What was Igon's goal? For now, it didn't matter.
What mattered was still far away, in the Disputed Lands of Essos.
The battle for the underground fortresses around Myr Lake had been dragging on for a long, long time. If not for Viserys' timely supply deliveries and reinforcements, combined with Joffrey, Dan, and Jacaerys constantly patrolling the vicinity of Myr Lake to fend off potential attackers, the soldiers besieging those underground fortresses would likely have collapsed long ago.
"Motarion is a genius!" Lord Domeric Bolton strode up to the command table on the high ground, slammed his slightly dented pointed helmet onto the table, and looked toward Dreamfyre, who was curled up nearby, and King Daeron, who was frowning deeply. "Your Grace, the water assault has failed."
King Daeron's frown deepened; he didn't seem surprised by the news. "How did they deal with the flooding?"
Lord Domeric shook his head helplessly and sighed, "We don't know. I suspect they built waterproof defenses inside the underground fortresses. Lord Reyne, does your Castamere have anything similar?"
"Castamere never had to worry about sieges," Lord Harrold Reyne said confidently, thudding his steel breastplate. "Lord Bolton, there's no abundant water near Castamere. Without water, there's no need for waterproofing."
Lord Domeric Bolton's amber eyes glared coldly at Harrold before he turned away. He had experienced wars alongside Lord Cregan far beyond anything this young lord could imagine.
After all, these children of the long summer had never known the cruelty of winter.
"Enough, everyone," King Daeron ended his musings. "If the water assault failed, and our plan to lure them out also failed, we have no choice but to launch a direct assault."
"Your Grace, a direct assault would be too costly," Lord Benjicot shook his head, fully aware of how deadly it could be. Without a swift victory, the entire army might be buried underground.
"I'll lead the assault myself."
"No!" Almost all the lords, commanders, and members of the Kingsguard gathered around the table shouted in unison.
"Your Grace, let me go," Prince Aemon stood up. "You are the commander—you cannot risk yourself."
"Aemon is right, Your Grace," Jacaerys said as he and Dan came up from below. Lord Joffrey followed behind them. The three dragonriders had just finished today's patrol when they heard of Daeron's decision.
"You are the leader of this expedition," Jacaerys said. "If it weren't for the strategic importance of the Myr Lake region—the most fertile land in the Disputed Lands—I would have advised abandoning it and pushing further east."
Daeron knew that well.
It was precisely why he was determined to seize Myr Lake.
The expedition could not rely entirely on supplies from Westeros. If the campaign dragged on for over a year, the initial advantage would vanish, and instead of benefiting the kingdom, it would become a financial burden.
He needed the army to become self-sufficient in Essos as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, he couldn't achieve it yet.
Westeros had too many nobles and too few peasants; there was still plenty of land available, so the farmers had little incentive for overseas colonization. Even the North and Dorne were still recovering from past devastation.
King Daeron could only recruit farmers nearby to cultivate newly conquered lands.
The Disputed Lands lived up to their name. Endless wars among warlords meant that only their core territories had villages and intact farmland. Without the naturally rich soil, it would be hard to imagine how the region fed so many people.
Yet even so, the number of farmers he could recruit wasn't enough.
In the lands they occupied, the retreating warlords had slaughtered their own villagers before fleeing, leaving Daeron nothing but ruins and scorched earth.
They had to seize the Myr Lake region as soon as possible. Thanks to the dragons, they had managed to trap Horus within the area, and the so-called "Anti-Iron Throne Alliance" had crumbled.
At the lords' advice, King Daeron had ultimately received Shariss' envoy, Fogen, and reached a secret agreement with Shariss.
This gave Daeron more strength to completely block Horus' escape.
It also meant Horus had no time to enact a scorched-earth strategy. As long as they could crush the underground fortress network, they would gain vast farmlands—and hundreds of thousands of surviving inhabitants.
"Very well, Aemon, you will command the troops advancing into the underground."
Aemon nodded, then turned to leave with the men.
"Wait."
Aemon immediately stopped and turned back respectfully toward Daeron.
Daeron turned and drew a longsword from Dreamfyre's saddle strap.
"Aemon, this is the family sword, Dark Sister. Today, I formally entrust it to you," Daeron said softly. "Cousin, bring back news of victory."
Aemon nodded heavily and accepted the Valyrian steel sword, gleaming coldly.
"Everyone, follow me."
"Your Grace, we must also take to the skies with our dragons to suppress the other fortresses," Jacaerys said grimly, seeing that Aemon was ready to lead the assault.
Lord Joffrey Velaryon also nodded. "Your Grace, although we can't do much against the main fortress and the larger bunkers, the smaller ones won't be able to withstand multiple dragons breathing fire at once."
"Very well, let's move out too."
Above Myr Lake that day, six great dragons gathered. Their scorching flames almost caused the rivers of the entire Myr Lake basin to steam and boil.
A fortress built beside a river was bathed in multicolored dragonfire, collapsing with a thunderous roar. Ragged soldiers screamed as they fled the crumbling bunkers, only to be turned into pools of ash by the relentless fire.
"Great Master, it seems the Westerosi savages are preparing for a full assault," Motarion said worriedly. He was an enormously fat man, his waist almost as wide as his height, covered in tattoos of buildings across his face, arms, and chest. Beardless, his slightly sharp voice revealed his identity — he was a eunuch from Slaver's Bay.
Horus was a weary middle-aged man. It was clear that he had once been spirited and full of vIgon, but now, even the gold-studded armor he wore could not lift his spirits.
Silently, he and Motarion withdrew to a safer area.
"Motarion, how much longer can we hold?" Horus's voice was thick with exhaustion, tinged with fear and confusion.
The fat eunuch drooped his head and shook it despondently. "Great Master, only these few large bunkers can withstand dragonfire. If the savages launch a full infantry assault, we'll be in serious danger."
Horus exhaled heavily.
"Hold the line. Just hold the line," he growled, a sudden ferocity lighting up his weary eyes.
"As long as we hold, we still have a chance."
"Great Master! The Westerosi savages have broken through!"