A continuous mountain range slowly emerged from beneath the horizon, stretching out like a barrier in the northwest.
Looking down from the mountain ridge, countless soldiers, resembling ants from a distance, followed their tattered and charred banners as they trudged northward.
Although they had barely managed to maintain some semblance of formation, their lines twisted and turned like a limp noodle.
As far as marching spirit was concerned, they might have been worse off than ants.
Ahead lay the Mountains of Braavos.
Once they crossed the Mountains of Braavos, they would reach Braavos.
It was the allied army's last stronghold in the north.
Freygo's health had never been good.
The defeat in the war had nearly made him collapse from illness.
At this moment, he lay on a swaying wooden cart with his eyes closed and his brow tightly furrowed.
The Sealord of Braavos could not even find a proper carriage.
Even the makeshift canopy over the cart had apparently been torn down from somewhere and repurposed.
He had brought an army of one hundred thousand men and countless supplies with him for this war.
Now, all the supplies were gone, and fewer than forty thousand of the hundred thousand soldiers had been gathered together.
Most of the rest had either been captured by the Targaryen soldiers or burned to death by dragonfire.
Some time ago, the Moonsinger of Braavos had given Freygo a prophecy concerning him.
The prophecy said that as long as summer did not end, Freygo would continue to live.
According to the Moonsinger's predictions, summer would last for at least another two or three years.
But this unprecedented defeat made Freygo feel that he might not live another two or three years.
"Your Grace, we're almost there. And the dragon hasn't appeared for quite some time either."
After scouting the surrounding area, Quairo reported to his lord.
The First Sword had ultimately survived thanks to his superb martial skills, and he had managed to find Freygo.
"Quairo, where will you go next?" Freygo asked weakly.
"Where will I go? Your Grace, I don't understand what you mean. I am your First Sword. No matter what happens, I am willing to follow you."
Quairo's tone was firm.
After hearing his assurance, Freygo opened his eyes and looked at him.
"Really? But I drove you away once."
"But you still honored me with your concern, just as Viserys honors Davos with his trust and rewards!"
At the mention of Davos, it was as though the scene of Davos smashing himself against the gates of the camp appeared before their eyes.
Perhaps even without the dragons, the allied army would still have been defeated.
Yet at this moment, the two grown men almost seemed to be confessing their feelings to one another.
Still, those simple words were enough to restore Freygo's spirit.
"Help me up!"
Upon receiving the order, Quairo hurried forward and helped him to his feet.
Freygo looked at the dispirited soldiers around him.
Another wave of dizziness swept through his head, but this time he endured it.
"Tell the soldiers that although we lost this war, it was not their fault.
As long as they survive and return to Braavos with me, they and their families will be exempt from taxes for five years!
The first three thousand soldiers to reach Braavos will each receive five hundred gold coins.
The first five hundred soldiers to arrive will each be awarded a ship.
The first one hundred soldiers to arrive may join my personal guard and receive the same treatment.
And the soldiers who are the first to reach Braavos will be invited to dine with me!"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
Seeing Freygo regain his spirit, even Quairo's voice became stronger.
Freygo understood clearly that after returning from such a crushing defeat, the situation within Braavos would inevitably become turbulent.
With people's hearts unsettled, the peace faction, the surrender faction, and his political opponents would spring up like bamboo shoots after the rain.
He was the Sealord of Braavos.
He absolutely could not allow these people to sell Braavos to Viserys!
If Viserys wanted to rule Braavos by relying on his dragons, then the only thing he would be able to rule was ash!
At this moment, Freygo's army was not the only force heading toward Braavos.
Robert was also leading an army of more than thirty thousand men from the Crownlands, the Vale, and the Stormlands northward.
Now, only he and Stannis remained.
Renly and his guards from House Tyrell had stayed behind to cover their retreat during one of their escapes.
They had now lost contact with them as well.
Either they had been killed in battle, or they had been captured.
As for Robert's Lightbringer, naturally, they had not managed to find that either.
The two brothers rode their horses in silence.
Stannis turned his head and saw that there was no one nearby.
He then turned toward his elder brother.
"Your Grace, may I ask you a question?"
Robert neither refused nor agreed, so Stannis took his silence as permission.
"Why did you give me Dragonstone instead of Storm's End back then?"
"Hmph."
Robert let out a cold laugh.
"You think because I lost a battle, you can question my decisions now?"
Stannis's face tightened, and anger brewed in his deep blue eyes.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"I was the one who held Storm's End.
That was what prevented the armies of Sunspear and Highgarden from joining forces.
I want to know, wasn't that achievement enough for me to inherit Storm's End?"
"You still have the nerve to say that? Wasn't it Eddard who relieved the siege for you?" Robert spoke with disdain.
In his eyes, who couldn't defend a castle?
How difficult could it possibly be?
He had marched out from Storm's End and won three battles in succession.
How difficult could holding Storm's End have been?
Stannis's lips tightened as well.
He even began grinding his teeth uncontrollably, producing an unpleasant, grinding sound.
"Besides, it's not as though I never gave Storm's End to you. You couldn't even keep track of a single fleet."
With that, Robert urged his horse forward, unwilling to pay any more attention to his younger brother who never seemed to know when he had enough.
Stannis's hands tightened around the reins until they were almost trembling.
He desperately suppressed what he was feeling inside.
If Robert were in his place, he would have already been roaring in anger.
But Stannis merely let out an uncomfortable, low sound.
Throughout the entire exchange, Robert never once looked Stannis in the eyes.
He had not voiced the real reason.
If Stannis inherited Storm's End, it would become a threat to King's Landing.
A younger brother in the prime of his life, possessing his own network of supporters and subordinates.
Letting Renly inherit Storm's End while giving Stannis Dragonstone was, of course, partly intended to maintain a balance of power.
Robert might have been blunt and carefree on the surface, but secretly, he was highly skilled at keeping those around him in check.
In another timeline, when he realized that King's Landing was becoming increasingly uncontrollable, he had taken his entire family north to Winterfell to ask Eddard to serve as his Hand of the King.
There had been an element of balancing power in that decision as well.
As king, he had brought such a large group of people all the way to Winterfell precisely to prevent Eddard from refusing to go south.
He was effectively cornering his old friend and leaving him with no way to decline.
As for Stannis, Robert had long since become accustomed to using this lecturing tone to suppress him.
Even at a time like this, when they desperately needed to unite everyone's hearts.
If Robert had simply said that Dragonstone was the old stronghold of the Targaryens and that he needed a capable man stationed there to keep watch over it, Stannis would not have been nearly this furious.
After a long while, Stannis continued riding with the army, as though nothing had happened.
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