135: Chapter 135 Ballista Barrage and Space Tear

The Enforcement Squad began to lower their altitude.

Five dragon shadows descended from the clouds simultaneously, slowly closing in on the rear gate of the Red Keep.

Their flight formation was extremely neat—three Dragonborn Knights flew in a wedge formation, the Dragon-born Apostle covered the rear, and the Space-Time Dragon Captain led the flight at the very front.

This was the standard search formation of The Senate's Enforcement Squad, practiced tens of thousands of times.

However, they underestimated two things.

First, Cersei had ordered the tips of the ballista bolts on King's Landing's walls to be dipped in wildfire residue—something that could burn through dragon scales.

Second, the nerves of the Gold Cloaks tonight were already stretched to their limit. Any humanoid or non-humanoid creature flying out of the clouds looked like the Mother of Dragons' dragons to them.

Atop the city walls.

A Gold Cloak centurion—a veteran who had fought in the Battle of the Blackwater—raised his hand. He saw the five dragon shadows descending from the clouds. He could not hear their telepathic communication, nor could he tell the difference between a "Chronos Dragon" and a "Black Dragon."

He only saw dragons. Dragons were over King's Landing. Dragons were attacking the city.

He waved his hand down. The motion of his dropping palm was exactly the same as when he had ordered the launch of wildfire on the Blackwater River all those years ago.

Hundreds of ballistas fired in unison.

The loud twang of bowstrings releasing joined together along the walls—not row by row, but hundreds of sounds exploding at once, like a giant drum being shattered.

The iron bolt-heads, dipped in eerie green wildfire residue, trailed green smoke as they tore through the night sky, slamming into the Enforcement Squad like a reverse meteor shower.

The arrows drew hundreds of green arcs across the night sky, slicing the entire sky into irregular fragments.

A flicker of displeasure flashed in the silver-white vertical pupils of the Space-Time Dragon Captain.

He opened his mouth and spat out an Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic spell, Space-Time Fold—not Dragon Breath, but a spatial defense spell.

Transparent spatial ripples rippled outward from his mouth, forming an ever-expanding translucent barrier in the air.

The trajectories of the first dozen or so ballista bolts were warped and deflected upon hitting the Space-Time Fold. The bolts veered in mid-air, hurtling toward Flea Bottom within King's Landing.

Several ballista bolts slammed into the roofs of Flea Bottom, smashing through the tiles with dull, splintering crashes.

But the Fire Dragon-born Knight behind him did not react as quickly.

His dark-red dragon wings were struck by two ballista bolts.

The first hit the wing membrane, the bolt tip piercing the thinnest part at the edge of the dragon scales—where there was only a membrane, uncovered by scales.

The wildfire residue on the bolt tip ignited into a wisp of green fire in the dragon's blood, spreading along the vascular network of the wing membrane and burning an ever-extending line of green fire.

The second hit the Dragonborn Knight's shoulder, the impact throwing him off the dragon's back—he flipped twice in the air, his valyrian steel spear slipping from his grasp and falling into the city below, the Heart-Burning Flame on the spearhead trailing a dark red tail of fire as it fell.

The Dragonborn Knight tumbled several times in the air, barely stabilizing himself by grabbing the edge of the city wall with his left hand, hanging from the battlements.

"...Captain! The humans' weapons are dipped in wildfire! This stuff can burn through dragon scales!" His voice trembled with intense pain over the telepathic communication—the ballista wound on his shoulder sprayed a small mist of blood as he spoke, shimmering dark red under the moonlight.

For the first time, a coldness appeared in the silver-white vertical pupils of the Space-Time Dragon Captain.

He did not go to save the Fire Dragon-born Knight. Turning toward the city walls, he opened his mouth and spat out an Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic spell, Space Rift—not Dragon Breath, not a defense spell, but a pure space-time attack spell.

A transparent rift line extended along the wall, the air on either side of the rift line sliced into two disconnected regions of space.

A dozen ballistas, along with their mounts and operators, were silently torn in half within the rift—not blown apart, but sliced in two by the rift in space itself.

Debris and iron filings hung suspended in the air for a brief moment before falling into the city.

A section of the battlements was cleanly shaved off, the cut surface as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the moonlight.

Several ballista operators who didn't have time to escape were swept by the rift—their bodies retained their complete outlines on either side of the rift line, but they were completely separated by an extremely thin crack in space, so much so that not even blood could cross the gap.

He tucked in his dragon wings and pulled upward. Not to flee—but to reassess the battlefield.

The Dragon-born Apostle remained hovering amidst the chaos, the dragonglass on her staff flashing frantically.

She raised her staff and released an Ancient Valyrian Dragon Magic spell, Starlight Shield, around herself—a translucent barrier woven from threads of starlight enveloped her.

Her voice lost its usual composure.

"Captain—there are hundreds of ballistas in the city. The humans have mistaken us for our target's kin. We need to temporarily retreat above the clouds—"

"No," the Space-Time Dragon Captain interrupted her, his silver-white vertical pupils sweeping over the burning walls below.

"The target is right below. He is waiting for us and the Gold Cloaks to wear each other down. If we retreat now—his plan succeeds. Scatter. Search on your own. Dragon-born Apostle—lock onto him with your tracking array. Find him. Purify him."

King's Landing. Tyrell Mansion's underground wine cellar. After midnight.

The wine barrels cast long shadows in the faint glow of the Dragonglass Lamp.

Drogon's route from the rear gate of the Red Keep to the wine cellar passed through King's Landing's sewers—the final escape route Tyrion had reserved for him.

Years of limescale clung to the walls of the sewers, and the air was thick with the smell of damp lime. He crawled out of the wine cellar's secret door, soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and dripping with water.

Tyrion Lannister was sitting on an empty wine barrel, with Jaime's spyglass and a map of King's Landing's defenses laid out in front of him.

The barrel of the spyglass was still stained with soot from the rooftop, and several circles had been drawn on the map with charcoal—the rear gate of the Red Keep, Flea Bottom, and the ballista positions on the walls. In his deep green eyes, there was a mix of battlefield excitement and a near-cold satisfaction.

He had worn this exact expression during the Battle of the Blackwater—the same expression, the same dwarf, just a different enemy.

Tyrion handed the spyglass to Drogon and pointed his short cane at the location of the Red Keep on the map.

"The Enforcement Squad and the Gold Cloaks are fighting.

The Chronos Dragon wiped out half the ballistas on the east wall. If we'd had that move during the Battle of the Blackwater, I would have been the master of the iron throne long ago. One Dragonborn Knight crashed into Flea Bottom—the guy and his dragon collapsed the roof of the Broken Sail Inn.

The Gold Cloaks are surrounding him. There are still four left in the sky."

He paused, tapping a spot on a cross-section map of the Red Keep's interior with his short cane—a tiny crown symbol had been drawn there in red ink.

"Your plan is half successful.

The other half—the Red Keep is in utter chaos right now, and Cersei has barred all the doors and windows in Maegor's Holdfast.

If you want to slip into the treasury and grab the crown amidst the chaos—now is the best time.

Within half an hour, Qyburn's dark magic detection array will be disrupted to the point of failure by the Chronos Dragon's spatial distortion."

"Where is the crown located?"

Tyrion pointed his short cane at a hidden mezzanine chamber between the first and second floors.

"Aegon I's crown is not in the main treasury.

Joffrey took it out to wear once during his last wedding, and then it was stored in the private treasury behind the iron throne Room—a mezzanine that had been sealed off by The Mad King and reopened by Cersei.

The entrance is behind the dragon relief on the back wall of the iron throne. It's guarded by two Kingsguard—but that doesn't matter, as the Kingsguard are most likely in Maegor's Holdfast protecting Cersei right now."

"Wait here. I'll come back for you after I get the crown. Then, we harvest the Chronos Dragon. Once that's done—we return to Dragonstone."