Watching that streak of color grow steadily brighter as it swept across the scene, the atmosphere on the coastal battlefield beneath the torrential rain seemed to solidify like a piece of amber.
Everyone could not help but halt all actions at hand, quietly watching the scene unfolding before their eyes.
Their gazes followed that black silhouette, emitting a thunderous roar as it drifted down through the gray, rain-shrouded sky. When the crystalline, blazing dragonfire flared to life, they simply stared in a daze.
In that instant, the world seemed to turn into a silent pantomime.
Only a soundless spectacle continued to play out, unfolding its motions.
All sounds fell away.
Until a sudden crackling burst—like cold water poured into a pot of searing oil, struggling and exploding—arrived together with desperate, anguished screams, at the very moment a fierce heat-laden gale swept in.
Only then did heaven and earth seem to fall back from another world into reality in that instant.
The torrential rain pouring down like a waterfall was swept aside by the explosive hot wind. The rainwater drifting through the air was like a dust-covered mirror, wiped perfectly clean by an invisible towel.
On the sea's surface, dragonfire intertwined with seawater. Endless waves of heat, in the blink of an eye, blew apart the scattered oar-boats caught within—some burned directly into drifting ash, others bursting apart outright.
On those vessels, specks of dark figures writhed and moved, only to be swallowed by the clear yellow flames, vanishing without a sound.
And those on the shore—people who had never witnessed such a miracle and had only heard of such wonders in stories—were likewise struck hard by the sudden hot wind, shoved violently and knocked to the ground.
Then, when people raised their heads to look again, a wall of fire that blotted out the sky, like an unclimbable mountain peak, stood as the backdrop.
Heat waves still swept through the air. On the surface of the sea were mingled the gradually weakening screams and clusters of flames drifting upon the waves, struggling, as if a vivid stage play were being performed within it.
Fervent, agonized cries.
Following one after another, unceasing.
Exploding ships sent fragments of wood mixed with flying ash sweeping past, like a gray-black blizzard formed of living beings.
Together, they composed a tableau of hell.
Such a sight, in the eyes of the witnesses, seemed to last a thousand years, yet in reality amounted to no more than a dozen breaths of time.
When that drifting figure—like a brush painting upon a canvas—drew back the dragonfire, spread its wings with a single beat, and once more lifted its head and vanished into the gray of the dusk rain, only then did the torrential downpour, scattered moments before by the explosive hot wind, have time to fall and cover everything again.
It was as though everything just now had been nothing but an illusion.
Yet the drifting ashes, the severed limbs and entrails, the shattered fragments of ship timbers—and those fire-lotuses still floating and rising upon the waves, which could not be extinguished even by seawater and rainwater pouring over them—were cruelly telling the witnesses that everything just now had never been any illusion at all.
The cold rain once more drenched the stunned crowd, while the ashes blown in by the wind from the burning ruins, under the soaking of the chill rain, turned into patches of gray-black grime that stuck to people's faces and bodies.
"Seven Gods above…!"
At this moment, no one remembered that they were in the midst of a war, who was fighting whom, or who were enemies locked in a struggle of life and death.
Because everyone's eyes were fixed firmly on the miracle before them, as though it were divine might made manifest.
At this time, Tyrion also had his eyes wide open, utterly stunned, staring at everything before him without regard for the rain pouring over him.
He had imagined dragons.
From childhood to adulthood, he had imagined them.
For this reason, when he was very young, he had even asked his aunt and his brother about stories of dragons.
He had also, in his dreams, fantasized about becoming a valiant and heroic dragonrider.
Yet even when he personally witnessed that man called Kal miraculously hatch a dragon in this world where the last dragon had already been dead for a hundred years, he had still imagined how powerful a dragon might be.
But that small creature—one that spent its days doing nothing but eating, sleeping, then eating again, like a winged puppy—seemed not quite the same as what he had imagined.
Only now, when he truly witnessed it with his own eyes, did he realize just how impoverished all his imaginings had been.
This was not a power that belonged to humans.
This was a power that belonged to gods.
Originally already on the verge of collapse because the battle situation could shatter at any moment, Tyrion, gazing up through the curtain of rain at the figure that had vanished into the sky, found that the only thing left with which he could express what was in his heart was this single thought.
Kal had indeed left him a final card in reserve, but he had never imagined just how powerful that card truly was.
Powerful enough to effortlessly overturn the course of an entire war.
And just as Tyrion was still reeling in shock at the dragon's might, Biden—who had likewise been knocked to the ground—was the first to regain his senses.
He wiped the rainwater from his face and scrambled over to Tyrion's side in two quick motions, hurriedly saying, "Lo… Lord Tyrion."
The voice at his ear made Tyrion shudder, snapping him back to awareness.
"Biden, w-what… what is it?"
Tyrion looked toward Biden, still seeming somewhat unable to fully collect himself.
Faced with his confusion, Biden lifted the sword in his hand to show it, then raised his chin in a gesture toward the Redwyne soldiers who had also been blown sprawling across the ground by the earlier blast of scorching wind.
Seeing this, Tyrion was first taken aback—then, once he understood, his eyes lit up as well.
"That's right. Fight—we fight! We have a dragon! We've already won the war!"
"Damn it, Kal! You're fucking incredible!"
"And Robert—you're fucking incredible too!"
Realizing what the situation now was and fully coming to his senses, Tyrion immediately sprang up from the ground with a loud shout, excitement beyond restraint.
Paying no heed to the still-pouring rain, Tyrion's first reaction, once he realized that this was the turning point of victory, was to seize this hard-won miraculous advantage.
However, before he could use this moment to gather the remaining troops and reorganize another counterattack against House Redwyne, a dragon's roar rang out once more from the sky.
"Roar…!!!"
The ear-splitting roar came from above to below. Amid that faint, electric-shock-like trembling sensation, the words Tyrion had been about to shout were blocked back into his throat.
Countless pairs of eyes instinctively looked up at the sky once more.
Against the gray horizon, that hazy figure that had originally already disappeared into the clouds appeared again. This time it drew in its wings and, like an arrow, charged once more toward the remaining oar-boats on the sea and House Redwyne's warships.
"…"
It was not only Tyrion. At this moment, whether it was the soldiers of both sides on the coast, or everyone aboard House Redwyne's warships floating at anchor on the sea, all were silent.
The only difference was that House Redwyne's soldiers watched everything before them in despair, savoring the taste of fear as they waited for death to arrive.
And the forces belonging to the Westerlands, on the other hand, gradually broke into broad smiles.
In the gray world, that vivid streak of color just now seemed to split the world into two clear and distinct sides.
Everyone realized what would happen next, including this fleet from the Arbor that had come from afar.
Sure enough, it was still the same method, the same flavor.
Only this time, the attack of the dragon Robert was no longer like before—unleashing dragonfire in a continuous, all-out spray, as though it wished to burn the entire world into ashes.
This time, after it flew back over the surface of the sea again, its dragonfire was like tossing stones: it intermittently spat out one fireball after another from its mouth, then they accurately fell onto each remaining oar-boat.
This method was extremely efficient. With only a few circling passes and a matter of minutes before and after, it finished sweeping the battlefield clean.
But its work was clearly not yet over.
While dragonfire still floated in scattered points, burning upon the surface of the sea, and the sky was still filled with torrential rain, Robert carried out a final inspection of the battlefield.
Only after confirming that, on the sea before him, there were no longer any ships other than House Redwyne's warships, did Robert, with an air of satisfaction, once again let out a reverberating roar, beat its wings, perform a nimble kite-like flip, and then descend onto the flagship of House Redwyne's fleet.
The Queen of the Arbor, the flagship of Lord Paxter Redwyne, was a three-masted oared warship.
The hull of this ship was magnificent and imposing, extremely massive, bearing three enormous wine-red sails. Its oars were painted gold and white, exceptionally beautiful.
After landing upon the Queen of the Arbor, Robert paid no heed at all to the human survivors still aboard the warship. It first carefully swept its gaze around the surroundings, then nodded in a very satisfied manner.
Only then did it finally spare the attention to lower its gaze upon the humans on this warship.
"Roar~~!"
Another dragon's roar followed. The vibrating sound waves blew apart and scattered the falling raindrops before it, allowing the humans to more clearly behold its magnificent bearing.
Yet when faced with a dragon larger even than the strongest ox, with wings spread like enormous sails that blotted out the sky, the people before it could not utter a single word.
What was more, some even directly fainted from Robert's roar just now.
However, seeing that after it had roared once these people still showed no reaction, Robert became displeased.
It lost patience.
Immediately after, it leapt from the ship's rail onto the deck. After approaching the humans before it, it directly began spinning in place, swinging its tail and sweeping with its wings, just like wielding a broom to clean up.
But how could fragile humans withstand the rough handling of such a colossal beast?
Those struck squarely had their bones shattered and sinews torn on the spot. They could not even cry out before being swept off the deck and falling straight into the sea.
The luckier ones—those merely knocked down by the violent wind or dragged along by it—were still able to let out piercing screams, only to be flung away and then fall into the turbulent waves below.
In short, Robert's actions carried only a single meaning—
"Get the hell off my ship!"
After several repeated passes, even the House Redwyne soldiers who had not yet been affected finally understood what it meant.
Those who reacted in time and were a bit quicker-witted chose to jump overboard on their own.
Those who still stood there dumbfounded and reacted too slowly were mercilessly sent flying by Robert's massive tail.
Before long, Robert had, with extreme efficiency, finished clearing the deck before it.
Then, after sweeping its gaze left and right once more, it rose into the air with satisfaction, flew toward the next warship, and repeated the same actions as before.
On the shore, Tyrion—who had already reacted and was calling for men to take prisoner the House Redwyne soldiers who, under the dragon's terrifying intimidation, had lost all spirit, dropped their weapons, and chosen to surrender—stood there blankly, staring at everything unfolding upon the sea.
The coastal wind and rain came swiftly and departed just as quickly.
After being battered by such a prolonged battle, the wind and rain at this moment were already far lighter than before.
Thus, over the sea—where visibility had barely recovered—people could clearly see a gigantic winged beast moving about.
After several warships in succession, the soldiers aboard the remaining ships did not even wait for it to draw near. They obediently jumped overboard on their own, plunging into the sea in search of a chance to survive.
Jumping in by themselves was, after all, better than being sent flying by a dragon's massive tail.
At least there was still a sliver of hope, was there not?
On the shore, what Tyrion and the others witnessed was precisely such a scene—somewhat absurd, yet also faintly comical.
This left Tyrion's face not only wrapped in the joy of victory, but also carrying a trace of helpless amusement.
"It actually understands that its dragonfire would damage these warships, so it deliberately goes ship by ship to personally sweep through its own spoils…"
Beside Tyrion, Chella, who had at some point also come up to stand next to him, could not help but remark.
Equally dumbfounded, Shagga, staring wide-eyed at the dragon rampaging freely across the warships on the sea not far away, instinctively nodded along.
At this time, the various nobles on the battlefield also hurried over one after another, fixing the same gaze upon the sea.
Hearing the words of this woman said to be a savage of the Mountain Clans, they too instinctively nodded.
So long as one was not a fool, anyone could understand what Robert was doing.
Precisely because of this, the scene before their eyes was able to so thoroughly shatter their understanding of the world.
A dragon that would clean up the battlefield itself and protect its own spoils?
Who the hell had ever heard of such a thing?
Tyrion withdrew his gaze and glanced at the nobles standing before him, who appeared somewhat timid yet could not hide the joy on their faces. He truly had no mood to pay them any attention.
He turned his head toward the guards beside him and spoke with an order.
"Send a few men to the town to requisition some sailors. We need to commandeer their ships to capture the people still alive at sea, and we also have to bring these warships back."
The guards received the order and departed.
The people present, meanwhile, continued to watch the spectacle with keen interest.
"Kal has been raising Robert for only a few months, yet no one expected it to prove its value in just a single outing…"
"With this alone, it's likely seized no less than thirty years' worth of wealth from Arbor Island—and broken their backbone in the process."
Looking at the intact warships drifting across the distant sea, Tyrion could not help but mutter to himself.
It was not until Robert finished with the last ship at sea, spread its wings once more, and turned to fly back toward them that the expressions of those who had been casually watching the show suddenly changed.
The anchorage of the Arbor Island fleet on the sea was not particularly far from the coast of Lannisport—at least, for a dragon, it was only a matter of a few wingbeats.
When the golden dragon flapped its wings, stirring up a gale, and landed before Tyrion, most people instinctively retreated far backward, not daring to approach.
Tyrion was fairly familiar with Robert, yet when facing such a being of death, he too could not help but quietly step back a couple of paces, avoiding the scorching breath that Robert unconsciously exhaled.
It was said that a dragon's flesh and blood were formed of flame, and so dragons themselves constantly radiated heat.
At this moment, Robert, who had landed before Tyrion amid the fine rain, was steaming all over his dark-golden body, the rainwater that had fallen from the sky evaporating as it touched him.
The ferocious colossal beast shrouded in mist and cloud carried with it an awe-inspiring presence.
"Huff…"
Seeing Tyrion hesitate before him, he exhaled a stream of hot air from his nostrils, blowing Tyrion so hard that he could not help but stumble back two more steps before managing to steady himself.
Then he bared his rows of sharp teeth, the corners of his mouth curving upward into an arc, as if mocking the dwarf before him.
"Before a dragon, one sheds one's armor; such is fulfillment enough in life, for there is no miracle in the world greater than a dragon."
Tyrion finally steadied himself. Looking at the dragon before him, he could not help recalling a sentence he had once read in a book about dragons.
"Ro… Robert, uh… good afternoon," Tyrion greeted him somewhat awkwardly, a trace of fear on his face, as he looked at the dragon he had not seen for a long time—one that had grown from the size of a calf into something now as large as a slightly smaller wooden house.
However, in response to his greeting, Robert merely let out a disdainful snort through his nostrils.
Then he extended his right wing and raised it before the dwarf.
Under Tyrion's fearful and uneasy gaze, the wing-claw that had been clenched into a fist suddenly flicked out a single talon.
Staring at that sharp claw thrust right in front of him, still hanging with bits of flesh and blood, the dwarf—who had instinctively felt fear because of Robert's overwhelming display on the battlefield—found that the last trace of fear in his heart vanished at once.
Looking at that claw, Tyrion could not help the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
How could he not understand that gesture?
After all, it was also Kal's favorite thing to do whenever he was mocking him.
Another wave of hot air blew over, and by Tyrion's ear it seemed as though a human voice drifted past.
"Trash."
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