Nearly three thousand people from both sides fought on the bridge. Only those at the very front could directly engage with the enemy; the others, unable to push through the crowd, could only raise their weapons and shout encouragement.
"Victory for the Lord of Light!"
"Invincible Dragon Cult!"
The R'hllor faction distributed standardized long swords, which, though imposing in appearance, were countered by various heavy weapons in actual combat.
The Dragon Cult's front-line warriors wielded various shields—round shields, long shields, even tower shields—along with war hammers and axes. A single Dragon Cultist could kill five or six Fiery Hands soldiers.
Even if a blow failed to kill, the strength of a war hammer could knock an enemy down through their armor. Anyone attempting to stand would be crushed, trampled by countless feet. Falling meant death.
There were screams of exertion and dying cries. As the front-line warriors fell, those behind them charged forward, stepping over the bodies and blood of comrades and enemies alike to continue the battle.
"Rise!" With a chant from over a dozen mages, flames suddenly erupted from the long swords of all the Lord of Light's followers.
"Kill!" The golden-red flames ignited their fighting spirit. Despite having less combat experience than the Dragon Cult, they charged forward with madness, even willing to die in exchange for the life of an enemy.
A young Dragon Cultist, three swords embedded in his neck, lifted his sword with his own hand and killed an enemy. Laughing uproariously, he released his grip on the enemy's weapon and shouted:
"Hahaha, the Dragon God is invincible!"
Blood pouring from his mouth, he took a deep breath, using the last of his strength: "Fus~!" Before dying, he cast the only magic he had learned, sending seven or eight heavily armored Lord of Light soldiers tumbling to the ground.
As his magic was drained, his vision blurred. Healing magic from Wright was still far away, but before it reached him, his body collapsed. His comrades stepped over his corpse, using axes and hammers to decapitate the enemy who had killed him.
The advantage of Dragon Shout was that the three-word phrases didn't need to be completed all at once to be effective. While the power was diminished, in such a crowded battlefield, even the incomplete force of a spell could be quite useful.
Within the Dragon Cult, there were twenty individuals who knew all the words for Unrelenting Force, over a hundred who knew two, and several hundred who knew at least one. In Volantis...
"Kill the mages first!"
Bennero shouted loudly. He climbed to the roof of a shop and saw how much influence the Dragon Cult's magic had in the battle, so he issued the order. But the Dragon Cult forces wore disorganized clothing, and even if he gave the order, it was impossible to pinpoint their mages unless they cast magic. He and other mages began throwing fireballs into the enemy ranks.
The Dragon Cult's shield bearers made up two-thirds of their forces. While shields could block fireballs to some extent, magical flames were different from ordinary fire. When the fireballs exploded on shields, sparks scattered into the crowd and only extinguished when the magic ran out. Many robes caught fire.
"Ah~~~"
A fully armored Dragon Cultist's robe and cloak were set aflame. The burning magic caused unbearable pain, making it hard for him to breathe. Letting out a final scream, he knelt to the ground to avoid disturbing those around him. He had not yet killed an enemy before he collapsed, his hair and skin gradually turning to char.
"Kill the mages first!"
Both sides now shouted the same rallying cry.
Unrelenting Force waves collided with magical flames in the battle, with each wave causing death. Sometimes the sound wave blew the flames into the air, other times the fire was sucked into the wave, creating a stream of fire.
The R'hllor followers had greater numbers, while the Dragon Cult fought with greater ferocity. Coupled with the Dragon Shout suitable for use in close quarters, the R'hllor forces suffered heavy casualties. It wasn't until the mages' fire magic began to rain down that their line held steady.
The purple-robed Dragon Priest Naisso Visama, wearing a mask, leaped onto the roof of a shop. Seeing the Lord of Light's sorcerers continuously casting fire magic from behind the infantry, he called to Dofas beside him: "At this rate, that kid from the Chiheda family won't hold out much longer. We need to eliminate their sorcerers first! Dofas, we'll take one side each!"
The Dragon Priests specialized in both magic and combat, and even the archbishop had to follow his orders in this situation. Dofas tightened his wooden mask, nodded at Wright's signal, and the two charged from the roofs of the shops on either side of the bridge toward the enemy's mages.
One red-robed, one purple-robed, two masked figures dashed from the shop rooftops. The Lord of Light's forces instantly realized these were the enemy commanders.
The two ran through the fighting ranks directly for the mages. Those fighting on the bridge didn't have time to stop them from reaching the rooftops. The mages ceased launching fireballs at the crowd and instead directed dozens of fireballs at the two attackers.
Seeing the fireball coming, Naisso leapt high and jumped over a shop. His purple robe fluttered in the air, and his arms curved tightly to his sides, expanding his chest to the maximum.
The Cardinal of the Red Robe, Dofas, first stepped on a pile of debris, using its height to leap onto a rooftop ahead. After his feet touched the ground, he continued to run wildly, sidestepping a fireball and then quickly inhaling.
"yol~~Toor~~shul~!"
The two of them almost simultaneously let out the same dragon roar. Their voices overlapped, the massive sound drowning out the fighting across the bridge, causing the followers of the R'hllor cult to pause for a moment, with some even turning to look.
Flames burst forth, capable of spitting fire similar to dragon fire.
Two streams of golden-red dragon flames were released from their mouths. As they traveled farther, the dragon flames grew larger, and the incoming fireballs were effortlessly swallowed.
The two streams of molten lava-like dragon flames continued to expand. The flames swept across the bridge, and the followers of the Lord of Light had no choice but to watch as the flames engulfed them. In an instant, over a hundred people were killed.
Some mages drew circles with their hands, creating fire shields in front of them. Some jumped off rooftops, attempting to take cover inside buildings, while others, with no other option, hid behind their companions. They might worship the Lord of Light, but burning others was acceptable—being burned themselves, however, was not.
The two waves of dragon flames swept through the crowd, engulfing mages, the Hands of the Holy Fire, and the followers in fire. The remaining followers of the Lord of Light froze in fear, too scared to move.
"Kill!" The Dragon Cult members would not let such a good opportunity slip by.
When the raging flames finally died down, the wooden structures of the shops on both sides of the bridge were ablaze. More than half of the mages had been burned alive, and the bodies of the followers, burned and scattered across the bridge, were too numerous to count.
"Ah~~~" Many people, still burning, screamed as they walked aimlessly, falling to the ground shortly after.
The surviving mages lowered their fire shields, and someone quickly shouted, "Those two must have run out of magic! Kill them!"
On a shop rooftop, Bennero, covered in black soot but unscathed, looked at the devastation and shouted to Melisandre beside him, "You're the High Priestess of the Lord of Light. Are you just going to stand here watching?"
"If I make a move, Wright Baratheon will also make a move. Are you sure about this?" Melisandre, looking down from above, pointed toward the distant crowd.
Bennero followed her finger and saw the tall figure clad in dragonbone armor amidst the chaos. His massive presence stood out on the battlefield. Yet, Bennero did not give up. "This is a struggle of faith, a war of gods! You are the strongest among us—can you not strike at the ordinary followers, or at least distract Wright?"
"Distract him?" Melisandre glanced at the calm river beneath the bridge, then at Wright, who was speaking with those around him in the distance. "I'll give it a try!"
By this time, the battle had gone on from dusk into night, and the flames on the bridge cast shadows of the long bridge on the river below. Melisandre took two steps and then jumped directly from the rooftop into the river.
With her head first and feet down, her red robe fluttered in the air as she extended her hands to press the robe to her chest. Below her waist, her white body was fully exposed, visible only to those with sharp eyes on the riverbanks.
Her sleek body touched the water silently, without a splash. She dove straight into the shadow of the long bridge, quickly moving towards Wright's position along the bridge's shadow.
Wright, holding his giant sword, stood at the center of the bridge, continually casting healing spells, yet members of the Dragon Cult still died.
"Lord Wright, so many of our people have died. Are you really not going to intervene?" Sansa Stark, in white robes, asked in confusion.
Wright, wearing a dragon horned helmet, showed no expression. "Why should I intervene?"
Sansa replied, "Aren't they your followers? With your strength, you should be ensuring their safety!"
Wright answered, "No, you misunderstand! The Dragon Cult is not mine alone. I must contribute to the cult, and so must they. When it comes to faith, piety is not just words—right now, they are proving their devotion with their lives."
The Starks had several mages, but only Sansa Stark had joined the Dragon Cult, along with many other mages. However, Wright, after much thought, had decided that even if they won here in Volantis, the R'hllor cult remained strong in the northern part of the Nine Free Cities. To prevent the Seven Kingdoms from becoming involved, he issued a command that no mage holding an official position in Westeros could participate in this battle.
Sansa, these valuable apprentices, had no need to fight, but she insisted on witnessing the effect of Draconic magic in battle. After some persuasion, Renly had agreed to her request and told Wright to look after his eldest apprentice.
"But the battle is so fierce, so many have died," Sansa said.
The bridge was filled with the smell of burning lake, blood, mixed with the scent of elephant dung and fish. Sansa had heard countless stories of war as a child, but this was the first time she had seen real combat. The shouts of battle, screams, and cries of agony filled the air. In the distance, flames rose high, and the blood of the dead pooled at her feet, making her white shoes unsure of where to step. So many had died, and the scene was so overwhelming that Sansa stood frozen, pale, trembling with both fear and pity.
Wright continued, "You grew up hearing beautiful stories and have such a kind heart. I haven't made a move here, yet I can still guarantee the victory of the Dragon Cult. Do you believe that after this battle, the Dragon Cult will be more united, and more people will strive to learn magic?"
"Why?" Sansa looked up at Wright.
"Because the future of the Dragon Cult will no longer rely solely on me—it will be a legacy they have built themselves." After Wright spoke, he sensed someone familiar coming quickly from under the bridge and loudly called to the crowd around him:
"Someone's coming from below the bridge, it should be Melisandre of the R'hllor cult. Don't make a move; continue supporting the front. She's likely here to find me."
"Understood!" The followers around him grabbed their weapons and rushed forward.
A black shadow appeared at the side of the bridge, moving quickly along the shadow cast by the flames. It gathered in front of Wright and transformed into a beautiful woman, who smiled at him.
"Wright, we meet again!"
Wright looked at her with a strange expression, pointing ahead. "You're not going to help the R'hllor cult, and instead, you come here alone to chat and laugh. What exactly are you thinking?"
Melisandre replied calmly, "The R'hllor cult worships the King of Kings, drives away the darkness to guide the people to the light, and does not participate in worldly disputes. The actions of the Volantis followers have already gone against the will of the Lord of Light."
"Ha ha," Wright laughed. "So you've sold out that bald old man and the followers of Volantis?"
Melisandre answered with an unflinching calm, "He betrayed the Lord of Light first. He used the R'hllor cult as a tool for his own political ambitions! And the followers did the same!"
Wright knew she was a devout follower of the Lord of Light and also a ruthless person—perhaps someone who had cast aside human empathy for the sake of her own goals. To her, the deaths of others meant nothing.
Sansa took a step forward and was about to say something when Wright pulled her back. She was just a sheltered girl with a mind full of fantasies, grown up in a greenhouse. Wright's purpose in bringing her here was simply to show her the cruel reality, and he wouldn't allow her to speak thoughtlessly.
Melisandre turned to Sansa and took two steps to stand beside her. Sansa tried to retreat, but the moment she met Melisandre's red eyes, her legs froze in place. It was as though the woman could see into her very soul!
Melisandre reached out and gently stroked Sansa's chestnut-colored hair, smiling as she spoke: "After tonight, you will walk the right path. Your direwolf will just be a regular pet. Don't waste too much energy on it."
"I'm a Warg. You are my enemy. What gives you the right to lead me down the wrong path of magic?" Sansa retorted.
"Dragons and wolves cannot coexist," Melisandre said coolly, then turned her gaze to Wright, ignoring Sansa.
Sansa didn't understand the meaning. "What?"
Wright, however, understood that Melisandre was a seer and had picked up on the hidden meaning behind her words. He explained to Sansa, "Your talent and time are limited. You can only specialize in one—either become a master Warg or a master of Draconic magic."
Before Sansa could respond, Melisandre interrupted, "Tentacles, pincers, magic eyes—what exactly is that thing, Lord Wright?"
"Fus~~Ro~~!"
At that moment, a distant roar echoed, drowning out what Melisandre had said.