The mad "King of the Narrow Sea"
The crimson rocks of Bloodstone Island grew even more scarlet in the Dragonfire and blood-red light. The seawater that filled the crevices of the reefs was stained dark red and flowed slowly along the rock crevices, as if the earth was bleeding.
The arrows rained down by the Tyrosh fleet like poisoned needles whipped up by a gale, densely piercing the decks of the Joint Fleet. Some arrows pierced the sailors' armor, while others embedded themselves in the ship's planks. The feathers at the fletchings of the arrows trembled in the wind, like the last struggle of the dying.
Racallio Reindon stood at the bow of the Clippers, looking defiantly at Daemon in front of him. His purple and orange striped beard and hair danced wildly in the sea breeze, and his twin swords drew two cold arcs in the morning light.
His left sword precisely cleaved the incoming Dragonglass arrow. The arrow was specially made by the House Velaryon, mixed with Dragonglass fragments, and could easily penetrate ordinary steel armor, but it was cut in half by his steel sword.
Without warning, the right sword pierced the throat of a House Velaryon sailor, and blood splattered onto his beard and hair, as if dyeing them with an even more vibrant color, making his strange hair color even more ferocious.
"Targaryen brats, is that all you've got?" He laughed maniacally as he stepped over the corpses, the gold coins still clattering beneath his feet—the ones he'd scattered on the deck that morning as a reward for the "brave."
"Your ancestor Aegon conquered Westeros with the Dragonfire of his three dragons; today, I, Racallio, will take the Narrow Sea with the strength of these brothers who would die for me!"
He raised his hand and patted the shoulder of a sailor next to him. The sailor still had scars from the shackles on his wrists, but he immediately straightened his back and his eyes were full of fanatical worship.
However, Daemon once again swooped down on the Glutton, his Blackfyre slashing towards Racallio with a sharp, whistling sound.
But the mad Tyrosh didn't dodge. Instead, he crossed his swords to parry. With a crisp clang, the Valyrian steel blade of the Blackfyre clashed with Racallio's steel sword, sending sparks flying high. The impact even made Daemon's arm go numb. He hadn't expected this hunchbacked madman to have such brute strength.
However, Racallio seized the opportunity to spin around, thrusting his right sword straight at Daemon's side, the blade grazing the edge of the dragon scale armor and leaving a shallow mark.
"You're a bit better than that idiot Crahas," he licked the blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes filled with fanaticism, "But not enough!"
I will steal your Valyrian steel sword and hang it on the pile of bones in my ship's superstructure! Let all who cross the Narrow Sea see that even the sword of Targaryen dragon king can become my trophy!
The Glutton, soaring back into the sky, keenly sensed its master's danger and unleashed a torrent of black Dragonfire at Racallio, which he nimbly dodged.
The madman leaped up from the ropes on the edge of the speedboat, like a hunchbacked bat, and pounced straight at the Glutton's dragon wing, his sword still aiming to pierce the Black Dragon's membranous wing.
"Grey Ghost!" Daemon shouted urgently.
The light gray dragon immediately swooped down from the sky. Although small in size, it was exceptionally agile, and its breath hit the rope beneath Racallio's feet with pinpoint accuracy.
The rope snapped instantly, Racallio lost his footing, crashing heavily onto the deck. His purple silk coat was ripped open by splinters in the deck, revealing his scarred back.
The scars crisscrossed, some from whippings, others from knife wounds, clearly marks left from his time as a slave, like a chaotic map recording his unbearable past.
"What a clever little dragon!" Racallio, far from being angry, clapped his hands and laughed, the pain from his wounds seemingly having no effect on him. "More clever than my pet kitten! Once I win this battle, I'll definitely keep you in the cabin, feeding you Lys's sweet dried fish every day, and making you my Little Dragon King of the Narrow Sea!"
As he spoke, he reached out to grab Grey Ghost, but Daemon kicked his wrist away.
Just then, Daemon Targaryen's shouts came from the west.
He rode on Caraxes, his crimson Dragonfire burning through the sails of a Tyrosh mercenary ship. The sails hung like rags on the mast and were quickly consumed by the flames.
The Dark Sister drew their swords, a flash of light, and the mercenary leader's green-haired head rolled to the ground, his eyes still wide open, filled with disbelief.
"Little Daemon! Don't waste your breath on this madman! I'll hold off his men for you, you focus on taking care of him!"
Caraxes's dragon claws gripped the mast of the mercenary ship, snapping the gun barrel in two, causing the ship to lose its balance and begin to tilt.
The remaining mercenaries jumped into the sea, only to be pulled up by House Velaryon sailors using fishing nets.
Even though they were soaked to the bone, these mercenaries were still shouting "Long live Queen Racallio!" and the fervor in their eyes seemed unquenchable even by the sea.
Daemon Targaryen, riding Caraxes, landed above the fishing net, pointing the Dark Sister at a mercenary's throat. "Why are you so loyal to him? He's nothing but a madman!"
The mercenary, however, stubbornly retorted, "He's not crazy! He redeemed my freedom, gave me gold and dignity! You nobles and slave owners treat us like livestock, only he treats us like human beings!"
Daemon Targaryen was speechless, and could only wave his hand to signal the sailors to take the man away.
Baelon rode Vhagar to the center, his turquoise Dragonfire burning like a torrential downpour against the Tyrosh fleet's formation. The flames landed on the sea, billowing out large plumes of white smoke, preventing the Tyrosh warships from getting close to the core of the Joint Fleet.
"Corlys! How's the flanking maneuver going?" he shouted at the Sea Snake, his voice carrying a hint of urgency through the sea breeze.
The central fleet can hold out, but it has also suffered considerable losses. If Corlys can successfully flank and cut off the retreat route, this battle can be won quickly.
Corlys House Velaryon's voice came from the bow of the "Sea Snake," tinged with anxiety. "Almost there! But they have three suicide ships blocking their way! Those ships are loaded with Wildfire, and their sails are painted with skulls. They'll explode if we get close, and our silver ship dares not approach rashly!"
He paused, then added, "I've already ordered the sailors to prepare long hooks to try and pull the suicide ship off course, but their sailors aren't afraid of death at all and are charging towards us relentlessly!"
Daemon turned his head and saw three Tyrosh slingers rushing toward the House Velaryon silver ship. Wildfire canisters, emitting blue smoke, were piled on the deck, their fuses already lit, threatening to explode at any moment.
The sailors wore resolute, maniacal laughs; they were clearly Racallio's die-hards, determined to perish with the House Velaryon silver ship.
"Glutton, burn those Wildfire pots beforehand! Be careful not to ignite the Wildfire!" Daemon ordered immediately.
The Black Dragon soared into the sky, its Dragonfire striking precisely the fuse of the Wildfire. The fuse burned through, and the Wildfire canister rolled onto the deck without exploding.
Taking advantage of the situation, Corlys directed the silver ship to bypass the suicide ship. The seahorse-striped sails unfurled in the wind like a silver lightning bolt, and finally circled around to the rear of the Tyrosh fleet.
The light ballistae on the silver ship were aimed at the stern of the Tyrosh warship, and bolts rained down, piercing the wooden planks at the stern, and seawater began to rush into the cabin.
Seeing that his escape route was cut off, Racallio laughed even more wildly. He pulled a bone whistle from his pocket, put it to his lips, and blew a sharp whistle.
"Cut off my retreat? Fine! Fine! Today, let the Narrow Sea remember my name! All troops, heed my command! Ram their Joint Fleet! Even if we die, we'll drag them down with us! Let them know the consequences of angering us, the ' King of the Narrow Sea '!"
The ships of the Tyrosh fleet charged forward like madmen, some even deliberately turning their bows to ram the Joint Fleet's ships, attempting to perish together with them.
Daemon Targaryen's Corlys had to repeatedly unleash his Dragonfire to burn back the reckless speedboats, but there were too many Tyrosh, Caraxes's Dragonfire gradually weakened. This red dragon had just fought with Crahas yesterday, and today he had been breathing fire continuously, so his strength was already somewhat exhausted, and the luster of his dragon scales had dimmed a bit.
"You madman!" Daemon charged at Racallio again, the blade of the Blackfyre still warm from the Dragonfire, aiming straight for his chest.
This time, Racallio didn't take the hit head-on. Instead, he flipped over and hid behind a mast, then suddenly thrust his twin swords at Daemon's knee, forcing him to jump back to avoid it.
But in that instant, the Grey Ghost suddenly swooped down from above the mast, its dragon breath striking Racallio's left shoulder. The pale gray Dragonfire, though not as fierce as the Glutton's, still burned him, causing him to scream in agony. The silk coat on his left shoulder instantly turned black, revealing the hideous scars underneath, the flesh peeling back and emitting blue smoke.
"You madman!" Daemon charged at Racallio again, the blade of the Blackfyre still warm from the Dragonfire, aiming straight for his chest.
This time, Racallio didn't take the blow head-on. Instead, he flipped over and hid behind a mast, then suddenly thrust his twin swords at Daemon's knee, forcing him to jump back.
But in that instant, the Grey Ghost suddenly swooped down from above the mast, its dragon breath striking Racallio's left shoulder. The light gray Dragonfire, though not as fierce as the Glutton's, still burned him, causing him to scream in agony. The silk coat on his left shoulder was instantly charred black, revealing the hideous scars beneath.
"My shoulder!" Racallio clutched his wound, the fervor in his eyes now tinged with pain, yet he still refused to concede. "You damned little dragon! I'll pluck all your scales!"
He charged at the Grey Ghost like a madman, completely unaware that Daemon had already circled around behind him.
The Blackfyre, with a sharp whistling sound, slashed down on Racallio's twin swords.
With a crisp clang, Racallio's ordinary steel sword was no match for the power of Valyrian steel and was instantly cleaved in two. The broken blade flew onto the deck and embedded itself in a wooden stake. The blade was still trembling slightly. Unarmed, Racallio did not surrender. Instead, he pounced on Daemon like a wounded beast, trying to punch him.
Daemon dodged to the side, the blade of the Blackfyre pressed against his throat, and said coldly, "You've lost."
Racallio, panting, his purple and orange striped beard plastered to his face with sweat, still laughed, his laughter filled with resentment. "So what if we lost? The Triarchy still has Lys's poison, Myr's crossbows, and Tyrosh's mercenaries—you can't win! The Dorne Sand Snakes are already gathering their fleet at Cape of the Broken Arm, and they'll be here to help us soon! Then, your Targaryen dragons will have their wings pierced by Dornish poison arrows and be thrown into the sea to feed the fish!"
Daemon's blade drew even closer, its cold light reflecting in Racallio's eyes, abruptly silencing his laughter.
"Dorne?" Daemon's voice was icy cold. "I'd like to see if their House Martell's Sunpiercer Lance can withstand the Dragonfire of our Targaryen."
Just then, Corlys's voice rang out. "Your Little Daemon Damon! The Tyrosh fleet has surrendered! We've captured their vice commander!"
Daemon looked back and saw that the sails of the Tyrosh fleet were all lowered, a signal of surrender. Only a few fast ships were still trying to resist, but they were surrounded by the House Velaryon silver ships and could not escape.
Their vice-commander was being held captive by two House Velaryon sailors, kneeling at the Sea Snake," his head bowed low, his face filled with despair.
Seeing this, Racallio suddenly rammed into Daemon's blade—he actually wanted to commit suicide, to let the Blackfyre pierce his throat, just like Crahas Hal yesterday, trying to preserve his last bit of dignity.
Daemon sheathed his sword in time, kicking him to the ground and pinning him to the ground with his dragon boots, rendering him immobile. "I won't let you die so easily. You wanted to be the King of the Narrow Sea, didn't you? I'll lock you in the dungeons of King's Landing's Landing and let you watch as we quell the Triarchy, defend the Narrow Sea, and make your so-called 'Kingdom of the Narrow Sea ' vanish like a bubble."
Racallio lay sprawled on the deck, his laughter laced with despair. Tears finally streamed down his face, mingling with sweat and blood. "You can't win— Essos has endless reinforcements—on the other side of your Narrow Sea, those greedy and cunning slave owners will come like sea monsters, relentlessly tearing at your dragons until they are exhausted, and then they will deliver the final blow to you self-righteous dragon kings—"
His voice grew softer and softer until finally his head lolled to the side and he fainted—probably from excessive blood loss, or perhaps from exhaustion after reaching the extreme of his madness.
Daemon had Racallio dragged away and locked up with Crahas Hal, the "Crabfeeder" who had tried to escape in the chaos.
The two leaders of the Triarchy Fleet were no longer as imposing as before; one was unconscious, and the other was chained up, still cursing under his breath.
Daemon slowly turned to look at the battlefield. The smoke had not yet dissipated, and the air was filled with the smell of blood and sulfur, making one's heart tighten.
On the red rocks of Bloodstone Island, soldiers of the Joint Fleet were clearing the battlefield; some were moving corpses, some were repairing warships, and some were treating the wounded.
The wreckage of the Tyrosh fleet floated on the sea like pieces of broken black wood, rising and falling with the waves.
The Glutton landed on the deck of a wrecked ship that had floated ashore. Its dragon scales were stained with blood, and it was licking the seawater and bloodstains off its claws. Even this "King of the Wild Dragons" had eyes full of exhaustion.
The Grey Ghost lay at Daemon's feet, the light gray dragon panting heavily, yet still nuzzling Damon's hand with its head, as if seeking praise.
Daemon Targaryen landed beside Daemon on his mount, Caraxes. The blood on his Dark Sister sword was still fresh, and drops of blood dripped from the blade, forming tiny beads on the deck. "That madman is really troublesome. I almost let him hurt Caraxes just now."
As Daemon Targaryen spoke, he patted Caraxes's neck, and the red dragon let out a low growl, as if in agreement.
He paused, then looked at Daemon, his eyes full of approval. "But your move just now was good, using Grey Ghost to lure him into an opening. I didn't expect this cowardly dragon to be so useful. Back in King's Landing, I saw it hiding under the bed, scared by a cat."
Daemon chuckled and patted Grey Ghost's head. The little dragon immediately purred contentedly, its tail swaying gently. "It's always been very agile, it just hadn't had a chance to show its abilities before. This time, thanks to it, otherwise I really wouldn't have been able to defeat Racallio so quickly."
Baelon flew in riding Vhagar, the turquoise dragon landing on the beach beside the "Royal Standard." Its massive claws left deep footprints in the sand. He leaped down, walked to Daemon's side, patted him on the shoulder, his eyes filled with satisfaction. "Well done, Little Daemon. Racallio Reinden and Crahas Hal are both vital forces for the Three Triarchy Triarchy. Now that we've captured them, it's like cutting off two of their arms. It'll be much easier for us to pacify the Stepstones now."
Corlys also came over, holding a secret letter that had been found in Racallio's cabin. The letter was made of silk paper from Lys, and although the handwriting was messy, the key information was still legible.
"Your Highness, this is a letter from Dornish Lord Tyrosh to the Dornish. The Dorne House Martell, and his bastard daughter, the Sand Snakes Obara Sand, have assembled five Dorne troops at Cape of the Broken Arm, ready to support the Triarchy."
Corlys pointed to the contents of the secret letter and continued, "According to the plan in the letter, they will gather their army at Ghost Hill and Tor at Cape of the Broken Arm, just like they did during the War of the Hundred Candles. Then they will sail across the Dornish Sea and land unexpectedly at Cape Wrath. While our fleet is busy looking west, they will take the opportunity to sweep through Stormlands and attack us from both sides with the Triarchy, cutting off our retreat."
They also agreed that once Racallio took Bloodstone Island, they would jointly attack the other islands of the Stepstones and completely control the Narrow Sea Passage.
Daemon took the secret letter, his finger tracing the words "sever the Narrow Sea route" and "starve the Targaryen to death," his brow gradually furrowing.
"The Dornish have indeed allied with the Triarchy. We must inform King's Landing as soon as possible, instructing my grandfather and Viserys to prepare the defenses of the Dornish Marches; then tell Borros Baratheon so he can lead the Stormlands fleet of the allied forces back to reinforce Stormlands."
At the same time, a swift message was sent to Duke Boremund Baratheon, instructing him to prepare along the coast of Stormlands, warning of the arrogant attempt by the Dornish mad prince to reignite the Battle of the Hundred Candles; finally, the remaining fleets of the Joint Fleet, especially Duke Taimond Lannister, were notified to stop their Westerlands fleet from slacking off! Everyone was to expedite the clearing of the remaining Triarchy forces on the Stepstones, lest they join forces with the Dorne army!
Looking at the spirited and composed Daemon Blackfyre before him, his "nephew" and "youngest son," Baelon was filled with emotion. The child he once thought needed his protection was now capable of standing on his own, calmly analyzing the battle situation, and issuing orders.
He nodded emphatically. "I will immediately send ravens to King's Landing's Storm's End to have them prepare as quickly as possible. We will rest on Bloodstone Island for three days to replenish our fresh water and provisions, repair our warships and ballistae, and then attack Grey Gallows— there are still remnants of the Triarchy there, and we must eliminate them as soon as possible, or the consequences will be dire."
The setting sun casts its light on the red rocks of Bloodstone Island, turning the sea golden-red, as if laying a layer of silk across the ocean.
Although some of the sails of the Joint Fleet were damaged, they were still neatly moored in the harbor, their flags fluttering in the wind;
After resting, Glutton, Caraxes, and Vhagar circled above the island, their dragon roars mingling with the sound of the waves, as if celebrating their victory, yet also as a warning of the approaching Storm.
Daemon touched the amulet Gael had given him in his pocket; the texture of the dragon scales was clearly visible.
He recalled Racallio's words and Alys Rivers ' prophecy, and knew in his heart that the war surrounding the Stepstones was far from over.
The Sand Snakes of Dorne, the remnants of the Triarchy, and even the threats lurking in the depths of the Long Night await him.
But he was not afraid. He had the Glutton, the Grey Ghost, Daemon Targaryen, Baelon, Corlys, the soldiers of the Joint Fleet, and King's Landing was waiting for him to return to King's Gael.
He will use the Blackfyre in his hand and the Dragonfire of the Glutton beneath him to protect this sea, to protect the peace of a hundred years ago, and to protect everything he cares about.
As night deepened, the campfires on Bloodstone Island lit up, like stars scattered on the red rocks.
The soldiers sang around the campfire, their songs filled with the joy of victory, yet also revealing their boundless hopes for the future.
Daemon stood at the bow of the "Blackfyre," gazing at the distant horizon. The Blackfyre was stuck in the deck, its dark gold dragon pattern on the scabbard gleaming coldly in the firelight. He knew that the next battle was fast approaching.