To reduce casualties among the Rhoynar as much as possible, Lothan had naturally made arrangements in advance.
He placed his most trusted guards at the very front of the formation.
These men wore the heaviest armor and carried the dullest weapons.
He also secretly pushed his own granddaughter into the front ranks to keep anyone from losing control and killing in a frenzy.
Although the first half of the battle was still staged, both sides followed proper procedures to make sure the Warrior Company would take the bait.
"Draw."
The commanders of both armies directed their archers to release the first volley.
Of course, this first volley was not meant to kill. It was simply for measuring distance.
The arrows left the bows with bright red and yellow fletching.
"Loose."
A dense series of thuds followed as arrows plunged into the soil.
The red and yellow feathers landed across the ground. Once the enemy stepped onto the area where the arrows fell, it meant they had entered effective range.
Naturally, just like the soldiers in the front ranks, the arrowheads had all been dulled beforehand.
Ock, who commanded the archers, was encountering such a situation for the first time. Tens of thousands of men marching onto a battlefield just to perform a show felt completely surreal.
Especially the Rhoynar on the opposite side, who were actually required to strike their own allies.
Seeing the battle officially begin, the Warrior Company positioned on both wings became serious. These normally grinning mercenaries understood they would soon enter real life and death fights.
The two armies closed in quickly. When the first boot stepped past the fallen arrows, another wave of bowstrings snapped across the lines.
"Loose."
White fletching streaked through the air.
The arrows clattered against armor like thrown pebbles.
The sound of metal striking metal sent a chill down the soldiers' spines.
Before the battle, Graylish had been uncomfortable in his heavy armor, but now he wished it were even thicker.
Even though he knew the arrows had been dulled, falling from that height still carried danger.
Especially since their armor only protected their torsos and heads.
A few unlucky men had arrows smash into their toes and were now howling and hopping in pain.
Graylish marched forward nervously, unable to stop as if someone were pushing him from behind.
Soon he could make out the engravings on the armor worn by the Targaryen soldiers.
But their helmets all had faceplates, so their features were hidden.
"They're Rhoynar."
Graylish spotted the olive skin on the back of one exposed hand and immediately recognized who he was facing.
He also noticed that the man's armor was of slightly higher quality than those beside him, likely an officer or captain.
By now, only twenty meters separated the two sides.
The archers behind them had stopped providing any support.
Graylish tightened his grip on his spear. His legs felt cramped. He swallowed repeatedly from nerves, leaving his mouth terribly dry.
Then the Rhoynar soldier with the superior armor suddenly lifted his faceplate. The features beneath were ones Graylish knew all too well.
It was Baelor.
Neither of them had expected to meet again like this.
Graylish nearly shouted with joy. In his heart he thanked the Mother Rhoyne for this mercy. If this had been a real battle, he knew he would have nightmares.
Twenty meters meant only a dozen steps.
A dozen steps vanished in a blink.
The two lines of spears clashed with a clear ringing.
"Baelor! You're alive!" Graylish grinned as he spoke.
"Keep a straight face. We're at war." Baelor said firmly.
Even though he knew they were only pretending, there were onlookers nearby. They could not afford to break character.
"Baelor, have you sworn yourself to that Targaryen king?" Graylish asked. There was no accusation in his tone.
It was more like a man considering switching jobs asking his former colleague about the pay and conditions.
And as a friend of many years, Baelor understood perfectly.
He swung his spear and replied:
"Yes. His Majesty Viserys has found the Prince's Spear, and he is choosing bright Rhoynar children to study. He allows them to become governors and officers in the future. He treats the Rhoynar as his own subjects."
Speaking of Viserys, Baelor no longer spoke with resentment. Instead, there was respect in his voice.
"Then… can those children still marry and have children in the future? I heard maesters in Westeros cannot marry." Graylish asked.
"No. His Majesty is not raising maesters. Those children will be like everyone else." Baelor explained.
He had personally visited the academy Viserys founded.
Although there were only three maesters teaching, plus Viserys himself making four, they were genuinely teaching.
The lessons were simple reading, writing, and arithmetic. Yet in this era, literacy alone made someone valuable.
Even if Viserys failed to keep his promises, these children could go to Volantis or Braavos and work as scribes.
It was far better than farming.
So Baelor believed that no matter what Viserys' true intentions were, this alone was worth his loyalty.
He even wanted his own sister to attend Viserys' academy. Thinking of her, Baelor asked about Graylish's family.
"How are your mother and the others?"
"They're safe, just hungry. You know how it is. I can't eat my fill either."
"Don't worry. Once His Majesty wins, we will all have enough to eat."
"Yes."
The two childhood friends glanced around and noticed many others fighting and chatting at the same time.
It felt less like war and more like a game.
Most soldiers did not know it was a staged battle. Without officers shouting at their backs, the fighting remained light, with some injuries but nothing severe.
By now Arthur and Oberyn had led the cavalry in from both wings. The battle line immediately shifted toward the Rhoynar.
To block the mercenaries' view from afar, some men even dropped their weapons and simply dragged tree branches around to kick up dust, creating the illusion of intense combat.
From the wings, he watched the dust and movement to judge the shifting lines and the overall battle.
He saw that the Rhoynar were steadily falling back.
Then he noticed something else: Viserys was surrounded by fewer than two hundred men.
He looked back at his own cavalry force of over a thousand.
And in that moment, his mind reached a decision.
___________
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