Countless swords, spears, and helmets formed a sea of metal, banners, and human heads. On a "reef" in the middle of this turbulent sea, Jon Connington stopped observing the turtle formation of the Western Expeditionary Army.
"The last remnants inside the turtle's belly are starting to gather. They seem to be moving toward the riverbank." He first confirmed the observation post's report in simple, clear words, then muttered doubtfully, "Strange. How does Aegor always seem to react one step ahead? Could it be that he can foresee the future?"
"If he could foresee the future, he would not have come to fight this battle with us," Randyll Tarly replied without hesitation. "Deploying soldiers toward the riverbank? How many soldiers does he have left to deploy? The first wave of the fleet can land over two thousand men, and the soldiers he has left will definitely not exceed that number, while we still have nearly ten thousand men on the north bank who can be thrown into the battlefield at once!"
Facing a sand table that showed the battlefield situation with densely packed war pieces, Aegon agreed with Tarly's judgment. "That's right. What we need to focus on now is what Garlan's troops are doing. He must firmly pin down the enemy's southern and eastern forces to create a favorable landing environment for the transport fleet!"
Mace Tyrell trembled as he answered for his absent son. "He divided the remaining troops after the first round of attack into two groups and is maintaining pressure on the front line..."
"That is not enough! He was the one who rashly took the bait first and forced the whole army to launch the decisive battle early. How can he be overly cautious when he is most needed to continue applying pressure?" Aegon rarely showed such a stern attitude toward his father-in-law and brother-in-law. He needed the support of House Tyrell, that was true, but if this battle was not won, then no matter how close House Tyrell became to him or how much they treated him as family, it would be of no use. "Garlan thinks that by merely maintaining a presence, he can force Aegor not to move soldiers from both lines. What if the opponent sees through his thoughts and leaves only a small number of troops to face him? Send out all the messengers. Order him to attack again at all costs, and absolutely do not give that Night's Watchman a moment to breathe!"
His son-in-law's tough attitude made Mace dissatisfied, but he also knew that this battle had indeed lost the initiative because Garlan had been deceived and fallen into a trap. He understood even more clearly that attacking with the whole army at this moment, regardless of casualties, was undoubtedly the optimal solution. There was nothing else he could do. He could only grit his teeth and nod in agreement, quickly beckoning to summon the guards and issue the king's order.
A small team of messengers rode away on fast horses, leaving a trail of dust behind them, and the hearts of those in the command post settled slightly. Although the tactical objective of breaking the Western Expeditionary Army's defensive formation had not yet been achieved, the initiative on the battlefield was still in the hands of the Reach side, at least on the surface, and the ability to deliver messages through messengers was barely guaranteed.
That being said, the atmosphere at the scene remained heavy and tense. Unlike the soldiers below, who had no understanding of the overall battlefield situation, those in the command layer were well aware of one fact: this temporary advantage had been built by rapidly burning through morale.
The army was large, but the front line was not wide, and the enemy had conservatively chosen not to pursue their victory. The Reachmen Allied Forces, relying on their numerical advantage, could quickly replace one batch of soldiers with another when the former became exhausted... By continuously adding troops wave after wave like this, the frontline combat personnel were always fresh forces who had just entered the battle. The huge gap in morale became apparent at this point. The infantry on Daenerys's Western Expeditionary Army side, after being replaced, still had the spirit and physical strength to fight again and could re-enter combat after a period of rest, while the Reachmen... every batch of soldiers who withdrew were like sponges squeezed dry, having completely exhausted their remaining morale and will to fight during the short engagement. Although they were nominally resting off the field, they were absolutely unable to participate in another battle.
The thousands of seemingly high-spirited young men surrounding the command post were the last batch of the Golden Company and Highgarden elite infantry who had not yet participated in battle today. They would be thrown into combat at the critical moment when the shallow-draft warships from the Shield Islands also landed soldiers north of the enemy formation, leading the final decisive siege!
A group of Riverlands nobles and Golden Company commanders were whispering together, finalizing the details of the final attack. So far, there was still considerable hope for victory. All of Aegor's outer forces had been firmly pinned down, and the reserves remaining in the formation had all been drawn out. As for the decisive artillery... although they had no clever way to contain it, they at least had a clumsy method to deal with it. Under a four-sided siege, no matter how powerful the artillery was, it could not achieve overwhelming firepower on every side. They did not need to suppress the Gift Army's firepower. They only needed to break through any one side of the trapezoidal formation to win.
Aegon's demand for Garlan to attack again was not truly because he expected a group of cavalry who had already suffered setbacks to regain morale and create a miracle. Rather, he needed them to draw enemy firepower, providing relatively favorable conditions for the landing battle by the Mander and the final general assault by his main force!
...
The moment of decisive victory was close at hand, but without warning, the "sea" in front of the command post's "reef" suddenly became turbulent. A mysterious object pierced through the engaged troops ahead, crossed the low protective wall designed to prevent ricochets, and shot directly into the waiting Highgarden elites. Along its path, soldiers panicked, pushing one another as they dodged. The scene was like a shark with its dorsal fin exposed, cutting through the waves and charging toward its prey. It seemed slow but was actually fast, moving with a clear target toward the elevated position where the commanders were located. Shouts of panic and fear followed closely, reaching their ears as they witnessed it.
"What's happening?"
Jon Connington's back tensed in alarm. This place was not far from the front line, but it was definitely a position difficult for artillery to reach, let alone this strange linear... thing. Whether it was a trail or something else, he did not know what to call it.
"A black mass. I don't know if it's a shadow or smoke, but it's coming this way!"
"Shadowbinding Art!"
Jon Connington almost instantly shouted the name of the thing. It was rumored that Daenerys's former husband, Renly Baratheon, had died under the assassination of this vicious magic. How could anyone who survived not try to learn more about it?
In an instant, he drew his sword, stepped forward, and rushed in front of King Aegon, shielding the young king behind him like a protective mother hen. "Sorcerers, where are the sorcerers?"
Two tall, thin men dressed in strange clothes, clearly not from Westeros, emerged from the group of guards in response. "Do not worry, my lord. We have already sprinkled disintegrating dust in a circle around the command platform. The shadow cannot pass through."
As they spoke, the object causing the commotion approached the command platform, and everyone could finally see its form with their own eyes. It was a mass of smoke that sunlight could not penetrate or disperse. Its color somewhat resembled the exhaust from burning asphalt, but it was restrained and contained, not spreading outward, clearly not a natural thing. Even stranger, although it had vaguely condensed into a humanoid shape, it was not running, but floating in midair above the ground, approaching from a distance at astonishing speed.
The two male sorcerers, hired by the Golden Company through connections from across the Narrow Sea and claiming to be able to counter the Shadowbinding Art, made a rookie mistake due to their lack of practical experience. The disintegrating dust they had scattered on the ground around them could indeed suppress the shadow's existence in this world, but it could not stop the shadow from leaping over it from above!
The humanoid shadow gracefully lifted its form for a moment as if lifting a skirt, flying over a dozen feet and lightly landing on the small mound where the Reachmen Allied Forces commanders were gathered. The scene instantly descended into chaos. The timid screamed and fled the area. The brave gripped their swords tightly and confronted it, and some even threw amulets of the seven-pointed star at this ghostly thing... Whether it was stones, projectiles, swords, or the emblems of the Seven Gods, they could only pass through its body and emerge from the other side, unable to cause it any harm.
The shadow did not counterattack. Instead, it stood quietly in the field, its expressionless face slowly twisting as if scanning the scene and searching for a target to hunt.
"Cunning villain, to actually harbor and indulge demons!" Connington sternly rebuked, uselessly spitting a remark at Aegor, who was miles away. He quickly reacted, threw away his steel sword, which was likely useless, snatched the small bag from the trembling hand of the male sorcerer whose hand no longer obeyed him, unceremoniously grabbed a handful of powder, and scattered it toward the shadow. "Today, you shall not harm a single hair on Your Grace's head!"
The dust contained magic-suppressing metal shavings, and in an instant, the air was filled with glittering gold and silver specks.
From the detail of the shadow crossing the ground isolation line, he judged that the powder brought by the sorcerer was indeed effective, and the reaction from the other side confirmed this guess. The dark humanoid figure suddenly recoiled several feet when faced with these light, harmless, glittering specks, startling the people in that direction into jumping back. Seeing this, everyone swarmed over, crowding around Aegon and behind Connington, unsure whether they were protecting the king or seeking protection.
What the panicked and bewildered Reachmen nobles, almost scared to death, did not know was that the shadow before them was not having an easy time either. The Shadowbinding Art was never a simple or easy-to-cast minor spell, and controlling it from a distance of thousands of meters made the magic consumption terrifying. Even worse, although it had found the right place by following the tallest flag, the caster, or more accurately, Melisandre, did not recognize the young king who was the most valuable assassination target... The actions of everyone at this moment undoubtedly pointed out Aegon's approximate location, but with the inhibiting dust present, it had only one chance to condense into a physical form and affect the material world!
After just one second, the shadow's controller decided on the target.
It turned and pounced with incredible speed toward the tallest flag at the command post, the red three-headed dragon banner symbolizing Aegon.
"Oh no!" Jon Connington jumped up in fright, and he immediately realized that strategically speaking, Aegon was undoubtedly the enemy's primary assassination target. However, at this very moment on the battlefield, and at the final critical stage of the decisive battle, the opponent did indeed have a tactical target no less important than the king himself... perhaps even better.
The military banner!
"How dare you!" Roaring, the Hand of the King, Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost, his hair already graying, grabbed a handful of magic-suppressing powder and threw himself at the shadow without regard for his own safety.
He charged with the determination to die, but unfortunately, he was half a step too late.
The shadow briefly condensed part of its body into an axe blade for an instant, severing the thick flagstaff in the middle with a force impossible for mortals. After exhausting its magic, it did not linger for even a blink of an eye, cleanly dissipating into a wisp of gray smoke in the air.
With a crisp "crack," Connington lunged at empty air, only able to watch as the tall banner fell, as if announcing the outcome of this war.
(To be continued.)
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