The mercenary leaders emerged from the fortress.
All their men waited outside on the plaza, scattered but alert. Their eyes tracked the dragons wreaking havoc over the city of four hundred thousand.
Gordon suddenly stopped and looked at his men.
"Boss… are we really heading for the city wall?" asked the one-eyed lieutenant. "That's a dragon…"
Gordon glanced up at the sky. Three dragons circled above, smoke from the harbor blackening half the sky.
"Going to die?" he scoffed. "No. We're going to get rich."
He gave orders.
"Listen carefully. Telosi is finished. But the Targaryens will need help to open the city gates. We cause enough chaos inside the city, and when it collapses, they'll pay us. Double the money plus whatever we can steal—enough to live comfortably for life."
The eyes of his men gleamed. Could Gordon really negotiate with the Targaryens? Was there a connection?
"What about the other mercenary groups?"
"I'll handle them," Gordon said. "Bloodybeard Malos isn't stupid, Madrid is clever, and the Bronze Shield… if their commanders don't know each other, they'll follow."
"The smaller groups, a few hundred men each, if they don't listen—they die. Simple as that." Gordon lowered his voice. "Do it now."
The second and third battalions moved to the arsenal and betrayed the defenders.
The fourth battalion went to loot the wealthy district, forcing the city guards to divide their forces. Gordon personally led a battalion to open the western gates.
The commanders of the second and third battalions looked at him.
Gordon reassured them: "Don't worry. The fourth battalion will loot the rich, I'll send someone to supervise, and then we all split the spoils."
His men nodded. Someone asked, "How do the Targaryens know it's us?"
Gordon produced a roll of white cloth. "Tie it to both arms. The Targaryens said anyone with this is their own person."
No one hesitated; these mercenaries only understood gold.
Gordon found Bloodybeard Malos first. The scarred man was idle, lazy.
"Malos, want another ten thousand?"
Malos raised an eyebrow. "You got a way?"
"Just help the Targaryens open the city gates. They promised more gold," Gordon said.
Malos went silent. The roar of dragons echoed over the city walls.
"The wall still holds."
"Not for long," Gordon said, pointing to the sky. "See the dragons? Telosi cannot survive."
He tossed a gold coin. Malos caught it. "Wait until the city is destroyed, then surrender—you'll be a prisoner only." Malos nodded.
Next came Madrid from the Bloody Bead Company. Smart and pragmatic, he agreed. Fighting dragons is impossible; better to take the gold, reputation be damned.
The Bronze Shield commander, Old Knight Lake, fifty years old, polished armor with the Seven-Pointed Star of the Faith of the Seven, glared at Gordon.
"Betray my employer? For me, it's an honor!"
"Can honor buy you gold?" Gordon sneered. "Look outside, old man. Three dragons, at least ten thousand soldiers. Telosi is trapped, today the city falls. You want to die with honor or live for money?"
Old Knight Lake gripped his sword, hesitated, then muttered, "I need more gold…"
Gordon smiled, clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll get paid, more than me, not less."
Within an hour, two-thirds of the mercenary regiments in Telosi had switched sides. They spread across the city, waiting for the signal.
Five hundred black-armored cavalry formed on the inner fort's parade ground. Commander Kasper, a forty-year veteran with three facial scars, peered through his helmet slit. The gates opened, and Adrian personally led troops inside.
"Kasper! The wall will break! Strike! Take the western gates and smash the enemy's foothold!"
Kasper raised his hand, and the cavalry surged. Hooves thundered, rattling windows. Civilians fled, peeking through doorways at the black armored tide.
Kolakhu dived vertically, wings spread a hundred feet above the ground, fire roaring from his maw. Cavalry was reduced to carbonized corpses in an instant. Armor melted, bodies collapsed like wax. The fire advanced relentlessly.
Kasper's unit led the line, watching in horror as molten armor and scorched bones scattered across the street.
"Scatter! Disperse!" he roared. But it was too late.
Syraks struck from the left, golden dragonfire rolling through the eastern side. Melias led the right, her claws lifting riders and horses, tossing them fifty feet into the streets. Horses trampled others, armor clashed, bones shattered.
Civilians screamed as chaos consumed the streets. Gordon's mercenaries began looting and killing, fires rising, smoke signaling the mafioso fleet and other mercenary bands.
The city erupted into full-scale anarchy. Guards saw the smoke and panicked.
"The city is broken!" shouted a soldier. "Run! Protect your families!"
Defenders abandoned walls, threw down weapons, fled into the city. Rossso fought valiantly, cutting down deserters, but they poured past him. Eventually, he lowered his sword. The walls were lost, not to siege engines, but from dragons, betrayal, and chaos within.
Gordon stood at the gates, white cloth fluttering, watching his army pour into the city. An officer approached, tossing a bag of gold. "Well done. Bonus for you."
Gordon smiled wider.
From the inner fort's tower, Oliver, acting commander, saw it all. Fires, disorder, five hundred defenders left. He remembered the black cavalry's fate, the dragons' flame melting the square.
After an hour, the Bronze Gate slowly opened. Oliver led twenty officers, surrendered to Daemon Targaryen. The city was broken—not by a frontal assault, but by dragon fire and internal betrayal. Walls still stood, defenders remained, but morale and order were shattered.
At sunset, Daemon and the others entered the inner fort's great hall. Maharaja Adrian had taken poison, slumped in his chair, black blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Take the poison. End it," Daemon said. "He died with dignity."
Reignira glanced at Adrian's body, silence for a moment.
"How many of ours died?" she asked.
"About eight hundred," Daemon replied. "Thousands of defenders fell. Civilians… tens of thousands. The fire still burns."
Outside, Telosi glowed like a colossal, unextinguishable beacon. The dragons ruled the sky. Men were powerless before them.