At Liu Qian's position, Prince Janyi of the Windblown and his mercenaries, men long accustomed to death and carnage, had also fallen into a deathly silence.
They were far enough away to escape injury from the blast, but the sight of that destruction and the chilling chorus of screams were enough to send a shiver down even the most hardened mercenary's spine.
"Gods-above-"
A Windblown mercenary retched, his face deathly pale.
"What-what in hell was that? Dragonfire?" Another mercenary's voice shook uncontrollably.
"No-something worse than dragonfire-"
An old mercenary murmured, his eyes filled with terror.
Only a trace of indescribable dread remained on Prince Janyi's face.
He considered himself worldly, having spent half his life struggling through the shadows of Essos, yet he had never seen anything so horrifying.
He looked toward the distant watchtower, at the young king's back, and for the first time clearly felt a sense of awe, along with a deep chill.
What this Easterner wielded was power enough to burn cities to the ground and reduce any army to ashes.
To make an enemy of such a man?
That would be courting death.
The catapults did not stop firing.
After the initial devastating strike, Qyburn and the old Pyromancer calmly directed subsequent launches according to the spread of the flames and the fortress's structure.
More clay jars of wildfire were loaded and launched, falling on the fortress's key supports, warehouses stockpiled with supplies, and areas where men were attempting to rally resistance.
Every impact meant more ground lost and more lives extinguished.
The Highland Fortress, the iron stronghold in which the people of Myr had placed such hopes, had become a crematorium burning with an eerie green light.
Once-sturdy stone walls glowed red, cracked, and collapsed, while towers leaned and crumbled in the flames.
Dense