Cole's expression remained unreadable as he asked, "Are you sure?"
"Of course."
Lannino denied it outright, throwing an arm around Cole's shoulders in a boisterous gesture to mask his guilt. He laughed, "I love nothing more than riding dragons and drinking—it gets my blood pumping."
"I hope so."
Cole lowered his head again, instinctively shifting his shoulder to escape Lannino's hold.
Seeing this, Lannino, knowing he was in the wrong, tried to appease him. "Don't sulk. That pigeon-blood ruby you had your eye on last time—I'll give it to you when we get back."
Compared to his former lover, Geoffrey, he preferred to use material gifts to satisfy Cole.
Cole, born a commoner, had endured a childhood of poverty.
Becoming a knight had been a hard-won achievement, and his thirst for wealth remained strong.
At Lannino's words, he forced a smile. "You're always so generous with me."
"Of course. We're brothers."
Lannino grinned, slinging his arm back over Cole's shoulder as they continued walking.
The power of money—always effective.
Cole didn't resist, following him toward a rocky shoreline.
A sharp cry rang out overhead.
Haiyan, the silver-scaled dragon, circled above them, letting out a bored screech before diving toward the distant sea.
With a splash, its talons pierced the water, snatching up a large fish.
The dragon let out a soft hiss before scanning the waves for more prey.
Cole glanced at the massive, pale silver beast in the distance before suddenly asking, "Lannino, do you ever think about Geoffrey?"
Lannino's face stiffened, irritation flickering across his expression. "He was sent across the Narrow Sea. I haven't seen him in ages."
"Is that so?"
"Of course."
Their conversation, seemingly casual, was laced with hidden tension.
The more they spoke, the more Lannino's frustration grew. Guilt over his betrayal made him reluctant to continue the topic.
"Lannino."
They had nearly reached the rocky shore when Cole suddenly stopped, softly calling his name.
Lannino, already out of patience, didn't even turn his head. "Cole, we're out here for a walk. Stop bringing up unpleasant things."
"You're right."
Cole lifted his head, his once-complicated gaze now devoid of warmth.
His steps grew swift and silent as he closed the distance between them.
His right hand slipped behind his back, drawing a dagger that gleamed coldly in the dim light.
"Cole…"
Sensing an unnatural stillness from his companion, Lannino turned to ask what was wrong.
Before he could finish, a strong hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his words.
"Lannino, you are unfaithful in love. The Seven will not forgive you."
Cole's face contorted with rage as he tightened his grip, his dagger plunging into Lannino's lower back.
Slash! Slash!
The blade sank in repeatedly, each thrust met with a sickening squelch as blood seeped into the sand.
"Ugh…!"
Caught off guard, Lannino staggered, his body drenched in crimson. His struggles weakened with each passing second.
With a dull thud, Cole released his grip, and Lannino crumpled to the ground, staring up at him in disbelief.
Cole's breath came in ragged gasps. His voice broke into a furious roar.
"What do you take me for? A whore who comes at your beck and call? A man who can be bought with your wealth?"
He kicked Lannino's head, the impact resounding against bone.
Lannino could only endure the blows, rolling in the sand, reaching out weakly in an attempt to crawl away.
"Stay right there!"
Cole would not allow it. He grabbed Lannino's silver hair, yanking his head down and forcing his face into the wet, gritty shore.
"You think you're better than me? You think your noble blood makes you untouchable because you're a dragonrider?"
Cole's eyes blazed with madness. He poured every ounce of pent-up humiliation into his assault, relishing the moment.
After thoroughly tormenting his former lover, he finally dragged Lannino's barely-conscious body upright.
Lannino's vision swam, his body numbed from blood loss. His once-proud eyes had turned dull and lifeless.
The attack had been too sudden—he hadn't even had the chance to fight back.
His head drooped as he opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Cole's expression remained cold as he dragged him toward the sea like a lifeless corpse.
The tide surged, soaking his rolled-up trousers. The icy water sent a shiver of exhilaration through his nerves.
"Cole…"
Lannino lay half-submerged, summoning the last of his strength to clutch at Cole's tunic. His eyes flickered with fear.
He was afraid.
As death loomed over him, he thought of his parents, his sister, and the wife he had left behind.
Responsibilities he had once ignored now clawed at his mind.
He wasn't ready to die.
"Die!"
Cole snarled, tearing free from Lannino's feeble grip. Without hesitation, he flung him into the crashing waves.
With a final splash, Lannino vanished beneath the surface, swallowed by the sea.
Cole stood motionless, his throat dry, his mind reeling from what he had done. Then, as if waking from a trance, he spun on his heel and bolted inland.
Hidden among the rocks lay a small wooden boat.
Cole frantically pushed through the waves, scrambling into the wooden boat and rowing away in a desperate escape.
Judging by his direction, he wasn't heading toward the Narrow Sea to the east but toward Windblown Point to the south.
The morning sun continued its ascent, its warmth gradually dispelling the early chill.
On the vast beach of Noda, no one knew that a murder had just taken place.
Except for…
"Screeeech!!"
A sharp, piercing cry suddenly broke the silence as a massive, silver-scaled dragon swooped back over the shoreline, its vertical pupils burning with fury.
Just moments ago, it had sensed the unbearable pain and rage of its rider.
These overwhelming emotions sent a shock through Sea Smoke's mind.
"Screeeech…"
It searched desperately, but its rider was nowhere to be found. Enraged, Sea Smoke let out a furious roar and unleashed a stream of dragonfire wildly in all directions.
Flying back and forth along the beach, it found no trace of its rider—not even a shadow.
He was gone. It was as if he had abandoned the dragon.
With intelligence rivaling that of humans, Sea Smoke quickly realized the grim truth—its rider had met a terrible fate.
"Screeeech!!"
Bloodshot veins surfaced in its narrowed pupils, its body pulsing with rage. With a mighty beat of its wings, Sea Smoke turned toward Mistwood, streaking through the sky in fury.
All along its path, dragonfire rained down relentlessly.
The jungle erupted into flames, and villages along the way were reduced to cinders.
There was no reasoning, no control—only the need to vent its uncontrollable wrath.
A single thought remained in its mind:
Find the rider. Burn everything in sight.
---
Afternoon arrived.
At Windblown Point, within Stonehelm.
Beneath the gray-white city walls, thousands of Dornish soldiers swarmed up the battlements. Their battle cries and dying screams filled the air.
On the walls, Count Swann wore a grim expression, struggling to maintain order as he commanded the defense.
As time dragged on, his face grew paler, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness spread through his body.
A mile beyond the city…
Another thousand-strong Dornish force stood ready.
At the front of their ranks stood an array of siege engines—not just a dozen trebuchets but also an equal number of scorpion ballistae.
The scorpion ballista, also known as a siege crossbow or ballista cannon, was originally designed to breach impregnable fortresses that resisted prolonged assaults.
Over time, it was repurposed for a new enemy—Dothraki horsemen of the Great Grass Sea and the dragons that ruled the skies.
Its destructive power was beyond question.
Standing at the forefront, Oriphir Yronwood smirked with unshaken confidence and commanded, "Load the bolts! Aim for the gates!"
With Braavos as their ally, surprises were always in store.
With both scorpion ballistae and trebuchets at their disposal, breaking through a city wall was only a matter of time.
Dornish soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, loading steel-tipped bolts into the ballistae's grooves.
Once everything was in place, Oriphir gave the order, and the siege engines roared to life.
Trebuchets hurled massive stones, and scorpion ballistae fired relentless volleys, intensifying the bombardment.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The continuous onslaught battered the walls of Stonehelm, sending chunks of gray-white stone crumbling down and scattering debris everywhere.
Count Swann turned ghostly pale. His forces were taking heavy losses, and the city's fall was inevitable.
"Fire!!"
Oriphir, his expression cold and calculating, locked eyes with his distant adversary atop the walls.
His siege tactics were brutal—utterly disregarding the lives of the Dornish soldiers already scaling the walls. He favored overwhelming force, sacrificing his own men in a ruthless, almost suicidal assault.
It was reckless, costly in lives…
But it was fast, and it created an undeniable sense of dread.
The defenders, watching blood-drenched Dornish warriors throw themselves at the walls, trembled with fear.
Outnumbered and outgunned, despair crept into their hearts.
Boom!
A massive stone projectile smashed into the ramparts, landing directly near Count Swann as he shouted commands.
Feeling a gust of powerful wind rushing toward him, he instinctively turned—his eyes widening in horror.
Boom!!
A deafening explosion rocked the walls, shattering stone and mortar. The impact obliterated everything in its path, including the city's lord himself.
"The Count is dead!"
"Lord Swann has fallen…!"
The soldiers on the walls, their eyes fixed on their slain commander, erupted into chaos.
The fortress… was lost.
---
Dusk fell.
At the Eyrie.
Royce Caron sat frozen, his face pale, his hands trembling as he clutched a raven-delivered message.
The letter contained just a few devastating words—Count Swann is dead.
Stonehelm… has fallen.
Standing beside him, Lord Morry Morrigen of Raventree Hall scowled. His voice was grave. "Lord Royce, we must send reinforcements immediately."
Stonehelm was the first line of defense along the Windblown Point coastline.
With the Dornish now in control, they had a critical foothold—one that made the war infinitely harder to fight.
Bang!
Royce slammed his fist onto the table, his voice filled with frustration. "Where is Prince Aemond? Why hasn't he mobilized his forces yet?!"
The young officer's eyelid twitched uncontrollably as he stammered nervously, "Prince Aemond received the news and has taken to the skies on his dragon, leading the army into battle."
"Into battle? Where is he attacking?"
Royce's eyes widened in shock as he hastily asked.
With Stonehelm fallen, Raventree Castle was now the first line of defense. A reckless counterattack to reclaim Stonehelm would only end in disaster.
The officer quickly responded, "He likely just set out. We can still send a message to stop him."
"Then what are you waiting for? Send the message and call him back immediately!"
Royce was furious, his voice rising into a hysterical roar.
With Stonehelm lost, the ruthless Dornish would show no mercy—House Swann could hardly expect any survivors.
As the supreme commander, Royce knew he would not escape blame.
"Yes, my lord!"
The officer, having been showered with spit from Royce's outburst, fled the room as fast as he could.
Earl Morrey furrowed his brows, pointing at the war table's sand table as he spoke in a deep voice, "Prince Aemond's willingness to enter the fray, combined with Ser Lannino of Mistwood, means we now have two dragons and several thousand Stormlanders. That should be enough to reclaim the ruined Stonehelm."
He was trying to calm Lord Royce down.
The war had always been in their favor—that was precisely why Prince Aemond had delayed deploying his forces, allowing the situation to stagnate.
The reason for his hesitation was obvious to anyone with a keen mind.
But now, with Earl Swann slain and two dragonriders taking to the field together, the tide of battle would shift in an instant.
Royce's expression darkened as he gritted his teeth. "That Targaryen whelp and his petty ambitions… Elenna should never have agreed to that marriage alliance!"
A union between House Targaryen and the Baratheon heiress had already granted the dragons a foothold in Stormlands affairs.
With Aemond formally wed to Lady Cassandra of Storm's End, it would be all too easy for him to interfere in Stormlander matters.
With a ruthless young dragonlord looming over them, the Stormland lords would know no peace.
"This isn't the time for such grievances. If not for the royal family's support, you wouldn't have secured your ducal title in the first place," Morrey said, unwilling to dwell on politics.
After a moment of contemplation, he added, "Send word to Mistwood immediately. Ser Lannino must lead his troops to encircle Stonehelm."
Royce let out a deep sigh. "We must also send a message to King's Landing and press them to hasten their reinforcements."
The Dornish had come in full force, armed with exceptionally well-forged weapons.
There was no doubt that Braavos and the remnants of the Three Daughters were backing them.
Storm's End would need support from King's Landing as well.
(End of Chapter)