The wind blew from the west, sweeping across the Narrow Sea.
It carried not only the salty tang of the sea but also the nauseating, pungent smell of burnt wood, decaying flesh, and a deeper, more profound despair mixed together.
Ghidorah glided steadily above the clouds, its three heads lowered, six molten gold vertical pupils indifferently looking down.
Aegon rode on the dragon's back, his black armor cold as iron in the thin, high-altitude air currents.
He leaned slightly forward, his gaze piercing through the flowing clouds.
Bloodstone Isle unfurled below, like a dirty, rugged emerald.
The terrain was treacherous; the eastern side was a nearly vertical black cliff, with waves crashing into shattered white foam at its base.
The western side was gentler but riddled with natural caves, like a giant beast's honeycomb.
The pirates' wooden stockades and watchtowers were built clinging to these cliffs and caves, layer upon layer, making them easy to defend and difficult to attack.
On the mudflats to the west of the island, burnt shipwrecks were scattered, their charred keels pointing skyward like the ribs of drowned giants.
The tide washed back and forth, carrying away some sand and leaving other things: swollen, pale corpses, broken weapons, shattered shields.
Sea crabs crawled among the remains, enjoying this unexpected feast.
Further down the beach was the Ash Regiment's camp.
Campfires glowed like scattered orange eyes in the twilight. Hastily constructed chevaux de frise and low walls were visible, along with a dazzling patch of white—the wounded tents.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the island, the pirate stronghold presented a different scene.
It was brightly lit, with faint sounds of boisterous shouts, crude songs, and clanging vessels.
They were celebrating, celebrating yet another successful repulse of an attack.
Aegon's gaze quickly swept over the terrain and the positions of both sides.
Cliffs, caves, the only narrow mountain path, charred marks of fierce assaults, and uncleaned bodies of attackers... he instantly understood why Luc had been stalled here for forty-seven days, suffering over a thousand casualties without success.
This was not a symmetrical war; this was filling a natural fortress, cultivated by pirates for generations, with the flesh and blood of Soldiers.
He gently patted Ghidorah's neck.
The pale golden giant dragon understood, adjusted its wings slightly, and began to dive.
The wind shrieked in his ears, and the island, sea, stronghold, and camp below rapidly magnified.
When still several hundred meters from the ground, Ghidorah's central head tilted slightly back, and deep within its throat, a dazzling golden light suddenly flared, as if a miniature sun had ignited inside it.
The next second.
"Sizzle—Boom!!!"
Golden lightning burst forth from the dragon's mouth! Like a living spear of thunder, it tore through the air, carrying a soul-shattering shriek, and accurately pierced the tallest, most conspicuous watchtower of the pirate stronghold!
The moment the wooden and stone tower was hit, it didn't explode; instead, the contact area was seemingly "vaporized" by the intense heat, and the upper half of the structure silently turned to dust in the blinding light.
The lightning's momentum did not diminish; after piercing the tower, it slammed violently into the sea behind it!
"Rumble, rumble, rumble—!!!"
As if a giant hammer thrown by a god had smashed into the water.
The sea surface violently concave, exploding into a terrifying, bottomless pit over a hundred meters in diameter!
The seawater at the edge of the giant pit was instantly vaporized by unimaginable high temperatures, sending up a milky-white column of boiling steam that connected sea and sky!
The ensuing shockwave violently pushed the concave seawater outwards, forming a destructive giant wave over ten meters high, roaring as it crashed towards the island's coast!
The golden lightning illuminated half of Bloodstone Isle as bright as a stark white noon, lasting a full three seconds before abruptly extinguishing.
Dead silence.
Absolute, deafening dead silence. Even the sound of waves crashing on the shore seemed to have been completely swallowed by that destructive scene.
The clamor of the pirate fortress ceased abruptly, the celebratory fires still burned, but hands holding cups were frozen in mid-air, and wide-open mouths could not utter a sound.
Soldiers in the Ash Regiment camp were also startled by this sudden display of divine power and rushed out of their defenses, staring blankly at the rising steam column and the vanished top of the distant tower.
Ghidorah circled briefly at a low altitude, then slowly descended onto the open ground in front of the pirate fortress.
When its massive body landed, the entire island seemed to tremble.
The dead silence was broken, erupting into a different kind of sound.
Screams of extreme terror, hysterical cries, desperate prayers, and aimless fleeing like headless flies... burst forth from every corner of the pirate fortress.
Some jumped directly from the remaining towers and stockades, splattering into a mess of flesh, while others knelt on the ground, frantically kowtowing towards Ghidorah and Aegon.
More simply ran aimlessly, driven by instinctive fear, knocking over companions and overturning braziers.
Sporadic arrows and javelins were shot from some caves or broken fortifications towards Ghidorah and Aegon, a last desperate struggle.
Ghidorah didn't even move.
Its two side heads casually turned towards the direction of the attack, their throats flashing faintly, and two much thinner, yet equally deadly, golden lightning bolts shot out, precisely entering those caves and shelters.
There was no explosion.
Only the subtle hiss of rock being instantly melted and vaporized by high heat, and the mirror-smooth, charred edges left behind after the rock, the cover, and the pirates within them completely vanished.
Occasionally, those hiding in deeper caves thought they had escaped, but the power of the lightning conducted along the rock veins, shattering and collapsing the entire internal structure of the mountain, burying all life within it.
Resistance, at this moment, became the most ridiculous and most fatal act.
Finally, the heavy stockade gate of the pirate fortress was violently pulled open from the inside.
A small group of people tumbled out, the leader frantically waving a dirty white cloth torn from somewhere.
They rushed towards Aegon and Ghidorah, and when they were still dozens of paces away, they fell to their knees, bowing their heads to the ground, their voices distorted and out of tune from extreme terror:
"Your Majesty, Dragon King! Spare us! We surrender! Bloodstone Isle, all our treasures, ships, women, everything we know, we offer it all to you! Only ask... only ask for a way to live! Spare us!"
On the beach camp side, the Ash Regiment Soldiers finally recovered from their initial shock.
They looked at the terrifying pale golden giant dragon, at the small black-armored figure on the dragon's back who seemed to control everything, and at the pirate stronghold that had made them bleed rivers and defied their prolonged attacks, now crumbling as if cleansed by divine punishment...
The surviving veterans of the original Skull Squad, who had first followed Aegon, were the first to erupt in frenzied roars. They threw down their weapons, knelt heavily towards Ghidorah, their faces twisted with tears, blood, and extreme adoration.
The newly recruited Soldiers, though they knew they served a Dragon King, had never imagined such a world-destroying sight.
How could this be a Dragon King? This was clearly a god walking among men, wielding thunder!
More Soldiers crawled out of their defenses, many involuntarily kneeling, more embracing, leaping, uttering meaningless cheers, venting the suppression of days of fierce fighting, the grief of losing comrades, and the awe of absolute power.
A figure rushed out from the main tent of the Ash Regiment.
It was Luc.
His armor was worn, his face bore fresh scabs, and his eyes were sunken, but they lit up like burning coals the moment he saw Ghidorah and Aegon.
He looked up, clenched his right fist, and heavily struck the left side of his chest over his heart, then, without hesitation, knelt on one knee towards Aegon, his head bowed deeply.
The officers behind him, and all the Ash Regiment Soldiers who witnessed this scene, fell to their knees in unison, like waves of wheat bowing in the wind.
Dawn was approaching, the sky a cold, leaden gray.
On the open ground in front of the pirate fortress, Ghidorah lay still as a mountain.
Aegon stood before the dragon, his black armor appearing even more formidable in the faint glow of dawn.
Luc, accompanied by several blood-soaked, bandaged officers, rushed over, stopping ten paces from Aegon, and again knelt on one knee in unison.
Luc looked up, his new scars making him appear more ruthless, but his eyes held only absolute awe and loyalty: "Your Highness!"
Aegon nodded, then looked at the surrendering pirate leader.
"Where is Saradog Sann?"
The pirate leader waving the white flag also scrambled closer, kowtowing like pounding garlic: "Your Majesty, Dragon King! Spare us! We wish to surrender! Saradog Sann... he, he was hiding in a cave before, now... along with that entire hilltop, he's, he's gone..."
Aegon didn't even glance at the pirates, merely nodding slightly to Luc: "Well done. What are the casualties?"
Luc took a deep breath, stood up, and reported quickly and clearly, though unable to hide his exhaustion, his report was meticulous:
"Before engaging the Saun pirate coalition, the Ash Regiment had over nine thousand three hundred combat Soldiers. After forty-seven days of fighting, one thousand one hundred twenty-seven were killed, four hundred three were severely wounded and unable to fight, and nearly two thousand sustained minor but recoverable injuries."
He paused, glanced at the pirate leader prostrate on the ground, and lowered his voice, with a hint of unwillingness:
"But the core Main force of the Saun family, relying on treacherous defenses and familiar with every cave and secret passage, until... until Your Highness's arrival just now, they were never truly harmed at their core."
"Three strong assaults, all with heavy casualties. This subordinate is incompetent; please punish me, Your Highness!"
Aegon shook his head, his voice calm and even: "It's not your fault. This kind of terrain should have been besieged for a long time, or attacked with fire and smoke. But we no longer have time to slowly wear them down."
He finally turned his gaze to the trembling pirate generals who had surrendered, his voice devoid of emotion:
"Saradog Sann is dead. Those willing to surrender, take them down and screen them one by one. Those with blood debts for wantonly slaughtering innocents will be beheaded publicly. Those with minor offenses will be dispersed into labor, to atone through work. As for those who still dare to resist..."
A fierce glint flashed in Luc's eyes, and he struck his chest with his right fist again: "This subordinate understands!"
In the afternoon, in the Ash Regiment's main tent.
The sea breeze passed through the tent, bringing a salty scent.
A large map was spread on a simple wooden table, marked with islands that had been cleared and controlled.
Luc stood before the map, reporting to Aegon, who sat in the only high-backed chair in the tent, while the other officers stood silently on either side.
"Your Highness, the screening and incorporation of the surrendered Soldiers are initially complete." Luc's finger traced the marked areas on the map.
"By now, the main shipping lanes and large islands of the Stepstones have been largely cleared; the remaining small pirate groups are not a concern."
He looked up at Aegon, his eyes burning: "The Ash Regiment now has eight thousand combat-ready Soldiers. These people... have all seen blood, know the sound of a blade cutting into bone, and know what it feels like to see comrades die beside them."
"They fight for Your Highness, and they fight for their own survival and bounty."
Luc suddenly knelt on one knee again, followed by all the officers in the tent, the clatter of armor plates perfectly synchronized.
"Your Highness!" Luc's voice was hoarse with excitement, yet exceptionally loud, "The Stepstones are pacified, the Narrow Sea shipping lanes are open! We wish to proclaim Your Highness King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones! We swear to follow Your Highness to the death, until our last drop of blood is shed!"
Suppressed, expectant heavy breathing filled the tent.
Aegon was silent for a moment, then raised his hand and gently waved it.
"My crown," he spoke slowly, his voice not loud, yet it instantly silenced all other sounds, "is in Westeros. On the iron throne. It has been waiting there for too long."
He stood up and walked out of the tent; Luc and the others quickly followed.
Outside the tent, on the drill ground, over eight thousand Ash Regiment Soldiers had assembled as ordered.
They formed a somewhat untidy but formidable square formation, most still wearing pirate gear, a motley collection of worn leather armor and clothes, and their weapons were also varied and rusty.
The sea breeze kicked up dust, sweeping across their faces, darkened by sun and sea wind, and across the unextinguished ferocity of desperadoes mixed with awe for their new lord in their eyes.
They were good Soldiers.
Soldiers who had seen blood, fought tough battles, and crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
They just lacked good armor, sharp blades, and a rightful title and clear objective to unite their ferocity and point it towards a specific enemy.
Aegon's gaze slowly swept over these eight thousand faces, over the mixed fear, adoration, confusion, and longing in their eyes.
Then, he looked further west, towards Westeros, as if he could penetrate the vast Narrow Sea and see the war raging on that continent, and the cold iron throne in King's Landing.
"Luc," he spoke.
"This subordinate is here!"
"Take them to Tyrosh." Aegon withdrew his gaze, his tone unequivocal, "New armor, new swords, new banners have been prepared for you there. Go and put them on."
He paused, then looked at the western horizon one last time.
"A new war is not far off."
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