After capturing the outpost tower, Lo Quen ordered Chai Yiq to garrison it with three thousand soldiers to ensure the supply route to Tyrosh remained open.
Then, Lo Quen and Jaelena led the remaining four thousand five hundred soldiers and twelve hundred Dragon Soul Guards deep into the jagged heart of the Grey Mountains.
The name suited the range well—everything seemed blanketed in endless ash. Jagged cliffs bit into one another like rows of teeth, and deep valleys split the land open like torn wounds, so narrow that only a few could walk abreast. The soldiers trudged through loose rocks and slippery mud, their heavy footsteps echoing through the deathly silent valleys, their progress painfully slow.
It took them three full days to crawl, like snails, to the edge of the mining district—at the far end of a river valley pressed between sheer cliffs, where a steep reverse slope rose ahead.
When Lo Quen and Jaelena climbed to the top, the sight that greeted them stole their breath.
Below sprawled a vast, muddy basin. A thick gray haze hung low, swirling with furnace smoke and drifting dust. Countless low, filthy blue canvas tents clustered together, ragged and sagging. Even more striking were the enormous mounds of ore scattered across the basin, like hills formed from congealed black and dark red blood—the raw, unrefined iron ore.
To the southwest, a towering range of gray-brown mountains loomed—the true source of the ore. Not a single tree grew on those slopes, only bare rock and gravel. Tiny as ants, Lys slaves crawled over the barren mountainsides, hacking at the stone with iron picks.
In the basin below, slaves trudged barefoot through the muck, backs bent beneath heavy baskets brimming with ore or pushing broken wooden carts along the muddy roads. Their eyes were hollow, their world filled with the shouts of overseers and the sharp crack of whips slicing through the air.
Below the slope where Lo Quen's army waited lay the core of the mining district—the smelting zone. Over a dozen massive furnaces, built from rough stone blocks, belched searing flames from their openings, warping everything around them in the heat. Slaves, their skin burned red by the fire, shoveled ore from the mines into the roaring furnaces. The air reeked of acrid smoke and scorched flesh.
Lo Quen narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze sweeping over this hell on earth. He sent several of his most skilled scouts gliding silently down the slope, vanishing into the shadows and confusion below, tasked with uncovering the true defenses of what appeared to be a chaotic but surely fortified mining complex.
The wait was brief. The scouts returned quietly from the most concealed corners on both sides of the mine with their report.
Aside from roughly a thousand poorly armed slave soldiers patrolling and keeping the slaves in check, the entire area contained nothing but laborers—no organized fighting force.
Slaves, and only slaves.
Lo Quen gave a dry chuckle.
"The Lyseni truly inherited the ways of old Valyria—using slaves to their absolute limit."
Without a flicker of hesitation, he issued his orders.
"Jaelena, leave a thousand men to seal every exit, especially the mountain paths leading deeper into Lys. Not even a bird must escape to carry word. The rest will follow me—purge the guards and seize control of every slave in the mine."
Jaelena nodded sharply.
She raised her longsword, and forty-five hundred Tyrosh soldiers surged forward like a flood, following the twelve hundred Dragon Soul Guards as they stormed down the slope straight into the chaos below.
For a brief moment, the mining district froze—then it exploded into pandemonium.
The patrolling slave soldiers, long grown lazy, stared in horror as the oncoming army charged like ravenous wolves. The blood drained from their faces, leaving nothing but terror. Their leather armor was in tatters, their weapons little more than rusted spears and blunt blades. Faced with the fully armed, battle-hardened Tyrosh regulars and the even more fearsome Dragon Soul Guards, they could barely summon the will to fight.
After a few panicked shouts and a scatter of arrows, the Dragon Soul Guards struck. Their Valyrian steel blades sliced through leather and flesh alike, flinging blood into the air.
Screams rang out—short, sharp, and quickly drowned beneath the thunder of battle cries.
It was a massacre. The slave soldiers' pitiful resistance crumbled instantly under the crushing power and shock of the assault.
Soon, all resistance within the mining district was completely eradicated. In the end, three hundred slave soldiers chose to surrender and were brutally bound. Lo Quen ordered his troops to swiftly clear the battlefield and collect the bodies. Simultaneously, he issued a stern command: all slaves were to continue their labor without interruption, maintaining the "normal" surface operations of the mining district. Any disobedience would be met with execution.
That night, the ravens from the forward watchtower delivered crucial intelligence. Scouts dispatched by Chai Yiq had detected signs of large-scale troop movements to the southeast, bearing the banner of a black cat. They were advancing rapidly along the river valley toward the Grey Mountain mining district.
Company of the Cat!
Lo Quen's gaze instantly sharpened. He recalled the information about the Company of the Cat from the original text. The Company of the Cat commanded roughly three thousand warriors, notorious for their ferocity and greed. Their leader, "Bloodbeard," was a particularly infamous figure. Surveying the recently captured mining area, a bold plan instantly formed in Lo Quen's mind. He resolved to remain here and ambush the Company of the Cat.
Though Lo Quen's forces vastly outnumbered the Company of the Cat, he refused to engage in unnecessary attrition. He ordered his soldiers to swiftly don the captured slave soldiers' leather armor and clothing. The remaining Dragon Soul Guards were secretly deployed along both sides of the narrow river valley at the mine entrance, concealed among the boulders and thickets. He then strictly commanded the slaves to restore the mining area to its pre-attack state, ensuring no signs of battle remained visible.
...
In the distance, the Company of the Cat's marching column trudged laboriously through the muddy narrow valley. Commander "Bloodbeard" stood out prominently atop an unusually tall and sturdy chestnut warhorse. Built like an ox, he wore heavy plate armor. His head was crowned with a braid of fiery red hair, and his face was framed by a thick, flaming-red beard.
"Damn those Lysene whores!"
Bloodbeard's booming curse echoed through the valley. "They make us trek all this way, not even letting us down a single cup of wine, and now we're supposed to defend their mining district? Goddamn it..."
He waved his heavy double-bladed battleaxe in irritation. Treasurer Will, riding a plump horse, cautiously followed alongside, his face plastered with a smile.
"Lord, the Lysene have indeed paid well for the golden dragons this time... You know, those bloodthirsty wolves on the Golden Fields are surely on their way too. If we don't take this job, it'll just fall into someone else's lap in no time..."
"Do I need you, the accountant, to remind me of that?"
Bloodbeard glared at him, but the anger on his face softened slightly, replaced by smugness. "The Lysene slave soldiers are nothing but clowns. Without our Company of the Cat warriors, most of them would piss themselves in fear at the brutality of the battlefield..."
He surveyed his men, his voice brimming with pride. "But hey, Lys is deep in the pockets. They pay gold, we earn it by the blade—that's how it goes... Once this battle's over, I'm heading straight to Lys's brothels for a few days of fun..."