While the deafening roar of the frontal assault at the Whispering Sound held the complete attention of Starfish Harbor, a small, elite squad of twelve Ironborn slipped away like phantoms to execute Euron's other, far more lethal command.
They weren't heading to storm the defensive lines. Instead, they set up an ambush along the inevitable route of the dejected convoy hauling dozens of wagons of dangerous "cargo" back to King's Landing.
Their boat was docked in a desolate spot far from the main harbor—the Mad King, after all, hadn't wanted anyone to know about this operation.
Ser Harlan Grandison of the Kingsguard rode his horse, his face still grim from Lord Adrian's refusal. His guards were in low spirits, grumbling about being pulled away from the Arbor's famous wine and women in the middle of the night. They had no idea that death had already opened its jaws in the shadows ahead.
There was no need for a bloody melee. There was no need to even get close.
As the convoy rolled into the kill box, the dozen Ironborn archers stepped out of the darkness. Their bows weren't loaded with standard broadheads; the tips were wrapped in oil-soaked rags and set ablaze.
Thwip—Thwip—Thwip!
A dozen arrows trailing tails of orange fire arced beautifully through the air, like malicious fireflies, and struck the heavily covered wagons with pinpoint precision.
When Ser Harlan Grandison heard the whistle of arrows, his instincts screamed. He drew his longsword instantly, but he froze when he realized the arrows weren't aimed at him, or his guards. When he saw the fire trailing behind them and realized what they were hitting, his pupils dilated in sheer terror.
Time seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.
And then—
BOOM!!!!!!
A horrific explosion, louder than anything that should exist in the mortal world, tore through the heavens and the earth! The blast wave was so powerful that even the men fighting and dying miles away in the harbor and on the sea felt the ground shudder beneath their feet.
At the epicenter, a colossal, eerily beautiful ball of green fire roared into the sky. In a millisecond, it swallowed Ser Harlan Grandison, his White Cloak brothers, every Royal guard, and all the wagons.
The green flame acted like a living thing, leaping and spreading with insane speed. Everything it touched—men, horses, wood, rock—was vaporized, ignited, or torn into microscopic dust.
There were no screams. There was no struggle. An entire Royal convoy simply evaporated inside the green inferno, as if they had never existed. All that remained was a massive, scorched crater and the air filled with the sickly-sweet, deadly scent of burnt substance.
This god-like devastation instantly grabbed the attention of everyone in and around Starfish Harbor.
Panic-stricken civilians, busy logistics soldiers, defenders on the walls, and even the sailors butchering each other at sea—everyone froze, stunned by the apocalyptic vision rising from the rear.
And in that fleeting moment of chaos and distraction created by the green hellfire—Euron Greyjoy and his hundred-man kill squad struck. Like bloodthirsty krakens who had been waiting in the shadows, they bared their fangs.
Their efficiency was terrifying. The hundred elites didn't hesitate. They split into ten razor-sharp squads. Having memorized the port's layout through maps and Pamela's intel, they moved like mercury, pouring silently into the complex maze of alleys and warehouses along pre-planned routes.
In a secluded corner, they quickly stripped off their rough, salt-stained leathers and kraken amulets. Underneath, they were already wearing—or quickly donned—Redwyne guard uniforms. Some were stripped from the corpses of patrols they had silently killed (still smelling faintly of blood); others were fresh spares "borrowed" from the port warehouses.
The disguise was complete in seconds. To the naked eye, they looked exactly like the terrified soldiers running around the port.
The moment the camouflage was on, the slaughter began. They moved as fast as lightning but as silent as the deep sea.
As the green mushroom cloud rose in the distance and the earth-shaking boom faded, the first team of infiltrators inside the city took it as their signal.
Their arson targets weren't random. They had been carefully scouted: a timber yard next to the crowded slums, an oil storage shed near the inner harbor, and several unguarded barns stuffed with dry hay. These spots were scattered across the city, separate but strategically linked.
The Ironborn moved like ghosts. They doused the targets with a special fuel blend they carried—oil mixed with damp beast dung and herbs designed to produce massive amounts of heavy smoke. Then, flint struck steel, or a torch was tossed.
Whoosh! Crackle!
Before the echoes of the wildfire explosion had fully died away, pillars of fire erupted across Starfish Harbor. These flames weren't the eerie green of the wildfire, but they were fierce, hot, and accompanied by billowing clouds of choking, pitch-black smoke.
The smoke spread rapidly, casting an ominous black curtain over the city.
"Fire! The city is on fire!"
"Look! It's everywhere!"
"Seven Hells! Did that explosion start this?!"
Panic spread like a virus. Screams, the sound of stampeding feet, and the crackle of burning timber mixed with the sounds of battle from the harbor. Starfish Harbor descended into unprecedented chaos.
Lord Adrian Redwyne, standing on the ramparts, was just as stunned by the explosion as his men. But then, his attention was violently pulled toward the black smoke rising from inside his city.
His face went pale. He looked at the fading green fire outside, then back at the black smoke inside. A "logical" but fatal conclusion formed in his mind: The shockwave or debris from the King's wildfire explosion must have accidentally ignited the city!
The thought burned him with anxiety. The naval battle was critical, but if his backyard was on fire, his supplies destroyed, and his people broken by panic, the war was lost anyway.
"Move!" He screamed the order, his voice cracking with urgency. "Take a detachment! Get off the wall and put out those fires! Immediately! Prioritize the granaries and the armory! Stabilize the civilians! Go!"
In the heat of the moment, the order seemed correct and necessary.
Immediately, the defensive lines on the wall began to crumble. Squads of soldiers, led by anxious officers, abandoned their posts and rushed down the stairs, running toward the smoke and flames consuming the city.
Their attention was completely fixed on the "accidental fire."
The defense of the wall was now full of holes.
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