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In the camp of the Tyroshi Alliance Army, the smoke slowly dissipated, leaving everyone looking disheveled and exhausted.
However, the dragon did not turn back for a second attack; the mercenary captains and the Tyroshi Commander slowly regained their composure amidst the chaos.
They were facing a dead end; now, their only choice was to huddle together and not abandon one another.
The Commander-in-Chief of the Tyroshi Alliance Army had been burned to death; these men could hardly find any warhorses, and even the mules were gone.
In such circumstances, trying to escape on foot alone was as difficult as reaching the heavens.
Moreover, thinking about the routed soldiers fleeing in all directions, only to be roasted by dragon fire or killed by the Andalos' guerrillas, was a painful end.
"We can no longer escape," Bloodbeard calmed down and analyzed carefully. "The dothraki have also suffered massive losses and are beyond furious. If they find out we moved camp first, those Screamers will be the first to slaughter us."
The dothraki were not good allies; they were extremely vengeful and arrogant, and would never forgive traitors.
"That's... right... those savages are like that. And we don't have many horses left; our speed will definitely be slow," the Goat stammered.
"And our soldiers?" Bloodbeard was deeply worried about a potential mutiny.
With the supplies burned and the image of the dragon's rampage fresh in everyone's minds, the mercenaries might soon turn their accumulated frustration over their losses against the commanders and the Tyroshi.
"We can only take a gamble; the Archon will give everyone more rewards afterward. If we leave now, the soldiers' mutiny will truly be uncontrollable. Hold on a little longer, break into Viserysburg, and everything will be fine," the Tyroshi Commander promised.
"Quick, go gather those burned animals, roast them, and keep eating... and, and salvage what's left of the grain," Bloodbeard took a deep breath.
"Alright," the Goat nodded.
They scavenged whatever edible remains they could from the scorched earth to see how long they could hold out.
Eating too much horse meat isn't good for the body, but it was a temporary necessity.
"Tell me your opinion," Bloodbeard looked at the oddly dressed Daario.
"As things stand, we can only rely on Scorpions and longbows," Daario said. "Everyone fears an old dragon, but we should be thankful that what we encountered was not the Black Dread, but a young dragon. Besides the dragon, a Dragon Rider cannot dodge a hail of arrows either."
Myr cross-bowmen once assassinated Prince Aemon; the sailors of the The Three Daughters shot down Jacaerys and his dragon in a naval battle, as well as Aegon the Dragonbane's young dragon, Stormcloud.
"Let's do it then..." The Tyroshi Commanders nodded and said through gritted teeth, "Our war against the dragon is a matter of life and death."
Tyrosh is a commercial city; merchants are considered to have a more honorable profession than warriors.
However, Tyrosh was once a military fortress, and its militaristic character is more pronounced than that of Lys and Myr.
"You have courage, Daario. I'm entrusting the task of dragon-slaying to you. Tell me what men and soldiers you need," Bloodbeard said.
"The cavalry is gone. I want the best crossbowmen, longbowmen, spearmen, and ballista operators. I want command over them," Daario said, his eyes flashing with a cold light.
The Dragon Slayers of the past are recorded in the dust of history, but they would be real Dragon Slayers.
"No problem," Bloodbeard nodded.
The Dragon Slayers of the Tyroshi Alliance Army gathered together to join this most dangerous game.
Sunfyre flapped its leathery wings, which were like thunderclaps.
Viserys returned to the walls of Viserysburg; in the distance was a landscape of devastation, ruins of fire and smoke.
The warriors cheered and danced, pumping their steel fists.
Viserys's black robe looked brand new, untainted by any dust or blood, and the angry dragon remained.
A myriad of troops shuns the black robe.
"Long live King Viserys!"
"Long live King Viserys!"
The sound of fists striking and feet stomping was as loud as thunder.
The cheers on the wall contrasted sharply with the defeat of the Tyroshi and dothraki below.
The dothraki khalasars seemed to fall into silence; as their tents in the rear were continuously consumed by fire, the instinctive fear of fire-fighting overcame everything else.
"Do we need to deploy now?" Donal asked.
Now that the enemy's morale had been worn down for several days and their rear had been burned, it was time to strike.
Viserys raised his hand, gazing at the distant battlefield: "Stay behind the walls; wear them down for a few more days."
Viserys had already figured it out; the enemy's food might only last a few more days, so he would just keep wearing them down.
Viserys planned to conduct several night raids, constantly setting fire to the camp.
Once the enemy's morale sank further, then would come the large-scale battle of annihilation.
Argos and Donal stood behind Viserys like solid rocks.
Viserys looked at the scene in the distance; next would be the moment for the heavy-armored soldiers.
Donal's heavy infantry, Argos's heavy knights, and the spearmen deployed by The Red Viper and Gaelin.
And then, there was the wildfire hidden in the shadows.
...
...
On the watchtower of the Golden Company in the distance, Myles Toyne and a blue-haired attendant beside him silently watched the smoke and fire afar.
The great fire ignited the Tyroshi camp and the dothraki tents.
What a fire; this blaze was even more intense than the fires of the Battle of the Redgrass Field.
"It's a young dragon, but it's already capable of taking to the battlefield. This isn't something that can be hatched in a hurry; it's been at least a few years. No secret can be hidden from the Braavosi; there's only one possibility—Viserys went to the Valyrian Ruins." The blue-haired Griffin clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
"No wonder, no wonder he has such confidence," Myles Toyne said with a sudden realization. "He has a dragon. Without needing the Golden Company's help, he has already incinerated the logistics of the Dothraki savages and the Tyroshi."
"From a military perspective, burning the supply lines is a ruthless move, but it truly struck at their vitals."
In his youth, Griffin, like most knights, despised archers and schemes, believing in strength and courage, but he had gained more wisdom during his life in exile.
If used properly, schemes and arrows are as powerful as longswords.
"But he is not the king I want; the true throne should belong to Rhaegar's son," Griffin said coldly.
After the Battle of the Bells, Aerys Targaryen's paranoia flared up, and driven by mad and blind rage, he stripped Griffin of all his titles and exiled him.
Griffin felt not a shred of attachment to The Mad King; Griffin did not love the Targaryens, he only loved the star of his life.
"Rhaegar's son has no dragon, has never been to the Valyrian Ruins, has no other True Dragons to accompany him, and lacks prestige. He can't compare to his uncle in any way," Myles countered coldly. "Your prince is still an eleven-year-old child, but his uncle is already one of the most dangerous warriors in the world."
Griffin was in no mood to argue. He was tired of hiding, tired of waiting, and tired of being cautious. Besides, there was no time for caution now.
Many years had passed since the Battle of the Bells, but the sound of those bells still haunted Griffin like a chronic illness.
"We will have dragons," Griffin looked at Myles. "The secret the Magister mentioned."
"The fat man's words," Myles looked at Griffin. "This game is too dangerous, my friend. The fat man is in Pentos, while King Viserys is right before us. Once we bend the knee, there will be another bright future."
Griffin looked at Myles, thinking of his failure at the Battle of the Bells; he hadn't set the town on fire and ultimately failed.
Griffin craved the glory of killing Robert but was unwilling to bear the infamy of a butcher. Thus, Robert slipped through his fingers and ended up killing Rhaegar on the Trident River.
"I failed the father," Griffin said, "but I will never fail the son."
"Rhaegar's son..." Myles really wanted to ask Griffin about the truth of this child, the little truth he knew himself.
But the truth was too painful, so he chose silence.
Myles looked at Griffin. We are playing the game of thrones, not two bitches fighting over a bone. I'm sorry, I've lied to you a lot too.