The nooses of Grey Gallows, the red rocks of Bloodstone Island

The sea breeze over the Narrow Sea today carries the scent of blood and sulfur, making the sails of the Joint Fleet even more taut.

The smoke of battle in Echo Bay had not yet cleared when Prince Baelon had already laid out a map of the Stepstones in the council chamber of the "Royal Standard." Corlys House Velaryon circled the two most prominent islands in red ink: the greyish-black one on the left was Grey Gallows, and the one gleaming red on the right was Bloodstone Island. At the northeasternmost point of the map, the black dragonstone walls of Tyrosh appeared like a hideous scar, marked "Core Garrison of the Triarchy."

"Grey Gallows is a pirate stronghold," Corlys pointed to the harbor of Grey Gallows with a brass compass. "According to the prisoners' confessions, the Triarchy hides all the ships they plundered from the Narrow Sea here, as well as the positions of the Rapid Fire Bows modified by the Myr Craftsmen's Guild, with arrows coated with the deadly poison of the Lys, ' The Strangler'— it paralyzes the skin upon contact and can cause suffocation within half an hour.'"

Daemon leaned closer, his fingertip tracing the gallows symbol for Grey Gallows on the nautical chart.

Those were marks used by pirates to execute those who resisted. Intelligence reports said that this place was once the remnant of the First Men settlers crossing the sea, but now it has become a den of evil.

"I'll lead the Glutton and the left flank fleet to Grey Gallows first, while Big Daemon, riding Caraxes, will lead the right flank fleet to keep an eye on Bloodstone Island, preventing the remaining fleets of the Triarchy from discovering it and providing support."

Daemon Targaryen, who was toying with a ruby scimitar he had seized from Echo Bay, looked up at the words: "Don't worry, Caraxes's flames can turn the red rocks of Bloodstone Island red-hot. Let those Tyrosh mercenaries know that those with green hair aren't the only ones who can kill."

He deliberately lifted his cloak, revealing a silk shirt embroidered with Caraxes, the hem still damp with seawater from Echo Bay, but it did nothing to diminish his arrogance.

Baelon tapped the nautical chart, his turquoise eyes sweeping over the group. "The House Velaryon silverships will circle around to the eastern reef of Grey Gallows. Corlys, you know these waters well; block the pirates' retreat. The North longships will engage them head-on, Manderly family's ram can shatter their pier—"

"As for the ships in the Westerlands— " Baelon glanced silently in the direction of Taimond Lannister, who was stroking his golden lion ring, "You are responsible for clearing the wreckage of the pirate ships floating on the sea. Don't let their Myr crossbows ambush our flanks."

Taimond bowed slightly in agreement, but a subtle, calculating glint flashed in his eyes. He naturally made no mention of his honest but foolish nephew Lancel Lannister's request to lead his fleet into battle, and yesterday he had only sent three ships to clear the wreckage, clearly still preserving his strength for the benefit of the Westerlands.

At Dawn the following day, the outline of Grey Gallows was already emerging from the morning mist.

The gallows on the island, like withered fingers pointing to the sky, held dried-up corpses. When the sea breeze blew, the tattered cloths on the corpses rustled, like tolling a death knell for the impending battle.

The pirate's fast ship was anchored in the harbor, its sails adorned with the Triarchy's "Three-Headed Chain" flag. On deck, Myr crossbowman had already nocked an arrow, the intricate carvings on the bow's shank clearly visible.

That was the signature craftsmanship of the Myr artisans—exquisite yet deadly.

"Glutton, burn the pier!" Daemon rode his Black Dragon into the air, and the dark Dragonfire swept across the harbor, instantly setting the pier ablaze. The pirates cried out and fled to the island, only to be stopped by a hail of arrows from the the North.

William Manderly of the Manderly family, gripping his longsword, was the first to leap onto the burning pier. His blade cleaved through a pirate's helmet, and he sneered, "The icy waves of the the North Long Night n't freeze us, let alone you rats from across the Narrow Sea!"

Grey Ghost swept low overhead, its dragon breath igniting the pirate ship's sails. The pale grey dragon nimbly dodged the incoming crossbow arrows, the shafts of which were wrapped with purple silk thread from Lys. Corlys had warned him beforehand that this was marked with "Tears of Lys," and even a scratch should be immediately treated with a maester's potion; if the wound was serious, it was necessary to sever the arm to prevent the poison from spreading further in the bloodstream.

Rupert Crabb Lands the men of Crab Claw Peninsula, carrying specially made shields, advancing step by step. The shields could block the force of crossbows, and their sharp edges could even cut through the flesh of pirates.

"Watch out! They've used the Myr repeating crossbows!" Colin Celtigar's shout came from the right.

Three pirates, carrying crossbows specially made by Myr, fired three arrows at once, heading straight for Daemon.

Daemon flipped over and tried his best to hide under the Glutton's outstretched dragon wings. The Black Dragon's scales blocked the arrow, which fell to the ground with a "clatter," leaving faint corrosive marks on the dragon's scales from the purple poison on the arrowhead.

"Big Daemon! If you keep watching, I'll throw all the wine on my Blackfyre into the sea!" Daemon shouted towards Bloodstone Island in the distance.

Suddenly, Caraxes's crimson Dragonfire rose from the west side of Bloodstone Island. Daemon Targaryen, riding his red dragon, landed on a Tyrosh mercenary ship attempting to reinforce Grey Gallows. The Dark Sister drew their swords, a flash of light, and the mercenary's vibrant dark green hair fell to the ground along with his head.

The mercenary's hat, adorned with a peacock feather— Tyrosh's most fashionable accessory—was now lying on the blood-stained deck.

"What's the rush!" Daemon Targaryen laughed, kicking aside the mercenary's corpse. "I'm just cutting off their escape route for you!"

Caraxes extended its sharp dragon claws and shattered the mast of the mercenary ship, causing it to list. The remaining mercenaries jumped into the sea, only to be scooped up by the sailors of the Velaryon Fleet's small silver ships with nets, like fishing fish.

Corlys had said before that the mercenaries of Tyrosh could pry information about the Triarchy's garrison from their mouths.

The battle at Grey Gallows ended quickly. However, when the Joint Fleet was clearing the battlefield, Daemon discovered a pile of skeletons under the gallows in the pirates' lair. One of the skeletons was wearing a silver bracelet in the style of Westeros nobility on its wrist. Judging from the appearance of the skeleton, it should be a relic of the Stormlands subjects who had been plundered in the past two years.

He gripped the Blackfyre tightly, the dragon patterns on its scabbard gleaming coldly. "Collect these bones carefully. After this battle, perhaps we can send them back to their homeland."

In the afternoon, the fleet sailed toward Bloodstone Island. The island was named for its red rocks, and the sunlight shining on the rocky mountains made it look like a layer of blood had been splashed on them.

The western side of the island is a natural bay. It seems that the Triarchy built this defensive wall using the wreckage of a giant ship covered in iron that was burned down in Echo Bay. The Myr craftsmen added rapid-fire bows and catapults to the wreckage. The mercenaries of Tyrosh, wearing bright purple and green armor, patrolled and guarded the wreckage, their scimitars still stained with the blood from their failed attempt to support Grey Gallows.

"The reefs of Bloodstone Island will be submerged at high tide," Corlys said, standing atop the Watchtower of the Sea Snake, the reef's outline visible through his binoculars. "I will personally lead my elite guards in three silver ships to circle around to the north, slip through the gaps in the reef, and cut off their supply lines. Your Highness Baelon, I implore you to lead the central fleet in a feint attack. Little Daemon, you and Big Daemon, ride the Glutton and Caraxes and use Dragonfire to burn their catapults, but remember, whatever you do, don't let them hit our ships."

Baelon nodded in agreement, Vhagar's enormous, turquoise dragon shadow rose into the sky, letting out a roar at the defensive wall, which intimidated the Tyrosh mercenaries on it, causing them to retreat.

"Attack!" With his command, the the North Longships charged first, the rams of the Manderly family's White Harbor fleet crashing into the wreckage of iron, sending wood chips and iron scraps flying.

The House Velaryon captains and sailors, experienced and nimble, skillfully navigated their light and agile silver ships, constantly avoiding the reefs and circling towards the north. The rest of the fleet also began to perform their respective duties, cooperating and leveraging their strengths and characteristics in combat.

Daemon charged down on his Glutton, the black Dragonfire scorching the catapults. The wooden catapults instantly burst into flames, and the Myr artisans operating them screamed and fled. Their olive-colored skin appeared exceptionally pale in the firelight. These artisans seemed to have been forced there by the Triarchy, their hands still shackled as symbols of their slavery.

"Anyone who doesn't want to die, drop your weapons!" Daemon shouted at them from the back of the Glutton. The Myr craftsmen hesitated for only a moment before throwing down their tools, squatting on the ground, and surrendering with their heads in their hands.

As for Daemon Targaryen on the other side, he led Caraxes towards the flank of the defensive wall, where the leader of the Tyrosh mercenaries, a man with dyed scarlet hair and wearing a golden helmet engraved with the image of the Three-Headed God of the Tyrosh priests, was located.

"So you were sent by High Lord Tyrosh?" Big Daemon raised an eyebrow with a smile, the Dark Sister pointing at each other. "We heard you elect your High Lords through bribery? How many gold coins did you give the High Lord for this death mission? I rode a dragon to your High Lord Tyrosh's governor's mansion two years ago to discuss an 'agreement,' and what? We heard that not long after the negotiations were completed, your High Lord, who had been elected through a coup, was overthrown by the newcomers?"

The leader of the Tyrosh mercenaries opposite him was furious, his face flushed red. He had betrayed his close friend, the former Highlord, and sided with the current Highlord. A complete opportunist, upon hearing Daemon Targaryen's provocative words, he brandished his scimitar and charged forward. "The dragon who usurped the throne across the Narrow Sea dares to mock us, Tyrosh!"

But before his blade could even touch Big Daemon, Caraxes's dragon claw slammed down beside him, crimson Dragonfire igniting his golden helmet. The mercenary leader screamed and fell to the ground, his hair inside the helmet charred.

"That's it?" Daemon Targaryen kicked the corpse. "The leader of the Tyrosh mercenaries, is he really not as good a fighter as the thugs from Silk Street, the Flea Bottom of King's Landing Westeros?"

Meanwhile, Corlys's silver ships had already circled around to the north, cutting off the supply line of the Triarchy Fleet to Bloodstone Island.

When the Triarchy soldiers behind the defensive wall found their retreat cut off, they began to scatter, just like in the Battle of Echo Bay. Some chose to jump into the sea to escape, while others decisively raised their weapons and surrendered.

Daemon, riding the Glutton, landed at the highest point of Bloodstone Island, where there was a rock engraved with ancient patterns—the remnants of the broken Arm of Dorne, which Maester Bernard had mentioned during his travels through the Seven Kingdoms, when he rode Redwyne through Cape of the Broken Arm. The patterns on it must be symbols of the First Men.

Daemon climbed off the dragon's back and slowly touched the patterns on the rock. He recalled the legend from books and intelligence reports of the Greenseer, the Children of the Forest, shattering the Arm of Dorne, and a sudden sense of destiny welled up within him.

Ten thousand years ago, the First Men, led by the "First King," came to Westeros through the Arm of Dorne. Now, he must follow the dragons and the fleet to protect this shattered land and prevent the greed of the Triarchy once again taking hold of it.

"Your Highness!" Rayford ran over, holding a secret letter he had found on the mercenary leader. "This seems to be a letter from the High Lord of Tyrosh to the mercenary leader stationed here. It says that if Bloodstone Island cannot be held, use the Strangler sent by Lys to poison our sailors. It also says that Myr will send ten more fast ships equipped with repeating crossbows to support us."

Daemon unfolded the secret letter; the handwriting was somewhat messy but revealed greed, and at the end was drawn the symbol of the Three-Headed God Tyrosh, clearly indicating that he and the mercenary leader from before both believed in this deity.

However, after reading it, Daemon sneered and handed the secret letter to Baelon, who had just arrived behind him. "The Triarchy hasn't given up yet. The High Lord of Tyrosh, the Governor of Lys, and the Council of Myr —they will still come to seize the Stepstones."

Baelon took the secret letter, his brow furrowing. "We must hold Bloodstone Island and Grey Gallows; they are key to controlling the Stepstones. Corlys, you leave ten silver ships and five the North longships to garrison them; the rest of the fleet returns to Blackwater Bay to rest and replenish their arrows."

"Fresh water and provisions will come again later. We'll attack the main city of Tyrosh directly, and let the Triarchy know that the Stepstones are no longer their pirate lair."

The setting sun cast its golden-red glow on the red rocks of Bloodstone Island, turning the sails of the Joint Fleet into a vibrant crimson.

The Glutton, Caraxes, and Vhagar circled above the island, their dragon roars mingling with the sound of the waves, as if crowning this lost and regained land.

Daemon touched the amulet Gael had given him in his pocket; the texture of the dragon scales was clearly visible.

He knew that the war surrounding the Stepstones had only just begun, but as long as the Joint Fleet were of one mind and the Dragonfire never ceased, he could defend this broken "Arm of Dorne" and the eastern gate of Westeros.

Meanwhile, atop the Bleeding Tower, the capital of the city-state of Tyrosh, the Tyrosh High Overlord, upon reading the secret letter, smashed his wine cup on the ground in fury.

The mercenary commander beside him bowed and said, "My lord, should we send envoys to Lys and Myr to urge them to send reinforcements as soon as possible? We can also hire mercenaries from the Disputed Lands with gold coins; as long as the price is high enough, there are plenty of people willing to oppose the Targaryen."

The Highlord rubbed his temples, a glint of greed in his eyes. "Go! Tell Governor Lys I want more the Strangler; tell the Council of Myr I want twenty rapid-fire crossbow ships; and go to the Disputed Lands, mercenaries at three times the price—I want to see if the Targaryen dragons can stop my army built of gold!"

As night deepened, the waves in the Narrow Sea grew stronger. Under the moonlight, the red rocks of Bloodstone Island stood like a silent barrier, foreshadowing an even greater Storm that was about to erupt in the waters around the Stepstones.