In truth, only about seventy percent of the farmers had actually received the essence transfer.

But fortunately, their numbers were large enough.

The visual impact of two thousand arrows fired at once was far greater than that of three hundred.

In just the first volley, over a hundred mercenaries from Redbeard’s company were slowed down drastically due to injuries, with several dozen falling dead on the spot.

For an army of several thousand, it was like the fur flying during a brawl between two wild beasts.

But this didn’t strike fear into Redbeard. Instead, it ignited his bloodlust.

“Kill! Charge them! Break their formation! Capture that little Targaryen king!”

Redbeard shouted excitedly to the mercenaries and bandits behind him.

The thought of capturing a king made the savage brute even more ecstatic. It was as if his crimson beard had turned a shade darker from excitement.

The first volley left Ock completely stunned.

Though nearly half of the arrows flew off-course, to his surprise, the majority had been decently aimed.

The arrows hit their targets well, and though many were blocked by armor, the enemy’s charge had visibly slowed.

“Well, even getting one volley off is already impressive. Leave the rest to the infantry.”

However, he quickly realized that most of the archers were already preparing for a second shot.

Ock’s spirits lifted.

For inexperienced archers, firing even a single volley before the enemy made contact was considered decent.

These farmers didn’t even qualify as beginner archers.

But judging by their current performance, they had already surpassed that level.

So Ock gave the order once more:

“Draw—!”

This time, though fewer joined in the motion, the sound of the bows being drawn was far more unified.

“Loose!”

Another wave of arrows—like a swarm of locusts—crashed into the charging enemy ranks.

This time, the damage was even greater.

Although fewer arrows were fired, the closer distance made them more lethal, dropping well over a hundred enemies instantly.

At the rear, Oberyn was stunned.

He was absolutely certain that these so-called archers had been nothing more than simple farmers just a month ago.

He’d even spoken to some of them.

They had dull expressions and spoke plainly—not the type to be called clever.

Yet after less than a month of training that had seemed like child’s play, more than half of them had become proficient archers!

What on earth was going on?

Oberyn resolved that he would try this training method himself once he had the chance. But for now, seeing the enemy charge rapidly approaching, he bellowed:

“Advance! Attack!”

The infantry surged through the gaps between the archers, while the farmer-archers began readying a third volley.

This was a demanding task!

They had to avoid hitting their own troops while targeting the enemy’s heads. Naturally, the advancing soldiers were nervous.

They weren’t comfortable having such green archers firing from behind them.

But based on the previous performance, these archers had proven themselves trustworthy.

“Draw—!”

Creaaaak—

“Loose!”

The third volley of arrows slammed into the enemy line like a wave hitting a jagged reef.

Nearly two hundred enemies fell.

Watching the archers’ devastating effectiveness, Ock was so excited he nearly jumped in place.

He turned to one of the nearby archers and asked:

“What’s your name?”

“Jason Momar, ser,” the man replied.

Ock found it hard to believe he’d ever been a farmer and continued his questioning.

“What did you do before?”

“I tilled the land, ser.”

Ock’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.

He couldn’t help but start questioning himself.

Could it be that Viserys’ training method wasn’t flawed at all—just… simple?

Ock resolved to try it himself.

He organized the archers into smaller units and had them continue applying pressure on the more distant enemies.

The Cat’s Company mercenaries were indeed capable in close combat, and their armor had been repaired or even replaced.

In that regard, they were not inferior to Viserys’ troops.

All three thousand of Viserys’ soldiers had been rigorously drilled by William after the decision to head for the eastern continent, so their formations were solid.

Their greatest advantage, however, was the sustained support of firepower from the rear.

Even Redbeard couldn’t remain oblivious to the reality at this point.

These archers were simply too terrifying.

Meanwhile, Viserys was adjusting his strategy from the rear—

He ordered a portion of the infantry to take archers with them and move to block the enemy’s retreat. He intended to turn this into a decisive annihilation.

If he let them escape now, he’d have to expend more energy chasing them down later.

On another front, Arthur’s cavalry had long since been prepared.

Clad in white robes and silver armor, he led eight hundred cavalrymen crashing into the enemy from the flank.

It was like a massive hammer smashing into the side of the mercenaries’ and bandits’ formation.

Under Arthur’s onslaught, their lines held up no better than paper.

“It’s the Sword of the Morning!”

“Long live the Sword of the Morning!!”

The soldiers on the battlefield, seeing Arthur charge in with his cavalry, felt their morale soar once again!

Even though the enemy didn’t know who the Sword of the Morning was, Arthur’s skill in battle terrified them.

He plunged into the enemy ranks like a white tiger into a pack of hyenas—no one could last a single exchange before him.

In mere moments, even the ferocious Cat’s Company mercenaries lost their will to fight.

They tried to flee, but arrows blocked their escape.

“Surrender and you will not be killed!”

“Surrender and you will not be killed!”

“Surrender and you will not be killed!”

The voices urging surrender echoed across the battlefield—in both the common tongue and Valyrian.

Those who understood dropped their weapons and waited for judgment.

Almost no one resisted—except Redbeard.

Swinging his heavy longsword, he struck down a mercenary who was trying to surrender.

He couldn’t believe he was actually going to lose here.

Weren’t the Targaryens supposed to have only three thousand soldiers?

Where had all these archers come from?

How did this happen? How did this happen?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!

Redbeard was furious with denial.

But no amount of anger would change the outcome.

By now, Arthur was already charging toward him with over a hundred cavalrymen.

Before the battle, Viserys had specifically told him to capture the red-bearded mercenary leader alive—he had a use for him.

Of course, that was only if Arthur could guarantee his own safety.

Viserys wasn’t after Redbeard’s essence or his memories.

Now wasn’t the time to fall out with Pentos—but that didn’t mean the time wouldn’t come. Keeping him alive would provide a convenient excuse in the future.

Arthur said nothing. He simply kept cutting down enemies.

He spurred his horse straight for Redbeard, who could feel the overwhelming pressure radiating from the silver-armored knight.

Most cruel men dare not challenge someone truly powerful—this was a universal truth.

Sensing the danger, Redbeard tried to flee on horseback. But Arthur wasn’t just unmatched with a sword—his archery was elite as well.

He drew his dragonbone bow, nocked an arrow, and shot down Redbeard’s mount in a single strike.

The horse screamed and collapsed, throwing Redbeard violently to the ground.

Dazed and disoriented, Redbeard barely managed to lift his head—only to find Arthur’s spear already pointed at his chest.

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