Bloody battle in Echo Bay

The waves of the Narrow Sea, like enraged beasts, pounded against the hull of the Joint Fleet. The splashing water, mixed with sparks from the Dragonfire, condensed into sulfurous ice crystals on the deck.

The three giant ships of the Triarchy, clad in iron plating, were almost upon them. These three behemoths, covered in black iron, sailed side by side, their hulls half again as wide as the "Sea Snake." More than twenty black iron crossbows were densely packed on their decks, the poisoned arrows in their quivers gleaming with a purplish-black light, much like the poisoned arrows that had killed Daemon on that Red Waste.

On the very center of the flagship's mast hung the scarlet flag of Redib Introkos, the vice-general of the Triarchy's Stepstones coalition, who, according to the confession of the prisoners just now, was in charge of the ambush in Echo Bay. The other flags were also embroidered with "three-headed chains," symbolizing the alliance of the three city-states of Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr.

"They want to chain the ship!" Corlys House Velaryon's shout cut through the commotion. He stood alone on the lookout tower of the Sea Snake, and through his brass binoculars, he could clearly see that heavy iron chains were being lowered from the stern of the giant ironclad ship. With his experience, he immediately realized that the other side wanted to connect them into an "iron wall" to block the Joint Fleet's attack route.

"All the House Velaryon silver ships circled around to their right flank and used their chisels to break the chains! the North longships charged head-on, and the White Harbor fleet of House Manderly's rams could withstand the impact of the ironclads!"

Baelon rode Vhagar into the sky, the turquoise dragon spreading its wings, its enormous shadow blotting out half the morning light.

"Central fleet, hold your formation!" His voice carried the authority of a seasoned warrior. Vhagar's dragon breath struck in front of the ironclad behemoth, the green flames boiling the seawater, the steam carrying the smell of sulfur, forming a natural barrier for the Joint Fleet. "Little Daemon, you take the Glutton and destroy the ballistae on the left flank of the ironclads; Big Daemon, Caraxes, take charge of the right flank, don't give them a chance to fire!"

"Understood!" both Daemon responded simultaneously, one voice steady and the other lively, yet both equally resolute.

Daemon, riding the Glutton, swooped down, the Black Dragon's wings sweeping across the deck of the Blackfyre. Rayford Rosby and Myles Rivers immediately led everyone in raising their specially made shields to defend themselves. The shields blocked the first wave of crossbow bolts fired from the iron ship—a dense rain of poisoned arrows struck the shields, making a "sizzling" corrosive sound, and shallow pits were instantly burned into the shields.

"Your Highness, be careful, the arrows are poisoned!" Myles shouted, his the North Battle Axe already sheathed on his back, the silver blade still stained with the blood of the scouts on the scout ship that morning.

The Glutton hovered above the left-wing iron ship, their jet-black Dragonfire pouring down like the breath of death.

Unlike ordinary Dragonfire, this flame, upon landing on the sea surface, instantly ignited and coalesced into a sea of fire. The flames spread along the hull of the iron ship, frantically attacking the ship's steering mechanism.

The Triarchy sailors on the ironclad warship were engulfed in terrifying flames that spread to their hands, the scorching and soul-crushing chilling aura of death threatening to continue devouring the rest of their bodies.

The agonizing sailor cried out and tried to cut off his own arm with an axe in a desperate act of self-sacrifice, but was stopped by the Grey Ghost's dragon breath. This timid, light gray dragon nimbly circled around to the bow, its Dragonfire striking the winch of the Myr ballista, instantly setting the wooden winch ablaze and rendering the ballista powerless.

"Well done, Grey Ghost!" Daemon stroked the head of the cowardly dragon that had flown back to his side, its fingertips trembling with excitement.

Just then, Caraxes's roar suddenly came from the right flank, and crimson Dragonfire shot into the sky. Daemon turned his head and saw Daemon Targaryen riding a red dragon, fighting with the Tyrosh mercenaries on the ship. Several small fast boats rushed out from behind the iron ship, and the mercenaries on the ships held burning javelins, trying to sneak up on the Caraxes's belly.

"Glutton, go and provide support!" Daemon ordered hastily. The Black Dragon beneath him immediately changed direction, its Dragonfire burning through the speedboat's mast, causing the ship to lose its balance and spin in the waves.

Daemon Targaryen seized the opportunity to leap off Caraxes, and the Dark Sister drew their swords. With a flash of light, two mercenaries fell to the ground on the deck.

"Little Daemon, if you had arrived any later, Caraxes would have used his dragon claws to catch fish and eat me!" He grinned, wiping the blood from his face, unaware that a mercenary was charging at him from behind with a scimitar.

"Watch out!" Daemon threw the Dragonglass dagger from his waist in time, and the dagger accurately pierced the mercenary's wrist, the scimitar clattering to the ground.

Daemon Targaryen pressed his Dark Sister against the man's throat, and upon seeing the man's green hair, his tone instantly turned cold. "Tyrosh scum, daring to act wildly in front of Targaryen's dragons?"

Meanwhile, the Manderly longships from the the North had already reached the iron chains.

"Break!" shouted William Manderly, Earl Manderly's cousin, as the oak ram slammed against the chains with a chilling force that seemed to carry the chill of an icy plain.

With a sharp crack, the iron chain snapped, sending wood and iron filings flying. The deck of the longship shook violently, and several the North soldiers lost their footing and fell into the sea, but were immediately pulled up by their comrades. After wiping their faces, they raised their axes and charged back at the iron ship.

Corlys's "Sea Snake" had also circled to the right flank, and the silver ship's sailors, chisels in hand, were approaching the hull of the iron ship in small boats.

Water seeped into the cabin through the gaps.

The Myr crossbowmen on the ironclad ship tried to fire arrows, but were suppressed by the archers of Redwyne Fleet led by Alyn Redwyne and the sharpshooters from all over Westeros.

Arrows of all colors rained down like a storm, and crossbowmen fell one after another. Alyn and Little Horas stood at the bow of the "Arbor," their bows still fully drawn, their eyes sharp as eagles.

"The left-wing ironclad ship is sinking!" Rayford's shout came from the "Blackfyre".

Daemon looked over and saw the iron ship, its hull frozen shut by the Glutton, slowly tilting. Seawater surged in through the cracks in the hull. The Lys sailors jumped overboard to escape, but were stopped by the the North longships. They were either forced to surrender or hacked down with axes.

But at that moment, the central flagship suddenly fired a volley of poisoned arrows, aimed directly at Vhagar-

Redib Interlocks stood on the ship's deck, holding a ruby-inlaid scimitar, directing the crossbowmen to aim at Baelon.

"Uncle Baelon!" Daemon's heart tightened, and he immediately ordered the Glutton to rush towards the flagship. The Black Dragon's Dragonfire burned off the trajectory of the crossbow bolts, and the poisoned arrows fell into the sea, creating purple ripples.

Baelon rode Vhagar around, and the turquoise Dragonfire rushed straight towards the ship's superstructure. Redib was pulled into the cabin by his men, but the wooden structure of the superstructure was burned and collapsed, crushing several crossbowmen to death.

"To catch the thief, first catch the king!" Daemon gripped the Blackfyre tightly, and the Glutton's dragon claws grabbed the ship's side. He flipped and leaped off, the scabbard hitting the deck with a heavy thud.

Several slave guards from Tyrosh surrounded him, their spears aimed at his chest. Daemon dodged to the side, drew his Blackfyre, its black blade gleaming coldly in the morning light, and with one strike he cleaved the spear of the foremost guard, then with another, he pierced his throat.

"The Targaryen bastards!" Redib's voice boomed from the cabin as he charged out, ruby-sapphire scimitar in hand, followed by a dozen elite mercenaries. "Two years ago, in the Battle of the Stepstones, my father, Arys Introkos, was defeated by you and your uncle, but only because he had a ragtag bunch of newly recruited pirates under his command. Now I've led my elite troops to avenge him. Do you dare to fight me?"

Daemon sneered, his Blackfyre slowly pointing at his opponent. "Your father was captured alive by me, let alone your son?"

Redib was instantly enraged, and his scimitar whistled as it slashed down. However, Daemon calmly countered, the blade of his Blackfyre clashing with the scimitar, sparks flying everywhere.

Although his opponent was arrogant, his swordsmanship was indeed agile, carrying a fierce and cunning air of someone who had tasted blood on the edge of a blade. However, he did not expect that Daemon, who looked young, had hidden the ruthlessness of his past life on the battlefield in his swordsmanship - every sword strike was aimed at the vital point, without any hesitation.

With each vicious slash from Redib, Daemon retaliated even more fiercely, his power like an erupting volcano, yet his stamina was like the boundless ocean, inexhaustible.

In just over ten rounds, Redib's arm had been slashed by Daemon's Blackfyre, and blood dripped down his arm and onto the deck from the scimitar in his hand.

"Caraxes, burn all his escape routes!" Daemon Targaryen's voice suddenly rang out, and crimson Dragonfire surged from the stern, burning through the escape boats guarded by Redib's men.

Redib's face turned pale. He turned to jump into the sea, but Daemon's Blackfyre blocked his back.

"Trying to run?" Daemon's voice was as cold as the Narrow Sea. "The Triarchy' plunder of the Stepstones and murder of Westeros ' fishermen—today is your first punishment."

The Blackfyre pierced Redib's back, the golden blade penetrating his chest, splattering blood onto the deck.

Redib fell to the ground, the ruby scimitar slipped from his hand and rolled to Daemon's feet.

Daemon bent down to pick up the scimitar, glanced at the jewels on it, and casually tossed it to Colin Celtigar, who had already boarded the ship behind him. "Gael and the others can use it as a toy."

Colin caught the scimitar, grinning, "The princess will definitely love it; this jewel is even brighter than her hairpin."

The fall of the flagship of the ambush plan instantly threw the Triarchy's ambushing fleet into complete disarray.

Seeing the situation was dire, the ironclad ship on the right flank tried to turn and escape, but its sails were ignited by Caraxes's Dragonfire, causing it to lose power and be capsized by the "Sea Snake".

The ironclad ship on the left flank had long since sunk, leaving only floating planks and struggling sailors.

The soldiers of the Joint Fleet raised their weapons and shouted, "Prince of Spring Dawn!", "Rogue Prince!", "Prince of Blackfyre!", "Lord Sea Snake!"

Others chanted phrases like "Long live the Iron Throne," "Westeros," "By the Seven," and "Blessed by the Old Gods."

Some even went so far as to shout "Long live the the Conciliator and Good Queen, who are far away in King's King's Landing!" However, the combined voices of these various voices shook even the waves of the Narrow Sea.

Taimond Lannister's "Golden Lion" remained stationary at the rear. Lancel Lannister attempted to lead the Westerlands soldiers in a charge several times, but Taimond stopped him each time.

"Uncle, we can't wait any longer!" Lancel said anxiously, his face flushed. "The Joint Fleet are fighting desperately, and we're just watching a show here? If word gets out, the Westerlands and the Lannister will be a laughingstock among the Seven Kingdoms!"

Taimond, however, calmly took a sip of wine, gazing at the battlefield ahead with a complex expression. "A joke? What is a joke compared to the interests of the Westerlands and House Lannister? Prince Viserys is the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms after Prince Baelon, the king on the Iron Throne. We don't need to risk our lives for that black Black Dragon Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen and those lords of the East Coast."

He paused, then looked at his cousin Lancel, "Lancel, remember, we A Lannister Always Pays His Debts, but we never do anything that loses us money. Last Summer, we suffered the humiliation and trauma of the Burning of Lannisport. This forces us to continue to endure and gather all our strength. When the sun rises again, marking the beginning of our bright future, then the Lannister lions of the Westerlands will roar once more across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros!"

Lancel wanted to say something, but was stopped by Taimond's gaze. He could only reluctantly grip the hilt of his sword and watch the Joint Fleet clean up the battlefield.

As the setting sun dyed the Narrow Sea blood red, the battle finally ended. The sails of the Joint Fleet remained neatly aligned, though the ships bore more arrow holes and scorch marks.

The three ironclad warships of the Triarchy either sank or surrendered, leaving behind planks, corpses, and tattered flags floating on the sea, the air thick with the mixed smells of Dragonfire, blood, and seawater.

Baelon dismounted from Vhagar's back and landed on the deck of the "Royal Standard," Vhagar's green dragon scales stained with blood.

He looked at Daemon and Big Daemon who had surrounded him, a rare smile appearing on his face, "Well done, my two Daemon. Today in the Narrow Sea, you've shown the Triarchy that the dragons of the Iron Throne are not to be trifled with."

Daemon Targaryen, unusually shy, scratched his head, somewhat embarrassed. "Father and Little Daemon were the best at directing things; I was just playing a supporting role this time."

Daemon Blackfyre turned to Corlys, who was currently directing his sailors to count the prisoners. "Lord Corlys, what about the defenses of Echo Bay? We need to leave men to garrison it and prevent the Triarchy from making a comeback."

Corlys nodded. "I've already left several silver ships with the House Velaryon forces, and together with Celtigar and Redwyne's fleets, that's enough to guard this Narrow Sea. Prince Baelon and I have already discussed this; once we achieve a decisive victory and regain control of the Stepstones, upon returning to King's Landing, we will propose to His Majesty the King the establishment of a ' Stepstones Stepstones Governor' position, to be held by one of our own."

Daemon touched the honey cake oil paper package in his pocket. The oil paper and cloth package were a little wet, from the seawater splashed on during the battle, but the Blackfyre and Glutton pattern embroidered on it were still clearly visible.

He recalled Gael's words of advice at the King's Landing docks, and the expectation in her pale purple eyes; a warm feeling suddenly welled up inside him.

This victory was not only for the Iron Throne, but also to return to her side sooner and fulfill the promise of that ancient Old Valyria wedding.

Grey Ghost gently landed on his shoulder, and a small, light grey dragon rubbed its head against his cheek, a colorful silk thread it had taken from the iron ship dangling from its mouth—probably plucked from the silk of Lys merchant.

Daemon smiled and took the silk thread, gently wrapping it around his finger. "When we get back, I'll embroider a new cushion for Little Mei and Hannah for you."

Daemon Targaryen leaned closer, his eyes lighting up when he saw the silk thread. "This silk thread is excellent, even better than the ones from Silk Street! Little Daemon, do you still have the honey cakes Aunt Gael gave you before we left? I've been working on them for ages, and I'm starving."

Daemon smiled helplessly, took out the oil paper package from inside his armor lining, opened it, and saw that the honey cake was still intact, only a little cold from being left out for so long. "Take it, this is the only one left."

Daemon Targaryen took the honey cake, took a big bite, and mumbled, "You know what, Gael's cooking skills are really good now. Much better than the cookies baked by that old man on Taimond's ship, the so-called 'Chef of the Westerlands '."

As the sun gradually sank below the horizon, the sails of the Joint Fleet continued their journey toward the Stepstones.

The Glutton, Caraxes, and Vhagar circled above the fleet, their roars mingling with the sound of the waves, creating a battle song for the victors, anticipating the next major battle on the Stepstones and ultimate victory.

Daemon stood at the bow of the Blackfyre, the Blackfyre planted on the deck, the dragon pattern on the hilt gleaming in the setting sun.

He knew that this victory was not the end, but a new beginning—the Stepstones had not yet been officially reclaimed from the Triarchy, and the future still awaited him.

But at this moment, all he wanted was to win the final victory as soon as possible, return to King's Landing, return to Gael's side, and tell her: he won, he's back safe and sound.