Watching as the shadow on the surface of the sea had already spread into a whole expanse and continued to gather, Tyrion raised his head again and glanced at the sky.
Of course, Tyrion would not expect to rely on these scattered remnants to withstand House Redwyne's attack.
The real trump card Kal had left him was still the golden dragon, Robert.
But ever since Kal led troops away, Tyrion also no longer often saw that small golden dragon.
In fact, during this period, he had not seen it at all.
If not for the fact that he could occasionally hear from fishermen and farmers that it would, from time to time, appear over the sea, or that it was seen in the forest, Tyrion would even have suspected that Kal's dragon had become wild.
With unease in his heart, Tyrion did not know whether Robert was actually reliable—after all, it was just a beast; no matter how miraculous it was, it would not be like a person.
So for Tyrion, his greater preparations still lay with people.
If the dragon truly could help him, then naturally that would be good.
If it could not, then it was not as if he had no preparations.
It was just that, thinking of the red comet that had hung in the sky some time ago, and the matter Kal had told him before leaving about the prophecy of the Long Night—
"…"
Tyrion took a deep breath, his gaze turning toward the sea, and his eyes became resolute.
"Our archers are already useless. Have them change their weapons, and have the whole army press forward thirty paces!"
In the torrential rain, Tyrion issued orders swiftly. Beside him, the messenger immediately blew the horn to relay the command, and then another man sprinted out, racing along the line of battle to carry the orders onward.
The sudden violent storm stripped away, in an instant, the advantage Tyrion's side had originally relied upon—using the stability of the coastal land to launch an initial wave of long-range attacks against enemies advancing from the sea.
Instead, it had pushed them into an unfavorable position.
But now was not the time for dejection.
If there was no advantage to be gained, then there was no need to seek one—picking up their weapons and fighting was the only sensible course.
As Tyrion's commands were carried out, the archers quickly discarded the longbows and feathered arrows in their hands, switching to other equipment.
Long spears and short pikes, sharp swords and swift blades—no sooner were they taken up than they were rapidly soaked through by the wind and rain.
Some seasoned veterans tore off strips of cloth from their clothing, binding their hands together with their weapons to keep them from slipping.
Noticing this, the others followed suit.
For a time, everyone made their own preparations, facing the enemies rowing small boats toward them, standing ready in tight formation.
When the fastest boat finally reached the shore, the soldiers of House Redwyne aboard it leapt quickly into the shallow water. Bracing against the wind and rain, trampling through the waves, they surged forward amid loud shouts.
Unfortunately for them, although their enemies came from the high mountains and had scarcely seen the sea a few times in their lives, the hardships of their daily existence were already more than severe enough.
Such a rain-soaked battle would not have much impact on them.
Moreover, it not only fostered their fierce temperament, but also meant they would never be frightened by such a minor spectacle.
So when they saw that the incoming enemy actually still dared to make a show of force, several Mountain Clan warriors who happened to be holding this position bared their rotten teeth. Without a word, they grabbed the long spears planted in the ground at their side.
They bent their bodies and raised their arms, fixing their aim.
After a few quick steps, they released their grip, and the spears tore through the wind and rain as they flew.
At the tip of the rough wooden shafts, sharp iron points were wrapped tight, their cold gleam dazzling as they flashed past.
The aim was good. With a wet, muffled thud, one spear struck squarely into the chest of a sailor who was still trampling through the waves while shouting.
He had only just taken a few steps in the seawater, the cry in his mouth only just beginning to leave his lips, when that spear forcibly cut it off.
The sharp spearhead pierced his chest without the slightest resistance, the arm-thick shaft behind it driving clean through.
His breastbone shattered, his heart and lungs reduced to a bloody pulp.
The loud shout turned into a choking whimper. His eyes went wide as a mouthful of fresh blood burst uncontrollably from his lips. The sailor who had been struck fell backward.
He sank into the seawater that was only knee-high.
With the rise and fall of a wave surging in, after briefly revealing his final, unwilling gaze, that face—now filled entirely with terror—silently sank once more beneath the surface of the sea.
Only some hazy, reddish bloodwater remained, carrying fine bubbles as it floated up and stained the beach red.
"Kill!!!"
Once hands were joined in battle, from the moment the first drop of blood was shed, war could end only with the defeat of one side.
What was more, this was still only a prologue.
Although long-range archery had indeed been forced to be abandoned due to the arrival of the violent storm, this kind of close-range throwing with hand-held spears was still unaffected.
This was the Mountain Clan warriors' specialty.
Even so, it still could not completely repel the enemy.
Though the initial effect was good, and after three or four consecutive rounds it did manage to restrain the enemy's advance, spears would eventually run out.
And the enemies surging in were not something that could be held back by just a few spears.
Torrential rain poured down, the sea wind salty and damp.
The first wave of close-quarters combat had arrived all the same.
At this moment, the soldiers fighting on both sides were soaked through by the downpour, the rain nearly making it impossible to keep their eyes open.
Yet the blades and swords that still glinted with biting cold light in the rain showed not the slightest mercy, striking unreservedly at their enemies' bodies.
Screams rang out one after another, and more and more people fell.
Flowing across the sand and along the shore, the blood at the edge of the sea, washed by the heavy rain, made no distinction between friend and foe. It gathered in a hazy mass, staining a long stretch of the Lannisport coastline red.
At the center of this line, blades flashed as both sides exchanged blows, curses in various tongues mixing together.
The sound of iron entering flesh was dull yet sharp, only to be drowned out by the piercing screams.
Even so, Tyrion's expression was far from good as he stood on a higher point along the coast.
Although their resistance at the moment looked very effective and resolute, and with the enemy having to land from ships they had held a favorable position in the battle from the very start, the situation was still grim.
These soldiers of House Redwyne who were landing had to pay a price of roughly three to one just to make it onto the shore.
Among them, most of the corpses lay fallen in the shallow surf.
Yet once a section of the coastline was breached, more enemies immediately surged in through that gap.
The soldiers of those nobles who had lost this stretch of ground never even considered retaking it. Instead, they shrank back in fear, flailing left and right, desperately trying to hide behind their companions.
When everyone thought the same way, the only ones who benefited were their enemies.
And such scenes were not limited to a single place. Before long, two or three similar situations were playing out in succession.
"We can't hold them. Manpower, morale, and even the weather are all against us—damn it!"
With a single glance, Tyrion immediately analyzed the situation on the battlefield.
But at this moment, no matter how angry he was, there was nothing he could do.
The torrential rain itself greatly increased the difficulty of transmitting information across the battlefield, and with such a long, continuous coastline, it was simply impossible to maintain control everywhere.
Moreover, standing within such a curtain of rain naturally gave people a sense of fear, as if they were cut off from the rest of the world.
Moreover, with the war itself, the sounds of killing and screams all around, and the enemies directly before them, one could imagine just how immense the psychological pressure was.
"Damn it!"
Raising a hand, Tyrion wiped the rainwater from his face. His gaze pierced through the curtain of rain as he saw the ships on the sea turning back once more, returning to prepare to receive the second wave of enemies. One after another, they were already forming a situation that threatened to become unending.
Tyrion clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on the small axe in his hand. "Deploy the reserves. All of them—deploy them all. Fight flexibly!"
The sound of the horn could no longer be carried through. The messenger staying by Tyrion's side delivered the orders in person, holding a colored flag as he turned and spurred his horse into a fast gallop.
But amid the wind and rain, the colored flag could no longer be made to flutter.
An inexpressible oppression gradually accumulated along with the torrential rain, weighing down on everyone's hearts.
'Even if we can't win, we still must use this clash to exhaust as much of their effective strength as possible.'
After the messenger left, Tyrion glared with wide eyes, teeth clenched, staring at the battle line before him as he silently recited this in his heart.
He quickly analyzed the current situation.
At the same time, he understood very clearly just how important this opening battle was for both sides.
And not only he—House Redwyne understood this just as well. So now it came down to whose endurance was greater, and who was more resolute.
What they were fighting over was effective manpower.
Tyrion knew this very clearly—this was their greatest disadvantage.
And he also knew very clearly that House Redwyne certainly knew this as well.
If his battle line truly collapsed like this, then Lannisport would also be lost rapidly amid this torrential rain.
"If we can't inflict any damage on House Redwyne's fleet at this point, then once Lannisport is lost, we will have no way to deal with what comes afterward."
"The situation will only become more difficult!"
"Damn it—give me another thousand men and it would be fine… damn it!"
As he analyzed the situation in his mind, Tyrion suddenly let out an angry curse.
Then he glanced at the roughly forty men of the guard protecting him at his side, as well as the weapon in his own hand, his eyes turning red.
"Damn it—come on, we're going too. Follow me!"
With another furious shout, Tyrion understood that in a situation like this, trying to resume command and coordination was already a fool's dream.
The only thing he could do now was to inflict as many casualties on the enemy as possible.
So, with his shout still echoing and before those protecting him could even react, Tyrion had already grabbed his small hand axe and, with his short legs pumping, charged toward the battlefield just ahead.
A dwarf never lacked courage.
What he possessed was not only wisdom.
Swinging his short axe, he seized an opportunity when he saw a House Redwyne soldier grappling with a Mountain Clan warrior and falling to the ground together. Tyrion rushed up and brought his axe down hard onto the House Redwyne soldier's back.
The sharp blade split bone and buried itself deep in flesh, inflicting fatal damage on the organs within almost instantly.
A House Redwyne soldier who was locked in combat with his opponent and was just about to win suddenly widened his eyes and let out a muffled grunt. His body began to twitch and stiffen uncontrollably, and he went limp and collapsed.
This exposed the Mountain Clan warrior beneath him, whose throat was still being squeezed and whose eyes had already rolled back. Coming back to his senses, he hurriedly coughed a few times and then greedily sucked in great mouthfuls of air.
However, he did not even have time to see who had saved him.
And Tyrion did not have time to accept his thanks either.
Because the place Tyrion had charged into was precisely a newly breached gap, and before he could pull his short axe out of the fallen enemy, a House Redwyne soldier in front of him—who had just thrust his sword through his opponent's belly, then swiftly pulled it out and, with another slash, cut open his opponent's throat—noticed that there was still a dwarf standing in front of him.
Seeing that this dwarf had actually killed his companion, he shouted a curse, stepped forward two paces, raised his sword, and prepared to chop this half-man even shorter.
But before he could strike, a short sword spinning through the air cut through the curtain of rain and pinned itself into his chest.
The life-and-death danger abruptly forced Tyrion to calm down, and the light gradually returned to his bloodshot eyes.
Watching the enemy who had nearly cleaved him in two with a single sword fall to the ground twitching, he, too, dropped onto the ground with a thump and panted heavily.
Then Biden, who had just thrown that flying sword from afar, immediately rushed up.
He raised his hand and slapped the handle of Tyrion's short axe that was embedded in the enemy's back. After pulling the short axe out and handing it back to Tyrion, he looked up, wiped the rainwater from his face, glanced at the situation ahead, and then immediately lowered his head and shouted loudly to Tyrion.
"Tyrion Lannister, my lord, if the situation is beyond saving, I think we should withdraw back to Casterly Rock. We can't hold Lannisport—this rain has come at the worst possible time!"
"If we pull back now, we still have a chance to preserve our effective strength, rather than wasting all our manpower here for nothing!"
The rain poured down in torrents. Biden shouted loudly into Tyrion's ear. Although the men of the Blackstone Mercenary Company were not every one of them outstanding, none of them were particularly poor either.
There were quite a few who could clearly see the situation in front of them.
And more importantly, as Biden's words fell, most of those Westerlands nobles who claimed to have come to swear loyalty to Kal—when in fact they had come seeking protection—began to show a tendency to retreat.
But the moment they moved, they directly exposed the troops on Kal's side who were desperately holding back the enemy.
The defensive line, which had originally been barely stable, was instantly crushed under these newly opened gaps.
Yet on the sea ahead, even more enemies were still rushing in.
Seeing Tyrion on the verge of collapse as he suddenly faced impending defeat, Hoover stepped forward as well.
"Lord Tyrion, Biden is right. These nobles simply can't be relied on. With just over two thousand men, we can't possibly hold Lannisport."
"In that case, we might as well withdraw immediately—abandon Lannisport to preserve our effective strength. At the very least, this will allow us, while we still have some capacity to strike back afterward, to inform His Majesty Kal."
"As long as His Majesty Kal learns of the situation here and chooses to return to support us, then together with the effective strength we've preserved, we'll be able to drive the enemy away very quickly."
"We don't need to rush for immediate success!"
With the two of them offering comfort from either side, Tyrion gradually came back to his senses.
Seeing that the situation before him, due to the sudden arrival of this torrential rain, did not match what he had anticipated, Tyrion—already jolted awake by the stimulation of blood and death—also calmed down.
He cast a helpless glance around him. The men responsible for guarding him had all already been thrown into the battle line, locked in desperate fighting.
If he still failed to make a decision now, then indeed all of the remaining manpower at hand would be lost here because of his mistaken judgment.
"Opportunity isn't on our side… you're right…."
Amid the pounding rain, Tyrion sat on the ground and spoke despondently.
Then he raised his head to look at the House Redwyne fleet in the distance, and at the dense mass of enemies pressing in from the near sea, and shook his head.
"In that case, then withdraw—"
"ROAR!!!"
Before Tyrion could finish giving the order to retreat, a deafening roar suddenly resounded across the sky.
This sudden roar cut off his words and caused everyone on the battlefield to involuntarily look up toward the heavens.
Because the roar was simply too immense, overwhelmingly thunderous.
From the moment it appeared in the sky to when it reached the ground, it even gave people a faint sensation of trembling.
And as countless pairs of eyes turned toward the sky—
Within the torrential rain, a blurred black silhouette slowly drifted down from above.
No one could make out what it was, yet an instinctive sense of unease rose in everyone's hearts.
Especially for the fleets floating on the sea, and the small boats that already filled the nearshore waters.
Because they realized that the indistinct figure in the sky—faintly gleaming with a golden sheen—was actually drifting down toward them.
Coupled with that earlier deafening roar, which sounded neither like thunder nor like any human voice, the same question surged into everyone's mind.
And in response—aside from yet another roar, even more earthshaking than before—there appeared an additional vivid splash of color within the pallid world.
Both sides on the shore, who had unconsciously ceased their slaughter, could clearly see a sudden crystalline hue—yellow-white with a golden luster—ignite within the rain curtain over the sea.
It was as though, upon an oil painting whose backdrop was rendered in shades of gray and white, a striking, dazzling stroke of color had suddenly been applied.
Then that dazzling color grew larger and larger, pouring down onto the surface of the sea like rain spilled from the heavens, spreading across the gray-white canvas.
All at once, the world seemed to turn into a silent painting.
Silence.
Stillness.
Soundless.
Gray-white and devoid of color.
Only that vivid hue bloomed upon the sea like the sun, growing ever larger.
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