Chapter 330: Flames of War Everywhere

As Wright headed north and the Westland knights withdrew from the Mountains of the Moon to reinforce the Twins, three regions of Westeros erupted in war simultaneously.

In the Stormlands, where the processing industry thrived, Renly had modified the top of the lighthouse into a detection array, prompting the local lords to follow suit. With Renly in Storm's End and hired mages stationed elsewhere, the vampires lurking within the cities were forced into the wilderness.

Gathering their human thralls, the vampires launched an assault on Rain House. Lord Caspar Wylde, along with a small group of family members and knights, fled by ship.

Rain House sat on a peninsula jutting into the Straits of the Narrow Sea, surrounded by dense rainforest on land. The fastest approach was by sea from Shipbreaker Bay. Their goal was clear—to lure dragon-riding Renly into a trap and slay his beast.

Mobilizing forces from Storm's End, Griffin's Roost, Crow's Nest, and Mistwood, Renly indeed set out, but not in the manner the vampires had expected. Instead of unleashing his dragon in an aerial assault, he merely used it for transport. As the Stormland mages and knights encircled Rain House, Renly leapt from his dragon, sword crackling with electricity, landing within the castle walls before the beast flew away.

Explosions of fire and roars of lightning followed. Before long, Renly threw open the gates from within, allowing mages and silver-armed knights to storm inside. The vampires were quickly exterminated.

Under Wright's counsel and Renly's governance, nearly twenty years of prosperity had forged unwavering loyalty among the Stormland lords, resulting in swift and efficient mobilization. While vampire uprisings erupted almost simultaneously in four locations, the Stormlands were the first to quell theirs entirely, standing apart from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

Renly ordered increased patrols across the Stormlands. After days of sweeping the region without finding any surviving vampires, he mounted Peytvahaaz and rode to aid the Reach.

In the southern Reach lay the magic academy, with Highgarden further north—Westeros's most prosperous region, home to many mages. The vampires struck in the central lands, targeting the castle Longtable of House Merryweather.

The Mander River basin was an endless expanse of fertile plains, with no natural defenses beyond its castles. After capturing Longtable, the vampires began siring human converts and gathering more willing recruits. They then marched west toward Goldengrove, aiming to swell their numbers before launching an assault on Highgarden.

---

In Highgarden's banquet hall, Lord Regent Willas Tyrell, heir to House Tyrell, sat in his wheelchair, conversing with Lord Paxter Redwyne over a noble feast.

A castle maester rushed in, sweat dripping from his face as he handed Willas a letter. "This is an urgent plea from the steward of Goldengrove! The vampires are preparing to attack. They've issued a full-scale conscription—everyone in the domain, regardless of age or status, has been armed to defend the city. According to survivors from Longtable, the vampires number over two hundred, with at least a thousand thralls, and their ranks are still growing!"

"Over two hundred vampires?"

Vampires were akin to mages—there weren't even two hundred human mages across the entire Reach. Willas Tyrell was so shocked that he sprang from his wheelchair.

"A medical miracle!"

The maester beside him gasped, staring at Willas's legs.

The banquet turned into a war council.

"Goldengrove is the stronghold of House Rowan, the Hand of the King. Let the vampires wipe them out before we make a move," proposed Horas Redwyne, the Ser horror.

"I say we let the vampires continue westward and take out the Cranes of Red Lake and the Oakhearts of Old Oak while they're at it!" suggested Baelor Hightower, known as Baelor Brightsmile , with a grin.

Horas, heir to House Redwyne, had always felt overshadowed by his twin brother Hobber, who now commanded the Southern Fleet at the Stepstones. Seeking to prove his worth, he aimed to secure greater benefits for his house.

Baelor, heir to House Hightower, was a handsome man with a lifelong grudge against Oberyn Martell. Years ago, before Prince Rhaegar had wed, Oberyn and his sister Elia had stopped in Oldtown while seeking a marriage alliance in Casterly Rock. Baelor, among Elia's suitors, had made a good impression—until he let out a loud fart. Oberyn had instantly nicknamed him Baelor Breakwind. From that moment on, Elia never looked at him without laughing, and Baelor had harbored resentment toward Oberyn—and, by extension, Wright—ever since.

"Willas, you cannot judge a war against vampires by human standards. I strongly recommend we send reinforcements immediately and dispatch a raven to Storm's End! Wright is on the king's orders in the Riverlands—only Renly can reach us in time." Samwell Tarly spoke up.

"Stop contradicting us, little Tarly! Remember, we stand together! The northern houses would gladly see your head on a spike!" Hobber Redwyne snapped at Samwell, continuing their long-standing rivalry.

All the attendees of today's banquet were heirs to the noble houses of southern Reach, and a covert alliance had already formed among them to counter the newly risen northern faction led by Hand of the King Rowan. However, Rowan outwardly displayed complete submission to House Tyrell, paying every copper of his due taxes and frequently sending lavish gifts, leaving the Tyrells without a valid pretext to move against him.

Still, conflicts between the northern and southern factions persisted in commerce, military supplies, and recruitment. Take, for example, the sugar trade with Stormlands and Tyrosh—both sides engaged in price wars to the point that the sugar House Tyrell sold to Wright this year was priced at a loss.

Willas was always affable, polite, and easygoing in public, yet his decades-long feigned illness had long since proven him to be a shrewd schemer, a man of ruthless patience.

Casting a glance at Horas, who was ridiculing Samwell with biting words, Willas remarked, "If only Lord Randyll Tarly were still alive."

At the mention of his late father, Samwell, sharp as he was, understood that Willas was offering him an escape. Horas, too, fell silent, for Randyll Tarly was now widely regarded as the greatest general in the Reach.

"I agree with both of you."

Willas, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. "As acting castellan, I will order an immediate levy to reinforce Goldengrove as swiftly as possible."

"That's just playing into the enemy's hands." Horas's words were cut off by Willas's knowing smile.

"Vampires are no ordinary foe—they must be eradicated. On this, there is no room for doubt. Your concerns are valid, Horas, but weakening an opponent isn't solely about their deaths. We won't be the only ones going—Rowan's allies, the Cranes and the Oakhearts, will march as well. I'll make sure they bear the brunt of the hardest fighting. And when the war is over, House Rowan will be made to pay House Tyrell a hefty war tax."

Willas had once again found a way to accommodate both sides without offending either, ensuring that everyone could save face.

The fighting in the Riverlands resumed swiftly, with a great number of low-tier mages and acolytes conscripted from the Citadel playing a pivotal role.

---

King's Landing

Jon Snow and the vampire moved too swiftly for the gold cloaks to keep up. Clad in armor, the City Watch could only scramble to pursue them on horseback, but by the time they reached the banks of the Blackwater Rush, Jon was already gone.

Commander of the City Watch, Jon had vanished for over ten days—no letters, no news, neither dead nor alive.

Just as the officers were debating whether to send a report to the king, Jon Snow returned, riding into camp in one piece.

"Commander, are you alright?" The captain overseeing security at the Iron Gate grabbed the reins of Jon's horse.

"I'm fine," Jon muttered, attempting to dismount.

On any other day, he would have vaulted off his horse with ease, using a single hand on the saddle. But now, his fingers trembled as he gripped the saddle, his body sliding off at an awkward angle, sluggish and weak.

"Commander, are you injured?"

The gold cloaks gathered around him, and several officers reached for the healing potions on their belts.

"I'm fine. Just exhausted. I need rest."

Jon took a deep breath as he removed his helm, then pushed past his comrades and walked alone toward the barracks near the city gate.

"What happened to him?"

"He must be drained from fighting vampires."

"Yeah, did you see his face? I'd wager he's lost at least ten pounds."

The barracks by the gate served as an office and resting quarters for the watchmen on duty. The rooms were sparse, each containing only a few worn wooden beds and old blankets.

The moment Jon entered and requested rest, the soldiers inside immediately stood at attention and filed out, even shutting the door behind them.

Jon began shedding his armor. Despite spending days outside, his body bore no trace of dirt or grime—only a lingering, faint scent of perfume.

Piece by piece, he removed his shirt and trousers. Once fully undressed, he picked up a cracked mirror and examined himself.

There were no scars, no marks of magic upon his body, yet he had wasted away, having lost far more than ten pounds. His eyes were sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them. His once full cheeks were now hollow. His limbs had shriveled, his once-firm chest now little more than skin stretched over jutting ribs.

Naked, Jon lay down on the bed, curling onto his side. As he drifted into a hazy recollection of the past days, tears slid silently from his eyes.

Half-asleep, lost in memory, he curled up further, pulling the blanket over his lower body.

---

On the the Twins, soldiers patrolled with torches even in broad daylight.

After Thoros had slain more than a dozen vampires, they seemed to receive some kind of signal and dispersed into the dense forest, no longer paying him any attention.

Three days after Edmure retreated to the Twins, Thoros also returned to the castle alone.

Now, the horns on the towers of the Twins were blowing incessantly. Edmure, Thoros, and the knights stood atop the walls, ready for battle.

"They're attacking in broad daylight? Didn't Wright say that vampires are stronger at night?" Perhaps due to extreme anxiety, Edmure had barely slept these past few days, dark circles forming under his eyes.

"These damned creatures can naturally regenerate their life force and magic at night. During the day, they simply stop regenerating—it doesn't mean they can't move!" Thoros rested his longsword against the parapet and picked up a well-crafted bow.

"They're coming! They're coming!" Edmure raised his sword and shouted, pointing toward the forest north of the Twins.

The Twins was a castle built upon the Green Fork, serving both as a fortress and a bridge, dividing the structure into two parts on either riverbank. Since the small town of Lord Harroway's Town near the river's mouth, it was the only bridge across the Green Fork, allowing House Frey to amass great wealth through tolls.

To facilitate defense and scouting, all trees within a kilometer of the castle had been felled, leaving only grassy plains. No crops were planted, and every mound and exposed rock served as a marker for defenders.

Under the bright sun, a large group of raggedly dressed people emerged from the northern woods, each armed and rushing toward the castle.

"Archers, ready!" Edmure commanded.

The approaching figures appeared human, but after suffering attacks from vampires and their human thralls, the defenders of the Riverlands had learned to treat any unidentified humans with the same hostility as vampires. With the undead laying siege to the castle, all remaining defenders—numbering only a few hundred—had manned the walls. Every defensive weapon had been prepared in advance. Upon their liege lord's command, the archers drew their bows, angling them toward the sky.

"They wield weapons but wear filthy rags, no armor. Even vampire thralls would form ranks when charging. Where did they come from?" Thoros shaded his eyes with a hand, closely observing the scene.

"Hold!" Edmure barked.

Some had already reached the open grassland, while more continued emerging from the forest.

"Something isn't right! When we were attacked, the vampires wore fine garments, while their human thralls had stripped to give them clothing. A few still wore armor. But these people—only weapons, no armor. They must have discarded it to escape!"

Since becoming a mage, Thoros had grown accustomed to smooth successes, but now, memories of harder times surfaced.

How could one flee faster? Having long legs helped, but shedding unnecessary weight was crucial. Weapons were essential for survival, but wagons, supplies, and family banners? Worthless in flight. If the enemy was still in pursuit and surrender wasn't an option, even armor became a burden—best thrown as far away as possible.

"Edmure, don't loose the arrows yet!" Thoros shouted urgently, running toward him.

But Edmure, too tense to hear, had his full attention on the attackers. Seeing them within range, he grasped the wall's edge and swung his sword forward. "Loose!"

Whoosh!

A volley of arrows arced through the sky before plunging into the crowd below.

"Arghhh!"

The walls of the Twins echoed with the cries of the wounded.

"Gods damn it, I'm Edwyn Frey! Who the hell is shooting at us? Open the gates, and I might spare your miserable lives!"

A voice all too familiar to Edmure rang out.

"They're Freys!" Thoros peered over the battlements. The oncoming crowd had been too focused on running to notice the incoming volley. At least two hundred had fallen.

"Who controls the Twins? Open the damn gates!" The drawbridge had long been raised, and the ragged masses clustered at the riverbank, shouting furiously.

More and more people gathered, their numbers swelling past a thousand. Thoros could see more figures still emerging from the distant woods—far more than the defenders inside the castle.

"It really is you, Edwyn Frey! It's me, Edmure! I brought reinforcements for you—open the gates at once!" Edmure leaned over the battlements, not the least bit embarrassed by the mistake.

"Lord Edmure! Vampires are still chasing us! Open the gates now, or it'll be too late!" Edwyn Frey looked up anxiously, pleading.

"Don't open them!"

As Edmure prepared to give the order, Thoros grabbed his arm.

Edmure frowned. "Why not? They're human! I even know them! And your vampire detector hasn't gone off!"

Thoros drew his longsword and pointed at the sea of armed, desperate men below. "Can you guarantee they aren't vampire thralls? That they're not using people you know to trick you into opening the gates?"

"This…"

Edmure hesitated, staring at Edwyn Frey, who stood at the riverbank, surrounded by thousands of desperate refugees.

---

If you can, support me on pa treon:

Pa treon. com/ RightTranslations (No spaces)

Up to 100 chapters ahead.