Deadly danger in the dense fog

Today, the wind in the Narrow Sea carries a salty stench, causing the sails of the Joint Fleet to flutter wildly, and every flag to stand taut as if trying to break free from the mast's restraints.

The seahorse pattern on the House Velaryon silver ship gleamed coldly in the morning light, and the silvery white spray that appeared as the ship cut through the waves made the whole ship look like a group of giant silver fish swimming in the waves, elegant yet with hidden sharpness;

The new longship of the Manderly family in the the North exudes a rugged sense of power. The bow is carved with a wooden sculpture of a beluga whale and a mermaid, which remains menacing despite the erosion of the sea winds. When the pine hull crashes through the waves, the splashing water droplets fall onto the deck like tiny ice crystals. This is the unique sturdiness of the the North's ships, made of thousand-year-old fir north of the the Wall, which can withstand the deepest and fiercest waves of the Narrow Sea, and is not easily damaged even if scraped by reefs.

Daemon sat atop the Glutton's dragon back, Blackfyre slung across his waist. The dark gold dragon pattern on the scabbard was slightly warmed by the sea breeze, as if it held a lingering flame.

He looked down and saw that on the deck of the Blackfyre, Rayford Rosby was squatting beside the ballista, wiping the mechanism with a silk handkerchief. Behind him, Rupert Crabb was leading the young men of the Crab Claw Peninsula to check their quivers. Most of the young men were wearing coarse cloth armor and holding gleaming short swords. Their eyes were full of tension but also revealed a spirit of never giving up. Most of them were fighting away from the Crab Claw Peninsula for the first time and did not want to show any fear in front of the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Be careful! These springs are very fragile, don't use brute force!" Rayford shouted to a boy beside him who was using too much force, took the spring from the boy's hand, and demonstrated how to gently adjust the angle. "The blueprints from the Citadel are good, but the iron we use to make arrows is not as good as Myr's. We have to use the springs sparingly, otherwise they will break after firing only a few shots."

Daemon could see clearly that the prototypes of these ballistae were provided by the House Hightower and were products of the Citadel's improvement upon the Myr ballistae.

Although mass-produced crossbow bolts had 30% less penetrating power and nearly 100 meters less range than those originally from Myr, they were still a revolutionary advancement compared to the crossbows commonly used in Westeros before.

The arrow shaft is coated with Dragonglass fragments, making it easy to penetrate ordinary iron armor. The arrowhead is coated with a small amount of Lys venom, which can cause even a minor scratch to fester and become inflamed.

As for Jarman Waters, he was leading Harlan Hunter, Tybolt Crakehall, Myles Rivers, and others on an inspection of the fleet's flanks.

Harlan Hunter carried his longbow on his back, a quiver of his silver arrows hung at his waist, and gripped the bronze short sword passed down through his family, the eagle feathers on the tassel swaying with his steps;

Tybolt Crakehall would occasionally bend down to check the waterline at the bottom of the ship. He came from the Westerlands and, despite his rugged appearance and the fact that he carried a battle axe, he was exceptionally sensitive to the ship's load compared to the others.

Of course, the most conspicuous was Myles Rivers, this usually carefree fellow, unusually serious and focused. Carrying his the North axe, taller than a man, the blade gleaming coldly in the morning light, he paced back and forth along the ship's side, his gaze sweeping the sea with the vigilance of a hawk.

Last night, the patrol intercepted a Lys spy ship. The prisoners confessed that the Triarchy had laid an ambush in the reef area outside the Stepstones. The secret ballistae capable of piercing dragon scales and the iron-clad behemoths were hidden in the thick fog, waiting for the Joint Fleet to enter the shallows before launching a surprise attack.

"Little Daemon! Why don't you come down and have a drink with me!" Daemon Targaryen's voice came from below, tinged with a hint of mockery.

He rode Caraxes hovering above the Golden Lion, a magnificent golden lion wine jug dangling from his hand. The jug was engraved with the roaring lion of House Lannister, and the crimson dragon's claws lightly gripped the mast, its sharp tips only half a foot from the deck, eliciting gasps from the Westerlands soldiers. Yet no one dared to approach and drive it away—after all, there were few in all of Westeros who could make Caraxes, this Blood Wyrm, restrain his claws.

"That old fox Taimond Lannister has some good stuff hidden away. I secretly took a bottle; it's aged sweet wine from Arbor. Why don't you try some?" Daemon Targaryen uncorked the bottle, and the rich aroma of the wine wafted to Daemon's nose on the wind. He deliberately held the bottle high, letting the wine shimmer with an amber glow in the morning light.

Daemon smiled helplessly and patted the Glutton's neck.

The Black Dragon let out a low growl and slowly swooped down, the wind whipped up by its wings billowing Daemon Targaryen's cloak, revealing a silk lining embroidered with Caraxes's pattern.

He had it specially made by a tailor in King's Landing; the fabric was golden cotton from the Summer Isles, which was light, tough, and could also protect against sea breezes.

"Can't you just behave yourself? Uncle Baelon said that once we enter the Narrow Sea Shoal area, the dragons must remain vigilant and avoid being ambushed by the Triarchy's ballistae."

Daemon landed on the deck of the "Golden Lion." The moment his feet touched the ground, he was surrounded by soldiers from the Westerlands. Some offered him water, others offered him towels, and a few of the younger ones curiously touched the Glutton's dragon tail that was hanging down from the sky on the deck. This caused the Black Dragon to flick the tip of its tail, but it didn't actually hurt anyone.

"Ballistas?" Daemon Targaryen scoffed, taking a sip of wine that dripped down his chin. "Those Myr's ballistae probably can't even catch a glimpse of Caraxes. Even if they're unlucky, a hit from one probably wouldn't even pierce a scale. What's there to be afraid of? As for you, are you still carrying Gael sweet rice cake and bag that Aunt Gary gave you? Yesterday I saw Grey Ghost carrying an oil paper package with Dreamfyre embroidered on it."

Mentioning Gael, Daemon's ears burned slightly. He had indeed hidden the Gael had given him at the end inside the lining of his armor; the bag was embroidered with a small Blackfyre and Glutton, and it was sewn by Gael overnight.

"Mind your own business, just be careful. According to Bethany's information, even the giant crossbows that the Citadel built on the ship can't pierce dragon scales," he changed the subject, pointing to the sea to the east. "However, Corlys said this morning that the fog there is strange, and it might be hiding a spy ship from the Triarchy. You take Caraxes to scout it out, and I'll have Glutton follow behind you. If there's an ambush, use Dragonfire as a signal."

Daemon Targaryen quickly dropped his playful grin and sat upright on Caraxes's back. "Don't worry, I'm not some playboy who only wanders the Silk Street."

He patted Caraxes's neck, and the red dragon let out a loud roar, spreading its wings and flying towards the fog. Its scales gleamed blood-red in the sunlight, and like a moving lightning bolt, it instantly plunged into the thick fog.

Daemon followed closely behind on his Glutton, with Grey Ghost also flying low to catch up.

This light gray, cowardly dragon is still quite timid, but lately it has been sticking close to the Glutton's wings while flying, and occasionally rubbing its head against the Glutton's claws, like a clingy little shadow.

Daemon patted Grey Ghost's head, and the little dragon immediately let out a comfortable purr, even increasing its flight speed.

Visibility in the foggy area was extremely low; you couldn't see a person even ten steps away. The sea breeze, carrying moisture, hit your face, feeling cold and sticky, like a layer of wet burlap.

In the distance, the rumbling sound of waves crashing against the reefs could be heard, deep and heavy, like the low growl of a giant beast, making one's heart tighten.

Daemon gripped the hilt of the Blackfyre tightly, cautiously observing his surroundings—the fog held too many unknowns, and a single misstep could lead to an ambush.

Suddenly, a sharp dragon's roar came from the thick fog ahead. Immediately afterward, scarlet Dragonfire shot out from the fog, sizzling as they burned the air, and the fog was vaporized by the Dragonfire into large plumes of white smoke.

"A ship!" Daemon Targaryen's shout pierced the fog. "Probably Lys scout ship, with silk sails!"

Daemon immediately ordered, "Glutton, stop it! Don't burn it all, leave it alive!"

The Black Dragon understood, skimming low over the sea, its dark Dragonfire landing around the scout ship, scalding the seawater to boiling and emitting white steam.

The scout boat tried to turn around and escape, but was blocked by the Grey Ghost. Although the cowardly dragon was timid, under the leadership of its "big brother," it nimbly circled around to the bow, sprayed its dragon breath on the sail, instantly burned a hole in the sail, and the hull lost power, spinning in the waves.

Caraxes swooped down, its dragon claws grabbing the mast and forcefully bringing the ship to a stop.

Daemon Targaryen leaped from the dragon's back, landing on the deck via the ship's railing. The Dark Sister drew their swords, blades pressed against the scout leader's throat. "Speak! Where is the Triarchy's main fleet? Where are the ballistae positions?"

The scout leader, a thin man dressed as a Lys merchant, his face greasy with sweat, pointed shakily toward the Stepstones: "In—in Echo Bay! There are three massive ironclad warships, their hulls covered in thick iron, ballistae mounted on their decks—and Tyrosh mercenaries, who have planted iron spikes in the shallows—"

Daemon landed on the deck on his Glutton, the tip of his Blackfyre slicing open the parchment scroll in the scout's arms, which depicted the battle formation of the Triarchy.

Ballista positions were set up on the cliffs on both sides of Echo Bay, and the iron-clad giant ships were moored in the bay, blocking the fleet's entrance. Poisonous iron spikes were buried in the shallows, specifically to pierce the bottom of the ships.

"It seems they were prepared." Corlys's voice came from beyond the fog. The silver sails of the Sea Snake pierced the mist, and the old Sea Snake stood at the bow, clutching a brass telescope. "Echo Bay isn't deep enough. Our small boats can pass, but heavy ships like those from the Westerlands will run aground. We'll have to clear the barbs from the shallows before we can destroy the ballista positions."

Daemon nodded and handed the parchment to Corlys: "Lord Corlys, have the House Velaryon sailors take chisels and small boats to clear the Iron Spikes. I'll take the Glutton and the Grey Ghost to destroy the ballista positions. Big Daemon, you take Caraxes to cover the sailors and prevent the Triarchy archers from launching a sneak attack. Uncle Baelon, you lead the central fleet and wait for us to clear the obstacles before launching a full-scale attack."

As Daemon spoke, Baelon had already flown in from afar on Vhagar, the turquoise dragon resembling a moving hill in the mist.

"Do as you say," Baelon's voice was steady. "Be careful. The Triarchy's Myr crossbows are dangerous, and they might be poisoned with Lys. Don't get hit."

Vhagar let out a long, drawn-out dragon roar, as if to send them off on their journey. Daemon leaped onto the Glutton, with Grey Ghost close behind, and flew toward the cliffs of Echo Bay.

The fog gradually dissipated, revealing the ballista positions on the cliff. Black iron ballistae were mounted on stone platforms, with rows of crossbow bolts piled up beside them, their arrowheads tinged with blackish-purple, clearly poisoned.

"Grey Ghost, light the torch!" Daemon commanded.

The cowardly dragon immediately swooped down, its breath igniting the pile of torches the sailors had placed at the foot of the cliff. Thick smoke billowed, obscuring the crossbowmen's vision, before the dragon vanished into the mist and smoke.

The Glutton took the opportunity to swoop down, spewing black Dragonfire at the ballista position. The wooden frame was instantly burned through, and the ballista collapsed with a roar, crashing onto the stone platform, with the rubble rolling into the sea.

"Shoot!" shouted the Tyrosh from the cliff, and arrows rained down like a storm.

Daemon launched the Glutton into the air to avoid the rain of arrows, while simultaneously drawing his Blackfyre, its blade cleaving through the incoming arrows.

Just then, Caraxes's crimson Dragonfire attacked from the other side, burning the mercenaries and causing them to scream in agony. Daemon Targaryen, riding his red dragon, landed on the edge of the cliff. The Dark Sister wielded their swords, and with a flash of light, several mercenaries fell to the ground.

"Little Daemon! Watch out! There are ballistae over there!" Daemon Targaryen's shout came from nearby.

Daemon flew off on his Glutton and saw three even larger ballistae hidden on the other side of the cliff, aimed directly at the House Velaryon sailors clearing the spikes below.

The Glutton's Dragonfire instantly engulfed the ballista, turning the iron cannons red-hot and twisting them into deformed shapes.

The sailors clearing the barbs took the opportunity to speed up, their Dragonglass chisels striking the barbs with a clanging sound that mingled with the sound of the waves, like a battle song.

Standing aboard the "Sea Snake," Corlys directed the silver ship to circle around to both sides of Echo Bay, preparing to provide support.

Daemon landed on the cliff and breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at the wreckage of ballistae and the corpses of mercenaries scattered on the ground.

Daemon Targaryen walked over, wiped the blood off the Dark Sister, and grinned. "How about it? My skills today weren't any worse than yours, were they?"

Just as Daemon was about to speak, he suddenly heard the Grey Ghost let out a rapid dragon roar.

He looked up and saw three huge black shadows sailing towards the fleet on the distant sea. One of the ships was covered with thick iron plates, and the black flag of the Triarchy was flying on its mast. It was the iron-clad behemoth that the scout had mentioned!

"Not good!" Corlys's voice rang out, "Their main force, which was lying in ambush, is here!"

Vhagar's dragon roar echoed across the Narrow Sea. Baelon commanded the central fleet to adjust its formation, with the the North longships at the forefront, the House Velaryon silver ships flanking the sides, and the Westerlands heavy ships preparing to withstand the frontal assault.

Glutton, Caraxes, and Vhagar took to the skies simultaneously, the roars of the dragons shaking the waves. The soldiers of the Joint Fleet raised their weapons, shouting, "For the Iron Throne!" "For the Targaryen!" "For Westeros!"

Daemon gripped the Blackfyre tightly, touched the honey cake oil paper package inside the lining, Gael's smile appeared in his mind.

He looked at Daemon Targaryen, his great-grandfather's "cousin" beside him, who also stopped joking and his eyes sharpened. "This time, let's have a good fight, brothers!"

The Glutton spread its wings, and jet-black Dragonfire burned an arc in the sky, pointing towards the approaching iron-clad behemoth.

The waves of the Narrow Sea grew turbulent, the sails of the Seven Kingdoms fleet rose and fell in the waves, and the shadows of the dragons loomed over the fleets. A counterattack and ambush naval battle destined to be recorded in history was about to break out in Echo Bay of the Stepstones.