LazyWizard
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Ch 39 A GOD Part 1
🕑 Added 2023-09-17 15:41:36 +0000 UTCThe crimson Sun had slipped below the horizon a few hours earlier, and the moon was already hanging halfway through the sky. The full moon was still days away, and thick clouds obscured much of its light. Even with the feeble torches on each ship, visibility extended only a few meters.
The fleet of thirty Ironborn ships had been divided into three groups when they set off so as to ease the difficulty in navigation. However, they maintained close proximity, ensuring visibility during the day and the ability to react swiftly to any disturbances during the night and gather together in case of an attack.
On the rightmost vessel of the rightmost group, things were very peaceful. The mild breeze carried soft, lulling waves across the calm sea.
It was calm here...
In fact, it was too calm, almost... eerie.
Most of the sailors had already succumbed to sleep a few hours ago after a night of drinking and revelry. But it was somewhat of a general rule of Ironborn to have at least a few people on board awake and for them to stay sober, whenever they were out at sea so that they could act as scouts in case of an attack.
Unfortunately, the Ironborn were as averse to rules as a Dornish Woman was to modest clothes.
"Oi! You, stop it! Don't drain it all," a scout cursed, snatching a pouch of ale from a friend who guzzled it down as if it were water. "It was the only one I managed to pilfer, and we need it for the entire night."
"Who cares," replied the friend gruffly, wiping his mouth. "Those fools are passed out and won't wake until morning."
"Hmm, you're right—"
Thud.
A muffled, piercing sound abruptly shattered the scout's words and when he looked up, he was horrified to find his friend's slowly falling corpse an arrow lodged in his eye. And before he could even open his mouth another arrow punctured his throat, "Ugh!!" killing his scream in his mouth and cutting his life short.
Following the swift succession of two arrows, shadowy figures silently boarded the ship, moving like phantoms in the night. Each was armed with an array of sharp weapons, including daggers and short swords. And after the last one had climbed abroad, all of them calmly divided themselves without any communication between them and then... they went to work.
Some of them entered the cabin while the others headed straight for the sleeping quarters, and for a few minutes, the night echoed with the faint sounds of blades piercing flesh, stifled screams, and soft thuds that disappeared with the sea wind.
Soon, all was silent again.
The shadows slipped out of the vessel one after the other each carrying an additional smell of blood with them. They swiftly lowered themselves out of the ship, exiting as quietly as they had infiltrated it, leaving behind nothing but a lonely ship freely sailing on the sea with no one alive to crew it, a ghost ship.
Their work had only just started as the shadows repeated their method, moving from ship to ship like silent reapers. They were so experienced and adept at their job that even if someone from the infamous The House of Black and White was here, he would be astonished by their skills and clap in admiration.
Sadly the shadows weren't lucky for long...
A man stumbled out of the door of a nearby ship, desperately seeking a spot to relieve his full bladder. As his bleary eyes fell upon the corpses of the scouts, his face drained of colour, and he tumbled backwards, shrieking, "A-Attack! Attack! We are under attack—"
An arrow sliced through the night sky, silencing him and cutting his warning short, but the damage was already done as the alarm had been raised all across the fleet.
"The scouts are dead!!"
"Under Attack! We are under attack!"
"Fuck! WAKE Everyone Up!"
"Shit! AXE!!! Where the fuck's my Axe!"
Screams echoed everywhere, as one after another the Ironborn sailors woke up, after seeing corpses everyone immediately ran to get their weapons and wear any kind of protection they could their hands on. It was pure chaos and pandemonium.
But they were given no respite. Within moments of the alarm, each ship in the Ironborn fleet was beset by attackers from an enemy ship simultaneously. These ships seemed to have materialized out of nowhere as if they had been lying in wait for just this moment.
The attackers didn't care that the Ironborn were half-naked or half-asleep and immediately launched their assault without mercy. The Ironborn responded in kind with a ferocious roar and simultaneously charged toward their attackers, some without even the benefit of a weapon. A chaotic and brutal battle erupted on all fronts.
"Ahh!!! KILL!!"
"Kill those Fuckers!!!"
"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER—"
...
"Ah! Looks like that'll be it for sneaking around,"
The shadows had just transformed another vessel into a ghost ship when the alarm sounded, and the battle erupted. Rather than feeling disappointed about not eliminating all their targets silently, a gleam of excitement shone in the eyes of nearly every shadow. After all, as much as stealthy killings might be strategic, the warrior's blood coursing through their veins craved nothing more than an all-out, bloody confrontation.
"Are you worried about your friends Rookie," one of the towering Northerners asked the young recruit. They both observed the flickering torches and heard the distant screams from the ships where the battle was already in full swing.
"Ah! No! I am not worried," the young boy replied sheepishly, waiting alongside his comrade for the rest of the team to descend into the waiting boat. "I'm more envious, actually... I heard they'd have an easier time of it..."
Jon had divided the ships among his warriors in a somewhat uneven but perfect way, with the most crucial factor being the limited poison supply, only enough for twenty ships worth of enemies.
Of those twenty vessels with poisoned crews, ten were assigned to the Merchants to deal with, as Jon wished to minimize losses for his customers on their maiden voyage.
Likewise, the other ten ships with poisoned sailors were left to the bulk of the Northern fleet, around fifteen vessels, each ship mostly being manned by fresh recruits from Bear Island. It served as a practical way for these newcomers to gain battle experience without suffering excessive casualties due to their inexperience.
Now the final ten ships, filled with fresh Ironborn sailors had been left for the experts and veterans to attack. Moreover, they only possessed five ships of their own, meaning they would face nearly twice the number of foes—steep odds for them, given that their adversaries were Ironborn and the battle took place at sea.
"HAHA... You don't need to worry about us, lad," the bearded Northerner said gruffly, patting the rookie's back as their turn finally came and they lowered themselves into the waiting boat. "Remember we already took care of five of them," he gestured towards the ghost ships aimlessly sailing behind them. The rookie nodded, having been so preoccupied with his first mission and focused on not blundering that he hadn't even noticed when they began when they moved from one ship to another, or how many of them they had emptied.
He was also from the latest recent crop of graduates handpicked from the Navy school on Bear Island this time. Due to his exceptional skills as both a sailor and a fighter, he hadn't been integrated into the regular forces like his friends; instead, he had been given special attention and had been fast-tracked into this elite team, the 'Shadows'.
"And besides, while they may have poison on their side, we've got a trump card of our own," he added, wearing a smug grin.
"Trump card? Who?" the rookie asked curiously.
The man simply motioned toward the cluster of ships they were rowing toward. Amidst the tumultuous sea battle, one figure stood out more than any other, illuminated by the flickering torchlight.
He stood on the deck of a ship nestled right in the heart of the fiercest combat. He remained as straight as a mast, wielding a bow in his hands with two brimming quivers slung over his back.
His hands moved with such speed that they blurred as he loosed arrow after arrow, not in a single direction but in all directions, as if he were a god with eyes on every aspect of the unfolding chaos. What astounded everyone, even more, was the ease with which he calmly dodged the occasional arrows aimed at him all while seamlessly returning fire.
He was akin to a God of War, unleashing his wrath upon the Ironborn, who found themselves helpless in the face of his relentless assault.
...
"Why the fuck are they not here yet," the captain bellowed, his voice echoing through the chaos of battle. He crouched behind a crate, nursing a shoulder wounded by an arrow.
"Captain, five of our ships have no lights and aren't responding!" his second mate shouted from a nearby hiding spot. "And the others are also under attack."
"Who the fuck is attacking us?" he roared, his frustration mounting. The second mate hurriedly retrieved his far-eye, attempting to get a clearer view and what he saw amidst the flickering lights drained all the colour out of his face.
"Who? Who is it?" the captain demanded as he saw another sailor fall with an arrow through his eye.
"Everyone!" the second mate stammered.
"What!" the captain barked and without waiting for his answer he snatched the far-eye, his prized possession, one he had luckily looted from an Essosi merchant. And the moment he placed it on his eye he immediately understood what the man was talking about.
"T-They've got flags from the North, the Westerlands and even the Reach," the second mate described what the Captain was already seeing in a shaking voice almost as if he was talking to himself.
The trauma of their short rebellion and the Iron Throne's swift retribution was still vivid enough in his memory that he was immediately filled with terror at the sight of so many different flags from the nearby kingdoms.
"Wait! That's—" As his second mate was slowly losing his mind, the captain noticed something even more horrifying going on at the battle on the faraway ships, "No! NO! They are going down too—
