The starry sky was magnificent, a flowing river of silver, but the sudden blast of a horn shattered the silence of the night.
Viserys snapped awake from his half-sleep and immediately got out of bed.
He fastened his rapier to his waist and pushed aside the tent flap.
Viserys's scale armor was as dark as smoke. His dragon-winged helm, a masterpiece by the Tyroshi smith, was shaped like a snarling dragon with spread wings, painted red. It looked utterly ferocious.
Firelight danced on the dragon's head. For mounted combat, Viserys's primary weapon was a lance.
"Rhaenys, what are you doing here?" Viserys saw a dark-haired girl with Dornish features running towards him.
"Fighting by your side, of course," Rhaenys said.
"Don't be ridiculous." Viserys patted her head. "Go stay with Daenerys. Listen to Master Syrio. I'll handle everything else."
"Fine." Rhaenys left obediently. "Victory, Viserys..."
"Victory." Viserys watched the little girl leave.
He shouted, "Prepare for battle!" "Prepare for battle!"
The soldiers automatically formed up. Although slightly panicked, there was clear discipline.
Considering this was their first battle, Viserys was already satisfied. Like forging iron, discipline and order were hammered into the soldiers' bodies, forming a specific muscle memory.
Elites aren't trained; they are forged in the fires of battle.
As a transmigrator, Viserys actually knew a thing or two about military matters. In the age of information explosion, everyone possessed a vast amount of fragmented knowledge—broad but not deep, yet enough for bluffing and improvising.
Modern warfare ultimately boils down to discipline, order, technology, and logistics. But in this era of classical warfare, the commander's valor and luck still played a huge role.
Under the hazy moonlight, the Westerosi recruits prayed to the Warrior before battle.
The Warrior, one of the Seven, was the deity worshipped by all knights.
"The Warrior protect us!" Ser Roland shouted.
"The Warrior protect us!" All the soldiers called out the name of the Warrior. Amidst blood and fire, his protection was what they craved most tonight.
Viserys's fishing expedition had succeeded; the local Andal bandits had eagerly taken the bait.
As the sound of horns and war drums struck their hearts, the Andal bandits realized their plan was exposed.
They no longer tried to hide their night raid but revealed themselves fully, launching a frontal assault.
"Kill!"
"Storm the fort! Take the food and women, then leave!"
"Forget the fort, just take the supplies!"
The Andal bandits shouted loudly. The roar of fire and strange cries mixed together, shattering the peace of the area.
Hearing their shouts, Viserys understood why they didn't want the fort, only the food and women.
These bandits usually lived in villages or caves, banding together in small groups. They dared not build large settlements for fear of attracting attention from the city-states or, worse, the Dothraki, who swarmed like locusts destroying every town and fort.
Building a large stone fort was essentially an affront to the Dothraki faith.
"There are quite a few of them," Ser Roland said.
Under the veil of night, it was unclear exactly how many bandits there were, but judging by the noise, they outnumbered Viserys's group several times over.
Viserys climbed the watchtower and saw the dark shapes swarming up the hill. They certainly had momentum.
"Rely on the strong walls; one man equals ten," Viserys said calmly as he descended.
Seeing their commander so composed, the soldiers slowly calmed down as well.
In classical warfare, the quality of the commander was crucial.
"Given time, we might indeed stand a chance against Robert and Tywin," Ser Roland thought with great satisfaction, watching Viserys.
He had expected to support a second son, but ended up with an SSR-tier powerhouse.
Viserys was slowly adapting to his identity. A commander needed this kind of psychological fortitude. Besides, his sword had already tasted plenty of blood.
Since poisoning the servants who tried to steal his wealth and killing Baelor and the Titan's Bastard, Viserys's heart had grown colder and harder.
In this dog-eat-dog era, he had to become the strongest beast to reach the other shore.
"Warrior!" Viserys raised his lance and shouted. "The Warrior protect us!"
"Warrior!" All the soldiers shouted the god's name.
Viserys gathered his thoughts. Now was the time for war, and he intended to achieve final victory. The Andals had crossed the river; only a fight to the death remained.
"Logs! Stones! Ready! Release!" At Ser Roland's command, soldiers pushed the prepared materials down the not-so-tall walls.
Boom!
Physics took over as logs and crushed stones rumbled down, crushing the bandits climbing the hill like falling boulders.
Instantly, the battlefield turned into a storm of blood and screams.
"Hold!" Viserys ordered. They had released most of the logs but saved some for later.
"Victory!" "Victory!" The morale of Viserys's defenders soared. As defenders, they naturally enjoyed an advantage.
"Longbowmen! Loose!"
"Crossbowmen, wait for them to get closer," Ser Roland ordered. He had some longbowmen, but they were hard to train quickly. Crossbows were simpler, but their range was too short.
Currently, the best marksmen were Viserys and Ser Roland.
"The side gate hasn't been discovered, has it?" Viserys asked.
"Rest assured, it is very well hidden," Ser Roland said. The side gate would play a crucial role.
"Technology is still lacking," Viserys thought. A proper tower should have trebuchets, pitch barrels, and scorpions. Right now, everything was basic; Viserys Fort was hardly armed to the teeth.
The high-ground defensive fire from the log-droppers, longbowmen, and crossbowmen slowly slackened; manpower was limited, after all.
The Andal bandits roared as they rammed the main gate with a battering ram. Some bolder ones tried to scale the walls, but under fire from the watchtower archers, they focused on shattering the gate.
"Shields ready!" "Spears ready! Form a crescent!"
The stone walls weren't high. Viserys ordered shield-bearers to form the first line of defense. Soldiers formed up, holding round oak shields.
The front row used long spears. The remaining infantry wielded a variety of weapons—pitchforks, flails, morning stars, axes—whatever they were familiar with.
Hearing the crashing against the wooden gate and the sound of bodies falling from the walls, Viserys knew the time was right.
"Follow me."
Viserys mounted his black stallion. Ser Roland and several dozen cavalrymen followed him out the concealed side gate to give chase.
The horses were gagged for silence—cavalry in the dark.
The enemy had lost many men and was thoroughly enraged.
Crack! Crack! After enduring rounds of battering, the main gate of Viserys Fort, not particularly sturdy to begin with, finally broke.
"Steady!" "Steady!" the Tyroshi smith shouted.
The Andals thought they had won, but a row of long spears thrust out like a hedgehog's quills, forcing them back out of the gateway.
Spears pierced the eager attackers, blood flowing in the narrow passage.
"What's happening?"
"What's going on?" The Andal locals were shocked. These new arrivals clearly had some regular army discipline.
But the bandit leaders had no better choice. Their sunk costs were too high.
Having suffered heavy losses, if they couldn't recoup their investment, they were finished.
An enemy horse was impaled by spears but crashed forward, screaming, creating a breach in the spear wall.
"Charge!"
"Charge!" The Andal leader shouted joyfully.
But in the next instant, joy turned to terror.
From the darkness at the flank of Viserys Fort came the thunder of hooves. Dozens of black-armored knights roared as they charged into the fray.
The horses were tall, and the charge was unstoppable.
Viserys, as the vanguard, led the way.
Firelight glinted off the ferocious dragon horns of his helm, and the red dragon wings made him look like a demon of war.
Impaling enemies, killing... continuous killing.
Listening to the wind whistle past, Viserys felt as if he were in a game of Mount & Blade.