"High as Honor!"
"Long live the Eyrie!"
"Long live House Arryn!"
"Barbarians, the noble knights have arrived!"
It was the Knights of the Vale; Lord Jon Arryn's reinforcements had arrived.
Rhaegar saw the Vale cavalry shouting slogans. Wielding maces, longswords, lances, axes, and spiked morningstars, they crashed into the mountain clan warriors like a storm.
The Vale knights bypassed the frontline barricades of rock and timber, charging into the ranks of the high clans to rescue the Prince and his Eagle Guard soldiers.
The mountain road was rugged and treacherous, but fortunately, the outcome was not yet dire.
Blue and white cavalry crisscrossed the battlefield, splitting it in two. It became a nightmare for the high clans.
The Vale knights set the battlefield boiling. Fresh and well-rested, they reaped the savages relentlessly; wherever they passed, wails of grief and rage rose, and bodies scattered like wheat.
Rhaegar noticed the battlefield was filled with colors: blue, white, red, silver, and black.
Everywhere were blue-and-white moon-and-falcon banners, falcon sigils, sky-blue cloaks, silver-black armor, and bright red blood.
Today, Rhaegar witnessed the full might of the Knights of the Vale; their reputation was well-deserved.
The Knights of the Vale were renowned throughout the ages.
Rhaegar let out a sigh of relief. With the Vale knights committed as reserves, the battle's outcome was decided.
Lord Jon leading the reinforcements sealed the victory.
The battle had lasted too long. The willpower and stamina of both the mountain clans and the Eagle Guard had reached their limits.
The clans' relentless charges had drained the Eagle Guard significantly.
Even with the Blood of Fire, repeatedly drawing the Dragonbone Longbow and dodging arrows and rocks had left Rhaegar exhausted.
Brynden, Sessa, Barristan, and the others were equally spent.
Rhaegar was in fair condition; the other Eagle Guards were holding on by sheer will. Without the Fire Seed, Rhaegar would have collapsed long ago.
On the battlefield, the victor laughs last. Faster, stronger, fiercer.
The Eagle Guards, bathed in blood, were instantly revitalized; with the arrival of fresh troops, the tide turned immediately.
"Long live Prince Rhaegar! Long live Lord Jon!" We survived! The Eagle Guards shouted excitedly. Raising their weapons, they too charged forward.
The clansmen, who had been trying to tighten the siege, now faced total rout.
Flowers of blood bloomed, and the barbarian encirclement disintegrated completely.
Rhaegar led the Eagle Guard charging outward, while the Vale knights on the outer ring attacked the savage enemy fiercely. The inner and outer forces converged, breaking the central defense, and the mountain clan army collapsed instantly.
The battlefield turned into a one-sided slaughter. The Vale Knights and Eagle Guard ruthlessly crushed the enemy; this battle crippled the mountain clans' raiding capacity for decades.
Everyone discarded their longbows. The Eagle Guard charged with long shields, short spears, and swords.
Rhaegar rode his horse, trampling the blood-stained mud, crossing the bodies of savages and ponies, his longsword flashing madly. Barristan, Brynden, Joffrey, and Sessa followed close behind.
The battlefield was bloody and cruel; Death treated everyone the same.
After all, Rhaegar came from a family of great warriors. He charged without mercy, tearing through flesh, bone, and mud.
The Knights of the Vale joined forces with Rhaegar's Eagle Guard, thoroughly pacifying the battlefield and capturing several key objectives.
Except for a few escapees, Rhaegar had won a massive victory in this campaign.
"Prince, you must be shaken!" Lord Jon dismounted and stood beside Rhaegar.
Lord Jon removed his falcon helm. The helm was decorated with wings on both sides, the visor leaving only a narrow slit. The golden surface was plated with blue, dotted with a circle of crystals and diamonds, topped by an angry falcon with expensive sapphire eyes.
Lord Jon's magnificent armor dazzled Rhaegar. Jon was encased in heavy steel plate from head to toe, with copper plates at the joints, the whole suit painted blue and white. Falcons were fixed on his shoulders to hold his sky-blue cloak.
Rhaegar detected a hint of anxiety and fear in Lord Jon's expression. The battlefield changes in an instant; he hadn't expected eight or nine hundred savages to gather at once—a massive operation. If anything happened to Rhaegar, the Vale would be in huge trouble.
"Lord Jon, you came just in time," Rhaegar said to the Lord. He couldn't curse him for being late. If not for the Eagle God's blessing, foreseeing the battlefield's dangers, ten Rhaegars might have been pierced by stray arrows and rocks.
Weapons have no eyes. Stray arrows, falling rocks, traps, mudslides, and foul water—several Lords of the Vale had died mysteriously on the battlefield.
"Congratulations, Your Grace. You have won a great victory. You led the charge and displayed true chivalry," Lord Jon said admiringly.
Lord Jon's expression was complex, mixed with fear and surprise. But undoubtedly, the greatest heroes of this battle were Rhaegar and his Eagle Guard. Throughout history, the highest military honors belonged to those who led the charge and broke enemy lines. Reckless perhaps, but they held their ground until the reserves arrived.
Rhaegar's heart was still full of fear. War came too fast and too violently to predict. The scariest part was that someone might have leaked intelligence.
regardless, victory, however imperfect, was victory. And the fruits were substantial.
Rhaegar looked around. All the warriors—Eagle Guard, Vale soldiers, Brynden Tully, and Barristan—looked at him with respect. They had stood like rocks against the savage onslaught, holding out until now; the Prince's great victory was glorious enough.
A general must lead soldiers to victory; victory silences all opposition. In the face of victory, youth or recklessness matter not. As long as Rhaegar continued to win, soldiers would naturally pledge their lives to him.
"Rhaegar the Victor!" Lord Jon raised Rhaegar's hand and shouted. The handsome youth was covered in blood and dust, his silver hair smelling of gore, his face and black enamel armor stained red.
"Long live Prince Rhaegar!"
"Long live Prince Rhaegar!"
"Lucky Rhaegar!"
Soldiers drew their swords, shouts echoing across the battlefield. In this moment, Rhaegar felt as if he were being crowned king.
Rhaegar was a titan of House Targaryen, a great true dragon.
Battlefield cleanup proceeded methodically, and quartermasters began reporting significant results.
Umar of the Moon Brothers was dead!
The chiefs of the Stone Crows, Black Ears, and Milk Snakes had fled with some savages!
Tholim, chief of the Burned Men, was captured alive!
Over eight hundred bodies lay on the field.
"My brothers are dead!" Rhaegar noted the Eagle Guard's casualties: three guards killed by stray arrows or weapons during the engagement, and one unfortunate guard who fell from his horse and broke his neck. Though few, Rhaegar felt immense sorrow.
Warriors died for me.
Rhaegar took off his sky-blue cloak and covered the bodies of the fallen guards. Barristan, Sessa, and Ser Brynden handed him their cloaks as well.
Rhaegar showed mercy. Those warriors, pale as grass, would remain forever evergreen. The battlefield was ruthless; soldiers deserved compassion.
"I challenge you, son of the Dragon Chief!" One-Eared Tholim suddenly roared with all his might, his voice hoarse. Soldiers held spears to his neck, awaiting the Prince's order.
"I want to fight you!" One-Ear said. Tholim. Almost all the nine hundred savages he brought were dead or wounded. Suffering such heavy losses, he could never return to his tribe.
Rhaegar looked at Tholim. Missing an ear, yet twice as mad as ordinary men. Tholim's face was rough and dark, his shadowskin cloak tattered. Though physically uninjured, he was exhausted.
"You are in no position to bargain with me," Rhaegar said.
"If you defeat me, you can kill or torture me as you please. If I win, you must let me pass safely," Tholim said.
"I am going to the Holy Land of the Fire Priestess," Rhaegar said, stepping forward and looking at the savage chief whose face was pressed into the mud.
"Good! But my sword is notched. Give me a good sword." Tholim gritted his teeth.
"Give him a sword."
"Your Grace, I am a Kingsguard. Allow me to take your place?" Barristan asked.
Rhaegar waved his hand, signaling him to step back.
Tholim drew the sword, the blade thrusting forward at a very tricky angle.
That longsword was steady, precise, and fierce, like a viper suddenly appearing in the wilderness.
As a member of the Red Hand, Tholim possessed the talent of a first-class warrior.
But he was cornered, and facing Rhaegar, who could regenerate with the Fire Seed.
Rhaegar parried hard. His blade was faster and fiercer than Tholim's. Rhaegar countered with a violent slash; Tholim's palm was struck, and the sword dropped into the mud.
"You win, boy," Tholim said, pale. He had nothing left.
The road to the Dragon's Lair was open.
Rhaegar had obtained the key with blood and fire.
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