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The rain of arrows came whistling through the air, a deadly volley aimed at the rapidly approaching emerald dragon.
Among them were massive ballista bolts, thick as spears, streaking toward their target with lethal precision.
Yet, the emerald dragon made no effort to avoid the ordinary arrows, for it had no need to. Its sturdy scales rendered them useless, incapable of piercing its formidable hide.
The only real threat lay in the powerful ballista bolts. Agile and swift, the dragon twisted and maneuvered through the air, evading the largest projectiles with ease.
However, whether by sheer misfortune or deliberate intent, the emerald dragon's movement faltered for the briefest moment. In that instant, a ballista bolt struck the tip of its long, powerful tail.
CLANG! CRACK!
A sharp metallic impact resounded through the sky. The force of the strike was immense, but instead of penetrating the dragon's hide, the bolt was deflected upon impact, veering off course.
Nonetheless, the dragon's tail did not emerge unscathed—several scales, pristine and shimmering like a master artisan's handiwork, shattered from the force.
This alone was enough to prove the terrifying resilience of the emerald dragon's scales.
Even a ballista bolt, fired with tremendous force from a warship's siege weapon, had failed to pierce through at once.
Of course, should another strike land in the exact same spot, the already damaged scales would provide little protection.
Yet, landing two consecutive hits on the same precise point of a dragon that moved with such astonishing speed and agility was nothing short of an impossible feat.
Now fully within range, the emerald dragon opened its massive maw, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs. A fiery glow flickered within its throat.
WHOOSH!
A torrent of searing orange flames erupted from the dragon's maw, engulfing one of the fleet's largest warships. The ship's ballistae—among the few weapons capable of posing any real threat to the beast—were instantly swallowed by the inferno.
Flames surged hungrily across the deck, devouring everything in their path. Though the dragon's primary intent was to obliterate the siege weapons, the sheer intensity of its fire wrought devastation beyond measure.
Sparks scattered in all directions, setting soldiers ablaze as they screamed in agony, their armor offering no protection against the unrelenting heat.
On deck, one of the two sailors who had first spotted the dragon watched in horror as his companion was struck by a cascade of burning embers.
Panicked, he frantically tried to smother the flames, but it was futile. The dragonfire spread like a living thing, consuming flesh and cloth alike with merciless hunger.
His companion's screams rang out for mere minutes before fading into a dreadful silence, leaving behind nothing but a blackened, smoldering husk.
SPLASH! SPLASH!
The sound of the body's striking water reached the sailor's ears. He turned just in time to see several Myrish soldiers—set ablaze while trying to save their comrades—hurling themselves overboard in a desperate bid for survival.
To his astonishment, those who had not yet been fully consumed by the flames found that plunging into the sea extinguished the dragonfire. The embers burned for a fleeting moment before flickering out, their fury subdued by the waves.
Yet, the screams of the dying had not ceased.
From all around, the air was filled with agonized cries as the emerald dragon continued its relentless assault. It soared over ship after ship, spewing torrents of dragonflame onto their decks.
Soldiers writhed in unbearable pain, their bodies engulfed in searing heat. The sea itself reflected the fiery carnage—its surface painted with the burning wreckage of warships and the blackened remains of those who had not been fortunate enough to escape.
Thick plumes of smoke billowed skyward, blotting out the sun and filling the air with the acrid stench of charred flesh and smoldering wood.
To the surviving sailor, it was as though hell itself had been unleashed upon them.
And this… this was only the dragon's first pass.
High above, the emerald beast twisted its massive body and adjusted its course. In the blink of an eye, it wheeled around, preparing to strike once more.
"Everyone, to me!"
A desperate voice rang out over the chaos. The sailor turned to see Bartos, the magister of Myr, standing on the deck.
At some point, the man had emerged from his cabin and was now frantically calling his soldiers to rally around him.
But the sailor, still reeling from the horror he had just witnessed, remained frozen in place. His gaze fell upon the charred corpse of his fellow crewman, still smoldering where he had fallen. His fingers clenched the railing, his breath ragged, his body trembling.
To him, this was not a battle. It was a massacre.
There was no hope of victory.
Fighting would only lead to certain death.
Better to abandon ship—better to take his chances in the sea than be reduced to nothing but ash and bone.
WHOOSH!
With a single exhale of flames, nearly a hundred Myrish soldiers—those who had just finished regrouping under Magister Bartos' command—were erased from existence.
The deck became a graveyard of smoldering bodies, the remains of the dead and dying barely recognizable.
"Quick! Protect me—get me out of here!"
The magister's voice trembled with sheer terror. His face had gone deathly pale, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. He turned to his personal guards, commanding them to escort him away.
But where could he run?
Who could possibly escape the pursuit of a dragon soaring through the skies, swift and merciless, over the vast, endless sea?
With only three sweeps of its fiery breath, the emerald beast had shattered the fleet's will.
Once a formidable force of sixteen warships and two thousand men, the fleet was now in utter disarray.
As the old saying goes: A cowardly soldier is one thing, but a cowardly commander dooms the entire army!
A merchant-turned-military leader like Magister Bartos was never destined to command a disciplined, battle-hardened fleet. His men, lacking true military resolve, had faltered the moment the dragon descended upon them.
The four largest warships, which had borne the brunt of the assault, were reduced to floating infernos, their decks engulfed in roaring flames.
Meanwhile, the remaining twelve mid-sized vessels—packed with enslaved soldiers—chose flight over folly. Instead of standing their ground, they scattered in all directions, each desperately seeking an escape from the battlefield.
After all, not all slave soldiers were Unsullied!
SPLASH! SPLASH!
From the distant eastern horizon, a new fleet emerged—its black sails emblazoned with the sigil of the three-headed dragon.
The Bloodstone fleet was approaching at great speed, racing toward the battlefield.
Yet by the time they arrived, there would likely be nothing left for them to do but mop up the remnants of the slaughter.
On the burning flagship, Magister Bartos, shielded by his personal guards, had set his sights on escape. The lifeboats aboard his vessel were his salvation, a final chance to slip away before the chaos consumed him entirely.
But—
BOOOOM!!!
A deafening crash shattered his hopes.
The emerald dragon descended from the sky like a living calamity, slamming onto the deck directly in front of him.
CRACK!
Even for a warship of this size, the sheer force of the dragon's impact was too much to withstand. The sturdy wooden planks splintered and exploded outward, sending shards flying in every direction.
Beneath the beast's crushing weight, the deck gave way with a deafening groan. A massive hole yawned open, swallowing the dragon as it plunged into the bowels of the ship.
Magister Bartos, now cut off from escape, stood paralyzed. His breath came in ragged gasps, his wide, panic-stricken eyes locked on the gaping void where the dragon had disappeared.
For a fleeting moment, hope flickered within him.
Had the beast fallen to its doom?
But such a notion was nothing more than wishful thinking.
From the darkness below, a massive head emerged, its scales gleaming like imperial jade.
Two reptilian eyes—cold, unfeeling slits of molten gold—fixed upon him with the cruel patience of a predator toying with its prey.
Magister Bartos had long dreamed of seeing a dragon up close. Now, in his final moments, he had gotten his wish.
WHOOSH!
A gust of hot, rancid breath erupted from the dragon's nostrils, blasting over Bartos like the scorching winds of a furnace.
His sparse, sweat-drenched hair fluttered wildly under the force, sticking to his forehead in tangled strands.
"I am the Magister of Myr—"
SNAP!
Before he could finish his desperate attempt at self-introduction, the world around him plunged into darkness.
A sharp, withering coldness wrapped around his lower half, followed instantly by a peculiar sensation—one of warmth, of movement, as though he were sliding down a wet, living tunnel.
PLOP! SIZZLE!
He landed with a splash into a pool of thick, burning liquid. A moment later, his skin began to dissolve, the flesh peeling away like wax melting under an open flame.
Yet, as his body succumbed to the acid, Bartos felt no agony—only a numbing weight pressing in on his mind, suffocating his thoughts. In his final moments, only one notion remained.
So… I was eaten by a dragon.
A short distance away, a lone sailor stood trembling at the ship's railing, having witnessed the horrifying spectacle with his own eyes.
He had watched the magister's final, desperate moments unfold—the dragon's massive jaws snapping shut around him, the sickening crunch echoing through the ship as Bartos was bitten clean in half, his body reduced to nothing more than a swallowed morsel.
The sight of their magister's gruesome demise sent his personal guards into a blind rage. Driven by fury and despair, they launched themselves at the dragon in a suicidal charge, determined to avenge their fallen commander.
Seizing what might be his only chance, the sailor crept toward a lifeboat tethered to the side of the ship. With trembling hands, he cut the ropes and let himself drift away.
SPLASH! SPLASH!
With enemy warships advancing from the east, he had no choice but to row toward the west—the direction from which they had originally come.
As he fled, his mind churned with unease. That dragon… it could have simply incinerated the entire fleet from above.
Yet, instead, it had landed on the flagship, engaging in close combat rather than wiping out all the ships at once.
It was as if… it had intentionally let them escape.
Unable to shake the unsettling thought, the sailor glanced back over his shoulder. From the distance, he could see the dragon—an unstoppable force of destruction—still rampaging across the ruined flagship.
And there, seated atop the beast's back, was a figure clad in dark armor.
Jacearys Velaryon.
His gaze followed the fleeing vessels in the westward waters, his expression unreadable. Then, in a low voice, he murmured:
"I've taken the bait. Now it's your turn to act."
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[IMAGE]
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[Chapter End's]
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