The black-and-red war banners suddenly fluttered, bearing the Andal seven-pointed star. Their simultaneous appearance on the ridge represented a crushing pressure.
Arrows poured down like a storm from the small Andalos hill ridges, their flights usually of white goose or bird feathers.
Speed, power, and distance.
This was a perfect archer ambush, a tribute to the suppressing fire of Lord Brynden "Bloodraven" Rivers.
The ambush and arrow tactics of the Battle of Red Hill achieved results comparable to the Battle of the Redgrass Field.
Yohn Greenvine, commander of the Greenvine forces, was riddled with arrows first, staring in disbelief as the shafts fell.
"My lord." His guard tried to reach for Yohn's body, but a sudden arrow flew in, nailing the guard directly in the forehead. He died even faster than Yohn.
"I've been tricked!" This was Yohn's last thought before death.
He hadn't expected the teenage Viserys to be so insidious, luring him into a death trap.
This would be not only his failure but the failure of the entire Greenvine family. The Greenvines would become history, a stepping stone for Viserys's ambition.
Horses crashed to the ground, and Yohn's corpse slid onto the earth, red blood flowing out to turn the soil muddy.
"The Warrior!"
"The Warrior!"
"Andals!"
The longbowmen cheered, their curses growing louder as they rained slaughter upon the Tyroshi.
Dead men and horses piled up, dyeing the mud between the small hills blood-red. Many warhorses began to slip on the gore-slicked ground.
"By the Trios!" The Tyroshi mercenaries roared in disbelief, seeing what seemed to be Andals erupting with arrows from every ridge.
Tyroshi slavers often raided around Andalos, holding the Andal villagers in utter contempt. Today, they paid the price for underestimating their enemy.
"Run!" "Run!" In an instant, the Tyroshi mercenaries panicked like startled beasts, looking for an escape route. Mercenaries fought for gold, but they weren't foolish enough to fight a losing battle. This war had turned against them; they could only blame their bad luck.
Even worse, the weather in the southern Free Cities was sweltering. Tyroshi mercenaries, coming from a climate similar to Dorne's, disliked wearing stifling full plate.
Chainmail, ringmail, and even scale armor offered little protection against arrows launched from short range. Plate armor was tougher but couldn't completely block the arrow rain, especially with inferior quality plate.
After long training, the best archers could maintain a rate of six arrows per minute. Even at three or four, it was deadly now.
"Long live King Viserys!"
"Long live King Viserys!" Soldiers shouting battle cries appeared on the retreat path from the hills, forming a shield-and-spear formation.
Behind the oak shield wall was a forest of long spears.
The shield wall began to press forward step by step. The Tyroshi and Greenvine soldiers couldn't see the faces behind the shields, only the dense thicket of spears thrusting at them.
"Hugo, watch our prisoners," Viserys ordered.
"As you command, Your Grace!" Hugo Rex nodded.
"Shall we mount up, Your Grace?" Argos asked.
"No," Viserys shook his head. "The mud is too slippery. We'll assault on foot."
Viserys roused his spirit. Archers held the flanks on the hills, and the shield wall pressed from the front.
Now only the final step remained: Viserys, Argos, and Ser Roland cleaning up.
"Blasphemers will face divine retribution. Lord Amman, this is the death you asked for." Viserys donned his helmet and strode away with Argos and Roland, leaving the heartbroken Amman father and son behind.
Amman Greenvine's face was an ashen grey of death. He watched death descend with his own eyes. His son Yohn fell from his horse and was trampled by hooves and soldiers.
And the Tyroshi "heavenly soldiers" he had once admired were now stuck like hedgehogs by Andal longbows, falling like ducks.
Perhaps Viserys was right; this was the power of the Andals. When Amman chose to distrust Andal civilization and lick the boots of the Free Cities, he had made a grave mistake.
Regret! Anger! Disbelief! A mix of emotions swirled within him.
The old man, who had once held sway in Andalos, found himself looking like a raw recruit in front of Viserys.
"Sound the horns!"
Wooooo— The Andal war horns and drums sounded again. A new group of attackers seemed to appear from the rear of the forest. Viserys emerged with furious Andal soldiers, blocking the invaders' last retreat.
Soldiers ran out from the pine forest to conclude this symphony of death.
Viserys's boots stomped on the blood-soaked muddy ground, sending mud flying.
Many Tyroshi discarded their distinctive helmets, erupting in a final frenzy.
"Kill the reserve force in the rear, and we can break out!" The Tyroshi mercenaries quickly formed a plan. The ridges and the spear wall ahead were hard to break; their only chance was against the assault reserve appearing at the rear.
"Andals, why stand with Tyroshi mercenaries?"
"Lay down your weapons, Andals of the Greenvine family!" Argos shouted. His voice exploded like thunder, causing many Greenvine cavalrymen preparing to counterattack to freeze.
The Greenvine cavalry, having lost their will to fight, collapsed in despair. They either dropped their weapons to surrender or joined in hunting down the Tyroshi.
In the muddy hill pass, the victory of war quickly turned into a slaughter.
"Long live King Viserys!"
"Long live King Viserys!"
Andal soldiers were like scythes harvesting life from the earth; Tyroshi fell like wheat.
"Die!" Viserys danced with his longsword in one hand and a shield in the other.
His sword spun and slashed across a Tyroshi mercenary's chest and abdomen. Red blood gushed out furiously. The Tyroshi shouted curses at Viserys until his life faded completely.
Viserys watched for openings, observing calmly, his movements astonishingly precise.
Sometimes it was just an advantage of speed and strength. Since these Tyroshi mercenaries didn't wear heavy plate armor, he could kill them quickly by finding gaps.
Unlike breaking plate armor which required blunt weapons, on this battlefield, Viserys brought death's greeting with just a sword.
Viserys moved with cat-like agility. Sunlight glinted on his longsword, and the black-and-red Targaryen banner flew high once more.
The Tyroshi began to collapse entirely, shattering like glass under a heavy hammer.
Argos looked even more terrifying. The towering, burly man was like a heavy fist smashing into the enemy formation.
A Tyroshi swung a sword to resist, only to be smashed to the ground by Argos's furious fist.
Then came a heavy strike from Argos's greatsword—not a decapitation, but a dull smash against the enemy's body, shattering ribs and chest.
"Long live Targaryen!"
"Long live Targaryen!" The battlefield was filled with the cheers and shouts of warriors, as well as the sobs of the defeated and the heavily wounded.
In summary, it was a beautiful victory.
The Tyroshi mercenaries were slaughtered, their bodies littering the field, alongside the unlucky Greenvine cavalry who fell first.
"Butcher! You are a true butcher, Viserys! The Seven will loathe you!" Amman Greenvine, brought to the battlefield, looked at the bloody scene, with dead men and horses everywhere.
The Tyroshi "heavenly soldiers" he had pinned his hopes on had all fallen, becoming silent corpses. Amman's emotions completely collapsed.
"I am a butcher, Lord Amman. Don't you understand yet? You crave power, but cannot bear the cost of losing the gamble," Viserys replied calmly.
"Look at your handiwork."
Viserys waved his hand. Argos forced Amman's face toward the dead. Many were loyal Greenvine cavalrymen, wiped out on the battlefield.
"They died for you, Amman. For your unrealistic ambition."
"Butcher! You really are a butcher!" Amman wailed loudly, sitting down in the bloody mud, his former high spirits gone forever.