"Charge!"
The army marched out of the city and immediately launched a fierce counterattack.
A murderous glint flashed in Count Feier's eyes. Encountering a besieging soldier head-on, he swung his morning star directly, crushing the opponent's head.
"You want to besiege the city? Go on, try it again!"
"Attack!"
Witnessing the dragon's might, Stormlands rebels were terrified, having long lost their will for a decisive battle, leaving only hearts full of hesitation.
"Silver Axe" Fell was younger, but his strikes were even heavier than his father's.
Wherever he went, if he saw a rebel who didn't flee, his battle-axe would immediately split their head open.
With a bang, the head burst like a watermelon.
He was fortunate enough to have mastered Life Force; his strength was just that exaggerated.
The momentum of the three-family coalition was like a rainbow, quickly driving the rebels far away.
"My Lord Duke, order a retreat!"
Earl Ralph was scared out of his wits, intending to temporarily avoid the brunt of the attack.
He had barely seen the Red Dragon when the vanguard of the siege was buried in a sea of fire, completely throwing the army's order into chaos.
Fear of the unknown made him instinctively want to flee.
"Screee!"
Daeron rode Caraxes in dives back and forth, clearing the rebels at the city gates, and immediately charged toward the clusters of rebels, forcibly carving out a path of deathly flames.
On the battlefield, human life was cheaper than grass paper.
He could only keep directing the dragon to breathe fire to end the battle as quickly as possible.
"A dragon—"
Robert's eyes were dull, frozen in place, unable to move.
He had seen a dragon before.
At the Tourney at Harrenhal, Dragon Prince Daeron appeared every day on dragonback, showcasing the three dragons he had raised.
Before today, he only considered dragons to be larger fierce beasts, not something impossible to deal with.
But now, watching with his own eyes as Stormlands coalition was incinerated by the dragon's Dragonfire, fleeing in all directions without any power to resist, a deep sense of powerlessness filled his body, pressing down until he could hardly breathe.
"How can the difference in strength be so vast?"
Robert was mentally shaken; the extreme pressure birthed resentment, giving him new strength.
Earl Ralph shouted anxiously: "My Lord Duke, let's go!"
"If I retreat now, how will I kill Rhaegar!!"
Robert's face was flushed red. He suddenly charged on his Great-horned Elk, his right hand wildly swinging his warhammer.
He wanted to slay the dragon!
"He's crazy, the Duke has gone mad."
Earl Ralph was completely dumbfounded.
"Daeron Targaryen!!"
Robert's voice was like thunder. His eyes were fixed on the Red Dragon in mid-air, swinging his warhammer into a whirlwind.
"Hmm?" Daeron heard someone calling his name.
Looking down, he saw Robert weaving through the chaotic army, charging straight toward the diving Red Dragon once again.
A flash of surprise crossed Daeron's eyes. Not wanting to waste the other's "kindness," he said calmly: "Dragonfire, Caraxes!"
Caraxes' molten-gold vertical pupils locked onto the tiny insect on the ground. His broad red wings spread as he dove low, opening his dragon maw wide.
"Screee—!"
The dragon's cry echoed through the heavens, and the intense flames followed immediately.
The crimson Dragonfire was like a pillar of fire dividing heaven and earth. Following the Red Dragon's dive path, it swept straight toward Robert, who was galloping below.
"Ours is the Fury!!"
Robert roared hoarsely, a red light flashing in his eyes. All his strength poured into his right arm as he threw the warhammer from bottom to top with massive force.
For the sake of winning the war, he had absorbed a ruby and strengthened his power through the Gem Sequence.
No one could block his full-strength hammer strike.
Boom—
Under the outpouring Dragonfire, the steel warhammer's speed dropped sharply, gradually twisting and melting in the firelight until it became a piece of blackened scrap metal.
Daeron's eyes were cold. He guided Caraxes to continue the dive, the Dragonfire closing in on the stunned Robert.
"How can this be?"
Robert was dumbstruck, his mind suffering a powerful blow, stopping in his tracks mid-charge.
The Dragonfire descended, unavoidable.
"My Lord Duke!"
Earl Ralph rode over, lunging to the rescue, knocking Robert off the Great-horned Elk.
Boom—
The Great-horned Elk and the warhorse let out shrill cries as their fur was burned away by the Dragonfire, losing their lives in an instant.
"He was saved?"
Daeron was surprised. After a brief thought, he directed the dragon to burn in another direction.
That hammer Robert threw just now had indeed made him feel a slight sense of danger.
That strike wasn't aimed at the dragon, but at him on the dragon's back.
He had gladly accepted Robert's challenge to see if his warhammer was harder or if Caraxes' Dragonfire was hotter.
But Robert's head wasn't quite right; he had miscalculated his own strength.
That warhammer wasn't good enough.
The strength he took pride in wasn't good enough either.
Before a dragon, he couldn't even withstand the shockwave of the Dragonfire's aftermath.
"This way, Caraxes!"
Daeron changed direction, incinerating Stormlands rebels and driving them toward the Blueburn River.
The Blueburn River was a tributary of the Mander River.
Fawnton was located at the end of the Blueburn River.
As Caraxes' Dragonfire burned, Stormlands rebels fled in panic. Many jumped into the Blueburn River, either drowning or being trampled into the riverbed and suffocating.
Fortunately, the river at the end of the Blueburn was not wide; otherwise, just wading across would have left less than one in ten rebels alive.
"My Lord Duke, hurry, leave."
Earl Ralph was dizzy, the flesh on his back mangled by the Dragonfire.
Robert, who had been pinned beneath him, was actually not much injured.
He quickly scrambled up. Seeing that the surroundings were full of Royalist troops, he had no time to grieve for the death of his Great-horned Elk. He grabbed a warhorse, mounted it, and chose to flee.
Before, he wanted to clash with the dragon to see if it was truly matchless.
He had just tried, and it was simply impossible.
To kill Rhaegar, he had to stay alive and retreat quickly.
"Lord Ralph, I will pay to ransom you."
Taking one last look at the unconscious Earl Ralph, Robert galloped away without any hesitation.
No more nonsense.
If he lived, the captured nobles would have a chance to be exchanged as hostages.
If he died, not a single one would survive.
"Run then, just don't die here."
Daeron glanced back, letting Robert escape by cutting his losses.
An enemy defeated by his hand was never considered an opponent again.
I'll give you time to catch up, until I'm out of your sight.
Having a dragon means being able to do whatever one wants!!
1
The battle continued until evening.
Under Daeron's lead, the three-family coalition pursued all the way, and after driving Stormlands rebels across the Blueburn River, they chased them for another five kilometers.
It wasn't until both sides were exhausted that they reluctantly stopped.
What does it mean to chase the enemy across a river and then for another five kilometers?
Usually, an army's marching speed is only 20-30 kilometers a day, and it would slow down by more than half when encountering rivers and rough terrain.
Inspired by the dragon's morale, the three-family coalition, with their exhausted bodies from defending the city, forcibly drove the opponent across a river and chased them for another five kilometers.
It was simply a miracle.
"Prince, we have taken many prisoners."
Lord Caron was covered in blood; if he didn't speak, one couldn't even tell he was a living person.
But right now, he was in high spirits, a smile blooming on his bloody face, revealing a set of white teeth.
It was a bit terrifying.
Daeron understood the importance of morale and waved his hand: "Lock everyone up. We'll hold a victory banquet tonight to ensure every soldier has wine and meat!"
"Long live the Prince!!"
The soldiers' eyes shone as they looked at the Dragon Prince with immense fervor.
Daeron raised his arm and shouted: "Long live the soldiers!"
"Long live the Young Dragon Lord!!"
This time, even the noble lords like Lord Caron were caught up in the emotion, shouting the title they usually only dared to use in private.
Daeron smiled, his palm clenching into a fist.
"Long live the Young Dragon Lord!"
"Long live the Young Dragon Lord—"
Caraxes landed on the city wall, stretching his snake-like neck and letting out a powerful roar to bolster his rider's prestige.
Although evening had arrived and the glow of the sunset was fading.
The Young Dragon Lord and the Red Dragon.
With the Battle of Fawnton, where they turned defeat into victory, they were forever etched into everyone's hearts.
Green Valley City.
Tywin stood alone outside the city. The cold night wind blew, piercing through his ornate armor and making him shiver.
A horse lay on the ground, foaming at the mouth from exhaustion, its four hooves thrashing as it failed to turn over.
Who would have thought that Tywin would actually charge out of the enemy's encirclement amidst the chaos, gallop across the Blueburn River alone, bypass the far rear, and arrive at Green Valley City by a stroke of luck?
Hateful was that Earl Meadows of Green Valley City would not open the gates to let him in.
Tywin sat on the ground, roasting a bonfire in front of him and gnawing on dry rations, saying with hatred: "Robert Baratheon, it's either you or me!"
—
What was lost in the Battle of Tumbleton was not just his red cloak or his whiskers.
It was his dignity and the honor of House Lannister.
This was a debt of blood!
"A Lannister always pays his debts."
Tywin suppressed his emotions to keep himself from going mad.
Time passed in a flash.
After Daeron finished clearing out the rebels scattered from the Battle of Fawnton, he ordered the noble lords captured in this battle to be brought forward.
Truly, Robert's charisma was powerful; the number of captured noble lords was not small.
Notable figures included House Errol of Haystack Hall, House Tarth of Evenfall Hall, House Swann of Stonehelm—
And other prisoners of Stormlands noble birth.
—
The first to be brought forward was, naturally, Robert's loyal vassal, Earl Harlo Buckler.
He had received medical attention; a maester had treated the burns on his back, and he took special crops to prevent infection, barely able to speak and care for himself.
Lord Caron brought him up and forced him to kneel on the ground.
Harlo's knees hit the ground with a thud, kneeling quite solidly.
Regarding this, Lord Caron felt no sympathy.
If Fawnton had been breached, his own end would have been even more miserable.
Daeron stepped forward, looking at Earl Harlo, and said loudly: "Robert's cause is lost. If you kneel and confess your guilt to me and contribute to the reclamation of Stormlands, I will pardon your crimes."
"Bah!"
Earl Harlo spat.
Daeron frowned slightly and said, "You saved Robert, but Robert abandoned you."
"The Lord Duke hasn't lost yet; the war isn't over."
Harlo's body was weak, but it didn't stop him from speaking arrogantly: "When the Lord Duke achieves a phased victory, he will surely ransom me back and grant me freedom and honor."
Daeron was stunned; it was the first time he had seen such a tough nut to crack.
Shing!
Dark Sister was unsheathed, splashing a streak of blood.
Earl Harlo maintained his glaring expression as his head rolled to the ground, and his headless body collapsed with a thud.
Daeron performed a sword flourish and said calmly: "You don't have to wait anymore."
"Prince—?"
Lord Caron took a step back, fearing blood would splash on him.
Daeron sheathed his sword and said, "My Lord, war is not a game."
"To those willing to kneel, I will give a path of life. To the die-hard rebels, there is only death."
Translation:
I didn't want to keep so many nobles anyway, so why are you putting on this show of loyalty with me?
Off with your head!
>
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