Chapter 341: The Dragon Arrives
Compared to the chaos raging across the rest of Astapor, the southern gate was eerily quiet.
But this quiet had been bought with blood and iron.
In the beginning, a few rioters had attempted to storm the southern gate, unaware of the defenses waiting for them. The Unsullied, ever-disciplined and battle-ready, dispatched the attackers with ruthless efficiency, leaving behind a stark warning: the lifeless bodies and pools of blood made the consequences of defiance clear.
Since then, no one dared approach the area.
Adding to the deterrence was the white dragon perched upon the city wall. In the darkness, its massive silhouette loomed ominously, and its fiery breath radiated an oppressive heat that discouraged even the most reckless souls.
Seated on the dragon's back, Samwell gazed coldly at the turmoil engulfing the city. He remained silent, unmoving.
When the first rays of dawn pierced the night and illuminated the tip of the Great Pyramid, he finally issued the order:
"Advance."
At the same time, he mounted his dragon once more.
Cleopatra stretched her enormous white wings, their span casting a vast shadow over the city walls.
Whoosh!
With a powerful downbeat of her wings, a rush of hot air scattered dust and debris. The white dragon ascended into the sky.
---
Within the city, the chaos was finally beginning to subside. But as the mercenaries of the Company of the Cat and the Long Lances took stock of the situation, they spotted the Unsullied advancing from the southern gate.
The two captains, Bloodbeard and Gillot Reyhar, immediately realized they had been played.
They had spent the night quelling riots, thinning their own forces, while the Unsullied had bided their time and watched. Now the disciplined soldiers of Astapor's conquerors were marching toward them with precision and purpose.
Furious, both captains ordered their forces to stop suppressing the rioters and focus on repelling the approaching Unsullied.
The mercenaries regrouped and moved to confront their new foe.
---
The two armies clashed on a long, narrow street.
Gillot, leading the Long Lances, raised his steel sword high and bellowed, "Charge! Kill them all!"
The cavalry formed a dense formation and began their charge. The tight space of the street wasn't ideal for mounted combat, but the Long Lances still exuded a terrifying momentum.
The Unsullied, in contrast, moved with eerie calm. Even in the face of a thundering cavalry charge, they maintained their formation with absolute discipline.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The first collisions echoed like thunderclaps. The sheer force of charging warhorses was devastating; Unsullied in the front lines were thrown back, their shields buckling under the impact. Blood sprayed through the air as bodies were crushed or broken.
But the Unsullied's ranks never faltered.
The fallen were swiftly replaced by comrades from the rear, who stepped forward with shields raised and spears poised. The Unsullied's unyielding line absorbed the initial shock of the charge.
As the cavalry's momentum waned, the tide began to turn.
A cavalry charge relies on overwhelming speed and impact to break enemy lines. If the charge fails to shatter the enemy formation, the cavalry becomes vulnerable.
In an open field, the riders might have been able to regroup, circle around, and charge again. But in the narrow streets of Astapor, there was no room to maneuver.
The Long Lances quickly found themselves bogged down in the Unsullied's unrelenting spear wall.
The Unsullied moved methodically, like a well-oiled machine. Step forward. Raise shields. Thrust spears. Step back. Repeat.
Their precise movements turned the battlefield into a killing ground. Warhorses reared and screamed as long spears pierced their chests. Riders were dragged from their saddles and swiftly dispatched with short swords.
The street became a forest of spears, a merciless death trap that claimed rider after rider.
Blood pooled and soaked the ground as bodies piled up, the stench of death filling the air.
For the Long Lances, it was a nightmare. Even the bravest among them hesitated, their resolve wavering under the relentless assault.
No matter how loudly Gillot cursed and shouted, his men refused to press forward.
On the other side, the Company of the Cat fared no better. Witnessing the Long Lances' plight, many of Bloodbeard's men hesitated to join the fray.
"Charge, you cowards!" Bloodbeard roared. "Break their formation, and I'll reward every man with a gold coin!"
But before anyone could act, a shadow passed overhead.
The clamor of the battlefield fell silent.
Heads turned upward, eyes wide with fear.
In the dawn light, the figure of a white dragon descended from the heavens.
Majestic, terrifying, and otherworldly, Cleopatra's presence struck fear into the hearts of even the most hardened mercenaries.
"Dragon," someone whispered, voice trembling.
"Damn it, the Astapor nobles swore the dragon left!" Bloodbeard growled, his fury now mixed with terror.
Neither captain had time to curse further.
Cleopatra swooped down.
Her powerful wings stirred a whirlwind of sand and dust, blinding those below.
Then, with a guttural roar, she unleashed a torrent of flame.
The orange-and-black blaze engulfed a cluster of mercenaries, turning them into screaming human torches. Their charred remains fell lifeless to the ground.
"Gods help us," Gillot whispered, his hands trembling.
Panic spread like wildfire. Mercenaries trampled over one another in their desperation to escape.
Some, however, saw the dragon as a challenge. Bloodbeard, seizing a spear, roared with defiance and leapt toward Cleopatra's descending form.
He aimed for her underbelly, the rumored weak spot of dragons.
But the spearhead glanced off her scales harmlessly, leaving not a scratch. Instead, the recoil shattered Bloodbeard's thumb, sending him sprawling to the ground.
He had no time to recover. Cleopatra's jaws snapped shut around his torso, lifting him into the air.
His agonized screams were abruptly silenced as she bit down, severing him in half.
---
The battle was lost.
The sight of the white dragon sowed despair among the mercenaries. Many fled outright, their morale shattered.
A few brave souls tried to fight back, hurling spears and arrows at Cleopatra.
One spear managed to find a gap in her scales, piercing the flesh near her neck. Though the wound was shallow, it enraged the dragon.
Cleopatra descended upon her attacker, crushing him beneath her massive claws. Her flaming breath followed, incinerating a dozen more in a single sweep.
"Go for the eyes!" Gillot shouted desperately.
A group of spearmen stepped forward, aiming for the dragon's vulnerable eyes.
But before they could strike, a flash of white light swept through the air.
The mercenaries crumpled to the ground, their bodies split open.
Standing atop the dragon's back was Samwell, his massive sword Dawn gleaming with a cold, otherworldly light. His expression was one of icy determination.
Cleopatra let out a deafening roar that shook the very ground.
The surviving mercenaries stared into her fiery red eyes, their will to fight utterly broken.
Finally, the remaining soldiers turned and fled, scattering like leaves before a storm.
The battle was over.
(End of Chapter)