An ambush shrouded in doubt, a serpent's elusive shadow

The wind from the Stepstones carried a salty, fishy smell, like countless tiny, icy knives scraping against his face. Daemon Targaryen raised his hand to press down on the cloak and leather shoulder pads he had just put on, his knuckles turning a cold white in the sea breeze.

He rode the Glutton at low altitude, the Black Dragon's wings flapping with a deep whistling sound. The spray from the waves as it skimmed across the sea splashed onto the black leather armor his attendants had put on him for warmth, instantly condensing into cool droplets that slid down the armor's patterns and left a wet mark on the scabbard of the Blackfyre at his waist.

The Grey Ghost followed closely beside it. The small, light grey dragon was much thinner than the Glutton, but its wings were also much lighter. It occasionally exhaled a small burst of dragon breath, burning brief streaks of light in the thick sea fog.

That was a marking skill that Sea Snake House Velaryon had specially demonstrated with Corlys and Meleys during training with the Joint Fleet. It used the residual heat of dragon breath to leave a trail in the fog that was not easy to dissipate. Today Rhaenys, it was used specifically to mark the routes that Dorne scout ships might take to escape.

At this moment, the Grey Ghost moved with exceptional seriousness. When the dragon's breath landed on the sea surface, it would deliberately lower its altitude so that the sparks would be covered with water mist, drawing a faintly visible safe channel in the reef-strewn sea.

"Your Highness! There are three Dorne frigates ahead!" Rayford Rosby's voice suddenly came from below, urgent but not panicked.

Daemon looked down and saw the supply ship "Grain Ear," from the Reach, sailing steadily in the waters ahead. Although the cargo ship, painted with a golden wheat sheaf emblem, was not as fast as a warship, it was exceptionally sturdy. On the bow deck, Rayford held a brass telescope, his dark pupils fixed on the eastern sea, while his other hand firmly gripped the sword at his waist to prevent the ship from becoming unstable when it rocked.

Behind him stood Mace Florent and Lucas Tyrell, two Reach nobles in brand-new chainmail, the edges of which were embroidered with their family crest.

Following the direction Rayford pointed, three gray-painted speedboats were slowly approaching, skimming along the reef. Their hulls were long and narrow like willow leaves, with very shallow drafts, clearly designed for navigating the reef area.

The House Martell lance emblem on the sail was faintly visible in the mist; the lance tip, embroidered with gold thread, should have been dazzling, but was now shrouded in a layer of gray mist, exuding a sinister air.

What was even more alarming was that the archers on both sides of the ship had all taken their positions, their black bowstrings drawn to their fullest extent, the arrow tips gleaming with a purplish-black poisonous light.

"Glutton, burn their sails!" Daemon's voice carried on the sea breeze, carrying an undeniable authority.

The Black Dragon instantly understood its master's command, flapped its wings and soared into the sky, its massive shadow instantly engulfing the leading Dorne Clippers.

The next second, pitch-black Dragonfire poured down like a waterfall, the canvas ignited upon contact with the fire, and the towering flames raged wildly in the wind, quickly burning the entire sail to ashes.

The Dorne ship, having lost power, spun in the waves, its hull slamming against a reef with a piercing creak. The Dorne soldiers on deck scattered in panic, but found no chance of escape.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, the Grey Ghost swooped down, its small but sharp dragon claws grabbing the ship's side. Dragonfire accurately sprayed onto the rudder, instantly charring the wooden rudder and sending up wisps of smoke.

Dorne sailors who tried to steer the ship screamed and jumped into the sea, unaware that Rayford was prepared.

As soon as he discovered the Dorne ships, he instructed Mace Florent and Lucas Tyrell to order the crew to hang spare coarse hemp rope nets on both sides of the ship. These nets, soaked in seawater, were exceptionally heavy and were specifically designed to capture enemies who jumped overboard.

The Dorne sailors who had jumped into the sea were immediately entangled in fishing nets. Struggling, they could only watch helplessly as sailors on the supply ship used long poles to drag them aboard, surrendering without resistance.

Just then, a rapid dragon roar suddenly came from the western sea—it was the voice of Caraxes!

Unlike the Glutton's deep rumble and the Grey Ghost's crisp cry, the Crimson Dragon's roar carried a hint of ruthlessness, like a red-hot iron being smashed onto a steel plate, with extremely strong penetrating power, which even the thick sea fog could not block.

Daemon's heart tightened, and he immediately turned to look. He saw a crimson Dragonfire suddenly burst out of the mist, slicing through the gray sky like a sword, and burning straight toward a larger ironclad ship.

The ship was nearly three times larger than the Dorne courier, its hull covered in heavy black iron, its bow fitted with a sharp ram, and most striking of all were the three-headed chain emblems on their sails—symbols of the supposedly unbreakable Triarchy!

Daemon's brow furrowed instantly. According to the secret letter he had discovered earlier, Obara Shad had only brought five thousand men, all of whom were Dorne soldiers. However, there were at least ten ironclad ships in front of him, and the decks were filled with soldiers wearing purple and green armor, holding Myr crossbows. The poisoned arrows in their quivers were thicker than those of the Dornish, and the arrowheads were wrapped with barbed wire.

"Something's not right!" Daemon's heart sank, a premonition of being tricked welled up inside him.

He immediately patted the Glutton's neck, and the Black Dragon understood, slowly lowering its altitude so that it could observe the situation on the sea surface more clearly.

"Little Daemon! These aren't Dornish! They're Tyrosh mercenaries and remnants of the Three Cities!" Another Daemon's voice suddenly came through the wind, tinged with gritted teeth.

Daemon Targaryen rode Caraxes, hovering above the ironclad ship. The crimson dragon's claws ripped apart the mast of one of the ships, sending splinters flying.

Daemon Targaryen leaped onto the ship's deck, the Dark Sister swords drawn, their gleaming blades instantly slicing through a mercenary's armor. "I captured a prisoner. He says the Dornish only sent three fast ships as bait; their main force is these mercenaries and pirates! That Obara didn't bring the Dorne army at all!"

Daemon's pupils contracted slightly, and he immediately urged the Glutton to rush towards the ironclad ship.

The Black Dragon spewed out Dragonfire again, the pitch-black flames landing on the iron hull of the ship. The black iron was heated red-hot and made a "sizzling" sound. The Tyrosh mercenaries on the deck screamed and fled in all directions. Some were directly burned by the Dragonfire and instantly turned into charcoal. Others jumped into the sea in panic, but were intercepted by the House Velaryon silver ships that arrived later.

Those silver ships were snow-white and moved extremely fast, darting across the sea like fish. The sailors on board used long hooks to pull the mercenaries who jumped into the sea onto the ships one by one, giving them no chance to escape.

Corlys House Velaryon stood atop the Sea Snake's Watchtower, his signature brass telescope in hand.

At this moment, his gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, and through the binoculars he could see even further out at sea:

Twenty more pirate ships were circling around from the reef to the north, their sails painted with pale skulls with black feathers stuck in their eye sockets, and a dried human head hanging from the bow with long hair fluttering in the wind, making them look particularly ferocious.

The hulls of these pirate ships were covered in scratches, some even bearing the marks of battle, clearly belonging to the remnants of the pirates who had previously occupied the Stepstones, but had now been bribed by the Triarchy and joined the raiding party.

"Rayford! Move the supply ship forward! There are fortifications set up by Colin and Bartimos there, it's safe!" Daemon shouted down, his voice cutting through the sea breeze and the clashing of weapons.

He knew that the supply ships carried the Joint Fleet's food and medicine, and if they were destroyed by pirates, the consequences would be unimaginable—the soldiers on Bloodstone Island, and even the entire Joint Fleet, depended on these supplies to survive.

Rayford nodded immediately and shouted the order, "Turn! Target the eastern defense zone! Speed up!" The crew acted quickly, some turning the rudder, others adjusting the sails. The sails of the "Grain Ear" turned first, the sails billowing in the wind into a full arc, the hull skimming the reef, cleverly avoiding the encirclement of the pirate ships.

The other two supply ships followed closely behind, maintaining a suitable distance between them to support each other without colliding due to excessive closeness.

"Lord Corlys! You take the silver ships and hold off the pirate ships!" Daemon quickly assigned tasks, his gaze sweeping across the sea, his tone as calm as ice. "Big Daemon, you lead the Westerlands Fleet to deal with the Tyrosh mercenaries! I'll take the Glutton and the Grey Ghost to clear out the ironclad ships! Remember, leave them alive; we need to know the true plans of the Triarchy!"

Corlys House Velaryon nodded in response from the Watchtower, his steady, powerful voice echoing throughout the Sea Snake: "All men, listen up! Raise the battle flag! Prepare the ram! Stop those pirate ships!"

The House Velaryon sailors were well-trained and sprang into action immediately upon receiving the order. The silver seahorse flags on the sails were raised high and fluttered in the wind, while the ram at the bow was polished to a gleaming shine, gleaming coldly in the morning light.

Daemon Targaryen, riding Caraxes, landed on the deck of a warship. The Dark Sister swords moved with effortless ease in his hands. He shouted to the Westerlands nobles aboard, "Follow me! Throw those Tyrosh scum overboard! Whoever captures the mercenary leader alive will be rewarded with a hundred gold dragons!"

The soldiers, already warlike after their series of victories, were greatly encouraged by the promise of a reward. They raised their weapons and followed him as he charged toward Tyrosh mercenaries' ship.

Daemon urged the Glutton to swoop down, and the Black Dragon's claw wolf grabbed the side of an ironclad ship, causing the ship to tilt instantly. The mercenaries on the deck lost their footing and fell to the ground.

As Daemon leaped down, the Blackfyre was drawn, its blade gleaming coldly in the morning light. With a flick of his wrist, he cleaved open a mercenary's shoulder armor, sending him sprawling with a scream. Blood splattered onto the deck, quickly drying in the sea breeze, leaving a dark red mark.

"You mercenaries, willing to risk your lives for gold coins?" Daemon's voice was as cold as ice. His gaze swept over the mercenary lying on the ground, and he saw a bag of Tyrosh gold coins fall out of the man's armor, clearly the money given to him by the Triarchy for his life.

He recalled that Daemon Targaryen had asked a similar question a few days earlier, when they were still reorganizing their army on Bloodstone Island, never expecting that they would fall into the enemy's trap in just a few days.

The Grey Ghost nimbly circled around to the stern. Although small in size, it was exceptionally agile and skillfully sprayed Dragonfire precisely onto the winch of the ironclad ship. The wooden winch was instantly charred black and lost its ability to turn.

The ballistae on the ship were driven by winches, and now that they had lost power, they could no longer fire. The mercenaries who were originally preparing to bombard the supply ship with the ballistae panicked.

The little dragon didn't forget to pick up a piece of red-hot iron and throw it at another ironclad ship. The iron landed on the deck with a sizzling sound, burning the mercenaries so much that they scattered and fled. Some even jumped directly into the sea, only to be caught by the House Velaryon silver ship that was already waiting nearby.

Daemon Targaryen, riding Caraxes, landed on the deck of a mercenary ship. The Dark Sister' swords flashed, and the Tyrosh mercenaries' purple and green armor was as fragile as paper under their blades, utterly vulnerable.

"Don't you Tyrosh love to dress up? Why don't you paint your armor even shinier?" he mocked with a laugh, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His sword, however, didn't slow its movements. His smile instantly turned ruthless as he plunged the sword into a mercenary's throat. "That way, you'll die looking better. Go see your new High Lord!"

Corlys House Velaryon's silver ship engaged in fierce combat with the pirate ship.

The House Velaryon sailors carried specially made Oak Shield, which were covered with iron plates and could effectively block the pirates' axes and scimitars.

The brothers Alyn Redwyne and Horace Redwyne Little Horas., led by their uncle Big Horas Redwyne the Elder, arrived with the Redwyne Fleet to provide support.

At that moment, the archers of Redwyne Fleet stood on both sides of the ship's side, and green-feathered arrows rained down on the pirate ship. Pirates fell to the ground, hit by arrows one after another, and some even had their throats pierced by arrows before they could even raise their weapons.

"Sea Snake" personally took the helm, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the pirate ship ahead.

"Prepare to ram the corner!" he shouted, his voice carrying a hint of authority.

The "Sea Snake" accelerated suddenly, its ram slamming into the side of a pirate ship with a deafening roar. The pirate ship broke apart instantly, and seawater rushed into the cabin. The pirates screamed as they sank to the bottom of the sea. Some tried to grab onto floating planks to escape, but were caught by House Velaryon sailors with long hooks and dragged aboard.

The battle lasted for nearly an hour, and by the time the last pirate ship was burned to the ground by Dragonfire, the surface of the Narrow Sea was covered with wreckage.

Broken ship planks floated on the sea, some still emitting wisps of smoke. Blood stained the seawater dark red, and occasionally a few seabirds circled high in the sky, emitting mournful cries, adding to the tragic scene.

Daemon stood on the deck of the Blackfyre, watching the sailors tally the prisoners and the wreckage of enemy ships, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

There were only three Dornish prisoners; the rest were Tyrosh mercenaries, remnants of the Three Cities, and pirates. The number of enemy ships was three times the previous estimate, indicating that the Triarchy had secretly amassed more power.

He bent down and picked up a diamond-shaped Tyrosh gold coin that had fallen from the mercenary. The tower where the Three-Headed God Tyrosh god resided was clearly visible on the coin, and there were also small patterns engraved on the edges.

This cunning Sand Snakes group even deceived their own people, not only their allies across the Narrow Sea, but also Dorne's "vanguard" on Grey Gallows. They were probably either completely unaware of the battle situation or were henchmen of that ruthless Sand Snakes.

The so-called plan and secret letter were nothing more than a ploy to mislead the Joint Fleet into a life-or-death struggle with the remnants of the Triarchy, after which they would reap the benefits.

This cunning plan not only weakened the Joint Fleet but also severely damaged the remnants of the Triarchy, truly killing two birds with one stone.

"Lord Corlys, what do you think?" Daemon turned to the old Sea Snake beside him. He knew that Corlys was experienced and knowledgeable, and would surely be able to find more clues from the slightest hints.

Corlys held a secret letter he had taken from the mercenary leader; the handwriting was messy but revealed greed.

"The High Lord of Tyrosh gave these mercenaries three times the usual amount of gold and promised them three days' worth of plunder along the Stormlands coast after they conquered the Stepstones."

He read aloud the contents of the secret letter, his tone tinged with disdain, "These pirates have been pardoned for their past crimes by the Triarchy. They'll be given a fast ship and enough food if they help raid the supply ships. But this High Lord probably never imagined that his so-called brilliant plan is nothing Dornish. He, like these mercenaries, is just a pawn left behind by Obara Shad, used and discarded once it's done."

Daemon Targaryen walked over, holding a blood-stained cloth, and was wiping the blood off the Dark Sister swords.

"I've interrogated those Dorne prisoners," his voice tinged with coldness. "Obara Shad didn't bring her main force; she only sent three fast ships to distract us. If these mercenaries and pirates can take advantage of the situation and destroy our supply ships, that would be ideal."

Rayford also rushed back, looking somewhat tired but still full of energy.

"Your Highness, the supply ship has safely arrived at the island defense zone under the jurisdiction of the Celtigar Fleet. It is being guarded by the Earl's eldest son, Clymont Celtigar, and Colin, who are leading soldiers. They have reinforced the fortifications and sent scouts to patrol the area. There will be no problem."

He paused, then added, "Earl Bartimos said he would send ten ships to escort the supply ship. After we've cleared out these remnants, we'll transport the provisions back to Bloodstone Island to ensure everything goes smoothly."

Daemon nodded, his gaze sweeping light light across the wreckage on the sea surface.

The sunlight had now pierced through the sea fog, casting an eerie red glow on the broken wood and bloodstains, like a grotesque painting.

He subconsciously touched the amulet in his pocket. The unique touch calmed him down, and his previously chaotic thoughts were also calmed down a bit.

"The Triarchy and the Dorne Sand Snakes are more cunning than we imagined. They're trying to lure us into a false sense of security by using the Dornish as bait." Daemon's steady, powerful voice echoed across the deck. "Next, we need to strengthen the defenses of the islands between the Grey Gallows Islands and Bloodstone Island in the Stepstones, and send more scouts to investigate the Triarchy's true movements—since they've managed to gather so many mercenaries and pirates, they must have a bigger scheme. We can no longer afford to be passively attacked."

Just then, a familiar dragon roar came from high above. Daemon looked up and saw Prince Baelon riding Vhagar flying from afar.

The turquoise dragon's wings, as wide as the sky, swept across the deck, causing the wind to ruffle Daemon's cloak and tousle the crew's hair.

"Children, you have done well." The prince's voice, filled with approval, carried clearly through the dragon's roar to everyone's ears. "I have sent ravens to King's Landing and ordered Viserys to send ten more Royal Fleet to reinforce us. The Triarchy's plot will not succeed. We will hold the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, safeguard our supply lines, and prevent the Dornish schemes from succeeding."

Daemon looked at Vhagar high in the sky, then at the Glutton and the Grey Ghost beside him, and a sudden surge of determination welled up in his heart.

Although the Three Cities Alliance and the Dornish Sand Serpents' methods were more despicable than anticipated, as long as the combined fleet remained united and the dragonfire never ceased, he could withstand every sneak attack, protect this sea, and safeguard the road back to King's Landing.

The setting sun casts its golden-red glow on the sea surface of the Stepstones.

But as Daemon gazed at the scene of the setting sun intertwining with the sea, he seemed to feel that he had forgotten something very important.

The sails of the Joint Fleet were gradually lowered, the prisoners were taken to the prison on Bloodstone Island, the wreckage was cleared away by the sailors, and the air still held the scent of Dragonfire and blood.

Daemon had returned to the bow of the Blackfyre, his hands supporting the Blackfyre on its hilt gleaming in the afterglow.

He knew that there were more conspiracies and dangers waiting for him in this war surrounding the Stepstones, but he would not back down, because he had people to protect and a peace that he had to safeguard.