The morning on Bloodstone; the bloodstains from the pirates yesterday had not yet fully faded, and the smell of blood still lingered near the palisades—traces of blood and fire.
The sound of bugles had already begun to ring out, low and mournful. The thunderous beating of war drums made hearts race! From within the army of the Iron Throne came the sounds of soldiers polishing their blades and armor.
Rhaegar rode his dragon as it circled in the sky, its screeching cry sounding like thunder.
Rhaegar saw that the armies below on Bloodstone had finished assembling. With their different colored armor and helmets, the island had become a sea of colors.
The Targaryen troops in black armor and dragon helms, the Lannister troops in red cloaks and lion helms, the Tyrell troops in green cloaks and plate armor, and the Baratheon army in yellow cloaks and stag-antler helms served as the main pillars. The Martell light infantry, wearing yellow headscarves, served as the strategic support unit.
Their armor shone brightly in the sun, and the soldiers were eager for battle, radiating a murderous aura. Bloodstone now only had one core area remaining; it would take nothing more than a few rounds of assault, especially with the support of the dragon.
Rhaegar circled his dragon over the soldiers' heads three times, and their cheers grew louder each time, sounding like thunder.
"Long live Targaryen!" "Long live Lannister!" "Long live Storms End!" "Long live Tyrell! Fight for Tyrell and Highgarden!" "Long live Martell!" Amidst the chants, the soldiers opened the palisades, widened the passage, and began their final assault to utterly crush Bloodstone.
The soldiers shouted loud slogans, formed into lines, and marched toward the final fortress of Bloodstone.
Armor, blades, and will merged into a river of steel; the army of tens of thousands was set to destroy everything in its path!
The remaining Lysene fugitives and pirates on Bloodstone were hiding in the central stone mountain of the island, where they had dug caves and tunnels. But having been starved for a long time, the casualties for the soldiers pushing forward would be much lower than usual.
Rhaegar circled his dragon over the upper reaches of the stone mountain, where there were few trees, only dirt and rock. It was deathly quiet here, with no resistance. No Scorpion Crossbows, no longbowmen, no caltrops.
A moment later, a scruffy, brown-haired man wearing a makeshift crown raised a white flag and led a group of less than a hundred people out of the caves on the stone mountain! They carried no weapons, and their eyes revealed only confusion and fear.
"Klar of Lys?" Rhaegar asked.
"Klar Rion, a candidate for the exiled Governor of Lys. The King of the Narrow Sea is dead! I am the new King of the Narrow Sea!" the brown-haired man said. He was tall and thin, like a polished sword. His makeshift crown was made of gold, silver, and gemstones, but the craftsmanship was very crude; the crown was marked with mermaids, krakens, and stars.
Hearing this, Rhaegar noticed that not only was this group gaunt and emaciated, but their clothes were stained with blood. Many of the pirates were wearing fine clothes that did not fit them, and their appearances were not the standard Lysene—blue eyes, platinum-blonde curls, and smooth, fair skin—but rather appeared quite rough.
The answer was clear: there had been infighting between the Lysene fugitives and the pirates on Bloodstone. Despite their reputation for ferocity and cruelty, the slender, delicate Lysene, who disliked heavy labor, were no match for them. They preferred using mercenaries to fight; the citizens of Lys were not capable warriors.
The brown-haired man ordered his men to bring over several chests. One chest contained the heads of the Lysene fugitives. On top was the self-proclaimed King of the Narrow Sea, Klar Rion; Klar's eyes were wide open, still showing panic and fear. Below were Klar's friends, family, and loyal guards!
The other chests contained the wealth the pirates had plundered over the years: gold coins, jewelry, and spices, which were dazzling to the eye.
"Klar was not the King of the Narrow Sea; he did not deserve the title! He was neither loyal nor brave, sitting by while so many died, daring not to speak or step out to fight! I am the King of the Narrow Sea now, Sharack!" said the brown-haired man, who was the leader of the remaining pirates.
"Sharack? You are about to die, yet you still won't discard that crown?" Rhaegar rode his dragon to land in front of the army, looking at the brown-haired man. Rhaegar thought of the former commander of the Kingdom of the Daughters fleet, Sharack Lohar, who had once led ninety warships to severely damage the Iron Throne and kill the heir, Prince Jacaerys "Jace" and his dragon. He was an enemy of Westeros, but also a hero to the people of Lys.
All the soldiers laughed; the King of the Narrow Sea was in such a pathetic state, yet he was still putting on airs. He looked more like a beggar.
"Prince, I am willing to trade this treasure for the lives of my men!" Sharack said to Rhaegar, pointing to the riches.
"Tie them up first!" Bronze Yohn and the others swarmed forward, binding the pirates, save for Sharack. Kill you, and this money is mine anyway.
The pirates were both relieved and ashamed, not daring to look at their leader's face. Dying a little later was better than nothing.
"Does that not include your own life?" Rhaegar stared at Sharack, flames burning in the eyes of the silver-haired, purple-eyed prince.
"I was born a pirate, and I will die like one. I will not fawn over you; I am free. But before I die, I wanted to experience the thrill of being a king. In your Westeros, I could never become a king, but we Lysene have never looked down on your rigid systems; we are forever free." The brown-haired Sharack said. A pirate could die, but he could not abandon the crown.
"Then I will grant your wish," Rhaegar said.
"Thank you very much!" Sharack said, relieved, as he dropped the white flag.
Before the two armies, millions of eyes watched this duel: one was the King of the Narrow Sea, Sharack; the other was the Tyrant of the Narrow Sea, Rhaegar the Ship-Burner.
Soldiers and knights ceased all activity, focusing intently on this one-on-one duel—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Rhaegar sheathed his shadow cleaver. Using a valyrian steel blade would truly be too much of a cheat. For the sake of fairness, Rhaegar had someone hand Sharack a normal sword, and he himself took up an ordinary Longsword.
"Rather than letting you become a kingslayer, Prince, let me kill a Dragon King instead." Sharack lunged forward viciously; his sword strikes were fast and venomous.
As a pirate leader, the battlefield was Sharack's only teacher, and his skills were sufficient to call him a first-class swordsman.
"Too slow, King of the Narrow Sea!" Rhaegar's Longsword moved with wide, sweeping motions, even wilder than Sharack's.
The sword light flashed brightly, and Rhaegar's silver hair was dazzling; the prince looked like a shining blaze of fire.
A so-called master is merely a combination of strength, speed, experience, and patience. In all martial arts, only speed and strength are unbreakable.
Sharack was a master, but Rhaegar was a True Dragon, enhanced by the fire.
Rhaegar's sword strikes grew faster and faster, turning into a storm that engulfed Sharack.
Blood splattered, and Sharack was decapitated. Where his body fell, the blood soaked into the earth.
This King of the Narrow Sea, a king for a day, had fallen into the dust of history.
The King of the Narrow Sea was dead; the years of war might finally come to an end.
Rhaegar lowered his Longsword and thrust it into the ground. The prince's silver hair shone brilliantly as he stood before tens of thousands of people; under the vast sky and long wind, he looked like a giant.
Someone stepped forward to present the Narrow Sea crown to Rhaegar. A thoughtful attendant had already wiped the blood from it.
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