Raid on Red Flower Vale

It was already afternoon when the fleet reached Red Flower Vale.

The slanting sunlight turned the harbor waters into patches of shattered gold.

A few local fishing boats lay scattered along the docks of Red Flower Port, where several dark-skinned locals dozed against wooden crates.

The first three ships slowly drew ashore.

Jalabhar stood at the bow, trying hard to look like an ordinary spice merchant.

His heart pounded, and his palms were slick with sweat.

"Relax," Leon's voice came from behind him. "The more convincing you are, the less they'll suspect."

Jalabhar took a deep breath and nodded.

The ship shuddered gently as it came alongside the dock.

Several locals rose lazily. Their leader stepped forward and asked a few questions in the Archipelago Tongue.

Jalabhar forced a smile and answered fluently in his native language, "Goods from Oldtown! Here to trade for spices. Red Flower Vale spices-the finest there are!"

He jumped off the ship, took several silver stags from inside his clothes, and pressed them into the leader's hand.

"Thanks for your hard work. Have a drink on me."

The leader froze, then broke into a broad smile.

"Of course, of course, Prince... no, Master Jalabhar, you're too kind!"

Jalabhar's heart tightened, but his smile remained unchanged.

"Unload the cargo. It'll be dark soon."

The workers began unloading. Crates of silk, cloth, and pottery were carried off the ships and stacked on the dock.

No one noticed the pairs of eyes peering out through gaps in the planks deep inside those cargo holds.

"This surprise attack you've planned..."

Arthur had come to Leon's side at some point, his brow furrowed. "There's no honor in it... wars aren't fought this way in Westeros."

Leon slowly turned, his eyes fixed on Arthur. "This is war. Honor can't keep people from dying..."

He turned and strode away.

"I'm a cursed dwarf. I have no fucking honor."

The sun gradually sank in the west.

After dark, Pudding Face quietly slipped off the ship.

Dressed in coarse cloth decorated with feathers, his jester's face paint reapplied, he looked like a local vagabond.

He wandered around the docks, then slipped into a tavern beside the harbor.

The tavern was packed.

Sailors, dockworkers, and a few soldiers in leather armor crowded around tables, drinking and gambling.

Pudding Face squeezed up to the bar, ordered a cup of cheap liquor, and pricked up his ears to listen to the conversations around him.

"Walano Island... heard fighting's broken out again..."

"...ever since Prince Jalabhar fled, his younger brother's been throwing his weight around..."

"...we've got three camps, one to the north and two in the river valley..."

Pudding Face drank without betraying anything, committing every word to memory.

Half an hour later, he slipped out of the tavern and disappeared into the night.

Meanwhile, Leon's seven ships quietly approached the harbor.

There were no lights or horns, only the faint sound of oars passing through the water.

Across the cargo holds of all the ships, three hundred soldiers stood fully equipped and ready to move.

Leon stood at the bow, watching closely.

He took in the positions of the few soldiers keeping watch on the docks, how often they yawned, and when they changed shifts.

"Now," he said quietly.

The seven ships docked at once.

The cargo hatches opened, and soldiers poured out like a tide.

Before the night guards on the docks could react, they were pinned to the ground and gagged with rags.

The harbor was soon under control.

Leon stepped onto the dock and glanced at the bound prisoners.

"Block every road," he said. "Don't let so much as a rat get out."

Arthur nodded and disappeared into the night with a squad of men.

Half an hour later, every route around the harbor had been sealed. No one could get out to raise the alarm.

Pudding Face slipped back into the harbor at midnight and ducked into the dockside warehouse Leon had temporarily requisitioned.

"I've got the details," he panted, spreading out a sheet of paper. "Three rebel camps."

He drew on the paper with a charcoal pencil.

"This one to the north is closest to the harbor. About two hundred men, an outpost. This one in the middle is in the river valley. About three hundred men, their main force. The innermost one is near the palace, another three hundred men. The rebel leader, Jalabhar's younger brother, is there."

Leon stared at the map. "What kind of troops?"

Pudding Face pointed at the map.

"The northern camp has the slackest defenses. All locals. The middle camp is well trained-mercenaries from Essos. The innermost camp has the prince's elite household guards. They won't be easy to fight."

Leon fell silent for a few seconds.

"Do the rebels know something's happened at the harbor?"

Pudding Face shook his head.

"No. Those people in the tavern are still drinking. Nobody's run north."

The corners of Leon's mouth lifted slightly.

"Then let them keep drinking."

He rose and looked at the people around him.

Arthur, Oswell, Thea, Jalabhar, Norman.

"We strike as soon as possible," he said.

Leon spread the map on the table and began assigning tasks.

"The northern camp is an outpost." He pointed to a spot on the map. "Two hundred men, locals, almost all archers. We need a group to get in close, launch a surprise attack, and drive them out."

He looked at Oswell.

"Take fifty men. Attack from the east and start setting fires. Burn the tents and cause chaos. Don't get bogged down fighting. Drive them south."

Oswell grinned.

"Setting fires is my specialty."

Leon pointed to the middle camp.

"This is their main force. When they hear about the fire in the north, they'll send men to investigate. Once they split their forces, we strike."

He looked at Arthur.

"Take a hundred men and lie in ambush in the Rainwood to the west. Once they split their forces, attack from the flank and cut off their retreat."

Arthur nodded.

Leon pointed to the innermost camp.

"This is the palace, where the rebel leader is. Three hundred elite troops."

He looked at Thea.

"Take fifty men and protect Jalabhar and his exiles. Once the fighting starts up ahead, feint from the south to draw their attention."

Thea frowned.

"Young master, what about you?"

Leon pointed to the center of the three camps on the map. "I'll take the remaining hundred. Once you've drawn all their attention, we'll drive straight in along the path to the east and cut off the head."

Everyone looked at him.

"That path," Arthur said hesitantly, "is narrow. It could easily be blocked."

Leon shook his head.

"It won't be blocked," he said. "Because by then, everyone's attention will be outside."

He raised his head and looked at them.

"The three camps send messages to each other. If we attack head-on, it's eight hundred against three hundred. We can't win. But if we make them doubt one another and rush to each other's aid, we can defeat them one by one."

He pointed north.

"Attack the north first and force them to flee south." He pointed to the middle again. "When the men in the middle camp hear the commotion to the north, they'll send people to investigate. Once those men have gone far enough, Arthur attacks from the flank, and the middle camp falls into chaos."

Leon then pointed to the palace.

"When the men at the palace hear fighting on both sides, they'll hesitate. Should they reinforce the middle first, or hold the palace? While they're hesitating, we'll already be there."

Jalabhar listened, dumbfounded.

"You... how did you come up with this plan?"

Leon did not answer.

As someone from the East, who hadn't dreamed of being a strategist of that era?

He simply looked at the map.

"We move in an hour. Go get ready."

An hour later, the northern camp went up in flames.

Oswell led fifty men charging in from the east, burning every tent they came across and cutting down everyone they saw.

The locals woke with a start and ran out naked, without even grabbing their goldenheart bows, only to be met head-on by blades.

Sobs, screams, and the crackle of flames mingled together.

Before an incense stick could burn down, the northern camp had fallen into chaos.

The rebels scattered and fled, most of them running south, just as Leon had anticipated.

Sure enough, the middle camp sent men to investigate.

A force of about a hundred reinforcements hurried north. They had only made it halfway when Arthur charged out of the woods with a hundred men.

Dawn shone pale in the firelight, and someone fell with every swing.

The hundred reinforcements were scattered in an instant, some dying and others fleeing.

Hearing the battle cries outside and seeing the flames to the north, the rebels in the middle camp panicked.

Some wanted to send aid, some wanted to defend the camp, and others had already begun packing to flee.

Amid the chaos, Arthur led his men in from the flank. Clashing blades, screams, and roars rang through the night sky.

At the height of the fighting, Leon led a hundred men quietly toward the palace along the eastern path.

The path was indeed narrow, with dense bushes on either side.

But just as Leon had expected, everyone's attention had been drawn to the fighting outside. No one noticed the path.

When they reached the palace perimeter, they saw the rebels inside running about in confusion.

Someone shouted, "There's fighting to the north!"

Someone shouted, "The middle camp's in chaos too!"

Someone shouted, "Hold the palace! Stop running around!"

Leon raised a hand, signaling his men to halt.

He watched the palace gates, [Eye of Insight] working at full power.

He could "see" how many people were inside, who was panicking, and who was still holding firm. It was all laid bare before his eyes.

"Wait. Wait until they're in complete chaos."

The battle cries outside drew closer. The flames to the north reddened half the sky. Screams from the middle camp drifted over on the wind.

The rebels in the palace descended into utter chaos.

Someone opened the gates and tried to rush out to investigate, only to be cut down by one of Leon's men. Someone climbed onto the wall to look outside and was shot down by a crossbow bolt.

Leon raised his hand and swept it forward.

"Charge!"

A hundred men flooded into the palace like a tide.

Clashing blades, screams, and pleas for mercy mingled together. Leon led a squad straight into the depths of the palace.

His short sword and dagger flashed in the firelight. Every time he struck, someone fell.

He saw a young man in an ornate robe running toward the rear courtyard, escorted by several household guards.

That should be Jalabhar's younger brother.

"After him!"

In the rear courtyard, the rebel leader was cornered against a wall.

He was about twenty, dark-skinned, with features that bore some resemblance to Jalabhar's, but his eyes were filled with terror and venom.

Almost all his household guards were dead. Only a few remained in front of him.

Leon stepped forward.

"Surrender, and you can live."

The rebel leader gritted his teeth, glared at Leon, and asked in the Common Tongue:

"Dwarf... who the fuck are you?"

Leon did not grow angry. He simply watched him in silence.

The fighting continued around them, battle cries and screams rising one after another. Yet this corner suddenly fell quiet.

That mass of color in the rebel leader's chest-deep red anger, pitch-black fear, and a trace of pale yellow confusion.

He was trembling.

Leon knew he feared defeat. Feared death. Feared being killed by his own brother's hand.

Leon took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Look at me," he said.

The rebel leader involuntarily looked into his eyes.

Those pale purple eyes looked like two cold gemstones in the firelight.

Leon focused, reaching through the anger, through the fear, and touching that mass of confusion.

Not erasing it. Just nudging it.

Making it turn. Making it become something else.

"You..." The rebel leader's voice suddenly changed. "I... how did I get here?"

The two personal guards behind him froze.

"My lord?"

The rebel leader clutched his head, his face filled with pain.

"I... what have I done?"

Leon stood where he was, utterly still.

His nose began to feel hot.

Blood dripped onto the ground.

The rebel leader raised his head and looked at him.

The anger in those eyes was gone, and so was the fear.

All that remained was a deep... confusion?

"Who are you?" he asked.

Leon opened his mouth to say something, but his vision went black.

He collapsed.

When Leon opened his eyes again, he saw Thea's face.

"Young master!" Thea's eyes were red. "You're awake!"

Leon shifted and found himself lying on a soft bed. The room around him was unfamiliar, with brightly colored feather decorations hanging on the walls.

"This is..."

"The palace," Thea said. "Your room."

Leon slowly sat up and touched his nose. Dried gauze was stuck to it.

"How long was I unconscious this time?"

"A day and a night." Thea's voice trembled a little. "You scared me to death."

Leon fell silent for a few seconds.

"What about Jalabhar's younger brother?"

Thea's expression grew complicated.

"He... surrendered," she said quietly.

"That night, after you collapsed, the rebel leader suddenly seemed like a different person.

He told his guards to put down their weapons and said, 'No more fighting.' When Jalabhar arrived, he was kneeling on the ground, crying, 'Brother, I was wrong.'"

Leon said nothing.

Thea looked at him, her eyes full of worry.

"Young master, I'm the only one who knows you did it," she said softly. "Neither Arthur nor Oswell knows. They think you came down with some strange illness."

Leon nodded. "Don't tell anyone."

Thea nodded.

That afternoon, Leon saw Jalabhar's younger brother.

He knelt in the palace hall, his head lowered and his whole body trembling. Jalabhar stood before him, his expression utterly conflicted.

Leon walked in.

The rebel leader raised his head and saw him, a trace of confusion flashing in his eyes.

"You... who are you?"

Leon looked at him.

"You don't remember?"

The rebel leader shook his head.

"All I remember is... that night, someone told me to surrender. Then... then I didn't want to fight anymore."

Leon said nothing, only looked at Jalabhar.

Jalabhar took a deep breath and turned to his younger brother.

"Do you know what you've done?"

His younger brother lowered his head.

"I know. I betrayed you, drove you out, and wanted to be prince myself."

Jalabhar clenched his fists.

"Do you know how I lived through this past year in exile?"

His younger brother said nothing.

Tears streamed down Jalabhar's face, but he did not strike him.

"Guards," he said. "Lock him up. I'll decide once I've thought it through."

The guards led his younger brother away.

Jalabhar turned to look at Leon.

"Thank you."

Leon shook his head.

"No need. We each got what we needed."

Jalabhar's dark brown eyes were filled with conflicting feelings.

"Your men," he said. "Thirty-seven died, and more than fifty were wounded."

Leon fell silent for a few seconds.

Thirty-seven.

Those were thirty-seven lives, thirty-seven families, thirty-seven men who had followed him across the sea to their deaths.

"Double the death benefits," he said. "Deduct it from my share."

Jalabhar froze.

"You..."

"They died for me," Leon said. "I'm responsible."

That evening, Leon sat alone on the palace roof, gazing at the stars filling the sky.

Thea sat beside him, holding Rhaenys.

Rhaenys was already asleep, nestled in Thea's arms, breathing evenly.

"Young master," Thea said softly. "What's wrong?"

Leon was silent for a long time.

He said, "Thea, I'm wondering whether all of this was worth it."

Thea said nothing.

Leon lowered his head and looked at his hands.

These hands had planned a night raid that had killed who knew how many people.

These hands had also changed a person's thoughts, turning him into someone loyal to Leon.

"Jalabhar's younger brother," he said. "What was he like before?"

Thea thought for a moment.

"Jalabhar said he was very good and obedient as a child. Then, for some reason, he changed, becoming unrecognizable and bloodthirsty."

Leon knew why.

Power. Greed. Desire.

These things could turn a person into a devil.

And he had changed him in another way.

But he did not know whether what he had done was right or wrong.

"Young master," Thea suddenly said, "do you remember what you said to me when you were little?"

Leon looked at her.

"You said, 'Thea, thank you.' You were only two then."

The corners of Leon's mouth lifted slightly.

"I remember."

Thea smiled softly.

"That was when I knew you weren't an ordinary person."

She looked at Leon, her eyes full of resolve.

"So no matter what you do, I'll follow you. Right or wrong, I'll follow you."

Leon said nothing.

He looked up at the starry sky.

In the distance, the fields of Red Flower Vale shone silver in the moonlight.

Those who had died were buried beneath those fields.

Thirty-seven.

They would remain in this land forever.

And he still had to keep going.

"Let's go." He stood up. "There's still a lot to do tomorrow."

The night breeze blew past, carrying the salt of the sea and the scent of distant cooking fires.

Red Flower Vale had been reclaimed.