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Black and red war banners suddenly fluttered, along with the symbol of the Andalos seven-pointed star; these flags appeared together on the ridge, representing a kind of overwhelming pressure.
Arrows poured down like a torrential rain from the ridges of the small hills of the Andalos, the ends of the arrows typically fletched with white goose or bird feathers.
Speed, power, and distance.
This was a perfect archer's sniper attack, a tribute to the fire suppression of Duke Brynden Bloodraven in years past.
The ambush and arrow tactics of the Battle of the Red Hills achieved the same results as the Battle of the Redgrass Field.
The body of Yorn Greenvine, commander of the Greenvine Family, was the first to be riddled with holes; he watched the arrows fall in disbelief.
"My Lord." His guard tried to grab Yorn's body, but then a sudden volley of arrows flew in, nailing themselves directly into the guard's forehead; he died even faster than Yorn.
"I've been tricked!" This was Yorn's last thought before death.
He never expected this teenage youth, Viserys, to be so insidious as to trick him and lead him into a death trap.
This time, it would not only be his failure but the failure of the entire Greenvine Family; the Greenvine Family would become a thing of the past, a foundation stone for Viserys's hegemony.
Horses collapsed to the ground, and Yorn's corpse slid down as well; the trickling red blood turned the earth muddy.
"The Warrior!"
"The Warrior!"
"Andals!"
The longbowmen cheered, their cursing growing louder; they brought ample slaughter to the Tyroshi.
More and more dead men and horses appeared, staining the mud between the small hill paths blood-red; many people's warhorses began to slip on the muddy ground.
"three-headed god!" The Tyroshi mercenaries let out shouts of disbelief, seeing that the hills on both sides seemed to be filled with Andals rising up to fire arrows.
The Tyroshi slavers used to raid the Andals region frequently and had no respect for these Andal villagers at all. But today,
they finally paid the price for underestimating the enemy.
"Run!" "Run!" In an instant, the Tyroshi mercenaries were like panicked beasts, searching for a way to escape; mercenaries only work for gold, and they weren't stupid enough to fight a losing battle. This war was already going very poorly, so they could only blame their bad luck.
Even more fatally, the weather in the Free Cities to the south was more sweltering; as mercenaries from Tyrosh, which shared a similar latitude and climate with Dorne, they disliked wearing those stifling iron cans even more.
Chainmail and ringmail, or even brigandine armor, simply could not stop arrows fired from close range. Plate armor was more difficult to penetrate, but it couldn't completely block a rain of arrows, let alone these inferior versions.
After long-term training, the best archers could maintain an efficiency of six shots per minute. Even a rate of three or four shots was extremely lethal now.
"Long live King Viserys!"
"Long live King Viserys!" Soldiers shouting battle slogans appeared on the retreat path of the hills, forming a shield and spear formation.
Behind the wall of oak shields was a forest of long spears.
The shield array began to press forward step by step; the Tyroshi and the Greenvine Family soldiers could not see the faces behind the shield wall, only the densely packed spears thrusting toward them.
"Hugo, watch our prisoners," Viserys ordered.
"As you command, Your Majesty!" Hugo Rex nodded.
"Should we use the horses, Your Majesty?" Argos asked.
"No," Viserys shook his head. "The muddy ground is already completely slippery; we can just perform an infantry assault."
Viserys gathered his spirits; the archers on the hills were the two wings, and the front was the shield wall and spear array pressing forward.
Now only the final step remained, which was for Viserys to lead Argos and Ser Roland to finish things off.
"Blasphemers will surely face divine retribution, Lord Aman; this is the death you desired." Viserys put on his helmet and then rode away with Argos and Roland, leaving the Aman father and son devastated.
Aman Greenvine's face turned a deathly grayish-white; he saw death descending with his own eyes as his son Yorn fell from his horse and was then trampled by hooves and soldiers.
And those Tyroshi 'heavenly soldiers' he once worshipped were now being shot into hedgehogs by the Andals' longbows like chickens or ducks.
Perhaps Viserys was right; this was the power of the Andals. When he chose not to believe in Andal civilization and instead kissed the feet of the Free Cities, he had already made a grave mistake.
Regret! Anger! Disbelief! A mixture of many emotions swirled together.
This old man, who had once dominated the Andalos, found that he was more like a recruit in front of Viserys.
"Blow the horn!"
"Wooo—wooo—" The Andals' war horns and drums continued to sound; new attackers seemed to appear from behind the forest as Viserys appeared at the rear of the mountain path with furious Andals soldiers, blocking the invaders' last path of retreat.
Soldiers ran out from the pine forest, putting a period to this grand chorus of death.
Viserys's boots stepped onto the muddy ground soaked with blood, sending splatters of mud flying.
Many Tyroshi threw away their crested helmets, erupting in a final burst of madness.
"Kill these reserves in the rear, then we can break out." The Andal mercenaries quickly reached a consensus; the ridges and the spear-shield array in front were hard to break through, so they could only deal with the assault reserves appearing at the rear.
"Andals, why are you with Tyroshi mercenaries?"
"Drop your weapons, Andals of the Greenvine Family," Argos shouted, his voice erupting like thunder; many Greenvine Family cavalrymen who were still preparing to counterattack came to a sudden halt.
The Greenvine Family cavalry, who had long lost their will to fight, collapsed in despair; they either threw down their weapons to surrender or joined in the pursuit of the Tyroshi.
In the muddy hill passage, the victory of war quickly transformed into a slaughter.
"Long live King Viserys!"
"Long live King Viserys!"
The Andals soldiers were like scythes, harvesting lives on the earth, while the Tyroshi fell like wheat.
"Die!" Viserys swung the longsword in his hand, his other hand holding a shield.
The longsword whirled and spun, slicing through the chests and bellies of the Tyroshi mercenaries; red blood surged out furiously as the Tyroshi cursed Viserys loudly until they completely lost their lives.
Viserys watched for openings in the enemy; he observed calmly, his movements reaching an astonishing level.
Sometimes it was just the advantage of speed and strength, plus the fact that the armor of these Tyroshi mercenaries was not heavy plate; as long as he found a gap, he could quickly kill the enemy.
Unlike breaking plate armor, which required blunt weapons to kill, on today's battlefield, Viserys brought death's greetings with just a single sword.
Viserys's movements were as agile as a lynx, sunlight shining on his longsword as the black and red flag of the Targaryen Family fluttered once more.
All the Tyroshi began to collapse entirely, like glass shattered by a heavy hammer.
Argos looked even more terrifying; the tall and burly Argos struck the enemy formation like a heavy fist.
A Tyroshi swung a sharp sword in resistance, only to be smashed to the ground by Argos's fierce fist.
Then came another heavy strike from Argos's greatsword; it wasn't a decapitation, but the blade smashing dully into the enemy, crushing ribs, chest, and abdomen.
"Long live Targaryen!"
"Long live Targaryen!" The battlefield was filled with the cheers and shouts of warriors, as well as the sobbing of the losers and the seriously wounded.
All in all, it was a splendid victory.
The Tyroshi mercenaries were slaughtered until the fields were covered in corpses, and the same was true for those earliest unlucky Greenvine Family cavalrymen.
"Butcher! You are a true butcher, Viserys; you will surely be loathed by the Seven!" Aman Greenvine, who had been brought to the battlefield, looked at the bloody scene; dead men and horses were everywhere.
The Tyroshi 'heavenly soldiers' he had once placed high hopes in had all fallen, becoming silent corpses; Aman's emotions had completely collapsed.
"I am a butcher, Lord Aman. Do you still not understand? You crave power, yet you cannot bear the cost of losing the gamble," Viserys replied calmly.
"Look at what you've done."
Viserys waved his hand, and Argos pressed Aman's face down, forcing him to look at the faces of the dead. Many of them were loyal cavalrymen of the Greenvine Family, yet they had been swept away on the battlefield.
"They all died for you, Aman, for your unrealistic ambition."
"Butcher, you really are a butcher." Aman wailed loudly, sitting down in the bloody mud, no longer possessing any of his former high spirits.
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