Chapter 411: Wildfire Ships

"Heh—"

The dragon circled in the sky, periodically spewing flames that engulfed a multitude of wights in a sea of fire.

Boom, boom, boom—

The ice surface, frozen by the Night King, melted once again under the raging dragon fire. Many wights that had rushed forward lost their footing and fell into the water, swept away by the surging river. Others were pierced through the neck by flaming arrows and fell to the ground.

Thud—

Another sharp arrow, full of force, pierced directly through a wight's skull. The arrowhead entered through the eye socket and exited through the back of the head, the oil smeared on the arrow burning the wight's body.

This wight, wearing the armor of a Riverlands soldier, let out a sharp scream and fell onto the ice. It tried to struggle and rise, but was crushed by the wights surging up behind it.

Randyll Tarly, the commander of the vanguard, slowly lowered his bow and arrow, his expression somewhat solemn.

As a commander who had fought the Others many times, he keenly sensed that the Others had come prepared this time, perhaps learning from their previous retreat.

After all, the humans had gained a powerful ally.

Randyll Tarly slightly raised his head to look at the sky. The black dragon was still moving through the snowstorm, its flames turning the wights who had rushed onto the river surface into ashes and melting the hard ice.

Randyll Tarly was a man both rigid and shrewd, with a will of steel. He was famously blunt in his speech.

His rigidity was reflected in his persistence on certain issues.

For example, his affirmation of oaths, his loyalty to his liege lord and the king.

He believed that women should stay in the birthing room and not wield weapons, while men should be brave and fearless, fighting to the death on the battlefield.

Because of this, he was extremely dissatisfied with his eldest son, Samwell Tarly, because Samwell was fat and timid, and extremely lacking in self-confidence. However, he turned a blind eye to Samwell's strengths, such as his intelligence, love for reading, and ability to think...

Randyll Tarly's shrewdness was reflected on the battlefield. He was one of the most famous generals in the Riverlands, flexible and cunning in his use of troops.

He had once defeated Robert Baratheon head-on in the Battle of Ashford, the only defeat Robert had ever suffered in his life.

He didn't actually like Viserys, even though he had fought for the Targaryen family to the end.

In his view, he had fulfilled his loyalty to the Targaryen family, and now he had submitted to the Baratheon family along with his liege lord.

Viserys' return with an army in his eyes was an invader, and Viserys' vanguard was made up of some foreigners and rebels.

However, even so, he had to admit that Viserys' arrival greatly relieved the pressure on the allied forces.

"Roar—"

The dragon's figure kept circling, gradually disappearing in the vast snowstorm, leaving only the sound of its roar.

The snowstorm was getting bigger and bigger.

"In the end, we still have to rely on ourselves."

The bald man murmured softly, then drew Heartsbane from his waist, and with a forward slash, knocked down a wight, shouting angrily.

"Hold the line!"

...

In the middle of the allied forces.

King Robert Baratheon sat on a sturdy black warhorse, holding a warhammer in his hand, silently watching the battlefield in the distance.

But it was much quieter here, not as lively as the front line.

Although the middle line was not too far from the front line, it mainly left some retreat space for the front line soldiers. If they were defeated and ran away, they could escape from the sides of the middle line without impacting the formation of the middle line.

The formation was very important in marching and fighting. The battlefield could not be infinitely expanded, and it was useless to pile all the soldiers on the river bank, which would cause a chain reaction.

"Ned..."

The beard on his chin fluttered slightly with the wind, and at this moment, Robert, who was staring intently at the distant battlefield, suddenly spoke.

But he received no response.

"Ned?"

Then Robert Baratheon turned his head to look at his side, then turned his head to look at the other side.

The surrounding soldiers and nobles all showed strange looks, whispering to each other. Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort, was assigned to the middle line. He squinted his eyes slightly, looking at his king, not knowing what he was thinking.

And those who followed Robert, like Barristan Selmy, the captain of the Kingsguard, Mandon Moore, and others, looked at each other.

They all knew that their king was nervous...

"Shit!"

And it wasn't until then that Robert remembered that Ned was no longer by his side, but was leading the cavalry of the Seven Kingdoms in the front line.

Robert muttered a curse under his breath, gripping his warhammer.

He suddenly felt a chill, realizing that his palm was already covered in cold sweat.

In the defensive tactics of the river, the cavalry didn't play a big role. The cavalry couldn't fight in the water.

Therefore, Khal Qhogo's bloodriders led all the cavalry across the Green Fork to the other side of the river, not knowing what they were planning to do.

"Prepare!"

"Fire!"

Then, following the order of the siege weapon commander, the giant crossbows and catapults roared again.

Boom, boom, boom—

One after another, the burning boulders flew over the heads of the front line soldiers, trailing thick black smoke, then fell into the Green Fork.

With the surging dragon fire, the flames almost lit up the entire sky, as bright as day even in the night.

At this time, one of the trump cards of the allied forces, the ships filled with wildfire, were also sent out.

These ships were temporarily requisitioned civilian or merchant ships from the banks of the Green Fork.

Because they had considered in advance that the big battle might fail, the human allied forces had replicated the preparations before the Battle of Winterfell.

They had already evacuated the surrounding residents, letting them escape to the Westerlands or the Vale, or even further away.

And these ownerless ships were naturally conveniently requisitioned.

Controlling these ships filled with wildfire were Euron Greyjoy and his Ironborn.

This was a task with a high risk factor. A slight mistake could result in the ship and people going down together, but Euron accepted it without hesitation.

Because in his view, this was an opportunity to seek wealth in danger. Euron's genes naturally possessed a madness different from ordinary people.

But Euron was mad, not a fool, and certainly wouldn't do anything suicidal.

Now, Euron stood with one foot on the bow of the ship, a black eyepatch on his cheek, his one eye looking at the distant battlefield engulfed in war.

He was carefully directing the wooden ship filled with wildfire to approach the battlefield.