"Damn it!"
"What in hell are those green flames? Is that Fire Magic? At this rate, sooner or later we'll all die in those damned flames!"
Faced with the terrifying wildfire, the Ironborn leaders, who had no idea what it was, roared in fury.
They had yet to even reach Oldtown's docks, but they had already lost more than forty longships and over a thousand soldiers. The Iron Islands fleet had never suffered such staggering losses before.
"That's wildfire, a terrifying flame created by alchemists. Almost nothing in this world can extinguish it, unless you bury it under sand or earth."
"You've seen its power yourselves. It's no weaker than a Great Dragon's dragonfire, but anyone can use it. It's another formidable weapon in House Targaryen's hands."
The knowledgeable Gansor explained it to the others, then turned his gaze toward their leader, Verehos.
"So I really don't know whether provoking House Targaryen so openly was a wise decision!"
Verehos remained as cold as ever, with no change in either his tone or his expression.
"We believe in the Drowned God. The Drowned God alone can grant us strength, the strength that makes us Ironborn immortal."
"Do not forget: what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!"
This time, Verehos finally raised his voice, and the other Ironborn joined him in shouting.
"What is dead may never die!"
"What is dead may never die!"
Only Earl Drum, Gansor, and a few other Great Lords looked at one another, exchanging discreet glances.
In the underground chambers beneath Oldtown, almost all the city's residents had reached safety. By the dim candlelight, they tended to their elderly and their children, clutching their most precious possessions tightly to their chests.
With the Oldtown Garrison and the Brothers of the faction