Chapter 723

Across Oldtown, King’s Landing, and throughout the Seven Kingdoms, a massive crackdown on assassins and spies had begun.

At the same time, across the Narrow Sea—more precisely, in the eastern waters of Blackwater Bay—a fleet from Essos was bearing down on Dragonstone with overwhelming force.

The southeastern trade winds billowed the sails as the prow of the Queen of the Rhoyne sliced through the sunlit waves. Under the vast blue sky, the ship moved swiftly and steadily. Standing at the stern, where the ship's elegantly sculpted figurehead trailed behind, Dezdon Maegyar leaned against the railing, gazing at the endless ocean ahead and the faint outline of Dragonstone emerging on the horizon. Behind him stretched the fleet he commanded—never before had he felt such confidence, such satisfaction.

As the newly appointed High Admiral of Volantis and Supreme Commander of the Anti-Dragon Queen Alliance Fleet, he stood upon the flagship of a coalition armada that, while not the largest in number, was certainly the most formidable in total tonnage and sheer firepower in the known world.

Ahead of him lay the most wicked and terrifying enemy the Free Cities had ever faced—the Great Tyrant, the Mother of Dragons, the Slayer of Slave Masters: Daenerys Targaryen, and the revived dragon dynasty she sought to establish.

Though the idea of an Anti-Dragon Queen Alliance had been proposed over a year ago, only now was it finally mounting its first true military offensive. In truth, the delay had been inevitable.

The Free Cities were scattered across the western shores of Essos, each burdened by tangled webs of conflicting interests, old grudges, and political feuds. Expecting them to unite at a single call was sheer fantasy. For an entire year, the so-called alliance had been little more than a name—an empty shell mired in endless disputes and infighting, failing even to establish a basic framework.

Then came Daenerys' unstoppable victories in Westeros. She was poised to emerge as the final victor.

Then came the assassination of Illyrio Mopatis—slain by city guards in King’s Landing.

Then came Braavos, long neutral, now openly hostile toward House Targaryen.

One spark after another had set the fire ablaze.

In the past few months, the alliance had finally begun to move forward in a semblance of unity.

The Coalition Fleet had been assembled two months prior and had since prowled the Narrow Sea, harassing merchant ships and raiding the coasts of the Stormlands and the Claw.

But a direct engagement had been avoided until now.

The first reason was logistical—training, organization, and command structures had to be established before launching a full-scale battle.

The second was diplomatic—before committing to war, they had sought to sway the Vale and the Reach to their cause. And, of course, negotiations had been ongoing with Daenerys’ chief rival, King Aegon VI, to exchange interests and secure allies.

The third, and most decisive reason, was simple: they could not win.

The annihilation of the Iron Fleet in Blackwater Bay had demonstrated to the world the overwhelming power of firearms in naval warfare. With cannons on the sea and dragons in the sky, Daenerys' forces had absolute superiority in both dimensions. Every simulation of a direct engagement resulted in total defeat.

To overcome this, the Anti-Dragon Queen Alliance had adopted a straightforward strategy:

Whatever weapons the enemy had, they needed them too.

This was not mere wishful thinking.

Ever since Aegor led his Gifted Lands army to the North and used gunpowder to breach Winterfell, the ruling classes of the Free Cities had taken notice of this terrifying new weapon.

At the behest of the slavers, backed by their immense wealth, countless spies, alchemists, craftsmen, and even sorcerers had been set to work. Every possible method—espionage, reverse engineering, experimentation—had been used in a desperate attempt to reproduce gunpowder and cannons.

For a time, their efforts had led nowhere. They had created plenty of crude "bronze tubes," but without the proper firing agents, they had produced nothing but expensive failures.

Then came the Illyrio Mopatis incident in King’s Landing.

With his death, the full formula for gunpowder had been smuggled back to Pentos, and half of Essos erupted in a frenzy.

Under mounting pressure, Pentos was forced to share Illyrio’s stolen knowledge with the rest of the Anti-Dragon Queen Alliance in exchange for reducing its own military burdens.

The result? A massive, unprecedented collaboration among the Free Cities. Resources were pooled, knowledge refined, and production accelerated. Within weeks, they had successfully replicated Daenerys’ cannons.

Or so they thought.

Their alchemists and engineers quickly realized that while the Night’s Watch’s blueprints were genuine, the numerical data on gunpowder composition was crude—deliberately vague. Following the stolen formula precisely produced either weak cannons that barely outperformed ballistae or disastrous misfires that killed the operators.

It had taken weeks of relentless effort and countless failed prototypes, but they had finally adjusted the ratios, reinforced the barrels, and produced their first functioning artillery—fully combat-ready cannons, loaded onto the warships of the Free Cities.

Not only had they caught up in time, but they had even improved upon the stolen design.

While their total number of cannons lagged behind Daenerys’ fleet, their firepower might actually be superior.

However, time was running out.

Their engineers had warned them—cannons required trained gunners, and even better models would soon be available. But when Aegon VI fell shockingly fast in battle, and the Reach—especially Oldtown and the Arbor—submitted to Daenerys, further delays became impossible.

If they struck now, they would face only the Royal Fleet and a single dragon.

If they waited, they would face the Royal Fleet, the Arbor Fleet, and all of Westeros—and two dragons.

Moreover, Dezdon had received an extremely confidential piece of intelligence from his father, Malakho Maegyar, one of the Triarchs of Volantis:

Braavos might soon take action against Aegor and Daenerys.

If the operation succeeded, and both leaders perished, House Targaryen would collapse overnight. His fleet would meet no resistance, and he would claim a victory of historic proportions.

And even if the assassinations failed, if their attack coincided with the chaos, they would still gain the upper hand.

By taking Dragonstone and using it as a base, the capital would be wide open to them. King’s Landing would have no defenses left. Whether they pressed the attack or forced a crippling peace, he would be the ultimate hero of the war.

Dong, dong, dong—

From the crow’s nest above, a lookout struck the alarm bell.

"Enemy fleet spotted! Thirty ships!"

Had the assassinations failed? Dezdon felt a flicker of disappointment, but his resolve quickly returned.

"Order the fleet to spread out! Form battle lines!"

His plan was simple: let his cannon-equipped warships engage in a long-range bombardment while the rest of the fleet flanked from the sides for a more traditional naval battle.

They might be outgunned—but at least they had cannons now. And that alone would shatter enemy morale. Once Daenerys’ forces realized they had lost their technological edge, once they heard the roar of the allied cannons and saw their ships struck by unexpected firepower, panic would set in.

That was when he would send his remaining ships in for ramming and boarding, sealing his victory through sheer numbers and tonnage.

Flags waved as orders were relayed. The fleet maintained its steady advance, dispersing into formation. Soon, the enemy ships came into clear view.

Dezdon raised his spyglass.

Twenty or so warships had lowered half their sails, forming a battle line against the backdrop of Dragonstone, clearly awaiting his approach.

Hmph.

Let them believe in their technological superiority for a moment longer. Soon enough, they would witness his secret weapon.

Today, in these waters, the first true gunpowder naval battle in history would be waged.

And he would be its victor.

Then—he saw flashes of white light.

Before he could process what was happening, plumes of smoke erupted from the enemy fleet.

Five seconds later, the thunder rolled in.

His fleet was already under fire.

At twice his own range.

His plan was already in ruins.