The Storm of Blades (Part 2/4)

Chapter 18: The Storm of Blades (Part 2/4)

The world narrowed to a single moment—the ringing of steel, the thundering hooves beneath them, and the cold bite of the morning air as Aerion met Daario Naharis in battle.

Daario's arakh slashed forward in a blur, curving toward Aerion's side.

Starfyre met it mid-strike.

The impact shook Aerion's arms, but he turned his blade, using the force to roll off the strike and counter with a quick riposte.

Daario twisted his Myrish stiletto, catching Aerion's counter and laughing.

"Not bad, little prince! But not good enough!"

Daario's horse whipped to the side, and suddenly, the sellsword was gone from his saddle—flipping in midair before landing behind Aerion's stallion.

"Shit!"

Aerion barely had time to react before Daario stabbed downward, aiming for his spine.

He rolled from his saddle just in time.

He hit the ground hard, but Starfyre stayed in his grip.

Daario grinned down at him. "I was going to make this quick, but I think I'll enjoy this."

Aerion's breathing steadied. He gripped Starfyre tight.

"You won't enjoy it for long."

And then he lunged.

The Titan's Bastard had come.

Naeron Qoherys stood at the center of the infantry, where the Volantene heavy foot had finally clashed with their lines.

He felt the impact through his bones as shields slammed into shields, spears punched through armor, and men screamed in pain.

Above it all, Mero, the Titan's Bastard, charged forward, cutting down soldiers with a massive greatsword.

The Volantene infantry pushed hard, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm the Dragon Company's shield wall.

"HOLD THE LINE!" Naeron bellowed.

He swung his poleaxe, catching a Volantene soldier in the collarbone, splitting through his flesh and bone.

A storm of arrows rained down, the Volantene archers letting loose another volley.

Men fell screaming, some clutching at their throats, others crumbling with arrows punching through their steel plates.

Naeron roared in frustration. "Archers, fire at will! Infantry, press forward! PUSH THEM BACK!"

The battle became a storm, a press of bodies, a mess of blood and steel.

And then—

The Titan's Bastard was upon him.

Monford Velaryon had never seen an army collapse so quickly.

His men held the left flank, fighting off the Company of the Cat, but the mercenaries fought like beasts.

Bloodbeard, their brutal commander, led the charge, his massive greatsword cutting through Dragon Company soldiers like they were made of paper.

Monford blocked a wild swing, but the sheer force of it knocked him back.

His ears rang, and before he could regain his footing, Bloodbeard grabbed him by the breastplate and hurled him to the ground.

"Fucking Valyrian whelp!" the mercenary snarled.

Monford tried to raise his sword, but Bloodbeard kicked it away.

"I think I'll take your head for my collection!"

He raised his axe—

And then an arrow punched through his shoulder.

Bloodbeard staggered back, roaring in pain.

Monford looked up—

Aurane Waters stood atop the ridge, his archers unleashing a devastating volley into the Company of the Cat's ranks.

Monford grinned through bloodied lips.

"You took your fucking time."

But as he tried to push himself to his feet, a second attack came—a powerful strike to his leg, and Monford felt an agonizing searing pain as the mercenary sword cleaved into his thigh, severing his leg just below the knee.

The pain was unimaginable.

Monford screamed, clutching at the stump, but his strength failed him. Blood poured from the wound, and he fell to the ground, vision clouding.

"DAMN IT!" he roared, but no one could hear him.

As he lost consciousness, he heard the clash of steel and the shout of his men fighting on, but his mind drifted into a fog.

Ser Barristan Selmy knew a losing battle when he saw one.

Even as the Dragon Company fought like demons, the sheer weight of numbers was pushing them back.

Their archers had thinned the enemy, their cavalry had struck where they could, but the Volantene host was endless.

And the war elephants still rampaged through the center.

Barristan rode hard, his sword flashing left and right, cutting down any who came too close.

He could see Aerion locked in combat with Daario, see Naeron struggling against Mero, see Monford's flank crumbling.

And yet—he knew they could not break.

If they fell here, everything was lost.

"NO RETREAT! HOLD THE LINE!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield.

The Dragon Company fought on.

Steel met steel.

Blood stained the earth.

And the battle raged ever on.