Myr, the last remaining jewel of the Three Daughters, was now tightly encircled by the army under Liu Qian's command.
The bustling port that had once basked in the warm summer breeze now lay deathly silent.
The wreckage of scuttled ships floated on the sea, completely cutting off any lifeline from the water.
On land, Liu Qian's camps spread like a forest of steel, sealing off the great city beside the bay. Its tall, imposing walls were now battered and scarred, riddled with gaping craters.
Massive trebuchets roared day and night, hurling boulders that whistled toward the walls bearing death.
Every dull, thunderous impact sent stone chips flying and dust billowing, leaving fresh craters and spiderweb cracks in the once-solid stone.
Liu Qian had already exhausted his supply of wildfire, and he had written to Qyburn to have another batch produced and shipped to the front.
Until the wildfire arrived, he had no intention of letting the people of Myr rest easy.
He ordered the trebuchets to attack the walls and wear down their morale.
Liu Qian stood tall atop a mound overlooking the battlefield, his brow furrowed as his gaze swept across the besieged city.
He was not worried about the battle, but puzzled by his opponents' tenacity.
His army had swept away every estate, workshop, and outlying stronghold around Myr, turning the city into an isolated island.
By all reason, faced with overwhelming military strength, the governors of Myr, deprived of their lands and resources, should have understood that resistance would only add to the casualties and that surrendering early was the proper course.
Yet the reality was entirely different.
Slave soldiers crowded the walls.
Most had warm olive or deep brown skin and tall builds.
These were distinctive features of the Rhoynar.
Unlike the people of Lys,