The Archon of Tyrosh's "Doom"?

The morning light on Bloodstone Island today was different from usual, carrying the unique sulfurous warmth of the Dragonpit where several dragons had been stationed during this period. However, as the morning light spread across the crimson reefs, it dyed the sails of the Joint Fleet into patches of interwoven gold and red.

On the bluestone slabs of the dock, the metal shavings from last night's polishing of the ship's armor had not yet been swept away. They mingled with the morning dew and condensed into tiny silver particles, which were then crushed into powder by the soles of the boots of passing soldiers. The air was filled with the scent of pine resin (used to maintain the ship's cables).

The mingled smells of wheat cakes (the soldiers' breakfast) and the thick sulfurous odor of the Dragonpit (the makeshift nest) formed a unique prelude to this decisive battle.

Daemon stood at the bow of the "Blackfyre," his fingertips brushing against the newly nailed Dragonglass panels along the edge of the deck. The Smith had reinforced them overnight with bronze rivets, and dark red traces of molten iron still lingered in the seams—a crucial step in fusing the Dragonglass, which was being transported from Dragonstone, with oak from the Reach.

The Glutton lay sprawled on the open ground at the stern of the ship, its dark dragon scales gleaming with a dark gold hue in the morning light. It seemed to sense the difference of the day, occasionally glancing in the direction of Tyrosh, letting out a low dragon roar, its claws unconsciously scratching the ground, leaving deep claw marks.

"The Glutton are even more anxious than you and I, our former King of the Wild Dragons," Daemon Targaryen's voice came from the gangway. He was wearing a modified black and red riding outfit, and besides the Dark Sister, he also had a short sword seized from the prisoners of Tyrosh at his waist. The scabbard was engraved with the emblem of the Bleeding Tower, indicating that its original owner must have been someone of great status in Tyrosh.

He was carrying a leather bag containing wine brought from Arbor by the Redwyne Fleet, which had returned from rest and rotation that morning. "That madman Racallio is talking to the mercenary prisoners, saying he'll help us persuade his old men to surrender. Aren't you going to go check it out?"

Daemon shook his head, his gaze sweeping across the dock:

Beside House Velaryon's silver ship, Corlys House Velaryon, accompanied by his confidants and younger family members, was personally inspecting the winch of the Dragonglass ballista;

Alyn Redwyne and Horace Redwyne Little Horas. led their archers in a line along the ship's side, their green-feathered arrows neatly stacked in their quivers, the Dragonglass powder on their tips gleaming with a deep, dark light;

Before the fleet arriving from the Stormlands, Borros Baratheon, though his shoulder injury had not fully healed, still brandished his broadsword and shouted slogans. Roland Clinton and the brothers Theogood Fell and Willie Fell were helping the soldiers carry water barrels, while Lorent Grandson yawned but still quickly checked the sails.

The longships of the the North exuded a cold, hard aura. William Manderly directed his sailors to hang the Direwolf- patterned shields, symbolizing House Stark as their lords, on the ship's side, the edges of which were still stained with blood from the last battle.

"Racallio has his uses. He's a bit crazy, but he's also a smart man. We don't need to keep an eye on him. Besides, he actually has the same enemies as us." Daemon bent down and patted the Grey Ghost that was rubbing against him.

The light gray dragon had a silk handkerchief embroidered with its own pattern in its mouth. It was something that Gael had specially sewn into its pouch, but these past few days, Grey Ghost had been taking it out as a toy. "As for you, is Caraxes's dragon saddle checked? Don't let it be like yesterday during training, where parts fell off halfway through the flight. Uncle Baelon and Rhaenys were almost worried to death."

"Don't worry! But aren't you worried about your brother? My two-faced little brother with the same name." Daemon Targaryen joked, hooking his arm around Daemon's shoulder as he pointed to Caraxes hovering overhead.

A crimson dragon swept past the mast of the silver ship, its claws lightly grazing the sails, eliciting a chorus of fearful laughter from the sailors. "I personally fed Caraxes a few pigs this morning and even gave the guy a bath. He was snoring away in comfort for ages; I guarantee he'll be flying faster than Glutton later!"

Just then, Rayford Rosby hurried over, carrying an oiled paper package that still seemed to be warm from being heated that morning. "Your Highness! Miss Brienne Tarth has arrived with the Royal Fleet. This is some honey cake that Princess Gael asked me to deliver, along with a letter!"

Daemon took the oil paper package, his fingertips touching the soft cake inside. He opened it and saw that the honey cake had been divided into small pieces, each wrapped in oil paper printed with a little Glutton, with the letter tucked in the middle.

Gael's handwriting was more delicate than before, and at the end she drew a small Dragon Egg, with the words "I heard Grey Ghost has been mischievous lately, so I left it a piece of honey cake, lest the Glutton snatch it" written next to it.

Grey Ghost seemed to understand, and immediately nuzzled Daemon's hand with its head, its vertical pupils full of anticipation.

Daemon chuckled, breaking off a piece of honey cake and handing it over. The little dragon, with the cake in its mouth, curled up next to the Glutton's paw, eating with great relish. The Glutton glanced down at it but didn't try to snatch it.

The chemistry between this "dragon boss and his underling" was much better than when they first met. During a previous visit to Dragonstone, the islanders mentioned that the Glutton had apparently "hunted" this "cowardly dragon" before being tamed by Daemon.

"Your Highness, Prince Baelon requests your presence at the Royal Standard to finalize the tactics."

Colin Celtigar's voice came through, his cuffs stained with ship paint, clearly having just come from the craftsmen repairing the silver ship. "Racallio said there's a minor leader among the Tyrosh mercenaries and pirates called ' Scarface,' his former second-in-command. If they see his token, they'll likely be able to persuade half of them to surrender."

Daemon carefully put away the letter and followed Colin toward the "Royal Standard" in Baelon.

The temporary camp on Bloodstone Island was mostly empty, with only a few soldiers left packing up tents. In the distance, towards the prison, Jarman Waters was escorting Crahas toward the transport ship. According to the plan, Crahas would be sent to Dragonstone to be imprisoned, to prevent him from causing trouble on the battlefield.

Inside the council chamber of the "Royal Standard," Baelon frowned as he looked at the nautical chart. Taimond Lannister stood beside him, his gold ring spinning rapidly. "Our heavy ships in the Westerlands are positioned in the center as planned. My nephew Lancel will personally lead three ships to the rear to prevent the Tyrosh from launching a flanking attack. But will that Tyrosh High Lord set Wildfire in the harbor?"

"Very likely." After completing his patrol, Corlys pointed to the reef area of Tyrosh Harbor on the nautical chart. "According to intelligence from my friends across the Narrow Sea, that Tyrosh Lord bought quite a few Wildfire Pots from Myr, and they're probably hiding them in the crevices of the reefs, ready to detonate them as we approach. I'll have our House Velaryon sailors prepare long hooks specifically for catching the Wildfire Pots, then pre-ignite them with Dragonfire to prevent them from exploding."

Daemon walked in just in time to hear this, and added, "I'll have Grey Ghost follow the House Velaryon's silver ship. It's small enough to squeeze into the reef area and mark the locations of the Wildfire pots. Glutton and Caraxes will be responsible for burning the pots that have been hooked out, while Vhagar will keep watch in the air to guard against Tyrosh's ballistae."

Baelon nodded, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "We depart in half an hour. Each team should conduct a final equipment check. Dragonknight, maintain formation after takeoff and do not act alone. Remember, our target is that High Lord Tyrosh, not a city-slaughtering massacre. Once he is defeated, the Tyrosh nobles will naturally turn against him. There's no need to commit further bloodshed. If we go too far, the entire Essos will unite against us."

Everyone agreed in unison and turned to leave. Daemon Targaryen, who had followed them in, deliberately lagged behind and patted Daemon on the shoulder. "When we win, I'll treat you to the strongest liquor in Silk Street when we get back King's Landing King 'Gael. I'll cover for you at Aunt Gari's place."

"She doesn't need your cover. She's most worried about you. I'll take her to Dragonstone openly and legitimately first thing in the morning when I get back." Daemon laughed and pushed him away, but he wasn't really angry.

In the past six months on the Stepstones, this great-grandfather "cousin" of the same name has remained a wanderer, but he has never faltered on the battlefield, always charging ahead from Grey Gallows to Bloodstone Island.

When we returned to the "Blackfyre", the deck was already bustling with activity.

Rupert Crabb led the young men of Crab Claw Peninsula to inspect the Dragonglass crossbows; the Dragonglass arrows in the quiver gleamed coldly.

Racallio squatted in front of a group of Tyrosh mercenary prisoners, holding up a wooden plaque engraved with "King of the Narrow Sea," and shouted madly, "Follow me, and you can live freely! Follow those slave owners in the the Black Wall like Selos, and after they've used us, all we'll have left is a snake pit!"

Most of the prisoners kept their heads down, but a few had eyes that shook Racallio's prestige among the Narrow Sea pirates and mercenaries, which was higher than Daemon and his men had imagined.

Daemon didn't disturb them, but simply had Jarman hand out some barley cakes and fresh water to the prisoners. The prisoners, who had been starving for two days, took the cakes and looked at Racallio with more trust in their eyes.

"Your Highness, we've spotted a sentry in Tyrosh!" the lookout suddenly shouted.

Daemon looked up and saw a small boat painted gray with the words "skilled and daring" on the sea to the east, trying to "clumsily" use their "superior skills" to hide in the reef. The sail had no coat of arms, but it was hung with purple and green rope knots that were unique to the Tyrosh nobles.

"Grey Ghost, go!" Daemon ordered. The light gray dragon immediately took to the air, its breath striking the stern of the small boat. The canvas instantly caught fire, the boat lost power, and it was surrounded by the Stormlands longships that arrived shortly after.

The sailors jumped onto the small boat and soon brought back two "proud and proud" Tyrosh nobles, who were carrying a map of the Tyrosh port's defenses, with the locations of the Wildfire pots marked in red paint.

"It seems that Lord Tyrosh did indeed hide Wildfire in the Reef area. However, judging from the current situation, his end is indeed not far off." Daemon looked at the group of nobles, whose acting was terrible and who had been deliberately captured, personally delivering the defense map, and sneered. "Give this map to Lord Corlys and have him adjust the position of the longhook to clear the Wildfire pots in advance."

As dawn broke, the bugle call of Baelon finally sounded.

A long, drawn-out melody swept across the sea, piercing the thin mist of the Narrow Sea. At the same time, the sails of the Joint Fleet billowed, and the House Velaryon silver ships, like silver fish, were the first to sail away from the harbor.

The longships of the Stormlands followed closely behind, their Crowned Stag banners fluttering in the wind;

The longships of the the North carried the cold, hard feel of the icy plains, their rams gleaming with a chilling light;

The heavy ships of the Westerlands stood steadily in the middle, their roaring lion banners intertwined with the banners of other families, creating a sea of color.

Daemon leaped onto the Glutton, and as the Black Dragon spread its wings, the wind it created lifted his black cloak, revealing the Glutton and Dreamfyre patterns embroidered on its lining, which were faintly visible in the morning light.

The Grey Ghost clung to the Glutton's side, its light gray dragon shadow contrasting sharply with the jet-black one, yet they maintained an unusually tacit distance to avoid a collision.

"Let's go!" Baelon rode Vhagar into the air, the turquoise dragon letting out a long roar that shook the sea.

Daemon Targaryen, riding Caraxes, followed closely behind, his crimson Dragonfire burning an arc in the sky, as if guiding the fleet.

Rhaenys rode Meleys from her father's residence on the island, and the crimson dragon shadow joined the ranks. The roars of the five dragons intertwined, becoming the most stirring war song.

Daemon looked down and saw the red rocks of Bloodstone Island gradually shrinking. The torches on the dock were still lit, as if seeing them off.

He touched the amulet in his arms; it was pressed against his chest, and he could almost feel Gael's warmth.

Once he wins this battle, he will return to King's Landing to fulfill his promise of the Valyria wedding and Gael to Dragonstone to see the Glutton ' lair one last time.

"Little Daemon! Don't get distracted!" Daemon Targaryen's voice came from the side, as Caraxes was brewing flames towards the sea. "The main channel of the Narrow Sea is just ahead, and the Tyrosh fleet might be waiting for you there!"

Daemon snapped out of his daze and gripped the hilt of the Blackfyre tightly.

The dragon pattern on the scabbard gleamed coldly in the morning light. This Valyrian steel sword, since he regained it, had accompanied him through battles against pirates and Sand Snakes. Today, it would accompany him as he slew the tyrant of Tyrosh, for the peace of the Narrow Sea, and for everyone around him.

On the distant horizon, the outline of Tyrosh was not yet visible, but a few Tyrosh speedboats were already drifting around. This should be the vanguard sent by Tyrosh to find out the movements of the Joint Fleet.

The Glutton swooped down, its black Dragonfire engulfing the speedboat. The ship instantly burst into flames, and the sailors screamed as they jumped into the sea, only to be scooped up by the House Velaryon silver ship with a fishing net.

"It seems Lord Tyrosh already knows we're here." Corlys's voice came from the "Sea Snake," the silver ship moving with incredible speed, already positioned behind the fast ships. "As planned, our House Velaryon silver ships will clear the Wildfire in the reef area, while you Dragonknight will hold off Tyrosh's main force!"

Daemon nodded and urged Glutton to fly towards Tyrosh.

The Grey Ghost followed closely behind, occasionally spewing out small bursts of dragon breath to mark the location of the reef.

Sunlight spilled onto the waves of the Narrow Sea, shimmering with a golden-red light, like a battlefield unfolding for this decisive battle.

Meanwhile, atop the Bleeding Tower in Tyrosh, Lord Selos stared at the sea, his ruby scimitar clenched so tightly it turned white.

The mercenary commander beside him said tremblingly, "My lord, the Wildfire canisters in the reef area are ready; they can be detonated as soon as they get close! And the five ships sent by Lys have also arrived outside the harbor!"

"Very well." A ruthless glint flashed in Selos's eyes. "Have Lys's ship wait on the outer edge, until the Wildfire ignites, then rush in to clean up the mess. I will make the Targaryen dragons bury in the Narrow Sea!"

Unbeknownst to him, the Joint Fleet's long hooks had already reached the reef area, the Grey Ghost's dragon breath was marking the location of the Wildfire Pot, and the Glutton's black flames were about to burn towards Tyrosh's fleet.

In the turbulent waves of the Narrow Sea, the clash between Dragonfire and steel is about to begin.

Riding on his Glutton, Daemon gazed from high above at the ever-approaching port of Tyrosh, his mind filled with only one thought: to win this battle, return to King's Landing, and see Gael.

The Blackfyre gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and the Glutton's dragon roar reverberated throughout the Narrow Sea, setting the stage for this epic eastern expedition destined to be recorded in history.