Chapter 229: Dragonrider's Bloody Battle in Dorne
As the dragon's roar thundered across the battlefield, every other sound—shouts of fury, cries of agony, the clash of steel—vanished in an instant.
Whether they were Dornish soldiers still fighting desperately or the silent ranks of the Unsullied advancing in formation, all lifted their heads at once, gripped by shock, searching for the source of that terrifying cry.
In the sky—a shadow swept in on beating wings.
Its scales, gray-white like the dying embers of molten rock, reflected a cold, eerie sheen in the morning light. Its thick, powerful neck arched high, tearing through the murky air. Upon its massive, predatory head, a pair of vertical pupils burned with molten savagery.
As if pleased by the attention, Illyon let out a second roar.
The primal force carried in its bloodline struck at the hearts of all who heard it—chests tightened, and even the earth beneath their feet seemed to tremble in resonance.
"A dragon!"
"It's a dragon!"
Every face was filled with utter disbelief.
For the people of Dorne, although news of two great dragons returning to the world had long spread across both sides of the Narrow Sea, their land had been consumed by constant internal strife. No lord had journeyed to King's Landing to attend the grand "Dragon's Return" ceremony.
And now, that legendary creature stood before them.
Its ferocious, destruction-laden form struck straight into the depths of their souls.
After all, the last time a dragon had appeared in Dorne…
…was long, long ago.
"It's him…"
Jynessa tilted her head upward, her pale lips trembling as she murmured.
But she had no time to linger in memory. A spark of fighting spirit—one that had nearly been extinguished—suddenly ignited in her eyes, blazing fiercely once more.
She drew a deep breath, her lungs filling with blood-scented air. With all her strength, she raised her spear, stained red with enemy blood, and pointed it straight at the tight formation of the Unsullied ahead.
Her torn voice rang out with overwhelming force, echoing in the ears of every allied soldier still fighting:
"Reinforcements have arrived!"
"Do you see it? The Regent fights for us!"
"Warriors—let the blood of those damned enemies stain the soil of Dorne! For Dorne! For freedom!"
"It's time to strike back—Dornishmen!!!"
Her roar was no less than the clearest call to charge.
The soldiers of Dorne, once pushed to the brink, looked up at the terrifying creature circling above—
The Dornish do not fear.
"The fallen star shall rise again!"
"We are the wings of the sky!"
"The gates of Dorne—we shall defend them!"
"Dorne… shall prevail!!!"
Battle cries from countless houses erupted at once, merging into a thunderous wave.
A near-mad courage surged forth.
---
The battle line—once crushed immobile under the Unsullied's cold, efficient slaughter—suddenly surged back to life.
"Kill these black-shelled vermin!"
"The gods protect Dorne!!"
"We have a dragon!"
Eyes bloodshot, weapons clenched tight, the soldiers charged forward, trampling over the corpses of friend and foe alike, erupting with strength far beyond before.
Like beasts freed from their chains, they hurled themselves in a frenzied assault against the black phalanx of the Unsullied.
A battered soldier barely deflected a spear thrust with his shield, then roared as he lunged forward, locking his arms around an Unsullied's waist. Even as another spear pierced through his shoulder, he held on—buying a single, precious moment for the comrade behind him to strike.
A Dayne soldier, disarmed, bellowed as he slammed his own body into the formation, using flesh and blood to shatter their perfect coordination.
The tide of battle began to shift.
The Unsullied remained silent, precise, and deadly—spears punching through leather armor, harvesting lives with ruthless efficiency. But no longer were they the sole executioners.
They had become prey—being torn apart by madness-fueled fury.
With morale surging, the Dornish forces organized a counterattack. Cracks began to appear again and again in the Unsullied's black shield wall. Each advance now cost them several times—even ten times—the price they had paid before.
"Die!"
Jynessa drove her spear forward, killing another Unsullied. Around her, knights began to rally once more.
Just as she prepared to charge again—to tear open a wider breach for the trapped allies—
A distant rumble rose.
Not deafening—but unmistakable.
Hoofbeats.
Her gaze snapped toward the rear, past the chaos of clashing steel.
What she saw first was a pure white cloak, billowing high above all others—its rider far ahead of the knights behind, charging straight toward the Unsullied line.
White armor gleamed coldly amid the spray of blood—like a warrior descended from the heavens.
His white warhorse thundered forward, plunging straight into the flank of the formation.
In his hands—two swords.
The greatsword Dragonfang, black as night, now wreathed in dark crimson flames.
And in his left hand—Dawn, once pale as first light, now engulfed in blazing gold-white fire.
With every swing, a storm of heat erupted.
The black blade fell in a brutal arc—its crimson fire tearing effortlessly through armor and flesh, cleaving an Unsullied clean in two, the corpse igniting as it fell.
At the same time, Dawn swept across—golden-white flames engulfing three spear-wielding soldiers, turning them instantly into writhing human torches.
The stench of burning flesh spread in an instant.
Lance rode on—unstoppable.
Crimson and white flames intertwined around him, forming twin wheels of death, devouring all who dared approach.
Where he rode—slaughter followed.
The Unsullied moved to encircle him, their spears forming tight ranks—but before such godlike force, it meant nothing. Even raw strength alone could tear through their bodies—let alone blades imbued with magic.
A warrior of blade and sorcery—
Terrifying beyond measure.
Before the stunned eyes of all, the white-armored knight carved a massive breach into the black line—alone.
Behind him, nearly a hundred elite knights surged forward, following in his wake like a living inferno, widening the bloody corridor.
In mere moments, the pressure on the front lines eased dramatically.
For the first time—
The Unsullied formation wavered.
And yet—
It was not over.
---
Above the battlefield—
The ruler of the skies delivered its judgment.
Illyon, circling overhead, seemed to answer its master's call. Its massive body plunged downward, wings spanning six meters, stirring a violent gale.
Its molten, savage eyes locked onto the densest cluster of enemies below.
Its jaws opened—
And within its throat, destruction gathered.
Then—
A torrent of blazing crimson fire erupted.
The moment it struck the ground, sand melted and crystallized under the terrifying heat.
Dozens of Unsullied were instantly reduced to charred, twisted husks.
Without pause, the dragon swept forward, unleashing fire again—like boiling oil poured over an anthill.
Wherever dragonfire touched—
Life ceased to exist.
Only a blackened path of death remained.
With the dragon's intervention, this was no longer a battle—
It was annihilation.
Even Lance's blazing blades could not match such efficiency.
---
High upon the Triple Walls—
Doran Martell gripped the armrests of his redwood wheelchair, veins bulging beneath his thin skin.
All calm and mockery had vanished from his pale face, replaced by something twisted in the flickering firelight.
His gaze—cold, venomous—mirrored that of his brother Oberyn.
Locked on the battlefield below.
On the white-armored knight.
On the dragon overhead.
Each beat of its wings—
Each dying cry—
Struck him like a slap.
Lance… Lot.
Why?
Why is it always you?
Why—every single time—YOU?!
His silent rage roared within, so intense it seemed to awaken pain in his long-dead legs—as though he might rise from his chair at any moment.
He wanted nothing more than to tear that man apart.
---
The battlefield descended into a desperate stalemate of slaughter.
Front, rear—
And now, the sky.
The Unsullied fought on, machine-like, flawless.
Ahead, Lance cut through enemies with blazing swords, his white armor stained with blood and ash.
Behind, Jynessa's forces hurled themselves forward at terrible cost.
The Unsullied were dying—
But being replaced just as fast.
They stepped over the dead without hesitation—as if lives meant nothing.
"This won't work!" a noble roared, face twisted beneath his helm.
"Damn it—are they made of stone?!"
"No—even stone should crack under fire! What are these monsters?!"
Jynessa's heart sank.
Victory might still be theirs—
But at this cost?
It would be a hollow one.
"LANCE LOT!!!"
She shouted instinctively into the chaos.
She didn't know the solution—
But she knew he would.
---
As if hearing her, Lance turned.
Their eyes met.
Just for a moment—
He understood.
Then he looked up.
His blue eyes pierced through the battlefield—
Toward the walls.
Toward Doran.
Across hundreds of paces—
Their gazes collided.
Time seemed to freeze.
A faint smile curled on the blood-streaked face of the white knight.
Found you.
---
Power exploded from him.
With a thunderous roar, flames surged from both swords.
His body twisted like a drawn bow released—
"Dawnbrand!"
"Twin strike!"
A ring of fire burst outward, warping the air itself.
In an instant—
Everything within five meters was erased.
A vacuum of death.
---
Then—
He spoke a single word.
"Come."
In Valyrian.
---
Illyon answered.
With a sharp, eager cry, it folded its wings and dove.
Straight toward him.
---
And before all eyes—
Lance stood upright on his saddle—
And leapt.
Man and dragon met in midair—
Like a legend come to life.
He landed cleanly upon its back.
A Dragonrider.
---
They rose.
Straight toward the walls.
"Loose arrows! LOOSE!!"
Too late.
With a single beat of its wings, Illyon blasted the archers back, scattering aim and breath alike.
Then—
It landed.
Stone shattered beneath its claws.
Its massive head loomed forward—
Breath hot with sulfur—
Twi
n streams of flame bursting forth at Doran's feet.
Heat scorched skin.
Fear froze blood.
---
From its back, the white-armored knight descended lightly.
Two blazing swords dragged at his sides, hissing against stone.
He stepped forward.
Looking down at the prince who once seemed in control of everything.
A cold smile formed.
"Doran Martell."
"Long time no see."