Game of Thrones: I became a crown prince for a day

Dusk.

The setting sun casts a brilliant red glow, painting the waters of Tyrosh like an ink painting.

Dozens of warships were parked to form a solid defense line.

A temporary camp was set up on a small island.

Facing the afterglow of the setting sun, Damon raised his head and looked at the sky, his deep eyes showing complexity.

The jet black armor was covered with scars, and the red cape was draped over his elbows.

At first glance, it looks like a general enjoying a moment of tranquility.

However.

The wrinkled letter was in his hands, and the foreigners chattering behind him ruthlessly ruined this beautiful scene.

Ignoring the heated noise, Damon called an adjutant and said calmly: "Lanino rode away on Haiyan?"

"Yes, Sir Lanino heard the news and supported the Stormlands."

The adjutant's voice trembled, and he timidly glanced at the other person's face.

Even though Prince Daemon's voice is very calm, one can feel the bone-chilling coldness radiating from his body at close range.

Damon ignored the little adjutant, looked away, smiled, and took the time to glance at the clearly written letter.

[Besieged but not attacked, waiting for Myr and Reese to send troops to support...]

"Still waiting."

Damon shook his head, with a hint of sarcasm on his lips.

He followed the instructions of his good nephew and helped capture the two city-states of Myr and Lys one after another, which was a great achievement.

Before the war started, he discussed with his brother that once he captured a city, he would entrust it to him.

Now that he has captured two city-states, the good nephew has no attitude and says nothing about allocating a city-state to him.

Well, if he can't conquer the two city-states by one man and one dragon, he won't want them.

He personally led his army to besiege Tyrosh. His good nephew sent a letter today asking him to wait, and a letter tomorrow asking him to wait.

Taking advantage of Dorne's invasion of the Stormlands, Lanninor who assisted him will also be transferred away.

"Haha~"

Damon shook his head and laughed. He handed the letter to the adjutant and asked casually: "How long do I have to wait?"

"Prince, the letter said half a month..."

The adjutant's face tightened and he answered tremblingly.

"Half a month?"

Damon glanced at him, his eyes as sharp as razor blades.

In the adjutant's trembling eyes, the letter was torn into pieces, and confetti stained with the blush of the sunset was thrown up.

There was a crash.

Damon took out the dragon-wing helmet tucked under his arm and walked towards the chattering foreigners expressionlessly.

The Fanbang people all have colorful hair and mercenary leather armor on their bodies. They can tell at a glance that they are from Tyrosh.

At this time, the Fanbang people were not aware of the danger and were making an aggressive noise.

"Prince Daemon, I advise you to retreat as soon as possible. The Lord will give you your weight in gold."

"If the Iron Throne's army does not retreat, Braavos and Dorne will destroy the Iron Chair..."

"..."

"A bunch of clowns are really noisy."

Disgust flashed in Damon's eyes, he grabbed one person's head, rounded up the dragon-winged helmet and smashed it hard.

Bang! Bang!

There was a series of pleasant muffled sounds, and the noise suddenly stopped, leaving only bursts of blood splashing.

Soon, a dead body with a smashed head was thrown to the ground.

Daemon's face was stained with blood, and a devilish sneer hung from the corner of his mouth, as if he was swearing: "I will conquer Tyrosh with my own hands and build a city-state with my name."

"you……"

Several other Fanbang people were almost frightened when they looked at the bodies of their companions, and they wanted to run away.

Daemon stared silently, pulling up his cloak and wiping his dirty helmet.

A group of soldiers guarding the camp quickly took action, drew out their long swords, and swarmed the foreigners into a hornet's nest.

After dragging down the bloody corpse, the soldiers gathered around Damon and knelt in a circle.

Ten years after leaving Westeros, the Ranger Prince's reputation remains as strong as ever.

Rhaegar had a group of elite Second Sons who were loyal to him to the death, and Daemon, as his uncle, would only have more people.

Moreover, Daemon has traveled to the Free Trade City-State for many years and is good at recruiting and buying mercenaries to serve.

At the beginning of the Narrow Sea War, he single-handedly raised an army of no less than five thousand men.

Damon glanced around at his subordinates, combed his long, messy hair down from his forehead with his blood-stained hands, and put on his helmet without saying a word.

"Prince, where are you going?"

The adjutant looked anxious and asked timidly.

Daemon didn't look back and said coldly: "Go back to your master and tell him to go back to Dragonstone to nurse. Rhaenyra will soon have breast milk."

He was impatient to wait for any city-state to collapse from within.

He would immediately, immediately, pay the price of blood and fire to seize a city-state of his own.

"Hiss..."

A scarlet dragon shadow flashed across the sky filled with burning clouds, and its sharp roar spread across the sea for miles.

Colakhiu dived down from the clouds, flapping his wings and landing swaying.

Daemon quickly climbed onto the dragon's back, leaned over and stared directly at his subordinates, and shouted coldly: "Notify the entire army to attack Tyrosh at night!"

"Hiss..."

Corakxiu's eyes flashed with bloodlust, and he took the driver into the air, twisting his body like a snake and soaring out of the sea.

…

At night, a bright moon hangs high in the sky.

Tyroshi.

The port was heavily guarded, dozens of warships patrolled in batches, and huge bonfires lit up the night like day.

"Perform patrols carefully and don't let spies from Westeros sneak into the city-state!"

Several lookouts stood side by side, and the bearded mercenary leader yelled and cursed his subordinates unceremoniously.

Tyrosh's fleet could not leave the port, but it surrounded the city-state and made it an iron barrel that water could not pour into.

Suddenly, thin clouds stirred in the sky and a cool sea breeze blew.

The slender behemoth was hidden high in the sky, and a pair of cold purple eyes observed the garrison below.

Fifty nautical miles away from Tyrosh, dozens of warships gathered, hiding in the vast sea under the night, just waiting for an order.

…

The palace of the Maharaja.

Milov, a former mercenary, enjoyed life peacefully, sleeping soundly with two beauties in ragged clothes in his arms.

Inside and outside the mansion, two thousand soldiers directly under the mercenary regiment were guarding the place, and not even a fly could get in.

The mansion is huge in size, with pavilions and pavilions in the front yard and flowing water in the backyard garden.

In a white stone attic, with candles lighting up the night, a dozen men and women dressed in luxurious clothes had a private meeting.

boom!

A bearded man hit the table hard and said angrily: "Milov is a bastard. What does he think of us? How dare he put us under house arrest!"

"He is a lowly mercenary and a liar with no credibility."

An old red-haired woman answered and complained bitterly.

Some of the others responded, some remained silent, and a depressing emotion filled the room.

They are a group of villains at the top of the richest pyramid in Tyrosh.

After the Second Battle of the Stepstone Islands, the city-state was burned by a dragon and the rich suffered heavy losses.

Milov, a young mercenary, took advantage of the situation and rose up. With the wealth looted during the chaos and the armed forces under his command, he chose the king, under the banner of avenging the Iron Throne for the city-state.

Facts have proved that the credibility of mercenaries cannot be fully trusted.

Milov was a cruel tyrant. Although he did not attack the rich, he used worse means to plunder the money of the common people.

When the war broke out, he commandeered a large sum of money from the wealthy in the name of purchasing armaments.

Myr fell, and he reached out for it again.

Lys has fallen, and the Three Women's Kingdom is in danger.

Milov intensified his efforts, not allowing the rich to escape in advance, and designed to imprison them in his private residence.

"Everyone, you might as well listen to me."

A purple-haired middle-aged man with a solemn face spoke.

"What's your idea?"

The rich people stopped complaining and stared at him.

The purple-haired middle-aged man said calmly without changing his expression: "Mirov's dishonesty has caused Tyrosh internal and external troubles. I know that everyone here has raised a group of private soldiers, so why not kill him."

The red-haired old woman sneered: "Kill the king, who will stop the Iron Throne's army for us?"

"That's right..."

Several rich people with strange expressions nodded in agreement.

Although they are under house arrest, they are not allowed to be exploited.

If you really want to go out, you can leave through some collusion between the inside and outside, but it will be a waste of money.

Otherwise, there would be no chance for a group of people to meet privately.

The purple-haired middle-aged man said solemnly: "Myr and Lys have fallen, and Braavos and Dorne are watching the fun. Do you really think Milov can stop the dragon?"

Hearing this, the bearded man who spoke first rolled his eyes and asked, "What deal did you make with the Iron Throne?"

Suddenly, the eyes of the rich people changed, and they stared directly at the purple-haired middle-aged man, wishing they could see a hole.

To be able to live as a high-ranking person in Tyrosh, where wealth is revered, no one is a fool, whether they are smugglers or slave owners.

The slightly strange voice immediately aroused my imagination.

The purple-haired middle-aged man choked, no longer covering up, and said openly: "The Black Swan of Reese and I are business partners. We oppose Milov's rule, and the Targaryen executioner lives in peace with us."

"It's ridiculous. You're a brothel owner, and you're nothing like a business partner with a prostitute."

"Don't argue, let's discuss it carefully."

The bearded man had sharp eyes and asked: "We have all heard of Black Swan. Can she negotiate terms on behalf of Rhaegar Targaryen?"

"She is now the High Steward of Rhys."

"How can we trust him? The Targaryen executioner is not necessarily much better than the tyrant Milov?"

"That's right, 70% of the rich people in Myr were slaughtered, and half of the rich people in Lys died. Can that executioner be like us?"

Everyone was discussing, and their words were full of distrust.

The purple-haired middle-aged man's eyes flickered and he interrupted: "It's because there are fewer rich people in Myr and Lys that Targaryen wants to win over us."

The Free Cities became world-famous through maritime trade.

The two battles killed more than half of the wealthy people in the Three Women's Kingdom, which represented the paralysis of trade.

There must be some pure merchants left to keep the trade going for the time being.

"Is the news credible?"

Some people still don’t believe it.

The purple-haired middle-aged man heard the expectation and grinned: "The Targaryens have occupied two city-states. Without the support of the rich, it is difficult to eat. We can provide each other with food and money."

Myr was attacked, and there were grain stores in the city-state, which could still provide relief to slaves.

The rich people in Lys fled after hearing the news, and their money and food were transported to Braavos and Qohor. The remaining supplies in the city-state were pitiful and there was not enough for them.

What he said was reasonable and well-founded, which greatly moved the hearts of the rich.

More than a dozen people looked at each other, and they all saw the glint in each other's eyes.

Someone raised his hand first and suggested: "I bribed a guard outside the attic. He can tip us off."

Someone answered immediately.

"I bribed a team of mercenaries at the port to send information and defense plans to Reese."

"Milov's newly opened prostitute is from me. I can secretly drug him in his wine."

"..."

In a few words, the arrangements were clear.

Seeing this, the purple-haired middle-aged man laughed out loud: "Since you all agree, I will write a letter."

Wuwuwu——

Just as he got up from the chair, a low horn sounded from afar.

"What's the noise?"

Someone was surprised.

The bearded man's face froze, and he immediately stood up to run, exclaiming: "It's the horn of the port, the Iron Throne's fleet is coming!"

"wait wait wait."

The purple-haired middle-aged man didn't react for a moment, and was stunned on the spot at a loss.

Turning his head, his eyes looked through the glass window at the dim night sky.

Everything was calm and peaceful, as usual.

Suddenly, a flash of scarlet flashed, followed by a sharp hiss.

"Hiss!!"

A snake-like scarlet dragon shadow rushed straight into the Maharaja's mansion, its broad wings enveloped the attic, and fierce dragon flames descended instantly.

boom--

The purple-haired middle-aged man's eyes were about to burst, and he was burned to char by the scarlet dragon flames as he screamed.

Colakxiu turned around and flew away, flying to other lofts under the night, spraying dragon flames continuously.

"Well done, Colakho!"

Damon sat firmly on the dragon's back, searching the Lord's bedroom with cold eyes.