Now, he has waited.
Redd's fleet attacked the waterway from the front.
Those giant ballistae that he once feared were like paper in front of King Ghidorah's Gravity Beams.
The ballistae on the city wall fled in all directions amid the roar, and the dragon-slaying weapons that had kept him awake at night were easily crushed by a giant beast much larger than his dragon.
Daemon looked at the golden figure in the sky, with a complicated and unidentifiable smile hanging on the corner of his mouth.
Envy. Jealousy. Fear. Fortunately.
All kinds of emotions surged in his chest, as if he had knocked over a five-flavor bottle.
He envied Redd for having such a dragon. He was envious of Redd for having such a dragon.
He was afraid of the dragon's power. He was also glad that the dragon's target was not him.
At least not yet.
"Redd people have come ashore." A voice came from behind.
Daemon There is no looking back.
He knew who was coming - Tormund, the weirdo who called himself "Friend of the Deep Sea", the alien who could hold his breath underwater for half an hour, the guy of unknown origin who came to him and wanted to cooperate with him.
When Tormund appeared in front of him, Daemon's first reaction was distrust.
"I can help you deal with Redd." Tormund said at that time, with a smile that made Daemon very uncomfortable, as if he knew everything.
"I have friends in the deep sea. Fishmen. They can help me do many things."
Daemon stared at him for a long time.
The other party came to him and said he wanted to help him deal with Redd who owned King Ghidorah?
Either there is something wrong with this person's brain, or there is something behind this person that he doesn't know about.
"What are your conditions?" Daemon asked.
"No conditions required." Tormund's answer made him even more vigilant, "I just feel that this world should not be dominated by a dragon and its owner."
Daemon doesn't believe it. He doesn't believe anyone.
He has been on this road for too long, met too many people, and experienced too many betrayals.
Everyone has their own purpose, everyone is calculating, everyone is saying beautiful words while reaching for your pocket.
But he still agreed.
Not because he believed in Tormund, but because he needed a cannon fodder.
A cannon fodder who can rush forward to block King Ghidorah at the critical moment.
A cannon fodder who can buy time for Redd when his attention is distracted.
A cannon fodder that won't make him feel bad even if he dies.
Tormund happened to appear at the most appropriate time.
"Where's the plan?" Tormund walked to him and leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the sea and sky in the distance.
"Wait." Daemon answered briefly.
"When?"
"Wait until Redd and King Ghidorah separate."
Tormund frowned. "How to separate? The dragon has always followed him and never left."
Daemon raised the corners of his mouth slightly, revealing a cold smile, "So we need someone to create this opportunity."
He turned around and looked at Tormund.
There was light in those eyes, a cruel and calm light like that of a hunter waiting for his prey to reveal its flaws.
"Governor Menander is ready." Daemon said, "He has hidden three hundred elite guards in the basement of the governor's palace, all of whom he has spent three years secretly training to die.
Those people don't know what it means to be afraid, and they don't know what it means to retreat.
They will entangle Redd's ground troops and cut off the communication channel between Redd and King Ghidorah."
"Then what?" Tormund asked.
"Then," Daemon's eyes turned to the window again, landing on the golden figure in the sky, "Citadel's man in black robe will take action.
They had weapons - real weapons, weapons that could hurt the dragon.
They won't kill it, but they can distract it. They can make it angry.
It can draw its attention away from Redd."
"And then?"
Daemon didn't answer. He raised his hand and pointed to the sea in the distance outside the window.
Tormund looked along his finger and saw nothing at first.
But soon, his pupils shrank slightly - on the sea, very far away, there were a few looming black spots. They were not boats, but...
"My fleet." Daemon's voice was as calm as saying that the weather was good today. "It set out three days ago and has been hiding in the fjord to the north of Lys.
Fifteen battleships, all of them are my old subordinates.
As long as King Ghidorah is dragged and Redd is trapped on the ground, they will come around from the north and cut off Lys's maritime connection with the outside world.
At the same time, we landed from another direction and cooperated with the ground troops to surround Redd people at the port."
He paused, and the smile on his lips deepened, but there was no smile in his eyes.
"As long as Redd is separated from his dragon, you and I will each bring our own dragons and entangle King Ghidorah.
No need to kill it - you can't kill it either.
All you need to do is hold it back for as long as a stick of incense.
After one stick of incense, Redd on the ground will turn into a corpse.
A dragon without Dragonrider is just a beast.
A beast that can be hunted, tamed, and caged."
Tormund was silent for a long time.
He looked into Daemon's eyes, and there was something in those eyes that sent chills down his spine - it was not madness or paranoia, but an extremely calm, precisely calculated gambler's mentality.
Daemon is not trying his best, he is placing a bet.
He pushed all the chips onto the table and waited for the dice to fall.
"What if Menander or I let you down?" Tormund asked.
Daemon turned his head and looked at him.
The smile was still at the corner of his mouth, but Tormund felt that something hidden under that smile was sharper than any sword.
"Then we will all die here."
His voice was very soft, as if he was talking about a trivial matter.
But Tormund heard the weight of that sentence - not a threat, not a warning, just a simple statement of fact.
Daemon has calculated all the paths and deduced all possibilities.
On his chessboard, you either win or die. There is no third possibility.
Tormund opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end he said nothing.
He turned and walked towards the door, stopping halfway.
"Your dragon," he said without turning around, "Is afraid of the big one."
This is not a question. It is a statement.
Daemon's smile froze for a moment.
"Of course it is afraid." His voice became colder, like the north wind in winter, "Who is not afraid?"
Tormund was silent for a moment, then opened the door and walked out.
When the door closed behind him, Daemon heard the low, uneasy roar of the dark red dragon.
He walked over and put his hand on the dragon's neck. The scales were cold, the muscles were tense, and the heartbeat was as fast as a drum.