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Bandy Island lay to the northeast of Tyrosh, while the city of Tyrosh itself was located in the southwestern part of the same landmass.
Under ordinary circumstances, the city's naval defense fleet maintained a vigilant perimeter, patrolling the surrounding waters to guard against any threat.
However, ever since the Combined Fleet had been annihilated in the waters near Lanark Island, Archon Pachek had issued an urgent order for the entire main fleet, to withdraw to the harbor and prepare for reinforced defensive measures.
As a result, the other coastal regions of the island were left under the watch of only a few reconnaissance squadrons tasked with monitoring for potential danger.
In the northeastern waters of Tyrosh, three small reconnaissance ships sailed in a wedge formation, their hulls gliding silently through the gentle waves.
Suddenly, a Tyroshi soldier on one of the ships, a sharp-eyed and vigilant man, pointed toward the sky and cried out in alarm, "A dragon!"
There was no hesitation, no time to confirm or question. All three ships immediately turned their prows toward the southwest, racing to return to the safety of the port.
But against the blistering speed of a dragon, capable of soaring through the skies at hundreds of kilometers per hour, the slow, lumbering pace of the reconnaissance ships was no different from that of turtles.
Within mere minutes, the dragon descended from the clouds, closing the distance with terrifying speed. It swooped down from above, positioning itself directly over the rearmost ship.
With a deafening roar, it unleashed a torrent of searing orange-red flames from its jaws. The dragonfire engulfed the vessel in an instant, turning the wooden ship into a blazing inferno.
The Tyroshi soldiers aboard did not even have time to leap into the sea. Their cries were swallowed by the flames as they were turned into living torches.
Again and again, the dragon breathed fire. The scorching stream lit up the sea, carving a fiery trail through the morning mist and sending up massive clouds of steam. The blaze surged forward, reaching the second ship and setting its stern alight.
Flames quickly spread, devouring the vessel from stern to bow in moments. This time, however, some of the crew had reacted quickly enough. Realizing their fate, several soldiers leapt into the sea ahead of the flames.
They hit the water with heavy splashes, disappearing beneath the waves in a desperate attempt to escape the inferno.
The soldiers on the frontmost reconnaissance ship had acted even more decisively than the others. The moment they saw the second vessel erupt in flames, they abandoned their own without hesitation, diving straight into the sea.
Ironically, that may have been the wisest choice when faced with a dragon's fury. The reconnaissance fleet was operating close to the main island, and these men had grown up surrounded by the sea.
Their swimming abilities needed no embellishment. There was a fair chance they could survive the ordeal and make it back to shore.
High above, astride his dragon, Jacaerys watched them with a mixture of exasperation and faint amusement. He observed as the Tyroshi soldiers held their breath and kicked furiously beneath the surface, trying to escape the flames.
His original intention had been to leave one of the reconnaissance ships intact, allowing it to carry a message back to Tyrosh. But after witnessing the soldiers' panicked retreat, he could only sigh.
It did not matter now. The priority had shifted to ensuring the landing of the fleet proceeded without delay.
With a slight shake of his head, Jacaerys issued a silent command. Vermax, the dragon, rumbled low in his throat, then turned and soared back toward the approaching fleet from Bloodstone, which now waited offshore in formation.
It had taken some time, but eventually the combined force of thirteen large warships and nineteen medium and small vessels had discovered a relatively narrow beachhead along Tyrosh's northeastern coast. There, at last, they began to disembark.
By the time the full force of over three thousand four hundred slaves abducted from Bandy Island had landed, night had already fallen. With no better choice, they made camp along the rugged coastline.
The fleet from Bloodstone had committed nearly all of its strength to the invasion.
Among them were seven hundred Unsullied—disciplined, fearless warriors—along with nearly a thousand soldiers from Bloodstone Island and a ragtag militia of six hundred former enemy troops captured from Lanark Island and Bandy Island.
Even without the slaves, the army's two thousand three hundred soldiers consumed a considerable amount of rations each day.
Naturally, there was no way to offer generous portions to the slaves. Each one received only a single bowl of thin soup, a watery mixture of beans and boiled vegetables.
At dawn the following day, this formidable host, now numbering over five thousand seven hundred, began their march inland.
As expected, the slaves were positioned at the front. If combat were to erupt, they would serve as the first wave of expendable shock troops.
Jacaerys had no illusions about their chances. He never allowed arrogance to cloud his judgment.
During his earlier visit to Tyrosh, he had taken careful note of the city's layout and the strength of its defensive walls.
From that moment, he knew clearly that attempting a direct assault on the heavily fortified harbor would be a fool's errand. The multiple layers of defenses would shred any frontal attack before it could gain a foothold.
However, Tyrosh was a vast island. Beyond the city of Tyrosh itself, it was home to many smaller towns and villages.
Jacaerys's plan was simple and brutal. He would first raid and subjugate the outlying settlements, seizing their food stores and conscripting their people into his ranks as cannon fodder.
Once his army had grown sufficiently in both number and strength, he would march upon the city from land.
Faced with the terrifying sight of a dragon soaring overhead and the thunderous approach of a massive army, most of the small towns they encountered chose to surrender without resistance.
Those that dared to fight back merely provided Jacaerys with what he desired most—opportunities to reap trait points and further strengthen his abilities.
By the end of the day, three towns had surrendered without a fight. A fourth, more defiant settlement, was reduced to a smoldering ruin beneath the fury of dragonfire.
The twelve hundred civilians and slaves from the surrendered towns were immediately absorbed into the slave legion, increasing the size of Jacaerys's expendable vanguard.
The food and supplies confiscated from these settlements would sustain the army for two or three more days.
That very night, several Tyroshi officials, whom Jacaerys recognized from his earlier visit to the city, arrived on horseback. They brought with them a train of slave carts filled with offerings, clearly intended as a gesture of submission.
Evidently, the message had been delivered. The Tyroshi scouts who survived by diving into the sea had returned to the city, and the tale of the dragon's assault had spread ahead of the army's arrival.
The gifts they presented were more abundant and valuable than any they had offered before, at least three times greater than the last tribute.
Jacaerys accepted everything with a serene smile, his demeanor warm yet measured. And then, without a trace of pretense, he uttered two calm yet weighty words: "Not enough."
Upon hearing this, the smiles on the Tyroshi officials' faces froze instantly.
Facing the overwhelming might of a dragon and an invading army thousands strong, they dared not protest.
Instead, they forced awkward smiles and offered hollow praise in hopes of appeasing the young dragonlord. They then took their leave with great caution, like men walking on thin ice.
By dawn the next day, Jacaerys once again led his massive force deeper into the Tyroshi interior.
Five more towns surrendered without resistance. One that dared to resist was reduced to charred ruins beneath dragonfire.
The ranks of the expendable slave army swelled by another fifteen hundred bodies, and the captured supplies provided enough food for the army to last five or six more days.
On the third day, word of Jacaerys's approach had already spread across the region. Most of the populace had fled to the city of Tyrosh.
As a result, though they captured some food, much of it was bulky and difficult to transport, and there were few new slaves to be conscripted.
That afternoon, the same group of weary Tyroshi officials returned, once more bearing lavish offerings and forced smiles.
The entire scene unfolded almost identically to the previous encounter, so similar that it could have been mistaken for a repetition rather than a new event.
When they once again heard those same two chilling words—"Not enough"—the officials no longer harbored any illusions.
It was clear now that Jacaerys had no intention of coexisting peacefully with Tyrosh. He had come deliberately to make an enemy of the city.
They paid no heed to their aching limbs or sleep-deprived minds. With dread clenching their hearts, they turned their horses and raced back to Tyrosh without pause.
When the officials delivered their report, Archon Pachek and the nine merchant-magisters erupted in fury.
Each of the magisters cursed Jacaerys bitterly, despite his absence. All of them were men who had risen from merchant families.
To them, wealth was dearer than life. If not for Pachek's repeated persuasion and efforts to delay the confrontation, none of them would have agreed to offer tribute, let alone do so twice.
Now, however, they saw the truth. Jacaerys was insatiable and merciless. He was not merely ambitious; he intended to humiliate them.
Pachek himself harbored deep wariness toward the dragonlord and had tried everything to avoid war. But faced with the united outrage of his fellow rulers, he could no longer stand alone in advocating peace.
Tyrosh, with its towering walls and formidable defenses, had always been a fortress city. With passions inflamed, cries for war drowned out any lingering calls for diplomacy.
Orders to prepare for battle were swiftly issued across the city by Archon Pachek. Alongside them came the merchant-magisters' favored tactic: generous bounty rewards.
The incentives were twofold. One aimed at the slave-soldiers, offering promises of freedom in exchange for valor. The other targeted mercenary bands and freelance fighters with the lure of silver and gold. These rewards set Tyrosh's fighting forces ablaze with fervor.
Now that the route of Jacaerys's advance was clear, with his forces approaching by land, the city's commanders moved the bulk of their troops to defend the inland approach. Yet they did not neglect the skies.
Tyrosh's high walls were already outfitted with numerous heavy ballistas, and Pachek had reinforced them with more weapons brought back from Bandy Island.
By the end of the sixth day since the Bloodstone Fleet had landed on Tyroshi soil, a dark mass of soldiers and slaves appeared on the horizon outside the city walls.
Naturally, it was Jacaerys. He had arrived with his army.
The war had truly begun.
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[Chapter End's]
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