Tyrion's orders were issued swiftly. As the black line along the horizon of the sea grew ever clearer, everything from Casterly Rock to Lannisport sprang into frantic motion.
Ships that had been preparing to leave the harbor hurriedly returned. Captains and merchants had no time to complain about the losses they would soon suffer; they scrambled in panic, tending to their affairs and fleeing for their lives.
The few merchant vessels that remained were all abandoned, and the troops from Casterly Rock and Lannisport did not bother to fight over them.
Since the outbreak of the previous war, House Lannister had taken away every last ship from this place, leaving it without any naval defense at all.
With the enemy approaching from the sea, they could only abandon their existing strategic depth and pull the battlefield directly to the coast. There was no other choice—this was the limit of what Tyrion could do at present, and a course he was forced to take.
In so short a time, it was impossible for him to build a fleet for Kal. The only thing he could do was minimize losses within the bounds of his capabilities.
Fortunately, Casterly Rock was easy to defend and hard to assault. After assigning three hundred men to Hall, Tyrion was at least able to set his mind somewhat at ease.
After all, if the enemy truly lost their wits and chose to attack Casterly Rock, he could still send reinforcements.
Thus, after settling matters at Casterly Rock, Tyrion first took some time to observe.
Once he had more or less confirmed that the enemy would most likely choose to attack Lannisport, Tyrion resolutely donned his armor, took up his small axe, and prepared to personally lead men to the front lines of the battle at Lannisport.
"What do you think you can do on the battlefield? Even a donkey could trample you to death."
Seeing that the little dwarf was actually harboring the wild notion of going to war himself, Hall was startled. He hurriedly grabbed him to stop him from leaving. "Even if I were trampled to death by a donkey, I'd still be more useful than staying here. The forces and fleet of House Redwyne are far stronger than any of you imagine."
"And if I don't go, who will command and coordinate the battlefield? There's simply no one who can go to the front right now to take charge. Those nobles who understand warfare are nothing but a rabble of stragglers—there isn't a single one you can trust!"
"If I don't go keep an eye on them, then once House Redwyne's forces rush ashore, I'd count it as loyalty if those bastards even go up and trade one more blow."
Seeing that Hall would not let him leave, Tyrion glared with eyes wide, his anger mounting with every word.
Hall had no way to refute Tyrion's words. How could he not know what the situation in the Westerlands was like right now?
What surprised him even more was that Tyrion Lannister—once a sinner of House Lannister, a dwarfish half-man—possessed more courage and sense of responsibility than anyone else.
"You can go, but I must ensure your safety."
Hall gritted his teeth and finally released his grip on Tyrion's hand.
Although Kal's makeshift force had been hastily assembled, over time everyone had come to understand how highly Kal valued the dwarf Tyrion Lannister.
What Tyrion was doing now had earned their respect all the more.
Therefore, to ensure Tyrion's safety, Hall immediately called over those remaining men from the former Blackstone Mercenary Company, then added more than thirty absolutely trustworthy warriors from the mountain clans. Only after putting together an escort detail did he finally feel at ease letting him leave.
There was only so much Hall could do. Though Casterly Rock was easy to defend and hard to assault, it was not as if no one could break in if it were left without defense.
This was Kal's only castle at present. King's Landing was one as well, but the meaning it carried was entirely different.
He had to hold this place.
On the surface of the Sunset Sea, warships flying deep-purple grape banners on blue fields slowly pressed closer.
The sky once again turned into a vast expanse of gray. The air was damp, and fierce sea winds howled.
The rainbow that had earlier arched between sea and harbor had long since vanished, and a sense of impending storm piled heavily upon people's hearts.
At this moment, on the battlefield of Lannisport, all civilians had already been evacuated.
Armies bearing banners of various colors waited here, spread out along the coastline.
Those with greater numbers included House Westerling of the Crag, House Sarsfield of Sarsfield, and House Swyft of Cornfield.
These houses had suffered relatively fewer losses in the earlier Lannister wars and the war for the Iron Throne, and afterward had not been raided by the Iron Islands, so they had managed to preserve a measure of strength.
Those with fewer men included House Farman of Fair Isle, House Kenning of Kayce, House Prester of Feastfires, and House Banefort of the Banefort.
Because these houses were not strong to begin with, they had not only suffered heavy losses in the previous wars, but now—because their lands lay along the coast—had also been raided by the Iron Islands. At present, they could only barely keep going.
The troops these barely surviving houses could send were not many—scattered and listless, and utterly devoid of morale.
As for the others—
Houses such as House Marbrand of Ashemark, House Lefford of the Golden Tooth, House Brax of Hornvale, House Serrett of Silverhill, House Lydden of Deep Den, House Greenfield of Greenfield, House Yew of the Gentle Hills, and so on, had not responded to Kal's call this time.
In short, with a single sentence: those who could answer Kal's call and stand here now could be said to be nothing but a bunch of battered remnants—old, weak, sick, and crippled.
As for those nobles in the mountains of the eastern Westerlands—such as House Lefford of the Golden Tooth—who had preserved a measure of strength during the earlier turmoil, they all remained silent in response to Kal's levy this time.
In other words, they displayed an attitude of neither refusing nor affirming, simply dragging it out.
After bringing his men to the coastline, Tyrion looked at the three thousand troops that eight or nine houses had not even managed to scrape together, and his face was filled with bitterness.
Leaving aside whether he would later settle accounts with those houses that did not come—
Even if he added the roughly two thousand men he himself could mobilize, the total number of troops Tyrion could dispatch and command was only a little over five thousand.
Moreover, most of them were infantry, and their quality was uneven.
And in the face of House Redwyne's fleet, coming in full force across the sea, Tyrion could only pray that the gods would bless them—because right now, he could not even manage to gather sellswords with money, even if he wanted to.
To put it bluntly, House Lannister had indeed once been wealthy, but that had nothing to do with House El of Casterly Rock now.
This newly founded ramshackle outfit of theirs was poor as a church mouse. Tyrion spent at least half of every day worrying about this matter.
When a dwarfish half-man in red-and-black armor appeared, holding aloft House El's jeweled river banner, the nobles who had answered the call all froze.
They had not expected Tyrion Lannister to come to the battlefield as well. This could not help but make several nobles with differing thoughts exchange glances with one another, each wearing a complicated expression.
"Tyrion Lannister—are you confident you can stop them?"
Noticing Tyrion's arrival, the current lord of Fair Isle, Lord Sebaston Farman, hurried forward and asked in an uneasy tone.
Fair Isle lay isolated beyond the Westerlands. It could be said that whenever there was even the slightest change in the inland situation across the generations—or whenever the Westerlands grew unstable—his house would be the first to bear the brunt and be affected.
To speak of the past at some distance: during the reign of Aerys I Targaryen, when the ironborn were raiding everywhere, they once lost half the island's wealth to plunder.
Later, during the War of the Kraken, Dalton Greyjoy personally led his forces to take Kayce and then captured Faircastle, his family's seat, crushing the last resistance on the island.
After that, the so-called "Red Kraken" humiliatingly took four daughters of House Farman as "salt wives."
He then gave the fifth daughter of the then Count of Farman to his brother Veron Greyjoy, because that fifth girl was too ugly.
As for the Lord of Farman himself and his sons, they were only ransomed back by Casterly Rock with an equal weight of silver, allowing the family to survive.
Afterward, with the death of the Red Kraken, the power he had seized dissipated. The ironborn collapsed amid disintegration and internal strife, and only then did House Farman live to see Alyn Velaryon arrive, with Faircastle finally reclaimed.
Next came the period of the Greyjoy Rebellion, during which Fair Isle was once again drawn into war.
Then came the more recent war between House Lannister and the Iron Throne—and now, this.
It could be said that after this unbroken chain of ordeals, Lord Sebaston felt utterly drained just standing here.
Yet he had no choice but to do these things. His only option was to attach himself to Kal Baratheon, the new king, in the hope that his house might weather this upheaval intact.
But now, he could see very little cause for confidence.
Those who shared the same fate—places such as the Banefort, Feastfires, and Kayce—were in much the same position. Thus, as Lord Sebaston stepped forward, the eyes of these people followed and turned toward Tyrion as well.
Facing their gazes, Tyrion naturally understood what was going on.
"Of course, my lords, please rest assured. We have long had plans in place for the enemy's attack. Otherwise, do you think I—an irritating dwarf—would dare to come here in person?"
Tyrion was not foolish enough to drain his own side's morale at a time like this, so he hastily put on an air of confidence and worked to reassure the already anxious crowd.
After hearing Tyrion's words, although there was not much trust in their hearts, there was nothing they could do at present.
After exchanging glances with one another, the noble lords who had personally come here each formed plans of their own.
Then, amid this somewhat complicated and oppressive atmosphere, Tyrion deployed the troops. After assigning tasks to each of these lords, he personally led a unit himself and, with the help of Timett and the others, took position at the very front, barely maintaining the formation.
The fleet from the Arbor was already in plain sight.
The sea wind howled, waves rolled across the surface, and suddenly a single raindrop fell from the sky, landing on Tyrion's face—his calves already twitching slightly from tension.
Tyrion subconsciously touched his somewhat chilled cheek and lifted his head to look toward the sky.
In the dim, leaden heavens, dark clouds churned, and the rain soon followed in earnest, showing signs of growing heavier by the moment.
Wiping the rain from his face, Tyrion put on his helmet and drew his small axe from his belt.
In a landing battle like this, cavalry had little room to operate, and they did not have many horsemen to begin with. Thus, Tyrion kept only a small portion of the cavalry waiting off to one side along a relatively open stretch of coastline, having them cooperate with some infantry to guard a longer section of shore outside the harbor.
As for himself, he remained at the harbor with the majority of the men.
That way, even if they could not hold the enemy back, they would still be able to withdraw in an orderly fashion into the town and use the houses and buildings to fight a street battle.
It could be said that Tyrion had already made every preparation possible.
As wind met rain, the atmosphere by the sea seemed to congeal.
And with the arrival of the storm, although visibility dropped sharply, people could already see the warships anchored not far away lowering their small boats.
The soldiers of House Redwyne disembarked one after another, boarding the boats and making ready to land.
"Father, are we really going to attack in the rain?"
This was the second time Horas Redwyne had come here with his father.
The last time, they had done nothing at all—merely facing off against the Iron Islands, acting as protectors of Lannisport and Casterly Rock. Now, only a few months later, they had returned again, but their role had already changed into that of the enemy. It was almost laughable to think about.
Hearing his brother's question, Horas Redwyne's twin brother—who had also come along this time—Hobber Redwyne, turned his head as well to look at their father together with his brother.
Amid the not-so-heavy wind and rain, Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor and lord of House Redwyne, was carefully observing the conditions on the sea and the direction of the wind.
"Of course. Right now, both the wind direction and the squalls favor us."
"At present, Lannisport has no fleet to protect it. It will be easy for us to invade, but the enemy are not fools either."
"In this situation, the enemy are more familiar with the terrain than we are, and their will to resist—their momentum and morale—will be firmer."
"But in the rain, that may not necessarily hold."
Paxter Redwyne extended his hand over the ship's rail, feeling the density of the rain and the strength of the wind.
"This rain will, to a certain extent, level out the advantages on both sides, and most importantly, this is only the frontal attack I'm using to pin them."
Hearing his father say this, Horas subconsciously lifted his head and looked toward the distance.
The enemy were not fools, and of course they were not stupid either—they would not simply keep battering their heads against a single point.
Along the straight coastline of the coast road, as early as last night they had already put a force ashore. Thinking of the news they had just received, now truly was the most suitable moment.
"I understand, Father."
With Paxter Redwyne's renewed confirmation, Horas steeled his resolve. He then took up his helmet and bowed to Lord Paxter.
"Then my brother and I will go first."
With that, Horas and his brother Hobber exchanged a look, each moving to the ship's rail and climbing down into a landing skiff that had long since been prepared on the sea below.
As for his two sons going to the battlefield in person, Paxter was happy to see it—after all, it was something he had arranged himself.
It was a very good place for training. It was not considered dangerous, and the honor to be gained was not small.
Paxter was not worried that he could not take Lannisport. With House Lannister's fleet no longer protecting it, to him this place was merely meat on a chopping block.
Moreover, his purpose was only to take House Lannister, thereby forcing the army of Kal Baratheon—already pushing beyond Highgarden—to cut off his supply line, and at the same time threaten his rear.
As for Casterly Rock, he had no interest at all.
Leaving aside that last time he already knew there was nothing in Casterly Rock—what use was there in exhausting himself to take such a lump of stone?
But taking Lannisport was different.
Once he took this place, it would also herald Kal Baratheon's defeat.
Only, in the sky above that no one noticed, within the dark clouds a not-so-conspicuous black shadow was drifting.
Using the wind and rain as cover, it slowly poked its head out from the cloud layer, appropriately lowering its altitude.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---