Rhaegar and Lord Jon stood side by side at the forefront.
Amidst blood and fire, Rhaegar had won greater respect. Some respect came from his bloodline and throne, but some came from his swordsmanship and courage. Knights loved the sound of clashing steel far more than books and candles.
In a knight-centric realm like Westeros, a king must be a powerful warrior to command respect. The sword is also a symbol of truth.
Rhaegar felt there was no helping it; some people just liked their monarchs to be like lions, capable of awing everyone.
The Knights of the Vale no longer resisted the young lord riding with Lord Jon, for Prince Rhaegar had displayed his tenacity, bravery, mercy, and strength before them. Prince Rhaegar was a natural knight.
"Prince, we must wait a moment; two hundred more cavalry reinforcements are on the way," Lord Jon said to Rhaegar. Four hundred heavy cavalry was already a formidable force.
Rhaegar agreed. If they were to sweep the mountains again and clear the Holy Land of the Burned Men, they needed more hands. He signaled Sessa, Barristan, and the others, ordering the Eagle Guard to rest and resupply.
Speed was crucial. The mountain clans were terrified, making this the perfect time to strike. Once they recovered and set ambushes in the Mountains of the Moon, entry would be far more difficult.
"Is there still a dragon?" Rhaegar asked.
Tholim shook his head. "No dragon, and no fire priestess, but the rules remain. We still undergo the trial of fire."
Rhaegar thought the Burned Men's brutal suppression of other tribes was understandable; they were too cruel and highly masochistic.
As for the dragon's death, Rhaegar considered it normal. The foothills of the Mountains of the Moon were rugged and steep, the terrain high, desolate, and lonely, with peaks covered in eternal snow. It was simply too barren. The wildlings were all malnourished; how could they feed an old dragon for so many years? Moreover, with the decline of magic, the lifespan of dragons had shortened.
Dragons grew larger and more sluggish with age, preferring to sleep lazily, making flight difficult. If Sheepstealer were still alive, the Burned Men clan would likely have been eaten to extinction by now.
A look of pain appeared on Tholim's face. He had thought too much and too shallowly, ultimately losing the war and bringing heavy casualties to his clan.
What Tholim hadn't anticipated was the variable of Rhaegar. If Rhaegar hadn't resisted the attack, hadn't possessed an amazing physique and will, hadn't been tempered by the Fire Seed, or had been unlucky enough to fall from his horse, Tholim could have achieved a perfect victory. Yet, after rounds of arrow rain, Rhaegar remained unharmed.
If Tholim had swallowed the Eagle Guard, he could have obtained their advanced equipment and weapons, then had a chance to annihilate Lord Jon's army.
Rhaegar observed the Vale knights' way of war. Aside from slightly better armor and more experience in charge formations, they were no different from other armies. Ultimately, economic levels and population ties determined victory; the Westerlands, Stormlands, and Vale had more knights and better equipment. The Northmen disliked this style; true warriors fought in blood.
Rhaegar also noticed that few knights used longbows. Knights preferred longswords and lances to longbows; most knights were like this. Few would form a specialized longbow unit like Bloodraven did. Bloodraven's love for the longbow only intensified people's hatred for him; the monarch symbolized darkness, coldness, and cunning, just like the longbow.
Rhaegar looked at the Vale knights and thought: I should build a balanced army, proficient in both longbow and lance. The key remained personnel and equipment. Personnel needed training, and for equipment, dragonbone bows were best, followed by greatbows of goldenheart, weirwood, and yew, and Essosi bows. Horn bows were also good.
"Your Grace, I have something to ask Tholim!" Lord Jon said, brows furrowed as if recalling a cruel story.
Rhaegar stepped back a few paces, leaving only Lord Jon and a few trusted knights.
War comes fast and ends fast, leaving only devastation.
Other knights had joined the main force in controlling captives, counting bodies, and looting wealth.
However, the mountain clans were simply too poor; these paupers truly had nothing of value.
Rhaegar wisely walked away; he knew what Lord Jon wanted to ask. If something shameful had happened, Lord Jon's honor would be stained. In such awkward moments, it was best to stay away.
Rhaegar could only see from a distance that Lord Jon's face grew darker and darker, as if shrouded by dark clouds. There was a traitor at the Gates of the Moon, and a high-ranking one at that.
The rest of the Vale knights arrived. Their equipment was slightly inferior, not as elite as Lord Jon's vanguard, wearing only light mail or half-plate.
"Cut off these heads! When we get back, tar them and spike them!"
"Bind the remaining wildlings with ropes. The Five Fingers still need to strengthen coastal defenses; these wildlings cannot be wasted."
Lord Jon's tone was icy. For the mountain clans, hatred was etched deeper than love.
"Leave the body of that dead chief to me first," Rhaegar said, seeming to have an idea.
The smell of blood filled the air as the troops set out again.
Rhaegar noticed Lord Jon's extremely gloomy expression; Tholim's words had touched him deeply, like a falcon ravaged by a storm.
The group marched north, with Tholim tied to a skinny horse at the front.
Rhaegar and his team climbed and descended, the mountain road winding over rocks, wild trees, and mud. Beautiful clouds floated in the sky, while the land below was desolate and ancient. "To ride in the mountains until death"—perhaps only mountain clans could endure such a life.
The wildling tribe was terrified, too late to react.
They trekked a long way until Rhaegar and his companions saw a desolate camp hidden deep in the mountains, hard to find. The fleeing Burned Men had abandoned their tribe to save their lives, leaving not even a single guard. Even if Rhaegar's group hadn't intruded, other tribes would have come to loot the Burned Men in the chaos.
Following Tholim's guidance, Rhaegar found a hidden cave on a majestic hill above the camp, the entrance scattered with bones.
"We're here!" Rhaegar's heart pounded with excitement.
Rhaegar walked excitedly toward the hidden cave entrance and immediately felt a scorching heat, difficult to approach. This temperature really made one suspect a giant dragon might still be alive.
It turned out a large pit had been dug at the entrance, filled with fuel, a raging fire burning continuously, seemingly never extinguished. This wall of fire was about two meters wide, completely blocking the cave mouth.
The Burned Men threw wood, charcoal, coal, and some kind of animal oil into the fire to keep it burning vigorously.
"Little imp, aren't you going to the Holy Land? Go in; this is the Fire Priestess's last spark!" Tholim suddenly laughed.
The flames breathed by the dragon before its death had been preserved by the Burned Men until now. They swore by fire, showing courage to the flames, even if it meant burning their fingers and ears.
Rhaegar glanced at the raging fire and said to Barristan, "Go get some main structural timbers, make sure they are wet."
Barristan and the others brought Rhaegar thick, water-soaked logs, about the size of a bowl—these were actually the main support beams of the wildlings' houses.
"Your Grace, no need to rush. Should we have the soldiers gather?" Barristan asked. Ser Brynden nodded too.
The wall of fire was thick and hot, difficult to resolve quickly. Sweat dripped down their cheeks.
Rhaegar shook his head and thrust the wood directly into the flames. Sparks crackled and popped, some even singeing Rhaegar's hair.
Tholim's smile gradually froze. He saw Rhaegar unharmed, repeatedly striking the sacred fire with the thick log.
The Blood of Fire could withstand high temperatures for a short time.
Rhaegar wielded the large log at the cave mouth, and the wall of fire began to loosen. Sparks flew, the heat unbearable, but it didn't stop him at all. Amidst dust and smoke, he pushed aside sparks and charcoal.
"You are the King of Fire!"
"You need not fear fire, for fire obeys your command. You are the King of Fire!" Tholim suddenly roared, his face full of humility and fanaticism.
Barristan, Brynden, Sessa, and the others exchanged glances. The Prince seemed to possess some traits of the dragonlords.
A few men stepped up to help, and then the main force brought water. The wall of fire, the sacred flame of the Burned Men, was thoroughly destroyed.
Rhaegar rushed impatiently into the cave until he saw the massive dragon skeleton.
The giant dragon skeleton lay quietly deep in the cave, its pale eye sockets and massive frame symbolizing its former glory.