Chapter 442: The Naval Battle

Tolmor Fregar stood at the bow of the ship, gazing imperiously at the waters of Blackwater Bay.

As one of the most prominent nobles of Braavos, Tolmor possessed a pride and ambition befitting his stature.

Braavos was the most powerful, wealthiest, and most unique of the Free Cities, located at the northernmost tip of Essos. It was founded roughly eight centuries ago by a group of slaves who escaped from the Valyrian Peninsula.

For this reason, the city was often referred to as the "Bastard of Valyria."

Since its founders were people who despised oppression and slavery, Braavos' political system was specifically designed to prevent the rise of centralized authority.

Though the ruler of Braavos was known as the Sealord, the position was not hereditary. Instead, it was chosen through a mysterious and complex process involving the city's key institutions and guardians, selecting from among its citizens.

To prevent the emergence of dominant families, the Sealord was rarely chosen from the nobility; in fact, many Sealords came from humble origins.

Tolmor knew that under normal circumstances, his noble lineage made it highly unlikely for him to ever become Sealord.

But the current Sealord's illness presented an opportunity.

Thanks to the influence of House Fregar, Tolmor had already secured the support of the majority of Braavosi nobility and even gained the backing of the Iron Bank, whose wealth was unparalleled.

If he could also secure the military's support, breaking through Braavos' political norms and ascending to the position of Sealord would no longer be a pipe dream.

To win the military's favor, there was no better way than through victory in battle and earning glory.

For this, he needed a war.

So, when Tywin Lannister's envoys approached him with an invitation, Tolmor agreed without hesitation.

He pressured the ailing Sealord to approve Braavos' involvement in the conflict and secured command over the fleet for himself.

Victory in this war would not only cement his reputation and gain him military backing, but it would also secure the friendship of the Iron Throne—an invaluable asset in his bid for the Sealord's throne.

"Where are we now?" Tolmor asked, pointing at the faint silhouette of an island in the distance.

"That's Driftmark Island ahead, my lord," came the fawning reply of a sycophantic officer, who appeared behind Tolmor with a broad smile. "It is part of the ancient holdings of House Velaryon."

"House Velaryon…" Tolmor mused with a faint smile. "It's been a long time since I've heard that name."

"Yes, the Seahorse family has long since fallen from its former glory."

"That's because they lost a crucial war."

"Exactly. A single war can destroy a great house—or elevate one to unimaginable heights," the officer flattered. "I'm certain you'll win this war and make the name Fregar resound throughout Braavos!"

Tolmor laughed heartily, his arrogant laughter nearly drowning out the sound of the ship cutting through the waves.

After a moment, he subdued his mirth and asked, "How much longer until we reach the Blackwater River?"

"At our current pace, barring any delays, about two days."

"Too slow," Tolmor said impatiently. "Increase our speed."

"Yes, my lord," the officer bowed deeply and scurried off to carry out the order.

But just then, a sharp whistle pierced the tranquil air of Blackwater Bay.

Tolmor frowned and looked up toward the crow's nest. The lookout was signaling with a combination of hand gestures and whistle blasts—a call for battle.

"There's fighting ahead?" Tolmor muttered, interpreting the lookout's signals. "Who's fighting whom?"

The distance was still too great to make out any details, so his question went unanswered.

Nevertheless, Tolmor, ever cautious, ordered his fleet to prepare for battle.

The noonday sun shone brightly, casting a clear view over the bay. As the Braavosi fleet approached the western edge of Driftmark, the details of the skirmish slowly came into focus.

"It's Caesar's fleet fighting the Ironborn," Tolmor said, lowering his Myrish spyglass. His expression grew uncertain. "But why are they here in Blackwater Bay?"

No one had an answer.

Even Tywin Lannister, one of the shrewdest political minds in Westeros, couldn't fathom Euron Greyjoy's motives. It was even more unlikely that Tolmor or his officers could guess the madman's intentions.

Still, Tolmor didn't dwell on the question.

Whatever the reason for the Stormland fleet's presence, one thing was clear—they were Braavos' enemies.

"Sound the horns!" Tolmor commanded. "Prepare for battle! Target: the Stormland fleet flying the twin-headed eagle banner!"

A deep, resonant horn blast echoed across the water, spreading from ship to ship until the entire fleet rang with its ominous call.

On the decks, sailors scrambled to prepare for combat.

Tolmor remained at the bow of his ship, his proud gaze fixed on the distant battle, eager to join the fray.

Though he had heard of the Stormland fleet's victory over the legendary Redwyne fleet, he had faith in Braavos' naval supremacy.

This was the pride of Braavos.

However, as the fleet drew closer, Tolmor's confidence began to waver.

Something about the battle unfolding before him felt… wrong.

BOOM!

A deafening series of thunderous blasts shook the air as thick black smoke erupted from the sides of the Stormland ships. Bright flashes of white light followed.

"What in the worl—" Tolmor started, but his words caught in his throat as geysers of water erupted all around. It was as if the sea itself were being pummeled by massive stones.

The Ironborn were being pummeled too.

Tolmor watched in shock as a nearby Ironborn longship was engulfed in a fiery explosion. Its towering mast shattered into countless splinters that rained down like a deadly shower. The gold sea monster sigil on its sails was consumed by ravenous flames that quickly spread, swallowing the entire vessel.

Ironborn sailors screamed as they leaped into the water, abandoning their burning ship, which soon sank into the depths, leaving behind a small, blood-red whirlpool.

Is this sorcery?

Tolmor stared in disbelief.

Suddenly, he understood how the Stormland fleet had defeated the renowned Redwyne fleet.

The thought of retreat flashed through his mind but was quickly suppressed.

He couldn't retreat now.

To do so would be his end.

His family, his ambitions, his path to the Sealord's throne—all would be ruined.

"Advance! Full speed ahead!" Tolmor roared, his voice straining with desperation.

The urgent blare of horns carried his command through the fleet.

The drumming of war beat faster, oars dipped and pulled with furious rhythm, and the Braavosi ships surged forward like arrows loosed from a bowstring, hurtling toward the battle.

The Stormland fleet quickly adjusted its formation, swiveling to face the new arrivals.

Another thunderous volley of cannon fire shattered the air.

Tolmor watched as plumes of seawater erupted around him, his body trembling uncontrollably.

We are sailing into hell. He stared at the rows of roaring cannons aimed directly at his fleet and felt an overwhelming sense of despair.

(End of Chapter)