The day's end beneath the sunset

The morning light in Tyrosh carried the salty tang characteristic of the Narrow Sea, but it was shattered into fragments by the sails of the Joint Fleet.

Nearly a hundred warships emerged from the morning mist, and just like in the previous days, the seahorse markings on the House Velaryon silver ships gleamed cold white in the light, like a group of giant silver fish poised to pounce.

The Crowned Stag flag on the longsail of the Stormlands Fleet fluttered in the wind, and the ramming horns, still covered with sawdust from yesterday's drills, gleamed dark red in the morning light;

The Direwolf -patterned shields on the hull of the the North longship pressed down on the gunwales, and the cold, hard oak hull rose and fell in the waves, exuding the unique fortitude of the icy plains;

The golden lion-patterned armor plates of the Westerlands heavy ships reflected the light, and the heavily armored infantry on the deck stood in neat square formations, their shields and longswords gleaming coldly in their hands.

The most striking feature was the dragon's shadow in the sky.

Prince Baelon, as the commander-in-chief and nominal commander of the Joint Fleet, rode Vhagar at the very front of the fleet.

The turquoise dragon spread its enormous wings, its scales shimmering like flowing jade in the morning light. Occasionally, it would spew out a breath of Dragonfire, which would land on the sea and burn a brief, bright mark.

Daemon Blackfyre followed closely behind, riding the Glutton. The Black Dragon's scales gleamed with a dark gold, and the Blackfyre was slung across his waist, the dragon pattern on the scabbard glowing hot in the sea breeze.

As for Daemon Targaryen, he rode on Caraxes to his right, crimson Dragonfire occasionally spilling from the corners of his mouth, eliciting gasps of alarm from the soldiers of the Tyrosh fleet in the distance below.

"It seems the Tyrosh have set up their chain formation even denser than the intelligence indicated!" Our "Sea Snake" Lord Corlys House Velaryon, the deputy commander and de facto commander of the Joint Fleet, stood on the Watchtower of his warship, the "Sea Snake," gazing into the distance.

Through his brass telescope, he could clearly see that the fifty fast ships of the Tyrosh fleet were chained together, with Myr crossbows mounted in the gaps between them, the poisoned arrows in their quivers gleaming with a purplish-black light. "It seems that the mad Tyrosh Grand Prince intends to trap us outside the harbor!"

Since the war with the Three Cities on the Stepstones, the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros have often referred to the tyrannical ruler who murdered his predecessors as "Mad" Marion Nemelos Martell, the Dornish prince.

Even within the current Joint Fleet, there are quite a few people who even refer to this "foolish" Grand Prince of Tyrosh as "Mad Marion II of Tyrosh".

Baelon's voice echoed across the fleet through Vhagar's dragon roar, "Proceed according to plan! Big Daemon, you take Caraxes burn their chains; Little Daemon, Glutton, take care of clearing the ballistae; Corlys will lead the House Velaryon silverships around to the western reef and sever their backup chains; Stormlands and the the North Fleet will engage them head-on, do not give them a chance to adjust their formation!"

"Understood!" both Daemon responded simultaneously, their voices, one lively and the other steady, both carrying a resolute air.

Daemon Targaryen urged Caraxes to swoop down, using the same old tactic: the crimson dragon's wings swept across the masts of the Tyrosh fleet, and its claws gripped an iron chain, pulling it taut.

"Dragonfire!" Daemon Targaryen shouted, and at his command, Caraxes's Dragonfire struck the iron chains. The iron rings instantly turned red-hot, sizzling and crackling, and soon broke in two.

The chained formation of the Tyrosh fleet suddenly developed a gap, Stormlands longships seized the opportunity to rush in.

Borros Baratheon stood at the bow of the Storm's Breath, his left shoulder still bandaged, yet he still held his broadsword as he leaped onto a Tyrosh courier.

The "Rash Stag," leading the charge, was incredibly brave, his sword cleaving through a mercenary's armor. "We men of Stormlands, are we afraid of these effeminate Tyrosh scum with their multicolored hair and purple-green armor?"

Following suit, the other young generation of Stormlands also launched an attack. Roland Clinton was the first to jump ship with Borros. As soon as he got aboard, he used his longsword to knock away a mercenary's crossbow.

The brothers Fell Theogood Willie Fell, charged straight into the crowd. The two brothers, back to back, worked together, brandishing their weapons, and fought their way through the crowd on the deck.

And then there's our "Sleeping Lion," Lorent Grandson, yawning but moving swiftly, slicing through the sail ropes with a single stroke. As the canvas fell, it covered several Tyrosh soldiers, eliciting a burst of laughter from the Stormlands lads.

Daemon rode the Glutton across the harbor, unleashing a torrent of black Dragonfire at the ballista positions on the Tyrosh ship. The wooden ballista mounts instantly burst into flames, and the Myr craftsman operating them screamed and leaped into the sea, only to be pulled ashore by House Velaryon sailors in a fishing net.

Most of these craftsmen appeared to have been forced by Selos, and were likely the same group of craftsmen from Myr Crahas Hal's ship during the "Crabfeeder '" counterattack on Bloodstone Island. They were still wearing shackles, and seeing the overwhelming strength of the Joint Fleet, they all raised their hands in surrender.

The Grey Ghost followed the Glutton, and the light gray dragon nimbly circled around to a Tyrosh command ship. The light gray Dragonfire skillfully sprayed onto the ship's rudder, charring the wooden rudder.

The nobles on board the Tyrosh ship panicked and tried to turn the ship around to escape, but the Blackfyre " that arrived later struck their side, causing the ship to tilt instantly, and the nobles screamed as they fell into the sea.

"Selos flagship is over there!" Racallio Rendon's voice came from the "Sea Snake." He and his recruited men, positioned next to Corlys, pointed to the colossal ship in the center of the harbor, the one bearing the flag of Tyrosh Tyrandeids—

The long wooden ship was covered with a thick layer of iron. In addition to the symbol of Tyrosh the Great, the flags on the masts were also embroidered with Selos's personal coat of arms. Inside the ship's cabin, one could vaguely see the figure of a person wearing a purple silk robe, which was Selos other than Tyrosh the Great himself.

Baelon rode Vhagar straight toward his command ship, the bluish-green Dragonfire burning on the iron sheet covering the ship's deck, turning the black iron red-hot, causing the servants inside to flee in terror.

Selos, who had been roaring at the map, heard the screams outside. He lifted the curtain and saw Vhagar's vertical pupils peeking out. He was so frightened that his legs went weak and he collapsed into his chair.

"My Lord! The Joint Fleet's dragons are too fierce! The chain formation can't hold!" The mercenary commander scrambled into the ship's deck, sparks still clinging to his armor. "Our mercenaries are starting to flee! Those pirates who were trying to surrender are also trying to steal a ship and escape!"

Selos's face was deathly pale, his fingers gripping the armrests of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Escape? Where can we escape to? Lys? Myr? Or other Free Cities? Our allies, the Lys and Myr, haven't come yet, and I can't even rally the nobles of Tyrosh. What other way out do we have?"

He suddenly remembered the serpent's lair in the Bleeding Tower, and the nobles he had slaughtered and whose homes he had confiscated. A glint of madness flashed in his eyes. "No—I cannot die! I am High Overlord Tyrosh, I cannot die under the Dragonfire of these Targaryen dragons!"

He abruptly stood up, grabbed the ruby dagger from the table, and shouted to his trusted men, "Prepare the small boats! We're heading back to the Bleeding Tower! As long as we hold the Bleeding Tower, I still have a chance—I can use the poison from the snake pit and the crossbows on the Bleeding Tower to fight them to the death!"

The confidants dared not object and quickly helped Selos off the ship through a secret passage at the back of the ship's deck. They boarded a fast ship that had been prepared in advance and fled towards the Bleeding Tower.

As the small boat's sails rose, for some reason, Selos glanced back one last time—just one glance, and he saw his command ship ablaze by Vhagar's Dragonfire, saw the mercenaries throw down their weapons and surrender, saw the Joint Fleet's sails drawing ever closer in the morning light, and felt a chill run through him; he didn't even have the courage to turn back.

"Selos has escaped!" Daemon Targaryen's voice carried on the wind as Caraxes's dragon claw shattered the mast of the command ship's wreckage on the sea below. "My men saw him flee to Bleeding Tower with his trusted followers!"

Upon seeing the Great Lord flee, the Tyrosh fleet instantly lost its will to fight.

The mercenaries and pirates who had been putting up resistance threw down their crossbows and shouted in Racallio's direction, "Lord Racallio! We surrender! We'll go with you!"

Most of these mercenaries and pirates came from the Disputed Lands and the Narrow Sea, and many of them owed Racallio a favor. Now that Selos had abandoned them, they were naturally unwilling to risk their lives any longer.

Racallio stood at the bow of the "Sea Snake" alongside Corlys and his confidants, raising the pair of daggers engraved with roses and bones that had been his weapons before his capture. "Those who want to live, lay down your weapons! Follow me, and I guarantee you'll get your back wages and a peaceful life in the Summer Isles!"

The mercenary pirates responded enthusiastically. Some of the better swimmers even jumped into the sea and swam towards the Joint Fleet to show their determination, while the others who were not good swimmers simply raised their hands on the ship.

Some thieves and bandits were even more desperate. Seeing the mercenaries and pirates surrender, they threw down their weapons and shouted frantically, "We are willing to surrender too!" for fear of being burned by the Dragonfire if they were a step too slow.

"Burn the harbor!" Baelon's voice carried an undeniable authority. "Leave a few ships to receive the prisoners, the rest of the fleet, burn down the port and shipyards of Tyrosh! Let them know the price of offending Westeros, the Iron Throne, and Targaryen Lineage!"

Vhagar was the first to unleash Dragonfire, a towering turquoise flame that cascaded down into the harbor's dock like a waterfall.

The crackling sound of burning timber in the harbor was deafening, and the spare ships of the Tyrosh people in the dock were instantly set ablaze, billowing thick smoke that blotted out the sun.

However, those nobles who had offered their sincerity early on, upon learning of the "insider" information and that things were not going well, had already sent their fleets elsewhere three days prior, before Baelon held a meeting on Bloodstone Island to attack Tyrosh.

The Glutton followed closely behind, their black Dragonfire burning towards the port's warehouses, igniting the Wildfire jars that Selos had stored inside. Explosions echoed one after another, shaking the sea.

Caraxes's crimson flames then burned the still-resisting Tyrosh ships; the canvas, planks, chains—wherever the Dragonfire touched, blazed into flames.

The soldiers of the Joint Fleet also joined in the burning, naturally led by the Lannister fleet of the Westerlands. Some fired rockets at the sails, while others set fire to the wooden planks of the dock with torches. The entire port of Tyrosh was soon engulfed in flames.

Daemon rode the Glutton to the docks, drew his Blackfyre, and cut a burning rope. The other end of the rope was tied to several Westeros merchants, who had been taken hostage by Selos earlier.

"Don't be afraid, we are the Joint Fleet of Westeros, we will not harm you," he said to the civilians, and the Stormlands scions behind him immediately stepped forward to untie the ropes.

The civilians were initially wary, but gradually relaxed when they saw that the Joint Fleet did not take action and instead offered them water.

An old baker said tremblingly, "Selos tripled the taxes, and we can barely afford to bake bread anymore—he even threw those who rebelled into snake pits. We've wanted to rebel for a long time!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a commotion arose in the distance—black smoke rose from the direction of the inner city of Tyrosh, accompanied by the clanging of metal.

"A noble riot has broken out!" Colin Celtigar ran over, holding a letter he had seized from a servant of Tyrosh nobleman. "The nobles who were persecuted by Selos heard that he had escaped and have led their private armies to attack the Bleeding Tower! They've also released the prisoners from the Serpent's Lair, saying they want revenge for their former lord, Erio!"

Daemon looked up and saw the flames growing stronger in the direction of the Bleeding Tower, and he could faintly hear shouts of "Defeat Selos!"

Racallio laughed and said, "I told you, that idiot Selos's foundation is too weak. As soon as he loses, someone will definitely turn against him!"

As the sun set, the flames in the port of Tyrosh were still burning, turning the sea red like a boiling pool of blood.

The sails of the Joint Fleet gleamed gold and red in the firelight, and the prisoners were gathered on the open ground of the dock, guarded by House Velaryon sailors;

The rebellious nobles have seized control of the Bleeding Tower and are sending envoys to the Joint Fleet to negotiate, saying they are willing to hand over Selos in exchange for the Joint Fleet retaining their family territories.

Baelon stood at the bow of the "Sea Snake," gazing at the scene before him, his purple eyes filled with composure. "We'll discuss Tyrosh's matter after we capture Selos. First, clear the fire in the harbor and treat the wounded civilians."

We've won this decisive battle, but it's not completely over yet.

Daemon landed beside him on his Glutton, with Grey Ghost curled up at his feet, a silk ribbon embroidered with snakes that had drifted from the direction of the Bleeding Tower in its mouth—clearly an item belonging to Selos.

He touched the amulet in his arms, which was pressed against his chest, as if he could feel Gael's warmth. This battle was won, and he was one step closer to returning to King's Landing's Landing.

A cheer erupted from the distant Bleeding Tower, where the nobles' private soldiers waved Erio's old banner atop the tower.

Daemon knew that even if Selos hid in the Bleeding Tower, he wouldn't last long. Without an army, without popular support, and without allies, his dream of becoming "Great Lord" would ultimately be shattered in this decisive battle of Dragonfire and blades.

The flames on the sea gradually diminished, leaving only scattered pieces of ship planks still burning, making the setting sun appear even more crimson.

The soldiers of the Joint Fleet began clearing the battlefield; some carried the wounded, some received prisoners, and some helped the civilians of Tyrosh extinguish the remaining fires in their houses.

The dragon's roar occasionally drifted from the sky, but it lacked its previous intimidating power and instead carried a sense of calm after victory.

Daemon watched all this, gripping the Blackfyre tightly. The dragon pattern on the scabbard gleamed in the setting sun. He recalled the council meeting on Bloodstone Island, Baelon's words, "Dignity lies in the blade, truth in the Dragonfire," and the little Glutton drawn in Gael's letter. Suddenly, he felt an extraordinary sense of peace.

The war surrounding the Stepstones is finally coming to a true end, and the sea he protected and the people he protected will finally see the peaceful dawn after this victory.