.
Then Gendry heard various sounds: the whirring of catapults, the tightening of bowstrings by archers, and the clang of moving steel.
"Fire," Gendry commanded.
The catapults began to hurl stones with a roar; while scorpion crossbows were powerful, their range was not as great as longbows, so they could only be activated when the enemy was closer.
Gendry had also prepared spears, stones, and arrows for the Dothraki; if they reached the gates of Myr Fortress, the Dothraki would still face cruel boiling oil.
Unfortunately, judging by the Dothraki's attack formation, they wouldn't even reach the base of Myr Fortress; the Dothraki were skilled in open battle but had no siege equipment whatsoever.
Jorah licked his dry lips; as the Commander of Myr Fortress, he had been directing the battle here, and the oppressive, heavy battlefield made him feel somewhat dehydrated.
"Attack like waves, defense like bedrock," Gendry observed the roaring Dothraki, crashing against Myr Fortress like waves again and again, yet the bedrock remained unchanged, without the slightest movement.
"The Dothraki are within range; loose arrows," Gendry ordered, and the horn sounded again, this time for the Longbowmen.
From their elevated position, the Longbowmen precisely struck the Dothraki Screamers who had managed to gallop before the trench.
"Yes, Your Highness," Black Billy nodded, his hundred-man Summer Isles Guard already prepared.
Gendry, Anguy, and Black Billy with his guard, the elite among all archers, were the first to draw their bowstrings, followed by the other ordinary Longbowmen.
Over a thousand Longbowmen had already been deployed on Myr Fortress, enough to withstand the dothraki's assault.
"The personnel here are much more lavishly equipped than the Golden Company, perhaps even more luxurious than the forces of the Westerlands," The Red Viper thought, glancing at the eager Longbowmen.
The Golden Company had ten thousand men, including a thousand archers, five hundred knights, each with three horses, five hundred Attendants, each with one horse, and most of the rest were infantry.
The army of the Alliance of the Twin Cities was even larger, with more knights and Longbowmen, not to mention the affiliated Dothraki Screamers.
Cavalry not only represented combat power but also wealth.
The Red Viper now had a more optimistic estimate of the Alliance of the Twin Cities' power.
Gendry saw a small group of prey foolishly enter firing range: tall Dothraki Screamers, led by a proud big man, but unfortunately not Khal Drogo.
"Shall we each take three arrows, Your Highness?" Anguy stood beside Gendry, his eyes tracking the movements of his prey.
Anguy also wore black scale armor, high leather boots, and fingerless leather gloves, with a quiver on his back.
His arrows were fletched with gray goose feathers, and six of them were stuck in the ground before him like small fences.
"Come on," Gendry picked up the arrows from the ground; Anguy's arrows had pointed tips, capable of piercing even plate armor, so using them against the Dothraki seemed like overkill.
Gendry drew his double-curved dragonglass bow, which was taller than Daenerys herself at the moment.
The dragonglass bow was black, like an eternal black night, due to its high iron content.
Dragonglass was as hard as iron, light yet extremely tough, making it an unparalleled good bow, considered a rare treasure.
"Whoosh!" Gendry drew and fired, and the tall Dothraki Screamer galloping on his horse fell instantly.
The proud big man was the leader of the vanguard, waving his arakh and cursing.
Unfortunately, a simple painted vest could not withstand the shot from a dragonglass bow; the long arrow pierced the Dothraki's heart, and the big man stumbled and fell from his horse.
"My turn," the red-haired, freckled Anguy said excitedly, drawing his own longbow, which was taller than him.
Anguy's arrows also flew through the air, instantly killing the Dothraki they struck.
"The dragonglass bow is still the best in the world; even the reinforced longbow the Arrow Maker made for me can't compare," Anguy couldn't help but complain.
"I heard Khal Drogo's Khalasar also has a dragonglass bow; it seems his Blood Riders have one," Gendry told Anguy.
"Then it's mine," Anguy said confidently.
Black Billy's archers also began to move, their goldenheart wood longbows having a range only slightly less than the dragonglass bow.
Shouts, horse whinnies, bells ringing in the wind, and the clang of steel.
The Dothraki roared as they charged towards Myr Fortress, like a swarm of angry ants, but mostly death awaited them.
The catapults rumbled non-stop, and the archers calmly aimed at the approaching enemy masses.
These dothraki fools were unprotected, practically moving targets.
Gendry watched those pitiful Dothraki Screamers die so haphazardly in battle.
Those hit by stones became a pile of rotten flesh.
And those vicious arrows, striking the unprotected throats or chests of the Dothraki, left only horses whinnying in despair.
"Excellent archery, worthy of a Marksman," The Red Viper couldn't help but praise.
He saw these arrows roaring, and in the unseen, the stranger waved his great hand, harvesting souls again and again on the earth, and the land before Myr Fortress was stained red with Dothraki blood.
The Red Viper, like most knights, once despised archers, but over a long time, The Red Viper changed many of his views.
If arrows were used properly, they could be as deadly as a longsword.
The Dothraki left a pile of disheveled corpses on the ground; the Dothraki Screamers ran further than the sheep men slaves, but they died even more horribly.
Arrows and catapults mercilessly took their lives; they couldn't even get close to the trench.
"Long live the warhammer!"
"Long live the warhammer!" Seeing the retreating Dothraki, the warriors on the walls of Myr Fortress shouted and cheered.
This was the Alliance of the Twin Cities' battle cry; victory belonged to the Commander-in-Chief.
"What will you do next, Drogo?" Gendry looked at the larger force of Dothraki Screamers in the distance.
This charge of several thousand felt like a test; a larger assault had yet to arrive.
The Dothraki's attack crashed against Myr Fortress like waves, but unfortunately, they dissipated, and the bedrock remained...
"Why the long face? A drink will make you feel better," the King said to Eddard.
Wine and women were equally the King's favorites.
The two were to pass through The Kingswood to find that mysterious white stag.
The forest appeared deep and tranquil, but Eddard always felt uneasy.
Because King's Landing was always a place riddled with schemes, which made him very uncomfortable.
Moreover, with war flaring up again near Riverrun, he had no mood to relax.
Eddard knew that his brother-in-law Edmure's troop deployment was truly terrible; leaving four thousand men below Gold Tooth was almost a suicidal tactic, an attrition strategy.
Once the Lannister cavalry charged from above, defeat was inevitable.
Unfortunately, even if ravens flew, they might not be able to save Edmure's fate.
"Forget it," Eddard waved his hand, still thinking about a scene from several days ago.
The knights and people of the Riverlands had accused him of the Mountain plundering villages and towns, burning and looting.
This matter was truly a headache.
Those usual daily chores—listening to people's petitions, mediating town disputes, and adjudicating land boundary divisions, etc.—had never made him so uncomfortable.
Dealing with the Mountain meant the roar of war.
Eddard looked at the drunken King and couldn't help but speak to him.
"Robert, the Mountain is a false knight and should be punished."
"Since you've already given the order, let it be your order.
That fellow is a big one, so be careful," the King replied.
"If possible, it would be best to capture him alive and let Tywin deal with him."
Eddard looked at the King, feeling uneasy.
The King was always balancing things, which was too dangerous.
At least the King didn't let Lord Tywin handle the Mountain himself, but gave him some face.
But that was all; the King was unwilling to give the Mountain a heavier punishment.
But those common folk, those who were burned, killed, and plundered, should they accept such a fate for Tywin's sake?
Eddard's heart ached; he felt that justice in King's Landing was not what he had envisioned.
"By the way, who did you send to clear out the Mountain?" the King asked Eddard.
"Thoros of Myr, Rosha, and the operation is under the command of Beric Dondarrion," Eddard replied.
For this operation, he had sent out quite a few people, but still less than a hundred.
Eddard felt that this scale might not be safe enough, as Eddard didn't want things to get too bad.
Eddard also recalled a resentful face: the young Knight of Flowers, who was indignant about not getting this mission, as he had a deep blood feud with the Mountain.
"Perhaps I was wrong again," Eddard thought to himself, for because of his sense of justice, he had again refused to win over House Tyrell.
But this was about justice and law, not a young man's valor and revenge; perhaps he was not wrong.
However, Eddard was not without gains; the Old Maester who had constantly defended the Lannisters at the meeting, Eddard was now absolutely certain he was a Lannister lackey.
"Look at this, Eddard.
That boy Across the Narrow Sea, I heard Varys say he's at war with the Dothraki," the King said.
"If, and I mean if, we were to send troops now..."
"Yes, Your Majesty.
If we were well-prepared this time, it would be a good time to attack.
But now, look at this mess we're in; it doesn't look like we can send troops," Eddard thought.
Although Eddard also knew this was impossible, with Westeros in such chaos, how could they organize forces?
"Forget it, let him be.
Speaking of which, he's even younger than me," the King hesitated, then said in a low voice.
"Actually, back then I wanted to bring Mia into the court to be a companion for Joffrey, but damn it, that foolish woman stopped me."
Mia was the King's eldest Child, a bastard daughter in the Vale.
"The Queen, the Queen has her own considerations," Eddard didn't know what to say.
The King's every expense depended on Lannister gold dragons; this political marriage was hard to call the right choice.
However, this couldn't be blamed on Lord Arryn, as Lord Arryn also didn't know the King could spend so much money.
"If it were your sister, she would never disregard my dignity like this."
The person was gone, but the King still remembered her fondly.
"Even so, we still need to be prepared, Eddard," the King suddenly said.
"Tyrosh, Myr, and the Stepstones—occupying these three places can bring immense wealth, but this boy hasn't indulged in it; he's still fighting the horse people for dominance in the Eastern Continent.
His ambitions are not small; the next step will be towards us, won't it?"
"Your Majesty, I think perhaps not yet.
What if the Dothraki and the Alliance of the Twin Cities both suffer heavy losses? Then they won't have the energy to attack Westeros," Eddard mused.
"Oh, come on," the King sighed.
"It seems I truly am old.
Look at my body; do you remember me when I was young?
This is my retribution for a life of indulgence.
The gods mock my life; I am about to go to war with my own son, leaving behind the infamous name of kinslayer."
"Your Majesty, I will still fight for you," Eddard replied.
"You?" the King smiled.
"Yes, only you.
In this battle, you, Stannis, and the Kingslayer are the few people I must rely on.
You will command, Stannis will command the navy, and the Kingslayer will lead the vanguard.
This is our best lineup."
"Perhaps there are better people; the Old Knight would be more suitable," Eddard reminded him.
He truly detested the Kingslayer, especially now.
"Ser Barristan?" the King asked, "By knightly standards, he's almost due for retirement.
I wouldn't want people saying I sent an old man to war.
And Jaime, Jaime is in the prime of his life."
Eddard looked at the King, hesitating whether he should continue, about those "Children" in The Red Keep, those Children bearing the Baratheon sigil, who were actually products of sin.
"Boy, give me some more wine!
Where's that damned stag?" the King cursed impatiently.
His Attendants busily offered him fine wine, Lancel, who bore the Lannister crest.
Eddard again felt he should keep his mouth shut; everyone here was Lannister, and perhaps waiting a bit longer would be better.
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