Chapter 147: The Battle of Tyrosh, 11:00 AM

Tyrosh's main island is actually quite large, with the city located at its northernmost point. The southern part of the island consists of vast farmlands and orchards, where vegetables are grown and pears are the most abundant fruit.

At the moment, the orchards are filled with soldiers from Westeros. They took advantage of the thick morning fog that had risen from the sea and landed in the south, searching for trees to cut down and make ladders.

The houses near the farmlands had been looted, and the slaves who lived there were dragged out to work as laborers. Ships kept leaving the beach, only to be replaced by new ships, bringing large groups of heavily armed soldiers. Flags from the Westerlands, Stormlands, Riverlands, Iron Islands, Dorne, and the North filled the shoreline.

To the north of Tyrosh, outside the city, the sea had already become a battlefield. Tyrosh's entire fleet had returned to defend, mixing in battle with the fleets of the Seven Kingdoms.

Even with the morale to protect their homeland, the Tyrosh could not make up for their lack of numbers, and they could only watch as ship after ship was set on fire and sunk. The battle didn't last long, and Tyrosh was left with only a few ships fleeing in disorder.

The harbor was piled high with sandbags and makeshift barricades. All the streets had been blocked off, and all the soldiers and mercenaries had retreated into the city to defend. The walls were lined with rows of soldiers, while slaves continued to carry bundles of arrows and oil to the walls. Commanders were constantly adjusting the positions of their soldiers, and the air was filled with orders and shouts, creating a tense and noisy atmosphere.

"Euron has fled! Ha! He heard the name 'Wright Baratheon' and ran away, pissing himself, hahaha!"

The Archon of Tyrosh laughed loudly, his forced smile filled with anxiety.

Tattered Prince, sharpening his longsword with a whetstone, didn't look at the lord but replied directly, "Pirates are never trustworthy!"

The lord responded, "At least Prince Oberyn of Dorne promised me that reinforcements are on the way."

Tattered Prince stopped his work, surprised. "Reinforcements? At this time? Where are they coming from?"

The lord replied, "The new Sealord of Braavos sent the Purple Fleet! One thousand warships!"

Tattered Prince stood up. "Good! As long as we hold Tyrosh, the Westerosi expeditionary force will surely be worn down. Once we have the advantage, Myr, Pentos, and other fence-sitters will side with us!"

The lord looked anxious. "But after this, I'll try to contact Oberyn again. He hasn't replied to my messages—he might be in trouble!"

Tattered Prince replied, "You should count yourself lucky to have an ally like Oberyn. If something has happened to him, think about how you're going to compensate Prince Doran."

It wasn't just The Archon of Tyrosh who couldn't reach Oberyn; the Braavos Purple Fleet had also lost contact with him.

During the recent Stepstone Islands war, Oberyn had made contact with the new Sealord of Braavos, Tormo Freyga, and made several promises. The new Sealord, also swept up by Braavos' rising public sentiment, was forced to seek vengeance against Wright Baratheon! These two factors led to the dispatch of the Purple Fleet south.

Sealord Tormo Freyga's family was also wealthy, and through their spies, they had discovered a troubling matter. In Braavos, some were deliberately spreading and inciting hatred against Wright Baratheon. The things they said were mostly true—Wright had indeed destroyed Drowned Town and killed the former Sealord. Would the new Sealord still want to be friends with Wright?

Although Oberyn had maintained contact with the Purple Fleet, communication was lost after the fleet reached the waters of Pentos. Sealord Tormo Freyga suspected that Oberyn had been captured for leaking military information.

The Purple Fleet, now cut off from the Seven Kingdoms' fleet intelligence, could only contact The Archon of Tyrosh, planning to first secure the capital and then decide on their next steps. They were now only half a day's sail away from Tyrosh.

---

Odahviing flew high above the clouds, carefully scanning the sea below.

Wright clung to the dragon's horns, standing on its head, his voice muffled by his helmet. "Odahviing, this is your first time showing yourself to the world—don't get yourself beaten to a pulp. That would be so embarrassing!"

The dragon tilted its head, throwing Wright into the air. Fortunately, Wright held on tightly, or he would have been flung off. "What are you doing?!"

Odahviing: "Dragonborn, you think so little of me?"

"Wright, do not underestimate the humans of this world!"

Wright knocked on the dragon's horn with the hilt of his sword.

"The people of the Nine Great Trading Cities have been dealing with dragons for five thousand years, through countless wars. During the height of the Valyrian Empire, there were over a thousand dragons, all descendants of your kind. And yet, they couldn't eliminate the Andals and the Rhoynar, and those people managed to escape to Westeros."

Odahviing: "Those descendants can no longer speak the language of dragons. They have degenerated into beasts!"

Wright: "But their bodies are like yours, made of blood and magic. The weapons that can kill them can also be effective against you."

Odahviing: "Is it the crossbow you mentioned?"

Wright: "In the Battle of the Gullet over a hundred years ago, five Targaryen dragons fought against ninety ships, and one of them was killed by a single shot from a crossbow."

Odahviing: "I've heard Tyene tell that story. But those were just little dragons, no bigger than my leg!"

Wright: "Let me emphasize this again: there was a dragon named Smaug, who was also killed by a crossbow shot to the heart!"

Wright tapped the dragon's horn with his sword again. "You're bulkier than Smaug, but his body was slightly longer than yours. He was a powerful dragon, just like you!"

Odahviing thought for a moment. "Smaug? Never heard of that name. Where did this wild dragon come from?"

Wright: "I'm just reminding you that the humans of this world are capable of killing dragons. Odahviing! Turn left! There's a fleet over there."

Wright could already see the fleet, and with Odahviing's superior vision, there was no way he hadn't seen it too. Odahviing was just processing Wright's words and figuring out how to respond.

Through the clouds, Wright saw a dense cluster of warships below, all sailing full sail toward Tyrosh.

Humans could only see small dots on the sea, so Wright asked Odahviing, "What color are those ships?"

"Purple!"

It seemed to be the Purple Fleet from Braavos. Wright didn't care about their intentions—after all, the war in the Stepstone Islands had been raging for a long time, and word had already spread. A fleet of such size arriving here without informing the Seven Kingdoms could either mean an enemy advance or an opportunistic raid.

"Mu~~~Qah~~~Diiv~~~!"

Wright entered combat mode, his Dragon Aspect and Fire Cloak wrapping around him. Dragon Aspect created a three-colored magical armor of yellow, white, and blue over his gleaming steel armor. Flames engulfed him, and his head was protected by the magical dragon horns over his antlers, making him appear even more ferocious.

Gripping the horns tightly, Wright shouted: "Odahviing! Attack!"

ANG~~~~~~

Odahviing let out a deafening roar, the sheer force of the sound scattering the nearby clouds.

He folded his massive wings and dove downward, his head pointed towards the sea, plummeting from the sky.

The people on the Purple Fleet only felt a tremendous roar coming from above. They had never heard such a violent, furious, and immense sound. All of them instinctively looked up at the sky, only to see a massive creature rapidly descending from the heavens.

"What is that thing?"

"A dragon?"

"It's really a dragon!"

"Quick, prepare the defenses!"

The dragon was too fast. Before the officers aboard the warships could organize their men, the dragon's wings were already spread, and it transformed its fall into a smooth flight just above the sea.

"Strun~~Bah~~Qo~~"

No longer a beastly roar, but the language of dragons, Odahviing's voice spread across the entire sea, and thick dark clouds instantly blocked out the sky. The purple fleet on the sea was suddenly plunged into darkness.

Gold and red dragonfire burst from Odahviing's mouth, engulfing a warship entirely. The intense heat and explosive dragonflame, capable of melting steel and rock, consumed the ship, leaving only a few charred pieces of wood to fall, still aflame.

The dragon glided over the sea, burning one ship, then another, until the eighth was destroyed. Only then did the dragonfire stop.

The remains of the burning ships floated on the sea, leaving behind a fiery trail across the purple fleet. In the dark ocean, it was bright as day.

The dragon's massive size meant that not only could its fire easily destroy ships, but its wings, while flying at low altitude, would often brush against the masts of the ships. These masts, which appeared sturdy to humans, were like small branches in front of the dragon. Any contact would snap them instantly.

After finishing one burst of Dragonfire, Odahviing took a deep breath. Meanwhile, Wright began his magical attack.

Odahviing's dragonfire traced a straight line in the direction of its flight, while Wright targeted the sails of the larger ships, casting explosive fireball magic. The fireballs mixed with wind magic, a combination Wright had grown quite skilled at, and though less powerful than the dragonfire, the fireballs could still create holes in the ships.

Seven or eight ships were left half-destroyed by Wright's attacks. Some were hit in the decks, and soldiers rushed to put out the flames. Others were struck on the sides, causing the ships to take on water and begin to capsize. The soldiers on those ships were left with no choice but to jump into the sea to survive.

After Wright's magic ended, Dragonfire came again, once again wreaking havoc on the purple fleet's ships.

The sky began to crackle with lightning, one bolt after another striking the ships. Countless vessels caught fire, and the entire sea was ablaze. The fleet was in chaos, and the ships on the outer edges began to turn and flee the area.

Wright: "Odahviing, move!"

Dozens of heavy steel crossbow bolts shot towards the dragon. Hearing Wright's call, Odahviing suddenly flapped his wings, pulling up and spinning in the air before charging toward the ships that had fired the crossbows.

When possible, dodge; when not, defend. This was the survival lesson Wright had taught Odahviing, and although Odahviing had scolded Wright for being a coward for days, he understood its value. In battle, though Odahviing's scales were thick, he didn't want to test the power of the crossbow bolts on his own body. The wings, covered with thin membrane, would be vulnerable, and any slight tear would make Wright worry for days. Not to mention, Odahviing would certainly demand a lot of meat as compensation, and Wright didn't have money to waste.

Dragonfire ravaged the fleet once more.

The purple fleet consisted of over a thousand ships, with Odahviing breathing fire and Wright picking off targets. "Turn right, there's a big ship over there!"

Sealord Tormo Freyga stood at the edge of the deck, watching the massive dragon swoop low over the fleet. If the dragon showed signs of coming this way, he was ready to jump into the sea immediately.

The purple fleet was doomed. The dragon, with a rider controlling it, attacked only the large ships. Over a hundred vessels had already been destroyed.

The dragon dodged every crossbow attack, retaliating after each shot, destroying ships and killing everyone aboard. The fleet had lost its formation. Amidst the thunderstorm, even the sailors' shouts were drowned out, and no effective counterattack could be organized. It was over!

Every time the dragon finished spewing fire, it would turn away, dodging crossbow attacks while flying toward another large ship to unleash more dragonfire.

"There's a big ship to the north!" Wright shouted to Odahviing, sending several explosive fireballs flying.

Tormo Freyga saw the dragon suddenly change course and head directly towards him. Forgetting his status as a Sealord, he immediately leaped into the sea. However, he was too slow. As he jumped from the ship, he had yet to hit the water when a torrent of dragonfire erupted behind him.

From the chest down, he was scorched to a charred ruin. After his body fell into the sea, his lower half disintegrated upon contact with the water, leaving only his head, chest, and arms. His corpse floated on the surface, and the Sealord, who had only ruled for less than three years, never had the chance to leave a final word before perishing in the sea.

Through the thunderstorm, Wright couldn't hear the screams of those on the sea. Communication with the dragon below was half through roars and half through magical connection.

Looking down at the sea of flames and scattered pieces of broken wood, all the large ships of the purple fleet had been destroyed. The scattered smaller ships posed no further threat.

Wright patted the dragon's horn: "South, to support on Tyrosh!"

Both Odahviing and Wright needed rest. The dragon's continuous breath attacks drained both magical power and physical stamina. Not to mention the dragon, even humans would struggle after spitting out dozens of mouthfuls of water.

Finally, the dragon flew off, and the thunderstorm gradually subsided.

The remnants of the purple fleet slowly regrouped. After some discussion, the remaining commanders decided to withdraw from the war and head north to Braavos. They unified their story: they were not deserters, but the flagship had been destroyed by the dragon, and the Sealord was dead, leaving the fleet without a commander.

The sight of the dragon darting through the storm, with the fiery figure atop its head, left an indelible mark on the survivors from Braavos. From that point on, every mention of it was accompanied by lingering fear. Over two hundred ships were destroyed here.

Some said the dragon rider was none other than Wright Baratheon, and most accepted this. Now, in the nine trade cities, whenever something bad happened, it was always blamed on Wright Baratheon.