Tyrosh, Near the Eastern Gate
Groan... Clack... Clack...
The heavy sound of winches turning echoed through the stone corridor as the Eastern Gate of Tyrosh slowly ground upward. This massive portal, constructed of iron-banded oak, was a marvel of engineering that required complex machinery to move.
Behind the primary gate sat the iron portcullis. Normally, had an enemy breached the first layer, the portcullis would drop, trapping the invaders in a "killing box" where defenders would rain Fire Oil from murder-holes above. But as the Chainbreakers poured in, these defenses remained cold and silent. The guards assigned to the gatehouse were already corpses, their blood cooling on the stone.
With the way cleared, the mercenary companies waiting outside surged in like a dam bursting. It was a chaotic sea of mismatched plate, boiled leather, and a thousand different blades. However, to Jon's relief, they didn't scatter like rabid dogs to pillage. Under the stern commands of their captains, they formed up and marched toward the center.
"Lord Jon! One thousand men of the Wolf Pack reporting!" "The Great Bear Company is through!" "Sea Spray at your command!"
The mercenary captains hurried to Jon, who stood like a statue amidst the swirling dust of the gatehouse. Their eyes lingered on him with a new, profound respect—or perhaps fear. They had seen the silhouettes of the Cyclops and the Giant Spiders through their Myrish tubes. The sheer impossibility of what Jon had summoned had carved a permanent mark on their souls.
"Good," Jon said, his voice level and commanding. "You've done well. Follow the plan. One half to the Administrative District, the other to reinforce the Western Gate. Move."
Jon's scouts had already secured a nearby temple. The Tyroshis, taking a page from their Valyrian forebears, used a polytheistic religious system as a tool of statecraft—funding grand temples to give the slaves a place to put their hope, while the priests preached a gospel of submission. Jon had specifically targeted the Temple of the Black Goat of Qohor. Having already crossed paths (and swords) with that entity's influence before, he found a grim satisfaction in turning its sanctuary into a command post.
"All units, prepare to advance!" Jon commanded.
The battle for Tyrosh was only entering its second phase. The Dionysus Fountain Square remained a hornet's nest of resistance, and the liberated slaves were beginning to turn the city into a pyre of vengeance. Jon could not allow the city he intended to rule to be reduced to ash.
"Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry," Jon turned to his closest guards. "Take the Imperial Shield-and-Spear detachment. Secure the Financial District. The banks belong to me now. If the bankers have questions, let your steel provide the answers."
"As you command, Ae— Lord Jon," Sam corrected himself quickly, though the title Aegon was already slipping into their daily speech. While the world saw the direwolf and the dragon on his banners, the inner circle knew the weight of the name he carried.
The Iron Tide
"Advance!"
As Frodo's detachment broke off toward the northeast, Jon led the core of his strength toward the Dionysus Fountain Square. At the vanguard were the Heavy Armored Knights—the "Iron Cans." This was the fist of the Chainbreakers, a combined-arms unit of heavy plate, elite archers, and the cloaked Elemental Mages.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
They marched to the beat of heavy hand-drums, a rhythmic cadence Jon had implemented back on Cutthroat Isle.
"Our ranks are like the sun..." Jon hummed under his breath, an old melody from another life surfacing in his mind. Some rhythms were etched into the soul, crossing the boundaries of worlds.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The drums were suddenly answered by a different beat—the heavy, disciplined stomp of a professional legion. Jon looked ahead and saw the silver-and-purple banners of the Silver Deer Army closing in from the side streets.
"The Silver Deer," Jon noted, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade.
"Unknown invaders!" a Tyroshi herald roared, his voice amplified by a dozen of his peers in a synchronized shout. "You have violated the sovereignty of Tyrosh! Withdraw now, and we shall stay our hand! Advance, and you shall pay in blood!"
Jon didn't need a dozen heralds. He stepped forward and spoke three words in High Valyrian, projected with a clarity that silenced the wind.
"Surrender. Or. Die."
The response from the Silver Deer was a cloud of arrows. They were far superior to the City Watch; their volleys were tight and timed with lethal precision.
"Shields up!"
The Chainbreakers didn't falter. The outer rim of the square formation locked their heavy shields, while those in the center raised rattan shields—a lightweight, effective defense against archery Jon had sourced from the Stepstones. The arrows clattered harmlessly against the "turtle" shell of the unit.
"Forward! Double time!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The drums shifted to a frantic, driving beat. The Heavy Armored Knights began to move like a massive, unstoppable tank, their boots grinding the cobblestones.
"Mages! Clear the path!"
The Tyroshi spear-lines braced, expecting a return volley of arrows. Instead, the shield wall parted slightly to reveal the cloaked mages.
"What are they doing?" a Tyroshi officer shouted, confused by the lack of weapons in the mages' hands.
BOOM! BOOM!
A concentrated barrage of fireballs slammed into the front ranks of the Silver Deer. The explosions shattered the bronze shields and sent screaming, scorched soldiers flying. Before the Tyroshis could fill the gap, the Heavy Armored Knights slammed into them.
Crrr-ack! Squelch!
The knights struck with shield and spear in a single, fluid motion. They didn't just fight; they moved through the enemy. With the Elemental Mages providing "artillery" support to break the Tyroshi formations, the knights acted as the iron teeth of a harvester, eating through the Silver Deer's ranks.
Commander Saeraes Moss tried desperately to shore up his crumbling lines, but facing the Chainbreakers was like trying to stop a landslide with a wooden fence. The steel tide of Jon's army rolled on, heading directly for the heart of the city: the Purple Palace.