Chapter 46: Dragonfire Engulfs the Sea

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CRACKLE!

The damp sea breeze howled through the fleet, causing the banners of the allied fleet to snap and flutter violently. The sound was sharp and rhythmic, a constant reminder of the ever-present tension gripping the hearts of every soldier aboard.

All eyes were fixed on the sky, their gazes filled with a mixture of fear and anxiety. No one dared to move, lest they became the first victim of the emerald-green dragon's wrath.

WHOOSH!

A massive silhouette, shimmering in shades of green, suddenly tore through the pristine white clouds. Like a razor-sharp blade, it sliced through the sky with terrifying speed, descending straight toward the left rear of the fleet.

Yet, oddly enough, the dragon did not target the flagship directly.

The rear of the formation?

Could it be that the dragon knight feared we might flee and was attempting to cut off our escape route in advance?

Magister Aloma turned his head, his sharp gaze locking onto the sky above the rear of the fleet. His mind worked rapidly, piecing together the dragon rider's possible intentions.

Indeed, if the emerald dragon sought to end the battle swiftly by taking down the command center, it could have launched a direct assault on the main flagship.

However, such a reckless move would have drawn the full force of the fleet's ballistae, which were specifically designed to counter large aerial threats.

By choosing to attack the rear instead, the dragon had limited its immediate opposition. Only the last two rows of large warships on the left wing of the formation had the range to counterattack.

THWANG!

The deep, resonant twang of ballistae reverberated across the sea. As soon as the dragon entered their effective range, four large warships positioned in the left rear of the formation launched a coordinated strike.

More than twenty specially crafted poison-tipped bolts, flying at double the speed of standard ballista arrows, shot through the air in a deadly barrage, each one aiming for the massive beast.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!

Sensing the imminent danger, Vermax maneuvered sharply, twisting its serpentine body with impressive agility. The dragon's wings flared as it desperately tried to evade the poisoned projectiles streaking toward it from below.

"Hm? What was that?"

Jacaerys had been intently studying the enemy fleet's formation, carefully analyzing their structure and movements.

However, the whistling sound of the deadly bolts slicing through the air, passing mere inches from his position, snapped him out of his thoughts.

A cold glint flashed in his eyes.

"So, you think you can poison Vermax to death?" he murmured, his voice filled with contempt.

He let out a low, cold snort, his grip tightening around the reins as he guided Vermax with renewed focus.

FWOOSH!

A dazzling stream of orange-red dragonfire erupted onto the deck of a mid-sized warship.

The inferno swallowed more than a dozen slave soldiers in an instant, their screams lost beneath the deafening roar of the flames.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The fire spread rapidly, devouring the ship's wooden structure with merciless hunger. Slaves leaped overboard, flailing as they plunged into the sea in a desperate bid to escape the scorching death that consumed their vessel.

Vermax continued its relentless assault, executing a high-speed dive from left to right. It deliberately avoided the larger warships armed with poison-tipped ballistae, instead preying upon the medium and smaller vessels that lined its path.

Despite Magister Aloma's careful fleet formation, the dragon's initial strike had already set six or seven ships ablaze.

For the moment, the loss of a few medium and small ships did not significantly weaken the fleet's combat strength. However, the burning wrecks, engulfed in roaring flames, had become floating barriers—walls of fire upon the ocean's surface, blocking the fleet's movement.

Just as Magister Aloma had thought, Jacaerys's true goal was not to destroy the fleet outright but to sever its route of retreat.

After taking one last sweeping glance at the enemy fleet, Jacaerys swiftly guided Vermax upward, soaring back into the thick clouds, vanishing once more from sight.

Whether in his past life or in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, what was the most decisive factor in warfare?

Weapons? Armor? Sheer numbers?

No—information.

From the moment he seized control of Lanark Island, Jacaerys set his plans in motion.

He ordered Stone and Coleman to oversee the captives as they gathered the raw materials needed to produce wildfire, while he patrolled the skies atop Vermax, acting as an ever-watchful sentinel.

Any ship that dared approach Lanark Island was mercilessly reduced to ashes.

This was why, for over ten days, Magister Aloma had been completely unaware of the movements of the Bloodstone fleet.

No one had ever lived long enough to report what was happening on Lanark Island.

Aloma believed he was executing a clever baiting strategy, yet in truth, his every move had already been laid bare before Jacaerys's eyes.

Upon detecting the massive presence of the allied fleet, Jacaerys knew his location had been compromised.

To secure Lanark Island, the source of his wildfire production, he had chosen to engage the enemy proactively.

However, if the battle turned against him, his escape route was already prepared. He would flee with his elite forces, soaring away atop Vermax.

If only Magister Aloma had access to more intelligence, he might have realized one crucial detail.

Why had Jacaerys, despite possessing vast stores of wildfire, not used it yet?

SPLASH! SPLASH!

A lone sailor, who had managed to escape from Magister Bartos's flagship, rowed his small skiff desperately through the waves.

The sheer size of the massive allied warships passing by him filled him with a deep sense of relief.

No matter how terrifying that emerald-green dragon was, it could not possibly burn down an entire fleet of this magnitude.

Even if the allied fleet suffered a crushing defeat, he, a mere insignificant sailor, would surely have ample time to escape.

Then, suddenly, a pungent, acrid stench assaulted his nose.

The moment his body relaxed from the initial panic of fleeing, he became aware of the thick, unmistakable odor hanging in the air.

He turned toward the source of the smell—and his breath hitched.

On a nearby boat, a group of men with olive-toned skin, black hair, and dark eyes—clearly Myrish—were weeping uncontrollably as they poured a thick, greenish liquid into the sea.

The sailor's gaze followed the flow of the liquid into the sea. His eyes widened in horror.

At some point, the once-deep blue waters surrounding them had turned an ominous shade of murky green.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

Sensing something was very wrong, the sailor furrowed his brows and shouted at the men on the other boat.

The middle-aged Myrish man lifted his tear-streaked face, his expression twisted in utter despair.

"I do not want to die!" he wailed. "But he said that if I disobey, my entire family will be fed to the dragon. My mother, my wife, my children… Please, please live on…"

A terrible realization struck the sailor. Though he didn't fully understand what was about to happen, dread seized his chest, and his heart pounded violently.

Without wasting another second, he spun toward the large warship on the other side. Frantically, he waved his arms, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Hey! It's a trap! A trap!"

But with the crashing waves roaring around him, how could the sailors on the massive warship possibly hear his desperate cries?

And even if they did—

It was already too late!

A fierce gust of wind tore through the sky as Jacaerys, his gaze sharp with determination, guided Vermax through the clouds. The emerald-green dragon plunged toward the vanguard of the allied fleet.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

Due to his positioning, twice as many poisoned bolts streaked toward Vermax as before.

Even with his agility enhanced by fifty percent, Vermax was still in his growth phase. His abilities had not yet reached their peak, and no matter how skillfully he maneuvered, he could not completely evade the deadly hail of poison-tipped projectiles.

Realizing that dodging was impossible, Jacaerys made a split-second decision. Instead of attempting to escape, he commanded Vermax to brace his chest, letting the dragon's sturdiest scales absorb the impact.

CLANG! CRACK!

The specialized, poison-tipped bolts struck Vermax's armored chest with full force.

Some bounced off with a metallic ring, while others left cracks on the scales, though the damage was not nearly as severe as when his tail had been struck by a heavy ballista bolt.

Through sheer brute force, Vermax pushed forward, relentlessly closing the distance until he finally reached the optimal range for his fire breath.

WHOOSH!

A stream of blazing orange flames engulfed a small warship, setting its deck ablaze in an instant. The dragonfire spread rapidly across the wooden planks before cascading down into the sea below.

Hiss!

Then—something strange happened.

As the dragon's fiery breath met the water, the brilliant orange flames were suddenly swallowed by a ghostly green blaze, which deepened into an eerie shade of ashen black.

The sinister fire writhed and slithered like living serpents, twisting across the water's surface, latching onto anything in their path.

Within moments, the inferno leaped from ship to ship, consuming vessel after vessel.

The sailor who had been shouting warnings just moments ago now stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. His mind raced as he pieced together the horrifying truth.

So that's it…

The greenish oil that had been poured into the sea—it was not just a few barrels, but far more than he had initially thought.

And the emerald dragon—had it deliberately allowed them to flee? Had it intentionally forced their fleet into a chaotic pursuit?

So that these doomed Myrish saboteurs could slip into the disarray unnoticed?

Damn it!

He had fought so hard to survive, only to realize that his escape had been nothing more than part of the enemy's grand scheme.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile.

Life is too cruel. If there is a next life, let me be a fish instead.

A futile wish.

As he stared at the oncoming inferno, the sailor's eyes first reflected despair, then resignation, and finally, a strange sense of peace.

WHOOSH!

"Aaaahhh!"

The black and gray flames surged forward, engulfing his tiny boat.

Unlike ordinary dragonfire, which reduced its victims to charred husks in an instant, this unholy blaze did something far worse.

It fed upon him.

His flesh and blood became fuel, the fire surging higher, burning ever more fiercely. The agonizing heat devoured him, piece by piece.

First, his skin blistered, cracked, and peeled away. Then, his muscles withered, blackening into nothingness. Even as his body was reduced to a skeletal frame, the flames refused to stop.

They continued to consume.

His bones, once strong and whole, crumbled into nothingness. They left behind neither dust nor ash—only empty space where a man had once stood.

And until the very last moment, he felt it all.

The excruciating agony of his flesh searing away. The unbearable torment of his very existence being consumed by fire.

And in the end, not even a trace of him remained.

To perish in the embrace of these flames was, without a doubt, one of the cruelest deaths imaginable.

Floating above the front lines of the allied fleet, Jacaerys watched the scene unfold. Among all those present, he had the clearest view of the horror that had just been unleashed.

No, he thought to himself.

This was no ordinary flame.

This was no ordinary dragonfire.

This was something far more terrifying and sinister.

This was black dragonfire.

His suspicions were confirmed when, in the lower-left corner of his sight, a series of glowing messages began to appear.

[+10 trait points]

[+10 trait points]

[+10 trait points]

Over and over, the notifications flooded his vision, rapidly scrolling like an unending cascade. Each one represented another ship consumed, another soldier reduced to nothing, another soul lost to the merciless inferno.

The more ships and men were devoured by the black dragonfire, the stronger and more ferocious it became.

At this point, no ballistae targeted Vermax anymore.

The frontlines of the allied fleet had been completely overtaken.

Their once-disciplined vanguard formation had collapsed, the black flames engulfing the first three rows of their battle lines. What had once been a sea of warriors was now a sea of fire.

Waves of thick steam billowed into the sky as seawater, unable to quench the unnatural blaze, was instead boiled away by the sheer intensity of the heat.

The vast, open ocean had transformed into a nightmarish abyss. Black dragonfire raged unchecked, its glow reflecting off the dense clouds of mist that now swirled above.

For a moment, Jacaerys forgot about the battle.

He forgot about his enemies.

He forgot about everything but the sight before him.

It was destruction.

It was chaos.

And in its own terrible way—

It was a breathtaking spectacle.

..

..

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[Chapter End's]

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