Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 531: Priestess of R’hllor

Chapter 531: Priestess of R’hllor

“Attack!”

The allies' small boats crossed the Rhoyne, their archers unleashing a volley of arrows under the cover of dragons. Robb led the Second Sons as the main force, their arrows swift and deadly accurate. Though the enemy had more ships and soldiers, they were nearly overwhelmed.

Dragonfire lit up the river, turning it into a sea of green fireflies. The wailing of the wounded and the crackling of burning flesh filled the air.

On one of the boats, an elderly crone in a gray robe hunched over, her hands folded, and her face as white as paper, reaching into a basin of water.

“Grandma, let's retreat! The dragon is too strong. We can't stop it,” pleaded a young man and woman in white robes, their foreheads sweating profusely, their olive-colored faces contorted in pain.

Their magic was nearly exhausted, and they were in agony.

“Wait a little longer. If we can't kill the Dragonlord, we'll at least keep the enemy from crossing the river,” the gray-robed crone said, lowering her eyelids. Her hoarse voice carried a sense of grim determination.

The two apprentices could do nothing but obediently continue to mobilize their magic.

...

Splash, splash...

The already turbulent Rhoyne suddenly surged with a magnificent wave. In an instant, several small boats capsized.

“Be careful, watch out for the current!” Robb shouted, alarmed, grabbing the boat's edge tightly and warning his younger brother.

The small boats, makeshift replacements for fishing vessels, were unstable. As the waves pulled them under, they quickly sank, leaving the soldiers struggling in the water.

The second group was from the Riverlands, and most of them could swim. But the Knights of the Vale, mostly landlubbers, would sink if they fell into the water.

Whoosh!

The surviving forces on the enemy ships seized the opportunity to counterattack, raining arrows down on the struggling men below.

“Roar..."

Caraxes soared in, sweeping through the dense arrows with its scarlet wings, and unleashed Dragonfire to suppress the enemy's firepower.

“Charge through!” Daemon shouted coldly, splitting the battlefield from atop his dragon.

“Charge! Charge!”

“Cross the river and you won't die!”

The army's morale surged. They rowed faster despite the waves, their faces flushed with excitement, as if fueled by sheer adrenaline.

...

Rhaegar's face remained calm as he observed the battle below.

“Roar...”

The Serpent wrapped around his finger, sucking the black mist from his shoulder. The wound healed, and the Serpent drifted back into his palm.

“Cannibal, let's cross the river!”

Rhaegar's eyes locked onto the small sailing ships hiding in the rear, a cold light flashing in his eyes. The Cannibal's green eyes were dark and deep, and its massive body cast a wide shadow as it crossed the river, calmly passing the burning ships.

Rhaegar's goal was simple: to take advantage of Daemon's morale-boosting charge and cross the river in one go. By occupying Volon Therys and Sar Mell on both sides of the Rhoyne, they could cut off Volantis's inland support. With the army then heading south, Volantis would be a city in isolation.

...

In the boat.

With the waves crashing outside, the cabin felt as damp as if it had rained indoors.

Gurgling...

The water in the basin bubbled, surrounded by scattered water stains. The gray-robed old woman, pale and trembling, rose unsteadily and said in a weak voice, “Let's go.”

She could smell the dragons approaching.

The white-robed man and woman lay sprawled on the floor, their faces expressionless, their once smooth skin now shriveled and aged. The Rhoynar's characteristic black hair had turned gray at the temples.

The gray-robed old woman glared at them, shouting, “Get up! What time is it?”

But they were too weak to respond. Despite her repeated calls, the white-robed pair remained dazed, struggling unsuccessfully to rise. Their magic was exhausted, their vitality drained, and the backlash on their bodies was severe.

“What a pair of failures.”

The Crone seethed with anger at their lack of progress. She retrieved a fist-sized sapphire from her bosom, absorbing a wisp of its aquamarine luster. The sapphire dimmed slightly as the Crone’s strength marginally improved.

She grabbed the man and woman in white robes and dragged them out with difficulty.

“We can't stay any longer. The dragons won't spare any ship.”

The gray-robed Crone smashed open the cabin door. The smell of ash and burnt flesh filled the air, choking those inside.

...

At this moment, a shadow fell from above.

“Roar!”

A greenish flame descended, filling the air with smoke and mist.

The old woman looked up in panic as the green fire engulfed her face, burning off her eyebrows and skin.

“Ah!”

Her scream was piercing, echoing along the edge of the Rhoyne.

Cannibal hovered in the air, stretching its neck to aim at each boat and spewing out green Dragonfire.

Rhaegar's eyes were cold, and he held a glass candle in his hand, its flame illuminating the Crone's last moments.

Attacking in the shadows? Do you think the Targaryens are the last dragonlords who don't know magic?

Rhoynar's water wizards were legendary, daring to challenge the invincible Freehold Empire and boasting the glory of killing three Dragonlords.

But there's a saying in ancient Valyria: “Wizards are not scary. They die if you cut off their heads.”

Rhaegar's fighting spirit blazed as he looked across the Rhoyne to Sar Mell and shouted, “Break into the city!”

“Roar!”

Cannibal slowly flew up to the top of the city, contemptuously looking down at the poorly equipped defenders, and unleashed a jet of Dragonfire.

Boom!

The dark green Dragonfire swept across the city walls, shattering the gates.

...

It was late at night, with the moon and stars shining brightly. The Sar Mell gate had fallen, and a new army was now stationed there. Two dragons soared low in the sky, cloaked in the night as they savored the bloodshed of the day.

Inside the camp, within the general's tent, Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, his head resting on his hands, eyes closed as he listened to Robb's report on the battle.

“Your Grace, 90% of the casualties in this battle occurred during the crossing of the river,” Robb, covered in blood, reported. “The Second Sons lost 200 men, and the Knights of the Vale lost 1,800 men, either killed, drowned, or seriously injured. In total, we killed 3,400 enemies.”

Rhaegar nodded silently, waving him away. He had a good sense of the situation. Sar Mell had stationed 5,000 mercenaries and prepared hundreds of boats, oil, and bows and arrows in advance to maximize the loss of manpower as the Iron Throne's army crossed the river.

A dragon could burn a city, but it couldn't conquer the Free Cities alone. Without soldiers, the Iron Throne's initial attack on Volantis would fail. After all, gathering a new army would take more than half a year.

“What do you think? Should we rest up for a few days?” Daemon asked from across the tent, his black steel armor removed, revealing gauze wrapped around his arm. A thick layer of gauze, with blood oozing through in a plum blossom pattern.

Rhaegar glanced at him and said, “No need. Our supplies won’t last for more than a few days.” The attack on Volantis required a swift land and sea siege, much like the tactics used in the Myr siege. The Second Sons and the Knights of the Vale had traveled lightly, carrying only half a month’s worth of food and supplies across the Disputed Lands, appearing as swift as the wind. They aimed to occupy the two towns on either side of the Rhoyne River as a supply base.

Volantis wasn’t entirely foolish; they had taken advantage of the Rhoyne River. Volon Therys adopted a policy of non-resistance, moving their army out of the city before it was occupied. Sar Mell made a desperate attempt to burn the granary before the city fell.

Without a supply base, the army needed to capture Volantis quickly. Daemon, gauze tied around his mouth, took a sip from his wine cup. “The soldiers have suffered greatly and are not suitable for continued combat,” he noted. Not only the soldiers but the dragons were also weary, especially with the appearance of the Rhoynar water wizard, who was as insidious as a snake in the dark.

Rhaegar shook his head and smiled wryly. “Instead of thinking about that, we should be thinking about how to attack Volantis.” He didn't care much about the soldiers' lives; the main force consisted of the Vale faction, and it was they who had borne the brunt of the casualties. The Second Sons had supported them for so many years, it was only fair they made sacrifices now. When the war ended, the fertile lands of the Disputed Lands could be divided up and given away.

Daemon's interest was piqued immediately. “It's easy to attack a city; it just depends on whether you want a ruin or a Free City,” he remarked.

Volantis' outer walls weren't very strong, except for the formidable Black Wall. However, burning a city had severe consequences. The loss of lives and the astronomical costs of rebuilding the Free Cities were daunting. When Rhaegar conquered Myr and Lys, both cities were severely damaged by dragons, requiring extensive and costly reconstruction financed by loans from the Iron Bank.

Daemon had faced similar challenges. To suppress rebellion, Caraxes repeatedly burned parts of the cities, earning him a reputation as a "murderer" and "invader." Without sufficient funds, the Free Cities would remain in ruins. Even today, only the eastern part of Tyrosh, the most prosperous area with its port, had been restored, while the rest of the city remained a burnt-out wasteland.

Rhaegar was acutely aware of the high costs associated with taking Volantis. He wondered if confiscating the Tiger and Elephant parties' properties would suffice.

“Your Grace, someone is here to see you,” a messenger announced from outside the tent.

Rhaegar and Daemon exchanged curious glances. After suppressing the rebellion, unexpected visitors were rare.

“Send them in,” Rhaegar ordered.

A few moments later, the sound of rustling footsteps was heard, accompanied by a strong scent of perfume. The tent curtain was lifted, revealing a beautiful red priestess in a red robe.

Rhaegar frowned. “Priestess, why are you here?”

The red priestess removed her hood, revealing two tattoos of tears on her cheeks, and smiled charmingly. “Of course, I welcome His Majesty the Emperor back to Volantis.” She stepped forward, her long, slender legs visible, and bowed respectfully.

Daemon chuckled, “The emperor of Volantis is attacking his own Free Cities.”

Rhaegar's face darkened. “Priestess, make yourself clear.”

The red priestess looked around before speaking. “Your Grace, Volantis is not a monolithic entity. Many people are looking forward to your return.”

Rhaegar didn't buy it. “The faction of the old nobles or the faction of the party of the people, just say it.”

The red priestess, smiling, said, “I don't rule out the possibility that they admire you.”

Rhaegar's displeasure was evident. The red priestess quickly adjusted her demeanor, regaining her composure. “The Lord of Light told me that he does not want Volantis reduced to ruins. He hopes a benevolent king will rule and allow the people to live in peace and security.”

“Do you have a plan?” Rhaegar asked directly.

The red priestess' eyes narrowed, and she said bluntly, “Tesrio of the Tiger Party has formed an alliance with Slaver's Bay. He has Braavos mercenaries under his command, Qohor-made scorpion crossbows, and water wizards hired from Asshai. These wizards who manipulate water magic are heretics who do not respect the Lord of Light.”

She then added in a low voice, “I can take you to the Black Wall, where the Elephant Party will hold a meeting to eliminate Tesrio and the heretical wizards.”