Chapter 109: Secret Assault on the Disputed Lands
Essos, the Disputed Lands
The Disputed Lands are a vast peninsula in the southwestern corner of Essos, bordered by the Sea of Myr and the Narrow Sea to the north, and the endless Summer Sea to the south.
Due to their rich mineral deposits and fertile soil, these lands have long been a prize fought over by the surrounding Free Cities since their founding.
Even Volantis covets this territory. Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys each established outposts here after the collapse of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters.
Because warfare has been constant, there has never been the time nor stability to construct proper stone castles. Instead, wooden forts and settlements have been raised again and again.
Being the closest Free City to the Disputed Lands, Tyrosh has established the largest number of forts and settlements here.
However, when news of Tyrosh's fall reached the region, the governors and commanders stationed here began to harbor their own ambitions.
Since most of Tyrosh's high nobility and governors had already been captured and delivered to Jon by Mellario Mopatis, those remaining in the Disputed Lands were largely left to fend for themselves.
At this moment, outside a massive wooden fortress known as Moonfort, columns of infantry arranged in tight formations advanced toward the gates.
Under the rising sun, the soldiers seemed clad in golden light as they marched forward to the rhythmic shouts of their officers.
"Clang, clang, clang…"
The guards upon the wooden walls rang the alarm bells at once, and more soldiers quickly gathered along the ramparts.
"Bronn, can your men complete the mission?"
Standing behind the lines, Tyrion looked tense. This was his first time commanding troops in battle. Though prepared, he could not suppress the unease in his heart.
The previous night, Tyrion had not slept at all, instead running repeated simulations upon the sand table Jon had created. He had grown fond of it—through it, he could almost feel the shifting tides of war.
"Don't worry. As long as your men hold the front and draw attention, mine will slip in and carry out a proper decapitation strike."
Bronn spoke casually, though a hint of envy colored his tone.
"Those men of yours… all of them are Gifted. Makes a man wonder if Lord Aegon might grant me the same one day."
As he spoke, the infantry formations had already reached the outer defenses.
"Loose!"
At the hoarse command of the Tyroshi officers, arrows rained down like locusts upon the advancing ranks of the Chainbreakers.
Yet beneath tightly interlocked shields, the arrows achieved little more than scattering harmlessly.
"Mages, forward!"
At once, gaps opened within the front ranks, and hands extended through them.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
A series of explosive fire spells slammed into the wooden gates, blasting hole after hole through the structure.
After casting, each mage withdrew immediately, replaced seamlessly by another.
This coordinated assault left the defenders stunned.
Before they could recover, heavily armored troops of the Chainbreakers surged forward toward the breached gates.
"Form ranks! Archers, ready!"
Behind the gates, the defenders had prepared obstacles and defensive formations in advance.
The commander of Moonfort was Walter Zeman, leader of Tyrosh's Fourth Legion, commanding nearly ten thousand soldiers.
The Fourth Legion also controlled tens of thousands of slaves, along with several farms surrounding Moonfort, making it one of the strongest positions in the Disputed Lands.
After hearing of Tyrosh's fall, Walter Zeman had slain his superior and taken control. Since then, he had used his legion to crush nearby rivals.
When news of the attack reached him, he was still in bed, surrounded by naked bed slaves.
Since seizing command, Walter had fallen into indulgence. After raiding a slave caravan, he had simply kept the finest slaves for himself.
"You lot! Up! Help me with my armor! Lord Zeman will deal with the enemy himself. Fail me, and you'll be flogged!"
"Knock, knock, knock…"
As he barked orders, a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter!"
Though surprised at the quick return of a messenger, Walter strode toward the door, fastening his armor as he moved.
"What is—"
The moment the door opened, the smell of blood hit him.
Instinctively, his hand went to his sword.
"The Chainbreakers send their regards."
Before he could react, several figures in Tyroshi uniforms seized him.
One clamped his mouth shut, while others pinned his limbs.
Then came the cold sensation of blades.
Fast. Too fast.
Walter could not even scream.
Stab after stab pierced his armor, leaving it riddled with bloody holes.
His thoughts dimmed as confusion filled his mind—his armor had been a masterwork of Tyrosh. How could it fail so easily?
But he would never learn the answer.
After his death, the assassins regrouped—still clad in Tyroshi armor.
"Number One, the target is down. Shall we begin?"
The man called Number One scanned the area.
"Burn the armory. Set fires elsewhere. Spread word—the commander is dead."
"Yes!"
The operatives dispersed swiftly. Every soldier on that level had already been eliminated.
Ten minutes later, Tyrion—still outside Moonfort—received the signal.
Flames rose within the fortress, and thick smoke billowed into the sky.
"Send in the reserves. We take the fortress now."
His command was calm but firm.
The mercenaries surged forward with wild cries. As the purple banner of Tyrosh fell from the gate, relief finally crossed Tyrion's face.
"A map."
At once, a maester brought forth a detailed chart of the Disputed Lands.
"Already planning the next move?" Bronn asked, glancing at the dense notes.
"No. The plans are already set. I've prepared for three possible outcomes—and countermeasures for each."
Bronn stared at the map, filled edge to edge with notes in the Common Tongue.
He swallowed.
Over the past few days, Tyrion had covered every region with annotations, planning every possibility.
"Seems like overkill. It's just a wooden fort."
"You wouldn't understand. Lord Aegon rejected many capable commanders to give me this chance. I won't fail him."
Tyrion's gaze was unwavering.
"The Disputed Lands will belong to House Targaryen. And Myr and Lys will follow."
Bronn looked at him, suddenly feeling as though he were staring at something far greater than the man himself.
Tyrion might be flawed in many ways…
…but when he was serious, he would give everything to succeed.
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