The sky after the rain was overcast, as if it were about to drip water.
War boots stepped into the mud, stained red with blood, making the ground exceptionally slippery.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the damp odor of soil, and the acrid smell of burnt wood.
The sounds of battle had gradually subsided, leaving only the sporadic clashing of weapons and the faint groans of the dying.
Aegon's black valyrian steel armor was already soaked through with rain and blood, and his deep red cloak had been lost somewhere in the melee.
In his left hand, he held a black shield painted with the three-headed dragon sigil; its edges were caked with mud and blood.
His right hand gripped that valyrian steel sword, "dictator," reforged from a Lannister ancestral blade.
Blood still dripped from the blade, falling drop by drop into the mud at his feet.
He had just withdrawn his sword from the neck of a Westerlands Soldier. The Soldier's eyes widened, hands clutching his throat as he knelt and fell face-first into the muddy water, twitching a few times before going still.
Aegon shook the blood droplets from his sword and scanned the battlefield.
Not far away, Oberyn Martell was fighting two opponents at once, his spear parrying the halberds swung simultaneously by two Westerlands Soldiers.
The sound of metal clashing was piercing, sparks flying everywhere.
Oberyn snorted coldly, using the force of the parry to spin his body. With his left hand, he drew a short curved blade from his waist, slicing across the throat of one of them.
Blood sprayed out; the Soldier dropped his halberd, clutching his neck as he stumbled back and collapsed.
But Aegon noticed that a Westerlands Knight, clad in heavy plate armor, had somehow crept up behind Oberyn.
The man held a heavy poleaxe, and seizing the moment while Oberyn was focused on the battle in front, he raised his weapon high, aiming for Oberyn's back, and swung down viciously.
"Watch your back!"
Aegon had no time to think, stepping forward in a flash.
He put strength into his left arm, striking out with his shield. At the very moment the poleaxe was about to land, the edge of the shield slammed hard into the side of the Knight's face.
"Bang!"
The Knight was knocked sideways by the powerful blow, his poleaxe missing its mark.
Not waiting for him to recover, Aegon pressed the attack, pinning him firmly into the mud with his shield.
Mud and blood splattered as the two rolled and wrestled on the slippery ground.
The Knight was burly and possessed incredible strength, struggling desperately even while pinned to the ground.
Aegon pressed down on the man's shoulder with one hand while fumbling with the helmet's clasp with the other, flipping it open to reveal the gap between the chainmail gorget and the breastplate—the weakest point of the plate armor.
He gripped the blade of his sword, aimed the tip at that gap, and thrust down hard.
The Knight let out a roar, his hands gripping Aegon's wrist tightly, struggling to block the blow.
The tip of the sword hovered just an inch from his neck.
But it was useless.
With a low growl, Aegon exerted a burst of strength in his arm.
The blade broke through the final resistance, sliding through the gap in the armor and piercing the Knight's neck.
Blood sprayed out; the warm, sweet, and metallic liquid splashed onto Aegon's cheeks, sliding down his cold, stern face, adding a touch of ferocity.
The Knight's body stiffened abruptly, his hands falling limply. A few garbled gurgles came from his throat before he lost all strength.
Aegon withdrew his sword, his chest heaving slightly.
Oberyn had also finished off the other few Soldiers by this time.
He turned around, saw the corpse still bleeding at Aegon's feet, and then looked at the blood splattered on Aegon's face.
He reached out his hand, offering it to Aegon.
Aegon glanced at him and took his hand.
Oberyn pulled him up from the mud with a heave.
"Kid, not bad," Oberyn said, his tone carrying a rare note of approval. "I thought you only knew how to sit on the back of a dragon and issue orders."
Aegon wiped the blood from his face. "Did you think I only knew how to spout nonsense from the throne?"
Oberyn was taken aback, then remembered that the young man before him was the one who had killed the Mountain with his own hands.
He grinned and said nothing more.
The two looked around.
The fighting around them was drawing to a close.
The sporadic resistance was being completely extinguished.
On the walls of Silver Hall and in the streets, there were Soldiers in black surcoats everywhere—the recruits who had been assembled from the Stormlands and The Crownlands, trained for less than half a year.
But at this moment, the confusion and fear they had when they first entered the battlefield were gone from their eyes.
The commander-in-chief had entered the bloody battle himself, charging alongside them and even being the first to scale the walls; the boost to morale was immeasurable.
They had seen with their own eyes that young silver-haired Prince charging at the very front, using his shield to bash enemies aside and his blade to reap lives; they had no reason to retreat.
Oberyn watched the blood-soaked Soldiers, looking as if they had crawled out of hell, and spoke up, "These recruits… they fought quite well."
Aegon also watched the Soldiers who were clearing the battlefield and gathering prisoners, saying calmly, "They are indeed recruits. But I have led them all the way to Tywin's doorstep; even recruits will become veterans."
A blood-drenched Soldier ran over quickly and knelt on one knee. "Your Highness! The resistance in the outer city of Silver Hall has been completely wiped out! The remaining survivors have retreated to the main tower and are putting up a desperate struggle!"
Aegon nodded and turned to Oberyn. "Select one hundred good men from the Kingsguard and take the main tower."
"It's cramped in there; if the recruits go in, they won't be able to maneuver, and casualties will be high."
Oberyn said nothing more, nodded, and turned to leave.
He would personally lead men to take the final main tower.
Aegon instructed the Soldier, "Gather the men and tally the battle losses. Pass the order down: all Soldiers who followed me into Silver Hall will be rewarded, and their rank will be raised by one."
A gleam of excitement appeared in the Soldier's eyes, and his gaze toward Aegon was filled with awe and fanaticism.
"Yes! Your Highness!" He hurried off to pass the order.
More Soldiers flooded into Silver Hall.
Relief duties were quickly arranged.
The remaining Soldiers formed up in front of the main tower, waiting for further orders.
Aegon stood in front of the ranks, his gaze slowly sweeping over those recruits who had gathered from the Stormlands and The Crownlands.
In the eyes of these men, there was awe, as well as the ferocity born from surviving life and death.
He knew it was worth it to have personally fought in the bloody battle.
If a commander dares not fight, how can he expect his Soldiers to risk their lives?
Although he was a monarch, the principle was the same; this was the reason why he hadn't used his dragon to simply level Silver Hall.
Having experienced this bloody battle, the morale of this new army had truly solidified.
Behind him, a thunderous cheer erupted from the top of the main tower.
Aegon turned to look.
At the very top of the castle tower, a Targaryen banner—a red three-headed dragon on a black field—was slowly rising in the evening breeze, fluttering in the wind.
The Soldiers gathered behind him, seeing the banner rise, all raised their weapons and let out a deafening shout:
"Victory to the Prince!"
"Victory to the Prince!"
"Long live the Targaryen!"
The waves of sound rose higher and higher, echoing between the walls of Silver Hall.
The corners of Aegon's mouth curled slightly.
The doors of the main tower opened from the inside.
A few Kingsguard Soldiers saluted Aegon, signaling that the resistance inside the main tower had been cleared.
Aegon stepped into the main tower, surrounded by a few of his Personal Guard.
Climbing up the spiral staircase, one could still see spots of blood and fallen corpses on both sides of the corridor, which were being dragged away by Soldiers for cleanup.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of blood.
He arrived at the floor where the castle lord's study was located.
The door to the study was wide open.
Aegon stepped into the study and saw Oberyn standing in the center of the room, wiping the blood off his spear with a cloth.
Several corpses lay on the floor; among them was one dressed in a Maester's grey robes, with greying hair, his chest pierced by a sharp weapon.
Seeing Aegon enter, Oberyn pointed the tip of his spear at the Maester's corpse on the floor:
"When we took the place, this old fellow was in the middle of sending off a raven. We stopped him; the raven was shot down, and the letter was intercepted."
He pulled out a blood-stained letter and handed it to Aegon. "The letter was addressed to Casterly Rock, reporting the fall of Silver Hall to Tywin and requesting reinforcements."
"However, whether they sent any letters before this, there is no way to know."
Aegon took the letter, gave it a quick glance, and tossed it aside.
He took off his blood-stained dragon-winged helm and set it casually on the table; his silver hair was soaked with sweat, sticking to his forehead.
He sat down in the high-backed chair behind the desk that had belonged to the castle's original owner.
The original owner of the castle was currently lying on the floor a few steps away, his chest slashed open with a gruesome wound, where broken bones and internal organs were vaguely visible.
Aegon didn't spare the corpse another glance, simply waving his hand. "It doesn't matter. We are pushing into the Westerlands precisely to force Tywin into a decisive battle. Whether he knows or not, it won't affect the big picture."
"Advance steadily, coordinate with the Narrow Sea Fleet and the three major legions of The Riverlands, and squeeze his living space step by step."
"Now it depends on how Tywin chooses: whether he plans to fight us in the Westerlands, or abandon the Westerlands, flee to unite with other forces, and then I will use my dragon to wipe them all from the face of the world."
A Soldier handed him a clean, damp towel.
Aegon took it and slowly wiped the blood that had already begun to dry on his face.
The towel was quickly stained red.
He switched to a clean side and continued wiping the dried blood from between his fingers.
Outside the window, the banner of the red three-headed dragon on a black field was fluttering violently atop the highest tower of Silver Hall.
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