His lips trembled, and he wanted to answer "The end will be here", but his vocal cords were severely burned in the Wildfire explosion, and he could only make a hoarse, hissing sound like air leakage.
But he still raised his right hand and waved it in the direction of Redd.
He's still alive. That's enough.
Redd saw the waving hand, nodded slightly, then turned around again, facing Daemon.
"Your people and my soldiers are all dead." Redd's voice was as calm as if he was stating a fact that had nothing to do with him. "The trap you set and the trap I stepped on are all over. Now, it's just you and me."
Daemon's pupils shrank slightly.
"You want to kill me?" he asked.
"I want to." Redd replied without hesitation, "But not now."
He reached out and patted Daemon on the shoulder. The action was not heavy, it could even be said to be an understatement, but Daemon's shoulder suddenly sank under that pat - not because of how strong Redd was, but because Daemon's legs suddenly became weak at this moment.
He held on and did not fall down. But his face became even more ugly.
"You owe me a fleet and thousands of lives." Redd said, his voice still calm, but Daemon could hear what was hidden under the calmness - it was the undercurrent under the glacier, the magma in the crater, and the power that could erupt at any time and be enough to destroy everything, "Please pay back slowly."
Daemon opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but in the end he said nothing.
Because in front of this naked, barefoot, defenseless man, in front of this man who had just walked out of the sea of fire without even a hair on his head being burned,
In front of this man standing on the ruins, overlooking a city trembling under his feet - he Daemon·Targaryen, the so-called "King of Stepstones", the so-called "True Dragon Blood", the so-called "Heir of House Targaryen", felt for the first time a complete chill that seeped out of his bones.
Redd turned around and walked towards King Ghidorah.
His bare feet stepped on the stone slab, leaving a shallow, still smoking footprint with every step - not because he was hot, but because the stone slab under his feet was too hot.
He jumped onto the dragon's back, his naked body pressed against the golden scales, as if he had merged with the giant beast.
"Let's go." He patted King Ghidorah's neck, "There is still someone to arrest."
King Ghidorah's three heads raised up at the same time, letting out a low roar that shook the world.
The sound passed through the ruins, through the port, through the entire city, and spread to the distance - to the sea that was still steaming, to the man who was struggling in the sea, soaked, and didn't know that his fate had been decided.
Tormund poked his head out from the sea, panting heavily, looking at the approaching golden figure in the sky.
He still held the fish-man bone knife in his hand.
But his heart has sunk to the bottom of the sea.
Tormund stood on the shoal on the shore of the port. The sea water was up to his knees, and the cold waves slapped the wound on his waist.
His fleet was gone, his men were gone, and everything he had spent years building meticulously was wiped out by the sweep of those three golden lightning bolts.
He should be afraid, should be desperate, and should be like those Lys civilians hiding in the distance and shivering, praying that the three giant dragons would not notice him.
But he didn't.
He stood in the knee-high sea water, holding the weapon made of fish bones tightly in his hand.
It was a strange weapon. The blade was not metal, but the backbone of a huge sea fish. Each vertebra was carefully polished, and the edge was as sharp as a blade. The bone texture glowed with a warm luster in the morning light.
The handle of the knife is wrapped with a dark blue seaweed rope, which gives it an excellent grip and is difficult to let go of.
The most eye-catching thing is the faint aqua blue light in the middle of the blade - it is not a reflection, not a decoration, but some kind of energy fluctuation that shines from the inside of the bone, like the fluorescence of the deep sea.
Those are the traces of the fish-man sacrifices that took hundreds of years and the blood of countless deep-sea creatures to sacrifice. They are proof of why this weapon is extraordinary.
Tormund lowered his head and glanced at the bone knife in his hand. The aqua-blue light jumped slightly under his gaze, as if in response to his emotions.
The corners of his mouth raised slightly, revealing a bitter and unwilling smile.
Not willing to give in.
He was unwilling to do so.
They made two preparations.
Wildfire in the castle is the first killing move. If Redd is killed in the palace, that is naturally the best ending - there is no need to ambush at the port, there is no need to take the risk of being counterattacked by King Ghidorah, and there is no need to sacrifice so many people and so many weapons.
But even if the castle's plan fails, they still have an alternative plan: take advantage of Redd's impatience after being enraged, lure him to the port, and use pre-arranged ballistae and catapults to carry out a saturation strike. While he and King Ghidorah are suppressed, Daemon completes the fatal blow from the air.
The plan is very thorough, the layout is in place, every link has been repeatedly deduced, and a response plan has been prepared for every possible situation.
Even when the Wildfire exploded in the castle, they planned to blow up the Lys Governor and those Citadel bachelors - anyway, those people were a burden even if they were alive, and they could put all the blame on them when they died, killing two birds with one stone.
Everything is developing according to their expectations.
Redd was indeed enraged, and rode King Ghidorah to the port. Sure enough, he fell into their carefully arranged ambush circle.
Dozens of catapults were launched at the same time, hundreds of ballistae fired simultaneously, and kerosene, crude oil, and Wildfire burned simultaneously in the port area, turning the entire sea area into a sea of fire and hell.
Redd was thrown off the dragon's back by the explosion's shock wave and smashed into a burning house. King Ghidorah was suppressed at low altitude by the continuous attacks. Daemon was riding Bloodworm in high altitude, waiting for the best opportunity to take action.
Everything is perfect.
Then, the three-headed dragon became angry.
Tormund closed his eyes, still replaying the image of golden lightning sweeping across the sea in his mind.
His fleet - fifteen warships, thousands of sailors and soldiers - were like lit firecrackers in front of that lightning, one after another exploding in the golden light, not explosion, but annihilation.
It was completely wiped out from the physical level, not even the remains were left.
His flagship was designed by him himself. The hull was made of the finest oak, the bottom was covered with copper, and the bow was engraved with totems of deep-sea monsters.
He spent countless days and nights on that ship, fighting against the waves in storms and fighting with enemies in battles.
That ship was more than just a battleship to him, it was his home, his pride, and the meaning of his existence.