In Game of thrones with Sci fi Military system

Far to the west of Essos and Westeros, amidst the tumultuous waves of the Summer Sea, the notorious fleet of the Ironborn pirates sailed under the black-and-red banners of Euron Greyjoy, the self-styled King of the Iron Islands. The silence of the ocean was broken only by the creaking of ships and the distant cries of gulls as Euron's flagship, the Silence, cut through the waves like a predator on the hunt.

The deck of the Silence was alive with activity pirates sharpening blades, repairing sails, and hauling crates of stolen treasures. At the ship's helm stood Euron Greyjoy himself, his mismatched eyes gleaming with malice. Clad in a black leather coat adorned with the bones of his enemies, he exuded an aura of unrelenting ambition and cruelty. His men feared him as much as they revered him.

A smaller vessel approached the Silence under a white flag of truce. Its captain, a man bearing the sigil of Volantis, stood nervously as he was escorted aboard the pirate king's flagship. The deck of the Silence was an intimidating sight corpses nailed to the prow, black sails overhead, and a crew of hardened killers watching him with unblinking eyes.

Euron descended from the helm, a twisted grin on his face. "A messenger from Volantis? How interesting. Speak quickly, or I'll toss you overboard for wasting my time."

The messenger bowed stiffly, trying to mask his fear. "King Euron Greyjoy, I come with an offer from the Free Cities Alliance. They seek your fleet's...unique talents as mercenaries."

Euron raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "And what do the Free Cities want with me?"

"The Alliance has declared war on the new rulers of Pentos," the messenger explained. "They possess dragons, powerful weapons, and a growing empire. The Alliance believes your fleet could turn the tide in their favor."

Euron laughed, a harsh and mocking sound. "Dragons, you say? And you expect me to go to war against creatures that can burn my ships to ash? What's in it for me?"

The messenger hesitated before replying, "The Alliance is prepared to pay handsomely. Gold beyond your wildest dreams. Enough to buy any kingdom you desire."

Euron leaned closer, his mismatched eyes boring into the man's soul. "Gold is nice, but it doesn't make a corpse less flammable. If you want the Iron Fleet, you'll need to offer more."

The messenger swallowed hard. "What...what do you want?"

Euron's grin widened. "First, I want every dragon my men kill. Their heads, their bones, their fire-breathing hearts everything. They'll make fine trophies. Second, I want wildfire. As much as the Alchemists' Guild can spare."

The messenger's face paled. "Wildfire is...dangerous. And rare. The Alliance might not...."

"The Alliance will comply," Euron interrupted, his voice sharp as a blade. "Or they'll find another fool to do their dirty work."

Sensing no room for argument, the messenger shifted the conversation back to the Alliance's plans. "The Alliance believes that the dragons and the weapons of Pentos are a threat not just to the Free Cities, but to the balance of power across Essos. But we believe just like in the past, dragons can be killed with Big Bow Catapults, that Alliance is willing to set it up on every single ship of yours for free, if you decide to join us."

Euron nodded slowly, stroking his chin. "A tempting prospect. But you're asking me to risk my ships, my men, and my reputation. Tell your masters I'll agree, but only under my terms. I want half the gold up front, wildfire delivered to my fleet before we set sail, and the right to claim any dragon we slay."

The messenger hesitated. "I will relay your terms to the Alliance, but—"

"No but," Euron hissed, his tone turning deadly. "If they want the Iron Fleet, they'll pay my price. Now, run back to your masters before I change my mind."

Thinking that they still have more than a week and a half, messenger went back to his boat and went back to Volantis.

As the messenger was escorted back to his ship, Euron returned to the helm, his grin replaced by a thoughtful scowl. He turned to his first mate, a grim-faced Ironborn named Torwald.

"Dragons, Torwald. Real dragons," Euron mused, his voice low. "If we kill one, its power will be ours. And wildfire...oh, the things I could do with wildfire."

Torwald nodded. "A dangerous gamble, my king."

Euron's grin returned, more sinister than ever. "Life is a gamble, Torwald. And I always win."

2 days later

Alex and Daenerys sat across from each other in the castle dining hall, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. The smell of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and sweet wine filled the air. Daenerys absently fed small pieces of meat to her dragons, who perched nearby, while Alex sipped his drink, deep in thought.

"You're unusually quiet this morning," Daenerys said, her lilac eyes fixed on him. "Something on your mind?"

Alex set down his cup and leaned back in his chair. "Victor and his fleet must have reached international waters near Volantis last night. Today, they'll begin their assault."

Daenerys frowned. "Volantis has a fleet like no other from what we know, Do you truly believe five ships can stand against their might?"

Alex smirked, his confidence unshaken. "Victor has the tools and the strategy. Numbers don't win wars precision does. By the end of today, the Black Walls of Volantis will crumble."

Daenerys nodded, trusting his judgment. "And what of the Red Temple? Their magic could be unpredictable."

"I've accounted for that," Alex assured her. "Anyway Dani, in know its not in your culture, but you should try doing braids to your hairs. I know you would look good". Alex said this because by the end of GOT, she had many braids, and her look completely changed from looking like a Ameture to a badass queen. Even though it's from Dothraki culture but who gives a shit. What are Dothraki goona do.

"Isn't that what Dothraki people do? .....they keep their braids until they are defeated".

"Oooh, you learning a lot of stuff recently" Alex teased Dani, but was pround of her inside.

"Well it doesn't matter, I am just saying you should attack least try it. Maybe you'll like it. You never know until you try it" said Alex.

On other side

Victor stood on the deck of the lead warship, the cold morning air biting at his face. Around him, the crew moved with practiced precision, loading the 30mm machine guns and double-checking their rifles. The horizon ahead glimmered faintly with the first rays of the sun, illuminating the vast sea before them.

Jorah Mormont, standing nearby, scanned the horizon with narrowed eyes. "Are you certain this plan will work?" he asked, his voice filled with doubt. "Volantis has a fleet that stretches as far as the eye can see. We're outnumbered more than twenty to one."

Victor chuckled, his tone confident. "Outnumbered, yes. Outgunned? Not even close. You'll see soon enough, Mormont."

As the sun climbed higher, the silhouette of Volantis' fleet came into view. The Black Ships of Volantis stretched in an imposing line across the horizon, their sheer number staggering. Even with the naked eye, Victor and his men could see hundreds of ships some armed with bow-mounted catapults, others still being prepared by frantic crews.

Victor turned to his second-in-command and issued a calm but firm order: "Signal the small warships to take the lead. Their job is to clear a path straight to the docks. The rest of us will follow behind and mop up."

The signal was sent, and the two small warships, each armed with twin 30mm machine guns, surged ahead. Within moments, the enemy fleet spotted them and began to ring alarm bells. Shouts echoed across the waters as Volantis' crews scrambled to respond.

"Intruders! Intruders!" came the cries from the Black Ships.

Victor's warships held their formation, their guns locked and ready. The lead ship of Volantis fired the first shot, a catapult hurling a flaming projectile toward the approaching fleet. The projectile splashed into the water harmlessly.

Victor smirked. "Amateurs. Let's show them how it's done."

At his signal, the 30mm machine guns roared to life. The sound was deafening, a rapid staccato of destruction as the massive rounds tore through the nearest enemy ship. Wooden decks splintered, masts collapsed, and screams filled the air as the lead Volantene ship was reduced to burning wreckage in seconds.

The enemy fleet hesitated, unsure how to respond to this new and terrifying weapon. Several ships attempted to close the distance, their crews armed with swords and spears, but the machine guns cut them down before they could get close.

Jorah watched in stunned silence as ship after ship fell to the relentless barrage. "What...what kind of power is this?" he muttered.

Victor glanced at him, his face calm. "The power of precision. Now, focus. We've only just begun."

Jorah stood there in shock, fear and amazement of these weapons. First it was the Iron ships that shocked him and now these small pipes shooting bigger rounds than the guns that Victor has, it completely destroyed Jorahs perspective of the new war weapons and strategies.

As the enemy fleet began to scatter, trying to flank the warships, Victor issued another order. "Prepare the RPGs. Target their flagships. We need to break their morale."

The soldiers on his ship, each a seasoned marksman, readied their RPGs and took aim. The first rocket streaked through the air, slamming into the deck of a massive Volantene galley. The explosion was deafening, and the ship was engulfed in flames, its crew leaping overboard to escape the inferno.

It was Like the Rain of destruction. Everywhere Jorah saw enemy ships were in disarray, wrecked and blood filled the sea.

Within an hour, the once-mighty fleet of Volantis was in disarray. Burning ships littered the sea, and the survivors were either retreating or attempting to swim to safety.

Victor's fleet pushed forward, unimpeded, until they reached the docks of Volantis. The gates to the old city loomed ahead, black and imposing, crafted from dragonstone. Victor surveyed the scene and turned to his men.

"Set up the RPGs. Those gates are coming down."

Jorah stepped forward, his disbelief replaced by determination. "This...this might just work."

Victor smirked, handing him a rifle. "Then make yourself useful, Mormont. We've got a city to take."