The weather had turned cool, and the waters of the Blackwater Rush had become biting cold. The river was named as such because the deep riverbed made the water appear black.
Viewed from the sky, its color stood out starkly, like a blue vein on pale skin. Jon, warged into a raven, circled above the Blackwater Rush.
At this moment, Stannis's fleet had already passed the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. Clearly, Stannis's plan was to seize control of the river channel with his fleet first, then have the soldiers on the warships swarm and break through the Mud Gate head-on.
However, compared to the massive fleet, the Blackwater Rush seemed a bit narrow. They could only enter the river in columns, with each column containing about fifteen to twenty warships.
The oars of these warships were like the legs of a centipede, striving to propel their bulky bodies.
The current at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush was swift, and their commander had ordered the sails lowered, so they could only rely on manpower for propulsion.
With about two hundred warships spread out, one couldn't see the end of the line at a glance.
In contrast, the "Royal Fleet" currently on the Blackwater Rush consisted of only a dozen pitiful ships barely larger than fishing boats. There was no comparison between the two.
Yet, this massive fleet would be blocked by a chain and incinerated by wildfire.
Jon, controlling the raven for reconnaissance, looked at the winch towers at the river mouth. He knew that once most of Stannis's fleet entered the channel, the chain boom would be raised, cutting off their retreat.
And what they used to raise the chain boom were the "winch towers" recently built on both banks of the river mouth.
The black winch towers looked about two or three stories high, with a base the size of a house. Near the top was a huge wooden wheel wound with a pitch-black iron chain as thick as a human leg.
Controlling the raven, Jon landed on a winch tower while no one was watching. Sure enough, he saw a group of Lannister soldiers hiding in the grass. This position allowed him to hear their whispers perfectly.
"...Fifteen ships, twenty-five ships... eighty-three ships..."
"Piety, Swordfish, Laughing Lord... Lady Hara, Sea Demon, Trident... Jester, Sea Fish, Faithful, Prayer... Sovereignty, Red Raven, Brave, Dragonsbane, Black Betha... Cat, Sea Wraith, Valyrian... Fury!"
The soldiers ambushed in the grass whispered amongst themselves. Those who could count counted incessantly, as if counting down to their own deaths.
Those who were not only literate but also knowledgeable named these majestic warships one by one, as if pronouncing their own sentences.
Just then, Jon heard an impatient voice—"Enough! Quit your fucking whispering! Think knowing a lot of ships makes you special? Trying to show off?" The one scolding them was Bronn. He plucked a weed in front of him as if it offended his eyes, but when he looked at the fleet, even his breathing became labored.
The question that had lingered in his mind resurfaced:
Can wildfire really stop this fleet?
Bronn had seen the wildfire sealed in jars with his own eyes.
But a jar was only a foot high. A hundred jars could be hauled away by a modest merchant ship. Compared to the fleet before him, it was a toy.
For such a toy to take out such a behemoth... he wasn't optimistic deep down.
But now, this mercenary had gone "all in" on Tyrion and the Lannisters. Whether he would go back to licking blood off his blade or enjoy life in high-end brothels depended on today.
He turned to the soldiers behind him and said, "Once all of Stannis's ships are in the river, you pull with everything you've got! Use double the strength you use in a woman's bed! Do you understand?!"
"Ye—Yes, my Lord!"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Understood."
The soldiers' responses were weak.
Many of them were mercenaries Tyrion had temporarily recruited from King's Landing, all persuaded to risk their lives by heavy promises of profit.
As a fellow mercenary, Bronn knew that once the battle turned sour, it was best not to have any expectations for these people. He looked toward the Mud Gate; that was the key.
In the end, no matter how hard they tried here, the main goal was to help Tyrion hold the gate. Even if their position was overrun by Stannis's reacting forces, as long as the gate held, wealth and glory were still attainable.
While Bronn worried about the strength of the gate's defense, Jon sent the raven flying toward the Mud Gate where Tyrion was stationed.
The Mud Gate, as the name suggested, faced the Blackwater Rush. Since Stannis's fleet came from the river, the fighting here would be fiercest.
Jon saw Tyrion boosting morale on the wall, followed by two fully armed knights for protection, one wearing a white cloak—likely a Kingsguard.
Due to his short stature, Tyrion stood on a platform made of stacked wooden crates. But the soldiers listening to his speech felt a comical sense of watching a dwarf show.
Because of his build, even though Tyrion wore exquisite armor, it looked like a paper prop on him.
"Fifty thousand Westerlands troops and one hundred thousand Reach troops will arrive soon! All we have to do is hold! As long as we hold King's Landing, I'll give each of you another ten gold dragons! Kill one of Stannis's soldiers, and I'll reward you with a hundred gold dragons!"
Tyrion announced loudly, somewhat recklessly. Even though his rewards were tempting, the soldiers' reaction was lukewarm. There was no helping it; the disparity in strength was just too great.
The endless fleet on the Blackwater Rush made everyone uneasy. Just looking at it a few times made breathing difficult. Because the light on the battlements was brighter and the weather cooler, Jon could almost see the steam rising as Tyrion spoke. A soldier asked, "My Lord, I heard Ser Clegane was killed by Lord Eddard's bastard. Is that true?"
Tyrion's face darkened, wondering where the hell this guy came from to spoil the mood.
However, keeping his expression normal, he said, "Soldier, I don't know what you're talking about. Isn't Ser Clegane right over there?"
Tyrion drew his shortsword and pointed toward where Sandor Clegane, The Mountain's brother "The Hound," was stationed.
"My Lord, I meant Ser Gregor, The Mountain!" The soldier persisted. Tyrion gripped his sword hilt and denied it vehemently: "Nonsense! Eddard's son is just a teenager. A teenager whose piss is probably still green—do you think that's possible?"
Tyrion knew he was spouting nonsense, but facing these ill-informed soldiers, he managed to fool quite a few.
Perched on an inconspicuous flagpole, Jon watched coldly. As the saying goes, a man's name is like the shadow of a tree. Jon thought he might leverage this "advantage" when the siege began.
Tyrion certainly knew about Jon killing The Mountain; the news had spread throughout the Riverlands.
Jon was practically regarded as a savior and hero by the Riverlands nobles and commoners. Although Tyrion hadn't confirmed it with Tywin yet, it was likely true.
If it were anyone else, Tyrion might not believe it, but since it was Jon, he had to believe.
Then Jon heard Tyrion speak again: "Gentlemen, the only thing I can be certain of is that we will win this battle because—look!"
He pointed to a yellow banner with a crowned stag not far away, beneath which a slender young man sat upright.
"His Grace, King Joffrey Baratheon, is with us! Long live Joffrey!"
Confirming the King was fighting with them, the soldiers mustered some courage.
"Long live King Joffrey!"
"Long live King Joffrey!"
"Long live His Grace Joffrey!"
The battlements, gloomy from the pressure of the massive fleet, seemed to regain some fervor.
In any era, a head of state leading from the front boosted morale significantly, especially since Joffrey was taller than the average adult.
What they didn't know was that Joffrey was stiff all over, unable to hear what they were saying.
Tyrion had told him he didn't need to fight anyone, just sit there, "placed" like a statue.
But even surrounded by so many soldiers and protected by high walls, Joffrey felt no security.
He wanted to go back, back to the Red Keep, back to his mother Cersei.
The raven on the flagpole took a deep look at Joffrey. He was a boy with golden hair and handsome features, but his green eyes trembled uncontrollably.
Although Jon bore him no personal hatred, politically, he had to kill him.
Now that Myrcella and Tommen were in his hands, killing Joffrey would cause the Lannister-Tyrell alliance to collapse on its own.
Estimating it would be at least another two hours before the battle started, Jon withdrew his consciousness from the raven and returned to his army north of King's Landing.
Jon opened his eyes again to see two people beside him: Sora, who cared for him constantly, and Beric Dondarrion.
Seeing Jon wake up, Beric's eyes were full of surprise and admiration.
"Sora just told me you were sleeping. I truly can't believe you could sleep in this situation."
Jon knew he was misunderstood but accepted it calmly. He stretched deliberately and said, "With a great battle imminent, if even I, the commander, am restless, how should the ordinary soldiers feel?"
Hearing Jon's explanation, Beric was speechless. If it were anyone else, the Lightning Lord would certainly feel uneasy.
But Jon was different.
He turned the tide at the Battle of the Green Fork and devised a plan to take down Tywin's elite troops.
Such a person was on a different level.
Conversely, as Jon said, his carefree sleeping actually made Beric feel reassured.
Beric took a deep breath to relax and asked, "The army is still resting, and I've sent scouts to conceal our tracks. When do you plan to start the siege? And where should we focus our attack?"
"At the latest, two hours from now. The Old Gate."
Jon gave him a concise answer, then added, "Sora, call the others over. Let's have a war council."
"Mm! Okay."
Sora adjusted her clothes and left quickly. About ten minutes later, Jon was surrounded by people.
Beric, Thoros, Harrion, Hakon, Tommen, Martyn, Munda, and a group of tribal warrior leaders. Thinking back to the first meeting in the North, Jon was just a minor character standing beside Robb.
Now he was the "Commander-in-Chief" leading the whole army. Seeing this, Jon felt emotional. However, with the battle looming, he knew there was no time for sentimentality. These commanders had to return to their positions as soon as possible.
There was no pre-battle discussion this time. Jon stated his battle plan directly:
"During the siege, we will use the heavy armored elites as the vanguard to take the gate in the shortest possible time. Then we will split into two groups to quickly seize the adjacent gates. Hakon, Munda, Ser Thoros, after the gate is taken, you are responsible for clearing the enemy defense lines broken by the heavy armored troops."
"Understood."
"Lord Beric, I entrust the remaining troops to you. You are responsible for consolidating our defense lines!"
"Mm." Beric nodded and asked, "Then who will lead the first wave to attack the city?"
Beric looked at Jon, though he already had the answer in his heart.
Jon's answer confirmed his guess. Jon, carrying The Mountain's greatsword on his back, stood up and turned to face the towering walls of King's Landing:
"I will be the vanguard!"