A businessman in black robe hurriedly walked into the hall and whispered a few words in the ear of Lord Myr.
After hearing those few words, the Maharaja's face changed from rosy to pale, from pale to livid, and from livid to an almost transparent, deathly gray-white color.
The wine glass in his hand slipped from his fingers and fell to the marble floor. The sound of shattering was particularly harsh in the quiet hall.
Myr Maharaja stood up and left the auction house without saying a word, leaving all the guests in the hall looking at each other, wondering what happened.
The news reached Norvos and Volantis--no, Volantis had no news to pass on. That city had become an empty ruin earlier.
The news spread to Pentos, Braavos, Lorath, and to the ears of everyone who was still watching, still weighing, and still hesitating whether to bow to that Dragon King.
Lys was destroyed.
Not conquered, not occupied, but destroyed.
Its city walls were wiped away by golden lightning, its harbor was burned to ashes by dragon's breath, its fleet sank to the bottom of the sea, and its dragons - the two that Citadel and Daemon had high hopes for and were considered to be the last hope against King Ghidorah - one had its head pierced by Ice Spear, and the other was torn from the neck by three dragons.
Menander, the governor of Lys, died in the explosion of Wildfire, leaving no body behind.
Citadel's black-robed bachelors were dying and running away. Their secret weapons - firecrackers, artillery, Ice Spear - could not even cause trouble to the opponent in the face of King Ghidorah's absolute power.
The Three Cities Alliance, this military alliance composed of three Free Citiess, Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr, aimed at jointly resisting foreign enemies, became a complete joke at this moment.
When Tyrosh and Myr first joined the alliance, they promised to support each other and advance and retreat together.
But when Lys was attacked, where were the fleets of Tyrosh and Myr?
Parked in the port, repairing in the dock, waiting to see the direction of the wind.
They thought those giant crossbows could stop Redd, thought Daemon and Tormund's dragons could kill King Ghidorah, and thought Citadel's secret weapon could turn the tide of the battle.
They thought a lot, but they didn't think--Redd would win.
Now Redd has won. The win was thorough, the win was cruel, and the win shattered even the last bit of luck for everyone who was still watching.
The messengers of Tyrosh and Myr arrived at Dragonstone on the same day.
This island is located at the entrance of Blackwater Bay and is the first base of House Targaryen on Westeros.
It is not as prosperous as Lys, not as exquisite as Myr, and not as charming as Tyrosh.
It is a black, rough fortress shaped by sea wind and volcanic rocks. From the sea, it looks like a black giant beast crouching in the waves, silent, majestic and inviolable.
When Redd returned to Dragonstone, it was getting late.
King Ghidorah swooped down from the clouds. The three heads were coated with a layer of dark golden light under the reflection of the setting sun. The pair of giant wings that spread out enough to cover the sky cast a huge, moving shadow over Dragonstone, covering the entire castle.
The guards and servants on the island knelt on the ground one after another. No one dared to raise their head, no one dared to look directly at the giant beast and the man on its back.
Redd jumped off the dragon's back, and his boots made a crisp sound when they stepped on the stone floor of the Dragonstone castle.
King Ghidorah followed him, with three heads hanging low. His huge body barely found a place to curl up in the castle courtyard, squeezing the surrounding flower beds, fountains and stone statues.
Several servants looked carefully from a distance, and when they saw King Ghidorah's eyes sweeping over, they quickly lowered their heads and pretended to be busy with what they were doing.
Dawg Russ came back with Redd. He was the only survivor of the completely wiped out fleet.
The left half of his body was still wrapped in a thick bandage, from his shoulder to his wrist, and the smell of ointment seeping from under the bandage filled the air.
His hair and eyebrows were burned completely, and his entire face was blackened by smoke, but under that layer of charred skin, new, pink skin was slowly growing out, sticking to his face piece by piece like patches.
His left leg was still lame and he needed a cane to support him every step he took, but he refused anyone's help.
He was alone, leaning on a cane, and followed Redd step by step into the hall of Dragonstone.
Jasont, Sciorra, and Marcus were waiting in the hall.
They received news of the Lys battle from different channels - Jasont heard the details of the Wildfire explosion from the merchant ship captain, Theora bought the description of Daemon's death from Myr's intelligence dealer, and Marcus learned from a refugee who escaped from Lys.
Hearing the scene that sent shivers down everyone's spine - King Ghidorah's three heads opened at the same time, golden lightning wiped the city wall off the ground, and hundreds of meters of city wall turned into nothingness in less than a heartbeat.
Different expressions were written on the faces of the three people. At this moment, Jason's calmness and calmness were replaced by a deep worry. He was worried about Redd - not because of Redd's safety, but because Redd's performance in Lys was too brutal, which might bring unnecessary trouble to his future rule of Seven Kingdoms.
Theola's calmness and rationality made her pay more attention to the actual strategic gains - all nine Free Citiess fell into the hands of Redd, which meant that Redd's financial income would increase several times, the logistics supply line would be greatly consolidated, and his foundation on Essos would become unbreakable.
Marcus's excitement was written on his face - he didn't care about brutality or not, or strategy or not, he only knew that His Highness won, and won beautifully, and that was enough.
When Redd walked into the hall, the three of them stood up at the same time and bowed.
"Sit." Redd walked to the main seat and sat down. He casually took off the Longsword that had been stripped from a dead unlucky guy from his waist and placed it on the table.
His hair and eyebrows have not yet grown out, and his bald head and brow bones make him look several years younger and more than ten years older than his actual age. This contradictory feeling makes people don't know whether to say that he looks like a newborn baby or a mummy that has just crawled out of the grave.
But his eyes were still sharp, and those black pupils swept across everyone in the hall, with a sense of oppression that made it impossible to look directly.
"Dawg Russ, tell them about Lys's situation." Redd leaned on the high-backed chair, folded his hands on his abdomen, and closed his eyes.