With his superb skill, Quairo easily knocked Tormo's sword from his hand.
Tormo seemed as if he had finally found someone of real weight to bear witness to his despair, and at last he stopped trying to take his own life.
"Quairo… if I die, it doesn't matter," Tormo said hoarsely. "But I've betrayed these soldiers."
Quairo's lips moved slightly, yet he could not find the words to respond.
"You've seen that little king, haven't you?" Tormo asked.
"Yes. I have."
"Then—" Tormo looked into Quairo's eyes, hope flickering there.
"He… Viserys refused us."
Tormo's face stiffened.
"Then what about the Faceless Men? No one is supposed to fear them?" His voice rose with urgency.
Quairo dropped to one knee and told him, in detail, how he had ruined everything.
"My lord, we should flee north through the Goose Mountains. I'll escort you myself. We can still make it back to Braavos."
Tormo looked at him, hesitation written all over his face.
He looked like someone who wanted to run, yet felt ashamed to do so.
While he was still wavering, a sudden uproar erupted outside.
The cries of war elephants echoed through the camp, horses screamed, soldiers ran in all directions, and soon thick clouds of dust rose into the air.
"What's happening?!"
Quairo rushed out to ask, only to learn that the three mercenary companies had attacked.
They had deliberately struck the elephant pens first, releasing the beasts. The maddened elephants trampled everything in their path.
The soldiers, already crippled by dehydration, were powerless to stop them.
Some could not even run when the crazed elephants charged. Bones shattered, tendons snapped, and bodies were crushed into the ground, barely clinging to life.
Using the elephants as their vanguard, the mercenaries quickly smashed through the Braavosi camp.
The soldiers did not even have the strength left to feel defiance.
Dehydration had destroyed them completely.
Their heads throbbed as if about to burst, their hearts hammered wildly, and their minds drifted in and out of consciousness.
The three mercenary companies first seized anyone who looked like an officer, then charged straight toward Tormo's position.
"My lord, we must go now!" Quairo shouted.
"No!" Tormo roared. "I will stay with my army!"
Quairo clenched his teeth, struck Tormo unconscious, seized a horse, and fled north at full speed.
In less than half a day, of the forty-five thousand Braavosi soldiers, forty-four thousand were captured.
It could scarcely even be called a battle.
The mercenaries killed only a few hundred as a token gesture before stopping.
Facing an army that could not even resist, killing more people only numbed the soul.
Besides, Viserys had instructed them to minimize casualties.
The mercenaries stripped the prisoners of their armor, confiscated their weapons, and herded them together.
Like goats driven by shepherds, they were all forced into the walls of Balerion. They accomplished with ease what Tormo had struggled and failed to do.
Processing over forty thousand prisoners took a full two days.
Elsewhere, when Viserys received the news, he finally let out a long breath. After all, there was no Golden Company aboard his ships.
He had merely bluffed them once by borrowing its name.
"However, Your Majesty, Quairo and the Braavosi commander Tormo escaped," Marcus reported with deep guilt.
Viserys knew that even capturing forty thousand men—let alone forty thousand pigs—took time.
Marcus was still young. A few oversights were understandable.
Though Viserys had no intention of punishing him harshly, he also did not intend to be gentle.
"How could you be so careless? Did you send men to pursue them?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. They most likely fled toward the Goose Down Mountains. That is our main pursuit direction."
Marcus spoke weakly.
"Dock one month of your pay. Go."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Marcus saluted and turned to leave.
"Wait."
Marcus stopped and turned back.
"Capturing forty thousand enemy soldiers is an unquestionable victory," Viserys said solemnly. "Victory forever."
Marcus's eyes lit up.
"Victory forever! Long live Your Majesty!"
He knew his achievements had been acknowledged. Compared to that, one month's pay meant nothing.
"Spread the order," Viserys continued. "Whoever captures Quairo or Tormo will be rewarded ten thousand gold dragons."
"By your command!"
Viserys knew Tormo was not fleeing alone.
Quairo would be guarding him, and there would surely be an elite escort as well.
They would not be easy to catch.
"Mathos, bring me the Braavosi ravens we captured. I'm going to write a letter to Freygo."
Meanwhile, the prisoners had been driven behind the walls, but the mercenaries were still camped in the open fields.
The cold wind cut across their exposed skin like knives.
Many were already numb with cold.
"Captain, it's freezing. Should we burn a house or two to keep warm?"
"Don't make trouble for me," the captain snapped. "Do you think this is still the time before that little king came back?"
As captain, Yurikis was sharp enough to sense danger.
With a fleet now guarding it, Gohor was nearly impossible to conquer.
Next, that little king would surely focus on growing his population. He would not tolerate anyone ruining his territory.
After scolding his men, Yurikis relaxed slightly. He believed things should be coming to an end.
Kings might dislike mercenaries, but they rarely made enemies of them deliberately.
That little king would not go back on his word.
They had practically worked for Viserys for free. They should be leaving soon.
"This place is cursed," Yurikis said, spreading all five fingers. "Since that little king arrived in Essos, five mercenary companies have already been wiped out here."
"At least we're still alive, Captain," one subordinate replied. "Redbeard and others don't even have bodies left."
Yurikis nodded in agreement.
Viserys had only provided them with limited water, and barely any food.
Just enough to restore some fighting strength—enough to overpower the Braavosi.
But the rations were nowhere near sufficient.
After working hard for a day or two, most of them now felt weak and unsteady.
"Have the casualty numbers been tallied?" Yurikis asked his clerk.
"Losses weren't heavy. It's just that the food and water the Targaryens gave us were scarce. The brothers worked all day and didn't even get a drop of wine."
The clerk complained, and Yurikis did not think much of it. Every mercenary was thinking only of leaving this cursed place as soon as possible.
The final payment from Pentos was gone. All they wanted now was to leave Gohor alive.
Many had already decided to head to Lys's brothels to soothe their wounded hearts.
"There's no more fighting left here," Yurikis said. "Go ask that little king when we're allowed to leave."
He did not want to stay in Gohor a moment longer.
He just wanted to go.
At that moment, a mercenary came running over in a panic.
"Captain! The Pentoshi are attacking!"
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