His eyes passed through the flames, through the thick smoke, through the cracks in the wall, and saw the scene outside.
Towards the port, King Ghidorah is struggling to get airborne again.
The giant beast was suppressed at low altitude by the continuous barrels and crossbow arrows. The air flow from its wings scattered the surrounding flames, but every time it rose a little, it would be suppressed by a new wave of attacks.
Daemon's Bloodworm is hovering higher in the sky, not participating in the battle - Daemon is waiting, waiting for Redd to appear, waiting for King Ghidorah to be weakened to a certain extent, waiting for the best opportunity to take action.
Tormund's fleet is cruising outside the port, and ammunition for catapults and ballistae are being continuously transported from the ship to the shore to support this continuous siege.
This is a carefully designed ambush circle.
From the initial ballista position, to the later murloc attack, to Stepstones's empty city plan, to the palace's Wildfire explosion, to the sea of fire siege at the port - every step is guiding Redd and his power in one direction, every step is consuming his troops and resources, and every step is paving the way for the final blow.
The men in black robes Daemon, Tormund, Menander, and Citadel may have their own agendas, or they may be wary of each other, but when it comes to dealing with Redd, their cooperation is perfect.
Redd stood in the burning ruins, his naked body flushed red by the firelight, and the corners of his mouth were slightly raised.
Not a wry smile, not a self-deprecating smile, but a genuine, heartfelt smile with some dangerous appreciation.
"Good." He whispered, his voice masked by the roar of the flames so that only he could hear it. "Very good."
He raised his right hand and looked at the slightly hot lead bullet he picked up from the black-robed leader in his palm.
The projectile was not thrown away as he fell from the air, and was still lying quietly between the lines of his palm, like a small, dark gray seed.
He clenched his fists, held the lead bullet in his palm, and then stepped toward the wall of fire.
The flames automatically separated in front of him - not because he had the ability to control the flames, but because the air along the path he walked was disturbed by his body temperature and some invisible aura, and the flames instinctively moved to both sides.
He passed through the wall of fire, stepped out of the door of the house, and stepped barefoot on the hot stone road.
The streets were also a sea of fire. The houses on both sides were burning, the flagstones on the road were burning hot, and the air was filled with thick smoke and ashes.
There were shouts of death, explosions and the angry roar of King Ghidorah in the distance.
Nearby - There were several Tormund soldiers nearby who were carrying ammunition at the corner of the street. They saw a naked and red figure walking out of the sea of fire, and they were stunned.
"What is that..." one of the soldiers muttered.
His companion did not answer because he had already recognized that face - the face that was praised by countless people, feared by countless people, and regarded as the incarnation of death in the East Free Cities.
His hands began to shake and the barrel in his hand almost dropped to the ground.
"Dragon...Dragon King..."
Redd glanced at them.
Just a glance.
The soldiers were like frogs stared at by snakes. They froze and could not even think of escaping.
They stood there and watched as Redd walked past them, walking calmly and unhurriedly, like a person taking a walk in the early morning, rather than a naked and penniless victim who had just crawled out of the sea of fire.
Redd walked to the end of the street and stood on a high platform at the junction of the port and the city.
From here, he could overlook the entire port area - the burning sea of fire, the catapults and ballistas still firing, the golden dragon struggling in the air, the dark red Bloodworm hovering in the sky, and the warships belonging to Tormund cruising outside the port.
He took a deep breath, and the heat of the fire and the acrid smell of the smoke filled his lungs, but he didn't feel any discomfort.
His body filters, decomposes, and excretes these harmful substances like a perfect, self-cleaning system.
He turned around, facing the direction of King Ghidorah, and let out a low, short whistle.
The sound was not loud, almost insignificant among the roar of explosions and burning. But King Ghidorah heard it.
Three heads turned in his direction at the same time. Six golden eyes passed through the flames and thick smoke, and accurately locked onto the naked figure standing on the high platform, which was reflected red by the firelight.
King Ghidorah let out a deafening roar.
It was not a scream of pain or an angry roar, but a confirmation - confirmation of the owner's location, confirmation that the owner was still alive, and confirmation that the owner was calling it.
King Ghidorah's wings suddenly flapped, uprooting several surrounding crossbow turrets that were firing. The huge body was lifted from a low altitude and flew in the direction of Redd.
Daemon saw this scene from high in the sky.
His pupils shrank suddenly.
Redd is still alive.
He was blown away by Wildfire, engulfed in a sea of fire, and blown off the dragon's back by the explosion shock wave of dozens of wooden barrels - still alive.
Not only alive, but standing there, naked and unscathed, as if mocking all their efforts.
Daemon's hands tightened on the reins.
"It's impossible..." he whispered, "It's impossible..."
But the reality unfolded before his eyes, leaving no room for doubt.
Redd stood there, King Ghidorah was flying towards him, and they - Daemon, Tormund, Menander, everyone involved in the hunt - their time was running out.
Wait until Redd mounts King Ghidorah again, wait until the giant beast recovers from the passive beating, wait until they start to fight back--
Daemon dare not think further.
He jerked the reins, and Bloodworm neighed at his command, spreading its dark red wings and diving in the direction of Redd.
Can't wait any longer.
He must be killed before Redd mounts King Ghidorah again.
King Ghidorah was just caught off guard.
Those wooden barrels, those crossbow arrows, those flames burning on its scales - for a three-headed beast that has experienced countless centuries and fought with ancient sea monsters and ancient dragons, these things are like someone throwing a handful of sand at an adult tiger.
Sand will blind the eyes, make people uncomfortable, and make the tiger close its eyes briefly, but it will never make the tiger lose its fighting ability.
And once the tiger opens its eyes, the person holding the sand will know what real fear is.
King Ghidorah stabilized his body faster than anyone imagined.
Its three heads drooped at the same time, its neck muscles tightened, and its wings suddenly spread to both sides, shaking off the burning remains still hanging on the wing membranes.