The massive clang of metal clashing erupted within the underground hall, sparks showering down like rain.
Aegon stepped sideways to dodge a heavy cleave. The battle-axe grazed his breastplate, scraping a series of ear-piercing shrieks against the Valyrian Steel, yet leaving only a fleeting, faint white mark.
He twisted his waist with the momentum, the long blade in his hand flicking out like a venomous snake's tongue, slashing upward at an angle from below.
The tip of the blade accurately probed into the gap in the Ironborn's leather armor at the armpit—one of the most lethal angles for dealing with armored opponents he had learned through countless life-and-death struggles.
"Ugh, ah—" The Ironborn howled in agony and retreated, blood gushing from his armpit and splashing a dark red patch across the pitch-black floor.
But the attacks did not stop; they followed one after another.
Another scimitar had already struck from the right, aiming straight for his neck with the sound of breaking wind.
Aegon didn't have time to pull back his blade to parry; he could only raise his left arm to tank the blow.
The scimitar slammed heavily against his bracer, the vibration numbing his arm, yet the Valyrian Steel remained completely unscathed.
Taking the opportunity, he kicked the opponent in the stomach. As the Ironborn stumbled back, his long blade stabbed like lightning toward the man's face—where there was only a thin layer of leather armor.
The third, the fourth... the Ironborn surged forward like a tide.
Aegon shifted and maneuvered within the siege, the Valyrian Steel armor granting him unparalleled protection.
However, every dodge still aggravated the unhealed wound on his left leg, and every parry consumed his already meager stamina.
Armor could stop a blade's edge, but it could not entirely negate the force of the impact; heavy blows felt like hammers hitting his body, shaking his internal organs.
"Clang!"
A two-handed battle-axe cleaved with full force onto Aegon's shoulder. He gave a muffled groan, stumbling half a step, and used the momentum to drive his long blade into the opponent's throat.
Warm blood sprayed onto his visor, blurring his vision.
How many was that? Seven? Eight? Aegon had no time to count.
His breathing was heavy, like a worn-out bellows, and every breath he took carried a thick scent of blood and rust.
The undershirt beneath his armor was already soaked with sweat, clinging to his skin, forming a sharp contrast with the bone-chilling cold outside.
The advantage and the cost were being demonstrated vividly at this moment.
The Valyrian Steel armor allowed him to weave through a forest of swords and gave him nearly invincible protection, but it had also become a massive burden on his stamina.
Every Ironborn that fell was draining his already limited energy.
"Henry! Karl! Close in on me!" Aegon roared, his voice sounding muffled and distant from beneath the visor.
Not far away, Henry's large, stout frame stood like a reef in the sea. He brandished a battle-axe snatched from some Ironborn, every swing carrying the power to split mountains and shatter stone.
Karl, meanwhile, moved like a ghost along the edges of the battlefield, his lean figure exceptionally agile as he focused on attacking the Ironborn's lower bodies and joints.
Led by the two of them, the dozens of surviving Mercenaries plucked up their courage to fight the Ironborn.
For a time, the sounds of clashing weapons, roars, and screams rose and fell, shattering the millennium-long silence of the hall.
However, the disadvantage in numbers and equipment could not be overcome.
The Ironborn were battle-hardened and well-equipped; every one of them wore sturdy leather or chainmail, and some even wore heavy plate armor.
For every Ironborn the Mercenaries killed, they often paid several times the price. The ground was soon covered with corpses, and blood stained the smooth obsidian floor red.
No one noticed that the flowing blood did not spread randomly but seemed to be drawn by some invisible force.
Eerily, it seeped toward the depths of the hall, into the dark corners and the cracks of the ancient runes on the walls, silently.
Crows Eye remained standing outside the combat circle, like a spectator enjoying a play.
His single eye was almost constantly locked onto Aegon, showing nothing but contempt for the Mercenaries' resistance.
From time to time, he issued brief commands, directing the Ironborn to focus their siege on Aegon, while sending only a few men to block Henry and Karl's attempts to break through.
"Drain him dry." Crows Eye's voice was cold, devoid of any emotion.
Aegon fought while retreating, trying to rendezvous with Henry and Karl.
But the Ironborn followed him like shadows, their offensive coming in wave after wave, each higher than the last.
An Ironborn captain in full plate armor charged forward, fearless of death. Aegon's long blade struck the man's spaulder, only producing a shower of sparks.
The Ironborn captain took the chance to slam into him. Aegon was knocked back repeatedly, nearly falling over.
"Hain!" Henry roared, wanting to rush over, but he was pinned down by two Ironborn.
A cold light flashed in Aegon's eyes. He gave up on hacking at the plate armor, ducked his body, and thrust his long blade like a venomous snake toward the joint of the armor at the back of the opponent's knee.
This was a weak point of plate armor!
The blade's tip pierced through the chainmail, and the Ironborn captain screamed as he collapsed to his knees.
Aegon showed no mercy, delivering a finishing blow through the gap between the helmet and the gorget.
The tenth.
But more Ironborn closed in.
Aegon heard Karl's shouts being drowned out by the sounds of slaughter and saw Henry, covered in blood, still fighting with all his might.
The distance between them was being pulled further and further apart by the tide of enemies.
"Crack!"
With a crisp sound, the long blade in Aegon's hand finally reached its limit and snapped in the middle during a parry.
The broken half of the blade spun through the air and embedded itself into a nearby stone pillar, vibrating with a hum.
Aegon did not hesitate to discard the hilt, leaning down to scoop up a longsword dropped by a dead Ironborn soldier.
The blade was covered in viscous blood, and the grip was incredibly slippery.
Three more Ironborn pounced from three different directions.
Aegon swung the sword in a horizontal sweep to force one back, narrowly dodged another vicious thrust by sidestepping, but a third battle-axe slammed solidly into his back.
"Bang!"
The heavy blow felt like a mountain collapsing. Aegon's vision went dark, and a strong, metallic sweetness suddenly surged up his throat.
He grit his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, and forced himself to swallow that mouthful of blood—he couldn't bleed, he absolutely could not bleed here!
The system's warning echoed sharply in his mind.
He delivered a backhanded thrust, the sword's tip entering the eye socket of the Ironborn who had relaxed slightly after landing the hit, finishing off his eleventh opponent.
But there were more and more people.
Crows Eye was like the most patient hunter; with every wave of his hand, there were always new Ironborn to fill the gaps.
They were no longer in a hurry to attack forcefully; instead, they circled and drained him, using shields to ram and blunt weapons to strike.
The Valyrian Steel armor blocked the lethal edges, but the constant vibrations made Aegon's breathing increasingly ragged and his arms increasingly heavy.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Heavy shield bashes slammed against his breastplate one after another, producing dull, massive booms.
Aegon retreated repeatedly, every step feeling as if his lungs were on fire.
He could clearly feel that his body beneath the armor was covered in bruises; the old wound on his left leg throbbed with excruciating pain, the edges of his vision began to blacken, and gold stars flickered before his eyes.
Henry and Karl's shouts seemed to be getting further and further away, separated by countless brandished weapons and the hideous faces of the Ironborn.
Aegon caught a glimpse of Henry, looking like a man made of blood, still struggling to fight his way over. Karl was trying to flank them but was being firmly held back.
Complete isolation.
Aegon realized that Crows Eye's plan had succeeded.
Using the Mercenaries to distract him, and then using absolute numbers and continuous attacks to wear the guardian of this steel fortress to death in this dead end.
Just then—
"Rumble, rumble, rumble—!!!"
A roar far louder than any previous sound of battle came from the depths of the hall, and the entire underground space shook violently!
It was as if some sleeping giant beast had been awakened and let out a roar of agony.
Dust and debris from the ceiling showered down, and the eerie blue glowing moss on the walls instantly went dim and lightless.
The earth shook and the mountains moved!
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