Chapter 692

As the most powerful man and woman on the continent, their so-called "walk" was, of course, never just a casual stroll. True to expectation, Daenerys soon shifted the conversation to matters happening not here in the west, but in the east, where a different crisis was unfolding.

"We must move quickly. If the Reach lords are willing to surrender, sparing them even slightly is not out of the question. The Reach isn’t going anywhere—it won’t fly away. Once we finish dealing with the Slaver Coalition, we’ll have all the time in the world to handle them properly."

She was pleased that Aegor grasped her urgency without needing further explanation. After a brief pause, she sighed and moved on to the next topic. "Aegon has fled south with the Golden Company and Connington. What do you suggest we do with my dear nephew?"

Scouts—both conventional outriders and wargs peering through the eyes of birds—reported the same astonishing sight. The intricate web of reconnaissance that had once blanketed the battlefield had simply vanished. The vast plains of the Reach, once crawling with enemy patrols, were now eerily empty. Within ten miles of the Western Army’s camp, not a single scout remained.

Aegor nodded. "Understood. The Reach campaign is decided. When news of our victory spreads, the Vale lords will think twice before making a move. I’ll press westward immediately. Once Oldtown falls, I’ll return east as soon as possible. The cannons will be loaded onto ships, and with our forces regrouped, the Slaver Coalition will be nothing but a brittle shell. Your Majesty’s defensive posture was a wise decision—time is on our side. Hold out just a little longer, and the whole world will be within reach."
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With that, the brief war council ended. The assembled lords and officers dispersed, returning to a celebration that was already winding down. Aegor remained seated, contemplating how best to handle Highgarden now that it had fallen intact, when Daenerys' voice—sweet yet commanding—cut through his thoughts.

During the battle’s final and most decisive phase, he had completely lifted all restrictions on the use of gunpowder weapons. Every last explosive round had been spent, and the artillery’s powder stocks were depleted. Only the cannons with slower rates of fire or those that had suffered barrel ruptures still had any ammunition left—hardly enough for a single full volley.

Compared to the campaigns in the North, the slaughter through the Riverlands, or even the twin land and sea battles at King’s Landing, this battle had taken a much heavier toll on the Queen’s forces. The casualty ratio had dropped below 10:1, down to the single digits—yet it was still an overwhelming victory.

"Aegor, walk with me."

Strategically, his original plan had been to march westward despite the Reachlords' resistance, pressing forward with such overwhelming momentum that their will to fight would collapse under sheer inevitability.

Yet, the enemy had proven slightly braver, sharper, and more disciplined than expected. They had managed to coordinate a proper defensive engagement, forcing him to fight a true pitched battle. While it had created challenges, it had also accelerated the war’s conclusion.

It helped that the troops lost were not Aegor’s personal loyalists—there was no love lost over their sacrifice. But the main concern was that his Western Army had been significantly weakened as well.

Emerging from the command tent, its flaps bearing the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen, the Queen and her black-clad commander walked side by side into the firelit glow of the bustling war camp.
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The resistance that should have crumbled gradually under constant pressure had instead surged together for one last stand—only to be lifted high into the sky and then smashed to the ground, shattered beyond repair.

Daenerys took a long breath, then glanced at her Hand. "Do you understand what I mean? Retaking the Iron Throne was a great victory, and uniting the Seven Kingdoms is important. But a ruler who cannot protect their own realm will always be looked down upon—especially a queen."

For reasons he hadn’t fully grasped yet, over five or six thousand enemy troops—who were still capable of fighting—had fled south in complete disorder. They hadn’t even dared to challenge a mere thousand dismounted light cavalry. Among the routed forces were not only the remnants of the Golden Company’s foot soldiers but also Highgarden’s own elite guards, who should have been defending their home but had instead followed their liege lord onto the battlefield.

As significant as these strategic victories were, the tactical outcome was even more of a surprise.

Aegor had thrown caution to the wind and ordered the Westerland cavalry to launch a daring charge, covering twenty miles in a single push. They had lost half their number to exhaustion but successfully cut between Highgarden and the enemy’s collapsing army. While their task was to prevent the Reachmen from reaching the city, Aegor had honestly not expected much—his plan had been to "stop as many as possible," fully prepared to sacrifice the entire cavalry force if necessary.

The Western Army had fielded twenty-seven thousand men. Over three thousand had died, while the number of wounded—serious enough to take them off the battlefield—was more than double that. And with no antibiotics in this world, many of those wounded would soon add to the death toll. It had been a brutal battle.

But for every one of his fallen soldiers, the enemy had lost far more.

The Reach’s army had left nearly ten thousand corpses on the battlefield alone. That didn’t even count the ones who had drowned in the river, been hunted down in the rout, or incinerated by dragonfire. The true number would never be known.

In any age or place, this was a clear and undeniable sign of a broken enemy.

No matter how disastrous a battle might be, a defeated army at least had to know where the enemy was. But now? The Reachlords had fled so desperately they hadn't even left scouts behind to track Aegor’s movements.

They were running so fast they didn’t dare look back.
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Before nightfall, the Western Army swiftly secured the battlefield, reorganized its ranks, and tended to the wounded. The flames consuming the enemy’s supply depot were extinguished just in time to salvage the remaining stockpiles, and after a thorough accounting of their spoils, they wasted no time in celebrating—feasting on the Reach’s own wine and meat.

Once the victory feast was well underway, Aegor gathered the officers again, this time with the Queen present, to tally the casualties and count the gains.

This was no flattery. Avoiding battle when necessary was a rare kind of wisdom. When Daenerys wasn’t in one of her infamous moods, she was, in truth, an exceptionally shrewd ruler.

Now, not only was there no enemy left between them and Highgarden’s walls—there might not even be many left inside.

Some might recall: just a few years ago, when the incestuous affair of the Lannister twins was exposed and King Robert ordered the six kingdoms to march against the West, Tywin Lannister had spent lavishly to hire foreign mercenaries to harass the Crownlands, Stormlands, and Vale, preventing their armies from uniting against him.

If Highgarden had been reinforced with its fleeing troops, the Western Army—lacking siege weapons—would be at an impasse. Aegor would either have to abandon the siege or risk sending Daenerys in for a dangerous nighttime fire assault.

Either option would cost them a valuable bargaining chip.

Fortunately, the seasons were shifting toward summer. Even after sunset, there was still light in the sky.
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The existence of the anti-Queen alliance was no secret, but things had changed since Aegor marched west.

Braavos had passed a formal resolution to openly support the anti-Targaryen cause. They had sent no troops, but their immense financial and industrial resources had transformed the once-scattered efforts of the Slaver Coalition into a well-organized war machine.

They had assembled a fleet rivaling the Ironborn in numbers but superior in size and tonnage. Mercenaries flocked to their banners, preparing for a war that felt eerily familiar.

"They’ve completely cut off trade across the Narrow Sea," Daenerys said, frustration lacing her voice. "The enemy navy roams freely, and I tried using the dragons to chase them off—only to find they’ve mounted ballistae on their ships. Our fleet is still recovering, and you took all the cannons with you. It’s planting season, so I can’t raise new levies without starving the realm. We’ve hunkered down in Blackwater Bay, but the situation is dire. The mercenaries could land at any moment."

She didn’t need to say more.

Aegor already understood: the Reach campaign had been an overwhelming success.

But war was far from over.