Game of Thrones - The Strongest Dragon Mother #1-150
Author: 辣酱热干面
Date: 2025-11-15T16:33:17+00:00

Chapter 1: My God, I’ve Become a Heavily Pregnant Mother of Dragons

“My God, how did an innocent maiden like me end up as a ten-months pregnant woman—a heavily pregnant Mother of Dragons?”

A twenty-six-year-old surgical medicine graduate, upon waking up, found she had transmigrated into the body of a fourteen-year-old pregnant girl, Daenerys Targaryen.

Whatever her previous identity or name, it hardly mattered now.

She had become Daenerys from A Song of Ice and Fire: Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; Protector of the Realm; Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea; Breaker of Chains; Queen of Meereen; Princess of Dragonstone; the Unburnt; Mother of Dragons; Mhysa; the Silver Queen.

Alright, at this point, she only held two titles at most: “Stormborn,” and Khaleesi to the great horselord, Khal Drogo.

It was still too early for “Mother of Dragons.” The most pressing problem at hand was how to survive after Khal Drogo died.

Drogo was already sick to the bone and afflicted by black magic. Never mind a rookie surgeon—even the greatest healer in the world couldn’t save him now.

Daenerys, now a different person on the inside, patted her heavy belly. She pushed aside the distracting thoughts in her mind and began to focus on the environment of this new world.

The golden sun baked the earth like a furnace. Before her lay a stretch of messy, poorly planned fields. There was rye, its stalks half-green and half-yellow, its thick ears beginning to fill with grain. There were low, sprawling soybean plants, and here and there, vegetable patches with greens and melons.

Her little silver mare trotted along, and from time to time, there was the crisp pop of a soybean pod being crushed underfoot.

Dany tilted her head, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun, and muttered under her breath, “What a sin. It’s almost harvest time, and they had to run into this Dothraki hoard.”

Khal Drogo’s khalasar consisted of nearly fifty thousand screaming warriors; the entire host numbered over one hundred thousand people.

The Dothraki were a classic nomadic people of the saddle. Every member had at least one fine horse, which meant that a host of a hundred thousand people was accompanied by a herd of over a hundred thousand horses trampling across this land.

The low, rumbling sound of hooves seemed to thunder a declaration: the lands of the Lhazareen would yield no harvest this year.

In truth, the Lhazareen, contemptuously called the “Lamb Men,” were not even thinking about their harvest. Before the khalasar of the mightiest horselord on the steppes, their minds were gripped by the fear of life and death.

Turning her head, Dany saw, for what felt like the dozenth time, a dilapidated farmstead. Its residents watched them uneasily from behind mud-brick walls, their almond-shaped eyes—the same as the Dothraki’s—flashing with terror and deeply hidden hatred.

South of the Dothraki Sea, on the southern bank of the Lhazar River, lived a small, weak people.

They bore some resemblance to Dany’s current people, with bronze skin and almond-shaped eyes. But compared to the tall, strong, and savage Dothraki, the agrarian Lhazareen were shorter, with flatter faces and gentler, more timid temperaments.

Clip-clop-clop…

A clatter of hooves approached from behind. Dany tucked a strand of silver hair, swaying in the wind, behind her ear and saw seven or eight riders break away from the column behind her.

The mounted warriors, with their long, dark, thick braids, were like something out of history. Their braids were adorned with strings of bells signifying victory, which tinkled and chimed with the movement of their horses.

Quickly sifting through her new memories, Dany identified them as Khal Drogo’s bloodriders: Cohollo, Haggo, and Qotho. The others were likely Drogo’s kos: Ko Jhogo, Ko Pono…

They rode past Daenerys as if she weren’t there, approaching Drogo up ahead. Ko Jhogo pointed to an earthen and stone manor and was the first to speak. “Khal, there is a settlement of Lamb Men nearby. Should we ride up and take it?”

They had come to ask Drogo to join the “hunt.”

The Dothraki were a nomadic people with no industry, crafts, or manufacturing. Everything they needed, they took by force. After countless generations of evolution, the most savage and powerful predatory instincts were encoded in their genes.

Drogo’s head was spinning, his consciousness nearly lost in chaos. He lifted his head, struggling to recognize the men before him. His chapped lips parted, and his voice was barely audible. “Fine. I…”

Dany’s heart sank. According to the plot, this husband of convenience was about to die. She had just arrived in this world and was already on the verge of becoming a widow.

It wasn’t that she felt any attachment to this man she had just met, but the Dothraki system was just too damn cruel.

The title of khal among the Dothraki was not hereditary. It was held by the strongest warrior in the tribe, and the contest for the position was often incredibly bloody. After a khal died, his khaleesi was destined to go to Vaes Dothrak to become one of the crones. As for the khaleesi’s unborn child, it would be lucky to survive under the new khal.

“Can’t you see the Khal is sick?”

Dany gently spurred her horse forward a few steps. Ignoring the cold stares of the bloodriders and the kos, she called out, “These are just small villages. There’s nothing of value here, not worth attacking. At the very least, there is no need for the Khal to lead the charge himself.”

The tall Haggo looked at her cruelly. “Khaleesi, this is not your place to speak—”

Crack!

Dany raised her whip and swung it. The tip sliced through the air with a sharp, clear sound, but her body was heavy and her movements too slow. Haggo leaned back in his saddle, easily dodging the blow.

“You dare strike me?”

With a shing, Haggo drew the curved arakh from his belt, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Dany.

Dany just sneered, meeting his gaze without a shred of fear. “I am the Khaleesi of Khal Drogo, of the noble House Targaryen,” she said in the Dothraki tongue she had inherited from her predecessor. “You dare draw your blade on me?”

She wasn’t being foolishly bold. From her brief review of her predecessor’s memories, Dany had learned that the Dothraki respected strength, not weakness. The more unyielding and ruthless you were, the more they would treat you as a “person.”

Yes, the weak and cowardly—entire peoples included—were not even considered human in the eyes of the horselords.

Like Daenerys’s brother, Viserys. Or like the Lhazareen, who were plundered at will and called “Lamb Men.”

Of course, being firm didn’t mean being reckless. As Drogo’s bloodrider, Haggo would never harm the khaleesi carrying Drogo’s child, not in front of the Khal himself.

Besides, Dany was not alone.

And sure enough, within moments, her own guards rode to her side.

Jorah Mormont, the Bear, skillfully maneuvered his horse, moving to stand before Dany in just a few steps. He drew his sword and gave Haggo and the others a grim look.

Behind Dany, the men of her khas also nocked arrows to their bows, their stoic faces pointed toward Haggo.

Drogo commanded the entire khalasar, which was composed of many khas. Fortunately, the khaleesi also had her own personal khas. So Dany was not only a khaleesi, but also a sort of ko.

Admittedly, her khas was very small, with only one or two hundred people, mainly to ensure her safety and attend to her daily needs.

Cohollo, his graying hair and face a complex web of savage scars, shot Daenerys a cold glance. “Put away your weapons, all of you,” he said. “Haggo, you will ride in the name of the Blood of my Blood. Remember, you must take the most heads.”

Drogo was thirty this year. Haggo and Qotho were about the same age. Only Cohollo was older; though his body was as fit and strong as a young man’s, he was actually over fifty.

When Drogo was young, an enemy of his father had kidnapped the boy. It was Cohollo who had fought desperately to rescue the young horselord.

In a way, Cohollo was almost like a second father to Drogo.

Cohollo even helped manage Drogo’s own khas, making him not just a bloodrider, but a ko as well.

Therefore, he held the highest status and authority among the bloodriders.

At Cohollo’s words, Haggo’s face flushed red. He spat on the ground in anger, then wheeled his horse around and trotted off.

Qotho and the other kos shot Daenerys a wolf-like glare before galloping away after him.

As the sound of warhorses faded into the distance, Cohollo said lightly, “As the leader of the khalasar, the Khal must be the first to charge the enemy and the first to scale the walls of the Lamb Men. This is his duty, and his glory.”

Daenerys felt a flicker of gratitude. She understood that old Cohollo was explaining things to her.

Of Drogo’s three bloodriders, he was the only one who was kind to her—or rather, the only one who treated her as Drogo’s wife. The other Dothraki just saw her as a noble breeding tool Drogo had purchased from Illyrio.

Princess of Dragonstone, Stormborn of House Targaryen—these titles meant nothing to the horselords.

Daenerys forced a stiff smile. “The Khal is in this state… I’m worried—”

Cohollo raised a hand, cutting her off. “You should be worried that the kos will begin raiding without the Khal’s permission. Though your worrying will do no good.”

Daenerys watched him ride away with a bitter feeling.

Soon, the shouts of warriors and the screams of the Lamb Men, mixed with the stench of blood and fire, reached Dany’s ears.

Standing on the hill, the lush wild grass brushed past the horsehair leggings on her calves, tickling her soft skin like a baby’s lick.

Turning to look around, she could see columns of smoke rising from the fires of war, like fingers pointing to the sky from the nearby Lhazareen manors.

Daenerys held her large belly and sadly closed her eyes, trying not to think about how many pregnant women like herself would be slaughtered today, or how many children and women would be taken as slaves by Drogo’s khalasar.

“What a cruel world this is.”

Daenerys’s small khas was bustling with activity. Some were leveling the ground on the hill to make it easier to drive in stakes and pitch tents. Others stood on wagons, unloading large chests filled with Drogo’s and Dany’s furs and valuables.

The Khal’s tent was situated in the center of the entire khalasar. With the hill Dany had chosen as the focal point, yurts popped up like mushrooms after a rain, swiftly filling the fields within her sight.

The horselords disdained living in stone and mud houses; they were accustomed to their tents.

The lively scene of over a hundred thousand people working together gave Dany, who had been depressed since arriving in this strange world, a flicker of interest.

“Ser Jorah, walk with me for a while.”

Jorah Mormont, nicknamed “the Bear,” was a man from the North of Westeros, the former Lord of Bear Island and son of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was also the uncle to the little lady of Bear Island from Game of Thrones.

Sentenced to beheading by Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, for selling slaves, he had fled across the Narrow Sea to the continent of Essos.

When Daenerys married Drogo, he had sworn fealty to Viserys.

After Drogo gave Viserys his crown of molten gold, the Bear had become Daenerys’s sworn sword.

When he first joined Drogo’s host, the Bear still dressed in standard Westerosi knightly attire: a woolen tunic, woolen trousers, an undershirt, leather, and plate armor.

After nearly a year on the great plains, he had grown accustomed to the Dothraki style of dress: leather sandals, horsehair leggings, a painted Dothraki leather vest, and a belt with bronze medallions.

“Khaleesi, are you not going to check on Khal Drogo’s injury?”

Jorah rode beside Daenerys’s little mare, followed by four young Dothraki riders.

“A dozen Hairless Ones are crowded around him. It’s too cramped. After they leave, you can accompany me to check on him again.”

There were two kinds of healers in the khalasar: barren women and slave eunuchs. The herb women used potions and charms to heal, while the eunuchs used sharp knives, needles, and fire. Among the horselords, they were collectively known as the “Hairless Ones.”

Amidst the tents that nearly covered the land, slaves and women carried firewood, the mournful cries of slaughtered livestock echoed, and people with wooden buckets drew water from wells and streams. Some took out whetstones to carefully sharpen the arakhs of warriors fresh from battle. Long-haired Dothraki warriors barked orders while barefoot children ran and played among the crowds. The smell of sweat, horse manure, and blood mixed with the aroma of roasting meat, tormenting Dany’s nose.

Rounding a yurt, in a clearing where firewood was being stacked, a large group of riders were laughing as they had their way with a dozen naked women. Even when they saw Daenerys on her silver mare, they made no attempt to cover themselves.

Drogo’s khalasar consisted of more than just the bronze-skinned Dothraki. Besides the warriors, there were many more slaves who served them. There were white-skinned people like Dany, people with skin even paler than hers, red-skinned eunuchs, black people from the Summer Isles, and the Asshai’i from the Shadow Lands, who were also dark-skinned. With the fragmented memories in her mind, Dany found it hard to distinguish between their ethnicities.

Even the Dothraki themselves were not all the same.

The horselords roamed the continent of Essos, enslaving people from numerous nations. With no concept of marriage and a tendency to act on their desires, their bloodlines had long since become mixed.

There was only one constant: all Dothraki had almond-shaped eyes.

“Khaleesi, you seem to have… changed. Has something happened?”

Jorah had felt something was off about Dany since the afternoon. Now, seeing that she didn’t try to stop the horselords from raping the Lhazareen women as she used to, he found it even stranger.

Yes, the original Daenerys was a kind young girl. The first time she saw Dothraki warriors taking turns with captive women, she was filled with compassion and had tried to force them to stop. She even suggested that the Dothraki warriors should marry them.

This went against Dothraki tradition.

Dothraki warriors had the right to do as they pleased with the slaves they captured. Raping, killing, or selling them were all within their rights, which even the khal could not interfere with.

Moreover, common Dothraki did not have a system of marriage; the horselord taking a wife was an exception.

“I know what you mean. But even if I went to stop them, without Drogo to back me up, who would listen to me?” Daenerys said, her eyes downcast.

This Jorah truly was the number one sycophant at the Mother of Dragons’ feet. Such sharp senses. She had been trying her best to say little and observe much since she transmigrated this afternoon, doing her best to imitate the original owner’s behavior.

“Khaleesi, just give the word, and I will kill them,” the young horselord Aggo cried out, raising his longbow.

Drogo was quite fond of his wife. Though the khas he gave Daenerys was small, it contained a group of the most outstanding young warriors. Aggo, Quaro, Jhogo, and Rakharo even had the potential to become bloodriders.

A bloodrider was a warrior chosen from thousands, almost equivalent to a great commander in a vast army.

Ser Jorah’s pupils contracted. “This is another’s khas,” he warned. “If you make a move, you will die.”

He knew the Dothraki temperament; they were the type to act without a moment’s hesitation.

“I am not afraid to die,” Aggo said, his black almond-shaped eyes wide, his spirit undiminished.

“We are not afraid to die,” the other warriors roared.

“Causing a disturbance could harm the Khaleesi,” Jorah said, pointing to Dany’s large belly.

The topic became a bit awkward. Dany looked around, then suddenly raised her whip and pointed at a stout black man. “You, stop.”

The black man, who looked to be in his forties, had a round, bald head beaded with sweat. He offered a humble smile and asked, “Khaleesi, what can I do for you?”

“Honk, honk, honk,” a large white goose flapped its wings, struggling in his sturdy fingers, occasionally pecking at his rough arm with its yellow beak.

“I want that goose,” Dany said.

The Dothraki’s staple food was horse meat, which they considered the best food in the world. But recalling her predecessor’s memories, the thought of horse meat made Daenerys’s stomach turn.

Changing the subject was one reason; improving her diet was another.

The beads of sweat on the fat, bald man’s head grew larger. A pleading look appeared on his face as he struggled to refuse. “Khaleesi, this one is Lord Jhogo’s cook. Lady Lylis cannot stomach horse meat, and I only just managed to find a few geese in the Lamb Men’s manor this afternoon… This one truly does not have the authority to grant your request!”

Crack!

“Aagh—”

Aggo, furious at his words, whipped the fat man without another thought, leaving a centipede-like gash across his right cheek. “Insolence! Not even Jhogo himself could refuse the Khaleesi’s request.”

The fat cook clutched his face and squatted on the ground, whimpering in pain. The white goose he held had even escaped with a “honk, honk,” leaving him unable to speak.

It all happened in a flash. The whip had already struck before Daenerys could even open her mouth to stop it.

“Who dares to take my goose?!” an angry roar came from the sky-blue tent nearby.

Chapter 2: The White Goose

The brown cowhide flap of the tent was lifted. A pregnant woman emerged, supported by two Dothraki girls, bringing with her a cloying scent that mixed laurel perfume with the stench of urine.

Dany stared, stunned.

She wasn’t wearing a Dothraki painted vest, but a light lace dress from Myr, its pale yellow color making her skin appear all the more fair. She had long silver hair that fell to her shoulders and eyes the color of hazy lavender.

If not for the memories in her mind, she might have thought she had encountered another scion of House Targaryen.

Jon Arryn had cried out “the seed is strong” on his deathbed, hinting at King Robert Baratheon’s tragic, cuckolded life. Those of the same bloodline often shared similar physical traits, like the black hair of House Baratheon, the auburn hair of House Tully, the golden hair of House Lannister, and the almost translucent silver-gold hair of House Targaryen.

In truth, however, silver hair and violet eyes were also the main characteristics of a Valyrian. Since Valyria was destroyed in a volcanic eruption four hundred years ago, the ancient civilization of dragons had crumbled, and the bloodline of silver hair and violet eyes began to spread across the continent of Essos.

It wasn’t so surprising to encounter a woman with silver hair and violet eyes in the Khal’s khalasar.

“So, it is the Khaleesi.”

Unlike the petite and slender Dany, the silver-haired woman before her was tall and large-boned, with a full chest and wide hips. Her square face was also large; she was a typical big-boned Western woman.

She was also older than Dany, close to thirty.

The woman’s gaze was strange, a bizarre mixture of mockery, pity, jealousy, smugness, and venom. Dany disliked it immensely. She frowned and asked, “You are Lady Lylis? Jhaqo’s wife?”

“Heh, perhaps it won’t be long before I become a Khaleesi myself,” Lylis said with a raised eyebrow, her tone hovering between a smile and a sneer.

If Khal Drogo died, his khalasar would choose a new Khal, and the Khal’s wife would be the Khaleesi.

In reality, among the Dothraki, a Khaleesi wasn’t worth much. Not counting the various khalasars on the plains, in Vaes Dothrak alone there were dozens, nearly a hundred, widowed Khaleesi—the Dosh Khaleen.

Just a few days ago, Drogo had arranged for a group of Dothraki warriors to escort two Khaleesi to Vaes Dothrak—the widows of Khal Ogo and his son, from another khalasar Drogo had slain.

Dany’s Khas warriors were not the sharpest tools in the shed. They didn’t catch the vicious curse hidden in Lylis’s words. Besides, she spoke in Valyrian, which the Dothraki didn’t understand well.

Otherwise, they would have either lashed her with a whip or put an arrow through her belly.

Ser Jorah, however, narrowed his eyes and said coldly, “I’ve never heard of Jhaqo taking a wife. Even Khal Drogo has had many women, but Princess Daenerys is the only one to become his Khaleesi.”

He put extra emphasis on “Princess,” hinting at the importance of her status.

Lylis’s expression changed. Some thought or another seemed to make her tremble with rage, her full lips pressing into a thin, cruel line.

After a long moment, she spoke to Dany in clumsy Dothraki, “Khaleesi, do you intend to violate the glorious traditions of the great Dothraki again and willfully seize the spoils of other warriors?”

As mentioned before, the original Dany was very kind and very brave. Unable to bear seeing the Dothraki warriors abuse captive women, she had forcibly taken them away.

The women she “rescued” felt little gratitude toward her, but the Dothraki whose “property” had been taken hated her to the bone.

Seizing a warrior’s “spoils” was a severe violation of Dothraki tradition.

“It’s just a goose.” Dany clumsily unfastened a silver medallion from her waist, tossed it on the ground, and said, “You cannot refuse a gift from your Khaleesi. Consider this a return gift.”

The large white goose that had just escaped from the fat cook had a long neck pierced by Quaro’s arrow. The shaft had passed completely through its neck and was embedded ten centimeters deep in the muddy ground. The goose let out a weak and miserable “gak, gak” as its snow-white feathers, stained red with blood, flapped feebly.

Dany pointed at the white goose on the ground. “It’s mine now.”

Not only did the Dothraki lack the institution of marriage, they also had no finance. No, forget finance, they didn’t even have currency.

Without money as a universal equivalent, there was no trade. If they needed something, they either took it by force, or other peoples and city-states offered it as tribute—with a khalasar of one hundred thousand riders at their gates, no city on Essos dared refuse to give gifts.

Though the horse lords plundered the entire continent, it wasn’t as if they lacked metals like gold and silver that could be used as currency. They fashioned gold, silver, and bronze into medallions and strung them together to be worn as belts.

Then, just as Dany was doing now, they engaged in a primitive form of trade by exchanging gifts.

Daenerys herself, for example, had been a gift from her brother, Viserys, to Khal Drogo, the most powerful Khal on the Dothraki Sea, a match arranged by Magister Illyrio of Pentos.

The Dothraki Sea was a vast grassland on the eastern continent of Essos, across the sea from Westeros. The prairie was so immense that in summer, the rolling waves of grass resembled the ocean’s tides. It was the cradle of the powerful and primitive Dothraki people.

Strictly speaking, Daenerys had been sold to Khal Drogo like a slave.

Viserys gave Drogo a gift, and according to Dothraki tradition, the Khal had to return a gift of equal value: ten thousand Dothraki screamers, or Drogo leading his khalasar across Westeros to help House Targaryen reclaim its throne.

In other words, to help Viserys get himself a crown.

But the barbaric Dothraki had a very nasty habit. If you gave them a gift, they ought to give you one in return, but when and how they gave it was entirely up to them.

Viserys was even more desperate to restore his kingdom than any tragic hero from an epic tale. Seeing that his sister’s belly was swelling and the child was almost due, not only had Drogo not given him soldiers, but he showed no intention of personally helping him reclaim his kingdom.

So, like a gangster hounding a deadbeat debtor, he began to harass Drogo in every way imaginable.

Splashing paint, seizing and selling his property, harassing phone calls, threatening his family’s safety, shouting curses at his doorstep, beatings…

Of course, the world of Ice and Fire had no paint or telephones, but Viserys managed to imitate nearly all of the above behaviors in similar ways.

He beat and insulted Drogo’s wife, his own sister. He publicly berated Drogo for breaking his promise… for essentially getting his sister for nothing—the fool didn’t speak Dothraki, so he cursed in the Common Tongue of Westeros. Drogo couldn’t understand him, and out of respect for Khaleesi Daenerys’s status, no one translated for the Khal.

And that’s not to mention small matters like trying to steal the dragon eggs to sell for money. When Daenerys heard of this, she had even been prepared to give him her three eggs.

Even more outrageously, Viserys had brought a weapon into a sacred Dothraki place where blades were forbidden. At the time, Drogo was feasting with several other khals. In front of countless people, Viserys pointed his sword at Dany’s pregnant belly and threatened Drogo: “If you don’t help me restore my kingdom, I will gut your wife and son.”

Unfortunately, while Viserys had the ferocity of a loan-shark gangster, he lacked the gangster’s backing and gang. And Drogo was no meek, ordinary deadbeat—in fact, Drogo had never intended to be a deadbeat. It was simply the Dothraki way, to roam the Dothraki Sea with the changing seasons, returning to Vaes Dothrak once a year to have the Dosh Khaleen (a group of seers and wisewomen) divine the fortunes of the year to come.

Viserys met a tragic end. The belt Drogo wore was strung with golden medallions; he threw it directly into an iron pot, melting it down into molten gold.

You want a crown, do you?

He poured the molten gold directly over Viserys’s head. His skull was nearly melted through. It was a truly miserable sight.

The Dothraki “gift trade” was just that screwed up and cruel. Thus, faced with the Khaleesi’s silver medallion, Lylis could not refuse. The white goose now belonged to Dany.

Before leaving Jhaqo’s camp, Dany reined in her little mare, placed a hand on her hip, and looked back at the teeth-grinding Lylis. “You’ve been in Drogo’s khalasar for some time, haven’t you? Since you speak of tradition, you should understand better than anyone that there is no Khaleesi among the Dothraki who cannot ride. Not even if she is with child.”

With that, she rode her little silver mare away with a clatter of hooves.

Every Dothraki had a horse, and every Dothraki had to know how to ride. When Daenerys became Drogo’s Khaleesi, the first thing she had to do was not learn the Dothraki language, but to get used to a life on horseback.

A vast khalasar certainly had carts, but carts were not for normal people, let alone for nobles. Among the Dothraki, only eunuchs, cripples, pregnant women, the old, the weak, and the very young rode in carts.

Daenerys was nearly ten months pregnant, yet she still rode. Khal Drogo’s wound was infected, and he had been cursed with black magic until he was barely conscious, yet he still rode his horse by instinct.

The higher one’s status, the more one could not leave the saddle.

When Dany first saw the Dothraki Sea, she was so captivated by the ocean of grass that she ordered her Khas to halt and rest. Viserys, enraged at being “ordered around”—as the freeloader Dany had brought with her, he was nominally a part of her Khas—awakened “the wrath of the sleeping dragon” and intended to whip his sister to vent his anger, as he had done many times over the past decade.

(The wrath of the sleeping dragon: Viserys considered himself a true dragon and often used this phrase when he was angry. Indeed, a beggar prince of a fallen dynasty could only vent his frustrations on his young sister. For years, Dany had served as Viserys’s punching bag, a sandbag for releasing his stress.)

Although Dany had been sold to Drogo like a piece of merchandise, she had gained her own Khas the moment she was married. How could Aggo and the others allow their Khaleesi to be beaten?

That time, Viserys was stripped of his right to ride a horse by Dany. When the other Dothraki saw him return to the khalasar on foot, they mockingly gave him a nickname: Rhae Mhar—the Sore-Foot King.

The next day, Khal Drogo suggested that Viserys ride in a cart. The fool happily agreed, assuming Drogo was apologizing to him for Dany’s “insolence.”

And so Viserys earned a second insulting nickname: Lajak, the Cart King.

This just went to show how much discrimination one would face in a khalasar for being unable to ride.

Lylis glanced at the silver medallion lying in the mud, then at the “triumphant” figure of Dany riding away. She bit her full lips so hard they nearly bled.

“Before the khalasar breaks camp tomorrow, get me a horse. A little silver mare, just like that bitch’s,” she shrieked at the slave girl beside her.

Chapter 3: Wild Dogs

Beyond the camp of Jhaqo’s khas, Daenerys led Ser Jorah and Aggo’s five riders to the outskirts of the khalasar. A group of women in Dothraki painted vests were weaving grass mats. Their rough, chapped fingers were nimble as they plucked the ears of grain from the tops of wheat stalks, tossing them into a winnowing basket at their side. They wove the remaining greenish-yellow stalks into a long curtain, as one would knit a sweater.

The Dothraki tents were mostly constructed from these grass mats. Even fabric for clothing was pitifully scarce; they all wore leather vests and coats. The vast majority of the horse lords had no cloth for tents.

When they saw the Khaleesi arrive, the women and the children beside them remained impassive, offering no respectful greeting, nor did they look at her with venomous eyes.

“These are all slaves captured from Ogo’s khalasar,” Ser Jorah said quietly beside her.

The Dothraki ‘ecosystem’ was extremely cruel.

About a month ago, in Vaes Dothrak, when the aged Dosh Khaleen had prophesied that Daenerys would give birth to ‘the Stallion Who Mounts the World,’ Khal Ogo had been drinking and making merry with Drogo in the same tent, like the dearest of brothers.

About nine days ago, they met again by the Lhazar River, thousands of kilometers from Vaes Dothrak.

At the time, Khal Ogo was leading his khalasar in a siege against a town of the Lhazareen. By chance, Khal Drogo was passing through.

Without a word, Drogo led his screaming warriors into the battle.

Not to help Ogo take the city, but to strike the rear of Ogo’s forces while he was preoccupied with the siege.

After sweeping through Khal Ogo’s tribe, Drogo handily took the Lhazareen town, which was already on the verge of collapse.

In that battle, Drogo had personally killed Ogo and his son, and had also beheaded one of Khal Ogo’s bloodriders. He fought three men at once and paid a minimal price—only a piece of skin sliced from his pectoral muscle.

Setting aside Drogo’s martial prowess, his actions revealed the cold law of survival among the Dothraki.

There’s a scene at the beginning of Kung Fu Hustle where the leader of the Crocodile Gang says to the Axe Gang leader who is about to kill him, “Wait, have you forgotten? I even treated you to a meal!”

Drogo and Ogo had done much more than just share a meal.

Unfortunately, all friendship and peace existed only in Vaes Dothrak.

Under the shadow of the Mother of Mountains, every horselord in Vaes Dothrak was a brother, and all conflicts were set aside. But once they left the holy city, the Dothraki Sea was governed by nothing but the naked law of ‘survival of the fittest, elimination of the weak.’

Drogo not only killed Ogo and his son but also enslaved all the women and children of his khalasar. He was now heading west along the Lhazar River to sell them to the Ghiscari slavers of Slaver’s Bay.

A clamor of shouts and cracking whips brought Daenerys back to her senses. Unwittingly, their party had already passed the outermost edge of the khalasar.

Under the dusky evening sky, several Lhazareen homesteads writhed in billowing black smoke. The blaze roared and crackled. Below the crumbling mud-brick walls, warriors in painted vests galloped back and forth on their mounts, their long whips cracking like thunder as they bellowed at the survivors, driving them from the smoldering ruins.

Daenerys saw many mothers, their faces numb and lifeless, stumbling as they led their sobbing children. Driven by whips, they were herded toward the slave pens of Khal Drogo’s khalasar.

There were only a few men among them, most of whom were either crippled or old men of their grandfathers’ generation.

Nearly all the adult men were dead.

The Dothraki warriors parted to make way for Daenerys and her party. This drew the attention of those resting at the foot of the mud wall, and soon a blood-spattered Haggo rode over.

“Khaleesi, do you wish to steal another man’s slaves again?”

Haggo jeered. Then, a thought suddenly struck him. He grinned at Daenerys like a jackal and violently hoisted up a hemp rope hanging from his saddle.

“Ah—”

As he had expected, a nauseatingly sweet, foul stench of blood assaulted her. Daenerys’s pupils shrank to pinpricks in terror, and a choked gasp escaped her lips.

It was a string of human heads—young, old, some with faces frozen in fear, others defiant in death. Thick, dark-red blood dripped slowly down the hemp rope that bound their hair, soaking Haggo’s thigh where it rested against the saddle.

Some of the heads had been severed with a single, clean cut, while the necks of others were jagged, as if it had taken several hacks to take them.

Daenerys even saw one head with a section of stark white spinal bone dangling from its blood-matted neck.

Had Haggo’s blade grown dull? Had he simply ripped the half-severed head from its shoulders?

All of them stared with wide eyes and open mouths. In Daenerys’s ears, the screams of accusation and curses seemed to linger.

Seeing such a brutal sight for the first time, Daenerys was, not surprisingly, shocked into a stupor.

Heavens above, just this morning she had been on the sun-drenched square of the medical school, receiving her master’s degree in surgery!

Ser Jorah quickly rode to Daenerys’s side, steadying her swaying form to keep her from falling. He soothed her to help her catch her breath and held a waterskin to her lips.

Daenerys was like a rag doll, letting Ser Jorah and Aggo tend to her for a long while before she finally recovered her senses.

She fought to banish the tears and fear from her eyes, trying to fill her gaze with murderous intent. Then, she forced her head up, making herself meet the eyes of Haggo, who still held the string of heads high.

Gradually, the cruel smile on Haggo’s face faded. As if bored, he lowered his head and hung the string of heads back on his saddle.

But no sooner had he done so than the quiet, heavy atmosphere seemed to agitate him.

“Khaleesi, what are you looking at?” he couldn’t help but roar at Daenerys.

At that moment, Daenerys’s eyes held no trace of fear or confusion. Her violet irises were clear and cold, like a pool of frigid spring water. “I am counting to see if you have taken the most heads. Unfortunately, Pono Ko has two more than you.”

“You—”

The veins on Haggo’s neck bulged. He was about to lash out at Daenerys but immediately clamped his mouth shut. He nimbly dismounted and strode over to Pono, muttering under his breath as he counted the heads on the other man’s string. After a moment, he began to count on his fingers, a puzzled look on his face.

Daenerys’s cold, beautiful expression almost wavered.

The bloodriders were indeed powerful, but A Song of Ice and Fire was a world of low magic and low martial arts. The strongest individual fighter could perhaps take on ten men. A mighty warrior would begin to tire after cutting down seven or eight people.

Neither Haggo nor any of the dozen or so Khas and Kos present had taken more than twenty heads, yet Haggo stood there for nearly a minute, counting on fingers as thick as carrots.

Finally, he returned to his own saddle, took his string of heads, and began to compare them one by one with Pono Ko’s.

And so, Daenerys, the high-achieving student, had been correct. Haggo was indeed two heads short.

Thump!

The blood-caked heads rolled on the ground, picking up a thin layer of dust like fried chicken legs coated in breadcrumbs.

Furious, Haggo threw down his string of heads, grabbed a woman in her thirties from the group of ‘Lamb Men’ slaves, and, ignoring her piercing cries and struggles, and with no regard for the Khaleesi standing right there, unfastened his leather breeches and mounted her.

He seemed to take the woman’s wails as a badge of honor, even looking up to give Daenerys a triumphant grin—a smile both savage and full of provocation.

Everyone knew the Khaleesi had once defied Dothraki tradition by forcibly saving a woman from being publicly violated.

Daenerys knew even better that this was a war between herself and Haggo. The best choice—for her, and for that poor woman—was to ride away as if nothing had happened.

“Yah!”

With a gentle kick to her mount’s belly, the little silver mare trotted away.

Haggo cursed a few words in Dothraki and released himself.

Riding onto the battlefield, Daenerys startled a dying horse. It lifted its head and let out a mournful whinny. There were also groaning, wounded men who licked their chapped lips and called out, “Khaleesi, please, some water.” But before Daenerys could act, a young Jiakalang came jogging over.

“My apologies, Khaleesi, for the disturbance.”

The young man smiled apologetically at Daenerys, then with a flash of his blade, he slit the throat of the wounded soldier who had begged for water.

With a hissing spray of blood, the light faded from the wounded man’s eyes. His face showed no pain or fear, only a faint regret and confusion.

It was as if in his final moment, he was simply wondering: why couldn’t I have a drink of water before I died?

The Jiakalang were the Dothraki tasked with bringing release to the wounded. They moved back and forth across the battlefield, harvesting strings of heads from the dead and the dying.

A group of little girls with baskets ran happily behind the Jiakalang. After looking at Daenerys with curiosity for a moment, they giggled and went to the corpses, their small hands stained a dark red as they pulled arrows from the bodies and tossed them into their baskets.

Intact arrows would be saved for later use. Those with damaged fletching would be re-feathered. Even broken arrows had their metal heads recovered, to be fitted onto new wooden shafts by slaves or women back at the camp.

Finally, there was a pack of thin, starving, yet fierce-eyed wild dogs. They first approached Daenerys tentatively, sniffing at the corpses. When they saw she made no move to stop them, they began to tear at the flesh with bared teeth. A pack of wild dogs always followed the khalasar, a seemingly unique ecological chain on the grass sea.

Similar scenes had played out many times. The dogs were used to it, and they assumed the ‘horse person’ Daenerys was used to it as well.

“Ugh—”

Daenerys retched over her horse’s back, startling the dogs into a retreat. They let the warm, pale sinew in their mouths fall, not daring to chew.

“Khaleesi, it’s getting late. Shall we leave?” Ser Jorah asked, his hand on her shoulder, his expression full of concern.

“Yes, let’s go back.”

This cruel world had ruthlessly torn off its veil for Daenerys.

In the shortest possible time, she had gained a sufficient understanding of the environment she now found herself in.

Chapter 4: No Chance for Even a Lost Cause

When Daenerys returned to her tent, the Hairless Ones treating Drogo had not yet left. Several women with skin like wrinkled parchment and terrifying visages had their withered, root-like legs spread apart, their disheveled, graying hair swaying with the ritualistic dance.

Their mouths, missing teeth, were wide open as they chanted ancient Dothraki songs, their voices sharp and piercing to the ear.

They sang and danced around the naked man on the bed. The flames in the nearby fire pit leaped and fell to the rhythm of their song, at times shooting two meters high in a blaze of orange, then suddenly dying down until only the embers glowed fitfully in the dark.

The sight made Daenerys’s skin crawl. She stood at the entrance, her legs feeling as if they had turned to stone, and she couldn’t move an inch.

This is just a Dothraki healing dance, nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. You’re the Mother of Dragons. It’s just the flames flickering, probably just the wind.

“Rooaaar—”

From the bed of furs, Drogo suddenly let out an inhuman howl, a sound filled with only one emotion: extreme agony.

The Daenerys of the past had seen him face wounds ten times more severe with a faint smile.

For a mountain of a man like him, having a layer of skin sliced from his chest should be nothing more than a flesh wound!

Even if the wound was inflamed and infected, even if the bacteria had spread to his organs, he should be delirious, his consciousness fading, barely feeling a thing—though she had just graduated, she had dozens of clinical experiences and knew that inflammation would never stimulate the pain nerves like this.

Thinking back to how Drogo, ever since Mirri Maz Duur began treating him, had thrashed at the air in pain every night, tearing several sheepskin blankets to shreds.

Daenerys was now completely certain. That witch had done it on purpose. She wanted to take her revenge on the Dothraki in the cruelest way possible. Undoubtedly, nothing would satisfy her more than to watch the Khal die in extreme pain and endless torment.

No, she wasn’t satisfied with just that. Daenerys touched her belly. The witch also wanted to sacrifice Drogo’s son to demons and make his Khaleesi suffer for the rest of her life.

Drogo, who was groggy during the day and struggled in agony at night, was soon held down by several horse-folk healers and forced to drink two large bowls of poppy wine.

Milk of the poppy, a milky-white liquid extracted from poppy flowers, had miraculous pain-relieving and anesthetic properties. It was the most common anesthetic used in Westeros and the nine Free Cities.

(ps: The poppy flower in A Song of Ice and Fire mirrors the real-world poppy, but the milk of the poppy is not simply the flower’s milk. Simply put, the milk of the poppy in Game of Thrones is a unique, low-level magical item exclusive to the fantasy world, with no real-world equivalent.)

The horse-folk did not possess the maesters’ skills from Westeros for refining milk of the poppy, but they could steep the flowers in wine, which had a similar effect.

These Hairless Ones truly deserved the title of ‘quack doctors.’ They had no formal training and only took on the ‘side job’ of being healers because they were barren—their daily tasks also included tending fires, cooking, and herding horses and sheep.

Their medical skills were abysmal, and their sorcery was practically nonexistent. They could neither treat any remotely serious injury or illness, nor could they dispel the witch’s black magic—Daenerys was certain they had no idea Drogo had been cursed.

Only after the Hairless Ones had paid their respects to her and left did Daenerys, supported by her handmaidens, approach the bed.

“Jhiqui, find me a dagger, a sharp one,” she said to her handmaiden.

When Daenerys married Drogo, she received many gifts, including three handmaidens from Viserys: the Dothraki girls Jhiqui and Irri, and Doreah, a Lysene with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Jhiqui and Irri were around Daenerys’s age, fourteen, and both had been enslaved when their fathers’ khalasars were destroyed by Drogo.

Doreah was older, about twenty, and had been the top courtesan at a famous pleasure house in Lys.

They were no ordinary handmaidens. Irri was a skilled rider and was responsible for teaching Daenerys how to ride a horse.

Jhiqui was fluent in the Common Tongue, Dothraki, and High Valyrian, and was specifically tasked with teaching Daenerys the Dothraki language.

As for Doreah, she turned the naive young Dany into a master of the ‘art of riding.’ Ahem, a ‘seasoned pro,’ so to speak.

Jhiqui moved quickly, retrieving a thirty-centimeter-long dagger from a large, waist-high chest made of purpleheart wood with a red copper frame.

It had a yellowish-brown bone hilt and was sheathed in brown cowhide, curved in an arc like an Arakh.

“This is Drogo’s dragonbone dagger, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said.

Shing!

The short blade left its sheath, catching the dim torchlight in a streak of white.

The blade, as thin as a cicada’s wing, was unchipped. A hint of satisfaction flashed in Daenerys’s smoky violet eyes. A fine blade!

Seeing her lean down by the tallow candlestick held by Doreah, seemingly about to cut away the gauze on Drogo’s chest, Ser Jorah hurried over and said softly, “Khaleesi, you’re with child, allow me.”

I’m with child? Do you think my master’s degree is fake?

Dany shot the Bear a sideways glance, passed the blade through the outer flame of the candle, and skillfully cut away the soiled silk cloth stuck to his skin. Beneath it was a hardened mass of blue mud and fig leaves, caked together. Layer upon layer had accumulated over the past seven or eight days as the Hairless Ones repeatedly slathered on more ‘Dothraki sacred medicine’—a mud poultice.

Calling them quack doctors was an insult to quack doctors.

Jorah turned his head, his gaze on Dany filled with surprise and confusion. The dressing was being cut and lifted away with a nimble dexterity that was hard to imagine coming from the hands of a young girl who knew nothing of swords and was heavy with child.

The top layer of the dressing was still moist, but the lower layers were as dry as the mud walls of the Lamb Men. Under Daenerys’s rhythmic tapping, it cracked into several pieces as easily as a clay wall.

She peeled away the fragments stuck to his flesh and blood and lifted off the purplish-black fig leaves one by one. Gradually, a stench, sickeningly sweet and rotten, filled the spacious tent, so potent that it made it hard for them to breathe.

Doreah covered her mouth with one hand, her cheeks puffed out, while the thick tallow candle in her other hand trembled nonstop. Jorah quickly reached out and took the candle from her. Doreah immediately took several steps back, then ran to lift the leather flap and retch outside.

On the wooden tray held by Irri, a pile of dislodged mud and leaves grew, stained with pus, blood, and tiny flecks of rotted flesh.

At last, the full extent of Drogo’s injury was revealed to Daenerys. His left chest was a blackened mess, the putrid wound glistening in the candlelight.

As Drogo’s rapid, labored breaths made his chest rise and fall, dark purple pus trickled out in three branching streams, staining the white lamb’s wool blanket beneath him. The nauseatingly sweet stench intensified, making even a hardened man like Jorah begin to feel sick.

“Khaleesi, Khaleesi…” Ser Jorah looked at Daenerys, who stood frozen with a deathly pale face, and then at Irri and Jhiqui, who had covered their noses and turned their heads away. His mouth opened and closed, and though he called her name several times, he couldn’t form a complete sentence.

When Daenerys came to her senses and sent Irri and Jhiqui to prepare hot water and strong spirits, Jorah immediately grabbed her arm. “Khaleesi, you see it, don’t you? Your husband is dying,” he urged.

I know, Daenerys thought grimly. I can guess his thoracic cavity must be full of filthy pus, his heart soaking in that toxic, black blood. Even if the black magic were removed, with a wound like this, he’d be dead for sure even in the modern era of advanced medicine.

One could even say he was already dead. The witch was only using her strange black magic to keep him alive so he would suffer more.

“What are you trying to say, Ser?”

“Child, we must leave now, before he breathes his last!” Jorah pleaded.

“Leave? Where would we go?” Dany asked woodenly, her eyes fixed on Drogo’s chest.

“To Asshai in the Shadow Lands. It lies in the far south, at the end of the known world, but it’s said to be a thriving port. From there, we should be able to find a ship back to Pentos…”

Ser Jorah hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Can your Khas be trusted? Just the two of us might not be…”

“Heh.” A bitter smile touched Daenerys’s pale lips as she shook her head. “Ser, you’re being too optimistic. We can’t escape. With too few people, we can’t protect ourselves. If we bring my Khas, a large group will be too conspicuous. Do you think the forty thousand screaming warriors are blind?”

Go to Asshai?

The journey was thousands of miles long. Even a grown man could not endure such an arduous trek, let alone a pregnant fourteen-year-old girl like her. It would be quicker to just put a knife in her own heart.

Ser Jorah looked at Daenerys’s swollen belly and frowned. “Your Grace, even for the sake of the child, you must try to escape this place.

“The Dothraki submit to Khal Drogo’s strength, and only that. They will never follow a suckling babe. It’s completely different from how things are in Westeros.

“Once Drogo dies, Jhaqo, Pono, and the dozen other Kos will immediately start fighting for the title of Khal. Drogo’s khalasar will shatter and they’ll turn on each other until a final victor emerges.”

“And then?” Daenerys asked, her face devoid of expression.

Ser Jorah’s heart ached with pity. After a moment’s hesitation, he said in a low voice, “The new Khal won’t leave a rival alive. The moment your child is born, he will be taken from you and fed to the dogs. Just as Drogo once did to Ogo and his son.”

This Daenerys was stronger than Jorah had imagined. Other than her face growing even paler, she did not fall into hysterical despair.

“If… I have about a week. My due date is in about seven days. If Drogo dies before then, and my child hasn’t been born, will they let me leave?” Daenerys said haltingly.

“I am a Khaleesi. By Dothraki tradition, no one can harm a widowed Khaleesi. At most…”

Daenerys gritted her teeth and forced out the last words, “At most, they’ll send me back to Vaes Dothrak to become one of the Dosh Khaleen.”

Ser Jorah looked shaken. “You’d be willing to live out your days and die in the city of the horse lords?” he asked in disbelief.

Then, he shook his head in anguish. “It’s no use. Haven’t you noticed that none of the Dosh Khaleen in the city have children? In all these years, do you think no other Khaleesi has lost her Khal while she was with child?”

“But it’s just a baby, a baby who has lost his tribe,” Daenerys said, her violet eyes flashing with fear and disbelief.

Ser Jorah gave a bitter smile. “Do you remember your brother, Rhaegar?”

Fourteen years ago, just before Daenerys was born, her eldest brother, Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, died on the banks of the Trident while fighting the usurper.

Her father, the ‘Mad King’ Aerys, had his throat cut by the very white knight who had sworn to die protecting him, a gruesome death beneath the Iron Throne.

On that same day, Prince Rhaegar’s children, Daenerys’s niece and nephew, were murdered. Three-year-old Princess Rhaenys was hacked in two. And Prince Aegon, still an infant, was torn from his mother’s breast. Amidst the crown princess’s grief-stricken wails, he was smashed against a stone wall like a melon, reduced to a bloody pulp…

Of the entire Targaryen dynasty, only Dany and Viserys were left… and now, only Dany remained.

It was more miserable than Murong Fu’s story. At least he had his four great vassals and his maternal cousins.

“If this can happen in Westeros, a land that claims to value chivalry,” Jorah paused, then continued, “what can be expected of the savage Dothraki? Besides, there is one more thing. Beneath the Mother of Mountains, the Dosh Khaleen prophesied that your son would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. His future achievements are enough to strike fear into the hearts of any enemy. No one will take the risk of letting him grow up to return for revenge and let you leave.”

Chapter 5: Have You Ever Roasted Yourselves?

There are many prophecies in A Song of Ice and Fire, and over ninety percent of them have come true, including the one a Dothraki crone made about Daenerys: her child would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

This “Stallion” was not a prophecy that she would give birth to a horse.

The Dothraki people hold a special reverence and worship for horses. They drink mare’s milk at birth, eat horse meat and drink fermented mare’s milk as they grow, ride spirited horses while alive, and have their finest horse killed to accompany them in death.

“Stallion” was the Dothraki metaphor for a strong boy.

Unfortunately, the prophecy was still misunderstood. Daenerys did not give birth to the child—or rather, her child was not a boy, but three dragons!

Dragons, the ultimate power in the world—wasn’t that the very definition of the Stallion Who Mounts the World?

Having watched the hit series Game of Thrones, the second-generation Daenerys naturally understood the crone’s prophecy better than Ser Jorah, better than anyone else alive right now.

But she couldn’t tell anyone, nor did she dare. If she did, the seemingly unremarkable dragon eggs would likely be stolen, and she might not even be able to save her own life.

Any fool knew that a dragon was far more dangerous than even the most powerful Khal.

Damn it, if the prophecies are so accurate, why couldn’t they foresee a way to prevent black magic? The witches of Vaes Dothrak were far too specialized in their studies.

Alright, Drogo’s death was a relief for this second-generation Daenerys, but the problem was her timing. She had arrived at the most inopportune moment. Daenerys quickly suppressed the dark thoughts in her mind. Now that she was here and knew of the witch’s vicious plot, she would absolutely not allow her child to be miscarried, let alone sacrificed to a demon.

Losing the baby might save the Khaleesi’s life, and besides, the child was already hers now. This child—she was determined to protect it.

Dany made her decision in her heart and once again refused Ser Jorah’s plan to run away with her. Following him was a death sentence; they probably wouldn’t even make it out of the grasslands.

Once Irri and Jhiqui brought hot water, red wine, and other items, Dany used the red wine to clean Drogo’s wound, but it was almost useless. As she wiped, a stream of purplish-black pus and blood continued to flow.

After struggling for half an hour, Dany had no choice but to boil silk in milk of the poppy and then wrap it tightly around Drogo’s chest several times.

It couldn’t cure him, but it could numb the wound and ease his pain.

She instructed Irri and Jhiqui to clean Drogo’s body with a cotton cloth, then directed Doreah to move a chest.

It was a cedarwood chest decorated with bronze, thirty centimeters wide and high, and one meter long.

“Doreah, make my bed here,” Dany said, pointing to the fire pit in the center of the yurt.

The Khal’s yurt was massive, at least two hundred square meters. The center of the roof was open to the sky, and below it, an iron-plated hearth contained a roaring fire that brought warmth to the cool night.

“So close? Won’t it be too hot?” Doreah hesitated.

“I’m not afraid of the heat.”

This was the truth.

As soon as she had arrived, she discovered that the “Body of a True Dragon” of House Targaryen was real. At the very least, Daenerys didn’t feel the scorching heat of the sun.

While Doreah was making the bed, Daenerys opened the cedarwood chest. It was filled with soft velvet, upon which lay three massive “stone” eggs.

They were about the size of roc eggs, but compared to the monochrome shells of birds, the stone eggs Dany gently stroked were far more beautiful.

In her past life, she had been born into an ordinary family and had never seen top-tier jewelry with her own eyes. But she was one hundred percent certain that compared to these three dragon eggs, the Heart of the Ocean from Titanic and the sapphire on the British Queen’s crown were nothing more than clumps of dirt.

These three dragon eggs were a wedding gift from Magister Illyrio of Pentos—fossilized eggs from the Shadow Lands, millions of years old and petrified into crystal. They looked as if they were made of the finest porcelain, colored glaze, or glass, especially with the magnificent patterns on their surfaces, so exquisite that one would think they were encrusted with jewels and diamonds.

The surfaces of the three fossilized eggs were covered in fine scales that, as Dany’s fingers moved over them, reflected the last rays of the setting sun with a metallic sheen.

One was deep green with bronze-like flecks, nurturing a green dragon within. One was a pale cream color with streaks of gold, for a white dragon. The last was black like a midnight ocean, with vibrant, dark red waves and swirls.

As Dany caressed them, the eggs emitted a faint heat. The searing warmth they transmitted made her almost moan in comfort.

“Doreah, come and feel this. Are the eggs hot?” she said, pulling her hand back and turning to her handmaiden.

Doreah, confused, rubbed her hands back and forth over the three eggs. “They’re cool to the touch, just like before,” she said, puzzled.

Dany waved her away, telling her to prepare dinner—that big, fat goose.

The goose weighed two to two-and-a-half kilograms, and Dany ate a little less than half of it: one leg and half a breast.

The goose had been stewed with turnips and apples and was surprisingly delicious. Dany dipped her black bread in the gravy and, before she knew it, had eaten nearly one and a half kilograms of food.

Hmm, this young girl’s constitution was ridiculously good, tough and resilient. Could it be because of her true dragon bloodline?

“Burp… Doreah, give the rest of the goose to Ser Jorah. Irri, Jhiqui, help me bathe,” Dany said with a burp, feeling exhausted.

Irri and Jhiqui were Dothraki and preferred to eat roasted horse meat. Doreah had a small appetite and was full after half a bowl of broth.

Ser Jorah, on the other hand, was a foreigner like Dany and not accustomed to the horse-peoples’ food.

After her bath, and after watching Irri feed the unconscious Drogo a large pouch of thick mare’s milk, Dany prepared for sleep.

Only three people were in the silent, spacious tent. Not far away, Drogo’s body twitched occasionally as his pain receptors were stimulated by the black magic, and he would let out soft, raspy moans. Dany slept on the side of the bed closer to the fire, with Irri sharing the bed on the outer side.

Every night, her three handmaidens took turns sleeping with her to attend to her needs.

The Dothraki girl was carefree. Even with her Khal on the verge of death, she pulled the feather quilt over herself and fell fast asleep.

Dany lay naked, pressing the three dragon eggs tightly against her skin, as if absorbing the energy that represented life and primal force.

This was no illusion; the dragon eggs truly had healing properties.

Daenerys was a princess of a fallen kingdom. A few months before her birth, her father and brother’s throne had been seized by the Usurper, Robert Baratheon. If not for a loyal old knight who had spirited her and Viserys away to Braavos, she would have likely met the same fate as her nephew—smashed against a wall into a pulp of red and white.

Before she was five, she had lived a few comfortable years as a commoner under the old knight’s care. After he died of illness, her young brother took the even younger Daenerys and began a life of wandering through the Nine Free Cities.

From the age of five to thirteen, they traveled tens of thousands of kilometers to escape the Usurper’s assassins—that wasn’t an exaggeration, it was truly tens of thousands of kilometers.

The silver-haired Targaryen siblings could be seen in the narrow streets and dark alleys of several city-states in western Essos.

Initially, the Magisters, Archons, and merchant lords ruling the various Free Cities were happy to host the Targaryen descendants. But as Robert Baratheon’s hold on the Iron Throne solidified, doors that had once been open to them were shut, one by one. The siblings’ lives grew increasingly harsh.

Over the years, they had pawned all their jewelry, even their mother’s crown.

The money they received was quickly spent, and with nothing left, they became a laughingstock to those in the know. In the taverns and alleys of Pentos, people gave Viserys the nickname “the Beggar King.” As for Daenerys, she was too timid and cowardly to even dare ask what people called her.

As a result, a lack of food and clothing left Daenerys malnourished from a young age. She grew up like a bean sprout, with no chest and no hips. Living in constant fear of Viserys’s “wrath of the sleeping dragon,” she became timid and submissive, hunching over like a little old woman.

If not for the blessing of the most beautiful bloodline in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, Drogo probably wouldn’t have even looked at her. In the beginning, Viserys had been constantly worried he wouldn’t be able to sell his sister.

Yes, every Targaryen was a handsome man or a beautiful woman; their family had a genetic legacy of beauty and grace.

She only had her first period at thirteen and had never ridden a horse before. Then she had to ride all day long.

In the beginning, the harsh life of the nomads was almost too much for her to bear. Daenerys had seriously considered suicide as a means of escape.

It could be said that in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, Daenerys had the most tragic life. The misfortunes of the Starks were nothing in comparison.

Losing a father, mother, and brothers, and losing their homeland (the North) was considered tragic?

Daenerys had already gone through all that. Setting aside the feuds of her house and country, her personal experience alone was one of a difficult childhood without enough food. She had just managed to meet Drogo, who was genuinely good to her, only to lose her lover, her protector, and her son within a few days.

And her future was set to be even more miserable. The Starks still had a chance to rise again, but she was in a constant fall into a bottomless abyss, one that never stopped.

Who dares to claim a more wretched life than mine?!

Alright, I’m getting sidetracked.

Back then, Daenerys was physically and emotionally scarred, on the brink of death, and had even contemplated suicide.

What changed her physical and mental state were the dragon eggs.

By communicating spiritually with the dragons within the eggs during her dreams, her wounds healed overnight. From body to soul, she felt as if she had been cleansed, revitalized, and reborn.

This was a fantasy world with dragons and magic.

Daenerys’s blood was unlike that of ordinary people.

“My little babies, give Mommy strength. Dragon babies, give Mommy strength,” Dany whispered, cradling the black dragon egg as if chanting a spell.

She was speaking in Chinese.

Other than the continuous waves of heat, the eggs showed no other abnormalities.

Dany placed the eggs beside her feather pillow and turned on her side, her gaze shifting as she watched the flames so close to her.

“I’ve taken over her body, so I must do everything I can to save her child. To survive, I have to try.”

Gritting her teeth, Dany reached her hand toward the flickering flames.

Back in modern society, she often saw videos on TikTok of people attempting all sorts of extreme barbecue challenges, like roasting popsicles or roasting air…

Today, she wanted to ask loudly: have any of you ever roasted yourselves?

Dany was going to roast human flesh—her own flesh.

Chapter 6: The Mother of Dragons

Pain!

Burning pain!

A searing pain, as if a sharp blade were scraping bone!

Beads of sweat, large as peas, formed on Daenerys’s forehead. She could barely stop herself from crying out and snatching her hand back.

But she quelled the subconscious impulse. Her palm remained cupped around the intangible flames. Her nerves and muscles weren’t burned, and her slender, pale fingers hadn’t turned into something like roasted chicken feet, charred and dripping with grease.

She had succeeded.

She had successfully inherited her predecessor’s gift—The Unburnt.

“Fire is power,” Daenerys said in a low voice, enduring the searing pain.

She could proceed with her plan.

The former Daenerys had always known she had an extremely high tolerance for heat, but she had never tried to burn herself—hatching the dragons had been a desperate act with no other choice. Because while her body was resistant to fire, she still felt the same pain as an ordinary person being burned.

“I am not afraid of pain,” the current Dany told herself.

And so she plunged her hand into the glowing red charcoal, as if slow-roasting a sweet potato, muttering “I’m not afraid of pain” over and over, hoping to hypnotize herself, like counting sheep.

Sweat soaked her hair, dripping from the strands onto her pillow and blanket.

After half a night of this hazy roasting, she licked her dry lips, withdrew her ‘charcoal-grilled jade hand,’ and nudged Irri, who had rolled halfway off the bed like a log. The blanket was spread on the ground near the bonfire, and Irri, feeling too hot, had unconsciously rolled away from the flames.

“Khaleesi?” Irri had been sleeping soundly, but she woke up quickly—the makings of a good handmaiden.

“Fetch me some water,” Daenerys said, her voice hoarse.

“Do I need to go to the river to get it?” Irri asked hesitantly.

Daenerys paused for a moment before she understood. The Dothraki rarely stored or drank untreated water, and tea was unheard of. “Never mind. Bring me two bags of mare’s milk.”

The Dothraki rarely drank water. As nomads roaming far and wide, they had no fixed, safe water sources. Drinking untreated water was a life-threatening risk every time. When they had the choice, they preferred to quench their thirst with milk and mare’s milk wine.

In medieval Europe on Earth, before they had ever seen tea, nobles also commonly quenched their thirst with low-alcohol wine, because untreated water contained bacteria.

And for the Dothraki, mare’s milk was no more precious than safe, clean water.

Gulping down nearly a liter of mare’s milk that carried a strong equine scent, Daenerys felt reborn, wonderfully refreshed.

“Irri, add a few more bundles of firewood,” she said, lying back on her pillow and pointing to the wood piled in the corner.

“Khaleesi, your hair is soaked with sweat. Aren’t you too hot?” Irri asked, hesitant.

“It’s fine. A good sweat feels wonderful,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Watching the flames begin to lick at the wood stacked like a tower, Daenerys was pleased. In a fit of generosity, she gave Irri a blanket and told her to find a comfortable spot to make a bed for herself.

Once Irri was fast asleep, she lay down sideways on the woolen blanket and propped her two slender, pale little feet directly on the pile of firewood.

The moment she put them there, the flames made her hiss between her teeth, but it wasn’t long before she drifted off into a hazy sleep.

In her sleep, Daenerys came to a strange place. Four pillars of fire stood around her, and the world was an ocean of flames. She floated within it, feeling both pain and joy. After what felt like an eternity, a black shadow fell over the sky above her.

She looked up and was stunned.

A great dragon with black scales was looking down at her with eyes like pools of lava. Its form was so immense—a head like a mountain peak, eyes the size of swimming pools, and wings that blotted out the sky when unfurled.

Unlike her predecessor, who had passively received her dragon dreams—the former Daenerys had felt uneasy about the dragon eggs—this Daenerys was more mature, her actions more purposeful.

She had placed the dragon eggs next to her skin and constantly subjected herself to fire not only to train her adaptability to flames but also for a more important goal: to achieve a spiritual resonance with the dragons.

She wanted to be—no, she had to be—the Mother of Dragons!

Transmigrated into this shitty world, she would hardly be able to survive without dragons!

So, after only a moment of shock, she joyfully spread her arms in an embrace and cried out shamelessly, “Are you the black dragon? I am your mother. You must remember me and contact me every day. If there are any benefits I don’t know about, hurry up and give them to me. Oh, and your brothers? The white dragon and the green dragon, where are they?”

BOOM—

The black dragon opened a mouth large enough to drive a carriage through, and a torrent of blood-red flames mixed with thick black smoke shot out, completely engulfing Daenerys below. She felt her skin scorch and blacken, necrotic flesh falling off in chunks, the blood in her veins boiling and evaporating. But this was completely different from the pain of the firewood burning her. There was not the slightest agony; instead, it was a feeling of being cleansed, of being tempered.

She felt her body grow strong and solid, as if reborn.

At the same time, new information inexplicably appeared in her sea of consciousness—information about the gift of the Mother of Dragons. It consisted of three main points: 1. The Unburnt: Ordinary flames might cause varying degrees of burning pain, but fire was the Mother of Dragons’ partner; it would not harm her body.

2. Dragon Hatching: By bestowing flame and spiritual essence upon dragon eggs, she could cause fossilized eggs that retained their soul’s origin, dead eggs, or healthy eggs to hatch into young dragons.

3. Dragon Dream: The Mother of Dragons and her dragons were two parts of a whole. Their souls could merge seamlessly. In an unconscious state (during sleep), she could achieve spiritual resonance with the dragons.

“Only now,” she mused, “have I become the complete Daenerys Targaryen.”

With that thought, Daenerys drifted into a deep sleep.

The next morning, she was awakened by Irri’s startled cry.

“Khaleesi, Khaleesi, are you alright? It’s all my fault, I slept too soundly last night. I didn’t even hear you cry for help, oh…”

Seeing Daenerys with her legs buried in charcoal and ash, the Dothraki girl was so frightened she burst into tears.

“Uh…” Dazed for a moment, Daenerys finally woke up fully. She quickly lifted her legs for the young girl to see.

The skin was fair and delicate. Other than being covered in black stains from the smoke, it was still soft and supple.

“How can this be?” Irri said in horror.

“I am a Targaryen, ‘Stormborn,’ of the Blood of the True Dragon,” Daenerys said with a solemn, straight face.

“But your brother…” Irri pouted, bringing up Viserys, the ‘true dragon’ who was killed by molten gold.

“You will understand in time. For now, help me get dressed.”

Chapter 7: The Dothraki Migration

Unlike modern people who often stay up past midnight, the Dothraki slept after dusk and woke before dawn. By the time Daenerys arose, dressed, and stepped out of her tent, Drogo’s khalasar was already a hive of activity.

Women shouted at their children, warriors bellowed orders to strike the tents, and horses stamped their hooves and neighed.

Dany’s vision was blurred by the gray-black smoke of campfires and the steam rising from iron pots. The smell of horse meat boiling in hot water, the fresh, warm scent of horse dung outside the tents, and the aroma of green grass crushed beneath hooves all mingled into a strange yet vibrant air.

Judging by the yolk-red sun just peeking over the distant horizon, Dany guessed it was no later than five in the morning. Then again, she couldn’t be sure, as she didn’t even know what season it was in this place.

The world of A Song of Ice and Fire had no fixed seasonal changes. The Stark family words, “Winter is Coming,” were no joke, but the gravest of warnings.

Here, a single season could last for several years. If a cold and fruitless winter dragged on for too long, people would starve to death, if they didn’t freeze first.

Every time a ‘Long Winter’ occurred, more than half the population of the North in Westeros would perish. And if they were even unluckier and the ‘Long Night’ arrived, it wouldn’t be surprising for ninety percent of the continent’s population to be wiped out.

Breakfast was mutton stew. Barley, onions, carrots, turnips, and mutton, seasoned with pepper and saffron, had been simmering for over an hour—her handmaids had started cooking long before Dany had risen.

Dany ate a full bowl, one as large as a mess tin, and was astonished by her own pregnant appetite.

Or was it because her Mother of Dragons constitution had awakened, due to her soul resonating with the black dragon in her dream last night?

She wasn’t sure if her constitution had been enhanced, but she had woken up that morning full of spirit and brimming with energy.

Riding behind Drogo’s black stallion, Daenerys looked down at the black dragon egg she held in her arms, her mind lost in thought.

Barely half an hour after breakfast, bathed in the golden-red morning light, the enormous khalasar began to move forward like a dark cloud, leaving a chaotic mess in its wake, as if smearing a brown stain upon a green tapestry.

The direction the Khal’s horse pointed was the direction the khalasar would follow.

Drogo was even more dazed than the day before. When he got up that morning, he hadn’t even recognized Dany. He had barely drunk any horse milk, let alone eaten any mutton stew. His once stalwart, broad body was visibly withering away, held up by little more than his gaunt frame.

Around noon, the lush green grasslands and farmers’ wheat fields grew sparse, eventually vanishing completely. In their place were low hills and yellowish-brown, sandy ground.

The merciless sun was like a boorish, newly rich landlord, wantonly radiating light and heat.

The ground before them shimmered, creating distorted folds of air. Sweat trickled down Dany’s chest like tiny streams.

The only sounds left in the world were the steady clatter of hooves, the rhythmic chime of the bells in Drogo’s hair, and the quiet chatter from behind them.

His mind clouded, Drogo had lost his way. He had strayed from the Lhazar River basin and was gradually heading deeper south into the Red Waste.

But the direction the Khal’s horse faced was the direction the horse people followed.

The Dothraki only ate breakfast and dinner. If they were hungry at midday, they gnawed on dried meat in the saddle.

The reddish-brown dried horse meat was light and thin, each muscle fiber clearly visible. It was completely natural—the kind of delicacy that money couldn’t buy in her past life. But it was so hard it nearly cut the inside of Dany’s mouth.

She had to take a mouthful of horse milk, puffing her cheeks as she let the strips of meat slowly soften inside. In the end, she even tasted a strange sweetness.

Clip-clop-clop.

The sound of hooves approached from a distance. Dany looked up to see Aggo’s warhorse kicking up a fine line of reddish-brown dust as it galloped toward Drogo.

“Khal. Khaleesi. The land ahead is barren. There are no people and no danger, but we seem to be going the wrong way.” After a hesitant glance at Drogo, Aggo addressed Dany.

The khalasar did not blindly follow the Khal. At every moment, scouts fanned out in all directions to survey the terrain and watch for sneak attacks from other khalasars.

Daenerys rode her little silver mare up beside Drogo. Just as she was about to suggest he change course, her pupils suddenly constricted. She pulled on the reins, making the silver mare prance in a small circle as she surveyed her surroundings: the Dothraki were struggling forward across a dark red, desolate plain.

An idea immediately formed in her mind. “Don’t ask any questions. Keep moving forward. And… find a suitable place to make camp ahead.”

After Aggo rode off, Daenerys looked worriedly at Khal Drogo beside her. They had spoken quite loudly, yet he hadn’t reacted at all.

A swarm of bloodflies circled slowly around Drogo, the buzzing of their wings ringing at the edge of Dany’s hearing.

Bloodflies were as large as bees, heavy-bodied and slightly purplish, with a moist, nauseating sheen. They dwelled in swamps and stagnant pools, feeding on the blood of men and horses, and laid their eggs on rotting carcasses or the dying bodies of livestock.

Drogo had once despised them. Whenever a fly came near, his hand would lash out like lightning and snatch it from the air, never missing. He would cup the fly in his giant palm, letting it buzz frantically, before squeezing his fist shut. When he opened his hand, the fly would be nothing but a red smear on his palm.

Now, a bloodfly was crawling on the rump of his mount, and the stallion swished its tail angrily, trying to drive it away. Other flies buzzed around Drogo, getting closer and closer, yet the Khal did not react.

His gaze was fixed on the brown hills in the distance, the reins hanging loosely in his hand.

Then one bloodfly landed on the Khal’s bare shoulder. Another circled for a moment before settling on his neck and crawling toward his mouth. Khal Drogo swayed slightly in his saddle, the bells in his hair tinkling softly, while his horse continued forward at a steady pace.

Finally, a bold bloodfly crawled up his long beard, onto his cheek, and settled in the crease beside his nose.

Khal Drogo swayed in his saddle, slowly tilting to one side. Daenerys, who had been watching him intently, shot her left hand out like a striking snake and pulled him back upright.

Startled, the swarm of bloodflies scattered for a heartbeat before drifting back to settle on him again.

In the next moment, the whispers that had been present among the people behind them erupted into a clamorous heatwave. All the Dothraki were in shock.

“The Khal almost fell from his horse!”

“A Khal who falls from his own horse…”

The Khal was the leader of the khalasar, the direction of their advance, the focus of all eyes. His actions were observed as if under a magnifying glass.

A Dothraki who cannot ride is not even worthy of being a normal member of the tribe, let alone the Khal, the leader of the clan.

“All of you, be silent! The Khal is still on his horse!” Dany shouted, turning back to glare at them. After speaking, she let go of the hand supporting Drogo.

The shock of the near-fall had startled Drogo awake, and he was now able to control his reins.

“Moon of my life…”

For the first time in days, he looked at Dany with recognition and called out to his ‘beloved.’

Daenerys felt a moment of awkwardness. She searched her memory and replied, “My sun and stars, do you want to stop and rest?”

Her face must have been twisted at that moment.

But no one was paying attention to her expression. Drogo’s bloodriders had already galloped over.

“Blood of my blood.”

“Blood of my blood, how are you?”

Before Drogo could speak, Daenerys announced loudly, “The Khal has given an order! It is late in the day. We will make camp here!”

“Here?” Haggo looked up at the sun hanging high in the sky—it was probably two or three in the afternoon. He then glanced around at the withered, brownish-yellow landscape, unfit for habitation.

He glared with his savage, triangular eyes. “We cannot make camp here.”

“A woman has no right to order us to stop,” Qotho said as well. “Not even the Khaleesi.”

“It was Khal Drogo’s order,” Dany said, craning her neck as she issued a false command in his name.

The old bloodrider, Cohollo, gave her a deep look, then said to his two companions, “Find the nearest source of water. Set up the elliptical camp between the Khal’s palace and the lake.”

Qotho paused, then he and Haggo accepted the order and rode off.

Cohollo then began directing the people, having them set up Drogo’s grass-screen palace in the shadow of a nearby hill.

Soon, word came that a stream had been found up ahead, and the main host moved past Daenerys toward the water source.

“Help me… water… I need water, help me…”

A faint cry for help came from a wooden cart passing by her. The voice was weak, but it struck Dany with a sense of familiarity.

The silver-haired Lylis!

After returning to her tent the previous night, she had asked Doreah about Lylis.

Like Doreah, she was a prostitute Illyrio had purchased from Lys, a gift to Jhaqo Ko for Drogo’s wedding.

However, Doreah was the current top courtesan, while Lylis, nearly thirty, could only be considered a former ‘number one.’

At this moment, she lay alone on the creaking, swaying wooden cart. The blood dripping from her lower body had soaked her dress. One of her golden sandals had fallen off, and her pale legs swung lifelessly with the bumpy ride of the cart.

“Wait,” Daenerys called out to the woman driving the cart. Covering her nose against the pungent smell of blood, she asked, “What happened to her? Why isn’t anyone treating her? Where are her handmaids? She keeps asking for water, didn’t you hear?”

“Khaleesi, Lady Lylis fell from her horse…” The dark-skinned woman hesitated, unsure how to phrase what came next.

This… Dany was stunned. Because of that one thing she had said to provoke her yesterday, had Lylis really tried to ride a horse today?

In truth, even the bravest Dothraki women could not endure long journeys on horseback when they were close to giving birth.

Therefore, in Dothraki tradition, a pregnant woman riding in a cart was not looked down upon.

Daenerys was a special case; her Dragon Dreams had always helped her body recover, making her incredibly resilient.

Seeing Dany still staring at her, the woman continued in an ambiguous tone, “For her improper words, Jhaqo Ko stripped her of her title as lady. Now she is a slave, just like me. Naturally, she has no handmaids, and the Hairless Ones will not treat a slave…”

“What did she say?” Dany asked, though she already had a suspicion.

Before the bone-thin slave woman could reply, Lylis moaned deliriously from the cart, “My child… Khal Jhaqo’s son… Save him. He is the future Khal of Jhaqo’s tribe. I am a Khaleesi, save me.”

Ugh, was this woman really from the world of courtesans? How could she be so utterly witless?

The dark-skinned slave immediately collapsed to the ground, her numb face filled with terror. “Spare me, Khaleesi! I… I will drag her out to feed the dogs immediately.”

“Feed the dogs?” Dany repeated in disbelief.

“Jhaqo Ko ordered me to take her to the edge of the khalasar and feed her to the wild dogs,” the slave woman said.

“Is Jhaqo insane? She’s carrying his child!”

“She won’t be able to give birth,” the slave woman said, pointing at Lylis’s slightly misshapen belly. “She fell from her horse this morning. Jhaqo Ko originally sent the Hairless Ones to care for her, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The healers said she couldn’t be saved. But she refuses to die and keeps saying these treasonous things.”

Chapter 8: Fire and Blood Are of One Kin

Lylis fell from her horse. The fall wasn’t too severe—like Daenerys, she rode a small, short mare—but it induced premature labor.

Premature labor wasn’t the main issue; she was due any day now. The problem was that the fall had shifted the baby into a bad position. It was stuck in her womb, unable to come out.

The Dothraki Hairless Ones treated even the most common blade wounds by “trusting in the Great Stallion’s blessing.” Assisting a difficult birth was an advanced skill beyond them. They had condemned Lylis to die.

“Send her to my palace,” Daenerys said, a profound light flashing in her violet eyes. She turned to the handmaiden behind her. “Irri, have someone section off a corner of the palace. We absolutely must not disturb the Khal.”

Drogo’s grand dwelling of woven grass mats had to be large enough for the khalasar’s leadership to hold their daily meetings. It was a full two hundred square meters, with more than enough room to accommodate a pregnant woman.

The black slave women and the Dothraki were not surprised by their Khaleesi’s actions. After all, Daenerys had offended a group of Dothraki warriors just to save some Lamb Men women who were being raped.

Lylis was, at least, one of the horse people now.

When you marry a Dothraki, you become one of them.

“She made a mistake and said things she shouldn’t have. She deserves to be punished, but she is also carrying a new seed for the khalasar.

“Tell Jhaqo that if this woman gives birth to a healthy boy, her crime will be forgiven. If it’s a girl, I will have her whipped twenty times and made a slave.”

The slave woman received the Khaleesi’s command and hurried off to report to Jhaqo.

As soon as Daenerys returned to the tent, Ser Jorah had her dismiss her handmaidens and servants. His expression was grave. “The rumors are everywhere. The entire khalasar is buzzing with talk that Khal Drogo fell from his own horse.”

“He didn’t,” Daenerys countered.

“Because you caught him. I saw it, his Bloodriders saw it, and the men of your khas behind you all saw it.” Sweat beaded on his bearish face. “You know his condition better than I. Even if you fool them today, what about tomorrow, or the day after? Soon he won’t even be able to climb onto his horse’s back. When that happens…”

A khal who cannot ride cannot rule. It wouldn’t matter one bit if the Khaleesi were spry and brilliant as any sage.

“I have my own plan. Do not suggest we flee again. To leave is to die.” She paused, looking Ser Jorah straight in the eyes. “Ser, you are my sworn sword. I need you to protect me in the turmoil to come.”

“Of course. No one will harm you so long as I still draw breath,” Jorah Mormont promised, nodding solemnly.

Then he added worriedly, “But without Drogo, his khalasar will immediately fall into chaos. I fear I alone…”

“It’s alright. The men of my khas will fight with you.”

Daenerys looked him up and down: a bleached, faded Dothraki painted vest; his exposed skin burned red by the vicious sun; loose, striped sand-silk trousers; riding sandals that tied at the knee, leaving his toes bare. His sword hung from a twisted horsehair belt.

Except for the lack of a bell-adorned braid, he was dressed exactly like a Dothraki.

“From this moment on, you will wear your knight’s armor,” she said.

“Yes, I understand,” the Bear nodded in agreement.

Faint cries for help from Lylis could be heard from the farthest corner of the grass-mat palace. Daenerys sent the Bear to change into his gear, while she herself lifted the cowhide flap and stepped outside.

On a hill beside the grass-mat palace, Cohollo stood on high ground, shouting orders with a grim expression as he directed the tribe in setting up camp.

It was clear he was worried about Drogo’s wound; his mood was foul.

Dany beckoned him down. “Cohollo,” she said, “go and find Mirri Maz Duur.”

“The witch?” He spat. “I will not. Khaleesi, you have no right to command me.”

Though Daenerys had saved Mirri Maz Duur, her status as a slave had not changed. She should have been with the other Lamb Men in the long column of slaves.

“It’s for Lylis. Our Hairless Ones cannot heal her. Let Mirri Maz Duur try,” she told him.

Cohollo stared down at her from his horse, his eyes as hard as flint. “The witches are women who lie with demons. They are evil, cruel, and soulless, and they practice the darkest and most terrible sorcery. At night, they seek out men to drain their strength until they die. To trust them is the most foolish thing in the world.”

It was best to revere such spirits, but keep one’s distance.

The Dothraki were not versed in black magic, but over a thousand years, their people had formed wise and practical traditions.

If not for the intervention of Daenerys, this outsider, it was far from certain that Drogo would have died from his infected wound.

Dany touched her belly and reasoned, “I don’t trust her. But if she can save Lylis from a difficult birth, won’t the safety of the child in my womb be better guaranteed?”

The old Bloodrider’s mouth opened and closed. He gave her a pitying look, then left without another word.

He thought she didn’t know the Dothraki traditions…

Daenerys’s gaze was profound. She watched the old man’s figure disappear among the yurts, then turned and called for Eroeh—the first woman Daenerys had saved outside the mud walls of the Lamb Men’s town, a shy girl of the Lamb Men.

After bathing and changing her clothes, Dany sat quietly by the bonfire in the center of the tent. The fire blazed, its heat oppressive. Her handmaidens couldn’t stand it and were all dismissed by her—it was afternoon, with the great sun high in the sky, and the heat was unbearable.

Before long, Cohollo strode in, dragging the short Lamb Man witch by the hand.

Mirri Maz Duur’s clothes were torn, her face swollen, and blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. She was even missing a front tooth. Clearly, she had been badly beaten before being brought here.

After instructing Ser Jorah to let no one enter, she handed Mirri Maz Duur a cup of horse milk and asked, “You said before that you are skilled in the art of childbirth?”

Mirri Maz Duur wiped the blood from her lips, took the horn cup, and gulped it down until it was empty. Only then did she gasp for breath and say, “Silver Lady, my mother was a priestess before me. She taught me the songs and spells to please the Great Shepherd, and how to make sacred smokes and ointments from leaves, roots, and berries.

“When I was young and beautiful, I traveled with a merchant caravan to Asshai by the Shadow to learn from their mages. Ships from countless kingdoms gather in Asshai, so I stayed there for a long time, learning the healing arts of foreign peoples.

“A Moonsinger from Jogos Nhai taught me her birthing songs, and a woman of your horse people taught me the magic of the grasses, grains, and horses.

“And there was a maester from the Sunset Lands, Maester Marwyn, who cut open the dead and showed me all the secrets that lie beneath the skin.”

She was practically a scholar returned from studying abroad, a great expert with several “doctoral degrees” in medicine.

Mirri glanced at Drogo on the pallet some twenty feet away and explained helplessly, “I am skilled in many healing arts, but Drogo abandoned my poultice seven days ago.”

Daenerys cut her off, pointing to a screen in the corner of the room. “There is a pregnant woman over there who fell from her horse. She is the one you will treat today.”

“The other silver lady?” Mirri Maz Duur seemed to have heard about Lylis. She lifted her chin toward Drogo on the pallet. “Does this great horse warrior not require immediate treatment?”

Daenerys lowered her gaze and stroked her belly. “Do not concern yourself with the Khal. My child will be born soon. You must prove your skills in childbirth with Lylis.”

“As you wish, Silver Lady,” the witch answered obediently.

To avoid disturbing Drogo, Lylis had been placed on a grass pallet in an area partitioned from the main part of the palace.

A small enclosure of woven grass with its own doorway had been set up next to the main hall, so one did not have to pass by the Khal’s pallet to reach it.

It was separated by a thick grass curtain and a wooden screen from the Summer Isles, which was carved with hundreds of lifelike, brightly colored and exotic birds and beasts—a gift to Drogo from the trade federations.

Mirri Maz Duur began to chant a strange song in a language Dany had never heard. It was a low, soft chant, melodious and drawn-out, like a maiden’s song, yet also like a passionate, surging poem.

The birthing song taught to her by the Moonsinger of Jogos Nhai?

Or was it a sorcerer’s spell from Asshai by the Shadow?

With the sound of the chanting in her ears, Daenerys checked the items beside her one more time: the black dragon egg, a small crossbow with its string drawn taut and loaded with a metal-tipped bolt, Drogo’s dragonbone dagger, a needle and thread for stitching wounds that she had gotten from the Hairless Ones, milk of the poppy, and large pieces of cotton cloth that had been boiled in water and dried under the blazing sun…

She spread the milk of the poppy over her belly. It felt cool and refreshing. With a piece of soft wood clenched between her teeth, the dagger slicing through the skin of her belly didn’t seem to hurt so much… at least, it was more bearable than the char-grilled beauty’s leg of last night…

“My little dragon, you are the world’s greatest power. The world itself awakens for your arrival. You are a god made flesh. I need you… give your mother strength…”

Thick blood soaked the fur blanket beneath her. Daenerys’s face was waxen white, her forehead covered in beads of sweat. She seemed to be in a daze, and the piece of cork fell from her slack lips.

Suddenly, the warm, fossilized dragon egg between her knees became as scorching hot as burning charcoal. The jolt of intense heat cleared her mind, making her more lucid than ever before.

Under normal circumstances in a modern hospital, a cesarean section takes about half an hour, and that includes the time for anesthesia beforehand.

Daenerys had gone faint for a moment, and it took her about twenty minutes in total. Then, a blood-soaked baby boy was in her arms.

Covering his blood-streaked mouth, Daenerys steeled herself and poured a small cup of milk of the poppy into it.

“Stallion Who Mounts the World,” Daenerys whispered to him, “a little of this won’t hurt you.”

The little one fell asleep, his hands clutching the white dragon egg. The egg was scorching hot…

Another quarter of an hour passed. The witch next door was still chanting. Daenerys held the black dragon egg in her left hand and used her free right hand to wipe the blood from her body. Then she threw all the blood-stained cloths and blankets into the blazing fire beside her.

“Thank you, my little dragon!” Dany lovingly caressed the fine scales on the egg, her heart filled with gratitude and affection. Just as Bran Stark could feel the emotions of Summer, his direwolf, at any time, she too, on the brink of death, had forged the most intimate of spiritual bonds with the black dragon.

Daenerys could now control the process of entering the Dragon Dream.

Chapter 9: Bronn and the True Sun

A clamorous noise arose outside the tent. Daenerys, who was sitting cross-legged in the roaring flames with the black dragon egg in her arms, opened her eyes with a frown.

She was disinfecting herself!

A temperature of over one thousand degrees was far more efficient than any antibiotic or penicillin—and cleaner, too, with no side effects.

Clenching her fists, Dany felt her body was lighter and stronger than before.

She stepped out of the fire, washed the soot from her body with boiling water, and picked up the down bundle she had prepared—a refashioned duck-feather pillow.

Soon, looking just as she had before, Daenerys, with her large, pregnant belly, with some difficulty pushed aside the cowhide flap and walked out.

The blazing sun was slanting west, casting a long shadow behind the hill. The weather was scorching and windless, and a group of Dothraki warriors was sheltering from the sun in the hill’s shade.

A circle of guards stood like javelins outside Drogo’s grass palace. Ser Jorah, looking like a tin can, was positioned three meters from the camp entrance.

He was in a heated argument with a Dothraki man.

The man pointed his curved blade at him and cursed, “Coward! The weakling Andal shrinks back into his tin shell again!”

“Andal” was what the horsemen called Jorah Mormont.

The story of A Song of Ice and Fire has three main plotlines: The Wall in the North of Westeros—the biting cold wind and the threat of the Others to all of mankind; King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros—the game of thrones; and the continent of Essos, the nine Free Cities, and Daenerys’s path to liberating slaves.

In other words, the core of the plot is located in Westeros.

And the continent of Westeros is made up of four peoples:

1. The original inhabitants, fantastical races like the Children of the Forest and giants, with a history of a million years. They understood magic, used stone tools, and were complete primitives. Most now live north of the Wall.

2. The First Men, natives who migrated from Essos twelve thousand years ago. They were at a Bronze Age level of civilization. They were the first invaders, and the North and the lands beyond the Wall are mostly populated by their descendants.

3. The Andals, invaders who came from Essos eight thousand years ago, bringing with them ironworking and the Faith of the Seven.

4. The Rhoynar, who crossed the sea as refugees one thousand years ago—fleeing Valyria, a civilization of dragons and magic (a super-civilization, similar to Atlantis). They did not possess a higher level of civilization and could not invade Westeros, which had already developed a chivalric culture. They could only choose to assimilate, and they settled in the relatively desolate region of Dorne—the southernmost part of Westeros, a land of deserts and wastelands.

Thus, the title of the King of Westeros is ‘King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.’

Jorah Mormont, the lord of Bear Island in the North, should be a descendant of the First Men, not an Andal.

However, chivalric culture was founded by the Andals, and the knight is the primary image other peoples have of warriors from the Sunset Lands. Furthermore, Jorah was dressed in the full regalia of a knight.

Well, Jorah might not even be a knight. Knighthood stems from a faith—one must be anointed with holy oils by a septon of the Seven and then ‘dubbed’ by another proper knight.

Jorah Mormont, a lord of the North and a descendant of the First Men, followed the Old Gods, not the Seven.

He had received full knightly training, possessed a suit of knight’s armor and a warhorse, but he was not necessarily a knight.

The Starks of Winterfell, for example, from Lord Ned down, none were proper knights.

The Dothraki, a ‘primitive’ tribe on horseback, believed that men who wore steel armor were weak cowards.

Wearing armor equals fearing death equals being a weak coward—that was likely their chain of logic.

When the horseman caught sight of Dany leaving her tent, not only did he not restrain himself, but his mockery grew even more fervent.

Jorah’s left hand rested on his sword, while his right jabbed accusingly at the Dothraki warrior. He cursed back without restraint, “You piece of trash from a primitive tribe, you beast-fucking bastard, you know nothing. This suit of plate I’m wearing is worth a hundred of your dog heads!”

He switched between the Dothraki tongue—insulting the warrior personally—and the Common Tongue of Westeros, spoken with a Northern accent, to vent his resentment against the entire Dothraki people, spewing all sorts of foul language that almost no one else could understand.

Because he was constantly wary of the man opposite him, Jorah immediately noticed the shift in the horseman’s gaze. He glanced back at Daenerys and, likely guessing his guard duty for the day was over, drew his knightly greatsword with a shing and charged the horseman.

The Dothraki warrior had been waiting for him. He hadn’t acted sooner only because this was the Khal’s camp; any unauthorized intrusion would have been met with a volley of arrows from the guards, turning the intruder into a pincushion.

The horseman, whom Dany had assumed was a common soldier, moved so fast her eyes couldn’t follow. His Arakh practically danced into a silver curtain of lethal light.

Jorah wore a full suit of armor forged from dark grey steel. His greathelm was pulled down, leaving only two slits for eyes in the visor. Below that were a gorget, greaves, gauntlets, and boots—all gleaming metal plate.

Despite wearing such heavy armor, his movements were not slow in the slightest. His greatsword swung like a great fan.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The two went back and forth, the sound of their blades clashing as densely as the “raindrop sonata” on banana leaves outside a window during a downpour.

Yellow sparks could be seen flashing and dying between their blades and on Ser Jorah’s armor, like fireflies dancing around him.

The whole process is long to describe, but in reality, it was over in the blink of an eye. Jorah retreated three steps in a row, leaning on his sword. The sound of his harsh, ragged breaths reached Dany’s ears from beneath his visor.

The Dothraki warrior collapsed onto the red sand, his limbs flailing as he wailed in agony. Dark red blood flowed from his chest, only to be instantly devoured by the cracked earth, like a gluttonous demon.

Dany estimated that the fight had lasted four or five seconds. Jorah had taken at least three hits but was completely unharmed—though there were probably a few new dents in his steel breastplate.

The Dothraki warrior had held the advantage the entire time. Only at the last moment, perhaps a fraction of a second slow while catching his breath, did he take a sword to the chest.

“Khaleesi!”

Jorah and her Khas guards greeted her one by one.

The horsemen in the shade pointed and gestured toward Dany, their expressions relaxed. They too had been mocking the “Andal’s” cowardice just moments ago.

Now, with their companion writhing on the ground, about to bleed to death, they seemed to think he deserved it, showing no concern or sympathy for his plight.

“Khaleesi, you left the witch alone in the Khal’s pavilion?” Cohollo rode over, his tone accusatory.

“She’s not with the Khal, she’s helping Lylis give birth. Didn’t you hear her birthing song?” As she spoke, she ordered Aggo to lift the grass curtain outside the birthing chamber.

The scene within was instantly revealed to everyone. Mirri Maz Duur was singing a gentle song from the lands of the Shadow, her hands stroking Lylis’s taut, shimmering belly, as if helping to right the baby’s position.

On a simple bed of rushes, the pregnant woman’s square face was waxen white, the hair at her temples soaked with sweat. She bit her silver teeth so tightly that the veins on her jaw bulged. Pained, fragmented groans and the faint smell of blood rushed past the curtain toward the onlookers.

A caesarean section would have taken half an hour at most, but a normal delivery, especially a difficult one, could easily take four or five hours.

The witch had already been singing for over an hour, and her voice was a little hoarse. Seeing the curtain raised and everyone looking over, she shook her head at Dany, who stood ten meters away. Without pausing her birthing song, she quickly reached out and pulled the curtain shut again.

Having seen with their own eyes that the witch was not performing black magic, the crowd quickly lost interest and went back to their own business.

“Water… water…” the Dothraki warrior lying on the ground, awaiting death, pleaded for a drink.

Dany walked over and tossed a waterskin of mare’s milk on the ground. She then ordered her handmaiden Irri to unfasten his painted leather vest—she was careful to remember her role as a pregnant woman who couldn’t move easily, who couldn’t bend down to give him water, much less kneel to examine his wound.

“His breastbone blocked the sword. No internal organs were injured,” Daenerys observed, then commanded, “Irri, take that cotton cloth and press it against the wound. Stop the bleeding first. Quaro, go and get the Hairless Ones to come and stitch him up.”

Quaro replied in the Dothraki tongue, “Khaleesi, he challenged the Andal and lost. He must accept his fate. Do not move him, and do not help him. Everyone knows that whether he lives or dies is for the Horse God in the sky to decide.”

“Everyone knows,” her handmaiden Irri echoed.

“Everyone knows,” Jhaqo agreed as well.

Dany shot Quaro a glare and said irritably, “Do you want everyone to know you disobeyed your Khaleesi’s command?”

Quaro’s own almond-shaped eyes widened.

Seeing the resolve in Dany’s eyes, he muttered something unintelligible and rode off.

The sun, like a wounded animal, spilled a bloody red across the desolate land as it teetered and sank below the horizon.

Mirri Maz Duur, who had “studied abroad” in many lands and received multiple medical “diplomas,” truly impressed Daenerys. Before night fell, the first child was born with a cry.

A silver-haired boy with the bronze skin of the Dothraki, almond-shaped eyes, and pale violet irises.

Daenerys stepped past the wooden screen carved with a hundred beasts, used a dagger to slice an opening in the thick grass curtain, and took the naked infant from the witch’s hands through the slit.

“Khaleesi, it’s twins. There’s another one,” Mirri Maz Duur said, her voice raspy.

“You continue.”

Dany lingered for nearly two minutes before she walked back around the screen.

“Wash him with hot water,” she said as she entered the main hall, handing the infant, now wrapped in a woolen blanket, to Jhiqui.

By the time the second child was born, Jhaqo Ko had also arrived at Drogo’s grass palace.

“Hahaha, a boy and a girl! The boy is big, the girl is small, symbolizing the sun and the stars! This is an auspicious sign granted to me by the Horse God in the sky!”

Jhaqo was overcome with emotion, raising an infant high in each hand. The baby boy in his left hand was held toward the sun, which was nearly hidden beneath the western horizon, while the baby girl in his right was held toward the Star of the Horse God, which hung in the dark violet sky to the east. The string of bells tied into his beard chimed with ambitious crispness.

Watching the joyful backs of Jhaqo and his men as they left with Lylis and the children, the witch, who had just finished washing up in a small tent nearby, muttered in confusion, “How could he tell the boy was bigger? Didn’t they look about the same size?”

“These foolish horsemen are so strange.” Shaking her head, Mirri turned and walked back toward Drogo’s grass palace.

Having perfectly proven her ability, she had earned the right to be the Khaleesi’s attendant. She was to remain with the Khaleesi’s inner circle and could not leave of her own accord until the Khaleesi’s child was born.

Chapter 10: The Vow

Drogo’s khalasar had been stalled in this desolate wasteland for two days, and whispers of “the Khal is dying” were constantly spreading through the tribe.

It could hardly be called a rumor, for everyone knew the truth: Khal Drogo was too ill to even sit on his horse. Thus, the khalasar, without its Khal to lead it, could not move.

That night, Mirri Maz Duur announced with a deathly pale face: “The Khal’s wound has festered. No healer can save him now. All that remains is to guide him down the dark road, so he may ride into the night lands without pain.”

Daenerys, feigning utter despair, begged her to save her ‘sun and stars’.

Mirri Maz Duur studied Daenerys and her high, swollen belly with eyes as black as night. Her voice was uncannily quiet, almost a whisper. “There is one other way. A kind of magic.

But this spell is not only difficult to perform, it is also very dark. For some, death is a cleaner end.

I learned this art in Asshai and paid a terrible price for it—my mentor was from the Shadow Lands.”

“Blood magic,” she softly spat out the words, for the first time openly revealing her identity—a witch.

She had always denied being a witch, claiming only to be a healer and a priestess.

Her voice seemed to carry a dark power. Daenerys, who was being baked by the heat of the brazier, suddenly felt an icy, clammy tentacle tightening around her neck—she couldn’t breathe, her mind grew fuzzy from lack of oxygen.

She heard herself mumble, “Do it. Save him, quickly.”

A surge of scalding magma erupted from her lower abdomen. The searing heat jolted her nerves, snapping her back to her senses.

—The dragon eggs were always kept hidden against the skin of her belly.

She suppressed the horror in her heart and put on a hesitant expression. “The Khal’s bloodriders will not agree. Is there truly no other way?”

The witch paused for a moment, then shook her head. “None.”

Daenerys pressed her lips together and stared into her eyes. “You admit you’re a witch, then?” she asked coldly.

“Do I?” Mirri Maz Duur seemed utterly unafraid, smiling. “Silver Lady, right now, only a witch can save your warrior. And you must pay a price.”

Daenerys glanced at the unconscious Drogo and asked, “What do you want? Gold? Horses…?”

The witch cut her off unceremoniously. “This is not a matter of gold or horses, my lady. This is blood magic. Only death can pay for life.”

“Death? You want my life?”

“Not your death, Khaleesi,” the witch assured her.

Her gaze frequently swept toward Daenerys’s lower abdomen, her eyes dark and hiding a venomous intent.

Daenerys decided not to waste any more time with her. She asked directly, “Whose death will awaken my sun and stars? Surely not his stallion?”

“You are very brave, Silver Lady, daring to face the cruelest of realities. You have guessed it, haven’t you? The equivalent exchange of blood magic: using the life of one noble Khal to buy the rebirth of another great horselord from the god of the night.”

Mirri Maz Duur smiled and pointed at Daenerys’s belly, like a demon from the hells eyeing food offered up by the unclean. “Khal Drogo is not just your sun and stars; he is your shield.

As long as your husband lives, you will have a great many children to raise in the future. Perhaps, like that other Silver Lady, you will give birth to twins who represent the sun and stars.”

Daenerys’s face changed dramatically. She snatched the teapot in front of her and threw it.

Bang!

The witch had not expected such a reaction. The pot struck her square on the forehead, and blood mixed with milky-white mare’s milk streamed down her face.

“Aggo! Rakharo! Drag this witch out of here! Gag her and tie her up!” she commanded the guards on duty outside.

Two days and two nights passed. Drogo’s khalasar was on the verge of collapse. Every night, Daenerys could hear the weeping of her handmaids, Irri and Jhiqui.

This morning, she saw that Doreah’s chest, stomach, and thighs were covered in bruises from rough handling.

It was Qotho and Haggo’s doing.

A Khal’s bloodriders could share everything a Khal possessed, except for his mount. Drogo had forbidden them from touching Daenerys, but they had always had their way with her handmaids.

They had not been so cruel before, but now…

“Everyone knows the Khal is dying. By Dothraki custom, his bloodriders live and die with him. Qotho and the others see their own end approaching, which is why they’ve become so depraved—the dead have nothing to fear,” Ser Jorah told her, his expression weary.

He was the one who had worked the hardest these past two days. He had not removed his heavy armor since putting it on. He stood guard outside her tent by day and set up a chair by the entrance at night, his gleaming sword laid across his knees.

“Furthermore, this land is barren. The small stream three li away has been nearly drunk dry by the men and horses. The main problem is the lack of pasture; the livestock can’t hold out much longer.” Jorah rubbed his dull eyes and said with some despair, “The Dothraki will never stand by and watch their horses starve or die of thirst. They will make a move soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow.”

I did it on purpose. I deliberately watched Drogo go down the wrong path, deliberately chose this barren land that could not sustain a great khalasar for long.

Because I hoped that after the kos and their khas could endure no longer, they would take their people and scatter.

An ambitious man must not be allowed to contend for the title of Khal near my small khas. Otherwise, my people would not survive the ensuing conflict. As Khaleesi, my own life would not be guaranteed.

Sensing the final moment was upon her, she said to the haggard knight with dark circles under his eyes, “I think I will give birth tonight. Go and bring Mirri Maz Duur here.”

A look of pain flashed in Ser Jorah’s eyes. He desperately wanted to tell his princess: in this situation, you must not cling to any hope for the child. Otherwise, you will not be able to withstand the great blow that is sure to come.

“Khaleesi, didn’t you say she wants to sacrifice your child?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“Don’t worry. I only need her to sing the birthing song. I will not let her near me,” Daenerys reassured him.

The witch had been kept in a small tent nearby for the past two days. Aside from her disheveled clothes and hair, she was in good spirits.

“I have heard the whispers of many horse warriors. Your husband’s tribe is about to break apart. Only his return from the darkness can change any of this—your fate, and the fate of your future children,” she said calmly, trying to persuade Daenerys.

“My belly hurts. I’m about to give birth. First, help me deliver this child,” Daenerys said, lying on a fur blanket, her body ‘drenched in sweat’, ‘as if’ she had just taken a hot bath fully clothed.

“Let me help you…” Mirri Maz Duur paused, then started walking toward Daenerys’s bed.

“Wait.” Daenerys had Irri block her. “I have carried the child to term; it will be a natural birth. You will sing the birthing song from behind the screen.”

Then she gave a stern order to her handmaid. “Irri, you stand guard outside. If she does anything unusual, shoot her with your crossbow immediately.”

“You don’t trust me?” the witch’s face darkened.

“That’s right. At least, not until my son is born safely. You should know why,” Daenerys said, glaring at her.

Mirri Maz Duur’s face was wooden as she mulled it over. Should I let her give birth? In any case, her son, the one prophesied to be ‘the Stallion Who Mounts the World’, is doomed. He will die at the hands of a new horseman Khal, or be sacrificed by me to the demons in the shadows.

How has this silver-haired woman not suffered a mental collapse as expected? The enticing black magic I wove into my words last time had no effect…

It is so frustrating not to be able to deliver the cruelest revenge with my own hands.

Whatever she thought inwardly, faced with the Dothraki handmaid beside her holding a crossbow and watching her like a hawk, Mirri Maz Duur could only obediently begin to sing the birthing song.

The birth was surprisingly smooth. Daenerys’s dry wails lasted only half an hour before the soft, weak cry of a newborn sounded from behind the wooden screen.

“Don’t move!” Irri warned loudly.

The witch stopped in her tracks, halting her attempt to go around the screen. She turned to the handmaid. “Your Khaleesi needs me. There is more complex work to be done after the child is born.”

In truth, she had no other intentions at that moment. She only felt that the day’s birthing process was very strange and desperately wanted to see for herself.

“Stay where you are. Don’t move,” Irri said, holding the crossbow steady, unmoved.

From inside, Daenerys said weakly, “Irri, let Jhiqui and Doreah in. Mirri Maz Duur has proven her loyalty. You may take her back to her tent. Don’t tie her up again. Hmm, and send her some wine and meat.”

Something is not right. That silver-haired woman is up to something!

The witch was now completely certain, but she could not figure out what she had done, or what she was about to do.

Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah had never given birth or learned the art of midwifery. They simply believed it was all due to the magic of Mirri Maz Duur’s birthing song.

Even Ser Jorah and the others outside thought the same. After all, just a few days ago, everyone had ‘witnessed’ the witch help the near-death Lylis give birth to a pair of auspicious twins.

Before that, all the Hairless Ones had been one hundred percent certain that Lylis, who had fallen from her horse, was beyond saving!

From this, it was clear that Mirri Maz Duur had to be an extraordinary midwife-sorceress.

With her help, it was only natural that the Khaleesi would smoothly deliver her son.

When the three bloodriders—Cohollo, Qotho, and Haggo—were led into the grass-mat palace by Ser Jorah, they naturally assumed the tiny infant in Daenerys’s arms was their Khal’s son.

“My sun and stars, your ‘blood of my blood’. He is dying,” Daenerys said nonchalantly, looking down and stroking the infant’s sparse black hair.

“Woman, the Dothraki are not like your people from the Lands of the Sunset,” the wise old Cohollo said, thinking he had seen through Daenerys’s absurd ambition to rule through her son. He sneered without hesitation, “Since the horsemen first emerged from the Womb of the World, there has never been an infant Khal.

In fact, even if a Khal’s adult son is not the strongest warrior in the khalasar, he is not guaranteed to inherit his father’s position.”

At this point, they no longer even called her ‘Khaleesi’.

Just as Ser Jorah had said, she was the Khaleesi of a tribe of one hundred thousand horsemen only while Khal Drogo was alive. After his death, she would be nothing.

Daenerys said to them, “I have accepted my fate: to join the Dosh Khaleen in Vaes Dothrak. But as my husband’s blood of my blood, this child is his continuation, and thus, your kin as well.

I hope that one or several of you warriors will ride out this very night and take my Rhaego”—the name Daenerys had chosen for her son since she became pregnant—“to the north.

Vaes Dothrak, at the foot of the Mother of Mountains, is a sacred place for the horsemen, where no blade is drawn, no blood is shed, disputes are set aside, and hatred is abandoned.

Find the old crone of the Dosh Khaleen who prophesied that I would bear ‘the Stallion Who Mounts the World’. Have her rescind her prophecy about Rhaego, and ask her to take him as a lifelong servant.

If these requests are met, I, in my capacity as the Princess of Dragonstone, the Stormborn, will swear an oath on Rhaego’s behalf: that he will forever renounce any claim to the inheritance of his father, Khal Drogo.”

Chapter 11: Everyone Knows

The night Daenerys ‘gave birth’ to Rhaego, a riot that spread throughout the entire camp erupted in Drogo’s khalasar, but it was not Cohollo’s doing.

The old Bloodrider had been moved by Daenerys’s words and had led five hundred elite riders of Drogo’s khas, stealthily bypassing the camp’s defenses and riding north through the night.

They had taken advantage of the previous night’s chaos, but they had not caused it.

During the turmoil, shouts of men and neighs of horses filled the entire camp. Torches, like the stars in the sky, covered the land as far as the eye could see.

Ser Jorah had strictly forbidden anyone from entering or leaving and had even led a team to kill seventeen horsemen who attempted to break into Drogo’s grass palace.

It was not until the next morning that Aggo learned the exact news from the smoke-filled ruins of the camp: Pono Ko had taken more than twenty thousand Dothraki screaming warriors and left Drogo’s khalasar.

The unrest came from the conflict with those who tried to stop them.

Pono Ko had seemed quiet these past few days, but in reality, he had been secretly contacting the leaders of the smaller khasar. While the other great Kos were still watching Drogo’s grass palace, he had already realized that no matter when Drogo died, the one with the strongest army would be king.

Drogo’s khalasar was the most powerful on the entire Great Grass Sea, with over forty thousand screaming warriors. Including the young riders, his fighting force exceeded fifty thousand.

Pono Ko took twenty thousand screaming warriors in one fell swoop, while the remaining twenty thousand were to be divided among a dozen or so Kos. In a single night, Pono Ko—no, Khal Pono—had become one of the strongest Khals on the Dothraki Sea.

The chaos caused by Pono Ko’s departure was only the beginning; the curtain had risen on the collapse of Drogo’s khalasar. Over the next two days, more than ten other Kos divided the remaining followers, wealth, slaves, and livestock among themselves.

On the fourth day, Daenerys stood on a hill and looked out in all directions. The khalasar that had once covered the red earth like a brown blanket was now being folded over and over, until only the small piece that was Daenerys’s khas remained, like a stain on the red ‘floor.’

The Dothraki had to leave this land immediately. Not leaving meant death. Without a water source, without grass for the horses, the nomadic horsemen could not survive.

Everything was as Daenerys had expected.

No, she had miscalculated one thing.

The Dothraki held the prophecies of the Dosh Khaleen in far greater regard than she had anticipated.

The Dosh Khaleen: the widowed Khaleesis, the wise women of the Dothraki, administrators of Vaes Dothrak, priestesses on the Mother of Mountains, and planners of the great movements of the khalasars across the Great Grass Sea.

Clop clop clop

At dusk on the fourth day, with a massive red setting sun as a backdrop, a thousand elite riders galloped from the distance, kicking up a long dragon of dust.

It was Jhaqo Ko.

Outside the wooden spike fence surrounding the grass palace, Ser Jorah led over a hundred Dothraki riders, their sharp blades drawn, standing in stern formation.

Heee-neigh.

Jhaqo Ko’s warhorse reared up, its front hooves high in the air. The gust of sandy wind it brought made Jorah narrow his eyes slightly.

“You have already left. What are you doing back here?” Jorah’s challenging voice came, muffled, from beneath his visor.

Thump! Jhaqo said nothing, only violently throwing a dark, messy object in Daenerys’s direction—a dripping, bloody human head.

It rolled a few times and came to a stop at Daenerys’s feet. She saw an old, scarred face: eyes wide with fury, mouth agape, as if protesting the injustice of fate—no, Dothraki warriors did not protest. Even in the face of the most tragic fate, they would let out a battle cry.

So, in the moment before his death, Cohollo was still unyieldingly roaring his battle cry.

Thump, thump, thump

Horse after horse, rider after rider, they wheeled around in an arc, expressionlessly tossing bloody heads before the tent.

Soon, the heads formed a small mound.

Four nights ago, Cohollo had taken five hundred elite riders. Four days later, at dusk under a blood-red sun, Khal Jhaqo brought back five hundred mangled heads.

“Where is my son?” Daenerys’s gaze fell, her voice hoarse.

Khal Jhaqo beckoned to a rider behind him, and the Dothraki handed him a four-meter-long wooden pole.

He raised the pole high for all to see.

“Ah—” Irri, Doreah, and the other handmaids let out cries of despair.

The pole was slender, and impaled on its tip was a tiny head, the size of a melon. It had the bronze skin of the Dothraki, hair as black as Drogo’s, and almond-shaped eyes that held pale violet irises.

“Why?” Daenerys’s face was deathly pale, her body swaying. She looked coldly at Jhaqo. “Did Cohollo not tell you of my vow? I only asked for this child to live his life in peace. The old crones of the Dosh Khaleen would witness my vow. He was no threat to you.”

Jhaqo grinned, a savage smile. “Killing the son of a former Khal is a tradition of the horsemen. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone knows that,” his followers echoed in unison.

“Your vow, the agreement you would make with the Dosh Khaleen… Cohollo told us everything. But that is not our tradition. The great horse-riding people do not do such things. Everyone knows that,” Jhaqo said with a loud laugh.

“Everyone knows that,” his followers chorused again.

“We?” Daenerys thought for a moment, then asked, “You were nearly a day’s ride behind Cohollo, at least three hundred kilometers. It is impossible that you caught up to him. Was it Pono?”

“From the very beginning, Cohollo’s band never escaped the pursuit of that cunning Pono. Later, we all joined in. But I was luckier. I happened to run into the remnants of Cohollo’s group, hahaha—”

Jhaqo threw his head back and laughed smugly, waving the pole in his hand from side to side like a victory banner.

“Worthy of being Drogo’s strongest guard. Five hundred men charged left and right, killing nearly three thousand of ours. In the end, only thirteen riders were left when I found them. I personally cut off the head of a Bloodrider and a little Khal.”

He pulled his braid from behind his back to his chest, pointed at the bells on it, and said with a frown, “Though they were old, young, and weak, I still added two bells for myself. After all, I am a Khal now, and a Khal ought to have a long braid of bells representing a string of victories.”

The Dothraki wear their hair in a braid from childhood. Whenever they are defeated in battle, they cut off their braids as a sign of humiliation.

In this way, the whole world would know of their shame.

At Dothraki feasts, the quality of one’s seat is determined by the length of one’s braid: a warrior with a long braid receives more respect, sits closer to the Khal, and is given a higher seat; those with short braids can only lean against the walls, sitting on tattered mats on the ground.

A long braid represents a Dothraki’s honor, and the number of bells tied into it commemorates the number of his victories.

Khal Drogo had never been defeated in his entire life. His khalasar was the largest, and his braid was thick and long, hanging down below his hips.

His black braid was filled with jingling little bells. When he ran out of room, he even plaited the beard on his chin and tied a string of small bells to it.

Now, Khal Jhaqo counted Cohollo and the infant he protected as two victories.

You will regret what you’ve done today, Daenerys was filled with rage, sentencing Jhaqo to death in her heart.

Jhaqo, I hope you stay alive for at least the next five years.

“What are you going to do now? Kill me? Or your former Khal?” she asked coldly.

“She’s not even crying?” Jhaqo turned and muttered to Mago, “A woman as hard and cold as a wolf. We both lost.”

Four days ago, when the khalasar fell apart, Mago had taken advantage of the chaos to abduct Daenerys’s Lamb Man handmaid, Eroeh.

He had raped her for a second time, then given her to the new khalasar led by Jhaqo for the men to take turns with her. In the end, he had also cut off the poor handmaid’s head and tossed it near Daenerys’s tent.

—This was because Daenerys had forcefully taken Eroeh from Mago, and he wanted revenge!

More than half a month ago, during Drogo’s raid on a Lamb Men town, the young girl Eroeh was captured by Mago and gang-raped in public by the Dothraki. Daenerys Targaryen happened to pass by at that moment.

She had stopped the Dothraki warriors who were raping Eroeh and taken the girl as her own slave—all of which went against horsemen tradition. Not even a Khal could arbitrarily take the spoils of war from his men. It was only thanks to Drogo’s prestige and strength that he was able to quell the matter for Daenerys.

Mago was a powerful warrior, and now he had become one of Khal Jhaqo’s Bloodriders. It was his idea to impale the infant boy’s tiny head on the wooden pole.

He had also made a bet with Jhaqo on whether Daenerys would faint from fright.

Daenerys did not even shed a tear. She just stared at them with her captivating purple eyes as if they were dead men. They had not expected this at all; they had all lost the bet.

“Woman, I have sworn an oath witnessed by the Mother of Mountains to never harm my own Khal. Everyone knows that,” Jhaqo said, his horse taking a few small, prancing steps as he shouted at Daenerys’s khas.

“Everyone knows that,” Mago added.

“Everyone knows that,” Jhaqo’s followers chorused.

Jhaqo continued, “A Khaleesi who has lost her Khal will never again be touched by any Dothraki horseman. She will be sent to Vaes Dothrak to become one of the Dosh Khaleen. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone knows that,” Mago yelled from the side.

From within Daenerys’s khas, Aggo stepped forward and shouted, “After the Khal is buried, we will escort the Khaleesi back to Vaes Dothrak.”

“Hmph, my khalasar will be waiting for you on the north bank of the Lhazar River. Don’t even think about running,” Jhaqo said coldly.

This place was on the border of the Red Waste. To the north were the scattered settlements of the Lamb Men, and across the Lhazar River lay the boundless Dothraki Sea. As for the south… that was over a thousand kilometers of desolate Gobi desert.

He scanned the small encampment around them, the whip in his right hand cracking through the air with a chilling sound. “Now, hand over the property that belonged to the Khal, but which no longer belongs to you.”

“The slaves, warriors, and livestock have already been taken by them,” Ser Jorah said with a frown.

“Man of iron, I want this palace,” Jhaqo said, pointing his whip at the grass palace behind Daenerys. “Only a Khal can live in a Khal’s palace. The Dosh Khaleen have no need for it.”

Jorah looked back at Daenerys. His right hand rested on his sword hilt, and his left quietly pulled down the visor of his flat-topped great helm.

But Daenerys shook her head at him, then turned to Quaro and ordered, “Have the women dismantle the tent.”

Chapter 12: Silver Lady

Though some of its walls were thick reeds, the roof and facade of Drogo’s woven-grass palace were sewn from multiple layers of silk and coarse cotton. When dismantled and folded, it was enough to fill ten flatbed carts.

In modern society, it would be almost worthless. Well, actually, it would be quite valuable. Dozens of animal pelts hung from it: gleaming golden marten, thick buffalo hides, and white lion pelts unique to this fantasy world, which could probably be traded for several apartments within the third ring road of Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou.

Alright, back to the world of Ice and Fire. The greatest Khal naturally lived in the finest palace, and Drogo’s woven-grass palace was undoubtedly second to none on the Dothraki Sea.

“Khal, it is getting late. I’m afraid we’ll have to make camp here for the day,” Mago said to Jhaqo.

Jhaqo thought for a moment, then shouted for Quaro and the others to halt. “You all leave. The palace is mine. Tonight, I will feast the warriors of my Khalasar.

“Also, I know Drogo had ten chests of gold medallions and fifty chests of silver medals. Hand them over. They all belong to me now.”

The Dothraki had no monetary system, no trade with coin, but the horsemen were not the only people in this world.

They were not even the strongest race.

When they came to the Nine Free Cities, with their high walls and formidable garrisons, they still needed to exchange gifts to obtain life’s necessities.

Gold and silver were the hard currency in the world of Ice and Fire, and the Dothraki needed them too.

They melted gold, silver, and copper into medallions and medals, which could be linked together to form belts. From time to time, a Khal would unfasten a piece from his waist and award it to someone who had earned it.

The mighty Drogo possessed the strongest Khalasar and the greatest wealth.

In the “luxurious” woven-grass palace, spanning over two hundred square meters, nearly half the space was filled with heavy wooden chests. Besides clothing and other daily effects, gold and silver constituted the bulk of it.

“You’re too late. You’re not the only Ko who covets Khal Drogo’s wealth.”

Jhaqo cut her off harshly. “Not ‘Ko’. I am Khal Jhaqo.”

Daenerys’s eyes were contemptuous as she continued, “To prevent looters from breaking into the tents, I had those things thrown out long ago. The Dosh Khaleen are supported by all of Vaes Dothrak anyway. I have no need for gold or treasure.”

“Truly?” Jhaqo was somewhat annoyed, and also somewhat incredulous—unwilling to believe it.

“We carried the chests out together and threw them away. Sixty chests. Everyone knows,” Ser Jorah said.

“Everyone knows,” Aggo echoed.

“Everyone knows,” Dany’s khas chorused raggedly.

“Damn you! Get out of here, now!” Jhaqo brandished his whip in a fury.

A Khaleesi’s dowry, a Khal’s weapons and horses—no one would dare take those by force. This was a tradition all Dothraki knew.

A twenty-square-meter linen tent. In one corner, a dozen or so wooden chests were piled haphazardly, most of them gifts Dany had received at her wedding.

When they were carried out of Drogo’s palace, Mago had even dismounted to rummage through them.

The newly erected tent was too small to dig a fire pit, so the flaps were pulled open left and right, and a great fire was lit not far from the entrance.

The dim yellow flames illuminated Qotho’s cold face. He had been standing guard by Drogo’s bedside, waiting for the moment his ‘blood of my blood’ would ride into the Night Lands.

Haggo was drunk, lying dejectedly on the ground, his dull eyes staring blankly at the tent’s ceiling.

“The child should have been left with my blood of my blood, to wait for the final moment together. Cohollo shouldn’t have listened to her,” he slurred.

The tent was too crowded. Dany sat at the entrance. She didn’t answer Haggo, her face pale as she silently stuffed cotton into a cloth doll.

She had just sewn the doll from pale yellow silk. It had no head.

Jhaqo had said he threw the baby’s torso to the wild dogs.

The atmosphere in the starlit camp was oppressive, the silence so thick it had almost solidified. Among the small khas of one or two hundred people, the only sound was the crackling of firewood in the roaring flames.

Ser Jorah was still in full armor. He looked at his princess with pity. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but it felt as if his throat were blocked; not a single word of comfort would come out.

Perhaps no words can lessen the grief in her heart right now, the knight thought sorrowfully.

Involuntarily, a scene from King’s Landing surfaced in his mind.

It was fifteen years ago, the night before the Targaryen dynasty met its final end.

As the heir to the House of Bear Island, his exceptional prowess had seen him chosen as a personal guard to his liege lord, Ned Stark, Duke of Winterfell in the North.

When he followed Lord Stark and his northern army as they stormed the Red Keep, he had seen a scene much like tonight’s: the three-year-old princess, her head severed from her body; the infant prince, not yet a year old, reduced to a bloody pulp plastered against the wall.

Clip-clop-clop…

The sound of hoofbeats from afar startled everyone from their silent stupor.

Quaro rode out to investigate and returned quickly, reporting to Daenerys, “Khaleesi, it is Jhaqo’s Khaleesi, Lady Lylis. She says she wishes to thank you in person.”

Dany was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Before her lay a bundle folded from a wool blanket. At his words, she lowered her head and stared blankly at the infant’s corpse inside for a long moment before saying hoarsely, “Let her come.”

“I am here,” a woman’s voice came from the darkness, followed by a retinue of riders bearing torches.

Without waiting for Dany’s order, Lylis’s party pushed their way into the small circle.

“You…” Dany said one word and then stopped.

The flickering flames danced across a face that wore a mixture of triumph and mockery.

Now, not even a fool would have thought she came with good intentions.

While fitting the infant boy’s clean head onto the neck of the cloth doll, Dany said in a muffled voice, “I saved you.”

“Look, I’m riding a horse too,” Lylis said, awkwardly pulling the reins to make her mount turn in a circle. “A little mare with a silver mane, just like yours.”

In fact, they were not the same. Dany’s little silver had a coat that shimmered like threads of silver; Lylis’s was merely a white horse.

Unlike the Myrish silk gown she had worn before, she had adopted the local customs and changed into a Dothraki painted vest.

Dany covered the bundle and looked up, meeting Lylis’s eyes directly. She said again, “I saved your life.”

Lylis pursed her lips and beckoned to someone behind her. Two nimble Dothraki horsewomen came over and helped her dismount.

Although she could sit on horseback, Lylis was still in her postpartum period. Her limbs were weak and her body was frail; she needed handmaidens to help her walk.

She was no match for Dany, who had spent her days holding her dragon eggs, experiencing ‘Dragon Dreams’.

Stumbling over to Dany’s side, she too sat cross-legged on the rug spread on the ground. Lylis leaned close to Dany’s ear, covered her mouth, and whispered with a laugh, “I hate you.”

“Obviously,” Dany said, nodding seriously.

“Hee hee hee…” Lylis propped herself up with her hands, leaning back slightly. She gazed at the gem-like stars twinkling in the sky, sighed, and said lightly, “Alas, I’m a Khaleesi now. I have my own little silver mare, my own khas… that’s them over there. And more importantly, I have a son as strong as a dragon.”

As she spoke, she pushed with her hands, shifting from leaning back to leaning forward, and tilted her head to flip open the cloth covering the bundle in front of Dany.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, what a poor little thing. He’s not even half the size of my Jango… Oh, is his body sewn from cloth? Right, the dogs ate his real one.”

Hearing this, Dany felt an inexplicable sense of relief. The heavy guilt that had been crushing her, making it hard to breathe, had lessened.

“Thank you,” she said with sincerity.

“Thank…” Lylis froze. “What are you talking about? Are you mad?”

Dany smirked, her voice dripping with venom. “Even though you’re a disgusting slut, at least you bothered to come see me. That’s far more than I ever expected of you.”

How low must your expectations have been?

It took a moment for Lylis to fully grasp her meaning, and her face twisted in rage.

“I…”

Before she could explode, Dany immediately warned her, “The Dothraki cannot harm the Dosh Khaleen, or they will suffer the curse of the Horse God. Everyone knows that.”

As she finished, she turned her gaze to Lylis’s handmaiden. The Dothraki woman immediately replied, “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone knows,” Irri and Jhiqui said as well.

“You…” Lylis glared at Dany. After a long moment, she suddenly laughed. “It doesn’t matter. I am a slut. You’re not much better.”

“I saved your life!” Dany reminded her for the third time.

“I’m grateful, but that’s all.” Lylis’s eyes scanned the crowd for a moment, finding the witch peering at them. She pointed at her and sneered, “You saved her too, but she still killed your Khal and your child.”

“I did not,” the witch denied, waving her hands frantically. “Silver Lady, have you forgotten? It was I who helped you give birth with the Moon Song.”

Lylis had no intention of engaging with her. She just turned back to Dany with a grin. “Drogo was your man. You knew better than anyone how many scars he had on his body.

“Many of his wounds were far more severe than a scratch on the chest, yet he remained the mightiest Khal on the Great Grass Sea. Even the brothels of Lys spoke his name, a name that carried the scent of blood and death.”

“I trusted her,” Dany said flatly.

Then she asked, “Why do you hate me so much? Is it just jealousy? Being a Khaleesi is hardly a position to be envied.”

Lylis gently stroked the silver strands of hair that fell over her chest. Staring with her pale violet eyes, she gritted her teeth and said, “Because I hate being someone’s substitute more than anything!”

“What do you mean?” Dany was confused.

There were countless silver-haired, violet-eyed women in Western Essos. Even in Drogo’s Khalasar, there were dozens of such female slaves.

“I originally belonged to Illyrio. He bought me from a brothel in Lys because he wanted you but couldn’t break the membrane that belonged to Khal Drogo,” Lylis leaned close to Dany’s ear, her voice a venomous whisper. “That fat pig screamed your name the whole time he was fucking me.”

“Is that all?” Dany’s eyebrow twitched, her expression showing she was completely unfazed.

In modern society, what beautiful woman hadn’t been the subject of someone’s fantasy?

When men masturbated, did they always do it while staring at themselves in a mirror?

The Targaryens were blessed with genes for beauty. All its members were handsome men and beautiful women. Take Dany’s dead brother, for instance. His character was utterly vile, but his looks… Well, his looks and his character were two opposite extremes.

Daenerys was naturally a first-class beauty, but perhaps more importantly, she had the added allure of being the last princess of an ancient line—the last princess of the old Valyrian royalty. The very thought was thrilling!

Seeing that she hadn’t provoked Dany, Lylis grew displeased. She bit her lip and continued, “My status was low. Illyrio never treated me as anything important. He often used me to entertain others.

“The very night before you married Drogo, your ‘Beggar King’ brother, Viserys, was about to sneak into your bedroom.

“It was Illyrio who stopped him, telling him that angering Drogo would not only cost him the Khal’s screaming warriors for his restoration, but also the lives of both you and your brother.

“Then, the Beggar King fucked me, and he was screaming your name too…”

Chapter 13: Eugenics in Another World

Is procreation between close relatives good or bad?

In the view of the general public, couples in incestuous marriages are prone to having children with genetic defects, which is highly detrimental to eugenics.

This is a scientific fact.

Since humanity’s primitive beginnings, the cruel natural environment has already helped eliminate the vast majority of genes for dominant diseases.

After millions of years, by the time humanity had developed a relatively advanced civilization, genetic diseases were recessively inherited—only when both parents carry the same recessive gene for a disease does their child have a roughly one-in-four chance of suffering from that genetic illness.

Note, it must be the recessive gene for the same disease.

Relatives with close blood ties, whose genes originate from a common ancestor, are clearly more likely to carry the same types of recessive genes. Their children are more prone to being born dim-witted or with deformities.

However, if a bloodline interbreeds for dozens, hundreds, or thousands of generations, all of its recessive genetic defects will be fully expressed. Then, by discarding the children who carry a ‘paired’ set of these defective recessive genes, the remaining offspring will inevitably possess fewer recessive genetic defects than the previous generation.

In other words, through a cruel system of elimination, inbreeding is beneficial for reducing defective genes—a form of genetic optimization.

Of course, genetic optimization is a two-sided coin. Besides reducing inferior genes, there is also the matter of increasing superior ones—through the more practical method of crossbreeding.

Here, we will only discuss the issue of ‘reducing inferior genes through inbreeding.’

To achieve genetic optimization through inbreeding requires the effort of at least several dozen generations. If a new bloodline is introduced midway, bringing with it new defective genes, all previous efforts are rendered void, and the process must start over from the beginning.

Without a thousand years of direct intermarriage between blood relatives, any plan for a “noble bloodline” is but a fantasy.

And in China, there are no truly absolute noble houses that have lasted for a thousand years—the kind that could refuse a marriage alliance with the imperial family. Thus, for the Chinese people, incestuous unions have always been a taboo to be avoided.

Even looking across the ten-thousand-year history of Earth, only the pharaonic families of ancient Egypt achieved this—and they, too, were later brought down by their system of inbreeding, because ‘inferior’ outside blood was introduced, forcing everything to start anew.

But constantly giving birth to monstrous and feeble-minded heirs while trying to maintain an increasingly collapsing dynastic rule proved impossible. If their power hadn’t been waning, would the ‘noble’ pharaohs have married into other families?

In the end, the ancient pharaonic line was nearly wiped out—the people may not have all died, but their dynasty and the system it established were eliminated.

The ancient European nobility had ideas similar to the pharaohs, but their fate was even more tragic—take, for instance, the hemophilia that devastated Europe’s royal houses.

The main issue was their inability to practice thorough and direct inbreeding; fresh blood was introduced into their lines from time to time.

But what the people of Earth could not achieve, many houses in the world of Ice and Fire did. They possessed true royal bloodlines.

Like House Targaryen.

In fact, a great people who practiced inbreeding once appeared on Essos—the Valyrian Freehold, of which the Targaryens were but a minor branch.

How strong was the blood of the Valyrians?

One need only look at Daenerys Targaryen to understand.

Besides the Valyrian survivors, the ducal houses of Westeros (formerly royal families, demoted to dukes after Aegon Targaryen’s conquest and unification of the Eight Kingdoms) all practiced, to a greater or lesser extent… well, it could only be considered ‘secondary’ inbreeding, as they also married into other houses.

That genetic optimization through inbreeding is possible in this world is mainly due to their incredibly long histories. Take the story’s main protagonist family, House Stark—the family of the wolf—for example; they have a family history of at least eight thousand years.

As for the Freys of the Twins, who orchestrated the Red Wedding, that family has always been looked down upon by the high nobility for its shallow roots.

So, just how ‘nouveau riche’ was House Frey?

Well, they were a ‘mere’ six-hundred-year-old marquis family with nothing but money.

Ahem, if a six-hundred-year-old noble house were in China, well…

All this is to say one thing: in the brutal and fantastical world of Ice and Fire, Viserys’s plan to bed his own sister, while a crime of a sort, was not a sin against ethics.

House Targaryen had always followed the ancient tradition: the union of brother and sister.

For example, Aegon, the founder of the Targaryen dynasty, married his two sisters.

Ahem, yes, two: his elder sister, Visenya, and his younger sister, Rhaenys.

King’s Landing is built on three hills: Aegon’s High Hill, the Hill of Rhaenys, and the Hill of Visenya, which commemorate the three founders of the dynasty.

In fact, Daenerys’s own parents, the “Mad King” Aerys and Queen Rhaella, were also brother and sister. Even her grandparents were brother and sister.

Had Daenerys been born ten years earlier—no, five would probably have been enough—she would very likely have married her eldest brother, Rhaegar.

“And?” Daenerys said coolly to Lylis. “I’ve long known that Viserys is a bastard.”

Lylis gave her a strange look, puzzled by her nonchalance.

At the same time, seeing that her words could not wound Daenerys, the anger in her heart blazed even hotter. She whipped her head around and pointed at Ser Jorah, who was watching her warily. “He took me, too. He didn’t cry out your name, but the way he looked at me… it was as if he was fucking your soul through my skin.”

“I did not!” The knight had been on guard against Lylis attacking the ‘poor, frail’ Daenerys, but he never imagined he would be dragged into it. His face flushed red, and he waved his iron-gauntleted hands repeatedly. “You slander me! I wasn’t thinking that.”

“I’ve known countless men. You can’t hide it from me,” Lylis sneered.

“Ahem. You are a Khaleesi now, not the top courtesan of a pleasure house in Lys,” Daenerys said, embarrassed, then warned her sternly, “I imagine Khal Jhaqo would be most displeased to hear what you just said.”

She had known for a long time that Jorah Mormont harbored lust for her.

Yes, she had learned it from Game of Thrones before she crossed over: when the Bear met Tyrion in a brothel, he was holding a silver-haired, purple-eyed Volantene prostitute who was cosplaying as the famous Queen of Meereen—the Daenerys of two or three years in the future.

“Jhaqo?” Daenerys’s threat failed to intimidate her. Lylis’s mouth twisted further as she leaned close to Daenerys’s ear and whispered in a voice only she could hear, “How do you think I came to be with him?”

Daenerys’s heart tightened. Had she become Helen of Troy?

“Is he also deeply in love with me? Doesn’t seem likely,” she whispered back, not the least bit ashamed.

Lylis gave a cold laugh. “Because, like me, he only wants the same things the Khal has. In his mind, there’s no difference between you, Drogo’s stallion, and his royal tent.”

“Then doesn’t that make you worth less than Drogo’s tent?” Daenerys pushed her head away and dismissed her loudly. “Go. I don’t want to discuss these tedious topics with you anymore.”

“Fine, I’ll go. The khalasar returns to Vaes Dothrak almost every year anyway. We’ll see if you’re still so proud then, when you’re hoping to join the ranks of the Dosh Khaleen crones.”

Lylis stormed away.

Early the next morning, at the break of dawn, Jhaqo’s khalasar also departed, moving slowly north through the cold morning mist.

They had no choice but to leave. Forget water and grass for the horses; they had run out of firewood for their fires days ago.

The Red Waste was dry and scorching hot during the day, but at night the temperature dropped below ten degrees—the typical climate of a great desert.

Stepping out of her dim tent, Daenerys found the world outside blindingly bright.

The sun, rising at a slant, was like a furnace dripping with molten gold. This searing liquid spilled across the land, baking the earth until it was cracked and hollow.

The small camp was not silent. The sound of an old man coughing came from a nearby grass hut, and a small group of young children ran and played on the open ground, heedless of the heat. Farther away, some women were busy with their daily chores.

Over a hundred unsaddled horses were loose on the outskirts. They stamped the ground, walking about listlessly, letting out the occasional weary whinny as if to complain: Why isn’t there a single blade of grass in this godsforsaken place?

Seeing Daenerys, her handmaidens immediately came to her side, bearing water, wine, fruit, and roast meat.

After washing her face and eating a little, Daenerys had Aggo and the others direct the khas to move her back to the position of her original grass-mat palace.

Though that spot was just as desolate, at least the nearby hill offered some shelter from the sun and the biting sands.

Qotho and Haggo were still inside the tent with the dying Drogo. Daenerys summoned Aggo, Quaro, Jhogo, Qalarro, and Ser Jorah to the shade, where they sat on the ground in a circle.

The first expanded political council was convened at the foot of the small hill.

“Drogo’s khalasar is broken,” she told them directly.

Jhogo stated, as if it were obvious, “A khal who cannot ride is no khal.”

“The Dothraki follow only the strong,” Ser Jorah said. “Princess, I am sorry, but we could not hold them. Ever since Pono Ko left, Drogo’s warriors have been departing day by day, in large groups and small.”

“I see. How many people, horses, and supplies do we have left?” Daenerys asked.

“Khaleesi, not one of your khas has left,” Aggo said solemnly. “We are the Khaleesi’s guards. We swore our oaths to you, not the Khal. So we all remained.”

Daenerys brightened. The Dothraki might be savages, but their integrity was far greater than that of more “civilized” peoples—like the people of Westeros, for instance, who treated sacred oaths like filth.

“Who else?” Daenerys asked, her tone light. “Our khas number less than a hundred, but I saw at least two hundred of our people when we moved the tent just now.”

For either version of Daenerys, the Dothraki were her base of support. The horsemen were loyal, brave, and straightforward—more real and trustworthy than the people of her “homeland” thousands of miles away.

And in terms of identity, as a Khal’s wife, her “citizenship” had long since been transferred to the horsemen of the Dothraki Great Grass Sea.

That was why she called the Dothraki “her people.”

The others did not notice this subtle shift in her mindset, or perhaps the horsemen before her had always considered her one of them.

Jhogo answered her, “The elderly who can’t travel easily have remained, along with the cowards, the weak, and the sick. The new khalasars that left would not take them.”

Chapter 14: Drogo’s Funeral

“We have more than two hundred people, but fewer than a hundred who can fight. The only elite screaming warriors are the sixty men of your Khas. The rest of them…” Ser Jorah paused, a look of pity on his face, and sighed. “It’s all but certain that on the long journey ahead, nearly half of the old, weak, sick, and young will perish.”

“And our provisions?” Dany asked with a frown.

“We can guarantee everyone a horse. The cattle and sheep combined only number just over two hundred. As for water… after the khalasar left, the small stream is barely enough for us, but it’s a bit far—almost five kilometers away.”

Dany asked, puzzled, “There isn’t a blade of grass nearby. What have the horses and sheep been eating these past few days?”

“There’s a reddish-brown devil grass in the cracks between the rocks. It’s tough and hardy, but it’s enough to fill the horses’ bellies. This can’t last long, though. The resources here are depleted. We must move on,” Rakharo warned her.

“Where to?” An idea sparked in Dany’s mind, and she tested the horsemen. “What are your plans now? If I were to reorganize this small khas into a khalasar and make the four of you my Bloodriders, would you accept?”

Dany’s words seemed to cause the Dothraki warriors great distress. After frowning in thought for a moment, Quaro was the first to refuse. “That cannot be. To be a woman’s Bloodrider would bring me shame. Besides, there are only three Bloodriders.”

Dany looked to the next man. Aggo lowered his eyes. “I cannot swear the oath either. Only a man can lead a khalasar.”

“You are the Khaleesi, and only the Khaleesi,” Rakharo continued. “I will ride with you to Vaes Dothrak at the foot of the Mother of Mountains and protect you from harm, until you join the crones of the Dosh Khaleen. Beyond that, I can make no other promises.”

“I—”

“Enough. I understand,” Dany cut Jhogo off irritably before he could speak. “Let’s put this aside for now. Our most important task is to send the great Khal Drogo back to the Night Lands.”

But Ser Jorah suddenly shot up from his cross-legged position, drawing the sword at his waist with a shing. The brilliant blade dazzled Dany’s eyes.

Then, Jorah Mormont knelt on one knee and laid his sword at Dany’s feet. “Your Grace, I swear to serve you, to obey your every command, and to give my life for you if need be.”

He glanced sideways at the four Dothraki beside him and declared forcefully, “I swear by the sword in my hand and by the bear of my House, no one will take you back to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish it. You do not have to join the Dosh Khaleen.”

The four horsemen glanced at each other, their almond-shaped black eyes flickering with confusion and unease.

So it seemed that even in decadent Westeros, there were still noble and loyal men!

Although Ser Jorah’s motives weren’t entirely pure, his loyalty stemming more from unrequited love, Dany was still very happy.

“According to Dothraki tradition, the Khal will ride his stallion through fire into the arms of the Horse God. I command you to lead the riders and gather everything that will burn—firewood, dry grass, and vines.”

This was a harsh, barren land where they could not stay for long. Dany had to leave as soon as possible.

Hearing that Dany was going to cremate Drogo, his two despondent Bloodriders finally left his bedside. They, too, needed to prepare their belongings.

“You may all leave now. I must end his pain and humiliation,” Dany told her handmaidens.

Drogo had not woken for four days. Half his chest was black and rotting, yet he still drew shallow breaths. For him, this was both an agonizing torment and a great humiliation—a great horselord should not lie helpless in bed.

Dany took three minutes to release him with a feather pillow. Then she sliced open the rotting flesh, cleaned out the pus and blood, and filled his chest cavity with thick, scented oils.

Irri and Jhiqui helped clean Drogo’s hair and body. Then Dany washed his long hair herself, rebraided it, and wove a string of small bells into it.

Many bells—gold, silver, and bronze. These bells would announce his coming to his enemies, making them tremble in fear. Even in the land of the dead.

Next, Doreah dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots, and fastened a heavy leather belt laden with medallions of gold and silver around his waist.

Together, Irri and Jhiqui lifted Drogo’s broad yet emaciated frame and helped him into a painted vest to cover the scar on his chest.

The vest was old and faded, but it was his favorite.

Dany had planned to hold the cremation that evening, but by sunset, they still hadn’t gathered enough wood. Jhogo had ridden the farthest, twenty kilometers to the north, almost back into the territory of the Lamb Men.

“They shot arrows at me. The Lamb Men do not welcome the horsemen,” Jhogo said angrily.

Wasn’t that obvious? You people harvest them like a crop. Every year, you ride south from Vaes Dothrak across the Great Grass Sea to raid the Lhazar River basin, treating the Lamb Men like some kind of first prize of the new year.

Er, this year seemed particularly ill-omened. Two Khals in a row had fallen in the “starter zone.”

Jhogo quickly grew excited again. “But I ran into Odo’s khalasar! When they heard I was gathering wood for the Khal’s funeral pyre, they offered to help us conquer a village for sacrificial offerings.”

Odo had also been one of Drogo’s kos. The khalasar he broke away with wasn’t large; the biggest shares had been taken by Pono and Jhaqo. Of the more than forty thousand screaming warriors, Pono took twenty thousand and Jhaqo took ten thousand. The remaining ten thousand or so were divided among a dozen kos, leaving each new khalasar with only one or two thousand warriors.

Of course, on the vast Dothraki Sea, a khalasar of a few thousand was the norm. A warlord like Drogo was a rare hegemon on the plains.

“Khal Odo means no good. He is most likely acting on orders from Pono and the others, waiting in the north for you.” Once Jhogo had left, Ser Jorah said with a grave expression, “Your Grace, what are you truly thinking? Your attempt to win over Quaro and the others shows that you have no desire to return to Vaes Dothrak and join the Dosh Khaleen. In that case, we seem to be trapped.

And while your khas is loyal to you, they still have their own will—the centuries-old traditions of the Dothraki.”

Dany gave him a reassuring look. “You will understand in two days.”

The next day, at the crack of dawn, Qotho rode out alone to the north to meet Odo at the appointed place. At noon, he returned with a long column of riders.

Ten riders from Odo’s khalasar were escorting two hundred Lamb Men slaves, who were roped together in a line, their faces filled with despair.

Another dozen slaves were driving more than ten carts.

The carts were piled high with bundles of chopped firewood. And, yes, a cart of castor oil.

“These slaves will accompany us on our journey into the night,” Qotho said grimly.

Dany wore a pair of loose sand-silk trousers and sandals that laced up to her knees. On her upper body, she wore a Dothraki painted vest similar to Drogo’s.

“The Khal has you, and he has five hundred of his most loyal warriors to accompany him. He does not need these cowardly Lamb Men slaves.” She unhesitatingly rejected the plan for human sacrifice.

“You—” Qotho raised his whip, his face venomous.

“You will behave. I am in command here now!” Dany said coldly.

Quaro and Ser Jorah were at her side. Just behind her, Aggo and Rakharo had their bows aimed at Qotho.

Several hundred people worked all afternoon. Before sunset, the wood was piled into a square five meters long and five meters wide, and four meters high. The hollow center was filled with straw, shrubs, bark chips, and dried grass—this was the Khal’s “master bedroom.”

Upon the pyre were placed Khal Drogo’s treasures: his fur blankets, his painted vest, his saddle and bridle, the whip his father gave him when he came of age, his arakh that had slain Khal Ogo and his son, and the immense dragonbone longbow.

Jhogo also tried to place the weapons Drogo’s Bloodriders had given Dany as wedding gifts upon the pyre, but she stopped him.

“Those are mine,” she told him. “I mean to keep them.”

After a moment’s thought, Dany took two men back to the foot of the hills. In a corner of earth and stone, they dug away a layer of red soil to reveal several cowhide sacks, each the size of a cement bag.

Clatter-clatter-clatter

The bottoms of the sacks were lifted, and a dazzling river of gold poured out. A glittering expanse, it was all gold medallions, each the size of a child’s palm.

Dany had buried three of Drogo’s ten chests of gold medallions. Of the ten chests she had thrown out to the khalasar, thirty percent of the medallions were actually brass.

Thousands had scrambled for them; they couldn’t even tell how many chests had been thrown, let alone know that Dany had passed off fakes as genuine.

The savage and straightforward horsemen had not yet evolved such cunning.

Another layer of gold medallions was spread over the Khal’s treasures, followed by several bundles of dry grass.

With solemn expressions, Qotho and Haggo carried Drogo’s body out of the tent as the Dothraki watched in silence.

They laid him on his own pillows and silk blankets, his head facing the distant Mother of Mountains to the northeast.

Rakharo led forth Drogo’s red stallion. It was tall and fierce, its body the color of burning coals, its coat as smooth as the finest silk. It was a beast with few equals in the world, one that would even dare to bite the white lions of the plains.

The Dothraki were a harsh and unsentimental people, and by their custom, they never named their animals. Otherwise, Drogo’s stallion would surely have had a name that would echo through the ages, like the famous steeds of ancient China.

The stallion was especially docile today, allowing itself to be led obediently to the east side of Drogo’s funeral pyre.

As if it knew its fate, it raised its head, just managing to reach Drogo’s, and licked his face. Crystal tears trickled from its agate-like eyes, wetting Drogo’s hair and pillow.

Then it ate a dried apple that Dany offered, stamped its hooves, and threw its head back to neigh for a while before falling silent.

Facing the axe blade that Rakharo swung at its head, it showed no fear, nor did it shy away. It was felled cleanly to the ground.

The horsemen used firewood to build a platform over the horse’s corpse, using the trunks of small trees and the branches of larger ones. The wood was laid from east to west, symbolizing the rising and setting of the sun.

To the north and south of Drogo, Qotho and Haggo each built a slightly lower platform, which they also covered with possessions and weapons. They led forth their own mounts and, just like with Drogo’s red stallion, fed each an apple before beheading it with a single swing of an axe.

Those pyres belonged to the two Bloodriders. After washing and preparing themselves, they lay down upon them, grasping their arakhs.

Extending out from the Bloodriders’ platforms, the horsemen built a long, third tier with branches. Drogo’s pyre was four meters high, the Bloodriders’ three, and this tier two. It was covered with dry leaves and dead branches, laid from north to south, symbolizing the journey from black ice to raging fire.

Upon this third tier, five hundred human heads were arranged in rows—the heads of the warriors who had died with Cohollo. Finally, soft pillows and silk blankets were piled high on top.

And yes, Cohollo’s own head was placed beside Drogo.

Chapter 15: The Priestess and the Blood Witch

As dusk fell, Daenerys said to Aggo, “Detain Odo’s men. Give the Lamb Men slaves some food and let them leave on their own.”

Aggo glanced warily at the cowering Lamb Men slaves. “Khaleesi,” he said, “the Lamb Men hate us. Now they know our location, and they might bring a large force of Lamb Men to surround and destroy us.

“The Lamb Men are cowardly, but not stupid. They know our true strength. They won’t give up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Aggo was young, but his mind was unexpectedly meticulous. Daenerys gave him a surprised look and explained, “How far can they get walking at night? It would be a miracle if they even reached the banks of the Lhazar River by tomorrow afternoon, but we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning for sure.”

“It would be cleaner to just kill them,” Aggo muttered as he left.

The blood-red sun sank below the horizon. The Lamb Men, surprised to be told they were free to go, tested the waters timidly before fleeing in a swarm.

But the cremation did not begin immediately.

A group of horsemen, their almond-shaped eyes wide, searched the night sky for an auspicious sign.

Whenever a great Khal died, his mount would be killed to accompany him into the afterlife. It signified that he would ride his steed proudly into the night lands.

When their bodies were cremated beneath the open sky, the Khal would ride a flaming steed, leaping forth to become a star in the heavens. The brighter his body burned, the more brilliantly his star would shine in the darkness.

Therefore, before lighting the fire, they had to find the star that represented their Khal—it could not be a star seen every day, but an unusual celestial body that had just appeared, for the Khal was to be laid to rest today.

This was a bit of a problem. How could such a new star be found so easily?

The horsemen sat on the ground, searching and searching the sky until even Daenerys began to feel awkward.

If she had lived in this world for a dozen years, she could have just picked a random, inconspicuous star to fool them. But she had only been here a short time, and her predecessor knew nothing of astrology—at least not as much as the nomads who had nothing better to do than stare at the stars all day. She couldn’t fool the horsemen.

“Does every Khal find his own star?” she asked an elderly horseman.

“Of course. The great Drogo is the twelfth Khal I have served. I have seen it with my own eyes—the previous eleven Khals all rode their fiery steeds to become shining stars, among them the Khal’s own father.” The old man’s dark, weathered face flushed as if he were drunk, thrilled that the Khaleesi was speaking to him personally.

Twelve? Just how many reigns have you seen?

As Daenerys mocked him inwardly, she also lamented how the heroes of the grass sea were as numerous as grains of sand, yet fell as quickly as shooting stars.

“How long does it usually take to wait?” she asked again.

“It is still early, Khaleesi. We must wait until at least the latter half of the night,” the old man chuckled. His lips, like dried orange peels, parted to reveal a mouthful of broken, rotten teeth, yet his homely face held a kind of benevolence. “One time, the sun was already rising just as we found the star and lit the pyre. We waited the entire night!”

Daenerys understood now. It was a test of endurance. Once everyone was exhausted and dizzy with hunger, their vision would blur and their minds would daze. At that point, they might even mistake the moon for the Khal’s new star.

“I’ve found it! There!” an excited voice cried out. It was Rakharo.

Daenerys looked in the direction he was pointing and saw, low on the eastern horizon, a red comet. The red of blood, the red of fire, like a dragon breathing flame.

This was undoubtedly a new star. One could not ask for a more powerful omen.

“Heh heh, the twelfth,” the old man chuckled.

“Pour the oil,” Daenerys commanded loudly.

Canisters of fragrant oils—sesame, castor, and vegetable—were poured over Drogo’s body. Haggo and Qotho were doused as well. The oils soaked the silk blankets, the branches, and the bundles of dry grass, seeping into the firewood below. A sweet, clean scent filled the air.

“Tie up the witch and throw her onto the pyre,” Daenerys said next.

Mirri Maz Duur had been hiding in the crowd, silently watching the pyre being built. She had thought the matter was over when Jhaqo brought back the infant’s head. Although she regretted not being able to take her revenge personally, the sight of that tiny head had been enough to satisfy her.

She never imagined the silver-haired woman would suddenly order her to be sacrificed by fire.

“No, no, no, Silver Lady, Khaleesi, please listen to me…” The witch dodged Aggo as he tried to seize her, struggling and screaming frantically. “I saved Lady Lylis! You said you would reward me! I even sang the birthing song for you and helped you deliver a healthy little prince! You can’t do this to me! This is senseless, it’s madness! Wuu wuu wuu…”

But the witch was no match for Aggo. In the space of a few words, she was pinned to the sandy ground, unable to move.

“Bring me my dragon eggs as well,” Daenerys told her handmaids, and a certain meaning in her tone sent them scurrying.

Jorah, his face pale, stepped forward and grabbed her arm. “Your Highness, Drogo has no need of dragon eggs in the Night Lands. We would be better off taking them to Asshai to sell. The price of just one would be enough to buy a great ship and return to the Free Cities. And the wealth from selling all three would be more than you could spend in a lifetime.”

“Am I short of money?” Daenerys asked, amused.

But Jorah could not laugh. He was taken aback, his grip on her arm tightening as if he wanted to snatch his princess from the reaper’s grasp. “Princess, I know Prince Rhaego’s death was a terrible blow. Even if you hold yourself together and show no hint of sorrow before others, I know your heart is drowning in tears, that this heavy suffering is about to break your back. But you still have—”

He flushed, nearly blurting out words of love that would have crossed the line between a lord and his queen. The next moment, he became aware of the almond-shaped eyes all around them, staring wide. He deflated. “But you are only fourteen. You have countless years ahead of you. You can have countless more little princes and princesses.”

“Rest assured, Ser. Do not forget that I have the Blood of the True Dragon,” Daenerys said, awkwardly pulling her arm from his tight grasp. She lowered her voice, her words heavy with meaning. “The last time, I thought Viserys was like me, that he could not be killed by scorching molten gold. It turns out… he was no true dragon!”

Jorah released her, bewildered. As he tried to puzzle out her meaning, he watched her take the three dragon eggs from her handmaids and, with Aggo and Rakharo supporting her, climb step by step onto Drogo’s funeral pyre.

Daenerys waved the horsemen away. She placed the white dragon egg on Drogo’s chest, using his hands to hold it in place. She herself lay down beside Drogo, cradling the black egg, and set the green egg between them.

“So you have gone mad,” the bound witch beside them said with a strange laugh after watching Daenerys finish her preparations. “The endless pain has driven you insane. Hahaha, so that’s how it is. You should have accepted my offer before—life for life, death for death. If blood magic had revived that butcher, you could have at least saved your husband’s life. Hahaha, you regret it now, don’t you? Hahaha.”

“I’ll kill you first,” Qotho snarled from beside them, rage flaring as he moved to cut down the cackling Lhazareen priestess.

“Stop. I want her to burn alive,” Daenerys called out, stopping Qotho.

This time, the defiant Bloodrider was unusually obedient. He did not curse Daenerys; instead, his gaze held a respect he had never shown before. Was he moved by her “great” act of self-immolation? Or did he believe they would all return to the night lands together, and his Khal would still choose her as his Khaleesi?

Daenerys turned her head to the witch. “Have you forgotten? In your temple, the first time you treated the Khal’s wound, Cohollo said that if the Khal died, you would die. I am fulfilling the promise made that day. Whether you had a hand in the Khal’s death or not, he is dead, and so you will die.”

“Hahaha, that’s right! The Khal is dead, so the witch who treated him must die!” Haggo roared with laughter from the other side. Then he slit his own throat with a single slash, his final words a mumble. “We… we should all go… accompany the Kh—”

“Ssshh—” From Qotho’s side came the hissing sound of an arrow of blood spraying from his throat.

“They are all gone,” Daenerys said, her tone complex as she looked at the red comet on the horizon. “Now it is your turn. From the moment Drogo fell from his horse, I was planning this end for you. Don’t deny it. you murdered him, and you tried to sacrifice his son to a demon. What’s more cruel is that you did it all through the hands of a wife, a mother.”

“Heh, so you are cleverer than I thought.” At this point, the priestess no longer denied it. She laughed triumphantly. “But your son is still dead. That is enough. I have had my revenge.”

“Yes, you wanted revenge. You are not wrong in that,” Daenerys acknowledged her words. The priestess had every reason to kill the villains who had invaded her homeland. “But how do you repay my kindness in saving you?”

“Kindness?” Daenerys’s words seemed to ignite a long-suppressed fury. The Lhazareen priestess spat and fired off a series of questions. “I was dragged from the temple of the god I worship by horsemen. A line of men was waiting to violate me. Not in the way of men and women, but from behind, like dogs. That is not the way of men and women. The fourth man was inside me when you rode by. How did you save me?

“I was forced to watch as the temple of my god was burned, a place where I had healed countless good men and women. Then I was a pure healer, a devout priestess, not some witch or blood witch.

“My home was burned by the horsemen. The streets were filled with piles of heads. In those piles was the baker who made bread for me, and the little boy I worked so hard to save from the dead-eye fever.

“To this day, I can still hear the crack of the horsemen’s whips, driving the children away while they cried until the heavens shook. Tell me, what did you save?”

Daenerys was silent for a moment before answering, “I did all I could. I saved Eroeh and the other women… I saved your life.”

A Khaleesi was not a Khal. Not even a Khal could change the traditions that “everyone knew” among the horsemen. The original Daenerys could have told anyone, My conscience is clear.

“My life?” Mirri laughed coldly. “Look at yourself. When everything beautiful you possessed is gone, what meaning is there in life?”

It seemed everyone believed Daenerys was dead inside from grief, her expressionless face just a sign of despair so deep she had become numb, as if life itself had lost all meaning.

“If it has no meaning, why were you begging me for it just now?” Daenerys mocked.

“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri replied.

Chapter 16: The Birth of the Young Dragons

“Aaaahhh!” The Lhazareen priestess wailed in the inferno, her voice shrill, high-pitched, and filled with pain.

She wasn’t as strong as she had imagined.

Dany sat cross-legged beside Drogo and personally threw the torch into the pyre.

Whoosh

Small, pale blue flames, following the trails of scented oil, shot out from all over the pyre like swift snakes.

The scented oil first ignited the twigs and dry grass. A few seconds later, the wood began to crackle. A wave of heat rose from the fire, washing over the people gathered around the pyre. At first, it was like a lover’s caress—gentle and warm—but soon the shooting flames transformed from fire snakes into a fire dragon, coiling into the air, baring fangs and brandishing claws, recklessly squandering its light and heat.

Ser Jorah and the others watched the flames, hearing only the crisp crackle of the burning wood and the priestess’s song.

At first, Mirri used loud singing to mask her fear and vent her anguish. As the flames rose and the fire grew fiercer, her song grew louder, sharper… then the thick smoke hit her. She suddenly gasped for air, then again, and again, until her song turned into a trembling wail.

A smell spread through the crowd with the wave of heat, seemingly no different from the aroma of horse meat roasting over a campfire. When Jorah smelled it, however, he felt the urge to vomit.

Could the smell of his princess be in there?

At that thought, he retched and actually threw up.

The cross-shaped pyre was fully ablaze, like a roaring dragon, its thunderous voice drowning out the priestess’s gradually weakening screams.

The fire dragon spat long tongues of flame toward the sky and in all directions, licking the belly of the night sky and gnawing at the skin of the Dothraki.

In the ever-thickening smoke, the horsemen could not bear the suffocation and scorching heat and retreated from the fire, coughing.

The fire dragon let out an angry roar, raising a great wind as if from hell itself. It whipped the nearby banners until they snapped. The wood hissed and burst, and glowing embers rose from the curtain of smoke, drifting into the boundless night like thousands of newborn fireflies.

At that moment, Dany, in the sea of fire, seemed to have entered a strange world.

As her painted vest, silk trousers, and sandals smoked and burned away, Dany was still mentally mocking the priestess Mirri for using song to cover her wails. But soon, her attention was captured by the black dragon egg in her hands.

The dragon egg radiated a heat more intense than the inferno, and she could barely resist the urge to cast it aside.

Dany immediately forced herself to enter a Dragon Dream.

The fundamental principle of the Dragon Dream was that Dany’s soul and the dragon’s soul became one.

Her own soul was a complete “1,” and “the black dragon’s soul + Dany’s soul” still equaled “1”—an even more complete “1.”

In the Dragon Dream, she could possess the black dragon’s perspective and senses.

In this state, she saw herself in a blood-red inferno. Before her was her black dragon, blotting out the sky just as it had before.

The black dragon opened its great maw, tilted its head back, and roared. From beyond the sky, countless tiny, colorful specks of light, like fireflies, converged into a river and flowed down its throat.

Gold, silver, green, purple, bright red. The colors of the specks of light were too numerous for Dany to count.

“This is…” A sudden realization struck Dany. “Dragon Hatching!”

She immediately accessed her special ability and checked her status panel. Besides ‘The Unburnt’ and ‘Dragon Dream,’ her ‘Mother of Dragons’ bloodline talent also included the unique ability of ‘Dragon Hatching.’

Dragon Hatching: Imbue dragon eggs with flames and spiritual essence, allowing fossilized eggs that have retained their soul’s origin, dead eggs, and healthy eggs to hatch into young dragons.

“What is spiritual essence?”

The moment the thought formed, a stream of information flowed into her consciousness, and Dany inexplicably gained a more fundamental understanding of her ‘Mother of Dragons’ “Dragon Hatching” talent.

Spiritual essence: the fundamental nature of a soul that possesses vital activity. It exists throughout the living world and within the souls of all living beings.

In a world without reincarnation or an underworld, it is the coming together of spiritual essence that allows organic matter to perform the miracle of creating life.

Take a newborn baby, for example, composed of soul and body. The body is inherited from its parents, while the soul originates from the accumulation of the world’s spiritual essence within that body.

The three dragon eggs that Magister Illyrio of Pentos had given Dany had, over millions of years, turned to stone. In theory, they were no different from diamonds or gemstones—just beautiful, lifeless objects.

But as fate would have it, these fossilized eggs ended up with Daenerys Targaryen. Her bloodline was exceedingly rare, almost the ultimate achievement of the magical civilization of Old Valyria.

Never mind House Targaryen; perhaps in all the thousands of years of Valyria’s history, no one with her “Mother of Dragons” constitution had ever appeared.

Perhaps Dany was an anomaly.

Her “Mother of Dragons” talent could unconsciously imbue the dragon eggs with the spiritual essence of the world.

It was indeed a miracle for petrified dragon eggs to gain new life, but dragons themselves were magical creatures of miracle, not to be judged by common sense.

The original Dany had only subconsciously wished for her eggs to hatch into baby dragons; she had never actively tried to develop her talents for Dragon Dreaming or Dragon Hatching.

This new Dany, however, understood that at this crucial moment, she had to do something.

“My great black one, I’ll help you!” she called out to the dragon above her.

The next moment, her position changed. She was no longer on the blazing ground but upon the dragon’s head, its scales the color of black jade.

She was riding on the back of the dragon’s neck.

As if arriving at her destined place, Dany had a new realization: she and the dragon were one, reborn together in the flames.

In an instant, the specks of spiritual essence above the black dragon’s head grew denser. A kaleidoscopic vortex gradually formed above its skyward-gaping mouth. Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought it was charging up for some ultimate attack.

Roar! Roar! After an unknown amount of time, Dany sensed dragons other than the black one for the first time: the white and the green.

Before, even when holding their eggs, she had been unable to form a Dragon Dream connection with the white and green dragons as she had with the black one. Now, she could clearly “see” them flying toward her.

She rode the black dragon, with the white and green dragons circling around her like wingmen. The four of them soared together, free and unrestrained, through a kaleidoscopic ocean of light.

They were so happy, so proud. The very sky was beneath her feet.

She was the Mother of Dragons, a mother to dragons destined by her bloodline. Perhaps fate had arranged her birth, but her gift had nothing to do with any god or any other power.

“Only death can pay for life” came from the mouth of the witch, spoken as a servant to the demons who lurk in shadow.

The Lord of Shadow is an evil god, a demon, and also another aspect of R’hllor. Together with the “Lord of Light,” they form the complete deity ‘R’hllor’.

House Targaryen belongs to the people of Old Valyria, and the Valyrians had their own gods: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar.

They did not worship the Lord of Light, R’hllor.

In the age of Valyria, when the civilization of dragons and magic reached its zenith, R’hllor had no part in it.

The Lord of Light may have coveted dragons, but He had no connection to them.

Dany’s “birthing” of the dragons had nothing to do with the Lord of Light, either. Her Mother of Dragons constitution stemmed from the supreme blood magic of Old Valyria.

By midnight, the fire had abated, the open flames gone. But beneath the ash, the red-hot embers still scorched the earth and air.

Not until the morning light chased away the cold night mists could Jorah Mormont, who had agonized all night, finally bear the scalding ground. He found Dany at the center of the cross-shaped pile of ash.

She was squatting on the ground, surrounded by blackened charcoal, glowing embers, and the charred bones of man and horse. She was naked, her lower body covered in a half-meter-thick layer of soot, though her bare arms and back were visible. If not for her conspicuous mane of silver hair, he would have barely been able to distinguish her body from the surrounding charcoal.

“By the Seven!” he exclaimed in ecstasy, bending down to take her by the shoulder.

Hiss—scree— A glossy black “serpent’s head” snaked out from Dany’s hair, hissing and puffing wisps of white smoke from its mouth and nostrils.

The joy on Jorah’s face instantly turned to horror. He snatched his right hand back as if he’d been shocked, his gaze locking for a moment with the “serpent’s” eyes, which glowed red like hot coals.

“A dragon?!” he said hoarsely.

He found it hard to believe, but behind the “serpent’s head” and its long neck was a pair of flapping wings that stirred up a cloud of ash. This was no snake, but a dragon, miraculously born from the inferno.

The knight said nothing. He took a few steps back and, with an expression of unprecedented reverence, knelt on one knee.

Dany awoke from her strange trance. She slowly raised her head, looking first at Mormont, then sweeping her gaze over the Khas behind him.

The Dothraki—men, women, and children alike, and even the ten of Odo’s warriors who had been detained—every last one of them had laid down their weapons and pressed their faces to the smoking earth, kneeling in awe upon the sand.

Dany knew that from this moment on, they were utterly hers. Today, tomorrow, and forever. Theirs was not the submission born from fear of Drogo’s power, but a true, heartfelt devotion to her alone.

She stood up, stark naked and bathed in soot. Not a single person dared to raise their head.

“Irri, fetch my clothes. Doreah, Jhiqui, prepare a hot bath for me,” she commanded her handmaidens.

The black dragon was perched on her shoulder, its serpentine neck coiled almost once around her own. The other two clung to her chest, and she cradled them in her arms.

Irri trotted over with a silk robe and carefully draped it over Dany. Her eyes fell upon the two suckling hatchlings, and her expression changed drastically. She murmured, “The Stallion Who Mounts the World… this is the Stallion Who Mounts the World! Khaleesi, you have truly given birth to the Stallion Who Mounts the World! The old crones’ prophecy has come true.”

“You talk too much,” Dany said lightly.

Scree! Scree! The black dragon whipped its head around and snarled at Irri. Its two brothers released their hold on Dany and joined its hissing in unison.

Ooh… The poor Dothraki girl covered her mouth, on the verge of tears from fright.

Chapter 17: My Khalasar

After washing up, Daenerys gathered her followers at the foot of the hill. She mounted her little silver mare, a young dragon cradled in her arms and one perched on each shoulder.

The silver mare trotted across the dry, red sand before her people. She shouted, “From this day, from this moment, my Khas will be reformed into a Khalasar! And I will not go to Vaes Dothrak to join the Dosh Khaleen. Are you willing to follow me into a future that ‘no one knows’?”

“I am!”

“I am willing!”

“We all are!”

A chaotic but loud chorus of agreement rose from her Khas.

“Good!” Daenerys nodded in satisfaction and called out to the crowd again, “Jhogo, Aggo, Rakharo!”

The three of them seemed to guess what was coming next. There was no hesitation or resistance on their faces, only excitement and unconcealable joy.

Quaro, who had not been called, looked crestfallen, his face ashen. In that moment, he especially hated the “well-known” tradition of having only three Bloodriders.

As expected, Daenerys dismounted and walked over to the three young horsemen. She handed the silver-handled whip from her saddle to Jhogo.

“This silver-handled whip was a wedding gift to me. I give it to you now and name you a Ko. I also ask that you swear an oath to become blood of my blood, to live and die with me, to fight by my side, and to protect me from harm.”

Jhogo solemnly took the whip and hung it at his waist. Then, with a swoosh, he drew his arakh, knelt on one knee, and held the curved blade in both hands, level with his forehead.

“Blood of my blood,” he declared.

It was a pledge.

Daenerys took his arakh, personally pulled Jhogo to his feet, and sheathed the blade for him.

“Blood of my blood,” she returned the pledge in the Dothraki way.

Next were Aggo and Rakharo. She gave them a double-curved dragonbone longbow and a gilded arakh, respectively.

All three weapons were Daenerys’s wedding gifts, given to her by Drogo’s Bloodriders. Haggo had given her the whip, the arakh had come from Cohollo, and the longbow, taller than Daenerys herself, was a gift from Qotho.

That was only a year ago, yet now the gifts remained, but the givers were gone.

The three new Bloodriders stepped away from the crowd to stand behind Daenerys. She then turned her gaze to Quaro.

Meeting his eyes, which flickered with hope amid the gloom, she said, “Quaro, I have an important mission for you.”

“Do you see my dragons?” She deliberately held up the white dragon in her hand. It clumsily flapped its translucent, membranous wings in her palm.

“In the future, they will be strong enough to command the entire world, but right now, they are too fragile to even fly. I need a loyal and valiant ‘Dragon Guard’ to protect them. Are you willing?”

“It would be my honor, Khaleesi!” Quaro exclaimed, excitedly drawing his arakh and swearing his oath.

“Ser, you have already sworn your loyalty to me,” Daenerys said, finally looking at the knight, who had changed back into Dothraki attire. “One day, you will receive from my hand a peerless longsword, forged by true dragons and cast from Valyrian steel.”

Ser Jorah did not repeat his earlier oath, but simply gave a solemn nod.

“It is high noon now, and the heat is too intense. Everyone, go rest in your tents. We will leave this place in the evening,” Daenerys decided.

“Where are we going?” Aggo asked.

Daenerys thought for a moment. In the original story, they seemed to have used the comet in the sky as their guide.

But that raised a question: who had ever seen a comet that remained fixed in one direction, unmoving?

Comets were comets precisely because they had no fixed, observable coordinates. They appeared suddenly and departed unpredictably.

Take the current Bleeding Star, for instance—the name the Dothraki had given it.

Last night, it had suddenly appeared in the east near the horizon, a blood-red point the size of a coin, trailing a faint, almost imperceptible tail. One could barely find it without looking carefully.

Overnight, it had risen a considerable distance, and its direction and brightness had changed.

Even in broad daylight, a streak of blood-red could be seen in the sky, slightly south of east at a thirty-degree angle to the horizon, like a long scratch mark on the sky’s blue face.

Following it would mean walking in circles on the ground. And this was the Red Waste; walking in circles here was suicide.

In fact, in the original story, Daenerys’s Khas had suffered heavy losses. The old and the young had almost all perished. They had left a trail of corpses, forging a “journey of elimination” paved with blood and death—only the strong survived. Even her handmaiden, Doreah, had died.

Hmm, the strange thing was that Daenerys, having just lost her husband and whose ten-month-old son had been sacrificed to a demon by the witch, didn’t even have a postpartum confinement period. She had crossed thousands of kilometers of great desert and somehow survived completely intact.

This… the effect of the Dragon Dream was too good.

Daenerys returned from her thoughts and smiled at her followers. “First, let’s talk about where we can’t go.”

Ser Jorah was the first to speak. “We cannot go north. Not only is Odo’s Khalasar waiting for us, but even if we avoided them, the first Khalasar we encountered upon entering the Dothraki Sea would devour your battered party whole. The warriors would be killed to the last man, and the rest would become slaves.”

“The land of the ‘Lamb Men’ south of the river is also not an option. Your party is simply too weak to stand against even that unwarlike people. And the Lhazareen despise the horsemen; they have no reason to treat us kindly.”

“We could avoid the Lamb Men villages and follow the river downstream to the southeast, toward the port cities of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor.”

Rakharo immediately issued a warning, “Martin told me that Pono’s Khalasar is driving several thousand slaves in that direction. He plans to sell them in the slave markets along Slaver’s Bay.”

Martin was a newly joined horseman. Well, not exactly new. He had been one of the screaming warriors in Khal Drogo’s Khalasar and had left with Odo amidst the chaos.

Now he had “returned to his rightful owner,” subdued by Daenerys’s status as “The Unburnt” and “Mother of Dragons.”

Yes, the Dothraki had all been secretly calling her “The Unburnt” and “Mother of Dragons.”

“Those slaves were all stolen from what was left of Khal Drogo’s people. Pono had no interest in the Khal’s gold medallions, because slaves are worth more,” Aggo added.

“Then our only choice is to go south, through the Red Waste.” Daenerys saw the grim expressions on their faces and sighed. “Once we reach the sea, whether we go to the Free Cities or find a fertile place to farm…”

“Farm?” Ser Jorah asked, bewildered.

“My dragons are too small,” Daenerys said vaguely.

As a “hero” who would be incredibly powerful in the late game, of course, she had to lie low and build up her strength, not make any reckless moves.

No matter how miserable the early days were, once her three dragons grew up, wouldn’t the world be hers for the taking?

At that point, she could do whatever she pleased—never mind reclaiming her throne, she could even be a Genghis Khan or an Alexander the Great if she felt like it.

Doreah, standing behind Daenerys, had a look of terror on her face. “Khaleesi, that’s the Red Waste, a desolate and terrifying land of demons! Not only do the horse-riding peoples know of it, but in Lys, I heard of its terrible reputation from seafaring merchants. Almost no one can cross that place, which is infested with demons and creatures from hell.”

“I am not afraid of demons, and as long as you are with me, you need not fear any ghouls or ghosts.” Daenerys comforted her, taking her hand and placing it on the dragon in her arms. It was scorching hot, like sheet metal that had been baking under the blazing sun.

Once her handmaiden’s fears were soothed, Daenerys gave an order to her followers. “Although our Khalasar is small, I have decided to reorganize it.”

“What is the most important thing for an army?” she asked, her eyes scanning the crowd.

“Courage. The courage to face death in battle without fear,” said Aggo.

“The strongest Khal,” Rakharo immediately followed. “Under the leadership of the strongest Khal, our forces will be invincible. That was how Khal Drogo conquered the entire Great Grass Sea.”

“And warhorses and the tribe. More men and strong horses mean greater strength,” Jhogo added.

The three Bloodriders had said everything that could be expected from the knowledge and wisdom of horsemen. Quaro frowned, deep in thought for a long time, but opened and closed his mouth without uttering a word.

“The tactics of the soldiers and the coordination of different unit types are more important,” Ser Jorah said seriously. “In Westeros, every knight must be trained from childhood. Masters-at-arms teach them swordsmanship, horsemanship, the lance, and archery.”

“Maesters teach the young noble sons arithmetic, literature, astronomy, geography, and the genealogies of the great houses. The art of deploying troops is taught by their fathers and brothers, or by their liege lords.”

Without a doubt, this conversation revealed how far the savage horsemen lagged behind the knightly civilization.

“Do you have experience commanding large-scale battles?” she asked curiously.

There was an ancient saying in the land of Huaxia: An army of a thousand is easy to find, but a good general is hard to come by.

Daenerys’s small Khalasar had only a few dozen warriors and didn’t need a brilliant general to lead them, but what about the future?

“The largest force I ever commanded was two thousand men. That was when…” His expression changed, and his words trailed off.

“That was when you followed Lord Eddard Stark of the North to overthrow my father’s dynasty?” Daenerys said faintly.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Jorah said, bowing his head.

“There’s no need to apologize. You were serving your liege lord. You did nothing wrong.” Daenerys waved her hand and returned to the previous topic. “I believe the most important thing for an army is a proper system.”

“What kind of system?” Aggo asked, confused.

“First, we will establish a system of sergeants. The rest will be improved step by step,” Daenerys said with a smile, meeting the puzzled gazes of the horsemen. “From this day forward, all Dothraki warriors under my command will abandon their various banners and unite under the dragon banner. All men aged fourteen and up will automatically be enlisted as warriors.”

Daenerys couldn’t be blamed for being harsh. She herself was only fourteen, and her handmaidens and Bloodriders had been deliberately chosen by Drogo from among young horsemen of a similar age.

If she set the recruitment age at eighteen, she would have no one under her command.

Of course, this was just a temporary measure. In the future, when she was strong enough, she would significantly raise the enlistment age.

“Ten men will form a squad, with the strongest chosen as the squad leader. Five squads will form a company, with a commander selected from the five squad leaders based on merit in battle. Five companies…” Daenerys trailed off, because she saw the four young horsemen staring at her blankly.

Their expressions were as if they were listening to a divine script.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Khaleesi, I can understand ten warriors in a squad, but how many warriors are in five squads, or five companies?” Aggo asked uncertainly, counting on his fingers.

Chapter 18: My Great Qing

Were the Dothraki really baffled by numbers greater than ten and a “complex” system of administration?

Daenerys frowned. Drogo’s forty thousand screaming warriors operated in units called Khas, which were the smallest unit within a Khalasar. A Khas was led by a Ko, and a Khal only needed to manage a few dozen Kos.

In other words, the Dothraki only had three military ranks: Khal, Ko, and screaming warrior. In fact, a Khal and a Ko were of the same class, and a Ko and a screaming warrior were also of the same class.

The Khal was the most powerful Ko, and a Ko was the most powerful warrior. Between the three, there were at most two levels of distinction.

The horsemen were primitive—so primitive they had almost achieved true democracy.

But she didn’t want that kind of democracy. If the Dothraki had been a little more feudal, a Khaleesi’s fate wouldn’t have been so tragic.

Well, she could at least have become a regent dowager.

Daenerys’s goal in reorganizing the Khalasar was to establish a hierarchical system. With a hierarchy, they could quickly transition to a feudal, autocratic society—after all, feudalism had already existed among other peoples for thousands of years. It was a matter of adaptation and borrowing, not innovation.

Simply put, this world had the productive capacity to support a feudal system.

Daenerys’s minimum requirement for the Dothraki was to establish a “Golden Family” centered around her bloodline.

Before the rise of Genghis Khan, anyone on the great steppe could call himself a “Khan” (the horsemen’s equivalent of a Khal). Bloodline didn’t matter; all that counted was personal valor and power. At that time, even the Mongols lacked a complete system of inheritance that linked bloodlines to surnames.

It was almost identical to the horsemen’s current state.

But after Genghis Khan united the northern steppes and established the Mongol Empire, only a Borjigin could be called Khan.

If you weren’t a Borjigin, you had to marry a woman from the Borjigin family, and your son would still carry the Borjigin bloodline.

These Borjigin had a resounding and great name: the Golden Family.

Daenerys hadn’t thought as far as conquering the world.

But possessing three dragons, if she couldn’t create her own Golden Family, it would be a complete waste of such a magnificent resource and opportunity.

The Dothraki, still a scattered and disorganized people, were practically a divinely bestowed foundation for an empire.

The chance to create a Golden Family would come only once.

The original Daenerys had been a bit naive, or perhaps obsessed like Murong Fu, constantly dreaming of returning to Westeros to be queen.

For heaven’s sake, she was tens of thousands of kilometers away from Westeros!

And the nobles there… well, they had maxed-out skills in palace intrigue, maxed-out skills in combat, maxed-out levels of power and ambition, maxed-out cruelty, and maxed-out loyalty—in the negative. Every last one of them was a treacherous backstabber.

Oh, and the environmental hostility level was also maxed out. Every so often, the damn Others would show up to start an apocalypse.

That wretched place—Dany wouldn’t want it even if it were given to her for free.

So, no matter how difficult, the reforms of the Dothraki could not stop.

“Aggo, what is five times ten?” she asked her bloodrider.

Aggo thought for a moment before answering, “Is it fifty?”

Daenerys nodded and asked again, “And what is five fifties added together?”

This time he took much longer, his face contorted in a pained expression as he counted on his fingers for a good while before saying uncertainly, “Two hundred and fifty?”

“See? You got it right!” Daenerys said, spreading her hands to encourage him.

“But didn’t you say there would also be squad leaders and commanders? If you take them out, how many warriors are left?” he asked.

“Why would you take them out? If you’re a commander, the other two hundred and forty-nine people are all warriors under your command,” Daenerys told him.

“But—” Aggo looked conflicted. “Is a squad leader also one of the commander’s warriors? Isn’t a squad leader a Ko? A Ko serves the Khal, but isn’t considered—”

Aggo’s words were clumsy. He couldn’t quite express what he was thinking, waving his hands in excitement but unable to form a complete sentence.

But Daenerys understood his problem.

It was the same old issue: the horsemen were not accustomed to a multi-leveled hierarchy.

“These are the new rules. Everyone will get used to them over time,” she could only say, using her authority to force their compliance.

Ser Jorah understood what Daenerys was trying to do and offered a suggestion. “Khaleesi, don’t use unfamiliar terms like ‘squad’ and ‘company.’ The horsemen have their own way of dividing their forces.”

“Squad” and “company” were terms Daenerys had translated into Dothraki from the Common Tongue. Jorah recognized them, but for Jhogo and the others, it was the first time they had heard them.

“They do?” Daenerys looked puzzled. “How come I don’t know? What are they?”

“Have you heard of ‘niru’ and ‘golehu’?” Jorah said, uttering two Dothraki words.

“‘Niru’ is a hunting party, and ‘golehu’ is a banner,” Daenerys repeated, looking at the knight in confusion. “These are military units?”

That sounds like the Manchus, she thought. And with the Dothraki braids and savage customs, they were very much like the wild Manchu tribes of old, just waiting for a “Nurhaci” to reform their military system.

In fact, the original author of A Song of Ice and Fire had referenced many real-world events, terrains, geographies, and peoples when writing the book.

The Dothraki were a mixture of the Manchus and the Mongols.

If one day, Daenerys united the Dothraki and, riding her dragons, led the horsemen to slaughter their way across the world, it would be tantamount to bringing a knock-off version of “My Great Qing” to the foreigners of this other world.

Jorah smiled and said, “It is a tradition among the horsemen that a hunting party generally consists of ten men. Any fewer and they can’t handle fierce beasts like lions; any more and there isn’t enough prey to go around. Ten is just right.

“In fact, in Westeros, when we nobles go hunting, though we gather as a large group before entering the forest, we split into smaller groups of about ten once we’re in the hunting grounds.”

“I see,” Daenerys said, lost in thought.

I’m still not down-to-earth enough. I need to get to know the masses better, she thought to herself.

“As for ‘golehu,’ Khaleesi,” Jorah continued, “you know that every time a Khalasar travels, scouts are sent out in all directions, don’t you?”

Daenerys nodded. Her own Khas warriors had served as scouts for Drogo. It seemed each Khas took turns performing this duty.

The scouts had to ride one or two days ahead of the Khalasar, making it the most grueling and dangerous of jobs. No one could endure it for long.

“Depending on the size of the Khalasar, the number of scouts sent out varies. They are usually in groups of about a hundred, with each group carrying the same kind of banner.

“If two Khalasars meet, they don’t immediately fight. They first judge the opponent’s strength by the number of their banners to avoid a pyrrhic victory where the costs outweigh the gains.

“That is why you could see Drogo’s Khalasar had many different kinds of banners.

“Similarly, they call a scouting party of a hundred horsemen a ‘golehu’.” Jorah explained carefully to Daenerys.

Daenerys suddenly asked, “Would anyone intentionally use fake banners to deceive an enemy? For example, using ten men for one banner. Or, to put on a brave front, deliberately sending out more scouts to make their numbers seem larger.”

“Uh…” Jorah was stunned. “That’s not in keeping with the horsemen’s traditions!”

“No one would do that,” Aggo and the others chimed in.

Jorah thought for a moment, then said gravely, “Khaleesi, look at the camps around us. The signs of life are too obvious.

“Wherever a Khalasar travels, it leaves traces of men and beasts, most obviously the ashes of campfires. Everyone has to eat, and the number of cook-fires can be used to roughly estimate the size of your Khalasar.

“You might be able to deceive an opponent with scouts, but when he discovers that the number of your past campfires doesn’t match, the enraged Khal would most likely turn back immediately, and then…”

“Then you surely don’t know that cook-fires can also be faked, do you? For example, I have few men, but I deliberately light more fires to scare the enemy off.

“Or, I have a large and powerful force, but I deliberately build fewer fires. When the enraged Khal who thinks he’s been deceived comes after me, I can lie in wait and ambush him at my leisure,” Daenerys said with a sense of superiority.

“Uh…” Not only did the simple horsemen like Jhogo stare with wide, almond-shaped eyes, but even Ser Jorah, who prided himself on his many years of higher knightly education, was left standing dumbfounded with his mouth agape.

Seven Hells, can you really do that? And yet, it seemed theoretically possible.

Jorah gave his “innocent” little princess a strange look. Could she be a natural-born military genius?

Still, it felt a bit… dishonorable. It was not at all in the spirit of chivalry.

Alas, it seemed her lack of a Westerosi noble education from a young age had allowed her to be corrupted by cunning merchants.

“Khaleesi, the Dothraki Sea is vast, but if you deceive one Khalasar, the others will soon find out,” Quaro said, coming to his senses.

There are still plenty of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, Daenerys thought. If I use each one just once, even across the endless Great Grass Sea, there probably won’t be many Khalasars left.

“Enough,” Daenerys said, waving her hand and making a final decision. “A ten-man unit will be led by a leader of ten, and a hundred-man company by a leader of a hundred. For now, we only have leaders of a hundred, but as the tribe grows, we can have leaders of a thousand, and commanders of ten thousand. Increasing by multiples of ten like this, you should all be able to remember it clearly now, right?”

Leader of ten, leader of a hundred, leader of a thousand—even translated into Dothraki, the terms were so clear that anyone of normal intelligence could understand.

Aggo held up both his hands and nodded. “I have ten fingers. If I count slowly, I should be able to figure it out.”

“From now on, all banners will be replaced with a uniform black dragon banner, representing the black dragon in my arms. From now on, I am not only your Khaleesi, but also your leader of a thousand, temporarily commanding a company of one hundred directly under my command.”

With the tribe now over two hundred strong, she couldn’t call herself a leader of a hundred, or others would hold the same rank as her.

“My Bloodriders and dragon guards will all be leaders of a hundred. There will also be a militia leader of a hundred, specifically to manage the tribe’s herders. We don’t have many people now, so your units won’t be at full strength. You’ll be leaders of a hundred in name but will be leading tens. We’ll set up the framework first.”

After they had discussed for two or three hours in the tent, Daenerys’s new system was finalized and immediately put into effect.

First, they distinguished between the military and the civilians. All males between the ages of fifteen and fifty were designated as screaming warriors and evenly distributed among the five leaders of a hundred (one of which she commanded herself).

Then, the civilians were organized into functional groups: horse-breeders, cooks, healers, artisans…

Just as Daenerys was reorganizing the old, the weak, women, and children, a commotion erupted among the warriors in a clearing nearby. Several men had even drawn their curved swords.

Daenerys hurried over, having the screaming warriors under her direct command separate the troublemakers.

Riding her little silver mare, she looked down at the red-faced, thick-necked Dothraki warriors below and asked, “What is going on?”

“Khaleesi, I am stronger! Let me kill that bastard!” one of the horsemen shouted.

The man he was pointing at with his curved sword yelled back, “Kill me? Don’t hold me back! I’m going to peel the skin from his face!”

Both men were old members of Daenerys’s Khas who had protected her for over a year. Now, they had turned on each other in an instant. It was very Dothraki.

Jorah explained, “They wish to duel for the position of leader of ten. But we have so few people left, we cannot afford the losses.”

Chapter 19: The Purgatorial Waste

The Dothraki revered the strong and held life and death in contempt—whether their own or others’. With no other forms of entertainment, fights and brawls were a common occurrence.

Often, they would draw their blades and fight to the death over the most trivial of matters.

“In Westeros, do knights have tournaments?” Daenerys asked Jorah.

Ser Jorah nodded. “We wear armor, so even in a melee, fatalities are rare. We could adopt the sword-fighting style used by squires, have them wear full leather armor and spar with unsharpened, blunted swords.”

Such contests were certainly not as fair as fighting with real blades, as many horsemen relied on agility; their goal was a single, fatal blow.

Blunted swords and leather armor placed a higher demand on strength and stamina.

But to avoid deaths, Daenerys could only accept Jorah’s suggestion.

At dusk, her newly made black banners fluttered in the wind as her Khalasar began its slow march south.

They used the sun and stars for direction.

Before leaving, Daenerys had her people dig through the funeral pyre to retrieve the melted gold.

“This is what is left of Drogo’s belongings. He has taken all he needs to the Night Lands, and the rest is his reward to us,” Daenerys cajoled the hesitant Dothraki.

Drogo’s dragonbone bow was also recovered.

The ‘dragonbone’ in its name was not a metaphor; it was made of actual dragon bone.

Setting aside the dozens of dragon corpses from the Targaryen dynasty, the ancient civilization of Valyria had only fallen three hundred years ago. At its peak, the Valyrian Freehold could field a conquering army of three hundred great dragons.

Dragons had lifespans. They died, leaving behind their nigh-indestructible bones, and so many of these bones were passed down through the world.

Dragonbone was rich in iron. The higher the iron content, the deeper its color, eventually becoming an ebony black.

The heat of a common fire could not harm it. If even a young dragon could withstand the high temperatures of a wood fire, how much more so the bones of a fully grown one?

Besides the gold and dragonbone, a few horsemen also discovered a pile of cracked stones in the ashes—the fossilized dragon eggs.

When they pieced the fragments together, they perfectly reconstructed three stone eggs!

“Dragons don’t come from stone eggs,” the horsemen first muttered, looking at each other in confusion. Then, as if realizing something, they cried out in terror, “The Khaleesi has given birth to three dragons! The Dosh Khaleen’s prophecy has come true! The Khaleesi has borne the Stallion Who Mounts the World!”

Drawn by their cries, Daenerys went to see the stone eggs and was herself struck with horror.

What is the true nature of dragons? she wondered.

Regardless of how the dragons had come into the world, they had to leave. The remaining charred bones on the funeral pyre were gathered and buried in a deep pit, and the column set out.

On the first night, Daenerys’s Khalasar traveled only ten kilometers.

Five kilometers from their encampment, they came across the stream where Drogo’s Khalasar had drawn water. After being disturbed by over one hundred thousand people and hundreds of thousands of livestock for four or five days, the babbling brook was now nothing but a layer of thin mud.

Daenerys altered their course, deciding to follow the path of this wetland.

After another five kilometers, they found a new, shallow pool of water, where Daenerys ordered the Khalasar to halt. They would rest here for a day or two.

“Those eighty-seven cattle and sheep must all be slaughtered,” Daenerys told her people. “The deeper we go into the waste, the scarcer water and grass will become. We cannot keep them to compete with the horses for resources.”

After Daenerys’s reorganization, the Khalasar’s manpower was allocated more reasonably, and its efficiency had greatly improved.

The mutton was made into jerky. The sheepskins, with the wool still on them, were air-dried by the horsemen’s wives and sewn into hooded cloaks.

The waste was brutally hot. A cloak could provide shade from the sun during the day, reducing the body’s water loss, and offer warmth at night.

The Dothraki were a nomadic people, it was true, but that didn’t guarantee that every person had a leather coat or cloak. Daenerys’s original hundred or so Khas, of course, did not lack for clothing.

But now she had nearly two hundred more people, eighty percent of whom were the old and weak who had been abandoned. Most of them didn’t even have a spare Dothraki vest to change into.

Daenerys had her own leather cloak.

When Daenerys had first come to the Dothraki Sea with Drogo, he had hunted a white lion especially for her—a male lion taller than her little silver mare. Its fearsome head formed a perfect hood to cover her own, and its pelt became a natural cape, draping from her shoulders down her back.

On the evening of the third day, the Khalasar resumed its march. This time they traveled through the night, only stopping when the sun rose from the horizon the next morning.

Ten hours, roughly one hundred kilometers.

It was then that Daenerys encountered a problem. A dozen scouts searched the surrounding five kilometers and still could not find a single source of clean water.

Following the bone-dry riverbed, they would occasionally come across stagnant, shallow pools of bitter water, baking under the fierce sun.

But these were pools of death that not even animals would drink from, filled with all sorts of bacteria, silt, rotting animal carcasses, and even a strong stench of sulfur.

Daenerys grew more and more curious about this world. How could such a great plain, surrounded by mountains to the east and west, with the great steppe to the north and the sea to the south, be a desolate wasteland?

A wasteland was one thing, but where did the sulfur in the water come from?

It wasn’t a hot spring…

The thought of hot springs sparked an idea in Daenerys’s mind. She asked Ser Jorah, “I’ve heard that ancient Valyria was built upon fourteen volcanoes. Was that continent, near the Summer Sea, once a purgatorial landscape like this one?”

“What are you suggesting?” Jorah asked, confused.

“Could there be volcanoes hidden beneath the Red Waste where we now stand? Could that be why the rivers evaporate and the pools smell of sulfur?” she guessed.

What Daenerys really wanted to say was that both ancient Valyria and the Red Waste had a peculiar geological environment with a thin crust, where the surface was too close to the subterranean layer of magma.

“It smells of sulfur because demons lurk here,” her handmaiden Doreah interjected.

Though she was hiding in a tent, her face was flushed red like a steamed prawn. Rivulets of sweat streamed down her neck, and her shapely figure was fully revealed beneath her thin silk garment.

“Have you seen a demon?” Daenerys scoffed.

“I… I think I’ve been possessed by one. My whole body feels terribly unwell,” she said, clutching her chest with difficulty and panting. “It’s gnawing at my heart. It will devour my soul soon!”

The girl from Lys had a look of terror in her eyes, and she spoke with such conviction that Daenerys almost believed her.

“You have heatstroke!” she said.

“What is heatstroke?” Irri asked, fanning herself.

Daenerys wasn’t bothered by the heat, so her handmaidens were fanning themselves rather than attending to her.

“Princess, are you talking about heat illness?” Jorah asked, struggling to take off his vest, revealing a chest as hairy as a bear’s.

“Something like that,” Daenerys said, handing her own waterskin of mare’s milk to Doreah. “Stop drinking water. All the minerals in your body are…”

She sighed. “Never mind. Drink my mare’s milk.”

“But, this is your share,” Doreah said, her expression dazed. She reached for the waterskin, then snatched her hand back as if shocked, shaking her head. “I can still hold on. I can drink water.”

Daenerys didn’t try to persuade her, simply pressing the waterskin into her hands.

Due to the scarcity of resources and the uncertainty of their future, Daenerys had established a rationing system before they had even set out.

Water could be drunk freely, as they had been following a riverbed and could always find some.

Horse meat could also be eaten freely. The jerky was so hard it could be used as a knife to carve wood; even if it were freely available, people couldn’t eat much of it.

The main items to be rationed were mare’s milk, salt, wine, and fruit.

Seeing the situation, it seemed even water would…

No, that couldn’t happen!

There had to be enough water. Otherwise, even if they managed to cross this waste, more than half of them would die.

At this thought, she could no longer sit still. She said to her handmaidens, “I’m going to have the men and women camp separately. Everyone can be naked in their own tents. You should take off your clothes later.”

“The tents are like furnaces. Taking off our clothes won’t help. Back on the grasslands, we would freeze at night even with two layers of sheepskin bedding, but now the ground burns our feet,” Irri sighed.

Daenerys teased, “You could just scrape away the top layer of sand—”

As she said this, a flash of inspiration struck her, and she burst out laughing. “How could I have only just thought of such a simple solution?”

“What solution?” Jorah asked, curious.

Daenerys waved a hand. “Let’s go outside and see.”

As the tent flap was lifted, Daenerys felt her vision blur. The sun seemed to be right in front of her face, and its beams of white light instantly plunged her into a world of blinding whiteness.

She looked down and rubbed her eyes. When her vision finally returned, she had the sense that she had truly arrived in purgatory.

The dazzling white light shone on the flat, red sandstone ground, reflecting a red glare of nearly equal intensity. It was a red glow like fire, and the dense expanse of this light formed a sea of flames. To walk through this wasteland was like taking a stroll through hell.

My gods, and the scent of sulfur lingering in the air… this…

Truly, a name can be given in error, but a nickname is never wrong. This place was the “Red Purgatory”!

Quickly pulling up her white lion hood, Daenerys looked around her camp. The tents were all still and silent, like dozens of grave mounds piled on the flat ground.

She walked toward the nearest one, intending to remind everyone to separate the men and women so they could strip to escape the heat.

But just as she reached the entrance of the large tent, which was patched together from cowhide, sheepskin, and horsehide, she heard a series of repressed gasps.

The kind made by both men and women.

Daenerys’s mouth fell open, her face a mask of disbelief.

She took a quiet step forward and lifted a corner of the tent flap.

It seems I was overthinking things. When have the horsemen ever cared about the distinction between men and women?

And they aren’t like Doreah. They seem extremely adaptable, incredibly resilient and… hardy.

Retreating a few steps, Daenerys didn’t disturb the impassioned Dothraki. She walked across the scalding sandstone to the edge of the riverbed.

Forty or fifty strong horses, their saddles removed, stood with their ears drooping under the scorching sun. They were scattered across an open area, arduously chewing on the tough, yellowish-brown demon grass that grew from beneath rocks and at the base of withered trees.

“Khaleesi, you’ve come?” A little old man appeared before Daenerys as if from nowhere.

“Avanti, can the horses recover their strength by nightfall?” Daenerys asked a question she herself didn’t believe.

This little old man who tended the Khalasar’s herd was the “veteran of many reigns” who had served twelve Khals. Daenerys was now his thirteenth.

Ugh, that sounds a bit unlucky!

Avanti was short and thin, with a slightly hunched back. His sparse, graying hair was tied into a braid at the back of his head that was shorter than his own member. His reddish-brown face was covered in a network of dry, cracked wrinkles from a lifetime of exposure, making him look like a dried-up orange.

Only his eyes, which had lost their almond shape, were still filled with the divine light of life.

He opened his toothless mouth and gave Daenerys a fawning, ugly smile.

“Khaleesi, if they have enough fresh water, and with this wasteland’s unique demon grass, they can last for at least half a month.”

Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief. If her party didn’t take any wrong turns, half a month should be enough time to cross this wasteland.

“But, these here are all strong horses,” Avanti continued, his voice filled with worry. “Apart from the hundred or so warriors who ride strong, fine mounts, the vast majority are just old, thin, sick, weak, lame, or ill-tempered beasts.

“Even on the Great Grass Sea, with its plentiful fodder, they wouldn’t last much longer.

“Everyone knows horses like that should have been slaughtered for meat long ago. Our previous Khalasar used them as a source of food.”

“I understand,” Daenerys said, her expression serene. “There will be other arrangements for them.”

Chapter 20: A Shave

Dany understood that she was now their leader. She had to show confidence and strength, not fear or weakness.

Just as an attending physician must never show doubt or worry to a patient before entering the operating room.

“Are the horses unwilling to drink from the puddle?” Dany asked again.

“Yes, they won’t even go near it.” Avanti’s face was filled with dread, and his voice trembled. “It’s poisoned water. Water that the livestock won’t drink is cursed by demons. Everyone knows this.”

“Everyone knows.”

A voice came from behind Dany. It was Aggo.

Dany’s Bloodriders came out, bare-chested and wearing their silk trousers.

The horsemen may have been unenlightened, but their survival instincts were still commendable.

“I’ll show you a little trick to solve this problem.”

Soon, Dany was busy. She had her large red copper basin brought out of her tent.

It was a tub larger than a modern family bathtub, one used by the two-meter-tall Drogo. It was a massive thing, weighing over fifty kilograms.

Then, they dug a trench next to the puddle and placed the red copper basin inside—the tub was too tall to pour water into easily if left on the ground.

Next, a sheepskin blanket was draped over the basin’s surface, with a bowl-sized hole cut in the center. The sheepskin would prevent the water in the basin from evaporating in the intense heat.

The next step was to build a two-meter-tall triangular frame over the basin. The frame had four levels, with a cotton sack hanging from each one.

From top to bottom, the first sack was filled with a thick layer of coarse sand, the second with fine sand, the third was half-filled with cotton wadding, and the fourth was packed with charcoal.

Finally, because the weather was so brutally hot, Dany had her people erect a tent over the wooden frame.

“Now, fetch the water from that stagnant puddle and pour it into the wide-mouthed sack at the top. Slowly, don’t spill any.”

Before long, water began to seep through, layer by layer. Drip, drip, drip… plink, plink, plink. At first, it was just a few drops, but gradually, as the contents of the sacks became saturated, a stream of clear droplets from the last sack formed an almost solid silver thread flowing into the basin.

Aggo, crouched at the base of the wooden frame, cried out in amazement, “The water’s become so clean! Cleaner than what we get from the river of the Lamb Men.”

“This…” Even the worldly-wise Ser Jorah was struck speechless. He had never seen such a simple yet ingenious method of purification.

Could Her Grace the Princess truly be a once-in-a-generation genius?

He knew, after all, that this incredibly brilliant idea of hers had been sparked by a single comment from her handmaiden.

The Red Waste was not a true desert; it had many shallow, muddy puddles. What it lacked was a source of clean water.

If this filtering technique could truly remove the “demon’s curse,” they might actually be able to lead the bulk of the Khalasar across the waste.

At this thought, Jorah grew even more excited. “Your Grace, we should melt down the basin and forge it into large water flasks.

“The waste is dotted with many shallow puddles and patches of wet mud, but a single puddle can’t fill a basin this large. The puddles are too far apart. It’s a shame to abandon them, but collecting from each one would be too great a waste of time and manpower.

“Instead, let’s choose several dozen elite riders. In groups of three, with two horses per person, each group can carry one large flask and several empty waterskins, fanning out like scouts. They can map the terrain and collect water from the waste at the same time.”

Dany looked at the burly, balding, middle-aged man before her, built like a black bear, and discovered for the first time that he possessed such a quick and clever mind.

“Alright,” she said, nodding in approval of his idea.

“Khaleesi, the water has stopped flowing! What’s happening?” Rakharo, who had been pouring water into the top sack, cried out in alarm.

Dany stepped forward, moved to the side of the wooden frame, and pulled open a corner of the sack.

“What a stench!” Caught off guard, she was forced back three steps by the foul odor.

The once bright red sand was now covered in a layer of blackish-brown sludge. The filtration system was clogged.

“You’ll have to replace the sand and charcoal inside periodically. The cotton wadding is limited, so if you run out, you can replace it with weeds.”

Dany thought of the tough demon grass that even the horses couldn’t chew and added, “First, roll the grass into a ball and pound it until it’s fibrous. Or, you could stuff it in a horse’s mouth, let it chew for a while, and then pull it out.”

“Can you pull it out, Avanti?” she asked, looking at the little old man.

“We can. The horses won’t swallow the grass until it’s chewed, but…” Avanti hesitated for a moment, then said with a pained expression, “The gentle mares will be fine, but some of the stallions have fiery tempers. They’d even dare to bite a lion.”

“You can figure that part out for yourselves.”

Even after the charcoal adsorption and filtration, Dany had the water boiled before distributing it. This time, mindful of the minerals lost through sweat, she added salt and dried figs to the water.

Faintly sweet, faintly salty, it was cool and delicious. Doreah absolutely loved it.

By the second evening, Dany’s Khalasar had traveled only eighty kilometers before stopping around midnight.

Not only had they found a slightly larger pool of stagnant water here, but Dany also wanted to conserve the horses’ strength.

Every person in her party had at least one horse. Traveling at a pace of ten kilometers per hour wasn’t an excessive burden for either horse or rider.

The key was supply. Even a healthy steed couldn’t maintain a high-intensity march without adequate food and water.

This time, Dany also made adjustments to the campsite arrangements.

During the latter half of the night, while they filtered drinking water, she directed a group of strong warriors to use rocks and wet mud to build a wall. It was a low, curved wall, not at all sturdy, but when the sun rose the next day, it blocked seventy percent of the direct sunlight.

On the third day before they left, Dany made another change: to the horsemen’s hairstyles.

The horsemen only cut their braids in defeat. The longer the braid, the more respected the man. For this reason, even the old horse-keeper Avanti wove his sparse, balding hair into a braid.

Although they had no concept of one’s hair and skin being a sacred gift from one’s parents, the horsemen never cut their hair.

In such hot weather, with no way to bathe, it was not only a breeding ground for bacteria and sickness, but the feeling of a greasy scalp was… even if the horsemen were used to it, Dany couldn’t stand the smell.

If she didn’t have her heat resistance, she would have been tempted to cut off her own silver-gold locks.

So she proposed that Aggo shave his head. Well, the bald Jorah didn’t need a haircut; he barely had any hair to manage.

“If I cut my braid, everyone will look down on me,” Aggo said, shaking his head like a rattle.

“Then I’ll have everyone shave their heads,” Dany said.

“Everyone knows what a braid means to a Dothraki. What will others think of us when we leave the waste? Defeated cowards? Slaves from Slaver’s Bay?” Jhogo also objected vehemently.

“I’ve heard that Dothraki slaves would rather be killed by their masters than have their hair cut, unless they are raised as slaves from infancy. The long braid and the bells in it are a more distinct Dothraki symbol than the Arakh,” Jorah advised from the side.

Dany agonized for a moment, then bit her lip and said, “Then just leave the patch of hair around the braid!”

It was a bit ugly, but it was certainly more hygienic and much cooler.

The dagger moved with difficulty between Jorah’s fingers, like trying to scrape caked filth from the floor of a latrine. The blade pressed against the scalp, scraping away a thick layer of black grime.

It was a peculiar product of scalp oil, sweat, dandruff, dust, and flea eggs, all mixed together and fermented for months.

With the hair on the top and sides of his head shaved off, Aggo looked like a turtle that had shed its shell—and it really was a caked-on layer, a shell of its own!

“How does it feel?” Rakharo asked curiously from the side.

“How does it feel?” Aggo wore an expression of blissful relief, like a man finally unburdened after two weeks of constipation. He murmured, “I feel like I’ve just thrown off a sheepskin blanket I’ve been sweltering under for half a day in the high summer. It’s as if a great weight has been lifted.”

“It’s no illusion. You’ve lightened the load on your head by at least a kilogram and a half,” Dany quipped with exaggeration.

“The braid is completely intact!” Quaro said, pointing at the patch of hair still on the back of Aggo’s head. He exclaimed excitedly, “Look, it hasn’t affected the length of the braid at all! This hairstyle is brilliant. It is a gift from our Khaleesi, given to us in the name of the Horse God. It should be promoted throughout the entire Dothraki Sea.”

“Khaleesi, can we get a hairstyle like that too?” the handmaiden Jhiqui asked enviously.

Dany almost choked on her own saliva.

“You should just get a short haircut.”

In the end, everyone in her Khalasar, male and female, had cut off most of their hair. The men, including the boys, adopted the new style. The women had intended to follow suit, until they saw the ear-length bob Dany gave Doreah.

Dany herself did not cut her hair. She had no need to. First, she was resistant to heat. Second, cleaning her hair was simple; she only had to step into a fire and roast herself for a bit.

No amount of dandruff, grime, lice, or bacteria could withstand the scorching heat of one thousand degrees.

Whenever she bathed in the flames, her three young dragons would flap their wings and follow her in, like children following their mother into the women’s bathhouse.

And every time her handmaidens saw Dany frolicking in the fire with her three dragons, their faces would fill with an awe reserved for a god.

It was also because of these fiery baths with her dragon babies that Dany learned how to feed them.

Chapter 21: An Old Tale of the Horsemen

When the young dragons had just hatched, they resembled malnourished kittens, so skinny and scrawny that one could only make out their necks, tails, and wings, as if they had no torsos at all. Held in one’s hands, they were almost weightless.

But it was a different story when they spread their wings. Their wingspans were three times their body length, each wing a sheet of translucent, delicate skin, iridescent with color and stretched taut between long, slender bones.

Daenerys had a rather miserable childhood. From the age of five, she had been on the run, fleeing between the nine Free Cities and living a life of scarcity, which had left her somewhat underdeveloped. And being so young, at fourteen, she had little of a figure. Her apple-sized breasts were completely incapable of providing sufficient milk.

With nothing to eat, the little dragons were so hungry they would constantly stretch their long necks and screech, their noses and mouths puffing out clouds of hot, white smoke from time to time, like the smokestacks of a steam train.

Daenerys had tried offering them dried meat, mare’s milk, bloody fresh meat, and cooked meat, but the hatchlings would only sniff at the food before turning their heads away.

She was frantic, and Jorah had no idea how to feed them either. Before the birth of these three, dragons had been extinct for over a hundred years. Their legends were heard only in bedtime stories for children.

It wasn’t until the first flame bath that the black dragon wriggled free from Daenerys’s arms and ravenously tore at a charred bone in the fire.

Then Daenerys understood. Dragons ate only meat that had been cooked by fire, and it had to be charred.

They were still too young to breathe fire, unable to roast their own food.

And the first thing that proved dragons were truly magical creatures was not their birth from fire, but their astonishing appetites.

Daenerys had tested it herself. In a single meal, they could devour three times their own body weight in food!

Any so-called glutton was a mere amateur compared to the three dragons.

This completely violated her scientific worldview; Daenerys couldn’t imagine where all the food went.

Once, she deliberately squeezed the black dragon’s belly, trying to feel the food churn within, and then…

There was no ‘and then’. It just kept eating, its belly churning and churning, and it just kept eating…

Because they ate so much, their bodies grew larger, the change visible day by day.

Daenerys thought happily that perhaps she would be able to ride a dragon very soon.

But to ride a dragon, it first had to learn to fly. Daenerys’s greedy dragons would flap their wings and take off, only to tumble headfirst to the ground before they were two feet in the air.

It was a very clumsy sight.

On this day, as a sun the color of an egg yolk struggled to climb above the horizon, Daenerys was delighted to see that her dragon babies could finally glide at low altitudes like paper airplanes.

After every feeding, she would carry her dragons in a bamboo basket to an open space to practice flying.

The golden-red morning light slanted across the land. Daenerys would hold a dragon baby and toss it forcefully into the air.

The young dragon would flap its wings and shoot forward. Then she would bend down and pick up another one from the ground.

The dragons that tumbled to the earth would crawl back to their mother on their own, lining up to await their next test flight.

At those times, a group of children who looked like little mud monkeys, wearing only a pair of shorts, would often hide behind the distant hills. They would ‘spy’ on them with wide, almond-shaped eyes, occasionally letting out cries of satisfied astonishment.

Around ten in the morning, the horsemen’s wives would call out loudly, summoning their children home to eat and sleep.

They would usually sleep until around four or five in the afternoon before getting ready to continue their journey.

Except for the children of the Khal and the Kos, the children born into the Khalasar had only mothers, not fathers.

With very few exceptions, most fathers could not be identified.

The Khalasar was responsible for raising the children. When they grew up, they repeated the fates of their parents: the girls were responsible for bearing children, and the boys became warriors, following the Khal on his campaigns in every direction.

The Dothraki had lived this way for thousands of years.

Perhaps, the future would bring change. After all, change had already begun.

Daenerys hoisted the basket back onto her shoulders, carrying the three small dragons, and slowly returned to her tent.

First, she scrubbed the dirt from her body with fine red sand. Then she shared some dried meat with the dragons before lying down on a grass mat with them in her arms and falling into a deep sleep.

This time, with her tent pitched right against the low wall Daenerys had ordered built, Doreah was finally able to sleep soundly at noon.

Before, not even the girl from Lys, let alone most of the horsemen, could endure the stifling heat and find any rest.

Even with Daenerys fulfilling her duties as the Khalasar’s leader so well, this was still the Red Waste, a plain of hell.

At dusk on the third day, the Khalasar had been traveling for only half an hour when an old man’s head lolled to one side and he fell from his horse.

Thanks to the rather strict system of leaders of ten that Daenerys had established, she, at the very front of the column, was informed of the old man’s fall immediately.

Leaving Aggo and Rakharo with her, she had Jhogo lead the majority of the Khalasar onward.

The main group could not stop; there were scouts ahead searching for water awaiting them!

The fallen man had blue eyes the color of a dead fish’s belly. His skin was much fairer than the other people of the khalasar, and the roots of his white hair had a golden sheen.

He was not Dothraki, but a slave from Khal Drogo’s Khalasar.

After taking control of the Khalasar, Daenerys’s first act had been to remove the slave collars from the slaves’ necks and grant them all the status of “khalasar folk.”

The old man before her, with his broken left arm, was one of the first beneficiaries of this new system.

Daenerys brought a waterskin of mare’s milk to his lips and asked, “How old are you?”

An examination revealed no signs of heatstroke or dehydration, but she did see his mouth.

He was so old he didn’t have a single tooth left.

“I… I don’t remember, Khaleesi,” the old man said, rousing from his stupor after drinking the fermented mare’s milk.

“Where does it hurt?” Daenerys asked again.

“My… cough cough… my arm,” the old man groaned in pain.

Daenerys frowned. She knew, of course, that his arm was broken, but she wanted to know why he had fallen from his horse in the first place.

She spent about twenty minutes cleaning the broken arm, then used two wooden boards to splint the reset limb.

Even for a compound fracture, this was the most Daenerys could do. A doctor without medicine was no different from an ordinary person.

She commanded the horse master Avanti, “Have him moved to a cart.”

Avanti was the commander of the old man’s group of ten, a unit made up of old men who were responsible for herding and guarding supplies.

Two old men removed several tents from a flatbed cart to make room for him, then hung those tents from the old man’s saddle.

The column moved on.

“Khaleesi, he should be left here. His time has come,” Daenerys’s handmaiden Irri said, her tone like a public announcement. “No one should outlive their teeth.”

The other horsemen murmured in agreement.

But Daenerys did not agree. “Have you ever considered, if the Khalasar keeps no one who is useless, how could he have lived this long? The Khal must have needed him. I would guess he has some remarkable skill.”

“Perhaps medicine, or perhaps literature,” she said, then immediately shook her head, dismissing her own idea. “Not literature. Maybe his herding skills are exceptionally good. Is that it, Avanti?”

Avanti was riding behind Daenerys. Hearing his name, he deftly urged his horse forward to her side, staying half a horse-length behind, and praised her in an exaggerated tone, “Khaleesi, your insight is truly like a torch. Nothing can be hidden from you.”

Though the flattery was a bit clumsy, it came from the mouth of a Dothraki!

It was as rare as seeing a penguin at the North Pole.

“What’s his special skill?” Aggo asked curiously.

“Huasheng is a master of the twelve techniques of the spring cry.”

“Yes, the blue-eyed Volantene is Huasheng,” Avanti added.

“The techniques of the spring cry?” Daenerys looked puzzled. “What are the techniques of the spring cry?”

“Ah, you people who live in stone houses make everything so complicated,” Avanti said with a wave of his hand.

Daenerys’s cheeks flushed as she immediately understood. It was the erotic arts.

“How is that a special skill?” She felt her cheeks burn, displeased.

Avanti, sensing her mood, grew a little flustered. He tried hard to recall what old Huasheng had once boasted to him and said, “Khaleesi, even the renowned Kayuan, the world’s training center for female slaves, knows only seven of the techniques. But Huasheng… he is a Volantene. He knows the skills that only the Dragonlords used before the Doom of Valyria. Though only five have been passed down, it’s still enough to be unrivaled in this age.”

Volantis was the only city of the old Valyrian Freehold to survive the great Doom, and now it was one of the nine Free Cities.

The ruling class of Volantis were orthodox Valyrian nobles, just like House Targaryen.

The Targaryens, back then, had been exiles.

“Even if he’s the best in the world, what use is he at his age? Why did the Khal keep him?” Daenerys asked, still confused.

“He was Khal Haggo’s father,” Avanti said gravely. “A Khal’s father cannot be abandoned.”

“Haggo… Khal? Was Haggo the Khal of another Khalasar before?” Daenerys grew even more puzzled.

“Not the bloodrider of Khal Drogo, my lady. This was Blue-Eyed Haggo from twenty years ago. Our Khalasar is so small now, and we still have at least three children named Haggo.”

“I see. So this Huasheng is quite something,” Daenerys said with a nod, pulling the white lion cloak on her shoulders tighter across her chest. She sighed with emotion, “The son of a slave actually became a Khal.”

“He was of mixed blood. Haggo’s mother was Dothraki. Because Huasheng served the previous Khal very well—he was, after all, a master of the twelve techniques of the spring cry—his valiant son became a Ko.

“Later, Blue-Eyed Haggo became a Khal himself and made quite a name for himself on the Great Grass Sea, until he met Khal Drogo’s father.” Avanti’s expression was full of wistful reflection.

Daenerys nodded to herself. A person’s worth was not determined by strength alone; the wisdom and rich experience of the elderly were also a precious treasure.

“Khaleesi, did you know that Khal Drogo was once stolen as a child?” Avanti asked suddenly.

“I know. It was Cohollo who fought desperately to save him. That time, Cohollo gained two scars on his face that were deep enough to show bone, but he also became the Khal’s most trusted companion, and later, Drogo’s Bloodrider.”

As she said this, a thought suddenly struck Daenerys. She asked in shock, “Could it have been Blue-Eyed Haggo who did it?”

Chapter 22: The Bleeding Star and the Child of Prophecy

“In the end, he was never a pure horseman blessed by the old crones beneath the Mother of Mountains. Blue-Eyed Haggo had martial skills that rivaled any of the great Khals, but he lacked their courage.

Just as those who live in stone houses are skilled with poison and trickery, he was polluted by Huasheng’s bloodline and grew accustomed to using shameless methods to strike at his enemies.”

Old Avanti had a look of disgust on his face as he shook his head and said, “Sending men to sneak into another Khalasar to kidnap the Khal’s son—that is something that has never happened in the millennia of the Great Grass Sea.

Everyone knows we Dothraki solve our problems on our fierce steeds, with the arakhs in our hands.”

Hearing this, Daenerys couldn’t help but feel that Blue-Eyed Haggo’s luck had been truly terrible. If only his father had been proficient not in the techniques of the spring cry, but in military arts like the Thirty-Six Stratagems or the statecraft of Guiguzi. With his flexible mind and his resolve to commit shameless acts, he might very well have established a Golden Family.

The group chatted as they slowly caught up to the main host.

Even though the scorching winds would stir up the red gravel and eventually erase any trace of the column’s passage across the purgatorial plains, that process would still take a day or two.

Daenerys and her companions were only an hour’s ride behind the Khalasar. On the ground of broken stone and red sand, the tracks of the herd of horses were still visible. Under the blood-red glow of the Bleeding Star, the faint trail was like a shallow river flowing across the red waste.

It was exceptionally conspicuous.

Avanti, wily with age, had discovered through his few conversations with Daenerys that she was a very peaceful and kind Khaleesi. He grew bolder and audaciously said to her, “The comet in the sky makes it convenient for us to travel at night, but its color, like the blood of a god, is also filled with ill omens.

Especially here in this purgatorial wasteland—the red sand, the dim sky stained blood-red by the Bleeding Star—it is like a red hell. It feels as if something terrible has happened without our knowledge.”

“Yes, yes, I think so too,” chimed in the old men of his ten-man squad. Gradually, even Daenerys’s Bloodriders began to feel uneasy.

How dare this old fool spread such superstitious nonsense in front of me?!

Daenerys was furious and rebuked him, “I ask you, before Khal Drogo was laid to rest, had the comet appeared?”

The old man, startled by her harsh tone, stammered, “N-no…”

“I ask you again, is the Bleeding Star not a symbol of Khal Drogo?”

“It is…”

“Was the Khal’s stallion not fiery red like coals?” she demanded again in a pressing tone.

“It was…”

“And was the Khal not accompanied by five hundred warriors who died bravely in battle?”

“He was…”

As Daenerys’s forceful questions continued, the expressions of the surrounding horsemen shifted from fear to confusion, and then, gradually, a dawning realization appeared on their bewildered faces.

At that moment, Daenerys concluded, “Our Khal rode his stallion into the Night Lands through the flames. That comet is Drogo on his red horse. The bloody tail stretching across the sky behind it is his Bloodriders leading the five hundred screaming warriors who shed their blood on the battlefield, following their Khal just as they did in life.”

“Their heads were all cut off. How could they not stain the sky red?” she pressed Avanti.

“Drogo knows we travel by night and rest by day. He knows we are struggling to cross the Red Waste, so he is reluctant to depart, leading his men to watch over us. Once we are completely safe, Drogo will truly enter the Night Lands.”

Daenerys’s words were simply irrefutable. The comet would leave sooner or later, and as for when they were “completely safe,” wasn’t that up to her, their leader, to decide?

As expected, the horsemen were convinced by her words. One by one, looks of understanding spread across their faces, and they gazed at her with reverence and adoration.

Old Avanti was also genuinely convinced. After all, the Khal riding his own steed into the starry sky through the flames was something “everyone knew.” Daenerys’s explanation was flawless, and everything was too coincidental—a coincidence that felt like fate.

“Khaleesi, you are as wise as the old crones of Vaes Dothrak,” he praised.

The old crones of Vaes Dothrak were the leaders of the Dosh Khaleen.

Daenerys did not like hearing that. She had no desire to become one of the Dosh Khaleen, even though technically, she already was.

“Avanti, Huasheng is ill and cannot drink water. Give your share of horse milk to him,” Daenerys said, riding off on her horse without waiting for his reply.

“I…” Avanti’s mouth fell open, his face a mixture of bewilderment and grievance. “I’m an old man too! I need horse milk!”

Back with the main Khalasar, Daenerys’s explanation of the Bleeding Star spread quickly. The horsemen stole glances at the Khaleesi at the head of the column, whispering among themselves. Though they embellished the tale, the core of the story remained the same.

“Sigh, with his son dead too, how could the Khal not ‘weep blood’? The Khaleesi must be weeping blood in secret as well, right?”

“Indeed. Hundreds of warriors died on the battlefield with the young master. How tragic. Their blood has stained the very sky.”

“Now we can rest easy. It terrified me before, leaving a stark trail of blood across the blue sky even during the day. I thought it was a terrible omen.”

To a large extent, the superstitious horsemen shed their anxiety and gained confidence.

In truth, it was not just Daenerys and her Khalasar who were affected by the Bleeding Star. It grew more distinct by the day; at night, it dyed the sky red with a brightness like dusk, and during the day, it shone with the sun, like a slash across the face of the sky god.

The entire world of ice and fire was in a panic over it. Like Daenerys, they all did their best to interpret it as an omen favorable to them.

For example, the court in King’s Landing called it the “Red Messenger,” announcing the arrival of the new king to the world.

Yes, Robert Baratheon, who had seized the throne from Daenerys’s family, had been done in by his own wife, and his son, Joffrey—truly “someone else’s child”—had inherited the throne.

However, due to the rebellion of the four great lords—Stark, Tully, Tyrell, and Baratheon—prices in King’s Landing had skyrocketed, and the people were starving. Furthermore, news of Queen Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister had been made public by Stannis Baratheon, and Joffrey’s cruelty surpassed even the ‘Mad King.’

These factors combined had led to a boiling pot of public resentment in King’s Landing, and the common folk called the comet the “Red Sword.”

A red sword of blood and fire, a sign from the heavens of the punishment that was to befall Cersei and her son.

After his great victory in the Whispering Wood, the Greatjon pointed to the red streak across the azure sky and laughed to his liege, Robb Stark, “That’s the fire banner of vengeance the Old Gods have unfurled for Ned.”

The young lord of House Tully, Edmure Tully, was overjoyed, believing it to be the sigil of his house—a trout leaping from a river, a silver fish on a blue field.

Yes, Edmure saw a fish with a long tail, fiery red against the blue canvas of the sky.

On the Iron Islands, a spirited Balon Greyjoy declared to his vassals, “It is a good omen for us Ironborn, a burning torch, no different from the ones our ancestors carried.

A torch brought from the sea by the Drowned God, foretelling a rising tide. Now is the time for us to assemble our fleets, to bring sword and fire to the world, just as He did in the past.”

On Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, Daenerys’s birthplace, and the westernmost outpost of the Valyrian Freehold, the Red Priestess Melisandre told the current lord, Stannis Baratheon, “It is dragon’s breath, the Bleeding Star. The ancient prophecy is about to be fulfilled in you.”

Then she spoke the prophecy that represented the core of A Song of Ice and Fire and its ultimate prediction. Ahem, the prophecy.

“After the long summer, the star will bleed, and a cold darkness will cover the world. In this hour of terror, a warrior shall draw a burning sword from the fire. That sword is ‘Lightbringer,’ the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who wields it is Azor Ahai reborn, and he shall drive the darkness away.”

“Now, the long summer is ending, the Bleeding Star has appeared, and Azor Ahai will be reborn in a place of smoke and salt, and he will wake dragons from stone.

Your Grace, you are the one in the prophecy, the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, destined by heaven to save the world.”

“Sigh, why me!” Stannis gritted his teeth. “I only wanted to be a good brother, a good subject. Why must I become the king, bear such a responsibility?”

Renly Baratheon at Storm’s End, the Martells in Dorne, the Night’s Watch at the Wall—everyone saw the red comet in the sky. For this phenomenon, unseen since ancient times, they all had their own interpretations.

At this moment, in faraway Westeros, no one knew that when the star wept blood, someone had already been reborn and had woken dragons from stone.

It seemed…

Alright, Daenerys was by no means Azor Ahai reborn. She was but the innermost of the nesting dolls.

On the third day of their southward journey through the Red Waste, Daenerys’s Khalasar had traveled about 130 kilometers, making a total of over 300 kilometers in three days.

Food consumption was actually not a major issue. With at least one horse per person, they did not lack for horse meat. The critical problems were drinking water and the extreme environment.

“Khaleesi, we’ve found less than half as many bitter pools today as we did yesterday. Many of our waterskins are empty,” Quaro said with a grim face.

Daenerys wiped her face and forced herself to rally. She had just made camp for the third time, building a low, curved stone wall just as she had the day before.

By the time the camp affairs were in order, the eastern sky was already showing the first light of dawn.

After a moment of serious thought, Daenerys said gravely, “The men and horses must have water. Quaro, I will teach you a new way to find it.”

She led Quaro and a dozen other horsemen to a high place and pointed to the plain below. “Have you noticed? Some places are overgrown with weeds, while others are completely barren. If you look farther out, you can see that the places where the demon grass is most lush can almost be connected into a line.”

“Perhaps there is an underground river there, or perhaps it once was a river.”

By this point, the bed of the small stream they had first encountered was long gone, with no trace to be seen. Only the clusters of reddish-brown demon grass, distributed with a certain regularity, continued to offer a kind of hint, a suggestion.

Daenerys’s method was simple. She would divide the group in two. The strongest warriors would ride ahead for dozens, or even a hundred, kilometers. They would follow the densest patches of demon grass, digging pits as they went.

Deep pits, deep enough for groundwater to seep in.

Even if there was no water, the sand would be damp—soil from which water could be squeezed. The second group of riders, sent to collect water, would use this wet earth and filter it through cheesecloth.

Compared to filtering water from the pools, this method was slower and less efficient. The pits could not be dug too large, or they would not be able to find stones or logs to cover the openings.

The only way was to dig more holes, and deeper holes.

Daenerys even gave a demonstration. After bailing a bitter pool dry, she placed the scooped-out mud into a pouch made from a piece of tent cloth.

Dirty water dripped, drop by drop, from the bottom of the pouch, while the pit where the mud had been removed began to visibly ooze water once more.

Seeing this, the horsemen cheered, as if they had already conquered the terrifying Red Waste.

Jorah, however, pulled Daenerys aside, his voice filled with concern. “Your Grace, you are sacrificing the strength and lives of the healthy warriors to feed the useless old and weak.”

Chapter 23: The Dying Old Man Bestows a Secret Manual!

Ser Jorah was right. To complete Daenerys’s “three-stage water-fetching” mission, the two groups of riders responsible for collecting water would have to expend several times their normal physical effort.

Whether it was digging deep pits in the hard, sandy ground or hauling water back and forth to the Khalasar, the riders’ rest time was drastically reduced while their time working to their limits under the blazing sun increased. Perhaps…

“This is my tribe. Whether old, weak, sick, or disabled, they are all my subjects. I have a responsibility and a duty to protect every single one of their lives,” Daenerys insisted.

“But what about your warriors? They could die of exhaustion on the way to find water.”

Daenerys hesitated for only a moment before her expression turned solemn again. “For a warrior to die in service to their people is the most glorious and noble end.”

“In service to their people?”

Ser Jorah was taken aback. It was the first time he had heard such a phrase. It seemed to have some merit—at least it was more meaningful than two idiots stuffing themselves to death and then hacking each other to pieces with swords.

But he didn’t care one bit about the lives or honor of the horsemen. He was only concerned with what was most advantageous for his princess.

Jorah gritted his teeth and urged in a low voice, “Your Highness, your method for fetching water is excellent. If it were just you and those eighty elite warriors, we could certainly walk out of this waste unscathed. Why don’t we…”

His eyes were dark and inscrutable, his voice carrying an indescribable chill. “Why don’t we take the supplies and leave quietly while they’re asleep? A hundred survivors is better than the entire Khalasar collapsing. You have gold. Once we reach the coastal cities, you can buy a ship to any of the Free Cities, or you could secretly buy a manor and wait for the dragons to grow.”

Daenerys shook her head and sighed. “Ser, I am their Khaleesi. Do not say such things again.”

“Sigh, very well.” Ser Jorah’s grim expression relaxed, though it was hard to tell if it was from resignation or the indifference that comes after giving up completely. “Your Highness, you must be mentally prepared. The tribe’s people will likely begin to die off soon. You are not a god; you cannot help everyone.”

“How much farther do you think we have to go?” Daenerys asked with concern.

“Three-quarters, or at least two-thirds. And that’s if we’ve been walking in a straight line, which we haven’t. We had to make a detour because of the riverbed,” Ser Jorah said uncertainly.

At that moment, Daenerys also understood that crisis was imminent.

The deeper they went into the Red Waste, the fewer water sources they found, the number decreasing exponentially. Today, the water supply was already stretched to its absolute limit. And tomorrow…

“We should abandon some of the old horses,” Daenerys decided.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck her, and she smiled. “I nearly forgot about one of the most important water sources.”

“Where?” Jorah asked, surprised.

“Never mind. It’s not time for that yet.” She waved her hand, pressing her lips together in a small smile.

Urine, of course!

How many times had that survivalist on television drunk his own urine?

Drinking urine was child’s play for the man who stood at the top of the food chain. She remembered the most outrageous time, when he had chugged sea turtle blood until he was wailing.

—Sea turtle blood is too rank and foul. Drinking it will make you vomit, but the large intestine can absorb the water from the blood.

It was a bit disgusting, but compared to one’s life, it was nothing.

When a true crisis hit, a horse-blood enema was definitely something to try. In any case, Daenerys was the Khaleesi; she would be the last one to go without water.

With this in mind, Daenerys’s gaze toward Ser Jorah turned strange.

“What is it?” The Bear felt a chill creep from the back of his neck down to his tailbone.

“Nothing.” Daenerys averted her eyes and walked toward her own tent. “I’m going to train the dragons.”

Just as Daenerys, carrying her bamboo basket, lifted the leather flap of her tent, she saw Avanti ride up on an old horse, clip-clopping to a stop before her.

“Khaleesi, Huasheng is failing! He’s going to die!” he shouted in a panic.

“Sigh, I know.” Daenerys sighed and prepared to leave with him.

Avanti asked anxiously, “Khaleesi, what arrangements should be made for Huasheng’s funeral?”

Daenerys stopped in her tracks, confused. “He’s from Volantis. I don’t know their customs. Why don’t you ask him?”

“He wants to be cremated, and he wants funerary offerings. I can’t make the decision, so I came to ask you,” Avanti said quickly.

Now Daenerys understood. In this resource-starved wasteland, charcoal was mostly used to filter dirty water. Even roasting horse meat was done in a large communal pot to conserve firewood.

And funerary offerings…

Carrying the three dragons, Daenerys had no choice but to follow Avanti to his ten-man platoon.

The horsemen’s tents were small but housed three or four people. They didn’t need much space inside—just enough room to lay down blankets, straw mats, or sleeping bags.

Seeing Daenerys approach, the other two old men in the tent greeted her before tactfully excusing themselves, leaving the space to them.

Hearing the Khaleesi’s question about funeral rites, the toothless old man spoke with great difficulty. “The nobles of Volantis trace their lineage to the ancient Valyrian Freehold. Like your House Targaryen, they favor cremation. I was just a slave, born on the banks of the Rhoyne. By rights, I should be buried in a river or in the earth, but… cough, cough, cough…”

The old man coughed for a while, a look of longing on his wrinkled face. “But… my Haggo was a Khal. Like Khal Drogo, he was a great Dothraki warrior. In the end, he rode his fiery steed into the Horse God’s Night Lands. I want… cough, cough, cough…”

“Say no more,” Daenerys said compassionately. “I understand. I have already removed your slave collar. You are no longer a slave but one of the horsemen. I will bury you according to the customs of the horsemen. The Horse God will accept you.”

The old man was both thrilled and worried to hear this.

His spine arched in a convulsive spasm as he struggled to lift himself up. He looked at Daenerys with hopeful blue eyes and asked in a rush, “Really? Is that truly possible? Will the Horse God let me into the Night Lands? But I…”

An idea came to Daenerys, and she said solemnly, “You’ve seen the comet in the sky. You understand its meaning, don’t you?”

The old man, looking puzzled, managed a weak nod. “I heard. It’s Khal Drogo and his Bloodriders leading five hundred warriors… oh, and your little Khal, staining the sky with their blood…”

To hell with staining the sky with blood. Daenerys’s mood soured instantly, but she couldn’t take it out on the dying old man before her.

Instead, she shot Avanti a vicious glare, mentally writing his name down in her little black book.

Mm, he must be the one spreading these malicious rumors.

“Here’s the plan. You ride your fiery steed to meet the Khal in the sky first. When we are out of danger and the Khal leads his warriors into the Night Lands, he will bring you along with him. Drogo is the greatest of Khals; the Horse God would never bar one of his men,” Daenerys comforted him, spinning a tale.

“Wonderful!” The old man sagged as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from him, his arched body falling heavily back onto the straw mat.

Just as Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief, old Huasheng shot up again as if reanimated, grabbing her wrist tightly. “But Khal Drogo doesn’t know me,” he said uncertainly. “Will he accept me?”

“Well…” Daenerys grimaced, thinking for a moment, before she brightened. “It’s fine. When we cremate you, I will shout to the Khal in the sky and ask him to take you in. He is watching over us. He will definitely hear me.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” The old man released her hand and lay back down, stiff as a board.

Daenerys placed her hands on her knees and tried to straighten up, but couldn’t.

The old man seemed to have no strength left to sit up. He could only clutch tightly at the leg of her silk trousers, pulling the fabric taut.

“What is it?” Daenerys squatted down and took his hand, which felt like a withered branch.

“Khaleesi, you are a good person. I am leaving now and can no longer serve you to repay your kindness. My life’s work is all that I have, recorded in…” Old Huasheng’s head lolled from side to side. After a moment, he shakily raised his right hand and pointed to a worn, brown horsehide bundle in the corner of the tent. “There is a hand-copied book bound in parchment there. It contains my life’s work. It is my gift to you, Khaleesi.”

Life’s work?

Daenerys hadn’t forgotten this man’s profession. Although the five techniques of the spring cry passed down from Old Valyria could be considered a kind of cultural heritage—in medieval Europe, exquisite erotic art could be passed down as family heirlooms for centuries—she was the Mother of Dragons. She had a grand future ahead of her and had no desire to promote that particular set of skills!

Avanti, who had been baffled by the Khaleesi’s earlier glare, had been anxiously wondering what he had done wrong or where he had fallen short.

Seeing a chance to prove himself, he didn’t wait for the Khaleesi’s command. He nimbly walked to the corner, untied the leather bundle, and pulled out a grey sheepskin book the size of an A4 sheet of paper and as thick as a standard dictionary.

As the “precious manual” was presented to her, Daenerys shot the clueless Avatar a sharp look.

Startled, Avatar’s hand trembled, and the thick book fell to the ground with a thud.

His eyes widened, a look of despair on his face.

The book landed by Daenerys’s feet, its pages flipping open. She glanced down and, just as she expected, the first thing she saw was a suggestive illustration.

It was even in color, a charcoal sketch.

The position depicted would have been challenging even for a gymnast. Next to it was an explanation in Valyrian, densely packed with words, seemingly providing a very detailed annotation.

She quickly slammed the book shut with a smack, cleared her throat, and said, “I accept your gift. Thank you.”

Old Huasheng nodded. He caught sight of the white dragon climbing from the bamboo basket to Daenerys’s ear, and a glint of light flashed in his dimming, turbid eyes. He gasped, “Khaleesi, this book is the culmination of over sixty years of my painstaking effort. I had thought… But now I see, it was born for you. Only you can make the best use of it.”

Daenerys was mortified and furious. If it had been anyone else, or in any other situation, she would have already started throwing punches.

This damned old man is terrible! To think of me in such a way!

She didn’t want to stay a moment longer. Mumbling a few vague words, she picked up the thick sheepskin book and stood to leave.

“Hey, wait,” the blue-eyed old man’s withered, claw-like hand latched onto the strap of Daenerys’s lace-up sandal. “Khaleesi, I almost forgot, the offerings!”

“I haven’t forgotten. That horse of yours was unruly and threw you. Later, I will pick out a more docile one to be killed and buried with you. If you need, I will also prepare a bag of gold medallions and a warrior’s arakh and bow for you,” Daenerys quickly promised.

“Th—” The old man didn’t finish the word “thank.” His head tilted to one side, his hand went limp, and he was gone.

An expression of joy and anticipation was frozen on his shriveled face, which resembled a dried sweet potato.

Chapter 24: Skinchangers and Wargs

Daenerys had misunderstood Huasheng. He really had given her a secret manual of divine arts.

After returning to her camp, she was overcome by curiosity about the twelve techniques of the spring cry and secretly opened the book to take a look.

She had intended to study the ultimate techniques of this other world, but what she found instead were densely packed data and maps.

Yes, Huasheng’s journal did contain the twelve techniques of the spring cry, but the twelve difficult “gymnastic” positions took up only twelve pages. When the book had fallen to the ground earlier, it had happened to open to one of those pages.

In truth, most of its contents were numbers and hand-drawn maps.

Not just of the Dothraki Sea, but of nearly the entire continent of Essos. There were detailed descriptions of the terrain, and even data on the various city-states’ populations, industrial distribution, military deployments, city walls, and watchtowers.

It seemed specifically compiled for his Khal son’s conquests.

Additionally, Huasheng had recorded, as an observer, the growth conditions of the grasses in the horsemen’s nomadic pastures, the rainfall, temperature, and humidity, whether certain areas were prone to epidemics, herbal knowledge learned from witch doctors, the length of summers, and the temperatures and agricultural production of various regions in winter.

It looked chaotic, but it contained the most brilliant survival knowledge of the nomadic horsemen.

In short, Huasheng’s journal was almost useless to a single individual, but it was a divine manual for a Khal. Of course, that was assuming the Khal could recognize its value.

It meticulously recorded the local customs, agricultural and pastoral production, geography, and seasonal changes of Essos. Had Blue-Eyed Haggo lived, he might have become the greatest Khal with his father’s guidance, perhaps even unifying the Dothraki before Daenerys.

This journal would be very useful for Daenerys’s future conquest of the Dothraki Sea. She decided to give Huasheng a grand burial.

Yes, she would personally preside over Huasheng’s cremation ceremony.

“The tail of the blood comet really has gotten longer! Huasheng has joined the Khal’s host!” Aggo shouted in amazement, pointing to the crimson streak in the sky.

When ordinary horsemen were cremated, there was no need to look for omens in the night sky. However, Daenerys was a woman of her word. After placing the old man’s body on the small pyre, she really did shout at the sky a few times in front of everyone.

Then, the horsemen were horrified to “discover” that the comet’s tail had grown a tiny bit longer.

The comet was constantly approaching the planet, so theoretically, it would get brighter and its tail clearer, but such a visible change couldn’t possibly happen in the time it took to say a few words.

An illusion. It was all an illusion.

But Daenerys didn’t correct them. Instead, with a solemn and mysterious expression, she commanded, “Kill the horse!”

A stubborn packhorse was led over. It was indeed more robust than Huasheng’s previous mount.

Two warriors held the horse’s head while a third horseman’s curved blade flashed. A white line, reflecting the red glow of the torches, cut through the dim twilight of dawn.

The horse whinnied and struggled, but this only made the jet of blood from its neck spray more fiercely.

Splash! Dark red horse blood fell like a waterfall into the copper basin below.

“Bring the gentle grass horse,” Daenerys said.

At her words, an old Dothraki warrior stepped forward, carrying on his shoulder a horse made of sticks and demon grass.

“Soul, depart!” she commanded, pointing her right finger at the dying packhorse. She shouted the command repeatedly in Mandarin Chinese, English, her old Sichuan dialect, and the Dothraki tongue.

To her Khalasar, it sounded as if their Khaleesi was chanting a long, mysterious spell.

“Abracadabra!” After mumbling a few more “incantations” whose meaning even she didn’t know, she flung her arm down, her left hand pointing two fingers like a sword at the grass horse. “Soul, return!”

Under the awestruck gazes of the horsemen and Jorah’s bewildered stare, Daenerys caught her breath, then scanned the crowd. “It is done,” she announced. “The spirit of the stallion has entered the grass horse. This will be a peerless steed, with the gentleness of a grass horse and the divine strength of a charger. Old Huasheng will never have to worry about keeping up with the Khal, nor will he need to fear falling from his horse again!”

“Place the grass horse on the pyre. Dawn is breaking. Prepare to light the fire,” she ordered with a wave of her hand.

“What do we do with this?” asked a warrior holding the bleeding horse, pointing at the carcass with tears in its eyes.

The Khaleesi was not only The Unburnt and the Mother of Dragons, but she also knew ritual magic! It was too awe-inspiring!

“Are you stupid? We roast it over the fire and eat it, of course,” Daenerys said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

The whole point of this elaborate song and dance was to preserve as much food as possible while still adhering to the horsemen’s traditions.

As Huasheng’s body burned in the fire, a crowd of horsemen bustled with activity around the pyre. Some roasted the horse meat, while others used an iron pot to cook a soup of horse blood, horse bones, barley, dried apples, turnip chunks, and peppercorns. No salt was needed; it was intensely fragrant.

Was it the aroma of the food, the scorched smell of Huasheng’s burning flesh, or a mixture of both?

The strange scent greatly stimulated everyone’s appetite, and the horsemen and Jorah ate with loud slurps.

Daenerys herself couldn’t stand it. She slung a bamboo basket over her back, carried a basket of roasted meat, and hurried away under the pretext of training her dragons.

On the fourth day, the Khalasar set off at dusk, just as they had the previous days. Along the way, they constantly saw waterholes marked with rocks and wooden stakes.

The situation was slightly better than Daenerys’s worst-case scenario. Even after the second group of riders had taken water, when her Khalasar arrived and moved the stones covering them, most waterholes still had a shallow pool of water visible.

Daenerys didn’t miss a single one. As the Khalasar journeyed, their water reserves were consumed, so she used the empty waterskins to collect all the silt-laden seep water, planning to filter it when they made camp.

Even with this temporary relief in their water supply, after about three hours of travel, there was a death in the procession: a six-month-old baby girl.

Her mother’s sobs were heart-wrenching, her pain and despair audible throughout the entire column. Daenerys felt terrible, but there was nothing she could do.

She didn’t even know the cause of the baby’s death. It wasn’t heatstroke, nor a lack of food or drink. She had simply suffered from diarrhea in her mother’s arms for half the day and then was gone.

According to Dothraki tradition, the poor child was too young to ride a horse. She could not enter the endless black plains of the Night Lands; she would have to be reincarnated.

The child was buried there in the sand.

The column barely stopped. Just as with old Huasheng who had fallen from his horse yesterday, only Daenerys and the mother’s ten-man squad stayed behind to handle the arrangements.

Perhaps it was the turning of the tide. In the morning light of the following day, Daenerys laughed and clapped her hands at the sky, cheering for her baby dragon’s first flight.

But as the black dragon circled higher and higher, becoming a small dot before disappearing, a sense of urgency gripped Daenerys, and she unexpectedly entered a Dragon Dream state.

It was also the first time she had experienced a long-distance Dragon Dream without touching the dragon. In fact, “Dragon Dream” was no longer an entirely suitable term for this state.

If one were to use the “Warg” ability of the Stark siblings as an analogy, Daenerys’s state could be called a “Lesser Dragon Soul.”

A warg, also known as a skinchanger, or a type of skinchanger, is a human who can enter the consciousness of an animal or another person and control their actions.

For a skinchanger, this is easier to accomplish if an emotional bond exists between the human and the animal. That is why wolves, being close relatives of dogs and possessing a more loyal genetic makeup, are the most common partners for skinchangers.

A person who controls a wolf is called a warg, but that does not mean they can only communicate with wolves.

The Starks’ Bran, Rickon, and Arya, as well as the nominal protagonist of A Song of Ice and Fire, Jon Snow, are all wargs. They possess skinchanging talents so powerful as to be enviable.

However, lacking systematic training and subconsciously denying and rejecting their own gifts, they have not been able to fully manifest their abilities.

Bran’s power needs no further description. Once he ascends from a skinchanger to a Greenseer, he will be able to travel along the timeline of Westeros, changing the past and observing the future.

The Old Gods watch the world through the weirwoods, but weirwoods only exist on Westeros, so the power of the Old Gods probably cannot reach Essos.

Jon’s talent made even the strongest wildling skinchanger, Varamyr Sixskins, wary. And how strong was Varamyr?

He was so strong that even after being beaten to a bloody pulp by the red priestess, he still had enough strength to try and possess another healthy human.

Even when that failed due to ill fortune, Varamyr did not die; instead, he inhabited the body of his pet wolf.

Alas, in the end, he had the terrible luck to run into Bran, the foremost skinchanger in Westeros.

The heavens did not want him to live.

Then there was Arya. Her direwolf, Nymeria, had been released into the wild long ago. Even when Arya was oceans away in Braavos as an apprentice of the Faceless Men, separated by thousands of kilometers, they could still communicate frequently through wolf dreams.

Finally, three-year-old Rickon could even, to a limited extent, predict the future through his wolf dreams.

Sansa’s direwolf, “Lady,” died too early, and her experiences and values were very “un-Northern,” making it impossible to guess whether she possessed the warg talent.

However, Robb Stark must have had a very powerful talent as well. His direwolf could foresee danger to his master, having warned him several times, “There’s danger,” or “This person cannot be trusted,” its intuition like that of a divine beast.

It was just that Robb, having found a wife, forgot his wolf, constantly rejecting the premonitions of danger he subconsciously received from it.

Wargs are widely considered “evil creatures,” on the same level as the Others and grumkins. If a warg is discovered, they are to be killed on sight. This public perception is also deeply intertwined with the history of Westeros.

As mentioned before, aside from fantastical species like the Children of the Forest and Giants, all humans in Westeros were invaders and refugees from Essos.

The Children of the Forest were a dark and beautiful people, small in stature, with adults being about the size of human children.

They had deep, nut-brown skin, large ears, and large, golden eyes.

But some Children with the Greenseer talent had green or red eyes. If such a child merged with a heart tree, they would become a Greenseer and gain greensight.

And herein lies the key: skinchanging almost originated with the Children of the Forest, a remnant of a lost civilization.

Twelve thousand years ago, the first generation of invaders, armed with bronze weapons, fought the original inhabitants for living space.

One side was small and weak, with few in number, but possessed strange magic; the other side was tall and strong, had advanced bronze weapons, and was more numerous, but had no superpowers.

The two sides “pecked at each other like novice fighters,” managing to fight to a standstill. On the Isle of Faces, an island in the center of the Gods Eye, they signed “The Pact,” dividing their territories.

This process lasted for four thousand years. Because the first generation of invaders, the “First Men,” had witnessed the “magic” of the Children of the Forest, and their own beliefs were very “loose,” they gradually began to worship the mysterious deities of the Children, becoming followers of the Old Gods.

Perhaps it was faith, or perhaps it was interbreeding (don’t doubt it; forget the “child-sized” Children of the Forest, the people of Westeros even mated with Giants, their appetites were terrifyingly large), but skinchangers began to appear among the First Men as well.

One in a thousand people was a skinchanger, and one in a thousand skinchangers became a Greenseer.

This ratio might seem low, but when you consider that it means there were one or two Greenseers in almost every generation…

One or two “Brans.” One or two figures like Bran in every single generation. That’s truly a bit frightening!

Chapter 25: The White City

In the years after the First Men and the Children of the Forest made the Pact, Skinchangers were not heretics and monsters, but respected prophets and priests.

But four thousand years later, the golden-haired, blue-eyed Andals came. They brought weapons of fine steel, their chests painted with seven-pointed stars symbolizing the new gods, and crossed the sea to kill, armed with their unshakeable faith.

Speaking of which, one couldn’t help but complain. Damn it all, four thousand years ago you were a Bronze Age civilization. You spent the next four thousand years with the magical Children of the Forest, yet your magical civilization didn’t develop, your technology was shit, and your civilization stagnated.

Four thousand years, and you didn’t even manage to transition from a mature Bronze Age to an Iron Age. What the hell were you doing!

They deserved to have six of the Seven Kingdoms easily swept away (they weren’t destroyed; most chose to surrender, switch their allegiance, or marry into the Andals). Only the North, protected by the natural barrier of the Neck, managed to preserve the power of the “First Men.”

Yes, the Neck was the Westerosi equivalent of a legendary impassable mountain road, where one man could hold off ten thousand. It was a single passage with no secret detours to be found (though one could always go by sea).

Just how difficult was the Neck to pass?

During the “War of the Five Kings,” a handful of low-morale Ironborn—just sixty-three archers—held off a northern army of ten thousand for three whole years!

At the time of the Andal invasion, House Stark was not the sole dominant power in the North.

Besides the Starks, there were many other powerful houses, such as the skin-flaying House Bolton.

Don’t be fooled by the unique tastes and perverse personalities of the young flayer and the old leech; their family’s heritage was in no way inferior to the Starks’.

Back then, several heads of House Stark were flayed by the Boltons. Yes, who used their skins to make cloaks.

How… impressive!

But back to the topic. In the process of unifying the North, the Starks also gradually began a process of “shedding” their First Men identity.

Although the Starks always paid lip service to being “First Men” and adhered to the tradition of worshipping the “Old Gods,” they were, in truth, no longer pure First Men.

The last recorded Skinchanger king, the Lord of Sea Dragon Point, known as the “Warg King,” was a loyal ally of the Children of the Forest.

But the Starks killed him and his sons, killed his beast pets and his Greenseer, leaving only his daughters as prizes of war.

—Would true First Men slaughter a Greenseer?

Do you remember the sacred Pact signed on the Isle of Faces with the Children of the Forest?

Only the wildlings beyond the Wall and the crannogmen of the Neck could be considered orthodox First Men. They still retained their reverence for Greenseers, while the Starks merely had First Men blood.

It wasn’t just House Stark. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the Gardener line of Highgarden descended from Garth Greenhand, the Durrandons of the Stormlands (House Baratheon only inherited Storm’s End after Aegon’s conquest)—they were all descendants of the First Men and had worshipped the Old Gods for thousands of years.

In those days, Skinchangers were not monsters to be hunted and killed by all.

But after the Andals successfully invaded Westeros, the Faith of the Seven, a faith with no seven gods to be seen, replaced the primitive yet tangibly real Old Gods.

A bit ironic.

Among the great southern houses, the godswoods, which once represented the sacred halls of the Old Gods, gradually became nothing more than gardens for ladies and children to play in.

Skinchangers and Greenseers were gradually demonized, becoming figures to be killed on sight, almost on par with the Others.

South of the Wall, if anyone was found who could communicate with animals, the people around them would kill them immediately.

After several thousand years passed in this way, by the generation of Eddard Stark’s children, wargs had become mere creatures of fairy tales.

Even if you loudly proclaimed yourself a warg, people would only laugh and mock you for daydreaming.

That’s why Jon, Arya, Bran, and even Robb were all once deeply resistant to their warg nature. Not only did they not develop their talent, they wished they could seal it away.

Dany’s “Mother of Dragons” talent was in no way inferior to that of a Greenseer. Greenseers had a one-in-a-million chance of appearing; even during the peak of the Old Gods’ worship, there were at least one or two in every generation. Yet Dany was perhaps the only “Mother of Dragons” in the five-thousand-year history of Valyria.

Yes, a genetic mutation.

In the original story, Daenerys was even more resistant to her own gifts and instincts than Jon.

She wanted to play with her dragons, but her companions and subjects feared them. She wanted to take them hunting freely, but she was too busy with her duties to be distracted. Fearing they might harm someone, she ignored the young dragons’ sorrowful cries and locked them away. She wanted to fly away on a dragon and be done with it all, but then she would remember her obligations to her people.

At that time, she even lost her Dragon Dreams, almost unilaterally severing all connection to her dragons—though her black dragon could still sense when she was in danger.

That Daenerys was a kind queen, but a failed Mother of Dragons. She had her priorities backward, clinging to her identity as a queen while completely abandoning the title of “Mother of Dragons.”

It wasn’t just a title; it was the fundamental meaning of her existence.

But this Dany was different. Even with no one to teach her, she was finding her own ways to develop her innate abilities.

Her efforts had paid off. While her black dragon was flying, Dany used the soul connection of the Dragon Dream to gain his vision.

A warg could not only share an animal’s five senses, but also occupy a wolf’s body with their own consciousness. It wasn’t about controlling its actions, but becoming the wolf themselves—a temporary possession of the wolf’s body.

The reason Dany was only a “Lesser Dragon Soul” was because her control over her dragons was far inferior to a warg’s control over their companion animal.

She could only receive sensory information from the black dragon; she couldn’t control their actions, let alone become one.

Moreover, besides the black dragon, not only was she unable to control different species of animals like a Skinchanger, she couldn’t even establish a stable Dragon Dream with her white and green dragons.

It wasn’t that the other two dragons were rejecting her.

How to put it… it was a bit like having only one skill slot for one skill. As her bond with the black dragon grew stronger, her Dragon Dreams with the other two became rarer.

—Actually, wargs also have a “skill slot” limitation. Those with great talent could control more animals, while the less gifted could only control one dog—dogs being the most docile and easiest to control. Varamyr, who could control six animals, earned the “honorable” moniker of “Sixskins.”

Ser Jorah told Dany that each dragon has only one master, and one person can only ride one dragon. Until the current master dies, no one else can ride their dragon alone.

Well, an outsider could ride as a passenger, accompanied by the dragon’s master.

Similarly, a Targaryen who already had a dragon could not ride another.

“Huh? What was that?” Dany was suddenly startled.

Just now, in a fleeting glimpse, she had seen an unusual image.

The black dragon’s vision was astounding; from a thousand meters in the air, he seemed to be able to see for dozens of kilometers.

It wasn’t very clear, and the glimpse didn’t last long, but the colors of the Red Waste were too monotonous—a uniform dark red.

Previously, through the black dragon’s eyes, Dany had only seen the blue sky, the red comet, and the dark red plain in varying degrees of clarity.

Suddenly, in the instant the black dragon turned, Dany saw a patch of white appear abruptly on the otherwise dark red ground.

Was it a city? A rocky hill of a peculiar color?

“Big Black, stop messing around and help me find that white thing from before. I think it was a city,” she said urgently in her mind.

According to Dothraki tradition, one should not give names to animals other than humans, but Dany didn’t consider her dragons to be animals. They were legendary creatures, no less than people.

So she had named them early on.

Ahem… Big Black, Little White, Little Green…

Alright, those were their nicknames. That’s what she often called them.

Not naming the black dragon “Deathwing” would be a waste of those hellish black-and-red scales.

But the name “Deathwing” attracted too much hate; she didn’t want her baby dragon to die young. When he became invincible, she would let him declare it himself with a great maw reeking of sulfur and death: My name is Deathwing, the Destroyer of Worlds, the End of All Things. I… am the Cataclysm…

Yeah, that has a nice ring to it.

The other two were much more ordinary: Emerald and White Jade.

The green dragon was as translucent as jade, his body like the finest emerald, a vibrant, lively green.

The white dragon’s main color was the gentle luster of white jade, but along the lines of his bones was a platinum color like sunlight, giving off a sacred aura that inspired reverence.

If anyone asked, she would tell them the black dragon’s scales glittered like black crystals, so his name was “Black Diamond.”

Emerald, White Jade, Black Diamond—all beautiful, harmless, and beloved gemstones. The names had no aggression at all, which could conceal the fact that they were the most savage creatures in the world.

Screeeech— The black dragon found the patch of white Dany was looking for, which shone with a white glare like a mirror’s reflection.

The dragon’s pupils contracted, and the spot of white on the dark red earth grew larger and larger.

“It really is a city!” Dany cried out in joy.

It was about thirty kilometers southwest of the khalasar, beyond the range of her water-seeking party.

“That was a close call,” she said, patting her chest in lingering fear.

The black dragon was still a hatchling, after all. He couldn’t stay up for long and flapped his wings, landing back in the basket on Dany’s back.

Dany immediately found Jorah and told him about it.

“This…” The knight’s face showed his astonishment. He was surprised by the appearance of a city and amazed that the young dragon could see so far, and that Dany could share its vision.

“Your Grace, I have never heard of a city in the Red Waste. I didn’t even know anyone had settled in this place that even demons would shun,” he said cautiously, stroking his chin.

But Dany thought of the dry riverbeds they had encountered earlier and said, “Perhaps it’s a civilization lost to the river of time. The dragon couldn’t see clearly from so far away, only that the city is very large, definitely not a village. You and I both know that the Red Waste as it is now could never support a large city.”

“An abandoned city?” Jorah nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s send scouts to check it out. At the very least, it’s a place to escape the sun.”

Thirty kilometers was only an hour or two’s ride. Before noon, Aggo returned with two other warriors.

“Khaleesi, you were not mistaken. It is truly a city of stone, entirely white. But there are no inhabitants. The gates are broken, the houses have collapsed, and only wind, sand, and flies move through the streets. It is a dead city, nameless and forsaken by the gods. We should avoid it.”

“Why?” Dany asked, confused. “No people is even better. We can occupy it as we please. If there were inhabitants, I would have worried about their attitude towards the khalasar.”

Jhiqui said with a tremor in her voice, “Once the gods depart, evil spirits come out to hunt at night. It is best to avoid such places. Everyone knows this.”

“Everyone knows,” Irri agreed.

Chapter 26: The Lady of White Cloud City

The Dothraki are fond of saying, “It is known.” When they say this, they aren’t referring to something everyone present knows, but rather expressing a long-standing tradition.

Actually, the horsemen’s “it is known” contains a great deal of survival wisdom. For instance, now, Daenerys’s handmaidens and Bloodriders, fearing demons, were trying to persuade her to avoid the dead city that could save their lives.

Jhiqui said, “Once the gods depart, the demons come out to hunt at night.” Was there any truth to that?

For nomads who chased the grasslands and rivers, it made perfect sense.

Why would a city die?

In this era, in this world, there were usually only two reasons: first, plague; second, war.

Plague was self-explanatory; of course, it was to be avoided. As for massacres caused by war, they would leave a city full of corpses, and the piled-up bodies would also lead to plague.

The horsemen did not fear war, but they were nearly defenseless against the pestilence-causing germs—what the horsemen called “demons.”

Through millennia of bloody lessons learned by their ancestors, the unenlightened Dothraki had developed a set of survival rules adapted to these lands.

“I have dragons. Any demon will flee at the sight of them,” Daenerys could only say to placate the horsemen.

A ‘fresh’ dead city wouldn’t need a reminder of what “is known”; Daenerys herself would steer clear of it. But who knew how many years had passed since that ruin fell. Whatever had caused its destruction back then could no longer harm them today.

Without delay, Daenerys gave the order: recall the riders searching for water up ahead. The Khalasar would change its course. The first twenty warriors were to set out immediately for the white city to find food and water.

To soothe the anxious horsemen, Daenerys also sent the black dragon along with them.

Yes, she would enter a Dragon Dream state to command the young dragon’s actions.

Things progressed more smoothly than she had anticipated. An hour later, the black dragon arrived at the white city with the advance party.

It was a city as pure as the bright moon, as graceful as a maiden. White walls, white towers, shimmering in the hazy afternoon air, so beautiful it seemed like a mirage.

Upon reaching the outskirts of the white city, at Daenerys’s command, the black dragon struggled out of the bamboo basket on Aggo’s back and flew into the sky.

With just one glance through Big Black’s eyes, Daenerys saw a patch of vibrant green within the city.

As they drew closer, Daenerys was so overjoyed that she snapped out of her draconic trance.

“There are orchards there—figs, grapes, I even saw peach trees.” She stood up and grasped Doreah’s hand, her delight overflowing. “Our people are saved! We can settle there, build up our strength until the small dragons grow into great dragons, hahaha.”

In the afternoon, with the sun still hanging at a forty-five-degree angle in the sky, Daenerys eagerly urged the Khalasar to break camp and set out.

“There’s no need to spare your strength this time; it’s only a two or three-hour journey. Aggo and the others have already prepared fresh fruit and sweet well water. Everyone, push on! Hope is right before our eyes.” Daenerys wished she could gallop wildly.

When they were five kilometers from the white city, Big Black flew over and landed on her shoulder. The sky was sinking into the dusky yellow of sunset as Daenerys and her Khalasar finally arrived beneath the white walls.

“To think such a magnificent structure could be found on the desolate red plains,” Ser Jorah remarked to Daenerys in a tone of disbelief. “Even in our Westeros, a city like this is not common.”

That is your Westeros. This is my white city.

Daenerys’s large violet eyes crinkled into crescent moons. “I declare this city is now mine!”

Seeing Daenerys so happy, Jorah joked lightheartedly, “Then Your Highness, please give your city a name.”

She tilted her head and thought for a moment, then giggled and said one word, “White Cloud City,” before riding her little silver mare swiftly through the city gate.

From a distance, it was an exquisitely beautiful city of pure white stone, its thirty-foot-high walls hiding all imperfections within. Only upon entering did they find themselves amidst crumbling ruins. Demon grass grew between the cracks of the flagstones, and vines crept over collapsed houses. Daenerys even saw a jujube tree as thick as a thigh growing where the center of a street should have been, dotted with sparse, green, shriveled fruits.

Perhaps it had grown from a single pit dropped decades ago?

“How long do you think this city has been abandoned?” she asked those around her.

“Judging by how well-preserved it is, probably twenty or thirty years,” Jorah saiduncertainly.

Daenerys shook her head. “It’s definitely been longer than that.”

She turned and called out to the old man who was steadying himself against a branch, standing in his saddle to pick jujubes, “Avanti, come here.”

“Oh, Khaleesi, I’m coming right away.”

Clip-clop-clip-clop. The crisp sound of hooves echoed off the grayish-white stone pavement as he reached Daenerys’s side in a moment.

“How old are you? Have you heard any news of this city over the years?”

“Khaleesi, have some jujubes.” Avanti fawningly offered a handful of seven or eight green fruits, each the size of a pinky-fingertip, to Daenerys.

“You can have them,” Daenerys said, shaking her head.

Only then did Avanti lovingly place the jujubes in a saddlebag on his horse. He pondered for a moment before saying, “Khaleesi, I don’t know how long I’ve lived. On the Great Grass Sea, sometimes the same season lasts for several years in a row. I get confused and can’t tell them apart. I only remember seeing the winter snows maybe eight or nine times.”

Never mind the horsemen, who had not invented calendars; even the nobles of Westeros were often unsure of the season and the year, relying entirely on the ravens sent annually by the maesters of the Citadel to inform them.

The world of Ice and Fire had no fixed seasonal changes. Daenerys, for example, had only seen snow when she was very, very young. Like many teenagers of her generation, she was a child of summer.

“When was the last winter? What season is it considered to be now?” she turned to ask her most learned knight.

Er, it was a bit awkward. Under Daenerys’s command, the brutish man from Bear Island had somehow become the resident intellectual.

Jorah Mormont scratched his sun-reddened scalp, thought hard for a moment, and said, “When I was still the Lord of Bear Island, I think I heard a maester say that this summer would be an especially long one. That was… about six years ago. By that count… it should still be summer now. For ten years.”

He looked up at the sweltering, dark red sky, unable to deny that it was still summer.

“You need a maester,” he sighed, offering the helpless suggestion.

“If a maester ever did come to my side, I’m afraid it wouldn’t be long before every lord in Westeros had a detailed report about me and my dragons on his desk,” Daenerys said softly, noncommittally.

“It’s not that bad. Maesters swear an oath of loyalty to those they serve,” Jorah mumbled, lacking conviction.

He suddenly thought of himself…

Noticing the Khaleesi’s questioning gaze, Avanti paused for a moment before answering, “In my memory, the Red Waste has always been a forbidden land, a place not to be entered.”

“Khaleesi, look!” As the group spoke, they made their way toward the palace in the city center. Passing a place where six alleys met, Aggo suddenly cried out in alarm. He pointed to an empty marble pedestal and said, “The gods of the white city were carried off by the horsemen. A Khalasar must have come here. It was probably some Khal who plundered this city.”

“Eh?” Old Avanti rode his horse forward and circled the marble pedestal in the middle of the street twice, also exclaiming in surprise, “Horsemen really have been here. When could that have been?”

“How do you know?” Daenerys asked, puzzled.

“Khaleesi, have you noticed?” Avanti gestured at the surrounding district with his riding crop. “This is where six streets meet, so it’s the city center. Therefore, the god worshipped by the white city should have been placed on that marble pedestal.”

Daenerys accepted this explanation and nodded. “And then?”

“Have you forgotten? Only the Dothraki have the habit of stealing the idols of other peoples,” Jorah interjected.

At his reminder, a memory suddenly surfaced in Daenerys’s mind. After destroying a city, the Dothraki loved to steal their statues of gods or heroes.

In the holy city of the Dothraki, starting from the Horse Gate, there was a main thoroughfare that ran through Vaes Dothrak—the Godsway.

That road was lined with countless statues—of stone, of bronze, of cast iron, of carved wood, and even of Valyrian steel.

There were statues of gods, as well as kings and heroes, and even idols of evil gods and devils from the Shadow Lands.

“It seems the history here is far older than we imagined, at least a century or more. For a large Dothraki host to have reached this place, the rivers must not have dried up yet back then. A few hundred Dothraki warriors alone could never have taken this fortified city.”

As they spoke, Daenerys and her Khalasar had already passed through the districts and arrived at the ruins of the palace in the city’s center.

The horsemen were unwilling to live in stone houses roamed by ghosts. Helpless, Daenerys could only have them set up their tents against the tall palace walls.

The walls would at least provide some shelter from the sun.

Once everything was settled, the Khalasar sat in a circle in the square before the palace. The warriors sent ahead had collected a great deal of fruit: figs, grapes, peaches, apples.

Although the fruits were generally underdeveloped, small, and poor in taste, her people greedily reached for them, pushing and shoving one another, stuffing the fruit into their mouths and chewing with sounds of satisfaction.

“The walls are white, the towers are white, the buildings on the streets are white, and the palace is still a monotonous white. There are even white skeletons on the streets. As far as the eye can see, it’s all a ghastly white. It should be called the City of Bleached Bones,” Jorah said in a strange tone, rubbing his hairy arms.

In truth, there were scorch marks everywhere in the city, but even the blackness left by the great fire had mottled with the passage of time.

In the darkness, under the bloody light of the red comet, only the wailing wind echoed through the city’s alleys like the cries of ghosts. It was indeed a little creepy.

Daenerys’s two horsemen handmaidens were already anxious, and upon hearing the knight’s words, they began trembling with fear.

Jhiqui said with a sob in her voice, “Khaleesi, we can’t stay here. This is the demons’ territory. Listen, they’re cursing us from the corners!”

“What City of Bleached Bones? Nonsense!” Daenerys glared at the Bear and said in a firm tone, “This is White Cloud City. I am the Lady of White Cloud City, and this place is my domain.”

“Skree!” Receiving her message, Big Black opportunely opened his mouth and spat out a bright red stream of dragonfire thirty centimeters long and as thick as a thumb.

The dragonfire was mixed with a puff of black smoke, making it look quite terrifying.

The two handmaidens fell silent.

Chapter 27: The Farming Begins

The next day at dawn, after personally walking through White Cloud City, Daenerys began to regret killing all the lambs so soon.

The resources here were so abundant, enough for them to live here forever.

Almost every street and every large courtyard had at least one well, and the water in them had not run dry.

It made sense. If Daenerys’s water-gathering party could find water in pits only a meter or two deep, then stone wells over ten meters deep would naturally be full.

And in the courtyards, between the cracks of the stone slabs, clumps of demon grass grew, enough for the horses and lambs to thrive.

Unfortunately, the lambs had all been killed.

Horses were not very good livestock for consumption; killing them for meat was not cost-effective.

After a rough tour of the entire city, Daenerys immediately began a major construction effort.

The old women were responsible for clearing the weeds in the orchards and gathering fruit for the Khalasar’s daily needs.

The able-bodied women, led by Ser Jorah, set about tidying up the abandoned palace.

The palace had enough rooms to house all the horsemen.

The old men were tasked with feeding the horses and mending saddles, stirrups, and horseshoes.

Daenerys personally led her Bloodriders and Dothraki warriors in tearing down the low-rise houses in the city’s poorer districts. The excess bricks and stones were used to repair the palace, while the empty ground had its stone foundations ripped up. This land, along with the other exposed soil, was then plowed by the stallions.

Next, Daenerys led the entire Khalasar out of the city to gather large amounts of firewood and dried grass, which they spread over the freshly turned soil and set ablaze, letting it burn for a day and a night.

Then they plowed the fields a second time, mixing the ash evenly with the soil. The best of the large barley grains were selected and sown into the earth.

In a world where summer could last for more than a decade, there was no concept of sowing in spring and reaping in autumn. If they had to wait like that, with a ten-year summer, humanity would have starved to death long ago.

As long as the fields were empty and it wasn’t winter, you could plant any crop at any time.

The idea of peaches in spring and pears in autumn didn’t exist here either.

Fruits that appeared in different seasons on Earth could be seen here growing bountifully on the branches of different trees at the same time.

Turnips were also one of the staple foods of this world, and Daenerys’s Khalasar had always carried them.

Now, the shriveled turnips were cut into pieces, first muffled in damp cloths to sprout seedlings, then taken out and planted separately.

Besides the turnips and barley that had always served as their rations, they also found beets, onions, garlic, blackberries, mint, and pepper plants in the gardens of White Cloud City.

The inedible flowers and plants in the gardens were pulled up to feed the horses, and the cleared spaces were all planted with food crops.

The children were not idle either. They roamed the winding, complex alleyways, weaving between the windowsills of houses, searching for ancient bronze artifacts, rusted iron pots, and weapons.

There were old men in the Khalasar who knew the craft of blacksmithing. They had once been Drogo’s slaves, abandoned by new Khals like Pono and Jhaqo because they were too old to lift a hammer.

Daenerys selected the four Dothraki warriors with the poorest fighting skills and had them retrain as blacksmiths.

“We are great horselords, born to kill and be killed! We cannot do the work of slaves.”

The horsemen, as if deeply humiliated, protested loudly with flushed faces.

Daenerys really wanted to mock them: You don’t do any killing; you only get killed. With skills like yours, what use are you other than as practice dummies for someone else’s blade?

“Who says a blacksmith can’t be a killer?” Daenerys put on a stern face and began to spin a righteous tale. “Do you know who I am? I am the princess of Dragonstone, Stormborn. I was once the daughter of the king of the Sunset Lands. My brother Rhaegar was no weaker than any Khal other than Drogo, but he died at the hands of the Usurper.

That man, Robert Baratheon, killed my brother and seized the throne that belonged to my father and my family. He was almost as powerful as the great Khal Drogo.”

The four horsemen listened in a daze. They naturally knew their Khaleesi’s history, that she was the last princess, which was why the late Khal Drogo had been willing to marry her.

“Khaleesi, I don’t understand,” one of the horsemen said timidly.

“Alas, that Usurper, Robert Baratheon, a man as strong as Khal Drogo.” Daenerys gazed up at the sky at a forty-five-degree angle and said in a melancholic tone, “He was a blacksmith!”

“Cough, cough cough.” Ser Jorah choked on his own saliva.

“I just want to tell you that even if you learn the craft of a blacksmith, you can still become a great warrior,” Daenerys concluded.

“But that Usurper… the Khal of the Sunset Lands… was he really a blacksmith?” a horseman asked doubtfully.

Daenerys’s expression turned solemn. She looked at Jorah and asked, “Ser, in the name of the Seven and the Old Gods, tell them what weapon the Usurper used.”

“A warhammer,” the Bear said dryly.

“Did you hear that?” Daenerys’s sharp gaze swept over the horsemen. “Think for yourselves, can you kill someone by smashing their head with a hammer?”

“The Usurper smashed your brother’s chest. The red dragon on his breastplate, made of rubies, was shattered. The rubies scattered across the river shoals, which is why people later called the place where Prince Rhaegar was defeated the ‘Ruby Ford’,” the Bear added with difficulty.

“You’ve all seen Ser Jorah’s plate armor. An Arakh can’t cut through it at all. But Rhaegar’s dragon armor, which was even tougher, was smashed by a warhammer.” Daenerys spread her hands and looked around at the dumbfounded horsemen. She answered her own question: “What does this prove? It proves that being a blacksmith has a great future!”

“Now, are you willing to learn from the master blacksmiths?” she finally asked.

“I am willing, Khaleesi! I want to be a blacksmith too!” her Bloodrider, Jhogo, exclaimed excitedly.

Daenerys just gave him a look.

Soon, the four blacksmith apprentices, under the guidance of the old masters, began to melt down and reforge the artifacts they had collected.

Not long after, the children of the horsemen found a batch of scrolls in a stone house. Daenerys rushed over, overjoyed.

She was disappointed to find, however, that the long passage of time had changed the texture of the scrolls. Except for the first page, the rest were stuck together, and they would crumble into powder at the slightest touch.

Still, she made one major discovery. In what appeared to be a library, she found a map.

The writing and patterns on it were faded, and the sheepskin was nearly decayed, but Daenerys could still make out her current location.

The center of the map was White Cloud City.

To the west was a continuous mountain range, and further west of the mountains, three cities were marked. Daenerys managed to translate the name of one, written in High Valyrian: “Meereen.”

To the east was another mountain range, and beyond that, the sea.

The most valuable information was the geography south of White Cloud City. Directly south was the sea again. There was no scale, so she couldn’t judge the exact distance.

She could only estimate based on the distance between White Cloud City and the Lhazar River. White Cloud City seemed to be roughly halfway between the river and the southern sea.

Daenerys and her followers had traveled for five days, covering about five to six hundred kilometers, but they hadn’t walked in a straight line, nor had they started from the Lhazar River itself.

She estimated that another six hundred kilometers south would surely bring them to the coast.

This was good news.

The second piece of good news was that within a hundred kilometers to the southwest of White Cloud City, there were two more cities, just like White Cloud City, located in the Red Waste.

They were likely dead zones as well, turned to ruin by the ages. Just as Daenerys had suspected, the map showed that a river had once flowed from the Lhazar River basin, running through White Cloud City and the two other cities. Now, the river was completely gone.

So, did Daenerys now have two new “farms”?

For the second time, she regretted slaughtering the lambs so soon. Otherwise, she could have used White Cloud City as farmland and developed the other two cities into pastures. That would have been perfect!

As it turned out, she was getting ahead of herself.

The riders sent out the next day followed Daenerys’s directions and indeed found the second and third white cities.

Like White Cloud City, they had white walls, white towers, and white buildings. Apart from being smaller, there was almost no difference.

But Jhogo, who had led the party, told her, “Khaleesi, the nearest city is too eerie. A circle of iron pikes with red rust is planted outside the walls, and skulls hang from the tips.

When the breeze blows, I can hear them making a ‘hahaha’ sound. It’s the wicked laughter of demons. I didn’t dare to go inside.”

Daenerys was speechless for a moment. You yourself said a breeze was blowing!

The wicked laughter of demons? If there really were demons, they’d be laughing mockingly at how timid you horsemen are.

Sensing his Khaleesi’s displeasure, Jhogo quickly took a dark, gleaming iron bracelet from his pocket. In its center was a thumb-sized, fiery red opal.

The opal was a brilliant, fiery red, perfectly natural and uncut.

“Khaleesi, look what I found in the second white city.”

“It’s just an opal. Not worth much,” Daenerys said, shaking her head.

“How could it not be valuable?” Jorah asked, puzzled. He took the bracelet from Jhogo and said in a knowledgeable tone, “This opal is fiery and bright, perfectly natural and uncut. It’s a good size, too. In the Free Cities, it would be worth at least five gold coins. If you removed the gem and gave it to a skilled silversmith to set in a filigreed gold bracelet, the price could easily double.”

As he spoke, the knight’s tone grew wistful, and his rugged, bearded face gradually filled with a mixture of sweet and painful memories.

“You’re a grown man. How do you know so much about women’s jewelry?” Daenerys asked, intending to learn his story by deliberately guiding the conversation.

Jorah looked at the curious horsemen staring at him and hesitated to speak.

Daenerys turned to her Bloodriders. “Rakharo, Aggo, each of you select three warriors, two old men to tend the horses, and two women to gather food. Each person gets three horses, and make sure you carry enough food and water.

Go first to the third white city to the southwest. Use it as a base to scout a day’s ride in the southern, southwestern, and southeastern directions.

You have three objectives: ruins of towns, animals, and any potential humans.

Remember, your safety is the most important thing. If you encounter an unfamiliar animal, don’t try to hunt it. Just note its appearance and location.

If you meet people…”

“Should we try to make contact?” she asked Ser Jorah, the seasoned veteran.

Jorah pondered for a moment. “Go in pairs. One person goes to talk, the other returns to report.”

Daenerys nodded and said to the horsemen, “Do as he says.”

Then she turned to Jhogo, who had just returned from the third white city. “Blood of my blood, although we haven’t seen anyone here, if we could find this place, others might stumble upon it as well.

I want you to take two squads of ten men and repair the city gates.

We lack hard, thick timber, so there’s no need to rebuild the wooden gates. You can stack stones in the gateway, leaving only enough space for a single cart to pass through, and then…”

And then build a small barbican behind the gate.

But the horsemen wouldn’t know what a barbican was, and even if Daenerys explained it, Jhogo wouldn’t be able to build one.

“Let’s just do that for now.”

After the Bloodriders had left with the horsemen, Jorah spoke hesitantly, “Your Grace, what are your plans for the future? Surely you don’t intend to live here forever?”

Chapter 28: Jorah Mormont’s Story

“What choice do you think I should make?” Daenerys asked Ser Jorah in return.

Though she possessed the world’s only three dragons, and no matter how glorious her future might be, she had to lie low for now.

Keeping a low profile and building up their strength was the way to go. To go prancing about with three little dragons that could be slaughtered at any moment would be truly idiotic.

Jorah thought for a moment, then said, “There isn’t enough food here—I’m talking about the fresh meat needed for three growing dragons. It’s said that Aegon’s Balerion could swallow a whole wild bull, or even the mammoths that roamed the frozen wastes of legend.

“At the rate these young dragons eat, they’ll devour all of the Khalasar’s horses within a year, and one year is definitely not enough time for them to grow into great dragons.”

Daenerys took Big Black from the basket on her back and held him in her arms. She tried to stick her little finger into his mouth, but the scalding saliva seared her with a slight sting, and she couldn’t even reach his throat.

When would he be able to swallow a whole mammoth in one bite?

“Didn’t I just send Rakharo to hunt for prey nearby?” she said, looking down to tease the struggling Big Black.

“Have we encountered any sand lizards bigger than a stray dog on our entire journey?” Jorah countered. “Carnivores feed on herbivores. The Red Waste doesn’t have the environment to support docile prey animals.”

“Dragons shouldn’t rely on others to feed them. Starting tomorrow, I will train them to hunt for themselves,” Daenerys said.

“What good are expert hunting skills if there is no prey?” Jorah was speechless.

“I don’t expect the three of them to grow into another Balerion here. As long as they become powerful predators, they won’t be so easily killed by humans who covet, fear, or loathe them.”

Daenerys turned her brilliant eyes to the knight, her tone inscrutable. “Viserys told me that the lords and common folk of Westeros are all secretly sewing three-headed dragon banners in their homes, awaiting the true dragon’s return. What do you think?”

Jorah gave a bitter smile. “Your Grace, I dare not deceive you. The great lords are engrossed in the game of thrones, while the lesser lords and merchants are more interested in fine wine, women, and tourneys that bring them glory.

“As for the common folk, they only hope that every year is a summer, and that the legendary ‘Long Summer’ will come. They dream of orchards laden with fruit and fields full of golden wheat and sweet melons.

“They hope their lord is merciful, that he doesn’t rape their wives and daughters or use their sons as targets for archery practice.

“As for the king… they don’t care at all. It wouldn’t matter if they did, because their lives have no connection to the king’s.”

“So even if I leave this place, where can I go?” Daenerys spread her hands, a look of indifference on her face. “I’m not as… naive as Viserys. But he wasn’t really naive; he simply had no choice but to arm himself with lies.

“Regardless of my own wishes, once the Usurper learns that the last Targaryen has hatched dragons, they will surely send their most powerful and ruthless assassins after me and my dragons.

“I wandered through Braavos for a few years. I know it’s the most powerful and prosperous of the Free Cities, and I also know it is home to the world’s greatest assassins, the Faceless Men.

“‘All men must die.’ For the right price, they can kill anyone. It is said they have never failed.

“The price to kill me would surely be of the highest tier, but even so, what is that to a king?”

Jorah frowned in thought for a moment, then reassured her, “The Usurper is unlikely to send the Faceless Men to assassinate you. The wine merchant who tried to poison you was not one of them.”

“How can you be so sure? I have dragons now. Things are different,” Daenerys said.

Because I’m here!

Jorah thought to himself.

Daenerys had watched Game of Thrones, and she remembered a crucial part of the plot: when King Robert learned of her pregnancy, he convened the small council to discuss eliminating the former royal family once and for all. Eddard Stark, fiercely opposed to killing women and children, had a falling out with his best friend and resigned from his position as Hand of the King in disgust.

That should have happened a year ago, and just three months ago, Daenerys had survived an assassination attempt by poison in Vaes Dothrak.

For King Robert and his Hand, Eddard, that small council meeting had been about “whether to kill the Targaryen remnants.” For the king and the other council members, however, it was a meeting about “how to kill Daenerys and her bastard.”

During that very meeting, one of the council members had proposed hiring the Faceless Men, and the motion had nearly passed.

But Robert was a profligate king. The royal treasury was empty and riddled with debt. As Master of Coin, Littlefinger argued that they should opt for a cheaper method.

Jorah Mormont!

Yes, the very same burly man with an honest face standing before her.

He was the spy, responsible for gathering intelligence on Daenerys and, if necessary, killing her for King’s Landing.

However, Daenerys wasn’t worried that Jorah would harm her. Leaving aside the unreliable factor of emotion, from a purely practical standpoint, Jorah had no reason to betray her.

The price offered by King’s Landing was a pardon for his crimes and the restoration of his title as Lord of Bear Island.

Compared to the glory he would earn by serving the Mother of Dragons and saving her life, what was that pittance worth?

Not only was the lordship of Bear Island of little value, but Jorah hadn’t even truly lost his family’s fief. His aunt had simply taken over the title in his stead.

It was all being kept in the family.

In fact, if Jorah hadn’t been protecting her, or if he had genuinely wanted to kill her, Daenerys would have been dead long ago.

The crucial question was, if the people in King’s Landing knew Jorah was unreliable, would they send the Faceless Men next?

In the original story, the political chaos—with new kings constantly rising and falling—seemed to have made those in King’s Landing forget about her.

But could she really gamble her safety on the unreliable “original story”?

“The Faceless Men are not invincible assassins. The Targaryen kings of old were not without enemies, yet not one of them ever died at the hands of a Faceless Man. To the common person, the Faceless Men are legendary, but against the Kingsguard, who are legends in their own right, their tricks are not so effective.” Jorah comforted her softly, then promised with a determined expression, “Have you forgotten? I am of the Kingsguard too—your Queensguard!”

If the ‘White Bull’ or the ‘Sword of the Morning’ had said that to me, I might have actually believed it. But you’re just a second-rate fighter…

Jorah was a strong knight, that was true, but as a bodyguard, he wasn’t necessarily qualified for the elite task.

“Yes. With you here, I feel at ease,” Daenerys said, flashing him an encouraging smile. “Still, let’s try to stay here as long as we can.”

She then gestured with her hand, and the two of them walked towards the tall white tower at the city gate. As they climbed the stairs, they discussed arrangements for the defense of White Cloud City.

When they reached the top, Daenerys tossed her three dragons into the air, letting them soar through the sky with shrieks of “Skaaa!”

A few days had passed, and following the black dragon, the white and green ones had also learned to fly and breathe dragonflame.

The three small, brightly-colored dragons chased each other across the blue sky. Sunlight filtered through their thin, translucent wings, refracting a hazy, beautiful glow.

“Big Black was the first to fly, when he was only seven days old. How does he compare to the great dragons of House Targaryen’s past?” Daenerys asked, her heart swelling with pride as she watched the black dragon circle in the sky.

“I don’t really know. If we had a maester who studied dragons…” Jorah shook his head, then asked with a puzzled look, “Why did you choose such a common name? Aegon’s dragon was Balerion, Visenya’s was Vhagar, and Rhaenys’s was Meraxes. All names of ancient Valyrian gods.”

Daenerys was candid. “My dragons and I are too weak. I don’t want overly aggressive names to draw unwanted attention.

“I could have also named them after my ancestors, like Rhaegal or Viserys, but I want to draw a clear line between myself and the previous Targaryens.”

“Why?” Jorah asked, shocked.

In this age, in this world, any noble with even a little family history took immense pride in their great ancestors. Some families even reused an ancestor’s name for several generations, or even a dozen.

For example, House Stark had its countless Brandons, and House Targaryen its many Aegons and Rhaenys.

Even Daenerys’s own name was a variation of Daenys the Dreamer (with only an extra letter or two), and a Targaryen princess who had married into Dorne over a hundred years ago was also named Daenerys.

“I am different from them.”

The foundation of the old Targaryens was House Targaryen itself. But for the Daenerys of today, things were different. The dragons were her children, the Dothraki were her people. The Targaryen legacy brought her nothing but burdens and danger.

“Enough about me,” she said, changing the subject. She smiled at Jorah. “You know everything about me, but I know so little of your story. Tell me about yourself.”

“Me? What do you want to know?” Ser Jorah asked, his voice dry.

“You are the Lord of Bear Island in the North. How did you end up in Essos, tens of thousands of kilometers away?” Daenerys turned her head to watch the dragons in the sky, her voice soft. “You seem to know a great deal about jewels, their value clear to you. Does Bear Island have gem mines?”

“If Bear Island truly had mines, I would not be an exile in a foreign land,” the knight said with a bitter smile.

He picked up a milky-white stone from the ground and drew a rough map of Westeros on the stone sill of the tower window.

“Look, this is Bear Island. It’s in the remote Bay of Ice, almost as far from the rest of the North as it is from the lands beyond the Wall.

“It’s a beautiful but primitive place. The island is one hundred kilometers deep, filled with gnarled old oaks, ancient towering pines, and groves of sweet-and-sour hawthorn that bloom all over the hills in spring.

“But it is too remote. And very poor.

“Unlike the stone castles of other lords, my family’s hall is built of giant logs, with a simple fence for a wall instead of towering fortifications.

“Most of my subjects are fishermen, and they can only manage to subsist. There is no trade, so we cannot levy significant taxes.

“Our only specialty product is bears, but what place doesn’t have bears?

“Merchants would only visit us once every few years, bringing cloth, bronze, pottery, and spices, and taking furs in return. It was almost pure barter.

“Though life was so barren and dull, I was always used to it. And I never lacked for women. The fisherwomen and farm girls would not refuse their lord—Your Grace, I never used force.

“Before I even came of age, my father chose a bride for me, a girl from Deepwood Motte, next to Bear Island. She was a Glover.

“I am ashamed to say that I am not sure if I loved her. She was plain of face, but she had a wonderful character.

“In ten years of marriage, she suffered three miscarriages. She never recovered from the last one, and died not long after.”

Chapter 29: The Tourney

Jorah should indeed feel ashamed, Dany realized. He hadn’t spoken his first wife’s name. Perhaps she had already faded from his memory; after all, it seemed she had never truly entered his heart. Yet she had suffered through three difficult pregnancies for him, and in the end, it cost her her life.

The knight continued, “Not long after, my father joined the Night’s Watch, and I became the Lord of Bear Island. Many sought my hand in marriage, but before I could make a decision, the Ironborn rebelled, and Balon Greyjoy declared himself king.”

Dany frowned and cut him off. “When was that? Before I was born?”

“I’m not that old, Princess,” Jorah said, his face wooden, his voice dry.

“Oh. Please, continue,” Dany replied casually.

“It was the fourth year after the Usurper’s War. You were about four years old,” his voice trailed off.

It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, she thought. He’s just as old either way.

Dany understood now. It must have been when Theon Greyjoy was taken as a ward to Winterfell.

She asked, perplexed, “What were the Ironborn thinking? He didn’t make a move during the chaos of the Usurper’s rebellion, but waited until the Usurper had been king for four years and the realm was at peace. What gave him the confidence? Or was he just slow to react, hoping to become a hero in a time of chaos?”

“I don’t know for certain. The Ironborn have always been mad, their actions difficult to predict,” Jorah said, shaking his head. “Perhaps he thought the Usurper’s rule was unstable. Or perhaps someone had been holding him back, preventing him from rebelling sooner.

“During the Usurper’s rebellion, Balon’s father, Lord Quellon, remained neutral. After your brother Prince Rhaegar fell at the Ruby Ford, he sided with the Usurper, Robert. At the time, House Tyrell of Highgarden was still loyal to House Targaryen.

“So, Quellon led the Iron Fleet—the main fleet of the Iron Islands—to sea, intending to raid the Reach and Highgarden. Unfortunately for him, the men of the Reach were prepared. They lay in wait at the Shield Islands and not only defeated the invincible Iron Fleet but also killed Quellon in the battle. Balon then inherited his father’s position, but by then, the Usurper had already been crowned king, and the rebellions across the land had mostly been crushed.”

“Four years later, King Balon had full control of the Ironborn. He raised his banners in rebellion. And then, King Balon was defeated. His eldest and second sons were killed, and his ten-year-old youngest son became the ward of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell—a hostage to ensure House Greyjoy would not rebel again.

“To celebrate his victory, Robert decided to hold a tourney outside Lannisport.

“That’s where I met Lynesse.

“She was only half my age at the time, having traveled from Oldtown with her father specifically to watch her brothers compete.

“From the moment I first saw her, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. For the first time, I felt such a powerful love. On impulse, I begged her for her favor, to let me fight for her. I never dreamed she would accept, but she agreed without hesitation.

“You must understand, Your Grace, a tourney is a knightly sport, not simply a contest of arms. We Northmen have never been skilled at these sports of the Andals, but with Lynesse’s favor, it was as if I were possessed by the Warrior himself.

“Over the next few days, I was invincible, and in the end, I crowned Lynesse the Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Wine and glory spurred me to do something mad. That very night, I went to her father and bluntly asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

“Given the disparity in wealth and status between our houses, Lord Leyton should have refused me without a second thought. But he didn’t.”

House Hightower’s domain included Oldtown, the second-largest port in Westeros. The Citadel, where maesters were trained, and the headquarters of the Faith of the Seven were also in Oldtown.

The Hightowers were also descended from Garth Greenhand. They could be considered dukes in all but name.

Lord Tywin Lannister had once proposed a match for his son, the Imp, hoping Tyrion could marry a Hightower lady.

Lord Leyton rejected him in a manner that was almost insulting.

Jorah Mormont had gotten incredibly lucky.

“Alas, the honeymoon was brief. Lynesse was deeply disappointed with my home, finding it too cold, too damp, and too remote.

“The wooden longhall of Bear Island was a far cry from the magnificent, warm, and tall castle she was accustomed to.

“Moreover, life on Bear Island lacked the amusements a southern lady required. There were no masquerade balls, no mummers’ shows, no lavish banquets.

“We might have to wait years for a wandering singer to arrive with a merchant trading for furs. And when one did, he would be old and ugly, a third-rate performer with little skill.

“The food in the North was also much plainer than in the bountiful Reach. My subjects counted themselves blessed by the gods if they had enough to eat, but for Lynesse, every meal was an ordeal.

“Back then, I thought I would do anything just to see her happy.

“So, I hired a cook from her homeland, sought out minstrels, and bought gold and jewels for the balls—on Bear Island, where every silver coin was counted, I became distressingly familiar with the price of most jewelry.

“So, you see why I was able to estimate the value of that opal bracelet so skillfully, don’t you?”

Jorah smiled the smile of a husband who had gone deep into debt to indulge his wife.

“I tried to give her everything she wanted. As I said, because of her, I unleashed my potential and won the tourney.

“The Usurper was a generous… well, a profligate king. He was endlessly extravagant and loved holding tourneys, and the champion of every tourney received a handsome prize.

“On that occasion, I not only won honor and a beautiful bride, but also fifty thousand gold dragons.”

“That much?” Dany couldn’t help but exclaim.

With memories of her former self’s difficult life in various cities, she had a rough idea of the purchasing power of the world’s gold, silver, and copper currency.

She remembered a time on the streets of a common district in Myr, where Viserys had used two copper pennies to buy two grilled sausages and a small bowl of goat’s milk from a street vendor. After quickly finishing his own share, Viserys had snatched away the half-sausage his sister had left.

In terms of purchasing power, let’s say one copper penny was worth about five yuan. They were pure meat sausages, and quite sizable. Normally, one sausage would be enough for a breakfast, but Viserys was going through a growth spurt and was undernourished.

One gold dragon could be exchanged for thirty silver moons, and one silver moon for about eight hundred copper pennies.

That meant one gold dragon was equal to twenty-four thousand copper pennies—the purchasing power of about one hundred twenty thousand yuan.

Fifty thousand gold dragons was roughly equivalent to six billion.

Holy crap!

Dany remembered from the original story that Robert had accumulated a debt of six million gold dragons in his fourteen-year reign. Seven hundred and twenty billion?

Of that, three million was owed to House Lannister.

This…

Hearing Dany’s gasp, Jorah remarked with feeling, “Yes. Bear Island wouldn’t see five thousand gold dragons in a hundred years. When it came to spending, the Usurper was more of a ‘Mad King’ than your father. Uh, my apologies, I mean to say—”

The knight’s face flushed, and he seemed at a loss for words.

Dany said nothing, only giving him a calm nod.

Ser Jorah let out a breath of relief and continued his love story. “It was with those fifty thousand gold dragons that I was initially able to satisfy Lynesse’s every demand.

“So she could travel to attend festivals and banquets, I had a greatship built for her. She was seen in Lannisport, Oldtown, King’s Landing, Lys, and Pentos. Our furthest journey took us all the way to Braavos.”

“From Bear Island to Braavos? Were you mad?” Dany was shocked again.

Braavos was actually quite close to the North, as the crow flies. By air, the distance from Bear Island to Braavos would be about three thousand kilometers.

Well, three thousand kilometers was still quite far.

The key issue was that a continent and a sea lay between Bear Island and Braavos. To go by ship, one would have to circumnavigate the entire continent of Westeros.

Roughly…

It was an immense distance, and the sea conditions were extremely complex, making detours likely.

One thing was certain: the voyage was well over ten thousand kilometers, farther than from Shanghai to Los Angeles.

Jorah had truly risked his life for his wife.

But that wasn’t the end. Jorah continued to narrate his journey of “burning through his life.”

“For money, and because Lynesse wished to once again be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty—an honor of the highest degree even for a real queen—I continued to compete in tourneys. But the miracle never repeated itself; I never won again. And every loss meant the loss of a warhorse and a suit of armor, which had to be ransomed or replaced with new ones.”

Dany asked curiously, “How much for a suit of armor and a good horse?”

The Daenerys of old had known the price of common food and drink from her life on the streets, but the weapons and mounts of nobility were far beyond her experience.

“A well-trained warhorse costs at least one gold dragon. My warhorses were finer, averaging around three gold dragons each. A decent suit of full plate armor costs four or five gold dragons, and I had to buy the very best,” he told Dany gravely. “For knights like us, who come from old houses, our familiarity with armor is comparable to our knowledge of the lines on our own palms. Under normal circumstances, I can spot a weakness in an opponent’s armor with a single glance—if a weakness exists.

“Likewise, my opponents can see any weakness on me. That is why I cannot afford to have any obvious flaws. I can’t use substandard armor, or I would risk my life in the lists.

“I am not afraid to die, but to die in a nobleman’s game because of faulty armor would be the most pathetic end imaginable.”

After a pause, Ser Jorah’s voice grew complex. “I have participated in many tourneys. In every single one, knights have died, mostly hedge knights seeking fortune and fame.

“Almost no sons of the great lords have ever died, because under the rules of the joust, no one can break through the defenses of their armor.”

If Dany had seen the Hand’s Tourney held in King’s Landing just over a year ago, she would have understood Jorah’s words more profoundly.

In one of the tilts, Renly faced the Hound. As they charged at high speed, the Hound’s lance struck Renly square in the chest, sending him flying backward out of his saddle. He landed more than ten meters away, in the opposite direction from which he’d come. The golden antlers on his helmet, as thick as a child’s wrist, were snapped by the impact. And the result?

He was perfectly fine. He patted the dust off his breeches, stood up, gave a flamboyant wave, and responded to the cheers of the crowd with a dashing smile.

Had it been anyone else, with a slightly thinner breastplate or padding underneath that couldn’t absorb the ferocious impact, he would have been killed or at least suffered severe internal injuries.

In this world, if your internal organs were injured, you were basically done for.

“What’s the difference between a hedge knight and a knight?” she asked curiously.

Chapter 30: Who Dares Be More Miserable Than Me?

“A hedge knight is a type of mercenary. They don’t have the status of a knight, but they have horses and know some skills for mounted combat. The only difference between them and common mercenaries is that they have horses.”

Daenerys nodded. A good horse cost more than a gold dragon. Factoring in the harness, daily feeding, and care, a common mercenary with no property couldn’t afford one at all.

“Knights… are more complicated. Under normal circumstances, a child who wants to become a knight is sent to serve a knight as a page at around the age of seven. They do simple tasks like pouring wine and running errands—easy work that allows them to build a close relationship with the knight.

Of course, they also receive martial instruction during this time. A sword master is responsible for helping the children build a solid foundation.

When they get older, over the age of twelve and around puberty, the page is promoted to a squire. The knight will personally teach the squire how to use weapons and handle a horse, imparting his knowledge of battlefield survival.

Hmm, chivalry is also a very important part of their education.

A squire also has the duty and the right to accompany his knight onto the battlefield.

By preparing the knight’s horse and armor and fighting alongside him, a squire can learn more of the arts of war—if that knight truly possesses any, that is.

Many squires remain squires for their entire lives because they don’t have the money to buy their own horse and armor.”

Daenerys clicked her tongue. “Can’t his knight gift him a suit of armor and a horse?”

Ser Jorah gave Daenerys a deep look and said self-deprecatingly, “Because I repeatedly lost my own armor and horse to opponents in tournaments. Before long, I had spent the last of my savings and had to take out a massive loan from the bankers in Braavos. And I was a landed lord, head of House Mormont, a family with thousands of years of history.”

“I heard the Lannisters loaned the Usurper millions of gold coins,” Daenerys added.

“Was it that much?” Jorah looked doubtful. After a moment, he shook his head and sighed. “There’s a saying in Westeros: Lord Tywin shits gold. Not all nobles are the same. The Westerlands are mountainous, and beneath many of those mountains lie inexhaustible gold and silver mines.”

So they actually had mines!

“Continue,” Daenerys said, tilting her chin.

“Continue with what? The knights, or my story?” Jorah licked his lips. He felt he had spoken so much his mouth had gone dry.

“Let’s talk about knights first.”

“Any knight can make another knight. So, if a knight believes his adult squire is worthy of becoming a knight, he will lay his sword upon the squire’s shoulder as he kneels and declare the name and house of the man being knighted.

The process is more complex than my telling. The newly made knight is also anointed with holy oils by a septon and must spend a night in a sept. It is a process of conversion to the Faith of the Seven, which is why very few Northmen, who keep the Old Gods, become knights.”

“So you’re a fake knight?” Daenerys tilted her head at him.

The knight’s face reddened, and he argued, “There’s no fake or not fake. A Northern lord is recognized as a knight even without being formally knighted.”

He quickly continued, “I am one of the few anointed knights in the North. Besides the formal method I just described, there’s a quicker way.

If a man distinguishes himself in war, his liege lord can knight him directly. That’s how I earned my knighthood.”

“In the war that helped the Usurper destroy the Targaryen dynasty?” Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not that one,” he denied hastily. “It was during the suppression of Balon’s rebellion.”

He didn’t know that the Daenerys before him, with a different soul, didn’t care at all about the Usurper’s war that had cost the Targaryens the throne. She immediately changed the subject. “Besides hedge knights, there are also hired knights and sworn swords.

“A sworn sword is a knight who shelters under another noble house. They swear an oath to serve, hence the name. Most are small nobles who hold the title of knight but have no lands of their own.

“Hmm, I was previously your brother Viserys’s sworn sword. Later, I became your sworn sword, until you granted me the higher honor of becoming your Queensguard.”

Listening to his emotional account, Daenerys grumbled inwardly: Back then, you brazenly came to us yourself wanting to be Viserys’s sworn sword. And when you became my Queensguard, you were the one who asked for it. At the time, I was only thinking of testing Jhogo and the others to be my Bloodriders…

Ser Jorah, of course, didn’t know the person he served was taking his devotion for granted. He continued, “Great lords often hire hedge knights to patrol their lands. Compared to the lifelong fealty of a sworn sword, a hired knight is more flexible and cheaper.

Bear Island is not small, and I couldn’t afford sworn swords, but I had a few hedge knights who patrolled the forests for me.”

At this, he let out a heavy sigh, his voice dropping low. “I went bankrupt. I couldn’t even pay the wages of my cook and harpist. And the moment Lynesse heard I had the idea of pawning some of her jewelry, she…

For money, to hold on to Lynesse’s jewels, her singers, her cooks, I…

My hired knights caught a few commoners poaching. By tradition, their only choice was to have a hand chopped off or be sent to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch. But for money, I finally cast aside my honor completely.

I sold them to a Tyroshi slaver. It was against the laws of the Seven Kingdoms—slavery is forbidden under the Faith of the Seven.”

“And you were exiled? That seems a bit harsh. They could have fined you as a warning, told you not to do it again,” Daenerys said.

“It was more honorable than exile, and also crueler. I had committed a capital crime. The sentence was beheading.”

“Uh…”

“According to the tradition of the First Men, Eddard Stark had to judge me himself. After hearing my final confession, he would have had to personally take my head with Ice.”

(Ice: The ancestral sword of House Stark, made of Valyrian steel, used by the Lord to execute criminals—both noble and commoner could equally experience the sharpness of Ice’s edge.)

Daenerys looked at the rough map of Westeros Jorah had drawn on the slate. “Winterfell is a bit far from Bear Island, isn’t it? Did you run?”

“About a thousand kilometers. Riding hard and changing horses, you could reach the sea in two days at the fastest. On the third day, you could land on Bear Island. But three days was enough for me. Enough time to flee with Lynesse and her jewels.”

“If I remember correctly, you are the only son of House Mormont.”

Jorah nodded. “Yes. My father had only me. I have an aunt, but her five children are all daughters.”

“Your father took the black?”

“Yes.”

“You once served as one of Eddard Stark’s guards and fought in the Usurper’s War?” Daenerys asked again.

“I fought at the Trident,” he said softly, his voice a whisper like the wind brushing past his temples, tinged with both caution and a faint pride.

“You fought and nearly died for Winterfell for so many years, stood by his side as a rebel, helped him put down another rebellion, and in the end, over a few poachers, he wanted to chop off the head of the only male heir to House Mormont?!” Daenerys’s tone was complex. Though it was a question, she stated it flatly.

“That’s just the kind of man Stark is,” Jorah said, still sounding indignant now. It was clear he too felt his liege lord had been too harsh with him.

After a long pause, the knight sighed again. “I suppose that’s one of his few charms. Fair and just, strict with himself, and strict with others.”

Heh, shouldn’t charisma be ‘strict with oneself, but lenient with others’?

Jorah’s situation would have been unimaginable in any of the great Chinese dynasties. This went beyond being impartial; even Justice Bao had moments of mercy beyond the law, otherwise how could the Seven Heroes and Five Gallants have survived? One could only say that Eddard Stark had lived too comfortably, and was far too rigid in his thinking.

Daenerys couldn’t help but wonder: Is it really so easy to maintain power in this world? House Stark can behave like this, and yet their rule over the North remains as stable as a mountain.

Yet how did House Targaryen lose the throne? Could it be that this body’s father, the “Mad King” Aerys, was even more self-destructive than Eddard?

Heaven have mercy, how could they, with so little political cunning, maintain their kingdoms for hundreds, even thousands of years while acting so recklessly? If the last emperors of the great Chinese dynasties knew of this, they would probably drool with envy.

In truth, only the Northmen were so rigid. Houses like the Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells were no less skilled in political maneuvering than any famous monarch from China.

“Alright, continue,” she said. She felt she still had much to learn. This world’s rules for survival were too different from the Eastern ones she was familiar with.

All she could do was adapt. To change things, her dragons would at least have to be strong enough to not be killed by crossbow bolts—but were there any dragons that couldn’t be shot down?

Should she have her dragons learn from the knights of Westeros and wear full plate armor?

In a one-on-one fight without armor, her small Khalasar could produce ten Dothraki warriors who could cut down Jorah. But if he wore armor, not a single one of her Bloodriders would be his match.

As Daenerys’s thoughts wandered, Jorah was still speaking. “I told myself that as long as Lynesse and I truly loved each other, nothing else mattered—not honor, status, home, title, or family. I took her and fled to Lys. Our big ship was still worth a bit of money, and we lived a life of luxury for half a year.”

The moment she heard the words “true love,” Daenerys knew Jorah’s story was about to turn tragic.

Sure enough, his fierce, bear-like eyes turned red, glistening as if about to shed tears. The square, bearded face twisted into a single character—“bitter.”

“I could only become a mercenary. I had no other survival skills besides fighting for others. One day, I took on a mission that required me to leave Lys and travel thousands of kilometers away to the Rhoyne to fight the Braavosi for territory. She…”

His voice became unbearably tragic. “I gave her the down payment. She took the gold coins and her jewels, and the day after I left, she moved into the bedchamber of the Merchant Prince, Tregor Omoren.”

How miserable!

Looking at Jorah now, Daenerys felt that the “bitter” character on his face had transformed into a glaringly bright “miserable.”

In the original story, the Daenerys he loved and dedicated the rest of his life to had also kept him firmly in the friend zone. This…

If Jorah Mormont were to stand up and shout, “Who dares be more miserable than me?!”

Daenerys thought hard. It seemed only the future Theon could timidly say, “Maybe… I can reach the hem of your trousers.”

In truth, she was too close to the situation to see clearly, forgetting that there was someone far more miserable than Jorah Mormont, by a factor of ten.

And that person… was herself.

Chapter 31: Dragon Among Dragons

Princess Daenerys of Dragonstone had lost her eldest brother and father before she was even born.

After becoming the last princess of her line, her birth caused her mother’s death from complications. This was followed by thirteen years of hardship and displacement, until she was sold like a slave to the horsemen.

Fortunately, that old hand Drogo treated her well.

But the god of death soon came for her again. Her brother was killed by her husband, and then her husband and son were sacrificed by a witch to the other face of the Lord of Light, R’hllor—the Great Other.

This was merely the tragic first half of her life.

During the years she struggled in Slaver’s Bay, she broke the chains of slaves only to fasten a yoke around her own neck.

After years of toil, she finally fought her way back to Westeros, only to discover she was not the Child of Prophecy at all, but merely a stepping stone for the true Child of Prophecy to ascend to the throne.

Her loyal followers died one by one, while those who survived all had ulterior motives. The Mormont who loved her died a miserable death, and the man she loved betrayed her.

And the dragons, whom she considered her children, became a grand prize for the victor of the game of thrones.

It seemed that the two most miserable people had come together. Was this just piling misfortune on top of misfortune?

Well, the Daenerys of today, a different person entirely, would never consider herself unlucky… except for right after she first arrived.

She wouldn’t allow herself to live as an unlucky wretch. Whoever crossed her would be the one to have a taste of misfortune.

“Lynesse is a daughter of House Hightower, isn’t she?” Daenerys said tentatively, trying to recall. “I remember the Lord Commander of the last king’s Kingsguard, the legendary ‘White Bull,’ was also a Hightower, correct?”

“Yes, Ser Gerold Hightower is Lynesse’s great-uncle.”

“But that’s House Hightower. Wouldn’t her actions bring shame to her family?” she asked, incredulous.

“I have already brought shame upon my own family. I am a man without honor!” he said in anguish.

“She could have returned to her family. Did she?” she asked.

“It is said she is now Prince Tregar’s most favored concubine. Even his official wife must show her some deference,” Jorah said, his words agonizingly difficult, as if he had a large walnut stuck in his throat.

But Daenerys had to prolong his suffering. She asked, “Have you tried to find her since? After you returned from the Rhoyne, did you go to Lys?”

The pain in Jorah’s eyes deepened. This mountain of a man looked as if he was about to break.

“The Merchant Prince is wealthy and powerful. I was still on my way to Lys when he intercepted me himself. He…”

“He wanted to kill you?” she asked hesitantly.

This was an unavoidable hurdle.

Daenerys didn’t need to know all of Jorah’s secrets, but if this wasn’t clarified, what would happen if they encountered Lynesse in the future? Could she still trust him then?

“He only used words… he made me see the situation clearly—not to struggle in vain and make things ugly for everyone. But if I didn’t take the hint and insisted on harassing them, it wouldn’t be long before I disappeared without a trace in Western Essos.”

“I am not afraid of his threats,” the knight emphasized solemnly. “I simply confirmed that Lynesse was not under any coercion and left on my own.”

That adulterous pair probably started hooking up behind your back long ago, Daenerys thought.

“Do you still love her?” she asked, as if casually.

“Love? Love! It’s a mix of love and hate,” Ser Jorah answered. He seemed unable to bear it any longer. “Your Grace, please allow me to take my leave. I am a bit tired.”

“Wait a moment,” she called out, asking him directly, “Do you also have feelings for me that go beyond those of a subject for their queen?”

Like the original Daenerys, she couldn’t reciprocate his love, but she didn’t want to use him as a backup option either.

It was better to lay everything bare. If they could stay together, they would. If not, they would part ways.

Without Jorah and his ties to Westeros, she could rely entirely on the horsemen and assimilate into their culture.

Ser Jorah’s expression was complicated. There was the embarrassment of being seen through, yet also joy that she had noticed his feelings. He stopped in his tracks and a slight smile touched his lips. “The first time I saw you, I thought she looked a little like you, Daenerys.”

In truth, Jorah was simply expressing his feelings sincerely and subtly: he felt the same intense affection for Daenerys as he had when he first met Lynesse.

But for Daenerys, that answer… was a complete failure!

You’ve completely blown it, you know that?

“I am not like her at all. Even if Drogo were dead, I would not marry another man,” she stated, rejecting him unequivocally.

Drogo was a complete stranger to her, but the dead man was also the perfect shield and a convenient excuse for friend-zoning suitors.

Perhaps when the Faith of the Seven learned of this, they might even follow the precedent of “Saint Baelor” and grant Daenerys the title of “Saint Daenerys.”

Jorah understood her rejection as well. He said, “Your Grace, I am your Kingsguard… your Queensguard.”

With that, he bowed deeply and walked away with heavy steps.

The Kingsguard renounced their rights to inherit lands and titles, pledged not to marry or have children for the rest of their lives. Serving their monarch was their only duty and honor.

The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Daenerys mounted her little silver mare. A modified wicker basket was strapped to her back, and from it, the three dragons stretched their serpentine necks, probing around her waist and shoulders, occasionally letting out coarse cries. “Kraaw!”

The sound of hooves echoed crisply on the stone-paved streets. A thin layer of mist filled the city, which was as silent as a realm of the dead, making Daenerys feel as if she had entered a dream world.

“Khaleesi.”

“Khaleesi, are you leaving the city?”

As she neared the gate, two horsemen warriors emerged from the archway, greeting her with yawns.

“I’m going to train the dragons. The plains outside are more spacious,” she instructed the horsemen to move the “gate” for her—a raft-like wooden barrier made of several logs nailed together.

Although the three dragons could already fly, Daenerys’s standards were stricter. The thought of the clumsy, cow-like dragons from the television show made her worry for her future.

Difficulty turning, slow movements, weak legs, unstable footing, useless upon landing, wings as fragile as torn cloth, scales that couldn’t even block a crossbow bolt, and a long, brittle neck…

With such a long list of weaknesses, how was she supposed to conquer the world?

Last night, she had melted all of Drogo’s gold medallions, forging them into sections of glistening gold chain. Now, holding a dragon in her arms, she fastened a small, thumb-thick chain to each of its two little legs. It was only three links, less than ten centimeters long, adding a burden of about five hundred grams to each leg.

“Come, Big Black, you’re the eldest. Set an example for your brothers.” Just as before, she cupped the dragon in her hands and tossed him into the air.

Clatter, clatter—thud!

Big Black flapped his wings with all his might, but after flying less than ten meters, he nosedived into the sand.

“Kraaaaw—” The black dragon turned his head and let out an aggrieved cry at Daenerys.

“Climb back here yourself,” she said without looking up, continuing to fasten the “shackles” onto the white dragon.

Clatter, clatter—thud!

The white dragon did even worse than Big Black, tracing an almost perfect parabola before smashing into the ground.

Hiss—whoosh—

The white dragon, enraged, shot a thin stream of red flame into the sky.

“Don’t waste your energy. Get back here and continue,” Daenerys chided loudly.

The white dragon didn’t listen. It spun around frantically, struggling to flap its wings while randomly spitting dragonfire.

Daenerys was very angry. She walked over and gave his little head a sharp flick.

“Kaasss—” The white dragon roared at Daenerys, seemingly angry as well.

Unlike with the black dragon, Daenerys couldn’t use her consciousness to connect with, soothe, or persuade the white and green dragons. They had trouble understanding her words and actions, which made the training process very difficult.

Left with no choice, Daenerys had to bend down, steady the white dragon’s body to help it stand, and guide it step by step back to the wicker basket.

She couldn’t carry him. If she did it once, she’d have to do it again.

The main reason she made them walk back themselves was to train their leg strength and their sense of balance on land.

Over the past few days, Daenerys had discovered that while dragons had an innate sense of space, they were less steady on the ground than ducks. Ducks only had two legs, but dragons, in addition to their feet, had a pair of wings that could act as forelimbs.

If walking was already a struggle, how could they ever run fast?

Daenerys didn’t expect them to outrun a horse, but without swift and agile ground speed, a dragon that landed would lose its momentum and could easily be surrounded, trapped, and harmed.

A dragon’s wings could never be trained to withstand a dragon-slaying scorpion bolt, and their wingspans were enormous. While they might be able to dodge bolts aimed at their vital organs, their wings were far too easy a target.

If they were forced to land in an enemy formation, they would be doomed without the ability to break out at high speed.

After a morning of weighted flight training, Daenerys didn’t remove the chains at noon. She carried them on her back and went to find food.

Some of the horsemen were specifically tasked with finding prey for the dragons. That morning, Avanti and the other elder horsemen kept an eye out for small creatures in the sand and hills as they herded their horses.

And they were very small indeed.

Big Black’s first “kill” was a scorpion the size of a man’s palm.

Whoosh! A thin stream of dragonfire scorched the scorpion, making it sizzle. In a moment, only a small pile of black ash remained on the sand.

“Don’t burn it. It’s so small, the effort outweighs the reward!” she said, stroking Big Black’s head.

By constantly maintaining her draconic spiritual state, she and Big Black were almost perfectly in sync.

“Khaleesi, there’s another poisonous scorpion over here!” Avanti shouted from atop a sand dune.

This time, Big Black moved like a chick pecking at grain. His long, serpentine neck flashed like black lightning. In what seemed like a blur to Daenerys, he had snatched the scorpion in his beak.

Thump! Thump! The scorpion’s tail thrashed wildly against the corner of Big Black’s mouth, making dull impacts. Daenerys saw the venomous stinger, gleaming with a faint purple light, strike the soft flesh inside his mouth several times.

“Are you poisoned? Do you feel unwell?” Daenerys asked him mentally at once. She had heard the horsemen say that a single sting from this type of red scorpion could paralyze a horse.

The horsemen hadn’t dared to eat the meat of that horse, so Daenerys had them smoke it into jerky to feed the dragons.

Jorah had told her that in the hundreds of years of House Targaryen’s history with dragons, there had never been a record of a dragon being poisoned.

Dragons are made of fire, Jorah had said, and beneath their skin is magma.

Dragons had muscles and bones; there certainly wasn’t magma beneath their skin, but their body temperature was definitely very high.

At this moment, stroking the young dragon’s scales was like holding a scorching hand warmer.

Their blood temperature must be even higher.

After a while, the black dragon sent no thoughts of discomfort. Only then did Daenerys finally relax.

Chapter 32: Daenerys’s Sweet Dream

Five leisurely days passed before the riders Daenerys had dispatched to the third white city returned.

Though his expression was weary, Aggo was exceptionally excited. “Khaleesi,” he said, “I rode west for half a day and saw a continuous mountain range in the distance. Because you told us not to stray from the plains, I only circled the perimeter.

“There are sparse forests and endless mountains, with antelope and deer roaming among them. I hunted a deer with my bow, intending to bring it back for you, but the weather was too hot. It was crawling with maggots by the time I was halfway back across the red sands.”

“Half a day’s ride.” Daenerys looked thoughtful. “Scouts don’t have to spare their horses, one man to three mounts. Half a day is about a hundred kilometers. That distance… it’s a bit awkward. Not too far, but not exactly close. Still, it solves most of the food problem for the dragons.”

She could ride with the dragons to the western mountains to hunt.

“Did you see any signs of human habitation?” she asked.

Aggo, who had no precise way to estimate time, thought for a moment before answering vaguely, “I set out before the sun rose. By the time the sky grew hot, but before the sun reached its highest point, I came across some collapsed stone houses. They were low and few in number, half-buried in sand now.”

Daenerys nodded. They must have been villages belonging to the white city. Without walls to protect them, wind and time were slowly erasing all trace of their existence.

Jorah interjected, “Your Grace, if I’m not mistaken, passing through the western mountains will lead to Slaver’s Bay.”

“Ser, we’ve discussed this before,” Daenerys said, looking at him seriously. “I will not leave this place until we can no longer sustain ourselves here.”

“Yes,” Jorah agreed.

“And you?” She turned to Rakharo.

“No sign of people, and no large animals. The further south I went, the sparser even the demon grass became.” Rakharo’s lips were chapped, and his skin was a dark, sunburnt red. It was clear he’d had a miserable few days.

“Well, at least now we know how harsh the south is. We can focus our efforts on developing the western mountains,” Daenerys said comfortingly.

“Khaleesi, the south isn’t completely worthless. Look at this…”

He untied a long, “charcoal-like” object hanging from his saddle. “Khaleesi, guess what this is?” he asked excitedly.

“Isn’t it charcoal for filtering muddy water?” Daenerys took the long rod in surprise. “Oh, this is heavy. No, it’s light.”

She had spoken two contradictory words in a row.

From a distance, it looked like a gray-black piece of charcoal, but in her hand, it was far heavier. Up close, it had a metallic luster and the texture of black iron, yet its weight was much less than an iron rod.

Suddenly, the name of a weapon flashed through Daenerys’s mind—the dragonbone bow she had pulled from Drogo’s funeral pyre.

“This is dragonbone!? Raw, unprocessed dragonbone! But how is that possible? Did you find a dragon’s corpse?” she asked, aghast.

“Ah, you guessed it,” Rakharo said, quite surprised. Seeing the shock on Daenerys’s face, he became smug. “It’s a dragon’s corpse. Only a skeleton remains, bigger than a stone house, and mostly buried in the sand. But the skeleton is so massive that the sand can’t cover it completely. I think it’s bigger than Balerion the Black Dread.”

“Impossible!” Before Daenerys could react, Jorah Mormont shook his head in denial as if he’d been personally insulted. “You’ve never seen Balerion. Besides the old legends, I saw his skull in King’s Landing. His mouth was big enough to fit a horse inside.”

“Hahaha, I personally rode my horse through the mouth of that dragon’s skull,” Rakharo laughed triumphantly.

“Oh my… Oh, by the Seven.” Daenerys’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “It must be a great dragon from the age of Old Valyria that fell in the Red Waste. Among the dragons of House Targaryen, the Black Dread was the largest.”

“Not to mention what great dragons meant to the Valyrians, a dragon’s corpse was always a most precious treasure. Why didn’t the Valyrians recover it?” Jorah wondered aloud.

“I can think of one possibility!” A sharp glint flashed in Daenerys’s eyes as she said softly, “He was the sixth dragon to escape the Doom of Old Valyria.”

House Targaryen had once been one of the dragonlord families of the Valyrian Freehold. Before the volcanic eruptions that destroyed the Land of the Long Summer, where Valyria was located, a Targaryen maiden named Daenys had a Dragon Dream which prophesied that Old Valyria would be destroyed.

The head of the house at the time, Daenys’s father, believed his daughter’s prophecy. He ignored the mockery of the other Valyrian nobles, sold all his castles, manors, and shops in Valyria, and led his entire family and their five dragons away from the Land of the Long Summer by ship.

During the Doom, the dragons and Valyria were all consumed by the searing magma that erupted from the earth’s core.

Not even the great dragons could withstand the intense heat and toxic fumes of the magma.

Thus, House Targaryen was left as the only family in the world with dragons, becoming the last of the dragonlords.

Now, hearing Rakharo’s description of the dragon skeleton’s size, she immediately wondered if a great dragon could have escaped the cataclysm.

Could it have been grievously wounded, struggled to fly to the Red Waste, and died in agony shortly after, leaving only a colossal corpse for posterity to behold?

After hearing Daenerys’s speculation, Ser Jorah nodded in agreement and sighed. “As long as they have enough food, a dragon’s body will never stop growing. Balerion died of old age, having reached his growth limit, so it’s almost impossible for any great dragon to be larger than him, unless…”

“There’s one more thing. The Red Waste is next to Slaver’s Bay, and west of Slaver’s Bay is the Land of the Long Summer. Old Valyria was at the mouth of the sea from Slaver’s Bay, very close.”

The location where the dragon fell was a bit far from the third white city, nearly three hundred kilometers away. Another two hundred kilometers south from there was the sea.

Daenerys let her two Bloodriders rest for three days. Then, leaving her handmaidens and the khalasar in White Cloud City, she personally led Jorah and thirty Dothraki warriors, each with three horses, setting out at four or five in the morning. They reached the third white city by eight o’clock, before the sun had chased away the last vestiges of coolness.

Along the way, they passed the second “City of Devils,” and Daenerys made a point of stopping to look.

A circle of two-meter-long iron pikes had been driven into the ground outside the white walls, like guards protecting the city. Pale white skulls were impaled on their tips. As a light breeze passed, the skulls made a crisp clack clack sound, as if they were smacking their lips.

No wonder her Bloodriders had been terrified. Seeing it herself sent a chill down Daenerys’s spine.

It was only thanks to the dry, arid air of the Red Waste that, after several centuries, the iron pikes had only developed a layer of reddish-brown rust instead of crumbling entirely into dust.

“It really is quite eerie,” Daenerys said, turning to Aggo. “Do the horsemen have such a custom?”

“No,” her Bloodrider said uncertainly.

“Khaleesi, every Khal has different habits and different ways of doing things. This doesn’t violate our traditions,” Avanti interjected.

Right, the old man had come along as well, responsible for tending the horses for these few days.

“Perhaps the residents of this city resisted too fiercely, inflicting heavy casualties on that Khal’s khalasar,” Jorah said quietly.

Before they left, he suggested, “Even if the horsemen are unwilling to occupy this city, we should send people to clean it out. We might find a great deal of treasure, like that opal bracelet, for instance.”

Hearing this, Jhogo shook his head repeatedly and shouted, “Those are the devil’s things! We cannot take them.”

“But last time, you…”

“I found the iron bracelet in another white city. I’ve never even set foot in this one,” Jhogo explained hastily.

“Our purpose this time is to investigate the dragon bones. Let’s set aside other matters for now,” Daenerys decided.

From the outside, the third white city looked like a smaller replica of White Cloud City, but upon entering, Daenerys keenly noticed the differences.

First, the density and height of the buildings were less than that of White Cloud City. Second, this city had no “luxurious” palace.

There were still seven or eight horsemen left in the third white city. By the time Daenerys’s party arrived, they had already prepared food.

The three dragons had flown ahead to the city, so when the horsemen saw them, they knew their Khaleesi was coming.

During their midday rest, Daenerys went to see the “library” Jhogo had mentioned—it was actually the city lord’s office.

Like the parchments discovered in White Cloud City, the books were unreadable. Only a few scrolls could be examined.

From one of the maps, Daenerys roughly determined the purpose of these white cities.

An otherworldly Silk Road!

Qarth, the pearl of the straits connecting the Jade Sea and the Summer Sea, held a position similar to the Suez Canal on Earth.

Meereen, the largest and most prosperous city in Slaver’s Bay, was also the world’s largest slave market.

On the map, Meereen, White Cloud City, and Qarth formed a perfectly straight line.

Compared to the long, roundabout sea route, crossing the Red Waste cut the journey by seventy percent. Moreover, land was safer than the unpredictable sea. For a time, the white cities must have flourished, much like the famous cities along the Silk Road of ancient China.

“So, you’re saying there’s an ancient road between Meereen and White Cloud City?” Daenerys’s finger slid lightly across the map, her mind racing.

If White Cloud City ultimately could not support three dragons, she could follow this “Silk Road” northwest and build a city in the mountains near Meereen.

She was certain that if she followed the road on the map, she would find a fourth and fifth white city. They might not be as grand, but she could at least find small towns that had served as rest stops for travelers hundreds of years ago.

With this, she could execute her plan to patiently build her strength.

Entering the Red Waste seemed less like a dead end and more like a “secluded paradise” arranged by the heavens. No one was paying attention to her; no one knew she had dragons.

Prophecies, the Others, Jon Snow, the game of thrones in Westeros—they could all go to the Others for all she cared!

The moment her great dragons were grown, she would ride them, first sweeping north across the Dothraki Sea to be crowned the one and only female Khal, uniter of all lands.

Then, with three dragons and hundreds of thousands of screaming warriors, she would be free to roam. The entire world would tremble beneath the feet of her sandaled riders!

Qin Shi Huang, Genghis Khan, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon—she would be all of them, and yet greater than them all.

“Hehehe…” Lost in her wonderful thoughts, Daenerys couldn’t help but giggle foolishly.

“Khaleesi? Khaleesi, what’s wrong with you?” Aggo’s loud shout woke her from her daydream.

“What do you want?” she snapped back, her tone unfriendly.

Aggo paid no mind to her attitude, only widening his almond-shaped black eyes and yelling, “It’s almost dark!”

“So what if it’s dark… Oh, it’s time to leave.” Daenerys finally understood.

For this journey, they would do as they had when crossing the waste before: travel by night and rest by day.

Chapter 33: The Demon’s Corpse

The last time the Bloodriders were sent out to scout the terrain and its resources, they naturally couldn’t sleep by day and travel by night. Although the Bleeding Star stained the heavens red, it was impossible to see distant objects clearly by its crimson glow.

So, the last mission had been truly arduous for Aggo and the others.

This time was different. Their objective was clear; there was no need to search for signs of people or large animals.

The Bleeding Star of blood and fire hung overhead. With no old, weak, women, or children from the Khalasar to slow them down, Daenerys took the lead. Her little silver mare galloped joyfully across the vast red sands, its hooves kicking up a long, thin trail of red dust.

Jorah and her Bloodriders followed three horse-lengths behind Daenerys, with twenty Dothraki screaming warriors right after them.

The thundering of hooves echoed far across the land. A sand lizard with reddish-brown scales poked its head out from a clump of grass, seeming to feel the vibrations in the earth.

“Screeeech—”

“Caw—Boom—”

A sharp, coarse cry suddenly rang out overhead. The wildcat-sized sand lizard, alarmed, tried to shrink back into the grass, but… a stream of dark red fire descended from the sky.

Black smoke, tinged with the smell of sulfur, instantly ignited the demon grass beside it.

The sand lizard squealed and fled from the sea of fire, but in the next moment, the sky went dark, and it was lifted helplessly into the air. The sting of sharp teeth piercing its soft belly had yet to chase away its terror when a blast of flame engulfed it, and the sand lizard lost consciousness completely.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

A succession of hooves trampled past. The demon grass, ignited by dragonflame, was quickly buried beneath the shallow red sand, leaving only wisps of white smoke to dance in the wind.

Daenerys looked up at the young dragons in the sky, squabbling over their bloody meal, and a satisfied smile touched her lips.

The horsemen had an excellent sense of direction. Their party found the dragon skeleton around midnight, having taken almost no detours.

It made sense, really. A person with a poor sense of direction could never become a scout for a Khalasar, for the Great Grass Sea was even more featureless than the Red Waste, and scouts fanned out in all directions, sometimes traveling a day or two’s ride from the Khalasar.

“By the Seven, are these really the bones of a living creature?!”

Even though she had heard many times that Balerion could swallow a wild bull whole, Daenerys couldn’t help but cry out in astonishment when she truly saw the dragon skeleton, as massive as a destroyer ship.

The bones exposed above the sand were grayish-white, but the deeper they went into the ground, the darker their color became. Originally, only the top half of the skull had been visible, but Rakharo had previously cleared away the sand burying the head to gauge the skeleton’s size.

“Digging it all out would be too massive an undertaking; it would take a lot of time.” Daenerys climbed atop the dragon’s head, which was as high as a two-story building. Gazing at the buried remains that formed a long, curved hill, she began to hesitate.

Jorah frowned, studying the enormous skull. “Your Grace,” he said, “what do you plan to do with this dragon skeleton? Transporting all of it back is likely unrealistic.”

“Well,” Daenerys said with a wry smile, “to be honest, that was my original plan. Never mind how many gold coins dragonbone would fetch, just think of the weapons. You’ve seen the power of a dragonbone bow. It’s a mighty weapon, a must-have for any great warrior!”

“The horsemen don’t have the skill to forge weapons from dragonbone. Only the finest smiths of Qohor can shape it,” Jorah said, shaking his head.

“Then what do you suggest? We just leave it here?” she asked.

Jorah stroked his chin and suggested, “Let’s take some of the more portable bones back with us and bury the rest here. In the future… we can come back for more as needed.”

“The skull is too large to handle. We’ll take bones from the wings.”

At Daenerys’s command, the horsemen set to work with great enthusiasm. They followed the dragon’s neck, digging toward its midsection—not too deep, just enough to search for broken bones.

The bone Rakharo had brought back was a piece of a broken bone. It seemed the dragon was just as Daenerys had guessed: gravely injured and unable to fly, it had fallen from the sky midway through its journey.

“Huh, what’s this… This bone is so slender. No, that’s not right.” A horseman stopped digging and picked up a forty-centimeter-long bone from the sand, turning it over and over in confusion.

Following the line of the skull, neck, spine, and wings, the horsemen dug a winding trench.

The sand was soft, making the work considerably easier than expected. The trench was two or three meters deep.

By the time the sky was dyed a deep indigo, they had already reached the middle of the neck.

“Khaleesi, there’s something here! It’s not dragonbone. I’ve dug up a human corpse.” The horseman’s shout was loud, and a faint tremor in his voice revealed his fear. “This isn’t a man. It’s a devil, a devil’s corpse! A man shouldn’t look like this.”

“A devil, a devil’s corpse!” The other working horsemen crowded around to look, and they too cried out in terror.

As the one in charge, Daenerys, of course, didn’t have to work. She had been training her young dragons off to the side.

Hearing the commotion from the pit, she quickly trotted over, peered down at the horsemen in the hole, and called out, “There are no devils. Devils wouldn’t dare approach a dragon, not even its corpse after so many years! It must be a huma—uh…”

She had started out shouting with confidence, but as the crowd parted to give her a view of the twisted bones half-buried in the brown sand, she too was shocked into silence.

The corpse was simply too terrifying. It was curled into a ball, like a fetus in a mother’s womb, and it was not a pure skeleton.

Its skin resembled purplish-black demonic scales, clinging tightly to the bones. One could clearly see thumbnail-sized “scales,” as rough as old tree bark, covering its entire body.

The arms curled before its chest… were they really arms, and not the claws of some creature?

Ten dagger-like fingers pointed toward the sky, as if poised to pounce and devour someone.

The corpse was as small as a scrawny child, yet its sharp claws were twenty centimeters long, completely out of proportion.

Even more horrifying, the eyeballs within its sockets had not decayed or weathered away—they had not been decomposed by bacteria.

A black, tar-like fluid surrounded the deep purple eyeballs, which glared “malevolently” at the onlookers as if alive. Its mouth, cracked open almost one hundred and eighty degrees, seemed to be roaring a devil’s curse.

“Fuck,” Daenerys swore in a language of her old world, then quickly followed it with a local one. “Seven Hells, Ser Jorah. You’re a man of the world. Do you know what race this could be?”

She hadn’t forgotten that this was a fantasy world. If the Children of the Forest and Giants existed, it wouldn’t be strange for goblins or豺 wolf-men to appear.

“He was probably human.” Jorah had also been digging in the pit. Hearing her, he walked over to the horseman who had first discovered the corpse and took the pale white bone from his hand.

“Your Grace, look.” He held the bone up for Daenerys to see, then held it against the “demon” corpse’s left leg for comparison. “The corpse is missing a lower leg; this is it. According to your earlier theory about the dragon’s origin, a dragon escaped from Valyria during the Doom.

“So, is it not possible that it was being ridden by a dragonrider when it fled? The dragon was mortally wounded and fell from the sky. The rider broke his leg in the fall, which is why this bone was separated from the body.”

Aggo refuted him. “Look how long that leg bone is. It doesn’t match the small corpse at all. If the corpse was human, he must have been a dwarf.”

The shin bone, without the foot, was over forty centimeters long, meaning its owner must have been a tall, powerfully built man in life.

The curled corpse, however, was probably no more than one and a fifth meters tall.

“It is said that a curse still hangs over the ruins of Old Valyria on the Smoking Sea, all the way from the Land of the Long Summer,” Ser Jorah said, standing up and looking at Daenerys with grave eyes. “From Volantis to Slaver’s Bay, there are Valyrian roads left from the days of the Freehold, yet they would rather sail around the ruins of Valyria, a journey many times longer. The road that leads to Matarys is called the Demon Road.”

“Wasn’t Valyria destroyed by volcanic eruptions? How did a curse get involved?” Daenerys asked, confused.

“I do not know,” Jorah said, his face creased in thought. “Perhaps the vengeful spirits of the old Valyrian Dragonlords? It is well known that Valyria was a civilization that commanded dragons and blood magic.”

“Heh, you just said this ‘Dragonlord’s’ ghastly appearance was because of a curse.” Daenerys pointed at the “demon” corpse in the pit, amused. “Isn’t that a contradiction?”

“If it wasn’t a curse, why did not a single person, not one dragon, escape Valyria? Dragons can fly. Fire and lava are terrible, but they cannot burn a dragon in the sky. How could it have killed all of them?” Jorah fired back with a series of questions.

“Maybe he was cursed and flew to Qarth on his dragon to seek help from the warlocks,” Aggo interjected.

The horsemen had been terrified at first, but after seeing their Khaleesi and Jorah argue in front of the “demon” for some time without anything happening, their courage gradually returned.

“The warlocks of Qarth are indeed famous,” Jorah said with a touch of mockery, “but they are famous for deceiving the world with false magic. Even in Westeros, those blue-lipped charlatans have appeared.”

“Then…” Aggo thought for a moment and pointed to the east. “He might have been riding his dragon to the Shadow Lands beyond the Jade Sea. That place is full of sorcerers and shadowbinders. The witch the Khaleesi burned learned her arts of communing with devils there.”

“Why are you so certain he was seeking help? And where could he find magic more powerful than Valyria’s?” Jorah scoffed.

“Whether he was planning to go to Asshai to find a sorcerer, or was dazed by the volcanic fumes and flew here randomly, it has nothing to do with us.” Daenerys pointed at the demonic corpse and gave an order. “Don’t touch it directly. Go find tree branches and dry grass nearby. We will burn it on the spot. The Valyrians believed in cremation. I will not be dishonoring this Dragonlord predecessor.”

The horsemen immediately stopped digging, climbed out of the pit, and went to gather firewood from all around.

Around nine in the morning, Daenerys’s three dragons breathed fire together, igniting the firewood in the pit. Then, the dozens of people rested in the shade of the giant skeleton to escape the sun, waiting until evening to continue their work.

Daenerys, of course, had the most comfortable spot. She had made her home in the dragon’s mouth. The thick skull completely blocked the sun. Lying on the cleaned lower jawbone was cool, comfortable, and particularly amusing.

Chapter 34: A Lesson for the Dragons

“Khaleesi, something’s happening!”

At dusk, the furnace that baked the earth rolled below the horizon. The horsemen crawled out of their sleeping bags, ate some dried meat with mare’s milk, and began to dig again.

First, they had to clear away the ashes left from burning the ancient Dragonlord’s body. It was nothing much at first; whether it was the body of a demon or a cursed Valyrian Dragonlord, it had been reduced to charred bone fragments in the intense flames.

Even if there were viruses, as Dany had worried, they would have been roasted to death by the high temperature.

After jumping into the pit, the horsemen saw that it was no different from the remains of Drogo’s funeral pyre. Growing bolder, they began to shovel away the ashes with their bare hands.

Before long, a horseman raised an arm smeared with sticky black soot, holding a palm-sized, pitch-black iron plaque in both hands. He shouted up to Dany, “Khaleesi, I found a piece of iron! I think it’s a relic left by that Dragonlord.”

Jorah took it first, rubbing the grime off with sand and inspecting it carefully before handing it to Dany. “This is Valyrian steel. It has a dragon-shaped sigil and ancient Valyrian runes.

“Our earlier guess was probably correct. This plaque is likely a form of identification, like the hand-shaped brooch of the Hand of the King.”

The prime minister of the Kingdom of Westeros was called the Hand of the King, and the Hand could design their own badge of office. It could be a brooch, a cloak pin, or a necklace worn on the chest, but the badge would always feature a small metal hand.

The iron plaque was slightly heavy in her hand, just managing to cover Dany’s small palm. It reminded her of the 6.5-inch Huawei phone she had just gotten; it was about the same thickness and weight, though only a third of the phone’s size.

Valyrian steel was, in essence, a type of steel. If one were to perform an elemental analysis in a lab, they would find it was not fundamentally different from ordinary steel. But its forging process involved magic unique to Valyrian civilization, giving it near-indestructible properties.

That’s right, weapons forged from Valyrian steel also had powerful anti-magic properties, such as being able to kill the Others.

Aside from its solid half-kilogram mass, the images and text carved onto the plaque were also exquisite.

The front depicted a dragon with wings poised for flight. In its claws, the dragon gripped a greatsword that gleamed with a cold light. It was intricate and lifelike; one could feel the majesty emanating from the dragon’s face and even make out the jewels on the greatsword’s crossguard.

A circle of runes surrounded the dragon. Dany knew the most proper form of the Valyrian language, yet she couldn’t understand a single rune.

The other side of the plaque was also a mystery to Dany. It was carved with a crude depiction of a mountain, a sharp contrast to the fine work on the front.

Gently tracing the mountain pattern, she could feel the distinct, raised engravings.

The peak of the mountain seemed to have wisps of smoke—the carving was too rough, so Dany couldn’t be sure if it was black smoke or a large tree.

“If the design on the front really is a family sigil, a dragon holding a sword… The dragon might symbolize the Dragonlord himself. Everyone, be careful! There might be a Valyrian steel greatsword buried in the sand,” Dany said excitedly, cheering on the men in the pit.

It turned out she was being too optimistic.

The moon rose high in the sky as the horsemen dug through all the nearby sand, going four or five meters deep until water began to seep in, but they found nothing.

Jorah shook his head and sighed, “Under those circumstances, it was a miracle he managed to escape Valyria at all. Where would he have found the time to go home and retrieve his ancestral sword? If the sword the dragon is holding is real, its weight and size would be no less than that of House Stark’s ancestral sword—Ice.”

The knight then described Ice to Dany: its blade was wider than a man’s palm, dark as smoke, and stood taller than Dany by a head.

Dany was taken aback. Although she was only fourteen and a bit underdeveloped, with no chest or curves, she wasn’t particularly short. Without measuring, she knew she was around 1.6 meters tall.

Taller than her 1.6-meter frame by a head? Even if it wasn’t quite two meters, it had to be over 1.8 meters.

“Something that long… even if you could lift it, wouldn’t it be awkward to swing?” she asked curiously.

“Eddard Stark used that sword to take dozens of heads every year. After decades, he couldn’t have been more practiced,” Jorah said, his tone filled with resentment and mockery.

He himself had nearly become another point of practice for ‘Ned’s’ greatsword skill.

In the end, Dany accepted Jorah’s analysis. A greatsword of that size couldn’t typically be carried around, so the dead Dragonlord wouldn’t have had the chance to go back for it.

Before midnight, the horsemen had dug up more than twenty black dragonbones of varying lengths. The longest was over ten meters, while the shortest, stood upright, came up to Dany’s waist.

Many showed clear signs of being broken, further proving that the dragon had been seriously injured and unable to fly, falling from the sky to the ground.

“That’s enough. Let’s stop here. This is enough for every person in the Khalasar to have a dragonbone scimitar,” Dany said, clapping her hands to stop the horsemen in the pit.

“Your Grace, dragonbone can only be used for hilts, not forged into blades. Pairing it with ordinary steel would be a waste. In fact, apart from Valyrian steel weapons, there’s no need to use dragonbone on any other kind of steel weapon,” Jorah reminded her.

“You said dragonbone is very valuable,” Dany said.

“It is very valuable. This is all the dragonbone that exists in the world. But don’t you have no need for money?”

“Who would complain about having too much money?” Dany replied casually with a wave of her hand.

Before leaving, Dany had the men bury the dragon’s skull, piling the sand into a small hill.

This was her treasure; she couldn’t let anyone else find it.

If any trace of the untouched dragonbone was exposed, any fool would know she had discovered a dragon’s corpse in the Red Waste.

Now that it was buried, even she wasn’t sure if she could find it again.

Truly, this plain had too many similar low hills, and there were no distinctive landmarks nearby. Piling up stones or sticking wooden poles in the ground would only work for a short time before they were buried by sand or blown over by the wind.

“Big Black, you’ll remember this spot, won’t you?” she asked her black dragon.

The black dragon did possess some intelligence, but it was too simple-minded compared to a human—genuinely simple, as if its brain wasn’t fully developed.

However, dragons had an exceptional sense of direction. By frequently entering the Dragon Dream and the Dragon Spirit, becoming one with the black dragon’s soul, Dany could clearly sense that dragons possessed more than the five senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—more than even a sixth or seventh sense.

Uh, her dragons hadn’t quite grasped the cosmos, though.

Just as birds could navigate using the Earth’s magnetic field, dragons had similar methods.

For example, Dany had once tried leaving the dragons in White Cloud City, then riding her little silver mare in a random direction for several kilometers before hiding in a thicket of grass. All three dragons had been able to find her with precision.

And at that time, she had deliberately cut off the Dragon Dream state.

Dany could receive the seventh and eighth senses transmitted from Big Black, but she didn’t know what they were, nor could she analyze or use them.

After asking several times and even moving two kilometers away to have Big Black fly back and test it, Dany was drenched in sweat. Finally, she was cautiously confident that he might have actually memorized the location.

“Sigh… Ser Jorah, a hundred years ago, did the Targaryens have any methods to increase a dragon’s intelligence? My dragons are too foolish,” Dany complained to him in the early hours of the morning as the riders made their way back. “And being foolish would be one thing, as long as they listened to me.

“But dragons are naturally rebellious. Big Black is manageable, but I’m starting to lose control of Little Green and Little White. It’s too difficult to communicate with them.”

“I don’t know. Bear Island is too far from the center of power. I’m not familiar with the nobles outside of House Stark,” the Bear said, shaking his head.

“You were the legitimate son-in-law of House Hightower, and House Hightower controls the Citadel,” Dany reminded him.

In any case, Ser Jorah Mormont had been an honored guest of House Hightower for several years. He must have visited the Citadel a few times and at least met a few knowledgeable Archmaesters.

Yes, maesters had ranks: acolytes, maesters, Archmaesters, and the Grand Maester. Their rank was determined by the depth and breadth of their knowledge.

“At the time, I had no interest in maesters or the Citadel. In fact, I still have no interest in them now.”

The rest of the journey was uneventful. Two days later, their party returned to White Cloud City with the dragonbones.

In the days that followed, Dany would take the dragons out of the city for physical training when it was cool in the mornings and evenings. During the scorching heat of the late morning and afternoon, she began to give the three dragons culture lessons.

Their bodies were growing larger. They had grown from skinny “kittens” to bulky “Pekingese,” and were now trending toward becoming “local mutts.”

As their size increased, so did their daily food consumption. The sand lizards, scorpions, and sand snakes of the red plains were no longer enough to satisfy them.

So, Dany used food to entice them to learn.

The process was incredibly difficult.

For math class, she would enter the Dragon Dream and demonstrate elementary school arithmetic to Big Black. For language class, she would open her mouth wide, making sounds while conveying their meaning through their soul connection.

There was also physical education. Dany would strike their scales with a wooden stick. At first, the young dragons’ scales shattered like hard eggshells, and blood that smoked upon contact with the air seeped through their skin, burning away before it could even drip.

Because Big Black had a soul connection with her, she would endlessly soothe and encourage the little dragon in her sea of consciousness. Although Big Black would hiss in anger, he would barely manage to cooperate.

Little White and Little Green were not so obedient.

A month after their birth, Dany completely lost her Dragon Spirit connection with Little White and Little Green. The closer she became to Big Black, the greater the rift grew between her and the other two dragons.

Not only could they not attend language and math classes, but physical education was also a problem. Once, when Dany struck Little White on the back hard enough to draw blood, the little creature retaliated without hesitation, blasting a jet of dragonflame at her wrist.

The temperature of dragonflame was higher than that of a wood fire. For the first time, she was injured by the flames. A ring of blisters the size of cockroaches erupted on her wrist. It was both painful and itchy, taking four or five days to return to normal.

The only consolation was that it left no scar.

Perhaps she truly could draw strength from fire. Or perhaps, due to her ever-tightening Dragon Spirit bond with Big Black, her injuries healed faster and more completely than a normal person’s.

Take the scar on her belly, for example.

To prevent others from discovering her plan, Dany didn’t let her handmaidens attend her during her bath for the next half a month.

Yes, she explained that water was scarce, and from now on, everyone would use fine sand to clean the grime from their skin.

She even had someone prepare a sand bed, covered with fine white sand.

Every night before sleep, she would strip naked and rub herself on it to clean the dust from her skin—the oils and dead skin had already been burned away by the flames.

But after half a month, Dany began to resume her decadent “slave owner” lifestyle.

To her amazement, she discovered that the scar on her belly was fading with each burning, until it vanished completely, her skin once again as smooth and tender as before.

Perhaps the high temperatures promoted blood circulation, and the flames made her cells overly active?

That was the scientific explanation.

A more fantastical explanation was that dragons and fire possessed magical healing properties.

It was just like over a year ago, when the original Dany had just married Drogo. Her weak body couldn’t handle life on horseback. She was exhausted to the point of collapse every day, and her inner thighs were rubbed raw and bloody.

But after one Dragon Dream, in a single night, all her injuries vanished, and her body became as strong as that of a girl born and raised among the horsemen.

Chapter 35: The Dragon Seekers

After complaining to Jorah several times about her disobedient little dragons, he suggested that she simply let the two unruly children “drop out” and focus solely on teaching Big Black.

As long as the black dragon was powerful enough, Daenerys could use him to suppress and control the white and green dragons.

Yes, Jorah also believed that Daenerys’s teaching methods were beneficial to the young dragons’ growth.

He told her that in the history of House Targaryen, dragons were not invincible. There had been several instances of dragons being slain.

“The most famous is undoubtedly the death of Meraxes. Long ago, your ancestor Aegon, with the help of his two sisters, conquered six of the Seven Kingdoms, all except for Dorne.

“But during the assault on the Hellholt in Dorne, due to a moment of carelessness, Queen Rhaenys’s dragon was struck through the eye by a scorpion bolt. The great dragon Meraxes fell to her death on the spot.”

Jorah glanced at the three small dragons flying in the sky, searching for prey, and sighed. “If a target as small as an eye can be hit, their bodies and wings will be even more frequently attacked. By any measure, they are far too tender right now.”

Daenerys accepted part of Jorah’s suggestion, but she did not completely give up on Little White and Little Green.

In fact, faced with this situation, any student from her old world would know what to do.

That’s right: stream the classes. Remedial classes, advanced classes, and an honors class for the gifted.

Big Black was the star student, placed alone in the dragon honors class. The other two were naughty, underachieving students; if they could just manage to get a graduation certificate, this old mother’s heart would be so relieved!

While she was busy training her dragons, her Khalasar was not idle either.

The old men and women systematically plundered the wealth buried by time in the three white cities.

The able-bodied men went hunting in the western mountains in shifts. Besides food for themselves, they would also bring back smoked jerky.

Jorah, at Daenerys’s request, began teaching the Dothraki children the ways of knighthood.

To put it bluntly, the Dothraki screaming warriors were light cavalry.

Even someone as clueless about military matters as Daenerys knew how poor light cavalry was at storming fortified positions.

The knights of Westeros, clad in full plate armor, were undoubtedly more formidable in both charge and survivability on the battlefield.

The reason the horsemen fought to the death wearing nothing but sleeveless leather vests wasn’t because they were as brave as they claimed.

It was mainly because they were poor—poor in every aspect. Their level of civilization and social structure were both very “poor.”

They had no wealth to buy armor, no ability to produce steel, and no technique to forge armor.

In the Great Grass Sea, a suit of armor was worth far more than the life of a screaming warrior.

But things were different now. The horsemen had Daenerys.

She would inevitably bring a more advanced system to the Dothraki, which would greatly improve their productivity.

In the future, the horsemen would be able to field large numbers of knights, and Daenerys would certainly need a great number of steel-clad knights loyal to her.

Three months after settling in White Cloud City, Daenerys joyfully held up a turnip the size of a child’s fist and announced loudly to the surrounding horsemen, “The first crop of grain is about to ripen! We will never have to worry about famine again!”

This world was so damn strange. A biennial turnip was bearing fruit in three months—albeit a little small, and in such a hot environment.

But then she thought about the bizarre scene in the orchard, where one peach tree was blossoming while another was dropping ripe fruit, and she felt relieved.

This was the Long Summer, after all!

In the Long Summer, the poor could eat until they burst; in the Long Winter, even nobles could starve to death.

The horsemen gave her no face. There was no loud cheering. Instead, Aggo stepped forward and said loudly, “Khaleesi, we are horsemen. Horsemen do not become cowardly farmers.

“I think we should abandon this city and return to a nomadic life of hunting in the western mountains.”

“There are too many of us. The main staples of a nomadic diet—lambs and fat cattle—were slaughtered long ago. All that’s left are horses, which yield very little meat.

“And hunting is too unreliable. We need a stable food source, and we need this city, which is both safe and prosperous,” Daenerys said, glaring at him.

“There’s no one else in the Red Waste. Where’s the danger?” her Bloodrider retorted defiantly.

“Report!”

With a long cry, a swift horse galloped to the edge of the farmland.

“Report! Report to the Khaleesi! There are… there are people who want to enter our city,” the warrior on horseback shouted excitedly.

Reality had just slapped Aggo in the face!

“It’s all because of your jinxing mouth,” Daenerys shot him another glare, then asked the rider, “Who has come? How many are there?”

“Three people,” the horseman said with a strange expression. “They call themselves Dragon Seekers. They also asked me if this is White Cloud City and if a girl from House Targaryen has hatched dragons here.”

“What?” In her shock, Daenerys blurted out a word in English.

“How is that possible? Are you sure they asked for ‘White Cloud City’?” she asked urgently.

“Yes, that’s what the shadowbinder said.”

“A shadowbinder?” Daenerys was startled again.

Although she had named this city “White Cloud City,” she had always believed no outsiders would ever come here, so there was no sign with the city’s name hanging at the gate.

And also…

“Where are my dragons?” she looked up at the sky and asked those around her. “The white one and the green one, have they flown back?”

“No,” the horsemen all shook their heads.

The black dragon was in the honors class, so his academic workload was heavier. He spent most of his time by Daenerys’s side. At this moment, he was perched on the pommel of her silver mare’s saddle, flapping his wings and observing the people around him with his deep red eyes.

Little White and Little Green, those two naughty wild children, were not doing well in their cultural lessons, so they could only become athletic scholarship students. Yes, Daenerys had reduced their training sessions, and they spent the extra time hunting for themselves outside.

If you don’t study hard, you have to go out and “work to earn money” to support yourself early!

“Could they have encountered my dragons outside?” Daenerys wondered, stroking her chin. “But even if they saw dragons, how would they know they were Targaryen?”

“Khaleesi, not only do they know you are a Targaryen, but they even called out the name ‘Daenerys.’ It must be that shadowbinder. Everyone knows that wizards from the Shadow Lands can use prophetic magic,” the horseman exclaimed.

“Yes, everyone knows,” Aggo nodded earnestly.

“Everyone knows,” Jhiqui, her handmaiden, chimed in.

Here we go again.

Daenerys secretly rolled her eyes and said to Aggo, “Go and get Rakharo and Jhogo. Oh, and summon Ser Jorah as well.”

At that moment, Jorah was in the square, teaching the children swordsmanship. Over this period, Daenerys herself had also gone to learn a bit from time to time.

After several months of only practicing basic sword techniques, she had actually improved her strength and skill by a considerable margin.

“Quaro, come with me to meet the guests.” She turned her head and asked the messenger knight, “You didn’t let them into the city, did you?”

“No, Khaleesi. You said that outsiders can only enter the city with your permission,” the horseman said quickly.

Daenerys paused. Had she given that order?

But thinking back carefully, it seemed… it seemed she had indeed said that, on the second day after entering the white city, when she had people block the gateway with stones.

It had been a long time. She herself had forgotten, but she never expected the horsemen to have been strictly carrying out her orders all this while.

Sigh. Although the horsemen were straightforward and often contradicted her regardless of the occasion, their loyalty and ability to execute orders were truly impeccable.

As she rode through the streets, Daenerys was lost in thought. Before she knew it, her party had arrived at the city gate.

The wooden plank gate was raised high. She led Quaro and a dozen other screaming warriors through the narrow gateway and out of the city.

The moment she was outside, Daenerys’s heart skipped a beat. Never mind the three people themselves, but their mounts were camels!

She was no strategist, nor was she an elite politician, but her mind was quick. In an instant, she understood: the Red Waste, a veritable deathtrap for the horsemen, was merely a slightly more difficult road for others.

The Red Waste was not a dead end, which also meant it was no longer a protective barrier for her small Khalasar.

This place was no longer safe!

Why was it so difficult for the horsemen to cross the Red Waste?

Daenerys and her people had faced countless hardships on their southward journey. If she hadn’t watched Bear Grylls’s survival shows, she probably would have ended up like the original Daenerys, leaving a trail of death along the way. Why was that?

The answer was actually simple: the horsemen were using the wrong mode of transportation.

It was like the difference between a muscular off-road vehicle and a road car. They had different purposes. If you used an off-roader to commute to work, the fuel you’d spend in a year would be enough to buy a new car. If you tried to challenge the untamed wilderness in a BMW, hehe, you’d probably be stuck the moment you left the pavement.

The prairie horses ridden by the Dothraki were strong and nimble; their charge, speed, and endurance were all first-rate.

The Dothraki people had existed for thousands of years, and their horses had been selectively bred for just as long. The Dothraki roamed the water-rich Dothraki Sea and the great plains of the Rhoyne, and their warhorses were born for such an environment.

But ultimately, they were horses suited for the grasslands. Their resistance to heat and drought was too poor, and they could not adapt to the environment of the Red Waste.

That was why Daenerys could not afford to work them to death or drain the stamina of her people’s mounts. Even though everyone in the Khalasar had a horse, they could only travel a hundred kilometers a day.

Camels, however, were hailed as the “ships of the desert.” Crossing a wasteland overgrown with demon grass was like taking a stroll in their own courtyard.

“I am the one who hatched the dragons, Daenerys of House Targaryen. Welcome, guests from afar. It is hot outside, let us enter the city,” Daenerys said, introducing herself first and extending an invitation without even asking their identities.

The three men on camels were also very polite. They skillfully unwound the scarves wrapped around their heads—they were very well-equipped—and then introduced themselves in turn.

The man on the left, with pale skin, blue lips, and gaunt cheeks, spoke in gruff Dothraki, “Great Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, I am Pyat Pree, a great warlock of Qarth.”

He was speaking to Daenerys, but his gaze was fixed fervently on Big Black, who was coiled atop her head.

The bald, obese man in the middle also had very pale, milky-white skin, whiter even than Daenerys’s own. On the side of his nose, which was larger than Jackie Chan’s, was an emerald stud the size of a thumb.

He spoke in the Valyrian common in the Free Cities, “Princess of House Targaryen, thank you for your invitation. Your kindness is as conspicuous as your beauty. I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos, and I have the honor of being one of the Thirteen of Qarth.”

Though his words were full of admiration for Daenerys, his gaze seemed to be assessing the value of goods.

However, compared to the other two, Daenerys was still more willing to deal with him, because only he possessed no power beyond the mundane.

Chapter 36: The Invitation

The third person was a shadowbinder from Asshai. She wore a lacquered wooden mask and spoke in the fluent Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. “Hello, Mother of Dragons. I am Quaithe, a shadowbinder from the Shadow Lands.”

The red-lacquered wooden mask hid her eyes and expression, and Daenerys could not discern her inner thoughts from her flat voice.

Daenerys nodded, gesturing for her Dothraki to clear a path. She would walk ahead with her guests, and her people would follow.

Just as they passed through the city gate, Daenerys saw Ser Jorah and her bloodriders approaching together. So, on the way to the palace, she introduced them to one another.

“You came in search of dragons,” Jorah voiced the question that had been buried in Daenerys’s own heart. “But how did you know there were dragons here?”

“The stars in the sky guided us,” Quaithe said curtly.

“The stars?” Jorah was perplexed.

“That one,” the warlock said, pointing to the red comet that still hung in the sky.

Three months had passed, yet the comet had not completely vanished, though it was much dimmer than before.

Perhaps soon, when people looked up, they would wonder when it had disappeared entirely.

“The Bleeding Star? It is always changing direction, how could it guide you? And what does its appearance have to do with dragons?” Jorah asked.

“To mortals like you, it is but a comet seen once in a thousand years. But we who wield wondrous powers have personally felt the great change in the heavens and the earth,” the warlock said in a low, ghostly voice, his eyes fixed on Big Black.

“Isn’t that an exaggeration? It’s not as if dragons haven’t existed before. Though everyone says they’ve been extinct for over a century, that’s only in Westeros.

The Ironborn say there are sea dragons deep in the Sunset Sea, and legends of ice dragons have never ceased. Even for great dragons, there are whispers of them from the secret places of the world.” Jorah thought the warlock was boasting, likely trying to deceive his princess.

“Hehehe…” A clear sneer hung on the warlock’s eerie blue lips. He didn’t even deign to answer the “mortal’s” question.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. This is a city full of sand and decay, utterly unworthy of the noble Mother of Dragons.” The merchant from Qarth, whose head was as round as a hard-boiled egg, whipped the rump of his camel and hurried a few steps to Daenerys’s side. In an exaggerated tone, he made his invitation: “Khaleesi, you were born to wear the most magnificent jewels and the finest gowns woven from Myrish silk, to be surrounded by servants and live in a grand palace closest to the gods.

“Only Qarth, the center of the world, can provide all this.

“And as it happens, I have both the ability and the sincerest heart to offer you these services. Please, leave this wretched place and come with me to Qarth.”

“Haha, Mr. Daxos, you are a noble and generous gentleman, but I have a large group of people to care for,” Daenerys said, declining with a smile.

“Hahaha…” Xaro threw his head back and laughed, his voice filled with pride and superiority. “Khaleesi, you truly must go to Qarth. This desolate wasteland has clouded your vision.

“The smallest wing of my home could easily accommodate all your followers.

“In fact, the kings and great lords who visit me in Qarth from all over the world bring with them more servants than you have people, and I have hosted thirty-five such noble visitors at once.”

In other words: my smallest bathroom is bigger than your entire house, and I have thirty-five of them.

Daenerys really wanted to say, I have three cities.

“Alas, you may not know, but Khal Drogo is already dead,” she said with a sigh.

“Of course, we know,” Xaro said at once. “The mightiest of the horse lords has passed away, and several new Khals have risen on the Great Grass Sea. The entire continent of Essos knows of it.”

Daenerys was taken aback, surprised by the strangely efficient way information traveled in this world.

In truth, once she witnessed the incredible speed of messenger ravens, she wouldn’t be so shocked.

“The problem is, the Usurper has never ceased in his hunt for me. Last time, he even dared to send someone to poison me in the sacred city of Vaes Dothrak. Without the Khal’s protection, what will I do if he sends men after me again once I leave here?”

“Khaleesi, do not worry. Robert Baratheon, the man who usurped your father’s throne, has been dead for nearly half a year.”

Xaro then began to recount the news from the Sunset Lands.

Just as in the television series Daenerys had seen, “Old Bob” had been hunting when he drank wine spiked by Lancel. In a stupor, he was gored to death by a wild boar.

As great as he was in life, his death was just as wretched.

Yes, Lancel Lannister, Queen Cersei’s cousin and personal plaything.

That Old Bob… in his youth, he was unbelievably formidable. In an “Ice and Fire weapon ranking,” his warhammer could be ranked third, second only to a modified version of the Mountain and Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who wielded the greatsword “Dawn.”

The Red Viper, Khal Drogo, and Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos, were all a tier below Old Bob.

Rhaegar and the White Bull were another tier below that.

Jorah Mormont, who stood beside Daenerys, was in an awkward position, probably a tier or two below the White Bull.

This wasn’t meant to unduly praise Old Bob; throughout the entire A Song of Ice and Fire, he was the only one whose physical talents for both strength and agility were maxed out.

Skills could be trained, but talent determined a person’s upper limit.

Never mind his feat of hammering Rhaegar to death in his youth, let’s just talk about Old Bob’s final battle.

Yes, the one where he was gored by the boar.

At the time, he had drunk several large skins of spiked, strong wine. He couldn’t dodge in time, and the charging boar’s tusk pierced his groin, tearing a half-meter-long gash up his abdomen. If not for his ribs, he would have been split in two then and there.

The intestines and organs in his fat belly spilled out like a backed-up stool that had finally found release, “sloshing” merrily all over the ground.

A normal man would have collapsed into a heap from a single kick to the groin, yet Old Bob mounted a desperate counterattack. Despite such grievous injuries, he used the spear in his hands to kill the boar that was still hanging from his chest.

His valor was absolute.

He even held on for several days afterward, leaving a will and reminiscing with his best friend Ned about the glorious days of their past, before finally dying with the help of milk of the poppy.

Yet this fierce and powerful warrior was cuckolded countless times by his wife, the “Lust Queen,” and all three of his sons were not his own.

Yes, they were the seed of Cersei and her own brother.

Cersei did not want to bear her husband’s children. For matters of the bed… every time a drunken Old Bob sought her out, she would create the illusion that they’d had relations, when in fact he hadn’t even touched her hand. The first time Cersei became pregnant with Old Bob’s child, she seemed to have deliberately let it miscarry.

Eddard, after becoming Hand of the King, quickly realized his best friend was raising another man’s children thanks to hints from several ill-intentioned people.

Then, he let the Lust Queen know that he knew.

Once the Lust Queen knew that he knew, she struck first, having one of her lovers, her cousin Lancel, poison Old Bob’s wine. As described above, Old Bob died a miserable death under the boar’s tusk.

Of course, Xaro’s telling of the story to Daenerys was not so detailed. He only said there were rumors that Robert had been killed by Cersei.

“So, you no longer need to worry about the Usurper harming you,” he comforted Daenerys. “In Qarth, under my protection, no one can hurt you.”

Daenerys nodded and followed his topic. “How far is it from here to Qarth? How many days did it take you by camel?”

“Around one thousand kilometers. It took us nearly a week to get here.”

Daenerys estimated inwardly that their speed was not much different from her khalasar’s when they had traveled south.

The only difference was that camels could continue for another thousand kilometers in this environment, whereas her khalasar had been on the verge of collapse after just over five hundred.

The group arrived at the palace gate as they spoke. In the square, a crowd of old people and children stared in wonder at the three guests on their camels.

Daenerys had fresh water and mare’s milk wine prepared for the guests to quench their thirst, and she cleared out three bedrooms near the garden for them to rest.

That evening, she held a bonfire party in the square. There was roasted horse meat with plum sauce, a stew of mushrooms and smoked venison, buttered beets, turnip stew, and the wine they had saved.

It was almost the best food her khalasar could offer.

The three guests from Qarth also produced red wine, sausages, and caviar from the packs hanging on their camels.

Daenerys even brought out her three dragons, now the size of hounds, for them to see, and even let them touch the small creatures.

She and Jorah carefully observed their reactions to the dragons. Quaithe’s touch on the black dragon was filled with reverence. The warlock’s eyes could not conceal his desire.

The great merchant Xaro’s eyes, narrowed into slits from smiling, seemed to glow as he expressed his astonishment at the high temperature of the dragons’ bodies.

All in all, the guests were very satisfied with Daenerys’s hospitality that night.

Finally, as she was seeing them back to their rooms to rest, Daenerys told Xaro that she would seriously consider the possibility of a trip to Qarth.

“What do you all think?”

Daenerys did not go to bed immediately. She gathered Jorah, her bloodriders, a few of the elders, and her three handmaidens for a meeting to reach a consensus on “whether or not to go to Qarth.”

Unlike other khals, who treated the elderly as useless burdens, Daenerys placed great importance on the elders who had managed to survive past sixty in the cruel environment of the Great Grass Sea.

Aside from a slight misjudgment from Huasheng, the horse master Avanti and the old blacksmith Solomon had been wonderful surprises for her.

Avanti, for example, was a master horse breeder.

In a desolate place like the Red Waste, not only had their number of horses not decreased, but over the past few months, they had gained a dozen newborn foals.

In modern society, the world’s most famous horse racing clubs would probably be at each other’s throats to secure him.

Solomon was a foreigner with green hair and green eyes.

The Dothraki had no blacksmiths; they had always relied on foreign slaves to repair their weapons. When Drogo’s father had demanded tribute from Qohor, the city’s trade princes had given the imprisoned Solomon to the Dothraki as a gift.

After the Doom of Valyria, the smithing skills of Qohor became the best in the world.

The prostitutes of Lys, the crafts of Myr, the textiles and blacksmiths of Qohor, the spices and dairy of Pentos, the Iron Bank of Braavos, the slaves of Volantis…

The nine Free Cities naturally traded in everything, but each had its own specialty.

Chapter 37: The Second General Assembly

Whether or not to go to Qarth was, in truth, much like the decision of whether to lead the Khalasar south. It seemed a future so uncertain that it could not be decided lightly, yet there was no other choice.

“Your Grace, it’s obvious they came seeking dragons, and their interest in yours goes beyond mere curiosity. If any of them decide to take them by force, staying here would be even more dangerous,” Jorah said after a moment of thought.

“Oh?”

“In any trading city-state, from the common merchant to the merchant princes, all of them value profit over righteousness and have no sense of honor. But there is one thing that everyone can trust.” A sharp glint flashed in Jorah’s eyes. “And that is the very foundation of their livelihood, the basis for the existence of the trading city-states themselves: their credit!”

“To put it simply, on the high seas or the open road, any merchant might become a robber, taking what they covet by force.

But in a trading city, they will skillfully use deceit, blackmail, and temptation to profit, but they will absolutely never seize another’s property by force.”

Seeing the thoughtful look on Daenerys’s face, he smiled. “The bigger the merchant, the more insidious and subtle their methods. But even though this world is vast, information travels smoothly.

If Xaro and the others have extended an invitation to you, then in theory, they have also taken on the responsibility of ensuring your safety.

It isn’t because they are particularly noble, but because their reputation amongst other merchants is far more valuable than any immediate gain.

Your Grace, you wandered amongst the great city-states of the western continent for a long time. You of all people should have a profound understanding of this.”

Daenerys nodded. The Usurper’s bounty on her and her brother had never been lifted, yet none of the merchant princes or Magisters who had hosted them had ever chopped off their heads to claim the reward.

The benefits did not outweigh the costs.

But the only three dragons in the world were enough to make anyone cast aside honor and credit.

“Even the guest right that’s so prevalent in the Seven Kingdoms has been violated at times, has it not?” she asked.

Jorah seemed stunned by her words. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Besides the legendary Rat Cook, who has ever violated guest right? Not even the most foolish, craven, or ignorant person would dare to break guest right.”

Heh, in a couple of years, when the news of Robb Stark’s death arrives, you won’t be so surprised, Daenerys thought.

“Who is the Rat Cook?” she asked.

“The Rat Cook was a man of the Night’s Watch, a cook at the Long Night Fort. He held a great grudge against the King of Casterly Rock at the time. When that Andal king came to inspect the Wall with his son and his vassals, the Night’s Watch hosted them.

One night, the Rat Cook found his chance. He secretly murdered the king’s son, then cooked the prince’s flesh with onions, carrots, and mushrooms into a great pie. He seasoned it with pepper and salt and served it with bacon and a dark Dornish red.

He presented the pie to the king. The king ate the pie made from his own son, praised its delicious flavor, and even asked the cook for another piece.

Even the gods could not stomach this act. They turned the cook into a great white rat, as fat as a sow, who could thenceforth only eat its own young.

The Rat Cook still wanders the Long Night Fort, driven by a hunger that can never be sated, forever devouring his own offspring.”

In the dim light, Jorah’s shadowed face held an unspeakable gloom. Daenerys’s two Dothraki handmaidens huddled together, their almond-shaped eyes filled with panic as they glanced about, as if searching for a white rat that might appear from anywhere.

“Ahem, a very fine bedtime story, but isn’t it a bit lacking in ‘deterrent effect’?” Daenerys said with a slight cough.

“It’s true! In the North, even children know the story,” Jorah protested, annoyed.

“The first half of the story is probably true, but the part about the gods’ punishment…” Daenerys shook her head and asked him, “Which of the gods do you think punished the Rat Cook?”

Jorah immediately replied, “The gods are the gods. Of course all of them were offended by the Rat Cook’s flagrant violation of guest right.”

“Heh, the North, especially the area around the Wall, is the domain of the Old Gods, while the Andals worship the Seven. Perhaps for the sake of political harmony, men accept the reality of the Seven and the Old Gods coexisting.

But the doctrine of the Seven recognizes them alone as the one true faith. If they were real, why would they cooperate with the Old Gods to punish a single man?”

Jorah sighed, a look of helplessness on his face. “Your Grace, the purpose of this story is to warn the world: a man has the right to vengeance, but the gods will never forgive one who murders a guest beneath his own roof, who tramples upon guest right.”

“Whether the gods exist, or which god punished the Rat Cook, is not important. What’s important is that through this story, we understand the principle of respecting the sacred laws of hospitality,” he concluded, in the tone of someone teaching a mischievous child.

Alas, you’re the one who doesn’t understand, my Bear.

It was precisely because the story’s moral was so obvious that its authenticity was severely undermined.

What the story made clear to any clever person was this: by exploiting another’s trust in guest right, one could exact revenge with ease and satisfaction, and the gods would most certainly not punish him for it.

The Rat Cook’s end may have been tragic, but his punishment would have come from the grieving king, not the gods.

For the Rat Cook, a commoner exiled to the Wall, he had all but lost any chance of revenge, least of all against a king.

To a man like that, guest right meant nothing at all.

But some thoughts were best kept to herself. If she voiced them, the others would surely look at her in a new light, thinking: I never knew Your Grace was that kind of person.

As if she had already done something of the sort.

So, Daenerys simply asked, “Do you advise we go to Qarth?”

Jorah nodded and said earnestly, “Qarth is a great city connecting the East and West. You will find what you need there, like ships and sailors. If we discover the Qartheens have ill intentions, we can leave by sea immediately.”

“Robert Baratheon is dead. Do you truly have no designs on the throne?” He stared at her, as if trying to pierce the violet mist of her eyes and see into her very soul.

Let the Others be kings of the Seven Kingdoms!

Daenerys scoffed internally, but her face showed no sign of it. Instead, a look of longing appeared as she said, “Do I have a chance?”

Westeros was Jorah’s home. He had willingly served as Robert’s spy for the chance to return.

Without a doubt, the scales in his heart had already tipped heavily in Daenerys’s favor over Baratheon’s.

But if he knew she had no intention of returning to the Seven Kingdoms, then the weight on the other side of the scale would no longer be “loyalty to King’s Landing and the current king,” but “the temptation of home.”

Homesickness was a power on par with love.

Besides, a certain someone had already put the poor knight firmly in the friend zone.

“Here, we receive no news, and I cannot judge the situation in the Seven Kingdoms. But one thing is certain: even if the Usurper is dead, he still has two sons, and the queen is a Lannister!

At the very least, House Baratheon and House Lannister will oppose your return.

Eddard Stark practically saw Robert as his own brother; he won’t support you either.

And the Arryns of the Vale and the Tullys of the Trident are tied to House Stark by marriage, so they too…” Jorah said, his face a mask of conflict.

He did not know that none of the queen’s sons were Baratheons, nor that Eddard had been imprisoned by the queen, and may well have had his head chopped off by the new king, Joffrey, by now.

The political situation in Westeros these past few years was more unpredictable than a storm at sea. Qarth was too far from King’s Landing; the information delay was long, and the chance of error was high.

“Alas, Your Grace, let’s avoid Westeros for now and wait patiently for the dragons to grow,” Jorah concluded, offering a prudent piece of advice.

Daenerys nodded. Jorah had always been cautious and realistic.

“Do any of you have suggestions?” she asked, turning to the Dothraki who had been silent observers for some time.

“Khaleesi, you are the blood of my blood. Wherever you say to go, we will go!” Jhogo said, scratching his bald head with an anxious look.

The Dothraki did not want to go far from the grasslands. They believed the sea was poison water to be avoided at all costs, but their simple minds could not conjure a better suggestion, leaving them feeling both anxious and helpless.

Seeing that the other two Bloodriders felt the same, Daenerys turned to the representatives of the elderly. “Avanti, Solomon, what are your thoughts?”

“What if… we sneak away tonight and head for the mountains to the west?” Avanti offered a rather foolish suggestion.

The old man from Qohor immediately shook his head. “If we deceive the people of Qarth, we will no longer be their friends and honored guests, but their enemies. Has anyone considered how they found us here in the first place?”

“Prophecy! The shadowbinder can see the future,” Jhiqui cried out in fear.

Irri corrected her. “It is the stars that guide them. I heard that blue-lipped warlock say so myself this afternoon.”

“They would find us even if we went west,” Doreah added with a nod.

“Quaro, from tomorrow on, you are not to leave my dragons’ side for a single moment,” Daenerys said to her “Dragon Guard,” her decision made.

“Khaleesi, as long as I live, no one will steal your dragons,” Quaro declared, his expression resolute.

The meeting had reached a consensus. Early the next morning, Daenerys informed her three guests of her decision.

Quaithe’s expression remained hidden, but the warlock and the merchant openly expressed their welcome and delight. Both solemnly promised that in Qarth, Daenerys and her Khalasar would be under their protection.

That morning, Daenerys sent the knight to inform the herdsmen in the other two white cities to bring the Khalasar’s horses to White Cloud City. Those who were hunting in the western mountains were also notified.

And so, four days later, Daenerys’s Khalasar set out once more.

Their destination: Qarth, to the southwest.

Of course, Daenerys had not been idle during those four days. She dispatched Aggo with three horses, enough food and fresh water, to ride ahead to Qarth.

Xaro had written a letter for Aggo. Upon reaching Qarth, he needed only to give the letter to Xaro’s steward, and a group of servants would set out for the Red Waste with a train of camels.

The camels would carry vast quantities of food and fresh water. More importantly, the Khalasar would no longer need to conserve the strength of their horses. When the camels arrived, the Dothraki could switch to the more comfortable mounts.

Chapter 38: Mysterious Powers

Aggo rode without sparing his horse, and after three days, he reached a village affiliated with the city of Qarth. Before Daenerys and her group had even set out, a caravan of three hundred camels laden with supplies was already heading towards White Cloud City.

The Khalasar traveled for four full days, losing seventy or eighty horses and nearly drinking all their water and mare’s milk before they finally encountered the scouts of the camel caravan.

Thus, the baton was finally passed in this thousand-kilometer relay race.

Daenerys felt a sense of relief and began to focus on her own problems.

The two events—the witch Mirri and the recent prophecy from the Dragon Seekers—had made Daenerys fully understand that beyond dragons, magic and sorcery truly existed in this world.

She wanted to ask Quaithe for guidance.

As for why not the warlock… well, for the past few days, the merchant Xaro had been constantly speaking ill of the warlocks to Daenerys.

“The warlocks did indeed have a period of great power. Back then, even the Dragonlords of Valyria regarded them with respect.”

When the other two guests weren’t present, Xaro quietly told Daenerys, “But things are different now. Those blue-lipped fellows are like the feeble old soldiers in a dockside tavern, capable only of boasting of their former bravery, having completely forgotten that their strength and skill have long since abandoned them.

“They hide in the Palace of Dust, reading decaying scrolls and sipping the shade of the evening until their lips turn blue, whispering hints of the terrible power they possess. But compared to their predecessors, they are nothing but empty shells.”

“What about Quaithe?” she asked.

“That woman.” A look of awe flickered in the merchant’s eyes. He stammered, “She comes from Asshai in the Shadow Lands. As the saying goes, ‘It’s better to swallow a scorpion than to trust a child of the shadow.’ Her power only makes her more dangerous. Khaleesi, you must not trust her.”

With that, Daenerys also understood who had prophesied her existence.

It wasn’t the warlock Pyat, who was always chattering on about metaphysics and strange arts, but Quaithe, who was so quiet she was almost overlooked.

That woman was anything but simple.

Finding an opportunity, Daenerys guided her camel closer to the woman in the lacquered wooden mask and asked in a low voice, “Miss Quaithe, do you understand the art of prophecy?”

Now that she had a camel to ride, Daenerys was of course happy to give her little silver mare a rest.

Quaithe not only wore a wooden mask but also had an Arab-style scarf wrapped around it. Her head turned toward Daenerys, completely concealing her eyes and expression.

“Daenerys, in the lands of Asshai, we do not use the title ‘Miss’,” she said, her voice crisp and clear.

“Very well, Quaithe the sorceress.” Daenerys seized the opening. “Can you predict whether I will be able to have another child in the future? Alas, my poor Rhaego… that witch, Mirri, she cursed me, saying my womb could never again bear life.”

As she spoke, a watery sheen glossed over her eyes, and she turned her head away in sorrow.

Quaithe paused, then finally spoke words that made Daenerys want to cheer inwardly. “You must cast aside the sorrows of the past; more important things await you in the future. As for a child… alas, I cannot prophesize such a thing.”

“Why not? You knew I had hatched dragons and was staying in White Cloud City before you had even met me.” As if not wanting anyone to see her reddened eyes, Daenerys pulled the silk scarf from her neck and wrapped it around her head a few times.

Quaithe said, “Prophecy is an elusive magic. When the Bleeding Star appeared, I sensed that the power of magic was rapidly reawakening, like a tide sweeping over the towns on the shore.

“So, I opened my eyes and tried to see the world clearly—the world in its truest form. And I saw you, taming dragons in the wasteland. Do you understand now?”

“Not really,” Daenerys admitted honestly.

“Mortals fear and slander magic and sorcery, but in truth, it is a form of wisdom that ordinary people are not qualified to learn. Essentially, it is as simple and clear as knowing the sun is about to rise when you see the eastern horizon turn crimson.” Quaithe looked at Daenerys, as if asking if she understood this time.

“Perhaps I am just an ordinary person unqualified to grasp such wisdom,” Daenerys said with a bitter smile. She still didn’t get it.

“Heh heh heh, could an ordinary person cause the tides of magic to rise again in this world?” To her surprise, Quaithe laughed.

Then, she explained for a third time, “I saw the sky in the east glow red, so I knew the sun was about to rise. If I couldn’t see it, or didn’t look, then I would know nothing.

“Prophecy is merely the world presenting information before my eyes. Because I looked, I knew.

“As for whether you can have another child, the relevant informational elements have never appeared. They cannot be summarized, cannot be speculated upon. Therefore, I do not know.”

This time, Daenerys thought she understood. Prophecy was a bit like data analysis. But besides collecting and summarizing information themselves, prophets also received vague messages from the world’s consciousness in the great unseen.

Dragons had brought magic back to the world, an influence so immense it was like a surging tide. Thus, Quaithe could clearly see the “waves” and, by extension, the one who had set them in motion—Daenerys and her dragons.

As for the matter of a child, perhaps it would have a great impact on the future, but for now, the “tide” had not yet stirred.

Before Quaithe’s eyes, the surface of the sea was calm.

Unless a more powerful being existed, one whose gaze could pierce the seawater and see the violent undercurrents in the ocean’s abyss.

A Greenseer, for example.

“Can you teach me the knowledge of magic?” Daenerys asked, looking at Quaithe with expectant eyes.

“I can. You may follow me to Asshai. There, you will find all the knowledge you need,” Quaithe answered quickly, in a tone that said, “I was just waiting for you to say that.”

Daenerys hesitated, and a sudden realization struck her: no one is good to you for no reason, unless they love you.

Clearly, Quaithe would never love her. So what did she love?

Her dragons!

“I am the princess of Dragonstone, Stormborn. It is my duty and my mission to restore the dynasty of House Targaryen. My goal lies to the west, in Westeros. I cannot head in the opposite direction.”

At this moment, she was not fighting alone—Murong Fu was with her. When Murong Fu said he would restore the Great Yan, who could possibly doubt him?

Quaithe, naturally, believed her.

And so, she returned to her previous taciturn state, as if she would no longer pay Daenerys any mind now that she had refused to go to Asshai.

With Quaithe’s path closed, Daenerys had to turn to her backup option.

“Your Excellency, the great warlock, I have heard that magical incantations are a special language, separate from common speech. Is that true?” This time, she didn’t hesitate or wait until the others were gone to ask in secret. As everyone finished their meal and prepared to rest, she posed her question loudly.

The warlock Pyat Pree loved speaking with Daenerys. Aside from boasting about the greatness and prosperity of Qarth, he would tell all sorts of bizarre wizarding tales whose authenticity was hard to judge.

Hearing Daenerys’s question now, he said delightedly, “Khaleesi, you have the courage and wisdom to explore arcane knowledge. That is correct. There are many professions in this world that involve mysterious powers, such as shadowbinders, warlocks, alchemists, moonsingers, red priests, dark sorcerers, necromancers, sky mages, pyromancers, bloodmages, inquisitors, judicator knights, poisoners, priestesses, night-walkers, and Skinchangers.”

The great warlock reeled off dozens of magical professions as if listing family treasures. Daenerys’s mouth hung open, utterly dumbfounded.

Was this supposed to be the low-magic, low-martial-arts world of Ice and Fire, or had she somehow ended up in a “Baldur’s Gate” on the continent of Faerûn?

Pyat took a breath and continued, “Your ancestors in Valyria also had their own system of blood magic. Basically, every school of mysticism that possesses true power has its own magical language, which is to say, its incantations.”

“Why doesn’t everyone share a single system of incantations?” Daenerys asked, puzzled.

“This…” The warlock’s blue lips opened and closed, his expression hesitant. “Perhaps the various schools of wizardry originated in different places. Just like us warlocks and the Valyrian bloodmages—two different civilizations, with different languages.”

That was complete nonsense. Even if two civilizations were a hundred thousand light-years apart, the physics formulas they developed would be identical. In their math classes, “1+1” would still equal “2”. The truth might not be eternally unchanging, but it certainly had a degree of commonality. It couldn’t be as arbitrary as he described.

The only explanation was that they hadn’t grasped the truth, that their incantations didn’t touch upon the essence of the world, and were just a collection of parlor tricks to deceive people.

As if sensing Daenerys’s thoughts, Quaithe spoke.

“What is this?” she asked Daenerys, holding a piece of wood.

It was just a short, yellowish-brown stick, polished smooth.

She honestly described what she saw.

Quaithe nodded, then turned her palm toward Jorah. “What is this?”

“A man?” Jorah said hesitantly.

Quaithe nodded again, then for a third time, she turned her palm toward the Dothraki handmaiden, Irri. “What is this?”

“A woman?” Irri glanced fearfully at the shadowbinder and spoke weakly.

When Quaithe held the wood in her palm toward Aggo, he said it was a lion.

Finally, Quaithe opened her palm completely. In the firelight, they could see a small, exquisite wooden carving standing in her fair hand. It had one body and three heads: a short-haired warrior roaring in fury, a long-haired woman with a gentle face, and a male lion snarling.

Now Daenerys understood. Quaithe had only shown each of them a part of the statue, which was why the four of them had come to four different conclusions.

“Do you understand now?” Quaithe’s wooden mask faced Daenerys, reflecting the flickering red light of the fire.

“Even the greatest mages cannot grasp the whole truth,” Daenerys said with a nod.

In short, it was the “blind men and an elephant” of the wizarding world.

Jorah suddenly asked, “Your Excellency, the warlock, when you mentioned Skinchangers just now, were you referring to the Children of the Forest from the old tales?”

Every Northerner grew up with frightening stories about Skinchangers. They might not have heard of titles like moonsingers or sky mages, but “Skinchanger” was as memorable as the “Rat Cook.”

“From the old tales?” The warlock shook his head and chuckled. “You Andals. I understand your way of thinking. The Children of the Forest are legends, the Skinchangers are legends, and the world is just as your Maesters would have it—devoid of a single spark of miraculous power.”

“They disappeared thousands of years ago,” Jorah said with a frown.

“They never disappeared. You simply chose to isolate and forget them. When I left Asshai to seek my destiny in the west, I bought potion ingredients from a Skinchanger. His hawk could pluck red lotus flowers from the highest mountain peaks,” Quaithe said coolly.

“The Skinchangers all went to Asshai?” Jorah was surprised, but also greatly relieved, as if thinking: Good, all the demons and monsters have left.

But Daenerys was unsettled. She clearly remembered that in Game of Thrones, it was explicitly stated that Skinchangers were exclusive to the Old Gods.

How could there be a Skinchanger outside the continent of Westeros?

Chapter 39: Qarth

“I’ve heard it said that only believers of the Old Gods in the North of Westeros can become Skinchangers,” Dany asked. “Does Asshai also have Weirwoods? Do they also worship the Old Gods?”

“Daenerys, do you know what the Old Gods or Skinchangers truly are?” Quaithe asked in return.

Dany looked to Jorah. “Are the Old Gods the great trees with faces carved into them?”

“Those are heart trees. The Old Gods are a collective name for countless ancient spirits,” Jorah said slowly.

“The Old Gods are an animistic faith. Skinchangers, their believers, awaken a spirit of nature and can merge as one with animals that possess a spirit,” Quaithe told Dany. “This was told to me by an old Skinchanger who sought wisdom. He came from beyond the Wall in the Sunset Lands.”

“A wildling?” Jorah exclaimed. “How did one travel tens of thousands of li to reach Asshai?”

“The people you call wildlings are intelligent beings, with a thirst for wisdom and civilization. But beyond the Wall, he felt a deep despair, for your people so despise Skinchangers. So he came to the sanctuary of mystics, to Asshai in the Shadow Lands,” Quaithe said slowly, her lacquered wooden mask facing Dany the entire time.

“Daenerys, the Westeros of the Andals has no place for you. Or your dragons.” The words floated softly into Dany’s ears, yet no one else reacted at all.

A voice only I can hear?

Dany was stunned.

For the next few days, Dany remained anxious, not daring to be alone with Quaithe again.

She had asked Jorah and the warlock, and they both said that sorcerers and mages could not perform “materialized” attacks like conjuring fireballs or hurling icicles; they could only harm others indirectly through spells, shadows, and blood.

She feared Quaithe might secretly cast a “shadowbinding spell” on her, so she began having her handmaids attend her in shifts as she slept.

But it seemed Dany had worried for nothing. After that night, Quaithe never initiated a conversation with her again, nor did she seem to have any intention of seeking her out to be alone.

It was not until they left the Red Waste and entered the lands of Qarth that Dany could no longer hold back. She asked the shadowbinder, “Sorceress, do you know any magic spells from Old Valyria?”

“You wish to learn?” Though Quaithe had not spoken to her proactively, she had never refused her either.

“Alas, the world is a perilous place. I do not wish to be harmed by evil sorcerers again,” Dany sighed mournfully.

“I do not know Valyrian spells, for they are of no use to me. But if you are willing, you can go to Asshai. There should be someone there who can teach you.”

Quaithe’s voice was faint. “There are whispers in the Shadow Lands that the descendants of the bloodmages of Old Valyria are still active somewhere.”

“That is too far. I must go to Westeros and be queen,” Dany said, shaking her head.

At noon the next day, Dany finally saw Qarth, the city the great merchant Xaro had described as a paradise on earth.

Clang—

From atop the sandstone walls, the same color as the Red Waste, the crisp clang of a brass gong suddenly rang out. “Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, has arrived!” someone shouted toward the city, the cry loud enough for Dany to hear from half a li away.

Before she could ask Xaro what was happening, Wooooo—

Another long, sonorous horn blast echoed.

Looking up, she saw a circle of powerfully built men with gleaming dark skin standing atop the ten-meter-high walls. Their upper bodies, visible above the crenellations, were bare, and strange horns, coiled around their muscular forms like great bronze serpents, were pressed to their lips.

Clop clop clop clop.

A troop of camel cavalry rode out from the city in an orderly procession. The camels were draped in colorful blankets, and between their humps sat saddles of the utmost magnificence, inlaid with rubies and garnets that glittered in the sun.

The riders atop them were also well-equipped, clad uniformly in red copper scale armor. They wore long-snouted helms inlaid with copper teeth and plumed with long black feathers—Dany could not tell what manner of animal head they were meant to resemble.

It seemed special preparations had been made to welcome her; there were no loiterers at the gate facing the Red Waste. Two columns of camel riders extended in orderly lines from the gate for a full two hundred meters.

“Hah! Hah! Hah!” the riders roared in unison, raising their gleaming bronze spears.

Colored silk ribbons were tied to the tips of the spears, and as the knights raised and lowered their arms, the ribbons billowed like clouds of mist.

The people of Qarth did not shout pleasantries like “Welcome to Qarth, Mother of Dragons.” They simply welcomed their guest with the most fervent actions.

Dany rode her camel side-by-side with Xaro at the head of the procession, with Jorah, her Bloodriders, the warlock, and Quaithe following close behind.

As she drew closer to the city, Dany noticed that the walls, built of red stone, were carved with all manner of animals: slithering snakes, soaring kites, gliding fish, wolves howling at the moon on a hillside, and even zebras and elephants.

But as Dany neared the gate, the great, copper-studded wooden doors that had been closed moments before creaked open to both sides.

Qarth had three walls. As she passed through the gateway of the outer wall, a group of small children immediately ran toward her. They carried baskets of flowers and followed alongside her camel, grinning as they tossed colorful petals over her. Dany, in turn, continuously offered them her sweetest smiles.

Inwardly, however, she was mocking the strange customs of the Qartheen. The children wore nothing but golden sandals on their feet. Yet they were not naked, for their bodies were covered in brightly colored paintings.

The middle wall was twelve meters high and built of grey granite. It, too, was covered in carvings, but not of beasts. These were vivid scenes of war: warriors with swords and shields clashing, arrows raining down upon a city, heroes fighting, infants being slaughtered, and funeral pyres burning brightly.

The great, iron-studded wooden gates stood wide open. As Dany entered the gateway, a sudden flood of noise and cheers rushed toward her as if from an opened floodgate—the sound of countless people shouting and celebrating.

Between the middle and inner walls lay a long street flanked by buildings of rich hues: fantastical rose-colored stone manors, towers painted violet, and bronze archways inlaid with green emeralds.

The balconies of these buildings were crowded with Qartheen onlookers. The women wore gowns that left one breast bare, while the men favored silk skirts adorned with beads.

The pale-skinned people of Qarth either threw red rose petals down from above, waved colorful silk scarves in their hands, or shouted loudly toward Dany.

Dong, dong, dong! The bells from the city’s high towers began to ring, and a strange smile suddenly appeared on Dany’s face.

This moment calls for the “Overture of the Undead,” she thought. She was just like Arthas, accepting the cheers of his people as he rushed to the royal palace to commit patricide.

The inner wall was fifteen meters high and built of black marble. Carved upon it were scenes of men and women making love—in other words, erotic art.

This revealed a great deal about the customs of the Qartheen.

As Dany drew near, the gate to the inner city, which was studded with countless golden eyes, slowly opened like the maw of a great beast.

Only the pedestrians on the street stopped to stare at Dany and her party with curious eyes. There was no special welcoming ceremony in the inner city.

Dany saw towers that were a miracle in this world, their soaring spires as dense as a jungle. In every square she passed, there was an exquisite fountain in the shape of an animal.

A small rainbow hung in the midday sun, a sight of exquisite beauty.

The great merchant Xaro proudly said to Dany, “Qarth is the greatest city that is or ever will be. It is the center of the world, the gate between north and south, the bridge between east and west. It is ancient beyond memory and makes all other cities of the world seem base and dull.”

What a boast, she thought. I doubt you would have dared say such things to the Dragonlords when Old Valyria still existed.

“Indeed. Of the nine Free Cities, I have been to nearly all of them, save Volantis. Not one could ever hope to compare to this pearl upon the straits,” Dany said with a cheerful compliment.

She could not help but notice the statues lining the sides of the colonnaded street. The ancient heroes of the city stood majestically upon white marble pedestals.

They seemed to be waiting for the day the Dothraki would arrive to plunder them, carry them off to Vaes Dothrak, and place them alongside the tens of thousands of other stone gods on the Godsway.

After passing through the colonnaded street, the Khalasar came to a halt before a marketplace. It was a crossroads where several streets converged, and now Dany had to decide which path to take and whose hospitality to accept.

The market was housed within an immense, open-sided building, where a latticed ceiling had become home to thousands of colorful birds.

Lush trees and flowers grew on platforms above the shops, and within the shops themselves, a dazzling array of goods was on display, bringing a collection of the finest creations from all corners of the world here.

“Oh, Daenerys, my peerless beauty, whatever catches your eye, you need only whisper the word, and I will have it brought before you immediately,” the great merchant exclaimed with exaggeration.

“All of Qarth will be hers; she has no need for such trifles,” the blue-lipped Pyat Pree called out from the other side. “Listen to me, Khaleesi. Come with me to the House of the Undying. There, you shall drink deep of truth and wisdom.”

“Hahaha, and what can your Palace of Dust offer her?” Xaro said proudly to the great warlock. “The Thirteen shall gift her a crown of black jade and fire opals.”

A look of delight immediately crossed Dany’s face. She tactfully refused the warlock, saying, “Lord Pyat, you know my story, and you can see the desires of my heart. As magnificent as your city is, it is ultimately not where I belong. I will not hide the truth from you: day and night, I long to return to the Red Keep in King’s Landing. That is the palace that belongs to me.”

You’d all better not get any strange ideas, or one day I will lead one hundred thousand Dothraki screaming warriors to sack this city.

Though her thoughts were savage, on the surface she had to make the people of Qarth believe that she posed not the slightest threat and held no ambition toward their city.

Pyat’s blue lips curled upwards in what seemed to be an elegant smile, but inwardly he was sneering at Dany’s childishness for actually believing the words of a shameless merchant.

Just you wait, he thought. One day, you will come to me of your own accord.

“Khaleesi, you have wisdom beyond your years. Please accept my gift, and we shall speak again another day.” He handed her a jar of ointment and nodded toward her. “On your journey to Qarth, you expressed a thirst for mystical power. This sacred oil will help you see the spirits of the air.”

Once Dany had accepted the gift, he spurred his camel and departed in another direction.

“Your Majesty, you have made the wisest choice,” the merchant said in a low voice, watching the warlock’s retreating figure. “There is a saying in Qarth—a warlock’s house is built of bones and lies.”

They’re all as bad as each other. The pot calling the kettle black.

Chapter 40: Guest Right

As befitting one of the Thirteen of Qarth, the manse Xaro prepared for her amazed even the worldly Daenerys.

There was a large garden blooming with exotic flowers, a spacious marble bathing pool, a crystal divination tower that pierced the clouds—an observatory, in other words—and even a garden maze.

The entire palace was larger than the market they had seen before. It could house not just her Khalasar of over two hundred people, but twice that number again.

In fact, Xaro had prepared two hundred servants for her alone.

Once the many horsemen of her Khalasar were settled in the palace, Daenerys sat by the edge of a pool, blissfully enjoying the pleasant sensation of fish kissing her toes and marveling that the people of Qarth even had such creatures.

Suddenly, the sky above her darkened. She turned her head, surprised to find Quaithe had appeared silently beside her.

“You…”

“I must leave,” she said.

“Oh, farewell then.” Daenerys had been startled, thinking it was something serious.

“Be careful!” Quaithe said out of the blue.

“Er…” She paused for a moment before stammering, “Careful of what?”

“Careful of everyone. From now on, they will come day and night to gaze upon this wonder reborn into the world, and then greed will follow. For dragons are flesh made fire, and fire is power. Dragons are the source of all mystic power.”

Though the lacquered red mask hid her expression, Daenerys could hear the gravity in her tone.

After warning Daenerys, Quaithe left as unobtrusively as she had arrived.

Daenerys lost her mood for enjoying the palace’s luxurious life. She immediately summoned Jorah and her bloodriders to the fish-therapy pool. While letting them enjoy the gentle kisses of the fish, she relayed Quaithe’s warning.

“I do not like her, because I cannot see through her,” Jorah spoke first. “Every shadowbinder is worthy of our caution, but this time she did not threaten us. Since entering this city, I have felt it… a very unfriendly and unsettling air.”

“I do not like the way the Milk Men look at us.” Rakharo’s face was grim as he gritted his teeth. “Like they’re looking at exotic animals captured from some savage land.”

The people of Qarth had exceptionally pale, milky-white skin, clearly whiter than other pale-skinned peoples, which was why the Dothraki called them “Milk Men.”

Daenerys glanced at him in surprise, not expecting her bloodrider to be so perceptive.

It was true, the people of Qarth had given them a warm welcome today, but there were many kinds of welcomes. Welcoming a distinguished guest was certainly different from welcoming a giant panda to the city zoo.

That was why Daenerys had unconsciously put herself in Arthas’s shoes as they passed through the city’s middle wall.

—Lordaeron welcomed Arthas’s triumphant return with celebratory bells, cheering crowds, and a shower of flower petals, and on that very day, Arthas unleashed the Scourge of the Undead in Lordaeron and slaughtered the city.

“They want to see the dragons,” Daenerys turned to Quaro. “Arrange for two groups of guards, one in the open and one hidden, to watch the three dragons. As long as we are here, we cannot relax our guard for a single moment.”

“Aggo, Jhogo, you arrange for our people, men and women, to scout out the terrain, the building structures, and the palace guard situation in our vicinity. I want it all mapped out.”

Finally, she looked seriously at Jorah. “Ser, I understand our situation perfectly well. Therefore, I want you to go to the markets, the docks, the taverns, even the brothels. Find out the attitude of the common people of Qarth toward us, as well as any information about the city’s upper echelons.”

After a thought, she added, “Since this is a trade hub connecting the East and West, there must be merchants from Westeros and other city-states. While you are gathering information, you can also spread the word about me and my dragons.”

“This…” Ser Jorah hesitated. “You were worried before that the Usurper would send assassins after you. Now you want to actively announce to the merchants of the Seven Kingdoms that you will return to Westeros with dragons? Even if the Usurper is dead, he still has his son.”

“Alas, times have changed. The dragon hatching is already exposed. If King’s Landing has been keeping an eye on me, they will know about this at once. We might as well make it a focal point. It both protects us and…”

And diverts everyone’s attention, concealing her true goal.

That evening, Daenerys enjoyed a luxurious meal befitting the grand palace: stir-fried peacock tongues.

Damn it, using peacock tongues in a dish? Even the most gluttonous ancient epicures from the Celestial Empire probably never thought of that.

Early the next morning, just as Quaithe had warned, the powerful figures of Qarth arrived at Xaro’s palace in sedan chairs, surrounded by large retinues of servants.

Xaro accompanied them to Daenerys’s quarters. They claimed to be captivated by her beauty and noble birth, and sincerely presented gifts of silk, jewels, exotic animals, dwarves with special skills, and so on. Finally, they wept as they praised the greatness of the dragons, all while their eyes darted about frantically.

Yes, the Qartheen loved to weep. They believed it was a symbol that made them appear more civilized.

Daenerys understood their intent and didn’t hold back. She brought out the little dragons on their chains, which made the Qartheen nobles weep all the more fiercely.

The upper echelon of Qarth was composed of three major power structures: the Pureborn, the merchants, and the warlocks.

In an age where dragons had vanished and magic had faded, the once-mighty warlocks lost their power and thus their influence. The Pureborn controlled Qarth’s camel cavalry and city fleet, and nominally ruled the city.

The merchants were organized into three powerful guilds: the Thirteen, the Tourmaline Brotherhood, and the Ancient Guild of Spicers. In a city of trade, the true power naturally lay in the hands of the merchants.

However, the internal struggles between the three merchant guilds were extremely fierce. If not for their need to check the power of the Pureborn, they would have long since torn each other apart in their fight for actual control of the city.

On the first day, the other twelve members of the Thirteen visited Daenerys. The second day, the Tourmaline Brotherhood came.

After seeing the dragons, the gem merchants spent a week crafting a three-headed dragon crown for Daenerys: the dragon’s coiled body was gold, its wings silver, and its three heads were carved from jade, ivory, and onyx respectively.

On the third day, the Ancient Guild of Spicers sent Daenerys seventy-seven chests of precious spices from all over the world.

Indeed, when House Targaryen unified the Seven Kingdoms, they had abandoned the old Valyrian gods and converted to the Faith of the Seven in order to integrate into Westeros as foreign conquerors.

In theory, Daenerys should also worship the Seven.

And to the followers of the Seven, the numbers seven, seventy-seven, and seven hundred seventy-seven were all auspicious.

On the fourth day, Daenerys began receiving the lower-to-middle-ranking figures of Qarth: minor merchants, high-ranking government officials, fleet commanders, and captains of the camel cavalry.

When she asked Xaro if the Pureborn would come, he said with a hint of disdain, “What do the Pureborn have left these days, besides their supreme dignity and ancient glory? You should just indulge them and take the initiative to see them.”

However, seeing the Pureborn was not so easy. To be granted an audience, one had to be deemed worthy, and that worthiness was in the hands of several powerful individuals.

To put it simply, it was like how Tang Sanzang, seeking the true scriptures from the Buddha, still had to bribe the disciples Ananda and Kasyapa. For Daenerys to see the Pureborn, she had to navigate various channels and offer sufficient “gifts.”

Even trying to use back channels required connections. Giving gifts blindly without knowing the key figures would be nothing but a waste of time and money.

Xaro declared with an air of righteousness that he knew all the ins and outs of this and could teach her whose doors to knock on, whom to bribe, and how much to give each person.

Daenerys very much wanted to say, To hell with that, I’m not playing this game.

But Jorah had already gathered a general understanding of the situation in Qarth over the past few days. The Pureborn had indeed lost actual control over the city, but the camel cavalry and the city’s fleet were still under their command.

Daenerys couldn’t understand why the royals who controlled the military had lost their ruling position. Perhaps that was just the nature of a trading city-state?

Or perhaps the merchants were wealthier, and with wealth, they could hire more armed forces, like sellswords?

Xaro’s advice for Daenerys to pull strings for an audience with the Pureborn was no secret among the upper class.

The Pureborn had likely already opened their pockets, waiting for her to toss gold coins inside. If she didn’t go, it would be a snub to them, and snubbing the Pureborn meant they were not friends.

Hmph, not a friend, not a guest… then I can make a move against you.

Jorah advised her, “This is the custom in Qarth. Even in our Westeros, simply entering someone’s home doesn’t guarantee you guest right.”

“When a guest comes under a host’s roof and accepts the bread and salt offered by the host, only then does guest right take effect.”

“If the host lays a drawn sword across his lap, it shows he has no intention of establishing a guest relationship, and guest right naturally does not exist.”

“But demanding bribes is so crude, isn’t it? Don’t tell me hosts in the Seven Kingdoms also demand gifts from their guests?” Daenerys said indignantly.

Ahem, ahem… Jorah began to cough as if he had choked, and even his thick beard couldn’t hide the blush on his face.

“No way,” Daenerys said, her mouth agape in disbelief.

“It’s not as blatant as in Qarth,” Ser Jorah quickly clarified. “Guests give ‘guest gifts’ to hosts, mainly to express gratitude for the food and shelter provided. And when the guest leaves, the host might also give them a ‘guest gift’ in return.”

“This tradition usually happens when the guest is in a weaker position, because he fears the host may deny him guest right.”

This was a detail Daenerys hadn’t noticed when watching the show. The point Jorah was making was particularly evident in the relationship between the Night’s Watch and Craster the wildling.

Craster, the wildling from beyond the Wall, was the number one fiendish father in the World of Ice and Fire. He married his own daughters, and then married the daughters his daughters bore him, continuing this cycle until he had dozens of wives who were both his daughters and granddaughters.

He had sons too, but all his sons were sacrificed to the Others as soon as they were born.

One could say that, aside from the Night King, almost all the Others were that man’s sons.

Yes, Others and Wights were different. Others were transformed from living humans, while Wights were corpses reanimated by the Others.

Without the shelter and food Craster provided, the mortality rate for the men of the Night’s Watch who journeyed north of the Wall would nearly double. Thus, the Night’s Watch needed something from Craster.

Not only did they turn a blind eye to his incestuous practices, but they were also often extorted by Craster for iron weapons—that is, “guest gifts.”

And because of guest right, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the Old Bear, could not harm Craster, even though he knew of his association with the Others.

Guest right was a two-way street. Not only could the host not harm the guest, but the guest also could not harm the host—even if the host was dealing with devils.

Seeing Daenerys lost in thought, Jorah tried to persuade her again. “The First Men have the tradition of guest right, and the Andals have similar laws. Perhaps guest right is universal, just expressed in different forms.”

“Alright,” Daenerys sighed. “I’ll give the Pureborn their gifts. I hope they’ll give me some ‘guest gifts’ in return.”

Chapter 41: Back Doors and Dragon Zoos

Although Dany hadn’t thought of asking Xaro to pay for her to pull some strings, the man kept professing his love for her, yet he made no offer to help.

The money for the bribes would have to come from Dany herself; he was only responsible for pointing her toward the right people to bribe.

First, Dany brought a small chestnut mare, a grey-furred wild bison she had hunted on the borders of the Red Waste, and a large black dog purchased from the market to the temple of the Qartheen.

The Milk Men worshiped a “God of Memory” she had never heard of, so she presented sacrifices to the god’s priests.

The small mare represented the Dothraki’s offering. The wild bison was an ancient custom; it was said that before this trading city-state was founded, the primitive Milk Men survived by hunting the creatures of the Red Waste.

Indeed, the closer one got to the center of the Red Waste, the hotter the temperatures and the harsher the environment became. But the plains near the sea were still rich in water, supporting a large number of wild plants and animals.

As for the black dog, it was a peculiar choice. The Qartheen, much like in the great Celestial Empire, had a particular fondness for the taste of dog meat.

The priest was very pleased with Dany’s tact. The old Milk Man, whose hair and skin were as white as snow, told Dany she was welcome to seek the memories of time in the Temple of Memory.

Only after asking for more details did Dany understand that this place was also the library of Qarth, and the priests of the Temple of Memory were also the city’s historians.

For thousands of years, they had recorded every major event that occurred in Qarth.

“Mother of Dragons, your great feat of crossing the Purgatorial Plain to Qarth with your dragons and your Dothraki warriors, and even your visit to the temple today, has already become—or will become—a part of the God of Memory!” the old man said with a beaming smile.

The original Daenerys might not have had the slightest interest in books of history, but the Dany of today was screaming inwardly: Worth it! Totally worth it! The two thousand Qartheen gold coins were a complete return on my investment!

Uh, on the surface, she had only offered three animals. In reality, the previous night, Aggo and four Dothraki had carried two chests of newly exchanged radiants and slipped into the old priest’s backyard.

Hmm, literally through the back door—the one opening onto a small alley, which led into the backyard of the residence of the old priest’s current favorite, his thirteen-year-old mistress.

Qarth used radiants, a currency popular since the days of Old Valyria. They were round coins with a crown on the obverse and a ferocious skull on the reverse.

Radiants were rather small, with each coin weighing only a third of a gold dragon.

Two thousand coins… (That’s a purchasing power of roughly eight million RMB.)

This was a world equivalent to the Middle Ages, where productivity was far lower than in modern China. Two thousand radiants was an absolute fortune.

Thus, it was easy to understand why the old priest was so amiable toward Dany.

After obtaining a “library card” for the Temple of Memory, the second back door Dany went through belonged to the “Keepers of the Chronicle” of Qarth—that is, the city’s administrative officials.

After sending out bag after bag of gold coins, Dany suddenly realized she had spent half of the gold she had hidden away from Drogo.

“I’m out of money,” she told Xaro miserably. “All I have left are some antique jewelry pieces I dug up from the city of bones.”

Faced with a plea for help from a peerless beauty, Xaro’s heart was as cold as ice. He had no intention of opening his own purse, and instead gave her a rotten idea. “News of the existence of a true dragon has spread throughout the East, and more and more Dragon Seekers are coming to find you. Countless people in Qarth now wish to see you and your dragons. Why not accept their requests for an audience, and ask for a gift from each person who meets you?”

Dany thought about it. This would be to her advantage.

Putting aside how much she could collect in “zoo admission fees,” just spreading her fame and making her and her dragons a well-known fact in the East would make certain people hesitate to use the most direct and vicious methods against her.

Hadn’t she sent Jorah to spread news of the dragons in the dockside districts and street taverns for this very purpose?

When no one knew she had dragons, she would have preferred to hide in White Cloud City for a long time, trying her best not to let the news leak.

But as soon as a single outsider learned of her and the dragons, any plan to remain hidden was completely shattered.

When no one knew of the dragons’ birth, she was safest—a one-star threat. When a few people knew true dragons had been born again, she was in the most danger—a four-star threat. After her story became known to everyone in the far East, certain people would have reservations, and the danger to her would actually decrease to a three-star threat. When the news crossed tens of thousands of kilometers to reach Westeros in the far west, the danger would rise again, soaring to the most perilous five-star threat.

But whether only a few people knew, or everyone in Qarth knew, the speed at which the news of her dragons reached Westeros would not change.

Given the distance from Qarth to King’s Landing, she had a buffer period of about two years as the news traveled.

Either her dragons could grow up in the next two years, or Dany could establish comprehensive security measures in two years—in layman’s terms, “build her own power base.”

And for that, she needed money.

Dany agreed to Xaro’s plan to establish a “dragon zoo.”

That afternoon, Jorah brought a ship captain to the hall of her palace.

“Your Grace, I’ve brought you a merchant from the Summer Isles.”

He was a middle-aged black man, his dark skin like polished obsidian, swarthy and gleaming.

“Your Majesty, my name is Qahuro Mo, captain of the ‘Laurel Wind,’ from Tall Trees Town in the Summer Isles.” The man, draped in a cloak of yellow and green feathers and dressed like a colorful peacock, bowed and introduced himself.

“He brings news from King’s Landing,” Jorah said.

“You’ve come from King’s Landing?” Dany asked.

“No, I set sail from Oldtown half a year ago with a full cargo of wine from the Arbor. You have been away from home for a long time and must miss the taste of your homeland, just as the people of the Seven Kingdoms miss you,” Qahuro Mo said.

His gift to Dany was three casks of high-quality wine. If sold on the Qartheen market, they could fetch four radiants.

A bit stingy, wasn’t he?

But she quickly reconsidered. This captain didn’t run a large business; four radiants was likely a considerable sum for him.

“Thank you for your gift,” Dany said, nodding to the Summer Islander from her seat on a sofa made of a pile of soft cushions. “I look forward to the news you bring of the Seven Kingdoms even more. Alas, it would have been better if you had come from King’s Landing.”

“Your Majesty, King’s Landing is facing war. No foreign merchants dare go there anymore. It’s useless even if they do. Since the Usurper’s death, King’s Landing has been in chaos. They can barely feed themselves, so what goods would they have to sell us?”

The black captain sat on a small stool below her, his tone laced with disdain for the current rulers of King’s Landing.

“Oldtown has the Citadel, so news from all over the Seven Kingdoms converges there. After all, every lord is served by a Maester, and all Maesters come from the Citadel. During my stay in Oldtown, I made plenty of inquiries about the current situation in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Dany felt he was being a bit long-winded and asked directly, “How exactly did the Usurper die?”

“He was killed by a beast as fierce as a demon.”

“I want to know who conspired to kill him. You don’t actually believe he died from a wild boar’s tusk, do you?” Dany said coolly.

Seemingly sensing Dany’s impatience, the captain of the ‘Laurel Wind’ began speaking rapidly. “There are indeed many conspiracy theories circulating about the cause of the king’s death.

“The fourteen-year-old King Joffrey has now ascended the throne, but everyone knows that power is held by House Lannister.

“Maester’s apprentices in the taverns swore that the queen betrayed the king, that she even bore bastard children with her own brother, and that she resorted to murdering her royal husband when her deeds were about to be exposed.

“That way, the throne fell completely into Lannister hands.

“It’s not hard to understand why Robert’s two brothers fled King’s Landing.

“It’s also rumored that the Baratheon brothers intend to march on King’s Landing and claim the throne for themselves.

“When I left, there were whispers that Lord Renly intended to join forces with House Tyrell of Highgarden and raise an army in rebellion.

“Highgarden plus the Stormlands… the little king’s throne is not very secure at all!

“Besides the rumor of the queen murdering the king, some say it was the Hand of the King who killed him.

“The new king and queen immediately proclaimed that Eddard Stark had murdered his king. Some believe it, some doubt it, but I hear more than half of the citizens of King’s Landing actually believe it.

“Gods be good, I clearly remember the Lord Hand was King Robert’s best friend. How could anyone think he committed treason?”

“Aye, not even the Others would believe Eddard Stark committed treason. Have the people of King’s Landing gone mad, or just stupid?” Jorah nodded in agreement, his tone firm. “That man wouldn’t tarnish his precious honor even if the endless summer arrived.”

“Heh, didn’t Eddard Stark commit treason once before, fifteen years ago? To the people of King’s Landing, he lost his honor long ago. It wouldn’t matter if he lost it again,” Dany said with a smirk.

Jorah immediately shook his head and cried, “That was different, Your Grace. It is a great disrespect to say, but you must understand, His Grace Aerys killed Lord Stark’s father and brother in succession, and then demanded the North turn him over as well.

“His rebellion against your father was a matter of honor, not a loss of it.”

It was only because he had been with Dany for several months and knew her character that he would dare say such a thing. Had it been the original Daenerys, Jorah never would have spoken those words.

“What was the North’s reaction after Stark was imprisoned?” Jorah asked the captain, his expression tense.

He was a northman, and his family were vassals of House Stark.

“It’s said that the moment his father was arrested, the Young Wolf summoned his vassals and assembled an army. About twenty thousand northmen have crossed the Neck and are marching south.”

“Alas!” Jorah sighed, his eyes losing focus as he murmured, “I wonder how many of my female cousins will die this time.”

It seems only a little girl named Lyanna is left, Dany thought, looking at her knight with pity. She asked, “How many children does your aunt have?”

“Five. Five daughters. The youngest is only about six,” Jorah said.

Oh, how tragic. All dead except that six-year-old child!

And soon, his own father will die horribly in Craster’s muddy keep because of the violation of guest right.

At that thought, Dany almost offered him her condolences.

This was because she had only seen the television series, where the writers, to simplify the characters, had deleted many of the Mormont daughters.

In the original A Song of Ice and Fire books, only one member of House Mormont died at the Red Wedding—Jorah’s eldest cousin.

So, she had no reason to worry for him at all.

“The Young Wolf… is that Robb Stark?” he asked the black captain.

“Yes, Robb Stark is the commander.”

“He’s only fourteen, isn’t he?” Jorah’s expression darkened. “I’ve seen the boy. He’s more than half a year younger than Her Grace. Tender as a flower bud in summer.

“What is to be done? This time, that green boy will likely get the entire North killed.”

What a prophecy, Dany thought.

“Perhaps he’s a natural-born commander?” she offered as a flimsy comfort.

“Then I have all the more reason to worry.” Jorah rubbed his face and said grimly, “If he suffers a defeat the moment he leaves the Neck, the northmen will immediately withdraw back behind it, and they will never be defeated in this game of thrones.

“For over ten thousand years, no army has ever defeated the defenders of the Neck in a direct assault.

“But if the boy gets lucky and wins a battle or two, and it goes to his head… that is when the people of the North will be truly finished.”

Chapter 42: Daenerys, Host to a Deluge of Guests

Daenerys’s eyes glittered as she asked, “Captain, how far is the voyage from Qarth to King’s Landing? How long would it take?”

The dark-skinned captain, assuming she intended to take his ship, the Laurel Wind, back to Westeros, thought for a moment and said, “Your Majesty, you must understand, we are merchants. We won’t sail directly back to King’s Landing. Along the way, we will likely stop multiple times in Slaver’s Bay and the Free Cities.

“We sell goods from the Far East at high prices, buy up local specialties at low prices, then move on to the next city, repeating the process.

“This way, a merchant’s profits snowball and grow rapidly.

“So, returning to King’s Landing from Qarth could take a year and a half.

“Moreover, Qarth is not my final destination. My ship will pass through the Straits of Qarth and circumnavigate the Jade Sea along the trade routes. In that case, the delay will be even longer. The next time I sail to the Sunset Sea will likely be three years from now.

“Well, that is if the sea doesn’t claim me first.”

“If you didn’t conduct any trade and sailed straight for King’s Landing, how long would it take?” Daenerys pressed.

“Even without trading, on an empty ship, we would still need to replenish our food and fresh water, and allow the sailors to rest and recover. It would take at least three or four months, and that’s assuming the sea is in a good mood.”

Daenerys nodded. “You have brought me valuable news. I wish you a smooth journey and prosperous business.”

“It is I who should be thanking you, Your Majesty. You have given me the most generous reward,” the captain said, his eyes shining.

“Oh? What reward is that?” Daenerys asked.

“Dragons!” he said, staring intently at the dragon gnawing on a bone at Daenerys’s side. “I have seen a true dragon. This is a miraculous moment in my life.”

“I shall reward you with even more,” Daenerys said with a smile, beckoning to him. “Come and touch them.”

“This…” Kuhulu was both startled and overjoyed, yet also a little afraid. He stood up, taking three steps forward and two steps back, hesitating and tense. “Is it really alright? Will they bite me? Will they breathe fire on me?”

“They won’t. I am the Mother of Dragons. They all listen to me,” Daenerys reassured him.

The dark-skinned captain then shuffled over, beads of sweat on his forehead, and looked at Daenerys with an inquisitive gaze.

“I grant you the highest honor. You may touch the most majestic one. Hmm, he’s called Black Diamond,” Daenerys said, pointing at Big Black in front of her.

If he dared to touch the white or green dragon, a tragedy beyond even Daenerys’s ability to predict would surely occur.

But she could never admit to others that she could not control her dragons.

On the contrary, Daenerys wanted everyone to believe she was the true Mother of Dragons, in perfect control of her dragon babies.

That way, when people felt awe for the dragons, they would hold her in the same high regard.

At the same time, it would discourage ambitious men from thinking, if I just kill that woman, I can have the dragons.

—In truth, there was a high probability that the green and white dragons could indeed be taken from her.

The prophecy said the dragon has three heads.

Daenerys was only one of them.

It had been over three, almost four months. Big Black had the most formidable physique; his torso was already the size of an adult police dog. When he spread his wings, he could cover Daenerys’s entire bed.

Since arriving in Qarth, Daenerys hadn’t dared to let them fly about freely. For the past few days, their necks had been bound by solid iron chains as thick as a wrist.

To soothe the three dragons’ volatile tempers, she had no choice but to provide them with an unlimited supply of food.

At that moment, Big Black was lying on the marble floor, sucking on a charred wild ox thighbone.

“Big Black, don’t hurt him. He admires you very much and wants to touch you,” Daenerys said, relaying the message to Big Black while gesturing for Kuhulu to proceed.

Despite the look of longing on the man’s face, fear kept him shrinking back.

Finally, with Daenerys’s repeated encouragement, he timidly approached the black dragon. He extended a trembling right hand, touched Big Black’s wing lightly, and then snatched it back as if he’d received an electric shock.

Big Black ignored him, continuing to suck the marrow from the bone.

Thus, the captain found a bit more courage. He reached out again, his touch as gentle as a falling feather as he stroked Big Black’s back.

“Wow, it’s just as the legends say! A true dragon’s scales are scorching hot. Only the blood of a true dragon can master a dragon,” Kuhulu exclaimed, his dark face flushing red with excitement.

“You’ve heard all the legends about true dragons?” Daenerys asked with a smile.

The dark-skinned captain only stroked the dragon for a moment before quickly retreating a few steps. He stood to the side, his hands clasped, his demeanor even more deferential than when they had first met.

He said, “At the Citadel in Oldtown, I often heard the Maesters speak of dragons. They said that only the blood of the true dragon from House Targaryen could tame them, that others couldn’t even withstand the high temperatures they radiate.

“I didn’t believe it back then. What kind of animal’s temperature could be too high for a rider to bear?

“At most, you could just add a saddle.

“But today I finally understand. If a dragon grew to the size of Balerion, even a saddle wouldn’t be able to block its furnace-like heat.

“Even if the Maesters believe dragons are little more than unintelligent beasts, they are still the most legendary creatures in the world.”

“The Maesters even know how much intelligence dragons possess? They really have studied them quite thoroughly,” Daenerys said, her curiosity piqued.

“If they didn’t study dragons, which represent the wonders of the world, would there be any need for Maesters to exist?” Kuhulu said, his tone complex as he uttered a philosophical thought.

“Have the Maesters determined the level of Balerion’s intelligence?” Daenerys asked.

This time, before the captain could speak, Jorah cut in. “That of a seven or eight-year-old child. My family’s Maester told me.”

“Yes, Balerion’s intelligence surpassed that of other dragons,” Kuhulu added in agreement.

“Heh,” Daenerys chuckled softly. She looked down at Big Black and said, “Mr. Kuhulu gifted me three barrels of wine. Why don’t you draw a picture for him as a gift?”

“A picture?” Kuhulu was bewildered.

Without any command from Daenerys, a Lysene handmaiden immediately approached with a large wooden tray, upon which sat a roll of parchment and a small bowl of ink.

The handmaiden showed no fear of Big Black. She knelt beside him, unrolled the parchment—which was a meter long and half a meter wide—and placed paperweights on either side.

Next, she placed the porcelain bowl of ink to the lower left of the parchment.

Big Black glanced at Kuhulu, then extended his right claw. Like humans, dragons had five digits.

Big Black clenched the other four into a fist, dipped his foreclaw—as sharp as a dagger—into the ink, and then his “brush” moved like a dancing dragon. Lines began to appear swiftly on the white parchment.

At first glance, the lines were a chaotic mess, like a child’s random scribbles. Kuhulu hadn’t had any expectations, so he wasn’t disappointed by this predictable outcome. At least it didn’t just press a claw print on the paper, he thought.

But as the seconds ticked by, he began to see something different.

The strokes, varying in thickness and shade, gradually outlined one figure, then another. And one of them…

“Gods be praised, my eyes don’t deceive me,” he gasped, his mouth agape wide enough to fit a goose egg. “That’s me, in audience with Her Majesty! You can even feel the breeze in the sheer curtains by the palace window. This…”

“Not even the court painters of Braavos could compare,” Kuhulu swallowed hard. When he looked at Big Black again, his awe had transformed into pure reverence, devoid of fear.

In his heart, the black dragon before him had been sanctified, possessing a will like that of a god, not a beast that would harm others wantonly.

In truth, he was overthinking it. Big Black’s intelligence might have been high, but it was a far cry from that of an eight or nine-year-old child, let alone a deity.

As it was, Big Black could do some arithmetic. If Daenerys had asked Kuhulu to pose a few addition and subtraction problems within one hundred, Big Black could have likely given the answers—by scratching the numbers on the floor with his claws. But that was the extent of it, and it was far less stunning than drawing a “Picture of an Audience with the Queen” on the spot.

It was during their “culture lessons” that Daenerys had discovered, to her surprise and shock, what a huge advantage a dragon’s sense of space gave it in drawing.

Anyone who has taken a sketching class knows that one of the most important skills is the three-dimensional analysis of an object’s structure.

Why did Da Vinci relentlessly draw eggs from different angles?

Was it not to cultivate a “feel for form”? The black dragon, however, was born with a perfect score in this innate talent. His perspective on things was more complete than that of a human.

Kuhulu departed in a daze, clutching the roll of parchment, his worldview reshaped by what he had seen and heard that day.

The visit from the captain of the Laurel Wind set a precedent for commoner visitors. Merchants from all over the world began to arrive, at first a mere trickle that, with unimaginable speed, swelled into a raging torrent.

Captains of merchant ships brought lace from Myr, chests of saffron from Yi Ti, and amber and dragonglass from Asshai. Poorer traveling merchants presented bags of silver coins.

Besides the merchants, there were scores of artisans, wandering poets, and singers.

Silversmiths brought rings and necklaces. A blacksmith forged her a custom-made Arakh and a greatsword, tailored to her height and arm length.

Dyers presented her with bolts of colored cloth, the richness of the hues making her exclaim at the great wisdom of the ancients.

Then, countless tailors thronged the palace, volunteering to sew her the most beautiful garments in the world.

There were also flutists who played for her, actors who performed acrobatics to make her laugh, and illusionists who performed tricks.

Two dwarfs, mimicking the knights of Westeros, held a joust on a sow and a large dog.

One young Volantene man with blond hair and blue eyes pleaded with Daenerys to take him as her personal attendant, promising to write epic poems about Her Majesty that would be sung for a thousand years.

In his conversation, he also hinted multiple times that he was well-versed in the seven techniques of the spring cry from Kayuan.

Daenerys couldn’t stand the lecherous way the man looked at her and had her Bloodriders throw him out.

Later, even the Jogos Nhai from north of Yi Ti came. They gifted Daenerys a black-and-white striped horse.

Well, Yi Ti is basically the China of the World of Ice and Fire.

To make it easier to understand, you can roughly think of it like this: Westeros = Great Britain, the Ghiscari cities of Slaver’s Bay = Ancient Egypt, Western Essos = Europe, the Dothraki Sea = Russia, the Dothraki = Cossacks, Qarth = Suez, Yi Ti = China, and the Jogos Nhai = the nomadic peoples north of China.

As with the works of all Western writers, whenever China is involved… A Song of Ice and Fire isn’t too harsh, it’s just that the land area of Yi Ti is far, far too small, while Westeros is far, far too large.

Alright, I’ve digressed.

Daenerys extended an invitation for the two Jogos Nhai visitors to stay, which they accepted, deeply flattered.

At the banquet that night, Daenerys told them, “You are warriors of the horse, just like the Dothraki. I wish to ask you for your wisdom on leading a tribe.”

Chapter 43: Horse Men and Zebra Men

The Jogos Nhai, like the Dothraki, were a barbaric, nomadic people.

They too had no interest in the sea or ships, living a nomadic life and plundering the civilized city-states around them for ironware and other goods.

They formed tribes similar to khalasars, led by chiefs similar to khals, and lived in tents resembling yurts.

Their skin tones were also similar; the Jogos Nhai had sallow, yellowish skin, while the Dothraki’s was a coppery tan.

However, the Jogos Nhai could not compare to the Dothraki in appearance and physique. It was customary for their men and women to have their faces bound starting at the age of two (a hint from Fat Martin at foot-binding, perhaps?), resulting in pointed heads that were large in the back but small in the front, giving them a very ugly appearance.

Moreover, they were short and stocky, not tall, strong, and long-limbed like the horse men. But the mounts of the Jogos Nhai were more formidable than those of the Dothraki; the horse men rode horses, while they rode fierce zebras.

One was a people of horse men, the other of zebra men.

But compared to the Dothraki, the Jogos Nhai had several customs that Daenerys admired.

“Honored guests, please tell my kinsmen, how do the great Jogos Nhai maintain the unity of their people?” Daenerys asked her guests warmly, gesturing to Aggo and the dozen or so Dothraki warriors dining with them in the hall.

The Jogos Nhai were pleased by Daenerys’s subtle compliment and inwardly delighted by her sincere request for their wisdom.

“I understand the Khaleesi’s meaning. Your khalasars are constantly splintering. While this weeds out most of the weak khals, the courage of one man can never match the united strength of an entire tribe.”

Of the two Jogos Nhai, one was middle-aged and the other had graying hair and a beard. The middle-aged one remained silent while the elder spoke eloquently.

“Ultimately, the Dothraki have not established a proper system of marriage. The common horse men have no wives and no children, so they have no blood ties to their khalasar.

“You must understand, blood is the strongest bond in the world.

“Most of our tribes are held together by blood, allowing them to endure for hundreds, even thousands of years without collapsing. The Jhats who lead us into battle are no cowards, and they are usually chosen from among the sons of the previous Jhat.

“As long as a Jhat has enough wives, he will have enough sons. With so many sons of fine stock, there is no doubt a powerful warrior can be chosen from among them.”

Daenerys nodded in approval. “This is an excellent system, one we can learn from.”

This was the very purpose of her dinner tonight.

She could have said these things herself, but what could be more impactful than a living example right before their eyes?

Hearing the praise from the Mother of Dragons, the old man grew more animated, saying with pride, “A Jhat is merely a commander of a tribe. Above the Jhats are the Jhattari. All the Jhats of the Jogos Nhai accept the command of the Jhattari, which is why we can always unite as one when facing a powerful enemy.”

Seeming to notice the unconvinced looks on the faces of the horse men, Daenerys immediately played her part. “That is also a wonderful system. I imagine the Jogos Nhai must have had many Jhattari of epic-hero status, have they not?”

Every people has its epic heroes, and Daenerys didn’t expect the old man to name a truly world-shaking figure.

She understood one thing deeply: any people who revered their lineage would use magnificent poems to glorify their ancestors.

Even savages from the Stone Age who ate raw flesh and drank blood would be transformed into celestial beings who could fly through the heavens and burrow through the earth in the myths and legends of their descendants.

So, after asking her question, she took a sip of red wine and waited quietly for the old, pointy-headed Jogos Nhai to start bragging.

The old Jogos Nhai seemed more excited than he had ever been. He gestured wildly as he chanted, “Ah, great Mother of Dragons, you truly have a discerning eye! Only the wise can perceive the wisdom in another.

“Without a doubt, you are as wise as the ancestors of our Jogos Nhai.”

“You flatter me, you flatter me. I am far from it, far from it.”

My thick skin is nothing compared to yours, Daenerys complained silently, though she wore a modest smile.

“The Kingdom of Nefer was beaten by our ancestors until only one city remained—a city full of necromancers and inquisitors. If not for the fact that nine-tenths of the city was hidden underground, we would have breached it long ago.”

As if to magnify the greatness of this achievement, the old man lowered his voice and added, “You should not underestimate necromancers, nor should you think them charlatans. Do you know of the Long Night that shrouded the world thousands of years ago?”

“The Others?” Jorah exclaimed.

“Hehehe, I know of the Others. Those walking dead are the masterpiece of necromancers. It is said that the Long Night was summoned by the Bloodstone Emperor, the Son of Heaven of Yi Ti, using necromancy.

“Yet even a kingdom of sorcerers so powerful was nearly wiped out by us,” the old man said with satisfaction.

“Wow, truly… that’s so powerful,” Daenerys said, continuing to feed him his lines, though she was skeptical.

Yi Ti was several continents and several seas away from Westeros. Why would the Others ignore the people of the east and instead fixate on harassing the people at the westernmost edge of the world?

Leaving aside the reason, how did they travel so far?

Did they take a shortcut through the arctic circle?

Were the lands beyond the Wall somehow connected to Yi Ti?

That was too much like science fiction, not fantasy at all. This was a fantasy world!

“We also vanquished the Kingdom of the Heirs of Hyrkoon,” the short, stout old man continued.

“Forgive my ignorance, but why would they choose such a peculiar name as ‘Kingdom of the Heirs of Hyrkoon’?” Daenerys asked curiously.

Might as well have called it the Kingdom of the Brothers Hyrkoon!

“Alas, even as their enemies, we Jogos Nhai must acknowledge the greatness of Hyrkoon.” After a sigh, the old man asked in return, “Khaleesi, do you know of the Red Sword of Heroes?”

Daenerys thought for a good while before finding the fairy tale of the Red Sword in her memory. “You mean Lightbringer, don’t you?”

Jorah said with awe, “Eight thousand years ago, the Long Night came, and the Others plunged the whole world into endless darkness and cold. The snows nearly wiped the continent of the Seven Kingdoms off the map.

“At that moment of crisis for humankind, a hero appeared. He was Azor Ahai!

“Wielding the Red Sword of Heroes, filled with light and heat, he defeated the night and the ice, bringing light and warmth back to the world.”

“That’s the one,” the old man nodded, saying with emotion, “Azor Ahai was Hyrkoon. Every people describes the same story and a similar hero figure about the one who ended the Long Night.

“But the hero’s name is not always the same. You people in the west call him ‘Azor Ahai,’ while in the east, the heirs of Hyrkoon call him Hyrkoon the Hero. The people of Yi Ti call him Yin Tar, in Nefer he is called Neferion, and also Eldric Shadowchaser.

“Even though he died long ago in that legendary age of heroes, the prophecy of his return has been passed down in the east for five thousand years—After the long summer, the stars will bleed and a cold darkness will fall upon the world. In this hour of terror, a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. That sword is Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who wields it is Azor Ahai reborn, and he shall drive the darkness away.”

“For such a great hero, it is nothing for his descendants to name their country the ‘Kingdom of the Heirs of Hyrkoon’.”

The old man then continued in a loud, proud voice, “But we, the Jogos Nhai, destroyed the ancient Kingdom of the Heirs of Hyrkoon. Now all that remains are the three fortress-cities of Samyriana, Kayakayanaya, and Bayasabhad. They are the last remnants of Hyrkoon’s descendants.

“In my youth, I followed the Jhattari on the Steel Road and fought in a three-year campaign against Kayakayanaya. I myself breached the walls of Kayakayanaya twice.”

Now Daenerys was truly looking at the “horse men next door” in a new light. Compared to them, the Dothraki, who only knew how to steal the stone statues of other people’s heroes, had almost no achievements worth boasting about.

They hadn’t even destroyed one of the Nine Free Cities. So pathetic!

However, this was just the appetizer. The glorious history of the Jogos Nhai continued.

“The Kingdom of Nefer and the Kingdom of the Heirs of Hyrkoon are but small nations in the east. The true hegemon is the Golden Empire of Yi Ti.”

“The Golden Empire?” Daenerys winced. What a name.

“Ah, it is no exaggeration,” the old man said, waving his hand, thinking Daenerys was doubting the legitimacy of the Son of Heaven of Yi Ti and their fitness for the title “Golden Empire.” He explained with a grave expression, “The Golden Empire is the land of a thousand gods and a hundred princes, and its ruler is the one and only Son of Heaven.

“Back then, the Valyrians were still shepherds in the fields!

“The Son of Heaven was undoubtedly the most powerful ruler in the known world at that time. The scale of his armies was unimaginable, his wealth rivaled that of the Valyrian Freehold at its peak, his palace was larger than the city of King’s Landing of the Andals, and the floors of his bedchambers were cast in gold.”

“Have you been to King’s Landing, good sir?” Ser Jorah asked sullenly.

King’s Landing was the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, yet it was smaller than the palace of the Son of Heaven of Yi Ti. As a “false Andal, true First Man,” he was quite displeased.

The old “zebra man” glanced at him and said flatly, “I still remember the stench of shit and rotten fish mixed together in the fishmonger’s square of King’s Landing.”

This was no simple man; this old zebra man had actually been to King’s Landing, thousands of kilometers away.

Daenerys quickly steered the conversation back on course. “Did the valiant Jogos Nhai manage to destroy even the Golden Empire?”

“Not quite,” the old man shook his head, his tone a mixture of helplessness and pride. “For thousands of years, we have frequently raided the northern borders of Yi Ti, but we only managed to force the Son of Heaven to repeatedly move his capital south.

“Once, a young, brave, and heroic ruler appeared in Yi Ti, Emperor Lo Bu. He governed with great ambition and reformed the court, nearly restoring Yi Ti to the glory of the Golden Empire’s peak.

“In his time, even we unruly Jogos Nhai were forced to pay him tribute and declare ourselves his subjects.

“Unfortunately, Emperor Lo Bu believed that the Jogos Nhai feared power but felt no gratitude, and that those who submitted today would surely rebel tomorrow.”

Daenerys nodded. It seemed that Emperor Lo Bu had been a perceptive man.

The old man admitted it as well. “He was right. When the Golden Empire is strong, of course we must submit if we cannot defeat them. But when the empire weakens, we would be fools not to plunder it.”

“Uh…”

This old Jogos Nhai was so frank that Daenerys didn’t know what to say.

“But what is wrong with that?” the old man shouted after downing a cup of wine. “When the YiTish were weak, did they not send our Jhattari money and women in exchange for peace? And when they grew strong, did they not slaughter my people?

“It is the natural order for the strong to bully the weak. Only when the weak bully the strong does it go against heaven’s law.”

“Did Emperor Lo Bu bully you?” Jorah asked.

“No, he did not want to bully us. He wanted to eliminate the threat for good, to completely wipe out the Jogos Nhai as a people.” The old man slapped his thigh and yelled in anger, “What an absolute bully!”

Daenerys sighed inwardly, feeling a sense of pity for that ambitious emperor. Since the old Jogos Nhai was still here cursing loudly, it meant that Emperor Lo Bu had been no great conqueror, failing where legendary emperors of old had succeeded in crushing their nomadic foes.

Chapter 44: Dany’s Role Model

“Emperor Lo Bo gathered an army of three hundred thousand from Yi Ti and invaded the Jogos Nhai plains in thirteen columns. They burned and slaughtered their way across the land, coming only for the sake of killing. They killed everyone they saw—men, women, and children, not even taking slaves. Every Jhat tribe they encountered was reaped as easily as wheat before a scythe.

“Our people were butchered, our livestock plundered, our tribes burned to the ground. The once-green great plains were turned into a scorched, blackened wasteland in the flames.”

The old zebra man paused. The hall fell into a deathly silence. A moment later, he sighed with a mournful voice, “One million. We lost at least one million people that time. Nine out of every ten Jogos Nhai perished. The entire Jogos Nhai plains wept, and the blood of the zebra men that covered the land was its tears.”

“But in the end, it was the great Jogos Nhai who achieved the final victory,” Dany comforted him in a gentle voice.

To be honest, although Yi Ti was known as the Golden Empire, its people had nothing to do with China. Their customs, culture, ethnicity, religion, political system—almost everything was different.

Well, they were from different worlds, after all.

She felt no sense of kinship with Yi Ti, and of course, she felt even less empathy for the zebra men. She was only comforting the old man out of the courtesy a host owed a guest.

Moreover, she felt that Emperor Lo Bo was a bit reckless, not very bright.

Why would he lead his entire nation’s military force into the Jogos Nhai plains?

Was it just to kill people?

His fundamental goal must have been to eliminate the threat of nomadic invasions at its root.

He could have easily won over one faction to fight another, dividing the zebra men’s well-established “Jhat-Jhattari” political structure and cultivating a group of assimilated zebra men to act as collaborators.

As long as the Jogos Nhai couldn’t unite as one, the nomadic people, whose productivity was far behind Yi Ti’s, would never again become a grave threat.

Killing was useless. The great plains were right there. Grass grew from the earth, the grass fed the horses, the horses supported the people, and when the people grew numerous, they formed tribes.

After the Xiongnu were gone, there were the Khitans. After the Khitans fell, the Jurchens filled the void, and after them came the Mongols.

It was a nearly infinite cycle.

“That time, we truly felt the crisis of our people’s extinction. Thus, the Jogos Nhai united as never before. All the tribes answered the call of the great Zhatra Jhattari.” The old man’s voice grew impassioned; the turning point of the story was at hand.

Dany asked curiously, “Why did you only unite under the Jhattari after reaching such a desperate point?”

You lost over a million people before you reacted? Your reflexes are certainly slow, she complained inwardly.

“Ah, Khaleesi, it is my fault for mixing up the order of the story,” the old man said, waving his hand dismissively, his voice filled with emotion. “We didn’t have the Jhattari system back then. Much like the Dothraki today, the Jhats of each tribe did their own thing, and even fought amongst themselves.

“In a way, Emperor Lo Bo helped us. His merciless slaughter forced us to change our previously disjointed tribal structure. The first generation Jhattari was born from this necessity.”

Dany glanced at her horsemen, who were listening intently, and wished she could shout at them: Remember this, this is a key point!

“Ah, you would probably never guess, but the first Jhattari, Zhatra, was a female warrior. She was a born warrior with extraordinary leadership qualities, and she united over a thousand warring tribes in the shortest possible time.”

Dany was both surprised and delighted. To think that the first Jhattari was a woman! This…

You idiots, not only should you highlight this, you must circle it in red! When we get back, you are all to write me an essay of at least eight hundred words on what you’ve learned! The little voice in Dany’s mind roared at her horsemen underlings.

“What an amazing woman. Truly a role model for all the women of the world,” Dany couldn’t help but reveal some of what she was feeling.

The old Jogos Nhai didn’t detect the ambition overflowing from her words. He simply thought she was sincerely praising his ancestor. His sallow, wrinkled old face, illuminated by the firelight, beamed like a chrysanthemum.

“Emperor Lo Bo was a hegemon the likes of which Yi Ti had not seen in a thousand years, but Zhatra Jhattari was braver and more strategic than he. Faced with the enemy’s multi-pronged encirclement, she devised the ‘scatter and converge’ strategy.

“The scattering part was to have our people disperse and hide, cutting off any possibility of the Yi Ti army living off the land. At the same time, the scattered tribesmen would carry out guerrilla warfare—burning pastures, intercepting scouts and foraging parties, and cutting off water sources to make them suffer from hunger and thirst.

“Khaleesi, you must understand, the situation at that time was too critical. Even if all our tribes united, we could not have defeated even one of Emperor Lo Bo’s thirteen columns in a direct confrontation.

“Perhaps we could have won against one, two, or even three columns, but our people would have been completely wiped out before we could ever hope to destroy all thirteen armies.”

Dany nodded. “So you needed to make the Yi Ti forces scatter even further?”

“Yes. The guerrilla attacks all over forced them to divide their troops, which is where Zhatra Jhattari’s ‘converge’ plan came into play.

“She gathered all the elite zebra warriors in one place. No matter how many columns the enemy sent, she would only attack one at a time, defeating them with an overwhelming advantage while suffering almost no losses herself.

“After she had annihilated three columns using this method, Emperor Lo Bo finally began to prepare a change in strategy.

“Not long after, news that the fourth Yi Ti army was being harassed by tribal guerrillas reached the emperor’s main camp. The situation was identical to the previous three times.

“Emperor Lo Bo deduced that the main force of the Jogos Nhai must be near that fourth army.

“So he led his royal guards and raced towards the fourth army’s encampment, traveling day and night to get there…

“Hehehe, Emperor Lo Bo had no idea that this was Zhatra’s true objective.

“The people of Yi Ti wanted to exterminate the Jogos Nhai, and Zhatra Jhattari also wished to taste the sweet wine of vengeance. She wanted to utterly bury Lo Bo’s empire.

“There are many natural traps in the great wilderness of the Jogos Nhai. On the path to the fourth army, there was a perfect place for an ambush.

“In that battle, Emperor Lo Bo’s entire army was annihilated, and he himself was slain by the hands of the valiant Zhatra Jhattari.

“Afterward, the tide of the war completely turned. Without their emperor, the Yi Ti armies were like a headless dragon.

“Whenever our zebra cavalry arrived before the Yi Ti lines with Emperor Lo Bo’s crowned head impaled on a spear, their courage would fail them. Half their troops would break and flee before our riders even charged.

“The formations of the other half were as slack and weak as an old grandmother’s breasts. After a single charge from the zebra cavalry, they would either flee screaming or drop their weapons and beg for surrender on their knees.”

Dany sighed to herself. Those people of Yi Ti were really something…

“Hahaha!” The old zebra man threw his head back and laughed wildly, as if, after a few cups of wine, he himself had become one of the zebra warriors under Zhatra’s command.

“Not a single one was spared. Those who knelt and surrendered, those who fled on horseback—all were hunted down one by one by the zebra cavalry. The great wilderness is so vast, and they were not locals. Where could they run?

“In the beginning, they had advanced deep into the Jogos Nhai plains, vowing to kill every last herdsman. In the end, this wilderness, thousands of kilometers from Yi Ti, became the grave of their three-hundred-thousand strong army.

“And killing the invading Yi Ti forces was not the end, but a new beginning.

“Zhatra Jhattari led several thousand zebra riders across Yi Ti, storming cities and razing fortresses, unstoppable. And indeed, Yi Ti had no soldiers left.

“In this way, over several years, Yi Ti paid back tenfold in number the blood debt for Lo Bo’s slaughter of a million Jogos Nhai. The Scarlet Dynasty of the Lo clan thus came to an end.

“Gradually growing weary of the slaughter and plunder, Zhatra returned to the plains with countless slaves and treasures. From that day forward, it was only the Jogos Nhai who raided others; no other people ever dared to invade the great plains again.”

Ser Jorah pursed his lips. The entirety of Yi Ti doesn’t even have ten million people, so where did you find ten times the number to kill?

Dany spoke directly to her horsemen, “You must all remember the glorious deeds of Zhatra Jhattari of the Jogos Nhai.”

This was no longer a matter of highlighting or circling in red. This had to be pulled out as its own headline, a magnificent chapter written in grand style.

It would be best if all the horsemen developed the misconception that ‘Daenerys Khaleesi = Zhatra Jhattari’.

Unfortunately, this thought of hers came too early.

The old Jogos Nhai continued, “Our Jhattari has an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. It is a drinking cup made from Emperor Lo Bo’s skull, which Zhatra Jhattari had stripped of its flesh and decorated with gold.

“If the Khaleesi should one day visit the Jogos Nhai plains as a guest, I believe the Jhattari will surely use it to serve you.”

Oh, that’s so kind of you. Thank you for telling me this in advance. I shall be sure never to visit you in the future.

“Oh, I remember now,” Jorah said, a look of sudden realization on his face. He turned to the old zebra man with a questioning gaze. “A few days ago at the docks, I came across a mother and son from the east. Their ship was about to depart, but the little boy was leaning over the rail, crying and demanding to go see the pyromancers’ acrobatic show.

“The mother then threatened him in a low voice, saying, ‘If you don’t behave, I’ll give you to Zhatra of the Zebra Face after dark tonight.’ The boy fell silent at once, his little face went pale with fright, and he didn’t dare make another fuss.

“Is that ‘Zhatra of the Zebra Face’ an ancestor of your people, the Jhattari? Or is it just a shared name?”

“Hahaha!” the old Jogos Nhai laughed with pride. “That mother and son must have been people from Yi Ti, dressed in silk robes, yes?”

Jorah shook his head. “I’ve spent my whole life in the western continent, so I can’t distinguish between the different peoples of the east. But their clothing was indeed different from ours, very distinctive, and quite aristocratic.”

“They must have been merchants from the Golden Empire. After several thousand years, Zhatra Jhattari is still remembered by the people of Yi Ti. Mothers whisper her name, using those twisted horror stories to frighten their mischievous children.

“‘Zhatra of the Zebra Face’ is just one of her titles. There is also ‘Zhatra the Cruel,’ ‘Zhatra the Brain-Eater,’ and ‘Zhatra, Bride of the Devil.’ Because she never had children in her life, they also call her ‘Zhatra the Barren.’”

The old man’s attitude was casual, not at all angered by those titles. Dany could even see a hidden pride in his eyes.

Just hearing those names, no man would probably be able to get it up when facing ‘Zhatra the Barren’.

In that case, she couldn’t have gotten pregnant even if she wanted to!

Dany did not want to be called ‘Dany the Barren,’ ‘Dany the Cruel,’ or ‘Zebra…’ oh, it would be ‘Dany the Horse-Face.’

This also needed to be highlighted—not by her horsemen, but as a wake-up call for herself, a cautionary tale.

Yes, in the future, she would have to establish the official role of court historian.

Titles like “Most Beautiful Under Heaven,” “The Unattainable Flower on a High Peak Desired by All Men in the World,” “The Chaste Saintess,” “Dany, Whose Wisdom is like the Great Sun and Beauty like the Bright Moon,” “The Merciful Holy Mother,” “Mother of the Free,” “Torchbearer of the Light of Civilization,” and so on could all become part of her posthumous title… ahem, the kind of posthumous title that ran for several hundred words.

That’s right, she could also borrow “Old Man of Ten Perfect Accomplishments” and “The First Emperor Through the Ages.”

At this thought, a strange smile crept onto Dany’s lips. In the end, Zhatra was no match for her!

Er, even if that woman was known as ‘Zebra Face,’ her skin still wasn’t as thick as hers…

Chapter 45: The Magic Bird

Afterward, the old Jogos Nhai man went on to boast to Daenerys about the deeds of his Jhattari ancestors, who had destroyed the kingdom of the Jheggewin giants.

Daenerys was stunned. You even wiped out a kingdom of giants? That’s utterly insane!

Especially when the zebra man told her the Jheggewin giants stood seven or eight meters tall.

“I heard from a Maester that there might be Giants beyond the Wall, but they’re no taller than four meters at most.” Even Jorah was unsettled.

“Those are snow giants. The Jheggewin are stone giants. It’s like you and I—both human, but of different races. And you’re almost half a body taller than I am.”

The old Jogos Nhai man spoke with such wisdom that both Jorah and Daenerys were convinced.

When Daenerys, in a tone full of reverence, asked if they had kept any giant captives, the old man said, “There were only three in total, and they couldn’t reproduce. Even if the giants had surrendered, they would have died of old age over the past thousand years.”

Three, three, three…

Sir, what was that you just said? That you destroyed the Jheggewin giant “kingdom”?!

Daenerys’s expression at that moment must have been priceless.

After he boasted about the deeds of several more outstanding Jhattari, Daenerys felt she had a decent grasp of the zebra men’s social structure and asked about their religious beliefs.

“We believe in the Church of the Moonsingers.”

The old man’s first sentence stunned her.

The Moonsingers were a group she knew of. The witch Mirri had learned her birthing song from them.

More importantly, Daenerys knew that the Moonsingers held a very high status on the western continent as well.

“I heard that the founding of Braavos was based on a prophecy from the Moonsingers,” she asked.

“That’s right. When the Valyrian Freehold controlled the world, countless races were enslaved. The Jogos Nhai Plains were also within the Dragonlords’ reach, and the Dragonlords were far more terrible than the Son of Heaven of Yi Ti. They had dragons.” As he spoke, his eyes widened, and he stared for a long while at the three dragons beside Daenerys’s dining table.

“Alas, it’s so wrong. I detest slavery. Beneath the Seven, we should all be equal.” Daenerys, feigning innocence, began to present herself as a follower of the Seven.

The old Jogos Nhai man neither agreed nor disagreed, but his expression did soften considerably.

He said, “Those Valyrians were simply mad, insisting on mining beneath those fourteen volcanoes. Those were active volcanoes, spewing thick smoke and flowing with red lava. Every slave who entered the mines couldn’t even survive for a month.

“So the slave ships sailing to Valyria from all over the world were as numerous as fish in a river, an endless stream.

“About eight hundred years ago, a fleet of slave ships on the Summer Sea had a slave revolt. After the rebellion succeeded, the slaves fell into even deeper despair, for everyone knew that no one could escape the eyes of the dragons.

“Fortunately, one ship carried a group of female Jogos Nhai slaves. They were Moonsingers from the Jogos Nhai Plains.

“Through a prophecy, they found a place that could serve as a sanctuary for the slaves: behind hills covered in pine forests and sea reefs lay a lagoon, perpetually shrouded in fog, which could hide them from the eyes of the Dragonlords flying overhead.

“So the fleet detoured north, sailing toward the far northwestern corner of Essos. That place became Braavos.

“The Moonsingers’ prophecy came true, and the people of Braavos built the most magnificent temple for them in gratitude.”

“I see. The Moonsingers’ deeds are worthy of that temple. Yes, I’ve been to Braavos before.”

At that point, Daenerys shifted her attention. After a casual compliment, she asked, “Do you know what the Valyrians were mining in those volcanoes?”

“Red gold, gold, silver, and other ores. Those Valyrians were greedy beyond measure. In the end, they dug straight through to hell. It was retribution. The toxic fumes and fires from hell destroyed all of Valyria.”

Daenerys was somewhat disappointed. She had thought it might be some kind of magical material, but it turned out to be just for gold.

She had to abandon her useless fancies and return to the original topic. “What role do the Moonsingers play in your tribes?”

The old man said, “Prayer, healing, judgment—everything besides fighting. Because of the Moonsingers’ faith, we never fight among our own kind.”

Hmm, that’s also something to note.

“Alas, we Dothraki should really learn from our elders,” she said to the horse men.

Listeners as high-born and skilled at playing the straight man as Daenerys were truly rare. The old zebra man had never met one in his entire life. It was not until the moon hung low in the western sky and much of the night had passed that he finally smacked his lips, ending the boast-fest that had left him feeling utterly content.

The next morning, Daenerys had Aggo send a bay-colored foal to the old man as a return gift.

The foal had been born in White Cloud City and was only two months old, yet it had successfully crossed the thousand-li Red Waste, a testament to its exceptional quality.

Over the next few days, Daenerys received dozens more visitors. She found that besides receiving gifts, she was also broadening her horizons considerably.

She learned of the diverse races of the World of Ice and Fire, the unique crafts of each city-state, the colorful products from all corners of the world, and people of all sorts of personalities—uh, what one might call “oddballs.”

For example, a Qartheen widow, weeping, presented her with her husband’s mummified corpse.

It was covered in a layer of silver leaf. Such a corpse was said to possess immense magical power, especially since the deceased had been a warlock.

Refusing a gift was far more impolite than simply complaining about it in her head, so Daenerys could only accept it with a stiff expression and place the specially treated corpse in her treasure vault.

Afterward, the great merchant Xaro pulled her aside to a secluded spot and offered to buy the corpse from her.

When Daenerys asked why, he unabashedly told her that a warlock’s corpse had far more magical power than a dwarf’s member. Through special bloodmagic techniques, a sorcerer could transfer its power elsewhere.

For example, to his own member.

The portly merchant told her sorrowfully that he had started from scratch, rising from a penniless errand boy to become one of The Thirteen. He had paid a great price: his healthy body, his vigorous physique, his youthful good looks.

When he was poor and had good teeth, he would drool at the sight of fine meats but couldn’t afford them. Now that he had money, his teeth were failing, and he couldn’t even eat the delicacies set before him.

Ahem… the Qartheen merchant’s vigor was failing—his slug-like member needed a magical boost.

“This is actually good for you, too.” Seeing Daenerys hesitate, he winked suggestively. “You know I’ve always been madly in love with you. Marrying me is the best choice for you, and if I have a healthy body, it will only turn ‘the best choice’ into ‘the very best choice.’”

All right, Daenerys understood now. He wasn’t just winking suggestively; he was trying to look seductive.

She was instantly disgusted.

“I have no interest in that warlock’s corpse, but the poor widow…” Daenerys said hesitantly. “He was her husband, after all. What if she regrets it, or suddenly misses him, and comes back to ask for him… uh, for the body, back?”

“She won’t. A gift given is like water spilled—impossible to take back!” His fat, boiled-egg-like head shook from side to side. “Besides, you are the great Mother of Dragons, Her Majesty the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the most honored guest in Qarth, and the lover I pursue with all my heart. Why should you fear a common woman?”

“I don’t like to throw my weight around,” Daenerys said flatly.

This oaf was treating her like a child.

“Then just tell her directly: I love you, I want to marry you, and my thing isn’t working, so I need the magical boost from your husband. That way, he’s being put to good use. She should be honored to help you. After all, that was her intention in giving you the corpse, wasn’t it?”

Xaro was shameless.

Curing his “thing” was supposed to be a favor to her?

Daenerys wanted to slap him. No, one slap wouldn’t be enough. She needed to kick him ten times, then have Big Black, Little White, and their brother burn him to ash with Dragonflame.

“How much will you offer?” she asked.

With an expression that said, we’re all friends here, Xaro said, “The market price is about two hundred radiants. I’ll give you one hundred, how about that?”

“We’re friends. Talking about money hurts our friendship.” Daenerys paused, waiting until a delighted look appeared on his fat face before adding, “Let our stewards discuss it.”

Only Jorah was capable of handling this matter. She secretly told him to be sure to fleece the man.

Ever since she had repeatedly rejected Xaro’s overt and covert marriage proposals, she hadn’t eaten stir-fried peacock tongue once.

After a few times, she had gone from barely being able to swallow it to slightly appreciating it, and then from appreciating it to loving it. Just as she had finally cultivated a taste for luxury, he had suddenly cut it off.

Yes, Daenerys couldn’t afford such things with her own finances.

Besides the food, the number of servants had also dwindled.

For instance, the beautiful handmaidens who danced and sang for her at every meal grew fewer by the day. There had been twenty-four at the start, but now only four remained.

Conquering a woman who had never known luxury was actually quite simple.

If you have money, you use it to let her live like a princess for a while, and then you make her understand that such a life can only continue if she is with you.

This was why domineering CEOs were so popular. The “domineering” part wasn’t really important; the key was that he was a “CEO.”

Without a doubt, Xaro was also a CEO, and he wanted to use the same method to subdue Daenerys.

He certainly didn’t love her, but if he married her, he could get her dragons.

Jorah had told her about a peculiar Qartheen marriage custom. On their wedding day, a wife may ask for a token of love from her husband. Whatever she asks for in all the world, he must grant it if it is within his power. He, in turn, has the right to ask the same of her, and though he may ask for only one thing, she may not refuse him.

“Xaro will surely ask for one of your dragons. A single dragon would be enough to elevate his power to the next level, making him the sole master of this city,” Jorah told her with a cold smile.

A few days later, Xaro found her, beaming, holding a pair of slippers woven from blue leather. “Look at this!”

“Slippers.” Daenerys couldn’t imagine what else they could be.

“Your persimmons have been accepted by the Gate Opener! The final barrier to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones is now open.” He held up the blue slippers and waved them, saying proudly, “This is the invitation the Pureborn have given you. Sending blue slippers is their tradition. Tomorrow, you can wear them to meet the Pureborn!”

The “Temple of Memory” represented the clergy of Qarth, the “Keepers of the Chronicle” were the administrative officials, and the “Gate Opener” was the chief chamberlain.

She had indeed sent large, yellow-orange persimmons, but at the same time, five thousand gold radiants had been carried into the chief chamberlain’s backyard.

Chapter 46: Meeting the Pureborn

The Pureborn were descendants of the ancient kings and queens of Qarth. They were not a single person, but a group of direct blood heirs.

Xaro looked at Daenerys’s dress and admonished her with great fuss, warning that to meet the Pureborn and win their favor, she absolutely must wear a traditional Qartheen gown.

That is, the long, breast-baring dresses worn by the ladies and maidens of Qarth on the streets. Other than completely exposing the right breast, they were no different from ordinary dresses.

“It’s not that I disrespect the Pureborn, but as a guest, if I were to wear the same clothes as a Qartheen woman, wouldn’t that be an attempt to obscure my own identity? Wouldn’t that be even more disrespectful to the Pureborn?” Daenerys argued slyly.

She didn’t want to expose her breasts to be leered at by a crowd of men, even if they were a bit small.

In truth, it wasn’t really a sly argument. There was no etiquette that required a guest to wear the same clothes as their host when meeting them.

Unless that guest had no dignity and was fawning over the host, hoping to get something from them.

In that case, they would no longer have the relationship of guest and host, but rather that of a beggar and an almsgiver.

These past few days, how many ‘Dragon Seekers’ had Daenerys received? They were mostly from different peoples, and all wore their own ethnic attire. Not a single one had changed into a Dothraki painted vest.

From this matter, it was clear that Xaro, fundamentally, had always looked down on her.

Many civilized city-states feared the horse men, but they also looked down on them. Clearly, in the eyes of this Qartheen, Daenerys was also a savage horse man, not the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Princess of Dragonstone.

The original Daenerys had been bent on restoring her dynasty. She desperately hoped to receive help from the Qartheen, so she had always done her best to accommodate them.

But even when she wore the traditional Qartheen dress, the Pureborn didn’t lend her a single soldier.

Hmm, speaking of which, the current Daenerys was still puzzled. The city before her was completely different from the Qarth in Game of Thrones.

Xaro wasn’t black at all. On the contrary, he was milky white.

Nor did he crazily conspire with the warlocks to kill the other twelve members of The Thirteen. Because here, there was a city guard, camel cavalry, and a massive fleet. Even at the height of their power, the warlocks had to lie low.

Besides, killing them would be useless. The Thirteen were merchants. If they died, countless other merchants would take their place.

Finally, Qarth was immensely wealthy.

A moment’s thought made it clear. Could the Suez ever be poor?

If Daenerys had truly succeeded in sacking this city as she did in the TV series, she could have easily bought all of Slaver’s Bay, with no need to acquire the Unsullied of Astapor through deceit.

“The Pureborn will absolutely refuse to receive someone wearing a Dothraki painted vest.” The words of Xaro the Milk Man pulled Daenerys from her thoughts.

She thought for a moment and said, “The horsemen don’t just have painted vests. We should have our own distinctive clothing. A cheongsam… uh, also called a Dothraki robe.”

Then she had Irri fetch a long, peony-red robe from a chest.

Soft, smooth silk from Qohor, trimmed with gold thread, with short sleeves. A white rose was embroidered on the collar and another on the hem, and a slit on one side ran up to mid-thigh.

When Daenerys, having changed into the cheongsam—sewn by a Qartheen tailor according to her own design—appeared before Xaro, his mouth fell open. His piggy eyes bulged, round as marbles, as if they were about to be shocked straight.

“Is this truly the attire of the horse men?” he asked in disbelief, swallowing hard.

“This is a Dothraki cheongsam, the clothes of us horsemen,” the Dothraki handmaiden said proudly.

“What do you think?” Daenerys spun around on the spot, her gaze fixed on Xaro.

“Much better than the painted vests.” He nodded, his admiring gaze carefully examining the cheongsam. He praised, “Simple, yet full of charm. Both sensual and dignified. It perfectly reveals a woman’s figure and allure. Good, very good. Khaleesi, you have single-handedly raised the cultural standing of the Dothraki by a huge measure!”

These words made Daenerys look at the Milk Man before her in a new light. His aesthetic sense and ability to accept new things were far beyond that of an ordinary person.

That afternoon, Daenerys, wearing a silver collar around her neck, a form-fitting cheongsam of red with white peonies, and blue slippers on her feet, arrived at the gates of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones by carriage, escorted by her Bloodriders and Jorah.

Yes, one absolutely could not ride a horse while wearing a cheongsam. This was why she and her handmaidens had owned them for a while but had never worn them in public.

They were beautiful, to be sure, but utterly impractical for horsemen.

As for the silver collar, which resembled a gorget, it looked at first glance to be the same style as the one worn by the Red Priestess Melisandre. It was a choker of precious metal with a large, dazzling gemstone set in the center.

But the Red Priestess’s was a ruby, while Daenerys’s was an amethyst—a magical amethyst, a gift from Xaro for her protection.

He had said the Pureborn had a poor reputation and often bestowed poisoned wine upon those they deemed a threat. The magical amethyst had anti-poison properties, guaranteed to make Daenerys immune to all toxins.

In another world, Daenerys would have scoffed, but in this fantastical other realm, no matter how bizarre something seemed, she had to at least keep an open mind.

To Daenerys’s surprise, the Pureborn requested that she not bring her dragons to the audience. Xaro had commented on this with scorn: “Your dragons breathe fire. The Pureborn are like a brood of silkworms cowering in a warm nursery, unable to adapt to the outside world. Even the most trivial potential harm would make them cry out in terror.”

Daenerys glanced at him, thinking to herself, If it weren’t for treacherous merchants like you doing some terrible things to the Pureborn, would they be so easily startled?

But the Pureborn still wanted to see the dragons.

She brought her Bloodriders and dragons, following a portly, old black eunuch through the palace gates. They went down a corridor on the left and entered a training ground next to the main hall, where the Pureborn would normally stand atop a spired tower in the front to watch their soldiers drill.

At this moment, the square paved with colorful pebbles was empty, while on the top-floor balcony of the high tower, the shadowy figures of a group of people could be seen.

“Mother of Dragons, you may unchain the true dragons and let them soar freely over the Hall of a Thousand Thrones!” The old eunuch’s eyes crinkled into a pair of smiling crescents.

Daenerys sighed. When you’re under someone else’s roof, you always end up doing things that leave a bad taste in your mouth.

She unfastened the iron collars from the necks of the three dragons one by one, silently saying to Big Black in her heart: They’re treating us like pets for their amusement. Take your two brothers and fly a circle outside the city. Remember, stay away from people, and don’t land until I call for you.

“Scree—” Big Black launched himself into the air, intending to leap into the sky in a single bound without gliding as he had before. But as he pushed off, his left leg gave way, and his body staggered and tumbled onto the pebbled ground.

“Hahaha, Big Black, you’ve been eating too much these past few days! You’re getting fat!” Daenerys laughed heartily.

In the half-month since they arrived in Qarth, the three dragons had not flown once. They were supplied with an unlimited amount of fresh raw meat every day, and everyone could see they had grown a size fatter.

They had even started to look a little chubby and cute.

But they were dragons, after all, and dragons belonged to the vast sky. Soon, the three of them were flapping their wings, running a dozen steps along the ground before leaping into the air. They glided into the sky, circled the square a few times, and then gradually climbed to an altitude of over a thousand meters.

The old eunuch placed a right hand that looked like a braised ham hock to his brow, watching as the three dragons became black dots and disappeared from view. Then he smacked his lips, with a sated yet still wanting expression, and said, “True dragons, those are true dragons! Khaleesi, couldn’t you have let them circle a few more times?”

“Even if I shouted at the top of my lungs now, they wouldn’t hear me,” Daenerys said with a helpless shrug.

“Very well.”

He then led Daenerys and her party back to the main hall atop the high platform. They climbed ninety-nine stone steps and waited before the doors for a full half hour. The hardwood doors, wider than the city gates and studded with gold nails, creaked open with the weight of history.

A portly, pale man dressed in loose silken robes and trousers with colorful stripes walked out slowly. He gave Daenerys and her group an indifferent glance and said to her in High Valyrian, tinged with a Qartheen accent, “The Pureborn are waiting for you, Khaleesi. Please have your followers remain outside.”

The fat man’s tone was level, without a trace of personal emotion, like a messenger robot. However, his speech had a melodious, lilting cadence that was surprisingly pleasant to the ear.

Daenerys nodded to Jorah and her Bloodriders, then followed the pale, stout man into the palace’s main hall.

The hall was a thousand square meters, roughly thirty by forty meters. Windows lined all four walls, providing excellent lighting. The moment Daenerys entered, she saw the lavishly dressed Qartheen at the other end of the hall.

From the center of the hall, marble steps gradually ascended to a high stone platform between the steps and the domed ceiling.

Enormous wooden chairs, twenty-four in total, were arranged in an arc on the high platform.

The chairs were not only immense but also strangely carved. Their gilded surfaces shone brilliantly, and the arms and backs were inlaid with amber, agate, jade, and emerald. Each chair was different, like flowers competing in splendor.

On each chair sat a milky-skinned member of the Qartheen Pureborn. They were dressed in magnificent Qartheen robes. There were old and young, brawny muscle men and frail invalids. Some stared intently at Daenerys’s graceful, swaying steps, but many more had wandering, distracted eyes, as if having seen the dragons was enough to fulfill the day’s purpose.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms.” Daenerys introduced herself with composure, placing a hand on her chest and curtsying. “I am deeply honored to be summoned by the glorious and ancient Pureborn of Qarth.”

After a long, quiet moment, a middle-aged man on the left spoke up. “Mother of Dragons, your cheongsam is a refreshing sight.”

His name was Wendrow, one of the targets Xaro had recommended she bribe.

Besides him, two other members of the Pureborn had accepted her radiants.

Xaro had advised her that she would need a few people on-site to speak for her.

She hadn’t thought much of it before. Now, although Daenerys felt the money wasn’t well-spent, it hadn’t been a complete waste either.

Yes, everyone else was watching her in silence, as if she were in a puppet show.

Do audiences speak to the puppets on stage?

The Pureborn did not greet her. After a long wait, only Wendrow had spoken, and only to compliment her cheongsam.

However, Daenerys quickly remembered her goal for the day: to eliminate the Pureborn’s worries about a potential new Dragonlord.

So, following the script she had prepared, she began to state her request, rambling on about how “I am the last of the Targaryens, with the right to inherit the throne of the Seven Kingdoms,” and “The people of the Seven Kingdoms are secretly sewing dragon banners in their homes, and they will rise up at my call when I return,” and “The Magister of Trade in Pentos and the Sealord of Braavos both support my restoration…”

Like a naive young girl lost in fantasy, she prattled on and on, speaking of her longing for her home in Westeros, her optimism about reclaiming the throne, and her hopes for the nobles and good people of the Seven Kingdoms.

Chapter 47: I Am So Sorry

A few days ago, Daenerys had gone to the Temple of Memory to peruse the history of Qarth.

From the thick sheepskin books, she gleaned three important pieces of information. First, a world map centered on Qarth, which gave her a sense of the world’s full scope. Second, her suspicions regarding White Cloud City were confirmed.

Before the Doom of Valyria, Slaver’s Bay had been connected to the great city-states of the Valyrian Freehold by the Valyrian roads.

Forged from molten rock with magic, the Valyrian roads were monolithic stone structures, wider and more durable than modern highways. Through them and the riverlands of the Rhoyne in the west, almost all the great cities were linked together.

To get rich, first build a road.

There was no safer or faster passage than the Valyrian roads. In those days, merchants often took the route from the Far East, across the Jade Sea to Qarth, through White Cloud City to Slaver’s Bay, and then onto the Valyrian roads to the rest of the world. This was what had allowed for the desert miracle that was White Cloud City.

Daenerys had been wrong about one thing: the dry riverbed she had seen was not natural, but an artificial canal.

The Valyrians had driven slaves to dig it from the source of the Lhazar River. It ran for nearly a thousand kilometers, past two of the white cities, and ended at the third.

More than three hundred years ago, Valyria was destroyed in the Doom. The entire Land of the Long Summer became shrouded in a strange curse, and the Valyrian Road from Slaver’s Bay to Volantis became the Demon Road, feared by all.

Thus, the thousand-year-old “Silk Road” between East and West came to an end. Merchants could only travel by sea, avoiding the road from Volantis to Qarth.

The white cities lost their reason for being, and the canal, which required massive amounts of labor to maintain every few years, gradually dried up.

In less than a hundred years, the white cities, their strength faded to almost nothing, were wiped out by passing horsemen.

But to return to the matter at hand, the third piece of information Daenerys had obtained from the Temple of Memory concerned Valyria.

The Dragonlords of Valyria had captured slaves as far east as the Jogos Nhai Plains, so how could they have possibly spared Qarth, which was right on their doorstep?

On the day the dragons descended upon the city, the ancient royal family of Qarth was annihilated. Only a single princess survived to become the wife of a Valyrian Dragonlord. The two of them were the ancestors of the Pureborn who now stood before Daenerys.

Daenerys guessed that the Pureborn must both covet her dragons and fear them immensely.

As the Mother of Dragons, she had the power to become the ancestor of the next royal line of Qarth, just as the Dragonlord had done all those years ago.

So, Daenerys made her plea to the Pureborn on the high dais, “Great rulers of the undying city of Qarth, I ask of you, lend me a fleet that I may return to the homeland I long for day and night. The people of Westeros will be grateful to you for bringing back their queen.”

As she finished, she dabbed at her eyes and began to weep sorrowfully.

The onions of Qarth were truly potent!

It was a little awkward. In the vast hall, her soft sobs actually echoed. It was simply too empty and too quiet; no one responded to her.

“Sob, sob, sob…” Perhaps the Pureborn also found the cold silence too awkward, because a weeping sound came from the high platform.

It was that same shill.

Wendrow, who had accepted 777 gold radiants from Daenerys.

“Daenerys, your words are so moving. Your emotion has touched me deeply,” he said, wiping away a tear.

Daenerys’s eyes widened, and she waited expectantly for him to continue. It would be wonderful if he could give her a few dozen warships.

“But my passion is music. I have no interest in commerce, unlike the members of The Thirteen, each of whom possesses a vast fleet. Although I am as rich as a kingdom, I do not have the great sea vessels you require.”

Daenerys’s heart sank. You bastard, she thought. To call yourself as rich as a kingdom and still be so stingy.

“Khaleesi, your attire, your etiquette, the way you speak… all of it moves me.” Another of the bribed Pureborn, a man known as “Aigon the Elegant,” gently refused her in a tear-choked voice. “I am one of the Pureborn, but I am more a poet. For your plight, I wish to compose a poem.”

With that, he began to recite poetry in melodic High Valyrian, weeping all the while.

The poem was about the last princess of an ancient kingdom, how she endured countless trials and tribulations, and how, in the end, with incredible luck, she won the support of many subjects, defeated the usurper, successfully married a handsome prince, and grew to become a great queen.

If they couldn’t send a fleet to help Daenerys restore her kingdom, they could at least fulfill her dreams this way!

“Sob, sob, sob… so moving. I, too, wish you swift success, Your Grace, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” For many, this was the first time they had spoken. And it was… a refusal.

Some, like Aigon, refused her with gentle words. Others remained silent—a rejection in itself.

At some point, the fat steward, who had been standing quietly with his hands clasped at the bottom left of the steps, suddenly shifted a few paces toward the center. He was careful not to disturb the Pureborn on their five-meter-high dais, but was positioned just so Daenerys would notice him.

Daenerys caught sight of him making a subtle gesture, signaling that today’s petition was over.

What? It’s over?

Even if they weren’t going to give her warships, shouldn’t there be a gift in return?

She had spent over ten thousand radiants on bribes, front and back.

To raise the money, she had even sold off most of the gifts she had received from visitors.

These Pureborn of Qarth were truly one of a kind. They had no regard for the courtesy owed to a guest. They were absolute cheapskates!

In her mind, Daenerys cursed eighteen generations of the Pureborn’s ancestors, but on her face, she maintained a look of sorrow. Wiping her tears, she expressed her gratitude to the Pureborn, then politely asked for leave to depart.

After leaving the palace, she waited in an armory in a side hall for an hour. As dusk began to fall, her three dragons landed beside her. She refastened their chains, and then her party left the Hall of a Thousand Thrones, following the same path they had taken to arrive.

When she had come by ox-cart at noon, the sun had been high in the sky, the weather too hot for many people to be out. The streets had been sparse. Now, as evening approached, the wide avenue was clogged with a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.

Up ahead, Jhogo had to crack his whip in the air, making it snap loudly, while yelling from horseback, “Make way, you Milk Men! Make way! Make way for the Mother of Dragons!”

But his unpolished Valyrian only drew curious stares and did nothing to alleviate the congestion. The ox-cart could only inch forward.

The great merchant Xaro seemed accustomed to this. He reclined leisurely against a cool mat-covered backrest, poured ruby-red wine into a pair of matching emerald-and-gold goblets, and passed one smoothly to Daenerys, who sat opposite him. “My light of love, I see deep disappointment written in your swollen eyes. Did they refuse you?”

Daenerys took the goblet and gulped down more than half of its contents. “Your eyes are like torches, seeing the truth of all matters. Yes, the Pureborn refused me without the slightest hesitation.”

“Or rather,” she added, “they never had any intention of helping me. They summoned me purely out of curiosity about the dragons and their own boredom.”

Xaro’s face showed no trace of surprise. He poured himself some more wine and asked casually, “What did they say?”

“Wendrow said he had no ships to help me. ‘Aigon the Elegant’ tearfully recited a poem for me. And Mathos, who took 500 of my radiants, couldn’t even be bothered to voice his refusal.” Daenerys sighed and asked, “Can I have Ser Jorah ask him for the money back?”

“Alas, these Qartheen have no honor. A man without honor cannot survive in the world of commerce, yet Qarth is the greatest city of trade. That is why the power of the Pureborn dwindles and their reputation worsens.” Xaro sneered derisively for a moment, then looked at Daenerys with a serious expression and warned her, “Do not mention retrieving the gift again—unless you wish for the Sorrowful Men to sneak into my palace one night and murder you in your sleep.”

“Sorrowful Men.” Daenerys nodded, dropping the matter of getting her money back from Mathos.

Besides their habit of bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, which they considered the mark of a civilized person, the Qartheen had another characteristic: they were unfailingly polite.

When a Qartheen assassin killed someone, he would very politely say to his victim, “I am so sorry.” Thus, that ancient guild of assassins became known throughout the world as the “Sorrowful Men.”

Hmph, a self-righteous sort of politeness, Daenerys thought. Her experience in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones that afternoon did not leave her with the impression that the people of Qarth were polite at all.

“Oh, my love, do not be so heartbroken. What you experienced today is not unique.” Xaro spread his arms wide, resting them on the back of the divan, the wine goblet dangling from two fingers of his right hand swaying gently. “There is a saying in Qarth: getting money from the Pureborn is harder than milking the stone oxen of Pharos.”

“Do you know of Pharos? It is an island in the Jade Sea where the people worship stone oxen. Is that not peculiar?”

“If you would marry me, my pleasure barge could take you there to see the local sights. In fact, my trade caravans are spread throughout the Jade Sea. You could go anywhere you wished.”

“We could travel to Yi Ti. We could even seek out the city of dreams the poets speak of. We could go to the Jogos Nhai Plains and sip the wine of wisdom from the skulls of the dead.”

“I wish to sail to Westeros and sip the wine of vengeance from the Usurper’s skull. Why don’t you come with me to King’s Landing? The scenery of the Sunset Lands is more beautiful and more mysterious than that of the Jade Sea.” Daenerys winked at him and said with a smile, “Besides the astonishing Wall beyond the border, I hear there are Others in the far north!”

“Do you know of the Others? Terrifying monsters that can bring the long night to the world. Far more interesting than some stone oxen!”

“Let the Others come. Even the long night would not chill my heart more than being rejected by you again.” The portly man wiped his face, actually managing to squeeze a few more tears from his eyes.

Indeed, every man of Qarth could weep on command.

“I have told you many times, I am a merchant. All merchants are pacifists. War is the killer of stable trade. We may hope for others to go to war, but we never participate in it ourselves.”

“Besides, I cannot understand what is so wonderful about that iron chair in King’s Landing. I hear your ancestor forged it from a thousand swords. It must be cold and hard and sharp—a veritable iron monster.”

“Aren’t you afraid those jagged spikes will tear your beautiful buttocks?” the merchant said, rejecting Daenerys once more.

“BOOM!”

Outside the carriage, on the street, a great roar suddenly erupted from countless citizens. The massive wave of sound seemed as if it would overturn the ox-cart Daenerys was riding in.

“Screech—” The ox-cart jerked to a sudden halt.

“What’s happening?” Daenerys called out loudly through the gauze curtains.

Chapter 48: The Return of Magic

“Khaleesi, there’s a pyromancer ahead, performing in the street. It’s packed with Milk Men, and they’re blocking the entire road,” Aggo said, ducking his head to the window of the oxcart and shouting.

He had to shout to be heard. The clamor on the street was a boiling cauldron of sound; people and voices were everywhere, a scene more chaotic than the busiest of festival days.

“It’s just a pyromancer. You see those fellows every day in the alleys, docks, and taverns. Nothing special,” Xaro said with a look of indifference.

He seemed to be used to the traffic jams in Qarth. Completely unperturbed by the environment, he pulled a bottle of red wine from a small compartment under his seat, brandished it at Daenerys, and said, “Weren’t you feeling homesick? This is the finest golden wine from the Arbor. Let’s have another glass.”

“No, thank you. Pyromancers aren’t so common in Westeros. I’m going out to have a look,” Daenerys said, shaking her head.

In truth, one could often encounter pyromancers in the streets and alleys of Braavos and Pentos, and even King’s Landing, under the doctrine of the Seven, had its Pyromancers’ Guild.

The pyromancers Daenerys had encountered before were more like acrobats or magicians than actual mages.

But Daenerys had no desire to continue the pointless chatter with Xaro; she was weary of it.

“Find me a horse,” she said, leaning her head out from behind the curtain and calling to her Bloodriders.

“Khaleesi, your cheongsam is not suitable for riding,” Ser Jorah said, taking a few steps forward.

Her three Bloodriders flanked the oxcart, one to the left, one to the right, and one leading the way in front. Ser Jorah guarded the rear with Quaro, watching over the dragon cage in the second oxcart.

“Ugh, how troublesome,” Daenerys muttered, looking around. She realized she wasn’t tall enough for her line of sight to clear the dense crowd.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She smiled. “I’ll stand on the ox’s back. Aggo, you can hold me steady.”

This oxcart was one of Xaro’s gifts to Daenerys. The carriage was crafted from ebony and gold, and the bulls that drew it were magnificent beasts, one in a thousand—one was white as ivory, the other black as jade. They were incredibly majestic, yet exceptionally docile and obedient.

Even their horns were inlaid with jewels.

With that, she hopped down from the cart, squeezed her way to the white bull, and stood lightly upon its broad back with the agility of a nimble ape, requiring no help from Aggo at all.

She hadn’t been prepared for what she would see. A single glance was enough to give Daenerys a great shock. The pyromancer was a small man with a dark, gaunt face and a monkey-like build, dressed in a tight red robe. At that moment, he too was like a magical monkey. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a blazing ladder out of thin air, two meters above the ground.

He leaped into the air and landed on the swaying, flickering ladder of red fire. He did not fall, and Daenerys could see no hidden supports whatsoever.

In fact, that was only the beginning. Standing on the ethereal fire ladder, he waved his hands again and again. A series of orange-red rungs appeared in an orderly spiral, extending up toward the latticed ceiling high above. Then, like an agile monkey, he began to climb. With each step he took, the rung behind him dissolved into nothing but a wisp of silver smoke.

Higher and higher he climbed, a full four stories high. At the top, he waved to the wildly cheering crowd below, then abruptly leaned backward. His entire body, along with the final rung of the fiery ladder, vanished without a trace.

Daenerys’s eyes widened as she stared at the empty, yellow-tinged sky. Impossible, she screamed in her mind.

If a common street-performing pyromancer is this powerful, how am I supposed to make my way in this world?

“Aggo, Ser Jorah, what did you two make of that?” she couldn’t help but ask the two men guarding her by the white bull.

They were on horseback, tall enough to have witnessed the miracle alongside her.

“A very fine trick. Many court magicians are not his equal,” Ser Jorah praised loudly.

“Did you understand it? Where did he go? How could he stand on fire out of thin air? Could it be real magic?” Daenerys asked in a rush.

“Hahaha, Your Grace, you’re overthinking it. It’s just a little trick of a street performer. This is how they earn their bread. They wouldn’t be any good if they couldn’t fool us,” Jorah laughed heartily.

“That was no trick,” a woman said in the Common Tongue.

Only upon hearing the voice did Daenerys notice that Quaithe had somehow appeared beside the white bull. She was dressed in her usual gray linen hooded robe, her face hidden behind her red lacquered mask.

There was no telling how long she had been standing there; they had all completely overlooked her.

She might be a sorceress, but she’s clearly maxed out her stealth skill, Daenerys complained silently. Riding sidesaddle on the bull’s back, she smiled and greeted her. “My lady sorceress, it has been a while. I trust you are well?”

After the pleasantry, she quickly inquired, “Do you know the secret to that illusion? Or was it truly magic? But how could that be possible?”

“Half a year ago, I would have agreed with you without even needing to see it for myself. But things are different now, Daenerys. You have brought the power of magic back into this world.” Behind the mask, Quaithe’s eyes reflected a moist glimmer.

Daenerys blinked hard, but she could not make out the color of her eyes.

“Isn’t that an exaggeration? If I had such power, I wouldn’t be so ignorant of magic myself,” she said with a laugh.

Quaithe pointed toward the pyromancer, who had reappeared in the crowd from who knows where. “I know him,” she said seriously. “Half a year ago, in this very spot, he couldn’t even light a fire with dragonglass. He had to rely on gunpowder and wildfire to deceive the ignorant fools.”

“Daenerys, look again, closely. That fat Qartheen in the colorful robes is a priest from the Temple of Memory. And the girl in the felt hat behind him… watch her.”

Daenerys followed her gesture and focused her gaze. Seven or eight meters away, a girl dressed as a wealthy lady in a felt hat and a magenta dress leaned against the fat priest’s side for a moment, then casually pushed her way through the crowd in another direction.

“That girl is a pickpocket! I saw her cut the Milk Man priest’s purse with a blade!” Aggo exclaimed.

“Now do you understand?” Quaithe looked at Daenerys and said flatly, “The pyromancer uses a magical performance to distract the audience, while the pickpockets he keeps take the opportunity to get to work.”

“But what does that prove?” Daenerys murmured.

“He is not a proper pyromancer.”

“You saw the fire ladder with your own eyes. Half a year ago, he could only perform tricks like walking on hot coals or making burning roses bloom in the air—I don’t need to explain those; you can guess the secrets yourself. Compared to his performance now, the difference is as that between cloud and mud.”

Finally, she said to Daenerys with a sigh, “The reason is simple. The tide of magic is coming in. His own magical power is growing, and the power of every practitioner of the mystic arts in this world is rapidly increasing.”

“You’re unwilling to teach me magic, so what’s the use in telling me this?” Daenerys said noncommittally.

Even if the dragons brought magic back to the world, she couldn’t cast even the most basic of spells.

After hearing Quaithe’s words today, she was even more determined to abandon any thought of studying in Asshai.

If she really went to that city of sorcerers, would she be learning sorcery from them, or would they be studying sorcery from her?

“I must warn you, Daenerys Targaryen.” Quaithe suddenly stepped forward and gripped Daenerys’s right hand, which was resting on the bull’s back. “You must leave this city quickly, or you will not be able to leave at all.”

“Child of the Shadow, do not touch the Mother of Dragons!” Jhogo’s eyes flashed. He deftly rapped Quaithe’s knuckles with the handle of his whip. Her fingers smarted, and she immediately pulled her hand back.

Daenerys frowned and lifted her right hand, examining it closely. The skin was fair and delicate, without so much as a red mark.

Was it my imagination?

The moment Quaithe’s hand had touched her wrist, a sharp, piercing pain had shot through the point of contact.

It had come as suddenly as it had gone, so fast that she wasn’t sure if it had been a hallucination.

“What is the danger?” she asked.

Quaithe, however, remained composed, showing no anger at being struck by Jhogo. “The Pureborn have seen your dragons. You have refused Xaro many times and will continue to do so. The warlocks have always coveted your dragons; you should understand this yourself. None of the great powers in Qarth are your friends. Is that not danger enough?”

Daenerys glanced discreetly at the oxcart behind them before saying noncommittally, “Where do you think I should go? And no, I will not go to Asshai.”

Quaithe said faintly, “To go north, you must travel south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light, you must pass through shadow. This is your destiny.”

“Sigh. Why do you insist I go to Asshai? A single wretched witch easily ruined my life, and that city is filled with countless sorcerers who study the mystic powers,” Daenerys said, exasperated.

“The truth is there. The truth of the world that you must know,” Quaithe said.

Then, without waiting for another question, she bowed and vanished into the crowd.

Aggo watched Quaithe’s retreating figure, snorted, and said, “No sane person would trust a Child of the Shadow.”

“Hahaha, your savages possess a wisdom they don’t even know they have.” Xaro had been in the carriage and had heard their entire conversation. He pulled back the curtain and invited Daenerys back inside. “Even if you continue to refuse me, I remain your most loyal friend and most ardent suitor. You may treat my palace as your own home and stay as long as you wish.”

“Thank you. You are my most trusted friend, the gentleman Xaro,” Daenerys said with a sweet smile.

Trust you? Like hell I do, she thought. It’s time to leave.

As the sun set, their party returned to Xaro’s manse. After dealing with Xaro, Daenerys immediately summoned Jorah to her study to ask his opinion on Quaithe’s words.

“Though I do not trust her, Quaithe was right about one thing: the longer we stay here, the more dangerous it becomes. Even from the perspective of Guest Right, a short visit makes one a guest. If we linger too long, our stay becomes a residency, and we can no longer be considered guests.” Jorah was once again speaking of traditions from the North.

“Where do you think we should go next?” she asked.

“East. The far east is more than just Asshai. There are many trading city-states on the Jade Sea,” Jorah said.

Daenerys said flatly, “Going east would mean all but giving up on returning to Westeros, giving up on allies like Illyrio who support House Targaryen.”

“Illyrio is not to be trusted. He is very fat, which means he is gluttonous. As the saying goes, ‘a glutton is always greedy.’ At the same time, he is a man of high rank and great power, and there’s another saying: ‘a man in power is always cunning by nature.’ How can you trust a man who is both greedy and cunning?” Jorah said gravely.

Chapter 49: Elathun the Night-walker

“As for Westeros,” Jorah’s expression darkened, and he spoke with resignation, “I don’t know if you should give up that dangerous iron chair, but I understand full well that the longer you stay in one place, the easier it is for your enemies to find you. The name Targaryen strikes fear into the hearts of traitors, especially now that they know you have dragons.”

“Ser, thank you for being so thoughtful on my behalf.” Daenerys offered her sincere thanks, then looked him straight in the eyes and asked, “Westeros is just a dream to me, but what does it mean to you? If I am no longer a queen vying for the Seven Kingdoms, can I still have a completely trustworthy Queensguard?”

Daenerys had never been fixated on seizing the Iron Throne. All the ambition she displayed for Westeros was a ruse.

A ruse to deceive Xaro, to deceive the people of Qarth, to deceive Quaithe—and even Jorah Mormont was an important target of this deception.

Westeros meant nothing to Daenerys, but to the Bear, it was the homeland he could not let go of.

Jorah Mormont couldn’t deny it himself. Part of his loyalty to Daenerys stemmed from the strong possibility that she could restore the Targaryen dynasty.

If Daenerys became queen, he, as a member of her Queensguard, could wash away all the stains on his name and return home in great glory.

“Daenerys, you can always trust the loyalty of a man who admires you,” he said, using her name directly.

“That is precisely the problem,” Daenerys said with a sigh. “If I can never return your admiration, nor allow you to return to your homeland in glory, what is the point of your loyalty to me?”

“Your Grace, must you be so cruel?” Jorah gave a bitter smile.

Keeping you as a backup option would be the real cruelty, Daenerys thought.

“You are a dependable older brother, a trustworthy friend. I do not wish to lie to you, so please, do not lie to me either,” she said.

Jorah’s face first flushed red, his emotions running high. But upon hearing her last sentence, his expression suddenly paled. “I haven’t lied to you, and I never will,” he blurted out.

You are lying to me at this very moment.

Today was such a perfect opportunity to confess. If you had just taken the chance to reveal your status as a spy for King’s Landing, I would have forgiven you on the spot. It would have ended this torturous life you lead as a mole. Why couldn’t you grasp it?

Daenerys could entrust her safety to this Queensguard, but complete trust was out of the question. At least, not for now.

“Ser, tomorrow, take Aggo to the Blacksmiths’ Guild and order a batch of… leather armor.” Daenerys had originally meant to say “iron armor,” but after considering the horsemen’s customs, she immediately changed it to leather.

First, their traditions had not yet changed. The horsemen warriors rejected iron armor, viewing it as a cowardly way to fight.

Second, light cavalrymen lacked the training and awareness of armored heavy knights. To put it simply, the horsemen hadn’t yet added “heavy cavalry” to their skill set.

Third, Daenerys recalled the bronze armor of the camel riders; even the city guard didn’t use iron armor. This made her a little suspicious of the Qartheen’s ironworking skills.

She explained these three reasons to the Bear. “Using your knightly expertise, choose a type of light leather armor that can defend against arrows. Hmm, and you can add a breastplate to the chest and back.”

“This…” Jorah hesitated for a moment before saying, “Your Grace, you have not been in battle. You may not understand that no leather armor can meet your requirements.”

Daenerys was immediately displeased at being called a novice in warfare. It’s true I’ve never been on a battlefield, but I’ve seen my share of over-the-top war dramas and read enough historical fiction. Common knowledge from those stories, like an iron pot stopping a bullet or cured leather and cotton armor deflecting arrows—who doesn’t know that?

“My requirements are already quite low,” Daenerys said, her face stern. “I’m only asking for it to withstand a volley of arrows.”

“A large formation of archers?” The Bear shook his head, his expression growing more bitter. “A properly forged iron arrowhead can pierce iron armor, let alone leather.”

“But that must be a rare few, right?”

Li Guang was said to have shot an arrow a man could shoot into a stone, but how many heroes like him could there possibly be?

“Sigh, let me put it this way. Aside from the double-stringed dragonbone bow, the goldenwood bows of the Summer Isles are the most renowned. An elite red archer with a goldenheart bow can pierce thin leather armor from four hundred meters away. But I understand what you want—for the horsemen to charge through a rain of arrows. At that kind of range, no armor can truly stop them.”

Daenerys asked with a wooden expression, “Are you sure it’s four hundred meters? And not just one man, but a group of them can do it?”

Jorah nodded. “If you don’t believe me, you can go take a look at the docks. There are many merchant ships from the Summer Isles moored there, and every ship has at least one elite archer.

“Actually, Kuhulu of the Laurel Wind is from the Summer Isles. A pity he has likely been gone for many days.

“The seas are teeming with pirates. Even if you win a boarding fight, the cargo destroyed is often significant, so powerful archers are essential.”

“Sigh, so that’s how it is.” Daenerys let out a frustrated sigh and waved her hand. “Let’s just get the leather armor then. Inlay an iron plate in the chest. Some protection is better than none.”

Early the next morning, Jorah and Aggo went to the Blacksmiths’ Guild.

It was an alliance of weapons merchants and numerous smiths. They had sabers, spears, swords, and halberds; they also had kitchen knives, hoes, and sickles; they even had leather armor, saddles, and horseshoes.

The small Khalasar only had just over one hundred fighting men, which was a small order for the Blacksmiths’ Guild. It would not take them more than a few days to complete Daenerys’s order.

A small incident occurred during this time. Jorah and Aggo got into an argument over helmets.

The knight from Westeros, understanding Daenerys’s intent to protect her warriors, had specifically chosen a “full” iron helmet.

That is, a helmet with a visor, gorget, and aventail to protect the neck.

Wearing such a helmet would make their thick, long braids a significant burden, which the horsemen disliked.

The two argued in the blacksmith’s shop until the matter was brought before Daenerys. After some thought, she had the smiths cut a hole in the back of the helmet so the braids could pass through.

“It’s too ugly, and adding a hole adds a vulnerability,” Jorah grumbled.

“Alas, that leather armor is full of weak points anyway. This one more won’t make a difference,” Daenerys sighed.

Besides the leather armor, Daenerys also ordered a large number of crossbows: one-handed ones that were cocked by hand, and heavy two-handed ones that required a foot in a stirrup to draw.

Nearly every horseman had a bow and arrow, but crossbows were rare. Apart from a gold-inlaid ebony one-handed crossbow in Drogo’s collection, none of the other horsemen owned one.

Daenerys equipped each warrior with two crossbows to hang on either side of their saddles. The women, children, and elderly were also given one each, more than doubling the fighting force’s offensive power in an instant.

In addition to weapons, Daenerys also ordered a number of camels.

Her actions immediately caught Xaro’s attention. Buying weapons could be explained as strengthening her guards, but buying camels… that meant she intended to leave!

“Light of my stars, was there something I did that was not to your liking? That you would wish to depart so soon,” the merchant said, wiping away tears in sorrow.

“You have been a most gracious host.”

Upon hearing his words, Daenerys’s eyes also reddened. With an expression of utter helplessness, she said, “But I wish to return to Westeros. My people are waiting for me. The Usurper is dead, and this is the best opportunity for me, yet I can find no aid here.”

“Alas, how sorrowful this is.” Xaro wept for a while, then asked, seemingly casually, “Star of Heaven, do you intend to ride camels back to White Cloud City and then return to the Great Grass Sea?”

“Perhaps. If you were willing to give me two great ships, I would of course take the sea route. If I have no ships, I can only ride the camels.”

Xaro pondered for a moment, then wiped the tear stains from his face with a silk handkerchief that reeked of strong perfume. “Star of Heaven, you need not be in such a hurry. Perhaps things will take a turn for the better.”

“What kind of turn? The Pureborn have flatly refused me, The Thirteen, led by you, have been a constant disappointment. Has the Tourmaline Brotherhood or the Spice Guild had a change of heart?” Daenerys asked curiously.

“No, no, no,” Xaro shook his head repeatedly, a look of contempt on his face. “They will give you nothing but flattery and lies. The Spice Guild is a collection of hypocrites and braggarts, and the Brotherhood is just another name for ‘pirates’.”

“Uh, besides these factions, who else in Qarth can help me?”

“Do you remember the warlock’s mummy you sold me?” Xaro asked instead of answering.

Daenerys’s beautiful little face twisted slightly. She had actually been keeping an eye on Xaro’s “magical” ailment and had told Jorah and her bloodriders to keep their ears open for any news about him.

Jorah did not disappoint. He soon learned of Xaro’s physical condition through the mansion’s servants.

Jorah had told her, “The one who performed the sorcery for Xaro is a moderately famous warlock in Qarth, nicknamed Elathun the ‘Night-walker.’

“After the ritual was complete, a servant heard a young boy’s cries and the merchant’s curses coming from Xaro’s room. I suspect it had some effect, but far less than expected.

“In truth, it doesn’t matter whether the sorcery improved his physical condition or not, since he has little use for it in most situations…”

At this point, his face had filled with disdain. “All those words of admiration he spoke to you were lies. He has no interest in women at all.

“I have noticed that his palace is filled with a large group of boys of various ethnicities, dressed in fine silks—even horsemen and some from the Summer Isles. They are all powdered and painted, their clothes thin and flimsy. It’s… according to the doctrines of the Seven, Xaro will surely be cast into the seven hells in the future.”

Waking from her recollection, Daenerys carefully studied the short, fat Xaro before her. His milky, greasy face looked like a freshly baked loaf of white bread. His nose was adorned with emeralds, gold, and gems, and combined with his colorful silk robes, he resembled a bald, plump, multicolored bird.

People truly cannot be judged by their appearance!

“Could it be that the warlock’s sorcery was unusually effective?” she asked.

Xaro didn’t notice Daenerys’s strange expression, mainly because his situation was not considered particularly unusual in Qarth. Much like certain men wearing women’s clothing in modern society, once everyone became accustomed to it, they would no longer “look at you differently.”

“It had an effect, but it must be used with a warlock’s potion,” he said frankly.

Daenerys’s teeth clenched. Was it the potion that worked, or did the sorcery actually do something?

“So?” she asked.

“The warlocks’ power is returning. It is very likely they will regain their former influence,” Xaro said with a grave expression.

Daenerys understood his meaning. As time went on and the warlocks’ power grew stronger, they would naturally become one of the influential figures in Qarth. If the warlocks were willing to help her, then…

“Perhaps the warlocks have deceived you. And even if it’s true, why would they help me?” Daenerys said.

“It’s worth a try, is it not? It’s not as if the situation could get any worse,” Xaro suggested. “The warlocks’ Palace of Dust is very dangerous. We should avoid contact with that great warlock, Pyat Pree, for now.

“I know a more worldly warlock, Elathun the Night-walker. He has a desire for money. Anyone who loves money can be trusted, because I have money!”

Chapter 50: The Glass Candle

Dany did not immediately agree to Xaro’s proposal to meet Elathun. When she asked for Ser Jorah’s advice that evening, the knight urged her not to associate with such mysterious individuals.

“Ser, this is not Westeros, a desert devoid of magic. I too would like to keep the sorcerers at a distance, but you often walk the streets. Pyromancers, warlocks, and priests are on every corner. There’s no avoiding them,” she sighed.

Even in the farthest western lands under the doctrine of the Seven, Westeros was currently being battered by waves of unprecedented magical events.

Count Beric, killed time and again, was resurrected time and again. The Red Woman used a child of shadow to kill from afar, there was the leech curse, and Catelyn, nearly rotted from her time in the water, was brought back to life.

Then there were the prophecies. The barrier to learning the art of prophecy was frighteningly low; it seemed every sorcerer in this world could prophesize, and nearly every major event of the near future had been successfully foretold.

In such a fantastical world, the notion of respecting the supernatural while keeping one’s distance was impossible. There was simply no avoiding it!

So Dany asked him directly what Elathun’s character was like and if he could be trusted.

“Xaro wasn’t lying. Compared to seeking the truths of the world, Elathun is more content to enjoy a comfortable life. He is far less of a threat than that Pyat. If he allows us to accompany you, it shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

“Of course, the best choice is still not to go. Don’t interact with any warlocks. Without contact, without blood or hair, it’s difficult for a sorcerer to harm anyone.”

In the end, Ser Jorah tried to persuade her one last time.

Dany did not take his advice for one simple reason: it was unavoidable.

Had Renly actively sought dealings with sorcerers?

And wasn’t his throat cut by a “shadow demon” all the same?

Westeros desperately suppressed those with mystical powers. The people of the Seven Kingdoms had never even seen the pyromancers and red priests who were a common sight on Essos, yet the crisis of the Others had erupted in the North.

Old Mormont had led a group of Night’s Watchmen beyond the Wall to scout the movements of the Others, but in the end, only Sam knew that Dragonglass could be used against them.

Even Sam’s knowledge was a last-minute discovery, information he had just dug up from the Night’s Watch library.

With dragons as her ultimate weapon, Dany didn’t need to force herself to master the powers of magic and sorcery, but she needed to have at least some understanding of these mystical forces.

At the appointed time, around eight in the evening, Dany and Xaro rode in an ox-drawn cart, escorted by Jorah and the others. They passed through four streets and two brightly lit night markets, arriving at a district in the west of the city where the lesser merchants gathered.

“Although Elathun is far more normal than the other warlocks, to us, he is still an eccentric fellow.” Xaro shifted his portly body and stepped down from the carriage.

As he walked, he said with a chuckle, “Almost no one ever sees him during the day. After midnight, though, people often see his figure, wrapped in a gray warlock’s robe, on the streets, by the plaza fountains, or at the docks.”

“That is why they all call me the night-walker.”

Dany rubbed her eyes. The large purpleheart wood doors inlaid with red copper, which had been shut tight a moment ago, now stood wide open. A middle-aged man with medium-length black hair stood in the doorway.

He had the typical milky-white skin of Qarth, a long, equine face, and the blue lips that marked him as a warlock. A black pearl was pierced through the left side of his nose, standing out starkly against his pallid complexion.

“When did you come out?” Dany’s mouth fell open, her heart pounding with shock.

She had nimbly been the first to jump down from the cart, her gaze never leaving the great doors just a few steps away. One moment, the wooden doors were closed; in the blink of an eye, a moment’s distraction, the master of the house was already outside to greet his guests.

“Hahaha, Mother of Dragons, you are the source of miracles. You shouldn’t be surprised by such a minor trick,” Elathun laughed heartily.

“A warlock’s little parlor tricks. Nothing to make a fuss about.” Xaro shook his head with an air of nonchalance. “Compared to Quaithe, that child of shadow, he’s not even an apprentice.”

The merchant’s words were quite rude, but the night-walker wasn’t angered. “In all of Qarth, besides the Undying Ones who may still exist within the temple, who can claim to be more powerful than Quaithe?”

“Welcome, Mother of Dragons. That you would grace my humble home with your presence is truly the greatest honor of my life.” Elathun gave a gentlemanly bow and declared, “To express my gratitude, tonight I will do my utmost to show you the power of magic.”

With that, he clapped his hands three times. Clap, clap, clap. As Dany and the others watched in confusion, he extended his right hand in a gesture of invitation. “Please, follow me.”

Puzzled, Dany stepped onto the stairs and crossed the threshold.

“Gods, it’s beautiful!” she couldn’t help but exclaim.

Behind the great doors was a path of red flagstones. The two-meter-wide stone path was flanked by two flowerbeds filled with plants that resembled sorghum. They were thin and long, over two meters tall. Their stalks were like opaque white glass, and their brown leaves at the top gave off a faint, ethereal blue glow.

Walking among them felt like entering a magical world. Dany was lost in the strange and wondrous scenery, her pace slowing unconsciously.

“Ghost Grass?!” Ser Jorah’s face suddenly paled as he cried out in alarm.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The Bloodriders, after a moment of shock, immediately drew their arakhs and moved to form a protective circle around Dany.

“Don’t be alarmed. This is a warlock’s residence. The Ghost Grass is merely an ornamental plant,” the night-walker said with a faint smile.

“Khaleesi, this is cursed ground! We must leave at once! Only cursed souls can make the Ghost Grass glow. It is known,” Aggo shouted.

“It is known,” Rakharo echoed.

“The Ghost Grass is an ill omen! The day it covers the world, all other life will end. It is known,” Jhogo yelled.

“Calm down. If Ghost Grass were so terrible, would the people of Qarth allow it to exist?” Dany pushed Aggo and Rakharo aside and continued walking forward.

“Mother of Dragons, you possess a wisdom beyond the reach of ordinary people.” After the compliment, Elathun explained, “The horse men fear Ghost Grass simply because the plant is extremely invasive. Wherever it grows, no other plants can survive, and horses and cattle cannot eat it.”

“Heh, your savages call the seawater ‘poison water.’ Any water a horse cannot drink is poison water, and any grass a horse cannot eat is cursed grass.”

Although what Elathun said made sense, Dany disliked his condescending tone toward the horse men.

“If Ghost Grass is just an ordinary plant, then why have you planted it in your own garden, Lord Warlock?”

“Hmm…” Elathun gave her a deep look and nodded. “You are right. Ghost Grass is not ordinary at all. It is a natural ‘tide gauge’ for the flow of magic.”

“When the tide of magic flows in, the Ghost Grass begins to grow. When the world’s magical power ebbs, the Ghost Grass withers and cannot sprout again.”

“The growth of the Ghost Grass is determined by the level of magic in the world. The horse men’s fear that it might cover the earth is completely unnecessary.”

Astonished, Dany touched one of the white, glass-like stalks but felt nothing unusual.

“What did you do when you clapped your hands before we entered?” she asked.

“I bestowed upon them the power of a curse,” Elathun said with a strange smile. “The souls of the newly dead make them phosphorescent.”

“Er…”

Without any further pleasantries, Elathun led Dany’s party directly to his laboratory.

Jorah and the horse men were in awe of the various jars and pots, but Dany wore a strange expression, feeling as if she had stepped into a chemistry lab.

Glass beakers, graduated cylinders, volumetric flasks, brown reagent bottles, an iron distillation stand, and a peculiar heating lamp?

“What is this lamp?” she asked curiously, pointing to a heating device that resembled a small gas cylinder.

“A secondary Wildfire reagent.”

“Wildfire?” Jorah cried out, hastily pulling Dany back a few steps. “Seven Hells, are you mad? Leaving Wildfire casually on a table? In the heat of Qarth—”

Elathun cut him off. “In the heat of Qarth, it should have exploded long ago. But as you can see, my potions laboratory is still intact.”

“Have you found a more stable formula for Wildfire?” Jorah was horrified.

What exactly was Wildfire?

It was like a lesser form of those mythical flames that could burn anything.

Besides needing oxygen, it possessed the characteristic of being able to ignite on any object and burn it to nothing.

If not for the fact that it was extremely flammable and incredibly unstable when moved—prone to exploding—the very nature of warfare in the World of Ice and Fire would have changed long ago.

Yes, it would have entered an age of ‘hot’ weaponry.

If Elathun had developed a form of Wildfire that wouldn’t explode even in the summer heat, then Qarth could dominate the world.

“There’s ice in the jar,” Dany said, touching the gray iron container.

“Yes. Each time I use it, I take a portion out and place it in a crucible.” Elathun said this casually, then turned his animated gaze to a milky-white glass rod on a marble base. “While the production of Wildfire is also related to the tides of magic, it is ultimately just a juggler’s trick. The Glass Candle is the true manifestation of a mage’s transcendent power.”

“A Glass Candle?”

It was a twisted glass rod over a meter long, milky-white and opaque. It was set into a square stone pedestal half a meter high, and nothing about its appearance seemed out of the ordinary.

Dany asked, puzzled, “What does it do?”

“Watch closely.” Elathun walked to the glass rod with a solemn expression and began to chant in a sharp, high-pitched voice, uttering words Dany could not understand. It was the incantatory language of the warlocks.

“Wow!”

It was as if someone had flipped the switch on a two-hundred-watt bulb in the dim laboratory. The Glass Candle recklessly splashed a light as bright as snow toward the ceiling.

The light took the form of fine, wispy strands, like willow catkins drifting down, or goose-down snow dancing in the midday sun. It was dreamlike and illusory, as if time and space had shifted, transporting them to a strange world of light.

“Try to enter a state of trance,” Elathun’s voice drifted over faintly.

His voice, however, jolted Dany out of her reverie.

If you hadn’t said anything, I probably would have entered a trance on my own, she complained internally.

Suddenly, an idea struck Dany. Her soul flew across the distance of several streets, finding the black dragon back at their residence.

Swoosh!

She entered her Dragon Spirit mode, her soul merging with that of the black dragon.

But when she turned her gaze back to the brilliantly glowing Glass Candle, a humming sound filled her mind. Buzzz—

Her mind jolted. The white curtain of light before her blurred for an instant, then sharpened to reveal a clear image: she was falling at incredible speed from the boundless starry sky, stopping abruptly ten meters above the ground. She had arrived…

Below her was a vast grassland, dotted with yurts as numerous as mushrooms after a rain. The campfires in most of the tents had dimmed, but a few still glowed with an orange light.

“Jango, my sweet boy, you certainly have an appetite.”

A voice sounded in her ear, and the scene in her vision changed again. In an instant, she was inside a spacious grass-woven palace—a familiar palace, a familiar voice, a familiar silver-haired woman, and a familiar chubby baby…

“Eeyah!” The silver-haired baby boy, latched onto a nipple, suddenly opened his eyes. His gaze met Dany’s.

“Oof!” She felt a push on her shoulder. Dany started violently and turned around to see Jorah looking at her with concern.

Chapter 51: Phantom Turtle

“Your Grace, are you alright?” Jorah asked with concern.

Again, she found herself in the white light of a Dragon Dream. “Something is wrong!” Daenerys said, annoyed. “I can’t see anything now.”

“See what?” Jorah was bewildered.

“What did you see?” Elathun asked eagerly.

Daenerys looked around and asked in confusion, “How much time has passed?”

“You were staring blankly at that candle for a quarter of an hour. I was worried—”

Elathun pulled Ser Jorah away and moved closer to Daenerys. “I told him not to worry, but he insisted on waking you from your trance. Mother of Dragons, tell me quickly, did you see something different?”

Collecting herself, Daenerys began to understand the situation.

“In the candle’s white light, I saw a starry sky and the Dothraki Sea. Then I felt a hard punch on my shoulder, and I woke up,” she said, her expression dazed.

“I wasn’t forceful, I just touched you lightly,” Jorah argued.

“To her, that was a punch.” Elathun glared at him irritably. “The Mother of Dragons possesses extraordinary abilities. Her sight can travel through the Glass Candle, across mountains, seas, and grasslands, to see places tens of thousands of kilometers away. She might even be able to traverse time to see the future or penetrate another’s mind to see their thoughts and dreams.”

The corner of Daenerys’s mouth twitched. She spoke in a deliberately skeptical tone, “Isn’t that an exaggeration? It felt more like an illusion to me.”

“It is true,” Elathun said gravely. “The ancient Valyrian Empire had only a little over twenty Dragonlord families. How did they rule such a vast world? It was all thanks to the Glass Candles. Through them, their sorcerers could communicate across half the world.”

“If they could see the future, why were the Valyrian Dragonlords wiped out in the Doom?” Jorah scoffed.

“And who is she?” Elathun pointed at Daenerys and retorted, “Why did House Targaryen sell all their assets and leave with their entire people on the eve of the Doom?”

Daenerys carefully recalled the bedtime stories Viserys used to tell her. “It is said that the maiden Daenys was a ‘dreamer.’ The revelations she received came from her dreams, not from seeing the future through a Glass Candle.”

“The principle is much the same.” Elathun waved a hand dismissively. “The Glass Candle is just a tool. If you have a spoon, you can eat. Without a spoon, you can still use your hands to stuff food in your mouth.”

“What does the Glass Candle use for fuel? The light it gives off is so peculiar,” Daenerys asked.

“It is a solid object carved from obsidian. Look closely—there are no tubes connected to a fuel source.”

Elathun pulled the twisted glass rod directly from the stone pedestal and shook it from side to side. Nothing like oil dripped from it.

Shit, a perpetual motion machine? Have the laws of thermodynamics been broken?

A series of questions flashed through Daenerys’s mind.

“It must draw its power from the source of the world. The dragons have returned!” Xaro, who had been silent until now, smacked his lips and said nonchalantly, “I’m not entirely ignorant. The Glass Candles haven’t been lit in over a hundred years. The timing corresponds exactly to the period after that brood of fools from House Targaryen started the ‘Dance of the Dragons.’ A pack of madmen, shattering the very foundation of their own rule.”

The Dance of the Dragons was the bloodiest and most brutal civil war of the mid-Targaryen dynasty.

A Targaryen brother and sister fought over the succession to the Iron Throne. Both sides formed factions and battled each other on dragonback for over a decade.

The Targaryens and their dragons were nearly wiped out in the conflict, and within a few years, the great beasts became completely extinct.

Daenerys offered no comment on the Dance of the Dragons. Instead, she asked the warlock, “Can you see the future through the Glass Candle?”

“I cannot. My talent is insufficient. Beyond making it burn, I can do nothing,” Elathun said, dejected.

It was because he understood the limits of his own talent that he was not so obsessed with mystical power.

“What other magic can you perform?” Daenerys asked.

“Curses.” Elathun’s voice was chilling. As he uttered the word, the very temperature in the air seemed to drop several degrees.

“Do you know Kaeti of House Malarowan?” he asked.

“I do not,” Daenerys said, shaking her head.

“Kaeti? The wife of Mathos, the administrative chief for the city’s western district?” Ser Jorah stared at the blue-lipped warlock in horror, his guard raised to its highest. “She’s the laughingstock of Qarth. A few days ago, on a crowded street, she went mad and tore off all her clothes. They say even the softest Eastern silk feels like knives and insect bites against her skin.”

“Correct. I placed a curse on her,” Elathun admitted with a nod. “It was but a small punishment. All she needed to do was remove her clothes, and it would be over.”

“Kaeti mocked him. She said his warlock’s robes were old-fashioned, ugly, and not ostentatious enough,” Xaro explained to Daenerys.

“How can one avoid being harmed by mystical powers?” Daenerys asked, revealing the main purpose of her visit.

“Mother of Dragons, what price are you willing to pay?” Elathun smiled the smile of a merchant. “Every step a warlock takes toward wisdom comes at a great price.”

Xaro gave Daenerys a look, signaling her to present the gold and silver as they had agreed.

“Aggo,” she commanded her Bloodrider.

Aggo untied a soft leather pouch from his waist. It was the size of a swollen waterskin, bulging and heavy. He placed it on the stone pedestal where the Glass Candle had stood with a solid thud.

Elathun glanced at the pouch, estimated its contents, and smiled with satisfaction. “Blood is the most important medium for casting spells, and demons from the shadows are the most potent means of attack.

Blood and shadows. Pay close attention to these two things, and you can evade more than eighty percent of all magical attacks.

I cannot be certain about the most powerful sorcerers, but in most cases, the methods of mystics are less useful than a sword.

A warrior’s blade is more direct and effective. A warlock could toil in the shadows for half a day and still not harm a single hair on an ordinary man’s head.

When all is said and done, witchcraft, magic, and sacrificial arts are all applications of wisdom. They are not fundamentally different from a blacksmith’s forging or a weaver’s craft. Harming others is simply a lesser application.”

“That’s it?” Daenerys was somewhat dissatisfied.

She had paid a “consulting” fee of two hundred gold radiants, and this “expert” was proving to be a hack.

“I have heard that the priests of R’hllor can birth a child of shadow to kill unseen,” she said.

“That…” Elathun hesitated. “I have heard of similar blood magic, but those are tales from ancient legends. It is said one cannot perform such a spell without centuries of magical practice. But how can a human live for centuries? Unless—”

“Unless what?” Daenerys pressed.

“It is only a rumor,” Elathun said reluctantly, his voice holding both doubt and fear. “Legend says the ancient warlocks froze time itself. They hide within the House of the Undying, where they can live forever.”

“The legend of the Undying?” Xaro shook his head with a derisive laugh. “Even the House of the Undying has been reduced to the Palace of Dust. Where could the Undying possibly be? This so-called legend of immortality is nothing but a trick used by the warlocks to make people believe they have mastered the power of eternal life, thereby inspiring awe and reverence.”

“Do you doubt the power of the warlocks?” Elathun said coldly.

“No, do not misunderstand!” Xaro quickly waved his hands, adding placatingly, “My presence here, bringing my most honored guest with me, is proof enough of my reverence for the power of warlocks. But the Undying… Elathun, as a warlock yourself, have you ever seen them?”

Elathun lowered his gaze and murmured, “Only the Arch-warlock Pyat…”

“All who enter the Palace of Dust never return. Other than Pyat, no one can prove the Undying exist,” Xaro said, shaking his head.

“Besides the legendary Undying, are there any other sorcerers who have lived for centuries?” Daenerys returned to her earlier question.

“None,” Elathun said with certainty. “The power of magic was severed for over a century; it has only recently begun to return. If someone truly achieved eternal life during a time when magic had vanished, they would have to be a god.”

That made sense, but what about Melisandre?

It seemed this warlock who answered questions for a fee was just a hack.

“What are gods?” Daenerys asked again.

“Gods are gods. What else could they be?” Elathun was stunned.

Daenerys rolled her eyes, completely disappointed in him.

Elathun’s wisdom was far from sufficient to answer her questions about this world.

“Thank you for your generous hospitality, my lord warlock. It grows late, so we will not disturb your rest.”

Daenerys said her farewells and then signaled for Jorah and the others to leave.

The night was deep. Under the sallow light of the lanterns, this street seemed especially quiet and peaceful. Apart from the clip-clop of hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels, the only sound was the muffled din of a distant night market.

As they left the affluent western district, tall wood and stone buildings with shuttered windows began to rise on either side of the street. They huddled together like lovers, making the space ever more dark and oppressive.

The moon was a playful child, following their progress and occasionally peeking through the gaps between chimneys to spy on the procession in the hazy night.

“Huh? What’s that?” Suddenly, Rakharo, at the head of the group, drew his arakh and pointed toward a small alley to their left, which was steeped in the thick darkness of night.

Daenerys leaned out and could not help but cry out in surprise. “Is that… a turtle? A glowing, flying turtle? Could it be some kind of turtle-spirit?”

A turtle the size of a rice cooker floated two meters off the ground, its body emitting a faint, illusory, dark blue glow. It sped through the dark alley as fast as a galloping horse—an exceptionally conspicuous and bizarre sight.

“There is no need for such alarm. That is a Phantom Turtle, a warlock’s pet. Like ravens, they are used to carry messages.” Xaro sat up, glanced at it, and then lay back down with a look of perfect composure.

Daenerys craned her neck. Only after the Phantom Turtle passed through a stone wall as if it were nothing did she speak again, her voice filled with disbelief. “A pet? It has no wings, so how does it fly? And it can pass through walls.”

Xaro shrugged nonchalantly. “Some kind of spirit form summoned by sorcery? I do not really understand it myself.

Because of the returning tide of magic, the warlocks have begun to recover their legendary powers.

People have often seen Phantom Turtles carrying messages between the windowless houses on Warlock Way lately. It is no longer a strange sight.

—Warlock Way is just the next street over. Not every warlock can afford a large, detached house like Elathun’s.

Ah, I grew up hearing stories of Phantom Turtles, but I never thought I would live to see one.”

“Do you have to be so dramatic…” Daenerys was at a loss for words.

“How far can a Phantom Turtle travel? Can it reach the continent of Westeros?” Ser Jorah asked curiously.

As a native of this fantasy world, despite having been educated by Maesters who taught there were neither gods nor magic, he found it quite easy to accept such magical phenomena once he saw them with his own eyes.

“They can only carry messages over short distances. Otherwise, why would the warlocks still keep ravens?”

Chapter 52: The House of the Undying

After meeting Elathun, Daenerys became even more determined to leave at once.

There might be sorcerers elsewhere, but Qarth was the warlocks’ den.

Damn it, there was even an entire street full of warlocks—Warlock Way.

This place is too wicked. Let’s just go to a magic-free city with nothing but swords and spears.

Xaro was very vexed by this. He had taken Daenerys to Elathun’s home to witness magic mainly because he wanted her to retain one last sliver of hope—that after the warlocks came to power, she could ask for their help.

Just as the horse men began to load supplies for the camel company, the Arch-warlock Pyat, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time, found Daenerys.

In fact, he had been waiting for her, waiting for Daenerys to come to him for help, because he knew that neither the Pureborn nor the great merchants would truly help her.

The little girl who longed for the throne of the Seven Kingdoms would surely place her final hope in the warlocks and their mysterious powers after being rebuffed everywhere else.

Pyat waited and waited, until he finally heard the news that Daenerys was preparing to leave Qarth. His patient wait had suddenly turned into sitting on hot coals; he could no longer sit still.

“Mother of Dragons, did you not wish to learn the spells of Old Valyria?” Pyat handed a thin manuscript to Daenerys. “These are some notes from an elder warlock on the language of Valyrian spellcraft.”

Ser Jorah took the book before Daenerys could. He glanced expressionlessly at the blue-lipped warlock, then lowered his head and began to flip through it.

After a while, having detected no curse and seeing that the pages did indeed describe analyses of ancient spells—written in Valyrian script—he finally handed the booklet to Daenerys.

Well, spells and daily language were two different systems; their writing, pronunciation, and degree of expression were completely different.

Pyat paid no mind to Jorah’s wariness. He smiled and explained, “Khaleesi, you have visited the Hall of a Thousand Thrones of the Pureborn and have been a guest in the home of one of The Thirteen, yet you have never graced the warlocks’ House of the Undying.

Here, I formally extend an invitation to you.

I promise that I will introduce you to the great Undying. They will surely bring you endless wisdom and the eternal truths of the world.”

“But I’ve heard that many warlocks have never seen the Undying,” Daenerys said doubtfully.

“Haha, many courtiers never get to meet their king in their entire lifetime. Does that negate the king’s existence?” Pyat laughed proudly.

That makes some sense. But it makes me even more hesitant to go.

“Is it true that the House of the Undying can make the Undying live forever?” she asked.

This time, Pyat was silent for a good while before he said gravely, “The House of the Undying has intercepted a section of the river of time. It can freeze time and see through the future—this is a legend that even I cannot confirm.

I do not wish to deceive you. In the face of the Undying, even an Arch-warlock seems insignificant.”

“I am grateful for the Arch-warlock’s invitation, but…” Daenerys’s face was filled with sincerity and regret. “The wisdom of the occult cannot help me reclaim my kingdom. I have a little girl’s innate, naive fantasies about magic, but as a Targaryen, Westeros is my reality.”

“A visit to the House of the Undying to see the Undying won’t take much time.” A layer of frost seemed to congeal on Pyat’s face.

“Hahaha, Arch-warlock, please return for now. I will bring the Khaleesi to the House of the Undying in a few days,” the great merchant Xaro interjected, trying to smooth things over.

Pyat gave him a deep look, then bowed to Daenerys and said, “I await your arrival.”

With that, he turned and left.

“You want me to go to the House of the Undying?” Daenerys glanced at the merchant and said flatly, “You’re the one who said, ‘The warlocks’ house is built of bone and lies.’”

“Ah, you misunderstand me!” The portly white man waved his hand, smiling. “What I mean is, we should leave Qarth tomorrow, go to the Jade Sea, sail around it, and put the warlock and his crumbling house completely out of our minds.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the warlocks’ sorcery?” Daenerys asked doubtfully.

“If sorcery were truly so invincible, sorcerers would be the ones ruling the world,” Xaro said, his eyes glinting as his tone became profound.

“I will leave, but not to the Jade Sea with you,” Daenerys refused.

“Think about it again. Perhaps you’ll change your mind.” Xaro gave her a deep look, then left with his servants.

“Sigh. Ser, sell all the gifts the visitors gave me. We really should be leaving,” Daenerys sighed, speaking to Jorah.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Jorah also left. The handmaidens were playing by the fountain outside, leaving Daenerys alone in the vast hall, sitting quietly on a couch and thinking.

“You should go to the House of the Undying.” A woman’s voice suddenly sounded in her ear.

“Who—Quaithe?” Daenerys turned her head and saw Quaithe, wearing her wooden mask, standing by the window.

“Gods, when did you get here? Why didn’t anyone announce you? Where are Doreah and Jhiqui?” Daenerys looked left and right, but saw neither of her handmaidens. She could hear the sound of their laughter and games coming from outside.

“Daenerys, you should go to the House of the Undying.” Quaithe acted as if nothing was amiss, continuing to speak her mind. “You are special. There, you will see prophecies that will change your destiny.”

“Don’t you realize you just contradicted yourself?” Daenerys’s mouth twitched. “If I change my destiny, is it still a prophecy?”

“If you do not know the prophecy, you naturally cannot change your destiny. If destiny is fixed, why should we pursue the mysteries of prophecy?” Quaithe said faintly.

Hmm, that makes some sense too.

“Just tell me the prophecy directly,” Daenerys said cheekily.

“Alright,” Quaithe agreed at once. “You refuse Pyat, you refuse Xaro, and you leave Qarth with your Khalasar. Then a group of mercenaries pursues you. You fight them off, but suffer heavy casualties yourself.”

“Uh, are you sure that’s a prophecy?”

“It is a prophecy that requires no magical power,” Quaithe said.

A prophecy without magic? Just a wild guess?

Daenerys herself had prepared for the worst, but she wasn’t worried. The Red Waste was right next to Qarth, and she had dragons!

Still, she didn’t want her Khalasar to suffer heavy losses. She asked, “Can going to the House of the Undying avoid your ‘prophecy’?”

“I don’t know,” Quaithe said, nearly making her spit blood.

“Didn’t you just say that after seeing the prophecy, I could change the future?”

“You can only change your own decisions. You can never change human nature and the hearts of men.”

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully and said gravely, “How can I guarantee my safety in the House of the Undying?”

“Take the dragons with you. When the dragons are by your side, no mage can harm you with sorcery,” Quaithe said, her tone complex.

A look of realization dawned on Daenerys. That’s right. It was because of the dragons that magic returned to the world.

“Any mage? Including you?” she asked.

“I have never had any ill intent towards you, Daenerys,” Quaithe said softly.

“Khaleesi, who are you talking to?” Jhiqui walked into the hall carrying a basket of washed sweet melons, her face full of confusion as she looked around.

“Quai—shit, where did you go?” Daenerys had only been distracted by the handmaiden at the door for a moment, but when she turned back, the woman in the lacquered wooden mask had vanished.

“Did you see Quaithe?” She left the couch and stuck her head out the window, only to see a few horse men resting in the shade of the trees.

“Quaithe? When did she come?” Jhiqui asked, bewildered.

“I was just talking to her. Did you hear her voice?” Daenerys turned back and asked seriously.

The horse-girl shook her head repeatedly. “No, I only heard your voice. It sounded like you were talking to yourself, so I asked who you were talking to…”

“This…” On a hot afternoon, Daenerys suddenly shivered.

“Inform Ser Jorah. Have him send a message to the Arch-warlock. Tomorrow morning, we go to the House of the Undying.”

The House of the Undying was a building with black tiles and gray walls. The main hall was long and low, with no towers or windows, like a great stone serpent coiled in a dark forest of black-barked trees.

Up close, one could see that parts of the roof had collapsed, with broken tiles scattered on the ground. The stone walls were covered with mottled, peeling gray plaster.

No wonder Xaro always called it the “Palace of Dust.” It was indeed a hall on the verge of turning into the dust of time.

“This is the Forest of Nightshade,” Pyat said, pointing at the surrounding woods of black-barked, blue-leafed trees. “The magical drink we warlocks often consume—the shade of the evening—is made from its leaves. I’ll send you a few barrels later. I guarantee you’ll fall in love with it.”

Daenerys glanced at his blue lips and thought to herself, if it were crimson, then the ‘shade of the evening’ could replace lipstick and become a favorite among ladies.

Blue lips were truly hideous; she had no desire to have them.

The Forest of Nightshade was situated between several streets. The streets were bustling and noisy, while the black forest was dark and silent. The city blocks were bathed in sunlight and unbearably hot, but in the forest, the light was dim and a cool wind brushed against the skin, stirring a sense of unease.

“Blood of my blood!” Jhogo glanced at Pyat and urged in Dothraki, “This is an evil place, where ghosts and demons lurk. It has sucked away the bright morning sun. Let us leave quickly, before it sucks away our souls.”

Jorah also frowned and advised, “This is clearly a ruin. There’s nothing to see here.”

“I think what they said was very wise,” Xaro said cautiously, somewhat wary of Pyat.

“Now that I’m here, I will not back down,” Daenerys said firmly.

The Arch-warlock Pyat smiled faintly. “You are a brave child. Come, take my arm, let me lead the way for you.”

Daenerys took his arm but shook her head. “I wish I could be a simple, happy child, but I am not.”

Aggo took her other hand and said solemnly, “We are the blood of your blood. We have sworn to live and die with you, to fight by your side and protect you from harm. Since you must go in, please let us accompany you into this dark place.”

“I’m going too,” Ser Jorah said quickly.

“The queen must enter alone,” Pyat said sharply. “What do you think this place is? Would the House of the Undying open its doors for mortals?

You were right about one thing before: many enter the House of the Undying, but few ever come out.

If you were not servants of the Mother of Dragons, I would not even bother to warn you, because whether you live or die is of no consequence to me.”

Daenerys shot the warlock a reproachful look, then turned and said gently to Jorah and her bloodriders, “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to me. Trust me.”

As she spoke, she secretly pointed at Big Black.

The black dragon would enter the House of the Undying with her.

Chapter 53: Prophecy

Big Black was now larger than a police dog, weighing a full twenty kilograms, and ate two fattened sheep every day.

Daenerys had no choice but to have a large woven basket made for him. It was somewhat like the round-framed bamboo baskets used in the countryside for cutting pig fodder, but not as deep. Otherwise, not only would it be difficult for him to get out once inside, but it would also be uncomfortably tight for Big Black.

The black dragon squatted in the basket with his two legs and half his body, his broad wings hanging outside, covering the bamboo frame completely. His long neck rubbed back and forth against Daenerys’s shoulders, and though his body was nestled in the basket, he could still turn freely.

“Your Majesty, this is as far as I can take you.” After passing a branching path, Pyat stopped.

They arrived before an oval wooden door, which was set into a wall shaped like a human face. The door itself served as the great mouth of the facial sculpture.

Daenerys felt as if she were prey being sacrificed to this great-mouthed monster.

Warlocks seemed to have a particular fondness for keeping dwarfs. A dwarf stood before the round-mouthed door, dressed in magnificent purple and blue clothing. In his small, pink hands, he held a silver tray bearing a slender crystal goblet filled with a thick, blue liquid.

Daenerys had never imagined such a tiny person could exist. He was just over twenty centimeters tall; even in flat leather sandals, he didn’t reach her knees.

Anyone with a malformed body rarely possessed a handsome face. His palm-sized face was wrinkled and scrunched up, just like a pleated, steamed bun. Compared to his tiny face, his nose was exceptionally high, as if to compensate for the inferiority he felt about his height.

“Present the Fountain of Wisdom to the Mother of Dragons,” Pyat instructed.

The dwarf scurried forward a few steps, came before Daenerys, and raised the tray high above his head.

Daenerys bent down, picked up the crystal goblet with two fingers, held it up to the light, and said, “Is this the shade of the evening?”

“Drink,” the warlock nodded, gesturing for her to proceed.

“Will my lips turn blue?” she asked hesitantly.

“This cup will only help you attain a sorcerer’s perspective. You will hear the truths of the world and see ancient wisdom,” Pyat said slowly and softly, an indescribable pride in his expression.

Daenerys raised the crystal goblet to her lips and tentatively licked it.

She almost died of disgust.

It was like taking a bite of rotting, diseased pork fat slathered with feces. Every disgusting and nauseating taste she had ever experienced in her life exploded on her taste buds. Daenerys almost couldn’t bear it and nearly passed out.

But the next moment, the blue liquid seemed to suddenly come alive, burrowing from her throat into every part of her chest in unending, gossamer threads. Her heart felt as if it were wrapped in a blazing fire, a comfortable heat that made her want to moan.

—If only being roasted by fire could feel this good every time!

She thought to herself.

Then, all the previous disgusting tastes vanished, replaced by an explosion on her tongue of the wonderful sensations of tasting cotton candy, candied hawthorns, and KFC for the first time.

In that instant, every wonderful flavor from her entire life up to that point appeared successively in her mouth.

She was lost in the experience, trying desperately to hold onto them, but then the goblet was empty.

Daenerys smacked her lips, her heart filled with hesitation. She wanted to ask the dwarf for another glass, but she was also afraid she had just taken some sort of otherworldly magical drug—not to mention the ugly blue lips…

But Pyat deftly took the empty goblet from her hand and said quickly, “Pay attention. What I’m about to say will determine whether you can emerge safely from the House of the Undying.”

“Mm.” Daenerys immediately cast aside all distracting thoughts and listened with rapt attention.

“This door is for entry only, not for exit. Unless you meet the Undying, you will not be able to return to where you started, even if you turn back.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“After you enter, you will find four doors in the room. Besides the one you entered through, there will be three others. Please take the one on the right. Always choose the first door on the right. If you encounter stairs, go up, never down. And never enter any door other than the first on the right.”

“Stairs? But this building is so low,” Daenerys said, confused.

Pyat said gravely, “You will understand once you are inside. Remember my words: in the House of the Undying, the way forward is also the way back. Always go up, and always take the first door on your right. Other doors may open on their own, and you will see many strange sights, but do not let your mind be disturbed. Some of these sights will be beautiful, some will be what your heart desires most, and others will be what you fear most. As long as it is not the first door, do not enter.”

“Can I look at them?” Daenerys asked.

“As long as you don’t enter the rooms, you can do as you please.” Pyat sighed, his expression complex. “The images you see and the sounds you hear may be from the past, the future, or may never happen at all. In that moment, the river of time you inhabit will be disturbed.”

“I understand. Always up, first door on the right.” Daenerys nodded solemnly. “Is there anything else?”

“When you finally enter the room of the Undying, you must be patient. Do not become agitated. We and the eternal Undying have different perceptions of time. You need only listen carefully and commit every word to memory,” Pyat admonished one last time.

“I will remember. I will show the great Undying the highest respect,” Daenerys promised.

“Then you may go in.”

Daenerys nodded, took a step forward, and found herself in a gray stone hall. It was square, about forty square meters, with a door in each of the four walls.

She remembered Pyat’s instructions to enter the door on the right. However, overcome by a strong curiosity about the House of the Undying, she didn’t act immediately. Instead, she stood in the center of the hall and peered through the other three doorways for a while.

It was disappointing. They were pitch-black, and she couldn’t see anything.

So, with the dragon on her back, she pushed open the door on her right and entered another stone chamber.

It was identical to the first.

After entering a square stone chamber with four doors for the third time, Daenerys couldn’t help but suspect she had walked into a labyrinth.

But her mind was resolute, and she pushed open the door to the fourth room.

This time, it was finally different. It was an oval-shaped wooden room. The wooden walls had clear signs of insect damage, and there were six doors in total.

Daenerys pushed open the first wooden door on the right and entered not another room, but a dim corridor.

The ceiling was high, and torches giving off plumes of black smoke were set in the right-hand wall. Daenerys reached her hand into the orange-red flames and felt a burning pain.

“It’s a real torch, not an illusion,” she murmured.

“Screee—” Big Black shrieked by her ear, snapping her back to her senses and urging her to move on.

The long corridor was covered with a moldy carpet. Golden stripes in the fabric glimmered in the dim torchlight, seeming to tell Daenerys of the cruelty of time: it had once been so precious and magnificent, but now it was tattered and ruined.

“Strange, all the doors are on the left.” Daenerys had walked for several dozen meters but still saw no doorway on the right wall.

However, she was not anxious. Even if there were no doors on the right wall of the corridor, the last door on the left would become the first on her right.

She just needed to walk to the end of the corridor.

Thump— Scratch, scratch—

The carpet under her feet absorbed the sound of her footsteps, but strange noises occasionally came from behind the wooden doors on her left. There was the sound of something bumping against a door, the urgent, low scratching of rats gnawing on wood, the faint sound of human voices, and the playing of musical instruments.

But when a wave of moans from a man and woman making love drifted out from a nearby wooden door, Daenerys could no longer hold back.

“As long as I don’t enter, I can do anything,” she told herself.

Then, with a bang! She took two steps back, ready to run, as Big Black whipped his tail and shattered the wooden door into splinters of rotted wood.

No fearsome monster rushed out. A curtain of warm, soft yellow light spilled from within onto the gray-green carpet.

“You’re amazing, Big Black!” Daenerys praised him generously.

If there was a curse, Big Black would take it. He was a dragon, after all, born with magic immunity.

“Screee—” Big Black nuzzled her neck affectionately.

Daenerys patted his large head and then craned her neck to look inside the room.

Well, it was an explicit scene, to say the least.

A tall, curvy, fair-skinned blonde beauty lay on the floor, spreadeagled and stark naked. A banner with a seven-pointed star covered her face, and four small figures were on top of her.

They were just like the dwarf who had presented Daenerys with the shade of the evening: short, with small pink hands and long, pointed noses, like lecherous rats.

The four dwarfs paid Daenerys no mind at all, completely absorbed in their violation of the woman.

“What in the world is this?” Daenerys was endlessly bewildered, not the least bit shy.

She tilted her head, searching for ‘details’ for a long time, but ultimately found nothing.

“Big Black, Dragon Dream!”

Instantly, Daenerys switched to the black dragon’s perspective. The woman’s form suddenly plunged into an endless abyss, and Daenerys, with nothing to hold onto, fell with her.

Then, a brilliant light surged up from below, and Daenerys found herself floating above a strange continent. It was an elongated landmass; she could see the scenery on the ground clearly, yet she could also see the entire shape of the continent.

Shouts of battle, cries of anguish, the clash of swords, and triumphant laughter all rose from the land below into Daenerys’s ears.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck her, and she vividly recalled a scene.

It was in White Cloud City, when she and Jorah were on the high tower at the city gate, discussing “Jorah’s Story.”

To help Daenerys understand better, Jorah had used a stone to draw a map of Westeros on the balcony.

Bear Island, the North, Ironmen’s Bay, Lannisport, Oldtown, Dorne, King’s Landing, and across the narrow sea, Braavos…

“This is Westeros!” The strange continent below corresponded perfectly with Jorah’s crude drawing.

Daenerys gradually understood the true meaning of the scene she had just witnessed: “The beautiful woman represents Westeros, and the seven-pointed star covering her face… the Faith of the Seven! The teachings of the Seven are being ignored, while four ugly creatures ravage the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Who do those four dwarfs represent?” Her understanding of the Seven Kingdoms came entirely from the television series, but her real experiences had taught her that while the plot could be a reference, it couldn’t be trusted completely.

“Forget it. I’ll just ask Jorah when I get back.”

Daenerys broke out of the draconic spiritual state, and the room returned to the previous scene of the fivesome.

Bang!

Now knowing that the scenes in the rooms held special meaning, Daenerys’s interest in the House of the Undying grew immensely. She took a few more steps forward, and another door was opened by Big Black.

“Shit!” she cried out, startled.

Chapter 54: The Dragon Has Three Heads

It was a spacious hall, seemingly in the midst of a grand feast—first a feast of celebration, then a feast of corpses.

There wasn’t a living soul in the room. It seemed everyone at the event had been brutally slaughtered. Mutilated bodies lay slumped over overturned chairs and splintered trestle tables. Blood had congealed into black pools on the tabletops and floor.

Some had their hands and feet chopped off. On a black oak table, a dismembered hand tightly gripped a bloody cup, a wooden spoon, roast duck, and bread. Some had lost their heads; their bodies were slumped to one side, their heads rolling on the floor like balls.

At the head of the hall sat a terrifying, wolf-headed corpse upon a wooden throne. It wore an iron crown, and on the oak table before it lay slices of bread, a plate, a goblet, a pitcher, a knife and fork, and a candlestick.

Strangely, its right hand gripped a leg of lamb, as a king might hold a scepter.

What was truly chilling was that, unlike the dwarf who had ignored her before, this wolf-man’s eyes followed Daenerys, his expression complex, as if making a silent accusation.

“The Red Wedding!” Daenerys instantly understood what this scene represented.

Daenerys was thrilled. For the first time, she was certain she was seeing the future.

The Red Wedding wouldn’t happen for another year or two, yet she was already seeing the outcome.

“Serves you right!” she yelled at Robb, then turned and walked toward the next room.

What Daenerys didn’t know was that early the next morning, Robb Stark, fresh from his great victory in the Whispering Wood, was jolted awake by a nightmare.

“Mother, I dreamt of someone last night,” he said to Catelyn at breakfast, a look of confusion on his face.

Her son had just captured Jaime Lannister, so the Lady’s mood was quite good. She asked softly, “Who did you dream of?”

“A strange girl.”

“Strange?”

“She was wearing a beautiful, peculiar dress—a cheongsam—and she had a bamboo basket on her back. Inside the basket was a black dragon,” the Young Wolf said, puzzled.

“Dragons went extinct over a hundred years ago,” Catelyn said.

“The woman wasn’t much older than me. Silver hair, violet eyes… she looked like a…” Robb himself was very uncertain. “A Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen girl of that age does indeed exist.” Catelyn’s expression turned serious. “The Mad King’s daughter, Daenerys Targaryen. I heard she married a Dothraki horselord a year ago. Did you get a clear look at her? What did she look like?”

“Very beautiful. More… more beautiful than Sansa. More delicate than Cersei Lannister, and more vibrant,” he said.

“Then it’s very likely her. Everyone in House Targaryen is blessed with exceptional beauty.” Catelyn nodded and asked, “How did you come to dream of her? Could it be… no, that’s not right. Even if you’re of an age to start having feelings for girls, her… you’ve never even met her.”

“I don’t know, but the dream last night made me feel a terror as if I were in the seven hells.” A glint flashed in Robb’s eyes as he said thoughtfully, “If I defeat the Lannisters, and House Baratheon doesn’t allow the North and the Riverlands to be independent—after all, together they make up more than half of Westeros…”

“I might have to fight the Baratheons next. If I win again… And if Aunt Lysa from the Vale of Arryn sends her troops to help me… She fears the Lannisters most, not the Baratheons, so that’s a very strong possibility.”

“With the lords of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale of Arryn united, you would defeat the Baratheons, take the Iron Throne, and ultimately replace the late Robert. You would become Daenerys Targaryen’s greatest enemy.” Catelyn continued along her son’s train of thought. “If she truly has dragons, or something similar to dragons—like a hundred thousand Dothraki screaming warriors—you would most likely be no match for her.”

“And she is the Mad King’s daughter. It wouldn’t be surprising if she inherited his madness.”

“If you were defeated by such a mad, vengeful Targaryen, you’d be finished. The North would be completely finished. An outcome like that would be more terrible than the seven hells.”

“Did she say anything to you?” Catelyn grew tense.

“‘Serves you right,’ she said to me coldly. ‘Serves you right.’” Robb’s face turned pale.

“Ah! Then there’s no doubt.” Catelyn exclaimed. “It must be a message from your recently deceased father, sent through a dream, warning you to be careful of that last Targaryen princess.”

“Robb, do you want the Iron Throne?” She looked her son straight in the eyes and asked nervously.

“I only want to avenge my father and for the North to be independent,” Robb said at once.

“But your dream… your future…” Catelyn said worriedly.

“Sigh… I really don’t want to fight for the whole realm. I have no desire at all for the Iron Throne in King’s Landing. Why? Why is this being forced upon me? I don’t want to be king of the Seven Kingdoms!” Robb cried out mournfully.

Time returned to the present, the focus back on Daenerys.

When Big Black’s tail whipped open the third door, Daenerys saw a scene both familiar and strange. It was a house with a large red door. Lifelike animal faces were carved into the huge wooden beams, and outside the window stood a lemon tree.

It was the house in Braavos where Daenerys had lived before she was five.

On the eve of Daenerys’s birth, the dynasty’s name had already changed from Targaryen to Baratheon. Only Dragonstone, across the sea, was still held by a fleet loyal to the Targaryens.

But on the night Daenerys was born, not only did her mother, Queen Rhaella, die in childbirth, but a terrible storm, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in a thousand years, struck the seas near Dragonstone. The warships anchored in the bay were not defeated by any enemy, but were utterly destroyed by the storm.

Hence, Daenerys earned the name “Stormborn.”

The queen’s death caused the Targaryen regime to completely collapse. All that was left was Viserys, who was just a child…

The storm destroyed all the warships loyal to the Targaryen dynasty, making Dragonstone no longer safe.

Fortunately, the great storm not only destroyed their own fleet but also wiped out the Baratheon warships besieging Dragonstone, providing a chance to escape.

While the acting castellan of Dragonstone hesitated over whether to hand the two Targaryen children over to the rebels, Ser Willem Darry and four of his men safely escaped to Braavos with Viserys and Daenerys.

Ser Willem was the Master-at-Arms, an old man with white hair and half-blind eyes. Under his care, young Daenerys had the happiest five years of her childhood.

Then the old knight died. Daenerys and Viserys were cheated out of the house by servants and began a life of wandering across thousands of miles.

In the original Daenerys’s memories, the house with the red door became the most beautiful of places, something she could never forget.

Now, that scene from the depths of her memory was reappearing before her eyes. Even old Ser Willem emerged, leaning on a cane, his steps heavy.

“Little princess, you’ve returned!” His voice was hoarse yet affectionate. “Come, come to me, my lady. You are home. You are safe.”

His large, wrinkled hand reached for her, as soft as old leather.

“This illusion is too realistic!” Daenerys clicked her tongue, looking around.

“Come, my little princess. What are you talking about? What illusion?” The old man was still beckoning to her.

It can even hold an intelligent conversation?

This… seemed to be entering the uncanny valley. Daenerys was frightened and turned to run.

The corridor stretched on and on. To the left was an endless series of doors; to the right, only torches.

Daenerys didn’t know how many doors she ran past. Some were closed, some open. There were wooden doors and iron doors. Some were intricately carved, others plain. Some had handles, others locks or rings.

At least they were all still doors, until she glimpsed what could hardly be called a door at all.

Daenerys stopped as if she had slammed on the brakes. It was a simple curtain of stiff cowhide.

A powerful impulse rose within her, as if the main purpose of entering the House of the Undying wasn’t to find the Undying, but to enter this very door.

Big Black’s tail, like a grappling hook, lifted the hide curtain.

Then Daenerys saw a boundless grassland: the Dothraki Sea.

A river snaked through the plains. A tall, pale horse carried two children along its bank.

The horse’s back was to Daenerys. She couldn’t see its head, nor could she make out the faces of the people in the saddle.

She could only vaguely see the child in front leaning over the horse’s neck. The little girl behind them, with silver hair and a painted vest, was crying ceaselessly, her sobs weak and full of pain.

Not until the horse had moved farther and farther away, completely disappearing from view, did she come back to her senses.

“Is this the past? Daenerys and Viserys? When they were young—but that girl is wearing a Dothraki painted vest.” She was puzzled. Subconsciously, she felt this was important, but she just couldn’t guess what it meant.

“Screee—”

Big Black dropped the cowhide curtain and let out a sharp cry, reminding Daenerys to keep moving.

So she silently committed what she had just seen to memory and moved on to the next room.

A pair of huge bronze doors opened automatically on both sides as Daenerys approached. Inside was a magnificent stone hall. The heads of many dead dragons hung on the high walls, looking down coldly.

Straight ahead, an old man in ornate robes sat on a high, spiky throne. His eyes were dim, his hair silver-grey.

“Let me be king over charred bones and cooked meat,” he said to a man below him. “Let me be king of the ashes!”

“King’s Landing, the Red Keep, the Iron Throne… the Mad King Aerys?” Daenerys understood at once, so she stopped to watch.

“Your Grace, have you truly made your decision?” The man below the throne, dressed in the robes of a pyromancer, had a fanatical look on his face.

“I am the dragon, and I will be reborn in fire!” The Mad King on the Iron Throne waved his arms excitedly. “Immediately plant the wildfire throughout King’s Landing. Don’t miss a single spot. I will be crowned king again amidst the ashes and bones!”

“Oh my god! This madman!”

Hearing the Mad King and his pyromancer Hand discussing how to burn half a million citizens of King’s Landing to death in an instant, Daenerys felt a chill run through her. Goosebumps broke out on her bare arms.

Leaving the bronze doors, Daenerys came upon another door that opened automatically at her approach.

Inside the ornate wooden doors studded with red copper nails was a bedroom.

A prince who looked almost identical to Viserys said to a woman nursing a newborn on a large wooden bed, “His name will be Aegon. What better name for a king?”

Daenerys immediately understood. She was once again seeing a scene from the past in the Red Keep, with Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia.

The newborn in the princess’s arms, Aegon, was the little prince who had been smashed against a wall like a melon.

Princess Elia asked her husband, “Will you write a song for him?”

“He already has a song,” Rhaegar said solemnly. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”

As he spoke, he looked up, and his gaze met Daenerys’s directly, as if time and space had shifted, bringing them into the same moment.

“There is another,” he said. Daenerys felt her hair stand on end, convinced that this long-lost brother was speaking to her. “The dragon has three heads. There is another.”

“Motherfucker!” Daenerys’s face turned pale. She swore and turned to run.

She was completely certain now. Rhaegar, dead for fifteen years, was speaking directly to her. He was telling her that the three dragons needed three riders. Besides herself and Aegon, there was another. A Targaryen?

But Aegon had died long ago. She was the only one left in House Targaryen… oh, and the male lead, Jon Snow. He was a Targaryen too.

Chapter 55: Meeting the Undying

As Daenerys prepared to open the next wooden door, Big Black stretched his serpentine neck, opened his mouth, and shrieked, smoke rising from between his teeth. Even without entering her draconic spiritual state, she understood his urgent warning.

“What is it?” she asked, turning her head to him.

But as she looked back, Daenerys was shocked to find that the torches behind her were extinguishing one by one. The long corridor was like a noodle being slurped up section by section by some monster in the darkness.

“Shit!”

Cursing, Daenerys broke into a sprint.

After what felt like over an hour of running, she finally reached the end of the corridor. Ahead was not a wall, but a dark, bottomless abyss.

There were no doors on the right wall, so Daenerys could only enter the last door on the left.

Just as she was about to step through, she suddenly froze.

Is my stamina really this good? Can I really run at top speed for several hours while carrying a dragon?

Impossible!

Never mind that she was carrying dozens of pounds; even a marathon runner couldn’t sprint flat-out for half an hour.

The power of magic? Or had she been trapped in an illusion this whole time?

But Big Black on her back felt undeniably real, and her draconic spiritual vision revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Daenerys was confused.

Thump, thump, thump…

Suddenly, from the depths of the darkened corridor, a heavy set of footsteps echoed. It sounded as if something was dragging its feet, slowly approaching along the faded carpet.

“Screech—” Big Black urged her to move, his cry sharp and insistent.

Sighing, she entered the last door.

What followed was another series of square stone chambers with four doors. Take the one on the right.

This time, Daenerys finally felt a bone-deep weariness, the kind that left her physically and mentally drained, her head spinning.

A square stone room, a square stone room, a square stone room…

Right, right, right…

Anyone, faced with the endless repetition of the same scene and the same action, would become dizzy and exhausted.

Just as Daenerys decided she would sit down and rest in the next chamber, she arrived in a damp stone room… Opposite her was an oval door, shaped like an open mouth. Standing outside, on a patch of grass in the shade of a tree, was the Arch-warlock Pyat.

“You’re finished speaking with the Undying so soon?” he asked in disbelief upon seeing her.

“Speaking my ass. I haven’t even seen them yet,” Daenerys panted.

“You must have taken a wrong turn. No matter, I will guide you.” With that, he stepped into the chamber and extended his right hand toward Daenerys.

But Daenerys took a step back, her expression strange. “What are you? You look almost identical.”

“I am Pyat Pree. Are you confused?” he asked, his blue lips parted in a look of puzzlement.

“It must be nearly dark outside. I’m in no mood to waste time with a monster like you.” Daenerys entered a Dragon Dream state to rest for a few minutes, then strode toward the door on her right.

“No!” Pyat shrieked. “No, come here, come to me, to me-e-e-e-e—”

His face collapsed inward, the cracked flesh crawling with pale, fat maggots.

The room changed again. Daenerys found herself in a narrow stairwell, so tall she couldn’t see the top.

Once more, she began to suspect she was caught in a spell.

The House of the Undying had no towers; the building was exceptionally low. Where could a stairwell have come from?

But she was already deep inside the House of the Undying. She could only press forward. There was no way to ask Pyat, and she certainly couldn’t turn back.

So she climbed and climbed. Whenever her back and legs ached, she would enter her draconic spiritual state to rest for a while.

After an unknown amount of time, Daenerys finally reached a corridor. To her right, a row of wide wooden doors stood half-open.

The doors were crafted from ebony and weirwood, their black and white grains twisting and spiraling to form strange vortex patterns. They possessed a peculiar beauty, but staring at them for too long revealed a cruel, evil aura.

“This is…” Daenerys was suddenly jolted.

Scenes from the TV show flashed through her mind. Wasn’t this spiral pattern the very same magical symbol the Others used?

“Could it be a universal sigil for mystical beings?” she wondered, her mind racing as she gently traced the carved lines.

Behind the doors lay a grand hall filled with a group of lavishly dressed warlocks.

Some wore luxurious robes of white ermine, ruby-colored velvet, and cloth-of-gold; others were clad in exquisite, jewel-encrusted armor; still others wore tall, pointed hats spangled with stars.

There were female warlocks among them as well, their attire even more magnificent and vibrant.

Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, and the most beautiful music in the world filled the hall, making the very air seem to dance with life.

A man in magnificent robes who looked like a king stood and smiled faintly at Daenerys. “Daenerys of House Targaryen, welcome. Please, join our eternal feast. We are the Undying of Qarth.”

“We have waited for you for a very long time,” said the woman beside him.

She was dressed in rose and silver. Following the custom of Qarth, one of her breasts was bared, and it was flawless.

The Warlock King said, “We knew you would come. We knew it a thousand years ago and have waited until now. The comet was the sign we sent to guide you.”

A warrior in shining emerald armor spoke. “We will share our knowledge with you and teach you to wield the weapons of magic. Come, come now. You have passed all the tests. You need only feast with us, and your countless questions will be answered.”

A handsome young man smiled. “Shall I teach you the secret spells of Old Valyria? Come, come over.”

Daenerys ignored them. After stepping through the ebony and weirwood doors, she looked from side to side and finally discovered another, smaller door hidden behind the large ones.

It was directly to her right.

The tall wooden doors concealed it completely. Most people would likely never find it and would inevitably fall for the trap.

Having found the narrow door, Daenerys turned back calmly to face the room full of finely dressed warlocks. “Alright, then. Teach me your spells.”

“Come over here,” the handsome warlock beckoned. “I’ll teach you when you come over.”

“Sigh. Do me a favor and paint your lips blue and make your skin a bit paler. Then you can try again to pass yourselves off as the Undying!”

With that, Daenerys pushed open the small door and strode inside without a backward glance.

It was a narrow room, dimly lit and oppressively small, but this time there were no other doors on any of the four walls.

Though surprised, Daenerys suspected she had finally reached her destination.

Her gaze fell upon the long stone table in the room. It took up nearly all the space, and around it gathered illusory blue figures.

Suspended in the air above the center of the table was a human heart. It was rotten and swollen, a bruised, ugly color, yet it was still beating. With each beat, it pulsed with a deep thrum and a wave of dark blue light.

“I am Daenerys of House Targaryen. Are you the Undying?” Daenerys asked the phantoms.

Inwardly, she scoffed. These things are so decayed that only their souls are left, yet they have the nerve to call themselves the Undying.

Perhaps the journey had hardened her nerves. To be in a haunted house with a group of ghosts, Daenerys felt not a shred of fear.

The figures had been motionless, neither speaking nor turning to look at the intruder. But as soon as Daenerys spoke, a fragmented voice began to echo through the room.

“…Mother of Dragons… Daughter of Death… Mother of Dragons… Slayer of Lies… Mother of Dragons… Bride of Fire…” It was like a whisper, yet also like a moan, and a series of echoes rose in the gloom, “…Mo…ther… of… Dra…gons.”

There were men’s voices, women’s voices, old voices, and children’s voices, as if a crowd were greeting Daenerys from a crack in hell itself.

The suspended heart continued to beat, sometimes glowing faintly, sometimes shrouded in darkness. Its rhythm quickened slightly.

“It is I. I am the Mother of Dragons.”

The scene in the room changed. The once pale blue figures began to take on other colors.

It was as if the group from the illusion had been instantly 3D-printed into existence.

By the dim blue light cast by the decaying heart, Daenerys could now make out the two figures at the far ends of the long stone table. On the right was a man so ancient it seemed impossible to be any older.

His face was a mass of wrinkles and liver spots. He was bald, his bluish-purple skin stretched taut over his skull. Even the whites of his eyes were blue, and his lips and fingernails were a blue so deep they were nearly black.

On the left sat a crone, every bit as ancient as the man. Her pale silk robe had rotted into her body, making her look like a desiccated corpse dug up from a grave. Daenerys could see that one of her withered breasts was still bared in the Qartheen fashion, revealing a pointed, dark blue nipple as hard as rawhide.

Understanding dawned on Daenerys. She was facing a group of the dead. Their physical bodies had perished decades, even centuries, ago. That grotesque heart was all that preserved their fragmented souls.

Her thoughts seemed to be perceived by the Undying, for a voice as thin as a thread of silk spoke: “We… are not dead. We have been… living… living… living… we are… waiting… we know all…”

“What are you waiting for?” Daenerys demanded, her guard rising.

“For you… We know all… Mother of Dragons… What do you wish to gain from the Undying?” a deep voice asked.

“What can you give me?” Daenerys countered.

“We… know all… The past, the future… both are before our eyes. We possess the wisdom to conquer death.”

Daenerys had a sudden realization. Quaithe had wanted her to seek a prophecy about the future from the Undying.

But she had already seen the finale of Game of Thrones. What value was there in a prophecy now?

Unless the ending had changed—changed because of her arrival.

Still, Daenerys was more interested in learning how to grow the watermelon than in simply being handed one.

She preferred to learn magical techniques.

“I want to learn a form of magic that suits me,” she said. “I want to learn the ancient Valyrian art of dragon-finding.”

“She wants… to learn… ancient Valyrian sorcery,” the deep voice said, a note of mockery in its tone. “…Tell her… tell her… her…”

Daenerys’s wariness spiked, but as the voice trailed off, a mass of indigo light flared in the darkness. Then, countless images began to flash before her eyes…

Chapter 56: The Fourteen Flames

Fourteen plumes of smoke billowed from the volcanic craters, obscuring the azure sky as if staining it with fourteen black clouds that would never dissipate.

Encircled by the fourteen great volcanic peaks was a vast city. It had no walls; towering buildings sprawled wantonly in every direction.

This was a magnificent city, a metropolis fit only for the gods!

“Roar—”

Skyscraping black towers, like the fingers of gods, pierced the heavens. Within view, seventy or eighty dragons circled leisurely among the colossal spires.

Red dragons, white dragons, gold dragons, green dragons, black dragons, purple dragons. The multi-colored dragons could fill the world with every color imaginable; they were as beautiful as the spirits under a god’s command.

Descending below the clouds, one could see that even in broad daylight, the city was suffused with a scorching, dark red glow.

This light came from rivers of molten rock that snaked down from the slopes of the Fourteen Flames. On closer inspection, the city was somewhat reminiscent of the water city of Venice.

However, flowing between the districts and buildings was not seawater, but glowing, radiating rivers of lava that belched black smoke.

Red light of the same color as the lava shone from the windows of the monolithic blackstone towers, which seemed to be drawing light, heat, and magic from the rivers of magma.

There were no pedestrians on the streets below, nor were there any residents in the buildings closer to the ground. In fact, a grayish-black smoke perpetually filled the lower altitudes, making it difficult for life to survive.

Only at the highest levels of the skyscraping towers, in the sky gardens adorned with stone carvings of mythological creatures like griffins, dragons, and gargoyles, did silver-haired, handsome men and women reside. Some sat quietly in the gardens, reading books resting on their knees; others attended lively banquets, reveling in pleasure; still others stood by the railings, stroking the heads of their dragons and whispering secrets to their companions.

They were the Dragonlords of old Valyria, living in a city in the sky. They used dragons to conquer the world and magic to control the volcanoes, drawing power from the magma.

They enjoyed power and wealth that would make even the gods jealous.

The skyscraping towers served various purposes. Some were residences with domed ceilings, some were gardens with open-air rooftops, and some were sorcerers’ towers where immense blue orbs of magic pulsed. All of them were impossibly tall and seemingly indestructible.

At the center of the cluster of towers stood a sorcerer’s tower three hundred meters high. On the plaza at its summit, a tall, elderly man with a stately face and magnificent robes placed his hands on an orb of magic, countless images flashing through his eyes.

From this high tower, he reviewed real-time information from major city-states across the world.

Every day at five in the afternoon, sorcerers stationed in various parts of the world would use Glass Candles to transmit the day’s major events to the capital of Valyria.

“Hiss—”

Just then, a gold dragon flew in from the other side of the city. A young knight in silver silk robes deftly leaped from the dragon’s back, strode over to the stately old man, bowed respectfully, and said, “Your Excellency, Arch-Sorcerer, Aenar Targaryen is selling off his family’s assets.”

The old man did not turn his head, still extracting useful information from the orb of magic and issuing responses to certain requests. “All of his assets?”

“Everything, even their skyscraping tower. It is said to be because his daughter, Daenys Targaryen, dreamed that Valyria would be destroyed in the near future,” the dragonrider said softly.

“House Targaryen has fallen.” The Arch-Sorcerer wasn’t angry, his tone laced with mockery. “The city’s courts found Aenar guilty. His several appeals have all failed, and the final deadline for appeal is fast approaching.”

“As a loser in the game of power, if he does not choose self-exile, he can only atone for his folly with his own blood and life.”

“I had thought him a brave man, but I never expected him to be so cowardly, shamelessly using his daughter’s dream talk as an excuse. Do you know his destination?”

“Westeros.”

“Westeros?” For the first time, the old man frowned. “As the saying goes, ‘The world is vast, but it all lies beneath the shadow of a dragon’s wings.’ But that land in the far west is… well, it is not exactly forbidden to us Dragonlords, but making enemies of those Old Gods over such a worthless place is hardly worth the trouble.”

“We sealed away even R’hllor. Why would we fear those decaying, dying primordial gods?” the young man asked, confused.

The old man pondered for a moment before speaking in a low voice. “You are the rightful heir of the Fifth Flame, and you have tamed your own dragon at a young age. You are worthy of learning the secrets known only to the lords of the fourteen peaks.”

The old man removed his gaunt hands from the orb of magic and walked slowly to the edge of the balcony. Gazing down at the magnificent city below, he sighed softly. “The Valyrians wantonly draw upon the world’s geomantic magic to build this city in the sky. To all other peoples, we are as revered as gods.”

“But we are not gods, in the end.”

“For thousands of years, our Sorcerer’s Alliance has worked tirelessly, hoping to cultivate a god of our own.”

“Not some rubbish spirit of faith like the ones in Qarth, but a True God, like the Old Gods and R’hllor.”

“Alas, Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes… Even if they are stronger than those blue-lipped warlocks, they are still not True Gods.”

“All things in this world, including dragons and demigods, are born and will die. Only the gods can be eternal.”

“The Old Gods you look down upon are indeed decaying and corrupt, but as long as someone remembers them, they will never truly die.”

“But even True Gods cannot interfere in the mortal world. A legion of Old Gods is less useful than a single dragon,” the young Dragonlord of the Fifth Flame argued, unconvinced.

Though young, he had been raised by his family as the next Lord of the Flame and was also the Arch-Sorcerer’s apprentice. He knew far more secrets than a fringe noble house like the Targaryens.

The old man nodded. “Yes, the gods cannot directly interfere in the world of mortals. R’hllor is called the God of Fire, yet he cannot make a single dry leaf combust out of thin air.”

“But the gods do not need to act directly. They can change the entire world through their followers.”

“Just like me, the Arch-Sorcerer of the Valyrian Freehold. I have not left this sorcerer’s tower in thirty years, yet the world remains under my rule. The very heavens tremble at my anger.”

“Ordinary people cannot imagine my methods. Likewise, we must not scorn the power of the gods.”

“Arch-Sorcerer, I have been taught a lesson!” the young man said with sincere and utmost respect.

Finally, he added, “The Targaryens aren’t heading directly to the continent of Westeros. He plans to make his home on Dragonstone. It’s a Valyrian fortress on the western frontier, so in a way, they will be guarding the border for the empire.”

“Mm,” the old man nodded noncommittally.

“Hmm?”

The Arch-Sorcerer, who had glanced idly at the sky, suddenly wore a changed expression. He strode quickly to the blue orb of magic, which was the size of an armillary sphere, and placed his hands upon it once more.

“Who is it? Who dares to spy on Valyria? Wait, whose child are you?” the old man first barked sharply, but his expression softened a moment later, though he remained somewhat startled and uncertain.

“What has happened?” the young man asked urgently.

“Someone has been eavesdropping on our conversation,” the old man said calmly, though the doubt on his face deepened.

“Who would be so bold?” the youth exclaimed, a mixture of shock and anger in his voice.

“Not an outsider. A young Dragonlord, exceptionally talented, but…” The old man was both surprised and puzzled. “But she doesn’t even know the most basic spells. She cannot communicate with me.”

“Even a high noble of Valyria is forbidden from spying on the sorcerer’s tower! Have her parents and tutors not taught her this?” the young man fumed.

“I sense the aura of House Belaerys,” the old man said uncertainly.

“The First Flame… Belaerys?” The young man’s expression changed. His voice was filled with shock, his demeanor turning exceedingly grave.

The old man’s own magic resonated with the tower’s orb. Strange runes flashed continuously in his eyes, yet he still had the presence of mind to speak. “Perhaps. Go to the First Flame and ask later. I’ve sent her a ‘Standard Pronunciation Chart of the 108 Letters.’ If I guessed wrong, the next time I encounter her, I can directly in—Ah?”

“Little girl, your life force is draining rapidly! What’s happening? Never mind, can you hear me? You’re most likely possessed by an evil spirit! Where is your dragon? If your dragon isn’t with you, enter the draconic spiritual state immediately!” the old man shouted at the sky.

His voice was urgent, filled with worry and fury. “Which blood mage is so daring as to target the Blood of the True Dragon in Valyria?”

“Arch-Sorcerer, are you saying she can achieve the legendary ‘draconic spirit’?”

The idea that someone would dare to attack one with the Blood of the True Dragon was less shocking to the young man than the mention of the draconic spirit.

Sensing that the consciousness had retreated and vaguely detecting the presence of its dragon, the old man breathed a sigh of relief. Only then did he turn to the youth and say, “As I said, the little one’s talent is remarkable.”

“But Balerion, Vhagar…”

Daenerys could no longer hear the rest of the words; her consciousness had been pulled from the river of time.

After she had sought knowledge from the Undying that was suited for her, a screen of azure light had risen in the darkness, and then countless images appeared before her.

Drawn by a mysterious power, Daenerys saw Valyria before the Doom. And, as if she were “changing channels” on a television, she had easily shifted her perspective to that sorcerer’s tower—perhaps not the tallest, but certainly the most mysterious.

The massive orb of magic had left Daenerys awestruck. Later, she saw the blackstone towers drawing power from the lava rivers, saw the old sorcerer managing the entire world with his orb, and overheard secrets about the gods.

For the first time, she truly felt the power and sophistication of Valyrian civilization.

What horrified Daenerys even more, however, was that the people in the “television show” could actually see the audience sitting on the couch in front of the screen. They could even communicate with her and sense a danger that Daenerys herself hadn’t even noticed.

Did I see the past, or did my consciousness travel to that point in time?

With this thought, Daenerys entered the draconic spiritual state.

The soul of the true dragon was with her!

She felt the essence of her life—her vitality and spiritual energy—gushing out of her like a flood breaking through a dam. Opening her “eyes,” she saw that the Undying, who had been sitting motionlessly at the stone table, had left their seats. They surrounded her like a fisherman’s net, their chilled, blue shadows chanting sharp incantations as they tore wisps of golden life essence from her body.

This was the dragon’s perspective.

Daenerys opened her own eyes, and the scene changed again, becoming utterly terrifying:

A crowd of zombie-like blue corpses, their blue eyes blazing with endless greed, thronged around her. They used their cold, shriveled hands to pull, caress, and tug at her clothes, to touch her body, their fingers tangling in her hair.

But Daenerys was paralyzed, as if in the grip of sleep paralysis. The strength in her limbs vanished completely. She couldn’t move; even her heart had stopped beating.

She felt a hand gouge the enchanting violet eyeball from its socket and shove it toward her mouth. She saw sharp teeth press against her soft throat.

“Ah—” Daenerys let out a furious roar. “You are courting death!”

Chapter 57: Deicide

“The Undying. Have fulfilled your. Wish, helping you learn the ancient Valyrian. Spells. You. Must now satisfy our. Need. Need. Need.” Innumerable low voices echoed mockingly, finally merging into one, interwoven with the powerful “thump-thump” of a decaying heart. “.I need your body. A thousand years of waiting to finally meet—Ahhh—”

The self-satisfied whisper turned into a piercing scream. Dark red Dragonflame, billowing with black smoke, shot out like a high-pressure torrent from a fire engine, instantly extinguishing the Undying’s soaring flames of ambition.

Bathed in the inferno, feeling the heat wash over her skin, Dany’s heart began to beat again, thumping wildly. The ghostly hands gripping her vanished in an instant.

The “zombies” crackled as they burned in the Dragonflame. Their dry, blue skin ignited like oil-soaked paper, and their bones melted like candles in the intense heat.

They stumbled, writhed, and twisted, crying out in a long-dead language, their shrill, high-pitched screams as faint as fine hair.

Dany ignored the illusory scene before her and walked swiftly toward the middle of the long stone table.

She passed right through them; they were as light as gas, as ephemeral as a mirage, dissipating at her touch.

Approaching the black heart dripping blue blood, Dany shouted, “Big Black!”

“Screee—” The black dragon’s long neck shot out like a lightning bolt, snatching the putrid flesh from the stone table.

Seeing that he intended to tear it to shreds and discard it, Dany raised her voice. “Eat it. This is a god—the collective consciousness of countless Undying over thousands of years, the god of the Qarthine warlocks.”

“Screee—” Big Black held the heart, which throbbed like a war drum, in his mouth and looked back at her quizzically.

“I know you can’t digest it, but I can help you.” A determined, ghostly light flickered in Dany’s eyes as she urged him, “Swallow it down your throat, then incinerate it with Dragonflame.”

Big Black tilted his head back, swallowing the chunk of rotten flesh whole. Then, BOOM—

Fierce Dragonflame shot from his mouth like a rocket, blowing the ceiling away and revealing the daylight outside.

Bloodline Talent: Dragon Hatching. To bestow flames and spiritual essence upon dragon eggs, thereby hatching young dragons from fossilized eggs with their original souls preserved, from dead eggs, or from healthy eggs.

To Dany’s mortal eyes, with her own five senses, everything she observed in this room was an illusion—for instance, countless desiccated corpses crowding her, gnawing at her flesh.

But upon entering the draconic spiritual state and seeing the world through the black dragon’s eyes, she perceived something more fundamental. Blue tentacles extended from the black heart, each tentacle an Undying one with an infinitely stretched body. They roared toward her, binding her like an octopus, siphoning her vital energy, and finally, even her soul was being stolen away.

It was also in this draconic spiritual state that Dany saw the black heart was rich with immense spiritual essence. Even if it was not a True God, even if the Valyrian Arch-Sorcerer had called it ‘trash,’ it was still a spirit of faith—though, Dany did not yet understand what a spirit of faith was.

Perhaps it was because of the supreme treasure in her mind, or perhaps because she frequently bathed herself in fire, but at some point, she had become able to actively guide spiritual essence from the natural world into dragon eggs.

And now, she discovered that if the spiritual essence was dense enough, she could even infuse it into a living dragon.

The spiritual essence density of the black heart was extremely high. It would be a terrible waste to throw it away. Better to use it to empower her Big Black.

The decaying heart burned in the Dragonflame. A great cloud of tiny, multicolored, fluorescent dots scattered from the damaged heart, seemingly about to return to nature.

But as “Dany” opened her mouth wide and took a deep breath, the drifting lake of “fireflies” formed a funnel-shaped vortex below, as if a swimming pool’s drain plug had been pulled. At the bottom of the vortex was Big Black’s mouth.

—In the draconic spiritual state, Dany and the black dragon shared one soul and one body: the dragon’s body.

In reality, Dany seemed to be standing with her eyes closed in deep thought, oblivious to the collapsing rubble and the flames spreading from all directions. Big Black, too, stood motionless with his head tilted back, Dragonflame burning in his mouth, resembling a dragon-shaped stone torch.

A full ten minutes passed before the thinning, colored specks of light began to ignore “Dany’s” suction, drifting away in all directions. The density was too low to absorb any further.

Dany snapped back to reality, awakening from the strange state. She took off the burnt basket from her back, discarded the tattered cloth, leaving only a palm-sized metal plate hanging on her chest.

It was the Valyrian Dragonlord identity plate she had found in the Red Waste. She had specifically brought it and tucked it into the inner pocket over her heart to serve as a breastplate.

With her medical skills, she might be able to save herself from a sword wound elsewhere, but if her heart was pierced, not even a god could save her!

In this world, almost nothing was harder than Valyrian steel.

“Let’s go, Big Black,” Dany said, waving to the black dragon standing on the stone table.

Exiting the Undying’s chamber, she found a dark corridor stretching out before her. The only light came from the hissing serpents of fire behind them.

Dany looked from side to side and saw many bodies lying strewn across the hallway. Some were ornately dressed, others looked like slaves. There were the distinctive robes of the Qartheen, as well as the attire of foreigners.

They seemed to have been struggling to escape, only to have their souls drained, collapsing helplessly to the ground.

Dany recalled the terrifying legends of the House of the Undying: Many had entered the Palace of Dust, but no one had ever been seen coming out.

She then thought of the Arch-warlock Pyat’s attitude toward this sacred temple of the warlocks: one of great reverence, never daring to enter it with her.

Finally, Dany recalled the Arch-Sorcerer’s words, murmuring to herself, “The Blood of the True Dragon of Old Valyria is both revered and coveted by ambitious warlocks.”

The corpses were all skin and bones, drained of soul and vitality. The remaining desiccated bodies had not decayed; apart from what had turned to brittle dust over the ages, a few articles of clothing remained intact.

Dany chose a gold-embroidered robe and wrapped herself in it. Then, with Big Black leading the way, she ran down the corridor.

Unlike the several hours it had taken to arrive, they ran for only thirty minutes before a door appeared ahead, daylight filtering in from outside.

With a single step, she was once again bathed in the warm sunlight and a gentle breeze carrying the fresh scent of flowers and grass.

“You destroyed the House of the Undying!” the Arch-warlock Pyat shrieked furiously at Dany.

“It wasn’t me. It was the choice of the Undying themselves!” The lie slipped out almost without thought. “The Undying said they had waited a thousand years for me, that they had long grown weary of this immortal yet tasteless mortal world. After meeting me, they chose to self-immolate and ascend to the Astral Plane.”

The situation was rather unique. Perhaps without the support of the Undying’s magic, the already decaying, decrepit building was now collapsing like a row of dominoes, starting from the Chamber of the Black Heart and spreading outward. Stone walls toppled, and wooden beams and floorboards crackled and burned as if doused in gasoline, the fire spreading with incredible speed.

Because the House of the Undying was located within the city, with many residents living in the nearby districts, a large crowd of Qartheen had already been drawn by the billowing black smoke. A small squad of camel-mounted soldiers was maintaining order near the black-barked woods.

If it had just been the Arch-warlock, Dany would most likely have had her Bloodriders cut off his head right in front of Xaro.

But in public, not only could Dany not retaliate against the warlock, she had to pin the blame for burning the House of the Undying on the dead Undying themselves.

“You lie! It was clearly your dragon that set fire to the sanctuary!”

The warlock lunged at Dany, flailing his arms, but he was immediately restrained by two burly, dark-skinned men. They were servants of the great merchant Xaro and had acted on his signal.

Indeed, Dany’s horse men had already drawn their gleaming Arakhs. Xaro was both fulfilling his duty as a host to protect his guest’s safety and, more importantly, trying to prevent the Arch-warlock from being killed on the spot when Dany inevitably defended herself.

“Let me go! I’m going to kill that bitch!” Pyat’s body was suspended in mid-air, his short legs pedaling furiously like he was on a bicycle.

A slight smile touched Dany’s lips, and the tension in her nerves suddenly eased. She had seen that while Pyat was screaming for her death, his hand had drawn a dagger from his belt.

Yes, he truly wanted to kill her.

But he wasn’t using any magic; he was trying to stab her to death with a dagger.

“I’m not lying.” Dany put on her most innocent and wronged expression. “If it was a dragon, how could the fire have spread so quickly? In fact, as you all saw, the dragon was flying down the corridor and I was running behind it. The fire was still a long way from us. Only magic could cause a fire like this, and everyone knows I don’t know magic.”

“The Khaleesi is not a witch. Everyone knows that,” Aggo nodded, his expression unusually serious.

“If Dragonflame had started the fire, it would have spread in a line, following the dragon’s flight path. That contradicts the facts,” Jorah analyzed with sound reasoning.

His words made sense, and the scales of trust in the minds of Xaro and the camel-mounted soldiers gradually tipped in Dany’s favor.

“You…” Pyat glared viciously at Dany. He could no longer sense the presence of the Undying.

Dany had come out alive; the Undying had vanished.

The conclusion was obvious: the Undying’s plan had failed. But how had it failed?

Daenerys didn’t even know any magic spells. Pyat was shocked, suspicious, and terrified all at once.

“What did you do? Why would the Undying burn the House of the Undying?” he demanded.

“What I did? You don’t know? I sought wisdom from the Undying!” Dany declared solemnly, pointing at the buildings collapsing in sheets amid the thick smoke. “Isn’t it obvious? The people of Qarth call it the Palace of Dust. Now that the Undying have ascended to the Astral Plane, of course this place has to be torn down. Even if you don’t build a new ‘true’ House of the Undying, you could free up the space for real estate development. What a waste to leave such a large piece of land sitting here unused!”

Real estate development?

The honorable warlock was about to choke with rage.

Suppressing his fury, he asked again, “What is the Astral Plane?”

A flicker of contempt crossed Dany’s face before she stated proudly, “Remember this, for it is the great wisdom of the Undying. Gods and mortals live in different spaces. We are in the mortal realm; the gods reside in a higher-dimensional spiritual space, also known as the Astral Plane. Mortals can only look up to the Astral Plane, and the only way to communicate with its gods is through pious faith. Arch-Sorcerer Pyat, the time to test your faith has come. If you revere the Undying as gods, you will probably be able to contact them soon. If, however…”

If you can’t contact them, it just proves you aren’t pious. And since you have no piety toward the Undying, don’t bother me under the pretext of avenging them.

To Dany’s surprise and delight, upon hearing her words, most of the people around them showed expressions of dawning realization. Even the cunning Xaro and the skeptical Jorah looked hesitant. Everyone knew Dany was a novice when it came to mysticism. For her to speak of such a logical divine secret, someone must have taught her.

And who would have taught her?

The Undying, of course!

“Let’s go!” Dany gestured to her people. Naturally, after putting on such a show, it was time to make a quick getaway.

Chapter 58: Visitors from the Other Side of the World

The destruction of the House of the Undying by fire, as expected, caused a great uproar in Qarth.

Even though Daenerys had managed to gloss over the incident for the time being with a lie that no one could refute, unfavorable rumors about the dragons, and about her, still spread rapidly through the city.

“Although I don’t like the warlocks one bit, that was a sacred hall that has stood for a thousand years, and your dragons burned it down in an instant. Today they can burn down the Palace of Dust, tomorrow maybe it’s just a marketplace, but who can be sure that the day after it won’t be the great Hall of a Thousand Thrones? Dragons are too dangerous, too uncontrollable. They should be killed now, while they are still small.” some with ulterior motives said.

“But I heard the Undying burned down their own dilapidated house. I think the Mother of Dragons has a point. Developing a few streets for rental income is better than letting it sit empty. Maybe the Undying finally saw the light?” others retorted.

“Whether it was the dragons or the Undying’s magic, it’s dangerous to us all. At the very least, the dragons should be made to leave Qarth.”

The next afternoon, a worried Xaro told Daenerys that Pyat was gathering the warlocks to move against her.

Daenerys immediately replied, “I will leave Qarth the morning after tomorrow.”

Xaro, however, lowered his head, forcibly took her small hand, and kissed her fingers. “You should leave, and leave immediately,” he said with deep emotion. “The sooner, the better.”

“But, my queen, you will not be alone.”

“You saw dark visions in the Palace of Dust, but my dreams are filled with light. I dreamed of a cruise ship sailing gently in the breeze on the warm, calm Jade Sea.”

“You were lying happily on a soft couch, basking in the sun, sipping delicious coconut juice, and smiling as you watched our children play with seagulls on the deck.”

Ugh, you shameless old queen. You certainly have an active imagination.

“Alas, what a pity we must part ways. You will sail east to the Jade Sea, and I will ride a camel west. We may never see each other again!” Daenerys said teasingly, secretly wiping the back of her hand on the blanket beneath her as she spoke.

“Sail with me upon the Jade Sea! Give me a son and make my dream come true, my lovely Star of Heaven!”

The merchant, who looked like a steamed bun, was reciting lines worthy of a pretty boy idol in a romance drama, all in the tone of a master seducer.

It was even more disgusting than his saliva.

Saliva could be wiped away discreetly, but words heard by the ear could not be so easily forgotten. Not only that, but they might even become a permanent memory. A nightmare.

“I’m sorry, Xaro. You’re a good person, but my goal lies to the west,” Daenerys said mournfully.

This time, upon receiving the “good person” card, Xaro’s expression changed instantly.

He said in a low voice, “Then go. Leave at once.”

Daenerys was taken aback for a moment before she understood his sudden change in attitude. “I’m already packing,” she said. “I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“You are faithless. You have toyed with my emotions,” the merchant said, looking at her coldly. “Give me back my things.”

Toyed with your emotions, my ass! I never even kept you as a backup option. When have I ever not rejected you outright?

Daenerys was very displeased. Suppressing her anger, she said sullenly, “What things? I haven’t taken any of your property.”

She swore inwardly: Don’t you dare say you left your heart with me, or I’ll kick you twice before I die of disgust.

Fortunately, the great merchant was colder and more shameless than she had imagined.

“The magic amethysts I gave you, the oxcarts, the thousand jade-carved toy soldiers, the silks of Yi Ti…”

Xaro went on for a full three minutes without missing a single item. He remembered things with perfect clarity that Daenerys herself had forgotten.

Daenerys stood there, jaw agape, for a long while before it dawned on her that she had encountered the ultimate scumbag.

Even couples who split up and divide their assets weren’t this petty.

And they weren’t even a couple! A host was demanding the return of gifts given to a guest, turning on them the moment they proved to have no further use?!!!

You shouldn’t be called Xaro! You should be called Scumbag!

A scumbag like him should be in modern society; it’s full of manipulative women who love to keep men as backup options. If he met one of them, sparks of happiness would surely fly.

Besides, his skill was far beyond even the most practiced of those women. Once he defeated them all, the remaining men would live happily ever after!

“The other things are fine, but the silks have already been made into clothes. How can I return them?” Daenerys asked with difficulty.

“Don’t you have money? Pay for them with radiants,” the scumbag said coldly. “Starting tonight, you will provide your own food for those savages of yours. You may use the house for only two more days.”

Well, at least he isn’t charging me for room and board for the past dozen days.

That afternoon, Jorah took the horse men to the market to buy supplies. With some time to herself, Daenerys placed a lounge chair in the fountain under the ginkgo tree in the courtyard. She lay back comfortably, nibbling on a sweet, crisp persimmon while enjoying the gentle “massage” of doctor fish against her calves and toes.

“Sigh, these decadent days are numbered. In the future…”

As her thoughts drifted, the clang of iron armor approached.

It was Jorah Mormont.

He had donned his suit of iron armor again to prevent any mishaps in the few days before their departure.

“Your Grace, Illyrio has sent men to receive you.”

His expression was solemn, his brow furrowed. The unexpected guests did not seem to bring him more joy than worry.

“Illyrio? Pentos is an entire continent of Essos away from Qarth. How does he know I’m here?” Daenerys asked, surprised and suspicious.

“I do not know. They are waiting at the entrance to the estate. You can ask them yourself shortly,” Jorah said, shaking his head.

Instead of having the guests brought in immediately, Daenerys turned her attention to the knight’s mood. “You don’t seem to welcome them?”

“They specifically said they have come for the dragons. If even Illyrio in Pentos knows you have dragons, then…”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jorah said worriedly, “Pentos is just across the sea from King’s Landing. The Narrow Sea isn’t vast like the other oceans; it’s only about five hundred kilometers wide. If men from Pentos can reach Qarth, then so can assassins from King’s Landing.”

“That’s a good point,” Daenerys nodded, though her expression wasn’t as grave as Jorah might have expected.

She said slowly, “Our original plan was to travel by land west to Astapor to purchase a contingent of Unsullied. Then we would head north. When everyone expects us to round Slaver’s Bay and continue west, we would do the opposite—turn east and retreat to the old trade route.”

“In a siege, one thousand Unsullied can hold off an army of ten thousand, and the environment around White Cloud City could never support an army that large.”

“In White Cloud City, we will be surrounded only by our own people. As long as we seal the gates, not even a hundred Faceless Men could harm me—they wouldn’t even be able to get in.”

At this moment, having not yet witnessed the tragic plight of the slaves firsthand, Daenerys had no intention of taking risks to make a grand statement. She had no thought of slaughtering the masters of Astapor through deceit, as the Daenerys of the original story had.

Attacking the cities of Slaver’s Bay and killing the Good Masters was one thing, but she could not use trickery. Otherwise, no matter how noble her intentions, the name Daenerys Targaryen would be forever tarnished in this world.

That scoundrel Xaro, as desperate as he was for the dragons, had never thought of breaking his word and using force against Daenerys.

He was clearly gay, yet he humbled himself to fawn over her. Putting herself in his shoes—a straight, tough man fawning over another rugged man… who could stand that?

The Pureborn of Qarth were the same. They demanded gold and silver according to tradition, but they didn’t send their camel riders to kill Daenerys and her people and seize the dragons.

The Pureborn were so greedy for gold, were three young dragons not more valuable than a few thousand radiants?

Clearly not.

The Arch-warlock Pyat hated Daenerys to the bone and fanatically desired the dragons, yet his schemes remained within the rules.

When Pyat, Xaro, and Quaithe—the three Dragon Seekers—had extended their invitations to Daenerys, they had automatically entered into a universally understood bond of trust. Or, as the people of Westeros would say, they had established Guest Right and mutually enjoyed its protections.

If even people like them could keep their word, could Daenerys be any less honorable?

Therefore, Daenerys’s current plan was a conservative one, focused solely on buying time for her three dragons to grow.

Jorah was certainly not her most trusted confidant—he was far less loyal than her Bloodriders—but he was unquestionably her chief strategist.

Daenerys gave him the outline of the plan, but he was in charge of all the details. He had far more experience in military campaigns and warfare than she did.

Sigh. When you think about it, it’s quite pathetic.

Jorah Mormont is, at best, a Zhang Fei, yet I’m using him as a Zhuge Liang…

“Your Grace, Illyrio sent three great ocean-faring ships,” Jorah’s voice floated into her ears.

“He certainly did his homework on our numbers,” Daenerys said sarcastically. “They could fit my entire small Khalasar.”

Jorah said softly, “It’s more than just your Khalasar. He is a merchant, and merchants never make a losing deal. The three great ships came here filled with specialties from the western continent, and they will return loaded with enough cargo to make the voyage profitable.”

Daenerys now understood the implication in his words.

“And so?”

“In theory, you will become the temporary master of those three ships.” A sharp glint shone in Jorah’s eyes. “We still go to Astapor, but by sea. Purchase around three thousand Unsullied, and no one will be able to harm you easily again.”

She hadn’t taken a bite of the persimmon in her hand for a long time, and the broken skin was slowly turning brown in the air. Daenerys tossed it to the base of the wall and mused, “Let’s meet with the person in charge before we decide.”

She did not return to the sweltering hall. Instead, she had Doreah place two more lounge chairs in the fountain pool, along with wine and fruit.

When the two guests entered the courtyard with Aggo, they saw the young woman with her hair tied back, wearing a painted vest and loose silk shorts (like beach shorts), her fair, jade-like feet bare as she stood by the water’s edge, smiling and extending a hand in invitation.

The heat in the air seemed to dissipate substantially just from her presence.

The man in the lead was a burly fat man, between 1.9 and 2 meters tall, with dark brown skin.

Sweat made his bald head shine with a greasy light. He wore only a tight, studded leather vest on his upper body. His sweat-soaked yellow breeches were marred with obvious stains, and a very long Arakh was thrust into his belt.

Though fat, he was not flabby. His arms were like thick oak trunks, and his protruding belly had a solid, powerful look to it.

Chapter 59: Whitebeard

Two things about the stout, brown-skinned man caught Daenerys’s eye. First, the skin on his cheeks was smooth and fine, very much like the eunuchs of Qarth. Second, his exposed skin—on his arms, chest, and lower belly—was covered in a crisscrossing web of old scars.

Against his tanned skin, the pale scars stood out like a calling card.

The other, older man wore an undyed wool traveling cloak with the hood thrown back. Long white hair fell to his shoulders, and a silky, silver-white beard covered the lower half of his face.

He leaned his weight on a hardwood staff as tall as he was, standing half a step behind the stout, brown-skinned man, appearing to be his servant.

But the old man’s bearing was far superior to the bald, fat man’s. He was tall and powerfully built, like a seasoned old warrior.

“Welcome, I am Daenerys Targaryen,” Daenerys introduced herself with a smile.

The fat man gave a cursory bow, grinning. “Your Majesty, hello! I am Belwas, known as ‘Strong Belwas’.”

Hearing his high-pitched voice and thinking of his title, Daenerys mused, Perhaps a ‘strong man’ who’s lacking… a certain something… would care more about such a reputation.

The old man executed a perfect, practiced bow, kneeling on one knee. “Your Majesty, my name is Arstan. Belwas has given me the nickname Whitebeard.”

Whitebeard?

That name was far more intimidating than ‘Strong Man’. At least, it amused Daenerys.

“My two guests, please, have a seat over here.” Daenerys gestured for them to remove their shoes and cool off in the fountain pool.

Belwas, without any ceremony, strode forward a few steps, kicked off his leather sandals, and stepped into the fountain pool with his mud-caked feet. With a creak, he sank the rattan lounge chair down half an inch, picked up a wine jug, and began pouring it directly into his mouth.

It was a good thing the pool had running water, with fresh water constantly spouting from the mouth of the stone dragon, or the whole school of nibbling fish would have died.

Whitebeard, on the other hand, stood there with his mouth agape, his face a mask of astonishment, not moving for a long while.

Daenerys asked him, puzzled, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“My apologies, to sit with the queen, and to soak my feet in the same pool… it is too…” The old man’s expression was awkward. He walked forward but did not enter the pool, choosing to sit on its edge instead. He sighed. “You are not the queen I imagined. I thought you would be more… more…”

He stammered, unable to bring himself to say the offensive word, but Daenerys laughed. “More queenly? Possessed of more royal etiquette?”

“My deepest apologies,” Whitebeard said again. “Actually, you are quite fine this way.”

“Heh, I’m just a wild girl who grew up on the streets. I’ve barely read a few books. What would I know of royal etiquette?”

As she spoke, a mischievous glint flashed in Daenerys’s enchanting violet eyes. “Big Black, come out and greet our guests.”

“Screeeech—” The black dragon had been resting on the roof, sunning himself. Even if someone had glanced up, they would most likely have mistaken him for a dragon-shaped stone sculpture.

Hearing his mother Daenerys’s call, he stood up and took a great leap downward.

Flap, flap. His wings tore off a shower of leaves and branches. Before the horrified eyes of Whitebeard and Belwas, Big Black landed beside Daenerys with a huge splash.

“Do I have a bit of a queenly bearing now?” Daenerys asked with a smile, stroking the black dragon’s head.

The ferocious black dragon and the ethereally beautiful, silver-haired girl leaning together created a strange sense of majesty.

“You are a true dragon, a true Targaryen, the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” Whitebeard’s eyes grew moist, his voice trembling with emotion.

Since devouring the demigod warlock a few days ago with Daenerys’s help, Big Black seemed to have evolved a great deal. Not only had his appetite and growth rate increased, but his intellect had also developed to that of a six or seven-year-old child.

Crucially, his temperament had become calmer, less irascible than before. After Daenerys’s teachings, he could now restrain his yearning for the sky and refrain from flying about recklessly.

Thus, while the other two dragons remained in chains, Big Black had been freed from his bonds.

“It’s only been four months. How has he grown as big as a colt?” Belwas asked with interest, having recovered from his shock.

“Is he large? You don’t know his appetite,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. She then changed the subject. “Belwas, what is your purpose in coming to Qarth?”

He put down the empty wine jug, picked up a green-skinned melon, took a bite, and mumbled, “Belwas was once a gladiator in Meereen. Because I was invincible and my fame was great, a merchant from Qohor bought me. Later, I was resold at an even higher price to that fat man in Pentos whose hair also reeks of spices.”

“Magister Illyrio?”

“Yes, that’s him,” the eunuch Belwas nodded. “That fat man sent Strong Belwas across the sea to be the little queen’s bodyguard. As for Whitebeard, he’s the bodyguard the fat man arranged for Belwas.”

“I am his squire.” Whitebeard held his staff high, as if it were a long spear with a fluttering banner. “Your Majesty, I was born in the Dornish Marches. In my youth, I served as a squire to a knight of House Swann.”

You must be sixty, old man, yet you’re still acting as a bodyguard and a squire?

She kept the thought to herself, instead asking aloud, “So you’re from Westeros, Ser. No wonder you speak the Common Tongue so fluently.”

Then, she pointed to the iron-armored knight standing to one side. “This member of my Queensguard is also a knight of Westeros. Do you know him?”

Upon hearing the words “Queensguard,” Whitebeard’s expression changed. He studied Jorah for a moment with a scrutinizing gaze and said flatly, “Lord Mormont is also quite ‘famous’ in the Seven Kingdoms.”

What kind of fame could the Bear have?

For defying a ban and selling slaves? For forsaking his honor to flee the judgment of his liege lord? For being cuckolded, his wife running off with another man?

Jorah caught the unfriendliness in Whitebeard’s tone and frowned. “At the docks earlier, you didn’t say you knew me. When have we met?”

“Lord Mormont, you fought bravely at Pyke and were knighted. At Lannisport, you nearly unhorsed the Kingslayer, winning a fair lady’s favor for it. I did not speak of it earlier because there was no need. Now that Her Majesty asks, I must answer truthfully,” Whitebeard said calmly.

“You look familiar.” Jorah lifted his visor, staring at Whitebeard in confusion for a long moment before shaking his head. “Hundreds of men competed in the tourney at Lannisport, and thousands of knights fought in the assault on Pyke. I cannot recall who you are. But I should remind you, I am no longer a lord. The Lady of Bear Island is Maege Mormont. I am just a knight in exile.”

“You are my Queensguard,” Daenerys reminded him.

“Yes, my queen.” The bitterness on Jorah’s face vanished, replaced by a joyful smile.

“Ser Jorah has a wealth of combat experience and has saved my life many times. He is my most loyal friend and a brilliant advisor.”

Daenerys spoke these insincere words with utter gravity and naturalness, and the smile on Jorah’s face broadened.

She also didn’t forget to build up the horse men’s reputation in front of her guests, pointing to Aggo and introducing him. “This is Aggo, my Bloodrider and a Ko. He is a warrior of superb skill, brave and fearless.”

“The Khaleesi has enough protection with us,” Aggo said, glancing at the fat eunuch Belwas.

“A horse-tribe boy,” Belwas said, tossing aside the half-eaten melon and baring his teeth in a smile. “Strong Belwas can’t even remember how many horse boys he’s killed in the fighting pits. Every one of them had a longer braid than you, with more bells.”

Before Aggo could reply, he slapped his thickly scarred belly with a right hand sticky with green melon juice. “Look at this. Before Belwas kills a man, he always gives him one chance to strike him first. Do some counting. Can you figure out how many men Strong Belwas has killed? Hahaha! Countless.”

Aggo angrily drew his blade, pointing it at the fat eunuch. “I haven’t killed a fat, brown man yet. Belwas is barely worthy enough to add a bell to my braid.”

“Sheathe your weapon, Blood of my blood.” Daenerys reached out and pressed his arakh down, her voice gentle. “This man has come from thousands of miles away to serve me. You should not point a blade at him.”

Then she turned to Belwas and said gravely, “If you truly wish to swear fealty to me, you must respect my people, my companions, my brothers. If you cannot do this, you might as well return to Illyrio and await your next master.”

The toothy grin vanished from the giant’s broad, brown face. He looked at the petite yet imposing girl, then at the black dragon snorting white smoke beside her, and mumbled, “Belwas hasn’t finished his mission. Can’t go back.”

Daenerys smiled at the brute and asked, “What other mission do you have?”

“That fat man wants the dragons, and he wants you, the girl who birthed them,” Belwas said matter-of-factly.

Damn it. I knew everyone coveted the young dragons, but could you be any more direct? Couldn’t you have used some subtlety first? I’m not used to this!

Daenerys’s smile froze, and she stood there, stunned.

Whitebeard explained, “Belwas speaks the truth, but Magister Illyrio wishes us to bring you back to help House Targaryen restore its rule. The Usurper is now dead, and the realm has fallen into chaos. There are four kings at once, and they are slaughtering one another, leaving rivers of blood and fields of corpses. Your Majesty, the Seven Kingdoms need you. The people of the Seven Kingdoms need you. The justice of the Seven Kingdoms needs you to uphold it!”

Fine, I’ll let you smooth that over.

Daenerys frowned. “Four kings? Which four?”

“The Usurper’s son, Joffrey Baratheon; the Usurper’s youngest brother, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End; and the Usurper’s middle brother, Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone. Then there is the son of the Usurper’s late friend, Eddard Stark, now Robb Stark, the King in the North. It is said that Balon Greyjoy of the Ironmen’s Bay also has plans to rise up and declare himself king,” Whitebeard said, his voice laced with worry.

“The prophecy really came true,” Daenerys murmured. “You know that I visited the warlocks’ House of the Undying, don’t you?”

“I have heard people say that your dragon burned those charlatans to death,” Whitebeard said in a complimentary tone.

His voice was thick with disdain for the warlocks.

“Ser, tell this old gentleman the prophecy I saw concerning Westeros,” Daenerys said, looking at Jorah.

The knight’s expression was grim. “After you returned, you told me you saw a beautiful woman being violated by four hideous dwarves. The woman represented Westeros, and the four dwarves… you asked me who they represented. At the time, I guessed it was Queen Cersei, Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys the eunuch, and King Joffrey.”

“This…” Whitebeard looked incredulous. “Could it be that bunch of blue-lipped men can actually prophesize?”

Not everyone who entered the House of the Undying saw prophecies. Most were lost in the visions. Only those with certain qualities could catch a limited glimpse into the river of time.

“I know nothing of magic. I don’t know if it was an illusion or some other trick,” Daenerys said, shaking her head gravely. “But that day, I truly saw many things. For example, my elder brother Rhaegar, my sister-in-law Princess Elia, and my nephew Aegon. Rhaegar’s eyes were blue, not violet, weren’t they? I had never seen him before. Oh, and he held his son and told me that the dragon has three heads, and one is still missing.”

Chapter 60: Jenny of Oldstones

“I have three dragons, that’s true, but I’m the only Targaryen left. Little Aegon has long been dead.” At this point, Daenerys looked at Whitebeard and asked, “Do you know of ‘the song of ice and fire’? Rhaegar also said Aegon was the Child of Prophecy, that ‘the song of ice and fire’ was composed for him at birth.”

Sounded like a protagonist, born with ‘the song of ice and fire’ as his theme music.

Whitebeard fell into thought. After a while, he said, “The Targaryen sigil is indeed a three-headed dragon, meaning Aegon and his two sisters—three dragons, three dragonriders. ‘The dragon has three heads’ should mean this, but I don’t know who else is missing. As for ‘the prince that was promised,’ that’s a tale that has been circulating among the Targaryen royalty for decades.”

“‘The prince that was promised? Is there such a saying in House Targaryen?’” Daenerys looked at Jorah doubtfully, hoping for confirmation from him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know either.” Jorah frowned and shook his head, looking suspiciously at the old man. “Arstan, how do you know of this?”

“Heh heh, it’s an old story from decades ago. Only you northerners are so ill-informed.” Whitebeard chuckled for a moment, then continued the previous topic, saying, “According to legend, a prince would be born to House Targaryen. He is the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, and he will—”

“Wait, Azor Ahai?” Daenerys interrupted him, asking strangely, “Is it the one about how ‘after the long summer, the stars will bleed and the reincarnation of Azor Ahai will be reborn amidst smoke and salt’?”

“Er, something like that. I also know of this ancient prophecy from Asshai that circulates in Essos, but in our Westeros, a prophet clearly stated that the reborn Azor Ahai would be a Targaryen prince, and would be born in recent decades,” Whitebeard nodded.

Is that damned Azor Ahai really so special that people and nations all over the world are awaiting his return?

Whether he saved the world from the Others or not, the fact that he killed his wife to forge his sword was set in stone.

The old zebra man had told the story of the “Kingdom of the Heirs of Hyrkoon.” After saving the world, Hyrkoon even had many little Hyrkoons!

So, who did he have them with?

Scumbag!

Seemingly noticing the dismissive look on Daenerys’s face, Whitebeard said seriously, “Even if Ser Mormont doesn’t know this prophecy, he must have heard of ‘Jenny of Oldstones’.”

Never mind Jorah; even Daenerys, who had never been to Westeros, knew of “Jenny of Oldstones.”

In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, she was the ultimate Mary Sue.

At Daenerys’s wedding to Khal Drogo, all the guests presented gifts. Even Mormont, so poor his wife had left him, gave her two old books.

They had no titles, just handwritten manuscripts on sheepskin. Daenerys, wanting to understand this world, had flipped through them many times.

They were basically a ‘Collection of Westerosi Fairy Tales.’

Inside were legendary tales from the Seven Kingdoms, written simply and superficially, the kind of book designed to help children learn to read and write.

Among them was the story of Jenny of Oldstones.

She was said to be from Oldstones—the six-thousand-year-old ruins of a First Men king’s city in the wilderness. She had no known parents and only claimed to be a descendant of the Kings of the First Men (Oldstones was the capital of a First Men king, destroyed six thousand years ago during the Andal invasion).

However, the people in the nearby villages didn’t believe her, mocking her as a mad peasant girl, or perhaps even a witch.

But one thing was certain: she was a great beauty, mysterious and enchanting.

So much so that Crown Prince Duncan, who was already betrothed, gave up his claim to the throne to marry Jenny after meeting her in the wild with flowers in her hair.

Come to think of it, Jenny was Dany’s great-aunt by marriage; her husband was Dany’s own grandfather’s older brother.

Mm, Dany’s grandfather sure got lucky, inheriting the throne as the second son.

“‘Jenny of Oldstones is connected to the Child of Prophecy?’” Daenerys asked in surprise.

“Princess Jenny did not come to court alone. She had a good friend she grew up with, a prophetess.” A reminiscent look flashed in Whitebeard’s blue eyes, his deep, strong voice slowly reaching everyone’s ears.

“Princess Jenny called her companion one of the Children of the Forest, but everyone else thought she was just a strangely-featured dwarf.

That witch once told your grandfather that the prince that was promised would be born from the line of Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella.

So, your parents, though they may not have loved each other, were still wed. Alas, fate is a cruel mistress. If King Aerys ever experienced love, it must have been with Joanna of Casterly Rock.”

“Joanna of Casterly Rock?” Mormont was utterly horrified, his voice trembling. “You can’t be talking about Joanna Lannister?”

Whitebeard gave the knight a deep look and said, “The very same. Lord Tywin’s wife. As Princess Rhaella’s lady-in-waiting, Joanna grew up in the Red Keep, and with His Majesty Aerys…”

“Ah, I’ve strayed from the topic. Now, seeing Her Majesty Daenerys, I feel that prophetess’s prediction has come true,” he said to Daenerys, shaking his head.

“Heh, you think I am the Child of Prophecy, the reincarnation of Azor Ahai?” Daenerys shook her head and chuckled lightly. “In the vision I saw, Rhaegar seemed to pierce through time itself to tell me that the baby in his arms was the true Child of Prophecy.”

“The young prince Aegon is dead. The prophecy is broken,” Jorah said gravely.

“Regardless, you are the true queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Please, return with us to Pentos,” Whitebeard said to Daenerys.

Daenerys could see it now. Nominally, Whitebeard was just Belwas’s squire, but he was the real one in charge.

“When did you arrive in Qarth?” she asked.

“Four or five days ago.”

“Then why have you only come to find me today?”

Whitebeard explained, “The leader of our merchant ships, Groleo, is both the captain and a proper Pentoshi merchant. Merchants believe that a ship should never sail empty.

On this voyage, we brought fine crafts from Myr to Qarth, and we will take back spices, silks, porcelain, and other goods from the East. So far, we haven’t sold all the goods we brought, and we haven’t yet purchased the eastern cargo…”

At this, the old man frowned, looked at the horse men gathered under the shade of a tree, and sighed. “We should have arranged for Your Majesty’s people and belongings first, and then purchased goods according to the remaining space in the hold.”

“You heard I was about to leave, so you rushed over immediately?”

“That’s right.” The old man nodded.

There was something else he didn’t say. Secretly observing whether Daenerys had what it takes to be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms was another reason they hadn’t approached her immediately.

For the old man, as long as Daenerys hadn’t inherited the Mad King’s streak of insanity, she was qualified.

It wasn’t that his standards were low, but that there were simply too few options.

Daenerys had her handmaids attend to the two guests while she returned to the living room with her Bloodriders and Jorah to discuss their next move.

Aggo and the others had always believed that the horse men should not leave the solid land. The endless poison water would drown the whole world; it was too dangerous.

Alright, the horsemen were all landlubbers who couldn’t swim and had a fear of the sea. Their opinions were filled with too much prejudice to be of much reference value.

Jorah hesitated for only a moment before advising Daenerys to accept Illyrio’s invitation.

“You’ve caught his attention. Whether he has other motives or simply hopes to profit from your restoration, he won’t easily give up on your three dragons.

He was able to find you so accurately and quickly once, he can do it a second time. If you keep refusing, perhaps…”

He paused for a moment, letting Daenerys realize the worst-case consequences for herself, then continued, “Traveling by sea is also safer and faster.”

“We are not accustomed to fighting on the poison water. Our strength would be more than halved,” Quaro retorted.

“It’s harder to be tracked by sea. If you don’t encounter enemies, you’re naturally safer. You may be warriors of the saddle, but the two skills that make you masters of Essos—the Arakh and the bow—are not completely useless on a ship.”

A stern glint flashed in Jorah’s eyes. “In fact, if things go awry, we have the strength to seize control of the ships. We won’t go to Pentos; the ships will take us to Slaver’s Bay.”

The next morning, Captain Groleo came to meet with Daenerys.

He was a weather-beaten, rough and sturdy old seaman of medium build. His bushy beard and curly black hair merged into one, so it seemed that only a cheerful mouthful of white teeth and a pair of frank, sharp, dark brown eyes were visible on his face.

In his interactions with Daenerys, Captain Groleo was not overbearing at all. Upon their first meeting, he offered to give up his own captain’s cabin for her.

Like Belwas, he already saw Daenerys as the object of his service and loyalty.

Of course, Daenerys wouldn’t tell him she wanted to change course right after meeting him.

Daenerys wouldn’t even bring it up herself. She was just fifteen, innocent and muddle-headed, with no opinions of her own, simply following Jorah Mormont’s every word.

If Illyrio truly had any ill intentions, he would have that Queensguard to blame.

When Xaro learned that Illyrio had sent ships to fetch her, he only said she could have the house for a few more days, but she would have to pay for her own food.

After that, he hardly showed his face, communicating any matters through his steward.

While waiting for the merchant ships to be stocked, Daenerys’s group wasn’t idle either. First, they had to sell all three hundred camels they had just purchased, taking a small loss.

Not only were the camels to be sold, but the old, the weak, women, and children would not be riding. Apart from the eighty elite riders, the horses of the others would also be disposed of.

In fact, Daenerys sold seventy percent of the Khalasar’s warhorses and then spent money to equip her riders with sturdier steeds of a superior breed.

The good horses of Drogo’s Khalasar had all been taken by the many new khals who had left, and the remaining ones were not suitable for the battlefield.

Finally, Daenerys had Captain Groleo select two hundred sailors from his fleet. All the horsemen, including the Bloodriders, were required to learn how to swim, with the sailors as their instructors.

Jorah Mormont had grown up by the sea and didn’t need to attend the training.

Two more days passed like this. After a breakfast of loofah and shrimp soup, Daenerys decided to go to the docks to see Groleo’s large ship for herself and check if any problems had been overlooked.

For example, the dreaded scurvy of the great age of sail.

She wondered if this fantasy world had encountered this problem. The journey from Qarth to Pentos was far longer than crossing the Atlantic from Europe.

She went to the stables wearing faded sandsilk trousers and woven-grass sandals.

A silver medallion belt was slung around her slim waist, with a small curved blade hanging from it.

Her silver hair, which reached her shoulder blades, had been braided by Jhiqui in the Dothraki style, with a small silver bell tied at the end that tinkled with her light steps.

The horsemen handmaidens believed that Daenerys burning the warlocks in the Palace of Dust and sending the souls of the Undying to hell was a victory worthy of boasting, fully justifying the addition of a bell to her braid.

Daenerys felt helpless about this. It wasn’t about the bell, but the fact that even the simple-minded horse men believed she had killed the Undying. Could the Arch-warlock be even dumber than them?

Chapter 61: Dragon Eggs from the Shadow Lands

“Your Majesty, are you sure about wearing that?”

Daenerys’s Dothraki girl attire made Whitebeard’s old face bunch up, like a conservative father seeing his beloved daughter in some outlandish style.

“I thought the cheongsam you designed was very beautiful and perfectly befitting of royalty,” he suggested hesitantly.

Ever since that day they met Daenerys, Whitebeard and Belwas had not left her side.

The two claimed it was their duty to protect Daenerys’s safety and that they would follow her wherever she went, never leaving her for a moment.

Daenerys felt that neither of them had a treacherous or cunning nature. Even if they had other motives, they would not harm her, so she agreed to their request.

Ser Jorah was very displeased about this. He kept advising Daenerys that there was something wrong with Arstan, that he was nothing like a squire.

Although Daenerys agreed with him, she countered that they would all be crossing the sea on the same ship eventually, and they would have more time together in the future. It was impossible to keep the two of them separate forever.

And so, Ser Jorah also began to fulfill his duties as a Queensguard: to be one of Daenerys’s bodyguards.

“Since we’ve come to the stables, we’re obviously going riding. My cheongsam isn’t suitable for this occasion.” Daenerys led out her little silver mare, saddled her, and mounted with an agile movement.

“Belwas likes the little queen’s clothes. Like a warrior.” The eunuch did not ride a horse; he walked beside Daenerys with long strides, protecting her.

“Ahem, you two, and Ser Jorah, please don’t call me ‘Queen’ from now on. You can use the title to impress outsiders, but we’ve all gotten to know each other. There’s no need for such pretense!”

The horse trotted at a light pace, crossing the threshold and stepping onto the street.

“But you are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the true queen,” Whitebeard said gravely.

He and Jorah rode on horseback, flanking Daenerys with Rakharo and three other Dothraki riders, protecting her securely on all sides.

“My brother Viserys always declared himself the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and King of Westeros, but everyone mocked him as the ‘Beggar King’.”

Daenerys told them, “From now on, you can call me Khaleesi, or the Princess of Dragonstone. Even ‘Daenerys’ is fine.”

When Daenerys was born, embers of the Targaryen dynasty still remained; it had not been completely extinguished. Her status as Princess of Dragonstone was a fact no one could deny. At worst, she was a princess in exile.

Qarth was built on the north shore of a strait, with the docks in the southern part of the city.

Xaro’s manse was in the wealthy eastern district. They had to cross a full eight streets before reaching the poor district in the south.

Here, there were no colorful marble palaces or fragrant gardens, only uniform, old brick and tile houses, with few windows facing the street.

The filthy streets were filled with naked children, beggars with grimy faces, stick-thin, sand-colored dogs, and the pale-skinned residents of Qarth.

Not everyone could afford to wear the ornate, traditional Qartheen robes like Xaro. These commoners wore only a single dusty, grimy linen tunic.

When Daenerys passed by, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to watch her leave with numb eyes.

They all recognized her. They all knew the Mother of Dragons.

The fanaticism that had emptied the streets when she first entered the city was gone. Now, their indifference toward her was tinged with a hint of fear.

The House of the Undying had collapsed amid great smoke and flames, and nearly every citizen of Qarth had seen it.

At first, many had been fooled by Daenerys’s tall tale, believing the Undying had burned down their own ancient hall. After all, the House of the Undying had truly become a Palace of Dust, and it was high time it was torn down and rebuilt. Everyone knew how mad the warlocks were; setting fire to a building seemed perfectly normal for them.

One building merchant even approached the Arch-warlock Pyat, hoping to contract the construction of the new House of the Undying. He asked for no money, only for the street-facing frontage to be given to him.

The merchant came running naked out of the grove of black-barked trees, shouting, “Where did my tail go? I want my tail!”

It was utterly bizarre.

The other merchants, who had thought they’d missed a great opportunity, were terrified. The residents of Qarth no longer dared to publicly discuss the matter of the warlocks’ mad arson.

People began to wonder—if the warlocks’ reaction was so violent, could it be that the Mother of Dragons had lied?

Overnight, the people of Qarth remembered the danger of dragons. The scenes of them once vying to pay her respects vanished, and Daenerys’s residence became deserted.

But Daenerys didn’t care. She would be leaving soon, so what did the opinions of the Qartheen matter?

Passing through the poor district of Qarth, they entered the docks. The flow of people on the streets gradually thickened: carriages, palanquins, camel caravans, merchants and sailors of every skin color, and street vendors hawking their wares.

The perfume of merchant ladies, the aroma of roasting meat, and the smells of leather, dung, sweat, and fish mingled into a thick, strange odor. This bizarre smell, mixed with the boisterous shouts and the salty sea breeze, somehow conveyed a vibrant sense of being alive in the world of men.

Daenerys realized she was starting to like Qarth. She shouldn’t have hidden away in Xaro’s garden palace all this time, nearly missing the true beauty of this great trading hub between East and West.

“Make way, make way for the Mother of Dragons!” Strong Belwas bellowed, shooing away a mule that was blocking their path.

“I smell it, the scent of poison water,” her Dothraki handmaiden, Jhiqui, called out to Daenerys.

The Dothraki trusted neither the ocean nor anything to do with it. In their eyes, any water their horses could not drink was unclean.

“What poison water? Aggo and the others have been soaking in the sea every day these past few days. Has it poisoned any of them?” Daenerys asked Aggo, who was beside her. “You tell her, is the seawater poisonous?”

“It is poisonous, Khaleesi,” the Dothraki said, nodding earnestly. “I drank a few mouthfuls and was nearly poisoned to death. We all tried it. You really can’t drink seawater, and water you can’t drink is poisonous, of course.”

That logic…

Qarth was one of the world’s greatest ports. Taverns, warehouses, and gambling dens lined the streets, with cheap brothels and temples dedicated to all manner of strange gods packed tightly together.

Under the massive awning of the docks, merchants and customers from all over the world were crowded together. Thieves, hooligans, swindlers, and other lowlifes also roamed among them.

Arstan Whitebeard explained to Daenerys, “The docks district is a grand marketplace in itself. Day and night, goods from both eastern and western continents flow in and out. You can find almost anything that exists in the world here.”

After a moment of contemplation, he sighed. “At the same time, this place is also a zone beyond law and morality. Slaves can be bought and sold freely, and illicit goods can be peddled… If you don’t ask about a cargo’s origins, you can buy the same things here for a fraction of the market price. Your Grace, do you understand why?”

A few thoughts flashed through her mind, and Daenerys asked in surprise, “Pirates and robbers openly sell their stolen goods here?”

A flicker of admiration passed through Whitebeard’s sad blue eyes. “This is the world’s capital of trade, and also a land of sin.”

“Mother of Dragons, Mother of Dragons!”

Daenerys turned her head to see a withered man with a white linen cloth wrapped around his head for a hat, bouncing up and down and waving at her from behind Ser Jorah.

The middle-aged man’s skin was as black and shiny as charcoal. He was small, thin, and shriveled. The pupils and whites of his eyes were naturally very large, standing out starkly against his dark face.

“Mother of Dragons, Mother of Dragons! I have dragon eggs, I have dragon eggs! Do you want to buy?” he shouted in accented Valyrian.

Hearing “dragon eggs,” Daenerys couldn’t help but pull her little silver mare to a halt. She had Ser Jorah let the merchant through and asked, “Are you sure you’re not trying to deceive me?”

“How would I dare deceive the Mother of Dragons? Come and see for yourself, and you’ll know.” While making his righteous guarantee, the dark, skinny man began pulling her little silver mare toward his stall without waiting for an answer.

On a dark red blanket, various bottles and jars were laid out. In the very center, wrapped in a bundle of soft Yi Tish silk, were two brightly colored stone eggs.

They were the size of pineapples, their surfaces covered with fine scales that had the texture of colored glaze. Dappled sunlight fell on them through the latticed awning, reflecting a coppery halo.

Daenerys let out a soft “oh” of surprise, dismounted, and strode to the stall. She bent down and picked up one of the stone eggs from its silk-lined nest, examining it carefully from all sides.

“Mother of Dragons, don’t let old Bao Han trick you.” Next to the skinny dark man’s stall, there was no seat set up. Instead, a pale-skinned old woman stood there, with a string of beer-bottle-shaped pottery jars hanging from each shoulder. The rich smell of goat’s milk wafted faintly from the gaps around the wooden stoppers.

Meeting Daenerys’s gaze, the Qartheen old woman, her back stooped with age, revealed a toothless, shrunken mouth and said with a chuckle, “If those were real dragon eggs, this barbarian from Asshai would have presented them to the Pureborn long ago!”

“You…” The skinny dark man called “Bao Han” looked like he wanted to poke his finger into the old woman’s eyes. He hopped on his feet and cursed, “You bastard! You son of a bitch, old woman Qiluo! I’ve never offended you, I even buy goat’s milk from you most mornings! Why must you slander me?”

The old woman rolled her eyes and said irritably, “I don’t want to lose a repeat customer.”

“What did you say?”

“I don’t want you to be chopped in two by one of her Dothraki boys for deceiving the great Khaleesi.” The old woman scoffed. “You should think about who you’re dealing with. She’s the Mother of Dragons.

“You fool, when you see her, you should be hiding far away. If there’s anyone in the world who can tell a real dragon egg, it has to be her.”

The old woman was very wise.

The skinny dark man was speechless, his dark face turning a little waxy pale. The crowd of onlookers nearby all nodded in agreement.

“These are indeed dragon eggs,” Daenerys said, her words stunning the old woman into silence.

“What? They’re really dragon eggs?” Even Bao Han himself was stunned.

“Dragon eggs! The Mother of Dragons says they’re dragon eggs! Bao Han’s dragon eggs are real!” The nearby stall owners erupted in an uproar.

“Your Grace, are you certain?” Whitebeard came closer and picked up the other dragon egg, turning it over and over, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.

He considered himself something of an expert, having handled real dragon eggs in his youth—the dragon eggs of House Targaryen.

“Haha, they are dragon eggs! I didn’t lie!” The Asshai’i, Bao Han, jumped and danced as if he’d won the grand prize, laughing and calling out to the crowd, “You all saw it! This is the famous Mother of Dragons, the one who gave birth to three dragons! She has appraised them—these are dragon eggs.”

“They are indeed dragon eggs,” Daenerys said with a smile as she turned to him. “If I were to purchase them, what would be the price?”

===TRANSLation ENDS===

{“characters”:{“宝汗”:“Bao Han”,“绮罗”:“Qiluo”},“locations”:{},“organizations”:{},“terms_and_jargon”:{}}

Chapter 62: Qarth, the World’s Pier

“Ten… no, no, no, one thousand.” The Asshai’i man’s eyes, mostly white, turned a crazed, glittering gold. “Mother of Dragons, how about fifty thousand gold radiants?”

“Not too expensive,” Dany nodded.

A cunning glint flashed in the dark, gaunt man’s eyes. He added, “I mean, fifty thousand per egg. One hundred thousand for the two.”

“Hiss—” A nearby old woman selling fermented goat milk gasped. “You were only selling them for ten silver coins before, and no one was buying!”

“Wow!” The crowd was stunned by the price of the dragon eggs.

“Isn’t a single dragon worth at least fifty thousand gold coins?” The man’s dark face flushed as he shouted to the crowd, “Certified by the Mother of Dragons! These are real dragon eggs from Asshai, treasures that can hatch true dragons!”

“Ahem.” Dany interrupted him, leaning close to his ear and whispering, “Now you’re going too far. These are dragon eggs pieced together from shattered fossils. Even I can’t hatch a dragon from them.”

“You’re lying!” he cried out in shock and anger. His voice was also kept low, practically forced through gritted teeth.

Dany gave a small laugh. “You know perfectly well whether I’m lying or not. Besides, even if I were, people would believe me. Don’t you think?”

“Great Mother of Dragons, how about… ten thousand… No,” the gaunt man immediately softened, pleading, “I’ll sell them to you for five thousand radiants? You can have them both.”

“Two broken stones. What would I do with them?” Dany shook her head, then, seeing his despairing look, said something that sent him back to heaven. “However, I won’t deliberately ruin your get-rich-quick scheme.”

“Thank you, thank you, Mother of Dragons!” After several such swings between despair and joy, the man was nearly in tears.

“But on one condition,” Dany revealed four pearly white teeth. “You must answer two of my questions.”

“Of course. Never mind two, I’ll answer twenty,” the Asshai’i man nodded vigorously.

Jorah and Whitebeard were both vigilant men. The moment Dany leaned in to speak privately with the merchant, they circled around to shield her from outside view.

Dany was heard asking, “Where did you get these shattered dragon egg fossils?”

The gaunt man spoke quickly: “Legend says Asshai is the birthplace of dragons. In ancient times, explorers found dragon eggs deep in mountain caves. I don’t know if the legends are true, nor have I ever seen a real, hatchable dragon egg, but Asshai does indeed have dragon egg fossils.

As you know, Asshai is extremely inhospitable. Even food and water must be shipped in by merchant vessels. But we are rich in gold and silver mines.

Every now and then, slaves in the mines dig up dragon egg fossils that look like gems, or peculiar jades shaped like dragon eggs.

Often, we can’t tell if they’re dragon eggs or gemstones. We usually sell them as gems, and they fetch a higher price than ordinary jade.

However, the warlocks and priests of the Red God have special uses for dragon egg fossils. Everyone in Asshai knows they’ve tried many times to hatch dragons from stone eggs.

But how is that possible? A stone is a dead thing. Even if it was once a dragon egg, how can it hatch a living creature after tens of thousands of years? Er…”

The Asshai’i man glanced at Dany with reverence and asked in a low voice, “Where did your dragons come from?”

“Go home and ask your mother,” Dany said irritably.

“My mother is dead.”

Reading her expression, the man quickly returned to the previous topic, saying with a mix of regret and relief, “My two eggs are the products of a failed experiment, shattered into several pieces by wildfire—that’s what the pyromancer who sold them to me said. I originally thought he was bragging and didn’t believe they were dragon eggs until you confirmed it today…”

“A pyromancer…” Arstan Whitebeard said blankly, murmuring, “I never thought the warlocks of Asshai were just as mad.”

“How much did you pay for them?” Jorah interjected.

“Five thousand radi…” Under the knight’s fierce gaze, the man gave a sheepish smile and held up two fingers. “Two silver coins, but my processing fee…”

Dany cut him off. “Enough nonsense. Last question. Do you know where I can find more dragon egg fossils?”

The gaunt man’s tone was certain. “In Asshai. In the magic towers of the great warlocks, you’ll find one or two dragon eggs of indeterminate authenticity, kept either as decorations or in the hope of hatching them. Great Mother of Dragons, you can’t even imagine how much those men crave dragons. If you had dragon dung, you could trade it in Asshai for its weight in gold.”

Dragon dung?

Dany’s three dragons did defecate, but compared to what they ate, they produced very little—just small, black, stone-like lumps. She hadn’t thrown them into the latrine, however. Instead, she had collected them, ground some into powder, and mixed it into the horse feed.

Whether it strengthened the horses, she didn’t know, but the eighty screaming warriors’ warhorses were gradually becoming able to stand their ground in the dragons’ presence.

In a future cavalry charge, her dragons could just circle the sky once. Her own forces would be unaffected, while half the enemy’s horses would collapse.

Yes, the dragons’ aura of fear was real. Dany had tested it. Where the dragons were, other beasts fled.

Forget dragons, even direwolves could be considered legendary magical beasts. Robb Stark always had his direwolf disrupt the enemy’s cavalry in every battle. Even docile geldings, upon catching the scent of a direwolf, would bolt in panic, difficult for even experienced knights to control.

“Sell me a portion of that adhesive you used to stick the stones together,” Dany said.

The man was surprised. “You too…”

“Hmm?” Dany glanced sideways at him, her voice rising in pitch.

“I understand, I understand, I understand!” The man was as joyful as if he’d found a kindred spirit in his trade, winking at Dany repeatedly. He then grinned and pulled out a fist-sized glass bottle from behind his stall, tore off a piece of parchment, and scribbled down a list.

“The adhesive, the formula, and the method to hide color differences—the complete technique is all here.” He handed the bottle and parchment to Dany, chuckling. “Easy to learn, satisfaction guaranteed for everyone!”

“How much?” Dany asked.

“Ten silver coins,” the man said, rubbing his hands together.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Jorah sneered.

“I bought my adhesive from a warlock in Asshai,” the man argued.

Dany took two silver medallions from her belt and pressed them into his hand. “Is this enough?”

The medallions were as large as Dany’s palm and quite thick, while an ordinary silver coin was barely the size of her thumbnail.

The man’s face lit up as he caressed the medallions. “Enough, enough, more than enough,” he said repeatedly.

Parting a path through the crowd of merchants and travelers, Dany’s group continued onward.

After they left, an even larger crowd gathered around the man’s stall, all clamoring to see the dragon eggs.

Leaving the commercial district, Dany arrived at the seawall.

Along the coast built of grayish-black rock, several long stone piers extended out like fingers from a hand. The piers stretched one or two kilometers into the bay, and moored alongside them were sea vessels of all shapes and sizes.

The ‘middle finger’ pier was in the best position, not only perfectly sheltered from the fierce winds and waves of the Narrow Sea but also closest to the commercial and warehouse districts. It belonged exclusively to The Thirteen.

Dany even spotted Xaro’s figure. His luxurious palanquin was parked beneath a magnificent greatship with the words “Cinnabar Kiss” painted in white on its side.

Two gangplanks connected the Cinnabar Kiss to the stone pier. On one, shirtless sailors carried down crates of saffron, frankincense, pepper, and other eastern spices, loading them onto wagons beside the ship.

On the other gangplank, cargo was being loaded onto the ship. Barrels of wine, sacks of sourleaf, and bundles of zebra hides were unloaded from wagons and carried up into the emptied holds.

It would probably set sail with the tide tonight.

“This is certainly efficient, but don’t the ships need maintenance? And the sailors, they’ve just returned to Qarth and immediately have to load cargo and set out again. Don’t they get tired?” Dany asked, puzzled.

Jorah thought for a moment and said, “They might change crews. As for the ship, a checkup once every six months is enough. The Jade Sea is calmer, and the voyage is shorter.”

Xaro, in his palanquin, had also seen Dany’s party, but neither side had any intention of approaching the other. Xaro turned back to shout at the workers, and Dany, without pausing, continued along the coast.

Next to the pier of The Thirteen, at what would be the ‘ring finger’ position, was another long stone pier. This one belonged to the Spice Guild.

Dany could almost guess that the ‘index finger’ on the other side must be the exclusive pier of the Tourmaline Brotherhood.

Qarth’s three great merchant associations occupied the most prime sections of the docks.

The Spice Guild’s pier was bustling. People were gathered around a galley named “Sun’s Brilliance,” shouting and raising their hands to bid on slaves.

“As everyone knows, if you want to save money on slaves, you buy them right off the ship,” Jorah explained to Dany.

“They’re from Slaver’s Bay?” Dany asked with a frown.

Jorah stood up in his saddle and carefully identified the flag flying from the mainmast of the Sun’s Brilliance. “They should be from Astapor,” he said, uncertain. “Look at the harpy on the flag. A heavy chain hangs from her talons, with an open manacle at each end. That’s the symbol of Astapor.”

“Are they selling Unsullied?” Dany stood on her tiptoes to get a better look. They were all naked men and women, none wearing the Unsullied’s signature spiked helm.

“High-grade slaves like the Unsullied wouldn’t be brought here to be sold,” Jorah said, shaking his head.

“Huh, and horsemen,” Dany noticed a group of bronze-skinned youths with almond eyes and long braids—typical Dothraki features.

They were all young, in their teens, none older than twenty.

“The Unsullied must be trained from a young age. Adult horsemen are usually sent to Meereen to be gladiators. What are they doing here?” Jorah was also perplexed.

“Ser, you and Aggo go over there and buy them,” Dany reined in her mount at the entrance to the pier. Jorah and Aggo dismounted and quickly pushed their way into the crowd.

About a quarter of an hour later, the two returned, leading a long line of young horsemen.

By now, the horsemen slaves had been given drab, gray linen skirts to wear—the sort of long gowns worn by men in Qarth. They had been naked before to make it easier for customers to inspect their bodies.

There were about twenty of them. They wore bronze slave collars around their necks, and the characteristic defiance of the horsemen was gone from their faces. Their eyes darted about nervously, and they didn’t dare to look directly at Dany on her horse.

They’ve been broken by the Astapori, Dany sighed to herself.

Chapter 63: The Drooling Soul of Huaxia

“Which Khalasar are they from?” Dany asked.

“Khal Ogo’s,” Aggo said casually, showing no indignation at the tragic plight of his countrymen. “They were part of the batch of slaves Pono sold in Meereen. Too young to qualify as fighting pit gladiators, but a bit too old to be trained as Unsullied. Since they can’t be warriors, they can only be sold to plantation owners in other city-states. Not very useful, and not expensive either. Forty silver pieces. I don’t know why my blood of my blood bought them.”

“They are horse men!” Dany stressed, her voice firm.

“What about them being horse men? After a defeat, you either die or become a slave. Everyone knows that,” Aggo replied offhandedly.

“In my Khalasar, there are no slaves,” Dany declared, cracking her whip. “Unfasten their slave collars! I will ask them if they are willing to join the Mother of Dragons’ Khalasar, to become her people, and to fight for her.”

“Your Grace, perhaps you should ask them first, and then unfasten the collars and shackles of those who comply?” Whitebeard advised in a low voice. “Khal Ogo’s khalasar was defeated by your husband. There are twenty of them, and only seven of us. If they scatter, we won’t be able to stop them.”

“I require the allegiance of free Dothraki, not slaves,” Dany said, shaking her head.

“They won’t run,” she added.

The old man sighed helplessly, dismounted, and stood protectively in front of Dany with Strong Belwas.

Aggo and three horsemen warriors went forward to undo the slaves’ chains and collars.

Clink, clank! In no time, a pile of chains had formed on the ground.

The Dothraki slaves flexed their wrists and rolled their stiff necks, feeling a long-lost sense of lightness.

Dany asked, “Do you know who I am?”

The young horse men exchanged glances or stole peeks at Dany, but none spoke up.

“Slaves are permitted to be silent, but I have no need for slaves. If any of you still remember that you are horse men, step forward and answer my question now,” Dany said coldly.

“Kh-Khaleesi,” a youth said hesitantly.

A chorus of voices immediately followed. “You are the Khaleesi.”

“Khal Drogo’s Khaleesi.”

“I have seen you, Khaleesi.”

No one called her Mother of Dragons. They probably don’t know about the dragons yet.

“Are you willing to join my Khalasar?” she asked again.

“I am.”

One man said yes, but a string of objections followed. “A woman cannot lead a Khalasar.”

“Drogo is dead. You should go to Vaes Dothrak and become one of the Dosh Khaleen.”

Hearing their words, Dany actually laughed in delight. “Good. You’ve finally recovered some of the Dothraki defiance.”

“Aggo, when we return, break them up. Take two men from each ten-man squad and fill their spots with two of these newcomers. We can form two new ten-man squads.”

“Yes,” Aggo nodded, accepting the order, completely ignoring the opinions of the horse men who had just been freed from their slave collars.

“They did not agree to swear loyalty to you,” Arstan said, perplexed, as they rode toward the next pier.

Dany smiled and explained, “I don’t care in the slightest whether they swear loyalty to me immediately. Everything I just did was only to provoke them, to help them cast off the mental shackles of slavery as quickly as possible.

“The Dothraki are indeed savage. They have no concept of nation or ethnicity, no empathy for their fellows who become slaves.

“But precisely because of this, they are also free from the restraints of ‘nationality’ and tribal ties.

“On the Great Grass Sea, old khalasars are disbanding and new ones are forming at every moment.

“As soon as they see that my Khalasar is a true khalasar, they will quickly become one hundred percent loyal to me. Until the day I die.”

Back then, Drogo hadn’t absorbed Ogo’s people into his own Khalasar mainly because his own had reached its size limit.

Fifty thousand screaming warriors and over a hundred thousand clan members already made it the largest Khalasar on the Great Grass Sea, unable to take in any more people.

They rode along a stretch of piers, docks, and warehouses spanning nearly two kilometers, all the way to the end of the horseshoe-shaped harbor where ships from the Summer Isles, Westeros, and the Nine Free Cities were required to dock.

The pier reserved for foreign merchants was not as neat and orderly as the previous one.

Prostitutes in faded, sheer, colorful dresses bantered with sailors, their bare thighs exposed. Vendors hawked their trinkets, wine, and food directly between the ships.

Mostly, there were sailors. Sailors from dozens of kingdoms, both east and west, roamed the docks, either carrying wine bottles, holding women, or fighting each other while onlookers cheered loudly. A cacophony of strange accents merged into a wave of noise.

“Belwas is hungry! Whitebeard, buy me something to eat!” Strong Belwas shouted at Arstan as they passed a grill stall.

The old man shot him a glare but still fulfilled his duty as a squire, buying him a packet of grilled fish chunks.

Large, white chunks of fish meat were slathered with spices, whale oil, and honey, grilled to a golden-brown, and finally sprinkled with fennel powder and coarse salt and pepper.

Gulp. Aggo swallowed. “Khaleesi, I want some too.”

“Go buy it yourself.” Dany then looked at Jorah and Whitebeard. “Do you two want any?”

“No, thank you.” They spoke in unison, then glanced at each other, seeming to understand the other’s thoughts. Jorah was the one who explained, “It’s too chaotic here, too many people. Eating would be a distraction. We can’t protect you properly.”

Dany nodded. She felt a similar wariness and wouldn’t eat food bought off the street or drink wine sold by vendors.

The horse men weren’t accustomed to eating fish. Aggo used a handful of copper pennies to buy each of them a skewer of honey-roasted rat.

The fat rats, nearly the size of bamboo rats, were roasted until they were crispy on the outside, tender and juicy on the inside, their rich aroma filling the air. All the young horse men ate until their mouths were slick with grease.

“Khaleesi, you’ve arrived!” Captain Groleo had been watching an animal fight by a betting pit. The commotion from Dany’s party was too great—Aggo was still shouting “Make way for the Mother of Dragons!”—and he immediately noticed that the guests he was waiting for had come.

The old Pentoshi seaman approached her silver filly and, over the loud shouts of sailors and the cries of animals, boomed at Dany, “Khaleesi! Three ships! One great cog and two galleys.

“The cog, the Saduleon, is moored at the end of the pier. The galleys, the Summer Sun and the Jesting Joso, are anchored beyond the breakwater. You and your people will travel on the spacious cog. I’ll take you there now.”

Dany nodded, letting him lead her horse by the bit toward the end of the pier.

“Woah!” A sudden gasp arose from the edge of the betting pit. Dany turned her head to look.

A stone pit, seven or eight meters in diameter and two or three meters deep, had been dug into the ground. Inside, two animals were fighting—or more accurately, a creature resembling a pangolin was slaughtering a red-furred hound that stood half as tall as a man.

The red hound was as helpless as a rag doll in the hands of a mischievous child, torn to shreds by the pangolin-like creature.

Amidst the spattering blood, the sailors by the railings let out satisfied gasps, while others cursed, damning the useless dog for making them lose their bets.

“How can a pangolin be so big? It’s bigger than a lion,” Dany said in astonishment.

“A pangolin?” Black-bearded Groleo shook his head. “That’s a basilisk. It has eight legs, didn’t you notice? It’s far fiercer than a pangolin. The largest basilisks can be twice the size of a male lion. They’re the most terrifying monsters in Yi Ti.”

“Yi Ti.” Dany raised an eyebrow and asked strangely, “Are there many basilisks in Yi Ti?”

“A great many. They roam the jungles in packs. Besides the zebra men of the northern lands, the people of Yi Ti fear this creature most. In the fighting pits, the basilisk is a reigning champion. Many animals are no match for them,” the black-bearded captain lamented.

“Yi Ti really isn’t Huaxia after all,” Dany muttered under her breath.

“What?” The black-bearded man turned his head. “Khaleesi, what did you say?”

“How does basilisk meat taste? Why don’t the people of Yi Ti eat them?” she asked.

Pangolins the size of small cats were eaten to the brink of extinction by the people of the Celestial Empire. A basilisk, which is bigger, has more meat, and seems even chewier, is practically a delicacy gifted from the heavens.

For it to be considered a plague in Yi Ti… what right do they have to imitate the ancients of the Celestial Empire, with their high caps and wide sashes, and call themselves the ‘Golden Empire’?

Whitebeard, at her side, shook his head. “Basilisk blood is poisonous. The poison known as ‘stone-lizard toxin’ is refined from it. It can cause a person’s muscles to atrophy and nerves to go numb, as if they were turning to stone.

“It is said that the Faceless Men of Braavos use basilisk blood to create a spice. When spread on cooked meat, it emits an incredibly enticing aroma, but any man or beast that eats it will fly into a crazed rage.

“Rats infected with basilisk poison will even dare to fight lions.”

“Exactly. Only the maddest of men would dare to eat basilisk meat,” the black-bearded captain agreed with a nod.

It has such a wondrous effect?

This is no longer just a delicacy; it’s a divine ingredient that elevates one from mortal to immortal!

Could it be more poisonous than a pufferfish?

And an incredibly enticing aroma to boot? That’s just asking for trouble!

Dany made up her mind. When she had the means, she would absolutely turn the basilisk into a famous, edible dish.

Otherwise, she would be betraying the Huaxia soul within her.

“Speaking of poison,” Dany said thoughtfully, “Xaro once gave me a silver collar inlaid with a magical amethyst, saying it could ward off poison. I never had a chance to test it before that man asked for it back. Do you think such things can really work against poison?”

“Your Grace, a proper security detail includes poison tasters. That’s far more useful than those fraudulent trinkets,” Whitebeard said loudly and proudly.

“They aren’t all fraudulent,” the black-bearded captain said, shaking his head. “In Westeros, you value chivalry, and men prefer to solve problems with swords. But in Essos, conspiracies and poisons are like dust in the air—hard to see clearly, yet everywhere. More Magisters and Archons of the city-states have probably died from poisoned wine than from old age. Magical crystals enchanted by powerful mages can, to some extent, detect or grant immunity to toxins in food and drink.”

Looks like I’ll have to find a chance to get a magical amethyst.

As they spoke, they arrived at the end of the grey stone pier, where a great cog that made Dany gasp in amazement was moored.

It looked like a fat dumpling. Dany estimated it was over one hundred meters long and more than forty meters wide. Not counting the space below deck, she could see four levels of windows.

What a magnificent vessel!

“This is a sea-going vessel. No oars, she sails by the wind alone.” The black-bearded captain proudly explained the great cog’s structure and transport capacity to Dany, with the pride of a father introducing his successful son.

“…to say nothing of your two hundred-odd horsemen, she could easily carry twice that number. And this is just my Saduleon. The galleys moored at the breakwater each have two hundred oarsmen.”

Chapter 64: A Visitor from the “Homeland”

Groleo’s captain’s cabin was more spacious than Daenerys had expected, a full thirty square meters. She had the sailors remove the tables, chairs, couches, trunks, and other miscellaneous items, leaving only a double bed and a large open space.

“My dragons will stay with me,” she told Blackbeard.

“But there’s not enough room here for three huge iron cages!” the Pentoshi Blackbeard said, puzzled.

“You prepared cages? They won’t be necessary.” Daenerys said, looking around the cabin. “Once we leave Qarth, I’ll remove the chains from their necks.”

“But what if there’s a fire…” Blackbeard’s face soured. He hesitated before saying, “The Palace of Dust had stone walls, yet your dragons burned it to the ground. A wooden ship with cloth sails will catch fire much more easily.”

Daenerys frowned, stepping around a patch of dried vomit. She asked casually, “Have you heard of the ‘Painting of the Dragon Audience’?”

“The what painting?” Blackbeard asked, not understanding.

Behind him, Whitebeard started in surprise and exclaimed, “There are rumors at the docks that Your Grace’s black dragon drew a picture for a merchant from the Summer Isles, a detailed depiction of the scene when he had an audience with you and your dragons. The merchant called it the ‘Painting of the Dragon Audience’. I thought he was just drunkenly boasting.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one too.” Blackbeard first showed a glimmer of understanding, then said dismissively, “I’ve also heard the black dragon sings and recites poetry for visitors. It’s all nonsense. Anyone who believes that is a fool.”

“Alas, a dragon’s throat bones can’t produce human sounds. The part about reciting poetry is true, but no one can understand it besides me. That rumor is false,” Daenerys said, shaking her head.

Blackbeard and Whitebeard were stunned. By saying that, wasn’t she indirectly admitting the rumor about the ‘Painting of the Dragon Audience’ was true?

“It’s true. Many people were there at the time, and I have seen the black dragon paint on many occasions,” Jorah said, his chin slightly raised with a look of shared pride.

Daenerys concluded, “I can have my dragons paint, and I can restrain their behavior. At the very least, they won’t burn your ship.”

“Very well.”

Taking over an hour, Daenerys inspected everything from the deck to the cargo hold at the bottom. It was filthy and chaotic everywhere—rats and cockroaches ran rampant, sour-smelling clothes were strewn about, and the ship’s planks were caked with a layer of grime.

Returning to the ship’s bridge, she said, “The crew’s quarters are too dirty. They must be cleaned regularly, or disease will spread.”

“We’ll do a major cleanup before we leave port,” Blackbeard said with a nod.

“Purchase a supply of rye to store in the hold. I have eighty horses,” she added.

“Is that really necessary?” Blackbeard started counting on his fingers, calculating for her. “A good horse is worth two gold dragons at most, yet it and the food to feed it along the way will take up a great deal of space. If we used that space for spices and gems instead, we could earn a profit of at least thirty gold dragons. Besides, the sea journey is long, and animals are very likely to die. It would be better to sell them all in Qarth. You can buy as many fine horses as you want when we get back to Pentos.”

If they were truly going to Pentos, his reasoning was entirely correct. Leaving aside the profit margin, after a sea voyage of tens of thousands of kilometers, it would be a blessing from the gods if even forty of the eighty horses survived.

“My horses are special. They do not fear the presence of dragons, and their stamina and charging power are double that of ordinary steeds,” was all Daenerys offered as an explanation.

Whitebeard exclaimed, “You feed your horses dragon dung?”

Daenerys looked at him in surprise. “You know about that too?”

The old man nodded, his expression complicated. “It is said that before the dragons died out, House Targaryen built a stud farm on the plains south of the Blackwater River, specifically to breed dragon-mounts. These dragon-mounts, raised from birth, had ferocious temperaments. There’s a legend that one even bit a shadowcat to death. Only a powerful knight with superb riding skills could tame them. But every generation of the Kingsguard had their own dragon-mount.”

“That’s just boasting!” Ser Jorah said dismissively. “You southerners have probably never encountered a shadowcat. They’re the lords of the forest, with the claws of a leopard, the agility of a cat, the ferocity of a tiger, and the strength of a bear. They’re even bigger than horses.”

“If such a legend exists, there must be a reason for it,” Whitebeard said lightly.

“Heh,” Jorah just chuckled without another word.

Daenerys glanced at the two of them before asking Black-bearded Groleo, “Do you carry fruit? For the sailors to eat.”

“We have lemons and oranges. On the sea, not eating fruit gets you cursed by demons,” Blackbeard said, as if it were common sense.

It seemed that while this world was primitive, its thousands of years of seafaring history had allowed people to develop a mature set of skills for survival at sea.

Around noon, as news of the Mother of Dragons’ arrival spread, merchants and captains from the ships docked nearby all came over to the Saduleon to watch. They only dispersed temporarily after Aggo went down and shouted to them, “The Mother of Dragons did not bring her dragons out today! Do not disturb her.”

But it was only temporary. The next morning, after Daenerys moved onto the Saduleon with her large contingent of horse men, the Dragon Seekers began arriving in an endless stream to request an audience.

Today was the last day. At dusk, the ship would leave port with the tide.

Yes, Daenerys was leaving Qarth.

When she left Xaro’s mansion, she even gave him a set of clothes: a large-sized tunic suit, woven from golden thread with buttons made of black jade.

Daenerys had prepared this gift for him long before Xaro had shown his true colors, back when she had hired the Qartheen tailors to make her cheongsams.

According to Westerosi custom, a guest gives a gift to their host before departing as a sign of gratitude.

At first, Daenerys had been genuinely grateful to Xaro. Back then, he had been endlessly sending gifts to her chambers!

Xaro was quite the scoundrel. He accepted Daenerys’s gift but didn’t even come out to see her off, merely sending his steward with a message: “Arch-warlock Pyat will not let you leave peacefully.”

Daenerys had the steward pass on her thanks to Xaro, but inwardly she paid it no mind.

At sea, with her dragons, she had almost no enemies.

At worst, Pyat could disguise himself as a pirate and come after her. But ships were made of wood and sails of cloth—both were flammable…

“Khaleesi, the captain of the Ginkgo Maiden has brought you only a silver statue, as thick as an arm. Should we let him in? The Ginkgo Maiden is just a small ship; its captain probably doesn’t have much money,” Jhogo came to report to Daenerys.

A tall wooden chair had been placed on the seaward side of the deck. Daenerys sat upon it, her black dragon lying at her feet, as they waited for the nearby sailors and sea merchants who were lined up to pay them a visit.

Yes, they were here to see the dragons.

In accordance with the rules originally set by Xaro, every visitor had to present a gift, and the order of their audience was determined by the value of that gift.

By the time Daenerys had left to visit the warlocks at the House of the Undying, there was still a long list of names that hadn’t been crossed off the visitor list.

Now that they had moved to the great sea vessel and were leaving tonight, Daenerys’s “dragon zoo” was briefly open for business again!

The main reason was that the visitors were too enthusiastic, and most of them came from Western Essos. Daenerys was trying to make her way in the west, and she didn’t want to earn a reputation for being “reclusive and unapproachable” or “arrogant and ruthless.”

She had to smile, be amiable, and dress beautifully. She had to let everyone see her perfect control over her dragons. Then, the labels “Daenerys Targaryen: stunningly beautiful, kind and friendly, noble and elegant, immensely powerful” would be spread throughout the Free Cities by the many seafarers.

Yes, she was courting fame.

Although her main goal was to build her reputation, she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to profit on the side. Every guest was still required to offer a gift.

“What kind of statue?” she asked.

“A young woman,” Aggo said.

“The Maiden!” Whitebeard, who was standing guard, asked, “Is the Ginkgo Maiden from the Sunset Sea?”

“I don’t know, but his accent is a bit like yours,” Aggo said.

“Your Grace, you should receive him. He is a subject from your home country,” Whitebeard advised.

Daenerys nodded. “Let him come up.”

Daenerys had seen merchant ships from Lys, Braavos, Pentos, and the Summer Isles, but she had not yet met a single sea merchant purely from Westeros.

The silver statue was small, not worth more than a few radiants, but the significance of the guest’s identity was extraordinary.

The visitor was a thin, middle-aged man missing a front tooth. Strands of white had begun to appear in his medium-length hair. His long, horsey face showed fresh stubble; he had clearly cleaned himself up before coming.

“Great Mother of Dragons, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, true Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!” The horse-faced man spoke in perfect Common Tongue and used the etiquette of a knight.

“I am Jordan Snow, captain of the Ginkgo Maiden. Your beauty is like the bright moon in a tranquil lake—holy and lovely, something mortals can gaze upon but never touch. You are the Maiden made flesh.”

As he spoke, he knelt on one knee and raised a small statue of the Maiden with both hands.

The dominant faith in the Seven Kingdoms is the Faith of the Seven. The Seven they worship are seven different aspects of a single godhead, each representing a different virtue. However, less educated members of the lower classes often believe the Seven to be seven different gods.

The Father represents judgment, the Mother represents motherhood and nurturing, the Warrior represents strength in battle, the Smith represents crafts and labor, the Crone represents wisdom, and the Stranger represents death and the unknown.

The Maiden represents innocence and purity. People often pray to her to protect a maiden’s virtue. One can also, like this horse-faced Jordan, use “the Maiden” to praise a woman’s beauty and temperament.

“Thank you for your gift. I will pray to the Seven that the Smith grants you a safe return to King’s Landing…” Daenerys paused here, then probed, “Captain Snow, you’re from the North, aren’t you?”

According to the tradition of the Seven Kingdoms, bastards are given surnames based on the most common feature of their region of birth, signifying their lowly status. For example, ‘Snow’ in the North, because the North has much snow; ‘Flowers’ in the Reach, because the Reach has a warm climate and many plants; ‘Sand’ in Dorne, because Dorne has vast deserts and the most sand; and ‘Stone’ in the Vale, because the Vale has many stones.

Generally, one can determine where a bastard comes from by their surname.

If the bastard is of noble birth, their coat of arms is usually related to their father’s house—perhaps with reversed colors, an added bar sinister, or, if both parents are noble, a new coat of arms combining the symbols of both houses.

Many experienced people can often deduce which house’s bastard someone is with just a single glance or a few words.

Chapter 65: I Want to Be a Mystic

“Ah, Your Majesty, so you know the traditions of the old country!” Jordan Snow was not embarrassed that Daenerys had discerned his bastard status. He smiled and said, “I am a Snow, a man of the North. Westeros has three major ports. The capital, King’s Landing, is the largest and most prosperous. Oldtown in the south is second, and White Harbor in the North is third.

“In fact, I serve Lord Manderly of White Harbor. His Lordship holds a thirty percent share in the Ginkgo Maiden.”

“Don’t tell me you’re that fat eel’s bastard son?” Whitebeard exclaimed.

Now Jordan Snow was a little embarrassed. His long face flushed as he said, “I don’t have the honor of being His Lordship’s bastard.”

“When will you be returning?” Daenerys asked, changing the subject to spare him further embarrassment.

“In about two months, I expect.” Jordan thought for a moment before saying, “The main purpose of this trip was to purchase a shipment of eastern spices. The prices here in Qarth are still a bit high. Perhaps I’ll make a trip to the Jade Sea.”

“Do you know that Eddard Stark has been imprisoned by Joffrey, and Robb Stark has marched south with his army?” she asked.

“Is that true?” Jordan cried out in alarm. “I left White Harbor over a year ago. I’ve been selling goods in Lys, Volantis, and Meereen along the way, so it’s taken quite some time.

“What about King Robert? He and Lord Stark were good friends since childhood.”

“You mean the Usurper,” Jorah reminded him coldly. “The Usurper is dead, murdered by Cersei.”

“Why?” Jordan asked, bewildered.

“Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are actually the bastard children of Cersei and Jaime. Eddard Stark discovered this,” Jorah said.

In truth, he wasn’t sure if the rumor was true or false.

“Jordan Snow.” Daenerys thought for a moment, then decided to put on a grand performance. “You know that I have been to the House of the Undying, where the warlocks dwell, do you not?”

“I heard your dragons burned the Undying to death,” the bastard said, his eyes flickering.

“That’s not the point.” Daenerys waved her hand dismissively, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. “While I was there, I saw a prophecy concerning Robb Stark.”

“Uh…” The long-faced Jordan was stunned, wearing a bewildered expression that seemed to say, What are you talking about?

“You truly saw a prophecy about Robb Stark? What happened to him?” Jorah asked hurriedly.

Ever since Daenerys had described Rhaegar’s appearance in detail, he had begun to harbor a mix of belief and doubt about the prophecies she saw.

Seeing that Whitebeard was also listening intently, Daenerys cleared her throat and said in a low voice, “He was beheaded, and a grey wolf’s head was sewn onto his neck.”

“Hiss…” Jorah was horrified. “Who killed him? What about the others? What happened to the bannermen he brought south?”

“It was in a great wooden hall. Bodies were piled on the floor. It seemed they were at a feast when enemies suddenly rushed in… No, that’s not right.” Daenerys carefully recalled the vision. “They seemed to have no inkling of the danger before they died. Robb was sitting at a table, still holding a leg of mutton.”

“Impossible!” Jorah, Jordan, and Whitebeard all said in unison.

From the scene Daenerys described, they understood almost immediately what had happened: someone had hosted a feast for Robb and his bannermen, then violated Guest Right and murdered their guests.

Daenerys shrugged. “I’m not lying. In fact, I myself wonder why I would see a prophecy about the Stark boy.”

Whitebeard seemed to have found a flaw in her story. “Since it was a wolf’s head, how can you be certain of his identity? You’ve never even met Robb Stark in person.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes and said irritably, “I may have never met the man, but do you think I don’t know the sigils of the great houses? The Targaryen red dragon on a black field, the Usurper’s crowned stag, the rose of Highgarden, the sun of Dorne pierced by a spear, the Tully trout, the Greyjoy hydra—”

“It’s a kraken!” Whitebeard corrected her.

Daenerys waved her hand, a forlorn expression on her face. “You don’t understand. It is a hydra!”

At that, Whitebeard stopped arguing. She was the princess; if she said it was a hydra, then a hydra it was.

“The Lannister lion, the Arryn blue falcon, the Stark grey direwolf. Am I wrong?” Seeing the men below nod slightly, Daenerys sighed. “There was a massive direwolf banner. I couldn’t have missed it.”

“Perhaps it was Eddard Stark,” Whitebeard said.

“It was a young man, and he was wearing a crown.”

“Then do you know who killed them?” Jordan Snow asked nervously.

Daenerys shrugged. “I don’t know. The wolf’s head was alive. It stared at me with eyes full of grief and accusation. I was terrified and ran away immediately.”

“If this truly comes to pass, a king murdered in his host’s home… such a morally bankrupt and evil act can only be set right by you. This is a sign that the people of the Seven Kingdoms await your return day and night!” Whitebeard declared with passionate fervor.

The old man certainly had a creative imagination, and a beautiful one at that.

“He’s already wearing a crown, yet he’d expect a queen to avenge him?” Jorah retorted.

Wearing a crown meant Robb had declared himself king.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll have Black Diamond draw a picture of it. He saw the scene with me. You can take it and deliver it to the young Stark.

“Eddard Stark, despite his heinous crimes in conspiring with the Usurper to murder his own king, does not justify this. The sacred laws of Guest Right must never be desecrated—even if Robb Stark is my enemy.”

Daenerys spoke with such righteousness and passion that Whitebeard was overcome with emotion. Finally, he thought, I have found a wise, upright, benevolent, kind, just, and impartial monarch!

He desperately wanted to reveal his true identity to Her Grace right then and there.

Then, as Belwas, Whitebeard, Jorah, Jordan Snow, and the others watched in stunned silence, Big Black dipped his claws in ink and, with a few swift strokes, drew a ghastly and horrifying depiction of the death feast.

“Th-this is…” Jorah stared at the scene in the drawing, racking his brain. “I’ve definitely been to this place! This wooden hall… it’s so familiar, but I can’t recall it.”

“The Twins! The Freys!” Whitebeard Arstan’s gaze was as sharp as a sword’s edge as he enunciated each word. “The late Lord Frey. This is the great hall of House Frey at the Twins!”

“Yes, yes, that’s it!” Prompted by Whitebeard, Jorah had a sudden realization. “The long hall, with the second-story galleries on either side, where they place the musicians.”

“Seven Hells!” He slapped his forehead, crying out in an anguished wail, “Maege and the others are doomed! Besides the musicians, those galleries are a perfect place to hide archers and crossbowmen.

“I said it from the start. Robb Stark is too young and inexperienced, not nearly as cunning and shrewd as southern lords like Tywin. Sooner or later, he’ll get everyone killed.”

Belwas, who had been silent until now, grinned and said nonchalantly, “A dragon that can draw is certainly an eye-opener, but whether it’s a prophecy or an illusion, no one can say for sure. There’s no need for everyone to get so worked up.”

“You don’t understand. Her Grace and Black Diamond have never been to Westeros, much less seen Robb Stark—and it is him, no doubt. Even I had almost forgotten about the bridge at the Freys’ Twins.”

Jorah shook his head repeatedly, his expression sorrowful. His kin were surely among those bodies lying on the floor. His aunt, his cousins… who would be left on Bear Island?

“Get this news to House Stark at once,” Whitebeard said to Jordan Snow. “A Stark can be put on trial, but he cannot be slaughtered like this.”

“I’ll do it as quickly as I can,” Jordan Snow promised solemnly.

After Jordan left with the drawing, titled The Young Wolf’s Last Supper, Jorah asked hesitantly, “Your Grace, what other prophecies did you see?”

“Many things, all jumbled together. Something about a son of three, a bride of fire, a slayer of lies, a cloth dragon flapping on poles—”

“A cloth dragon?” Jorah asked, confused.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t know what it means either.” Daenerys shook her head and continued, “I also saw the Iron Throne, a conversation between my father, Aerys, and his Hand of the King…”

After a moment of silence, she sighed. “He deserved to die.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

“What?!” They were all aghast, never imagining she would utter such treasonous words.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, stared at Whitebeard, and asked, “I’m certain you know many royal secrets. So, do you know that my father was planning to burn King’s Landing to the ground with wildfire?”

“That’s impossible!” Whitebeard blurted out. Then he said urgently, “He was the king. King’s Landing was his capital, and its people his subjects. Why would he destroy his own city?”

“It’s possible,” Jorah said, his eyes downcast. “What if King’s Landing was about to no longer be his?”

“Th-perhaps His Majesty only had the intention, but never the chance to carry it out,” Whitebeard said with difficulty.

“Perhaps.” Daenerys nodded. “I also saw countless people shouting ‘Mhysa’ at me.”

“Uh…” The others were struck dumb.

“Never mind. Let’s not talk about it. The Undying were indeed burned to death by my dragons. They intended to drain my life and my bloodline. Showing me prophecies was merely a way to meet the conditions for their sorcery: an equivalent exchange, perhaps? Or that to gain something, you must offer something of equal value?” Daenerys shrugged; she wasn’t sure if her thoughts were correct.

During lunch, Daenerys was the target of an assassination.

Well, the assassination didn’t succeed.

It was lunchtime, and Daenerys was hosting the Braavosi ship captain for a meal. After lunch, a sailor came to report that Xaro had sent someone with a gift for the Mother of Dragons.

Daenerys was quite surprised and immediately ordered the gift-bearer to be brought to her.

The visitor was a middle-aged man from Qarth, magnificently dressed, with a neat appearance, impeccable manners, and a calm demeanor.

“I am Steward Number Eight under Lord Xaro. Haxin, who often deals with you, is Steward Number One. He manages His Lordship’s manse in Qarth, while I oversee His Lordship’s warehouses in the port district.”

Daenerys nodded. She remembered Xaro once boasting to her: The number and quality of my servants are second to no king in the world. I have thirty stewards just to manage them. My Star of Heaven, marry me. I have the means to let you live like a queen…

That disgusting degenerate!

Daenerys frowned, asking quizzically, “I have already left. Why would Lord Xaro suddenly think to send me a gift?”

Steward Number Eight smiled a sheepish smile. “The ‘golden jacket’ you gifted to my lord today was supremely noble and magnificent. His Lordship knows you are fond of eastern jade, so he specially instructed me to find a set of the finest quality jadeite from the warehouse to send to you.”

As he spoke, he held out his hands, revealing an exquisitely crafted wooden box. It had an emerald-colored lid inlaid with jade and chalcedony, and its violet wood body was trimmed with gleaming gold.

Screeech—

Big Black suddenly dropped the charred ox leg bone from his mouth, stretched out his head, and stared intently at the box…

Chapter 66: Xaro’s Request

Seeing the exquisite wooden box being presented, the smile on Daenerys’s face stiffened for a tenth of a second before she asked nonchalantly, “Did Xaro like the golden jacket?”

“My lord liked it very much. He also feels extremely guilty that you are leaving so soon—he feels he has not been a good host!” the steward said respectfully.

“Heh, if we have the chance to meet again, I will give him a hat with a three-eyed peacock feather. Paired with the golden jacket, I’m sure it will give him a truly unique feeling.”

She waved Whitebeard away as he prepared to help inspect the box, taking it and opening it herself.

Inside was a necklace. A slender chain woven from fine gold thread encircled a glittering green beetle, which was clearly carved from the finest emerald.

“It’s beautiful. I like it very much.” Daenerys’s smile was like a blossoming flower as she reached out to pick it up.

“Princess—” Whitebeard seemed about to stop her, but his gaze froze, and he stood stunned on the spot.

Steward Number Eight lowered his eyes and murmured, “I am sorrowful.”

His voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, as if he did not intend for anyone else to hear.

Daenerys turned the green beetle over in her hand and asked casually, “What are you sorrowful about?”

“Urk—” The Qartheen steward looked up sharply, his eyes bulging in disbelief at the scene before him: the manticore meant to poison Daenerys was rigid in her hand, as if it had truly turned into an emerald.

“You Sorrowful Men are so long-winded, always muttering ‘I am sorrowful’ when you kill someone.”

Daenerys seemed exasperated. She shrugged and said, “It might work if your target is deaf and blind, but in this case, my hearing and sight are perfectly fine. I heard your voice and saw your lips move.

The famous catchphrase of the Qartheen assassins’ guild: ‘I am sorrowful.’ How sorrowful. I know it too!”

“How can this be?” The Sorrowful Man was on the verge of a breakdown. Could the manticore have died? No, that can’t be. I’m experienced. I’ve assassinated hundreds of people using similar methods.

“Khaleesi, he’s an assassin?!” Aggo and Qalarro finally realized what was happening. They drew their arakhs, ready to charge forward and cut him down in a rage.

“Blood of my blood, stop!” Daenerys halted the two of them, then turned to the Sorrowful Man. “Let’s just say you came to deliver a gift. I like this insect very much. You may leave.”

“You—you’re not going to kill me?” the Sorrowful Man asked, shocked and suspicious. He kept his eyes on Daenerys as he cautiously backed away toward the gangplank.

“Why would I kill you? The one who hired you was Pyat, wasn’t it?” Seeing his pupils contract suddenly, Daenerys knew she was right. “You probably didn’t notice, did you? My guard, Whitebeard, here saw through your identity. The price for killing me is too high. Think carefully the next time you accept a contract.

At the very least, consider which is worse: offending the Mother of Dragons or refusing the warlocks. Hmm, if the warlocks’ magic is truly so powerful, why would they need to send you?”

Thump, thump, thump. The Sorrowful Man retreated to the gangplank. Without a word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd in moments.

“My apologies!” Ser Jorah’s face flushed with shame. He hadn’t noticed any flaws in the Sorrowful Man’s disguise, a stark contrast to the sharp and experienced Whitebeard.

“Ah, Belwas should apologize too. Belwas did not see it either.” The fat eunuch’s face also reddened, and he wrung his hands in embarrassment.

“You are warriors, not yet accustomed to being bodyguards. You will slowly gain experience,” Daenerys said lightly.

“Why didn’t the manticore harm you? Was it dead?” Whitebeard asked, puzzled.

Plink! Daenerys tossed the jade-like beetle onto the deck.

Screech! The beetle unfolded its body with a shriek, like a Transformer. Claws sprang out from beneath it, and a tail tipped with a human face shot up from its rear.

The human face at the end of the tail was larger than its torso—grotesque and terrifying, complete with vivid eyes, nose, and mouth.

From the face’s forehead, a stinger that gleamed with a deep purple, cold light extended and retracted rapidly, making a bizarre hissing sound that was truly bloodcurdling.

“The manticore’s poison strikes the heart directly. It’s incredibly virulent. This one was specially bred to have more vibrant colors, making it almost indistinguishable from real emerald,” Whitebeard murmured.

Daenerys rose and walked over to Big Black, saying, “Where a true dragon gazes, all beasts submit!”

The black dragon had sensed the danger at almost the same time as Whitebeard. Without any command from Daenerys, he had actively locked the manticore in place with his psychic power, which was why Daenerys had been able to play with it as if it were a real emerald pendant.

When he saw Daenerys toss the insect away, Big Black withdrew his mental pressure and went back to sucking the marrow from a bone, allowing the manticore to move again.

Jorah stepped forward and crushed the venomous insect under his heel. His expression was grim as he said, “We must leave as soon as possible.”

Black-bearded Groleo shook his head. “The ship can only depart after high tide tonight. I suppose we won’t need to receive any more of those dragon-visitors this afternoon?”

Daenerys thought for a moment and accepted his suggestion.

However, just as the ship was about to set sail in the evening, another visitor arrived. Xaro, riding in an ox-drawn cart and surrounded by a throng of servants, hurried over.

Daenerys received him.

“That Sorrowful Man was not one of mine,” he said anxiously.

“I know.”

Xaro paused, stunned for a moment, before saying with vexation, “Those damn Sorrowful Men! If they want to assassinate someone, fine, but why do it in my name? You are a guest I swore to protect. If outsiders were to mistakenly believe I broke my oath and plotted to harm my own guest, then—”

“Oh, kindest of women, my lovely Star of Heaven!” Tears came to his eyes instantly, flowing down his cheeks in a stream. Combined with the brightly colored jewels on his nose, it was a particularly comical sight.

He threw himself at Daenerys’s side, grabbing her hand and crying out in utter misery, “Help me, you must help me.”

“Help you with what?” Daenerys felt as if a slug were crawling up her spine. The revulsion almost made her vomit.

“Help me announce to the world that I did not send that Sorrowful Man, that I did not break my oath—” At this, he suddenly cried out in a high-pitched voice, “Oh! Damn it all, I should have posted a squad of guards near this shabby ship until you had completely left Qarth.”

“What are you talking about, you oaf? My darling Saduleon is a beauty!” Captain Groleo said indignantly.

Xaro ignored him and continued to fret. “For such an oversight to happen on the last day… I should have known. Those warlocks have been plotting in secret. Damn it all, once you’re out of Qarth, they can assassinate, poison, or curse you as they please—”

Ahem. Daenerys coughed loudly to remind this scoundrel that she was still right here!

“Oh, my sweet, what do you think?” Xaro asked, looking at her pitifully.

“I’d like to help you, but the ship is about to depart,” Daenerys said, spreading her hands. She added tentatively, “How about I write a sworn statement for you?”

“No need for a statement, that sort of thing is useless. Justice and reputation lie in the hearts of men.” Xaro shook his head.

Well, the shameless fellow has a bit of sense after all!

Giving Xaro a point in her mind, Daenerys asked, “Then what should I do?”

Xaro spoke with great eloquence. “News of the assassination attempt is only circulating in a small circle for now. We must first make everyone understand my character. So, at every port you visit, you must recount the tales of how I graciously hosted you and your savages, praising me each time. When the unfavorable rumors about me arrive, no one will believe them.”

At this, he sighed again, beating his chest and stomping his foot. “A pity, a pity you are returning to the Sunset Sea. Most of my trade partners are in the Jade Sea.”

Understand your character? Shameless!

At that moment, everyone on deck was looking at him with disdain.

“Very well. In every city-state I visit, I will mention your generosity and wealth to my hosts,” Daenerys said, holding back a smile.

“Thank you so much, my Star of Heaven!” The fat man began to wipe away tears again.

“Right, I must remind you again.” Xaro, noticing the looks from Jorah and the others, decided he should offer something of substance. “Pyat also swore an oath to you, in the Red Waste, remember?

In Qarth, he cannot harm you directly, so he used a little trick—hiring the Sorrowful Men.

But once you leave this place, he and those warlocks can openly use their powers of magic and curses against you.”

“I see.” Daenerys understood.

Xaro looked around and lowered his voice. “After learning you were taking the sea route back to Pentos, the warlocks also prepared a swift ship. Their destination is Pentos, on the western continent.

You’ve seen the methods of the night-walkers. The warlocks’ power is recovering quickly. You must be extremely careful when you return to Pentos.”

“Pentos is not the warlocks’ territory,” Groleo cried out.

“The warlocks only kill in secret; they aren’t trying to conquer the city-state of Pentos,” Xaro said with a contemptuous smile.

Before he went down the gangplank, Xaro gave Daenerys a gift: the silver collar inlaid with a magical amethyst.

Night fell over the land. In the distance, a string of murky yellow lights appeared on the sea’s surface—the lighthouses that guided the ships.

To the splash of the tide against the seawall, Groleo shouted for the sailors to weigh anchor. The first mate, along with several strong men, hoisted the sails, singing a sea shanty.

The great white sails bellied out in the night wind, and the Saduleon slowly pulled away from the docks.

Daenerys and her horse men stood at the stern, watching the brilliantly lit night market at the docks gradually shrink until it finally disappeared.

She herself only felt that sailboats were terribly slow. Her Bloodriders, despite having trained for a few days on the beach, were still terrified by the sight of the vast, dark sea around them. Their almond-shaped eyes were wide with fear, the whites showing clearly.

But their pride was strong, and they were determined not to show their fear in front of others. They held their bodies rigid, their faces wooden, without movement or expression.

Doreah, the girl from Lys, had been born on an island, and a ship was far more comfortable for her than horseback. But it was different for the Dothraki handmaidens, Irri and Jhiqui. They hadn’t even trained on the beach.

They clung desperately to the ship’s rail, like drowning people grabbing onto a lifebuoy.

Daenerys quickly sent them to her cabin, but she regretted it a moment later.

Following the guidance of the lighthouses, the Saduleon left the calm bay and entered a churning strait. A wave struck, and the large ship rocked gently, then again.

“Waaaugh—” The two Dothraki girls, their faces pale, promptly threw up.

That first night, Daenerys could not sleep peacefully. It wasn’t until Groleo reluctantly handed her two orange-peel-flavored sugar cubes that the girls finally settled down after putting the cubes in their mouths.

“This is a secret remedy made by an apothecary from the hawthorns of the North’s mountains and the blood oranges of Dorne. It contains many mysterious ingredients I don’t know about. Besides preventing seasickness, it can also treat fevers and colds. It’s very precious. One silver moon can only buy twenty pieces,” he said, pained by the expense.

It was indeed expensive. At eight hundred copper pennies to a silver moon, each cube cost forty coppers—no small sum.

“Sigh, bring them all out. There are many women and children below deck. Have someone distribute one to each of them,” Daenerys said with a sigh, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“But—” Black-bearded Groleo hesitated. “If the sailors come down with headaches or fevers, I’m afraid there won’t be enough!”

“We can buy more when we reach other ports. There must be similar things available, surely?”

Besides, we aren’t even going to Pentos.

Chapter 67: The Great Voyage in Another World

For the first few days, Daenerys stood at the bow watching the scenery with great interest, even imitating Jack and Rose by shouting, “I’m the king of the world!”

Well, she shouted it from behind Big Black—feeling quite confident, and in Chinese, too—so she wasn’t afraid of anyone hearing.

But as time went on, the endless blue of the sea and sky became monotonous, and she could no longer muster the slightest interest.

Two minor incidents were worth mentioning, however. First, the horse men were indeed tough; they vomited until they simply got used to it. Whenever Irri and Jhiqui had a free moment, they would run to the ship’s rail and giggle foolishly at the dolphins swimming alongside the vessel.

The second incident…

At first, the crew was terrified the dragons would burn their ship down. When Black-bearded Groleo saw the three dragons circling the mainmast, he was as nervous as a maiden.

He bellowed at the sailors to fill empty wooden barrels with seawater and hang them along the rails as a fire precaution.

Later, they discovered the dragons only breathed fire under two conditions: when Daenerys commanded them to, and when they encountered fresh food.

Their worries assuaged, the sailors were then astonished to see rats fleeing madly from wherever the three dragons went.

After that, Daenerys took the dragons down to the ship’s hold. That night, the sailors had a new dish added to their menu: braised rats.

The rats seemed to have lost their minds, scrambling directly onto the deck and leaping into the sea.

Across the three ships, they found a total of one hundred and forty-six rats, the largest of which weighed more than two hundred and fifty grams.

Daenerys didn’t eat the rat meat, but the horse men, on the other hand, adored it, their love for it second only to their love for horse meat.

Gradually, whenever the sailors saw the dragons flying in the sky, they would feel a strange and intense pride welling up inside them. They would often say, “We are the Queen’s men. Beneath the wings of true dragons, we fight for her, we die for her, and we are glorified by the great dragons.”

While the horse men liked to lean over the rails and watch the dolphins, everyone from the captain to the scullery boy loved to watch Big Black and the other two fly.

Bored, Daenerys practiced the “Standard Pronunciation Chart of the 108 Letters” she had learned from the House of the Undying in her room. They were the foundation of ancient Valyrian spells.

“Ahaigele—mu,” she read from the iron plate, stumbling over the sounds.

The “Standard Pronunciation Chart of the 108 Letters” only taught Daenerys how to pronounce the incantations; she didn’t understand their meaning at all, let alone more advanced skills like channeling magic or meditation.

There weren’t even any complete spells for her to recite. In the end, she could only take out the identification plate she had found on the Dragonlord’s corpse and read the runes on it like a child sounding out an alphabet.

On the back of a one-yuan silver coin from the Celestial Empire, there’s a ring of letters around the chrysanthemum that says “zhongguo renmin yinhang,” which at least groups the sounds into words with spaces in between.

The iron plate in Daenerys’s hand, however, was just a continuous string of runic letters. She didn’t even know how to add “punctuation.”

If you showed “zhongguorenminyinhang” to someone from the Celestial Empire, they would have to stare at it for a while before figuring it out. And what if you showed it to a foreigner who knew no Chinese at all?

This was the situation Daenerys now faced. With the “Standard Pronunciation Chart of the 108 Letters,” she could read out the individual sounds, but when they were strung together, she knew neither their meaning nor how to pronounce them as words.

“We have a problem, Khaleesi,” Doreah said, walking into the room carrying an earthenware jar that reeked of milk.

Having grown accustomed to the sea and having spent many days with the dragons, the Lysene handmaiden did not mingle with the sailors and horse men on deck.

“What problem?” Daenerys asked casually.

Doreah first poured her a large bowl of fresh mare’s milk before saying with a worried expression, “The wind is dying down. It won’t be long before the ship is becalmed at sea.”

In this world, there were five great seas intimately connected with human civilization. To the east lay the Jade Sea. Passing from the Jade Sea through the straits of Qarth, one entered a vast body of water south of Essos known as the Summer Sea. The ocean north of the continent of Essos was called the Shivering Sea. Between Essos and Westeros was a narrow body of water, averaging five hundred kilometers in width, known as the Narrow Sea.

The people of Westeros were commonly known by two names in Essos: “Andals” and “visitors from the Sunset Lands.” Westeros was situated in the far west of the world, but to its west lay another vast ocean.

Daenerys’s fleet had taken a full day to leave the straits of Qarth and had only been in the Summer Sea for two days. They were still some distance from the easternmost city of the Summer Sea, New Ghis, and the Slaver’s Bay, which lay even further west, was not even in sight yet!

Daenerys left her room and found Black-bearded Groleo to ask about the matter. He replied nonchalantly, “We have two galleys!”

At first, Daenerys hadn’t understood why a sea vessel needed so many oars; the Summer Sun had a full three hundred of them.

After the wind died completely in the afternoon, Black-bearded Groleo gave an order. A sailor in the crow’s nest on the mainmast waved a flag, and the two narrow ships ahead lowered a pair of small boats.

The boats carried a coil of thick hemp rope, taller than a man and as thick as Daenerys’s wrist. Paying out the rope as they went, the small boats approached the great ship, finally hooking the iron chain at the end of the rope onto a ring on the protruding dragonbone prow.

As the flag waved, the sound of rhythmic drumming suddenly erupted from the two galleys. Daenerys saw a white wake form on the outer side of the two ships’ hulls—it was hundreds of sailors rowing with all their might.

Twang—creak, creak.

The rope, which had been submerged, suddenly shot up taut. A mist of water sprayed around the hemp rope as the fat-bellied sea vessel shuddered and began to move slowly forward with a groan.

The galley ahead was sixty meters long and about twelve meters wide, as long and narrow as a plowshare. The trading ship behind it, however, was incredibly wide, like a fat man with a potbelly.

Now, the three ships sailed slowly across the sea to the same drumbeat, like three little ants marching in step across an endless blue canvas.

“This can’t last long,” Daenerys murmured.

“It doesn’t have to. We’re not too far from the Ghiscari Strait. We can stop at New Ghis for a while and wait for the doldrums to pass,” Black-bearded Groleo said with perfect composure.

The old sailor was indeed experienced. At noon the next day, Big Black, soaring through the sky, brought them a scent of land—a charred leg of mutton.

By evening, the lookout on the galley ahead shouted, “Ghaen Island sighted!”

Ghaen Island was about the same size as Bear Island of House Mormont, with its longest straight-line distance not exceeding one hundred kilometers. Its value, however, was completely different. Bear Island was remote, and a foreign merchant ship might not be seen for a year or two.

Ghaen Island, on the other hand, was located midway on the shipping route between Slaver’s Bay and Qarth. With the port of New Ghis on its southern tip, most ships sailing between the eastern and western continents would resupply there, making it a veritable jewel of the eastern Summer Sea.

Black-bearded Groleo also planned to wait for the sea wind there.

If House Mormont’s fief had been Ghaen Island, his wife would never have run off, no matter what.

“The Ghiscari don’t welcome outsiders onto Ghaen Island itself, but the port of New Ghis on the southern end allows free entry and exit. If we don’t approach the harbor and just anchor in the bay, the Ghiscari won’t even charge us taxes.

“So, even though New Ghis isn’t far from Qarth, passing ships will still stop there for a time,” Black-bearded Groleo explained to Daenerys, standing on the ship’s bridge and looking at the small black dot on the horizon.

“Are the taxes in the free city-states very expensive?” Daenerys asked.

Black-bearded Groleo thought for a moment and said, “If you aren’t selling goods locally, they only charge a mooring fee. The larger the ship, the more dock space it takes up, and the higher the price, naturally.

“For three ships like ours, if we were to enter the docks at New Ghis, the daily mooring fee would be over ten gold radiants—about three gold dragons.”

“Wow, that’s highway robbery!” Daenerys exclaimed.

“It’s not too expensive. It’s about the same price in all the major city-states,” Black-bearded Groleo said, shaking his head. “You may not be aware of how high the profits are for sea merchants.

“Let me put it this way: even a merchant with no particular business acumen can acquire a lifetime’s worth of wealth just by making one circuit around the Summer Sea and the Jade Sea.

“The profit margin starts at twenty times and has no upper limit. A clever merchant constantly buys low and sells high at various ports, and a single voyage can easily yield a profit of one hundred times.

“For resourceful men like Xaro or Magister Illyrio, the average gross profit is around one hundred and fifty times.”

Not only was Daenerys flabbergasted, but Jorah and Whitebeard’s mouths also hung open in astonishment.

“Is it really that profitable?” Jorah said in disbelief. “Then why doesn’t everyone become a sea merchant?”

If he had known the profits were so high, the voyage he took with his wife to attend parties back then would have been enough to travel to the Jade Sea and back several times over. In that case…

“Heh heh.” Black-bearded Groleo stomped his foot hard, and the wooden planks let out a series of dull thuds. “Do you know how much this beauty of mine cost to build?”

“It’s not like I’ve never built a ship,” Jorah scoffed. He looked around and estimated, “I spent two thousand gold dragons building a great ship back in the day. It was maybe a third the size of this one. I heard the largest warship in King’s Landing cost as much as one hundred thousand gold dragons. Yours is large, but it’s not a warship. Thirty thousand gold dragons at most.”

Black-bearded Groleo gave him a thumbs-up. “An old hand, I see! It cost twenty-eight thousand gold dragons to build my Saduleon.”

Jorah smiled smugly.

“But do you know the loss rate for sea vessels?” Black-bearded Groleo continued. “On average, for every one hundred ships that set sail, if eighty return, the merchants will cheer and even go to the septs to donate and fulfill vows. If seventy return, he’ll breathe a sigh of relief, thinking, ‘At least I’ll make a tidy profit.’ If fifty return, he’ll sigh and go home to build more ships. If none return, he’ll go home, write his will, and end his life with a cup of poison.

“If an ordinary merchant were to lose a ship like mine, who could bear it?”

Silence!

The bridge fell silent. Everyone was stunned by the brutal realities of survival at sea.

“Every year, there are as many great merchants who commit suicide as there are those who become rich overnight. Take Magister Illyrio, for instance,” Black-bearded Groleo continued. “In his youth, he was just a street warrior who lived with his life on the line. Hmm, he did his fair share of petty theft, grand robbery, and assassination.

“Think about it. If others hadn’t made way, how could a street tough climb the ladder step by step to eventually become a Magister of Trade? And how did those people make way? They failed in business, of course!”

Chapter 68: The Jilting Men of the World of Ice and Fire

New Ghis was established on a long, narrow island, two kilometers wide and eight kilometers long. To the south, the Great Isle of Ghis extended two massive pincers like a crab, sheltering the smaller island of New Ghis at its center, making the waters near the harbor exceptionally calm.

Upon the blue, mirror-like sea, hundreds of great ships were anchored—bright red wooden-hulled vessels, swift white-painted galleys, and black, broad-bellied cogs. Many, like Daenerys and her party, were waiting for the winds to rise.

You might ask, why not do as they do on Earth—accurately estimate the arrival of the monsoons each year and sail with them?

Heh. In this fantasy world, where even the seasons weren’t fixed, where would they get monsoons?

Daenerys had been here for almost half a year, yet the only temperature changes she experienced were due to latitude—the closer to the north, the colder it was; the further south, the hotter. She hadn’t felt the slightest change of season.

In the afternoon, the azure sea and sky merged into one. The green sails on the masts hung as limp and slack as an old woman’s teat. In the shade of the bow, a few people chatted while gazing at the scenery.

When the topic of changing seasons came up, Whitebeard told Daenerys that summer hadn’t completely ended; there was at least another year of “ghost summer” to come.

Daenerys was very interested in the term “ghost summer” and asked the old man to explain.

But before Whitebeard could speak, Jorah interjected, “Northmen understand the changing of seasons better than southrons.

“A summer can have multiple harvests, providing plenty of food for the people. Even the poor don’t have to worry about sustenance, so everyone hopes for an ‘eternal summer’.

“However, the days in summer are long, and the weather is often too hot, which can lead to droughts.

“Especially at the end of a long summer that has lasted for several years, the weather becomes so hot that vast amounts of water evaporate into the sky, making the heavens gray and hazy, with moisture hanging everywhere. This period is called a ‘ghost summer’.”

“Without a doubt, this summer has lasted for eleven years, which definitely counts as a long summer. After a long summer, the final year is always a ‘ghost summer’. After the ghost summer comes a year of autumn, and after autumn…”

At this, Jorah’s expression grew solemn, and he sighed. “A long summer is always followed by a long winter that lasts for years. Winter is coming!

“And with the lords of Westeros at war, the peasants have all been conscripted by their liege lords as soldiers. They certainly won’t be able to store grain these coming years. When winter arrives, who knows how many people will die. The south might not fear a long winter, but the North…”

“Lord Mormont is right.” For once, Whitebeard actually agreed with Jorah. “Before I left the Seven Kingdoms, the Conclave had already sent out the white ravens.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “White ravens?”

“You know of the Citadel in Oldtown, don’t you?”

Seeing Daenerys nod, Whitebeard continued, “The change of seasons is deeply tied to the lives of the people of the Seven Kingdoms. But neither commoners nor nobles understand the climate or the heavens, so they must rely on the maesters of the Citadel.

“The Citadel has a special committee for observing the heavens. They measure the length of each day, observe the changes in the constellations, and other things I know nothing about.

“The members of this committee gather and compile the data, then send it to the Conclave within the Citadel—the Citadel’s governing body.

“You should know, only Archmaesters are qualified to attend the Conclave’s meetings.

“A group of the most learned and experienced Archmaesters can use that collected data to accurately predict the changing of the seasons. Then, they send white ravens with the news to the fiefdoms of the great lords.”

Seems quite advanced!

Daenerys nodded and asked, “Do the Archmaesters ever make a mistake?”

Hearing this, Whitebeard’s expression suddenly became distant, as if her words had reminded him of a painful memory.

“The False Spring!” Jorah Mormont said sullenly.

Whitebeard closed his eyes. After a long moment, he opened them again, the pain within them gone. He said softly, “After a summer, there is a year of autumn, and after a long winter, there is a year of warm spring. Whenever spring arrives, everyone knows the cruel winter has passed and a beautiful summer is about to begin.

“When the Citadel’s white ravens bring news of spring to everyone, the people of the realm take out their last stores of food for a spring festival.”

Daenerys nodded. It was probably the Westerosi New Year.

A summer of several years, a year of autumn, then a winter of several years, and finally, a year of spring.

Hmm, the people of Westeros have it rough, she thought. They only get to celebrate their New Year once every ten years on average.

Whitebeard continued, “But at the end of winter, the climate can be abnormal. The weather warms up, as if spring has arrived, but then the deep cold returns. People can’t plant crops or resume their work.

“The last False Spring occurred just before the Usurper’s War, about eighteen years ago.

“The Conclave’s white ravens arrived in King’s Landing. Lord Whent of Harrenhal, to showcase his status and celebrate the coming long summer, invited all the knights of the Seven Kingdoms to a great tourney.

“Your brother, Prince Rhaegar, was exceptionally valiant. He defeated all his powerful opponents and was crowned champion of the tourney.

“But he placed the crown of winter roses, meant for the ‘Queen of Love and Beauty’, on the lap of Robert Baratheon’s fiancée—Lyanna of House Stark—instead of on the head of his wife, Princess Elia Martell of Dorne.

“That scene at that moment…唉, I don’t need to say what happened next; you probably understand, don’t you?”

Brain-dead? Thinking with his dick? Found his true love?

Daenerys couldn’t figure out what her dear brother had been thinking.

In many popular web novels, it was usually the woman who looked down on the man and broke off the engagement. This kind of plot was commonly known as the ‘jilted protagonist’ trope. In this world, there had also been three famous cases of broken engagements, but it had been the men who jilted the women.

The women hadn’t shouted things like “The tables will turn” or “Don’t look down on a poor maiden!”, but their families were formidable, and they made the scoundrels pay a much higher price.

About sixty years ago, Daenerys’s great-uncle, Duncan Targaryen, known as “Duncan the Small,” jilted the daughter of Lord Baratheon for a commoner girl, “Jenny of Oldstones.”

Hmm, Prince Duncan wasn’t short. He was called Duncan the Small because there was a legendary knight in the Kingsguard at the time, “Duncan the Tall.” Yes, that Ser Duncan was very tall. Duncan the Tall was a great knight; even a king had served as his squire. Clearly, Prince Duncan was named after Ser Duncan.

Crown Prince Duncan paid the price of a throne and a sister, and also laid the groundwork for the future downfall of House Targaryen.

The first of these jilted men had a decent ending. His legendary story of choosing love over the kingdom was sung by countless bards, and he even earned the beautiful title “Prince of Dragonflies.”

How many sheltered maidens became infatuated with the Prince of Dragonflies because of this story, and grew mad with envy for Jenny of Oldstones.

The second in this line of jilting men was Daenerys’s older brother, Rhaegar. He didn’t actually break an engagement, because he was already married with two children when he met his “true love.”

Rhaegar paid a much heavier price: his wife was raped and murdered, his son and daughter were brutally killed, his kingly father met a grisly end, his house was destroyed, and the Targaryen dynasty came to an end.

Oh, and he died too.

A capital ‘T’ for ‘Tragic’.

Starting from now, in about a year, the third-generation jilting man would emerge. Robb Stark would fall in love with the daughter of a minor lord and break his betrothal to the daughter of Lord Frey.

As an aside, the woman who made King Robb break his betrothal was also named Jenny.

The name “Jenny” was poison.

Robb also paid a heavy price: his own life, his dream of being King in the North, his mother’s brutal death and subsequent resurrection as a vengeful spirit, the slaughter of countless northern nobles, and the near-extinction of House Stark.

“A false season, a false choice… that was the falsest of springs!” Whitebeard concluded.

“Attention, crew of the Saduleon. This is the New Ghis customs patrol! Attention, crew of the Saduleon. This is the New Ghis customs patrol…”

A voice came from the sea alongside the ship. The speaker shouted five times in accented Valyrian. The voice was loud, carrying across the dozens of meters, and even Daenerys and the others at the bow heard it.

Ser Jorah walked to the ship’s rail. He looked down for a moment, then turned back and said, “A small boat from New Ghis customs. It’s alongside our ship. It seems they want to inspect our cargo hold.”

“Why? We haven’t even entered the harbor area,” Daenerys said, puzzled.

“The last time we sailed from Pentos to Qarth, we were also inspected when we anchored here. According to Groleo, the Ghiscari do it to prevent pirate ships from sneaking into the harbor in disguise,” said Whitebeard.

Her interest piqued, Daenerys led the way toward the cargo hold entrance. The others immediately followed.

Two Ghiscari warriors in leather armor and a middle-aged official in a dark robe came aboard. They were stout, with amber skin, broad noses, and black eyes.

The most unforgettable thing about them was that all three Ghiscari, soldiers and official alike, had spiky red-and-black hair.

It wasn’t dyed; the two colors were natural. It was styled like Sendo’s hair from Slam Dunk.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have Sendo’s handsome looks. It had the air of ugly people making a spectacle of themselves.

They said they were there to inspect the cargo, but in reality, they just went down, took one look to confirm it was really filled with goods and not armed men, and then came back up.

The whole process took less than three minutes.

“So quick? What did you check for?” Daenerys asked the official as he climbed out of the hold onto the deck.

“Ah, you…” The man stared blankly for a moment, then said excitedly, “You’re… you’re the Mother of Dragons, the Queen of the Sunset Lands, Daenerys Targaryen?! I heard you bought camels and were planning to travel by land. The people of Meereen have been waiting day and night to see the dragons!”

They’ll get an eyeful, alright.

Daenerys nodded. “I am Daenerys.”

“Oh! I am the Special Commissioner of New Ghis Customs, Zanak zo Loraq.” He quickly bowed and introduced himself.

“Greetings, Mister Loraq.” After the greeting, Daenerys asked, puzzled, “How did you know about my original travel plans?”

The Ghiscari proudly waved a hand at the hundreds of great ships floating on the sea and said, “New Ghis is the gateway to the western world. News of the birth of true dragons is spreading among the sailors in the harbor.”

After the two Ghiscari soldiers and a few of the ship’s sailors had also climbed onto the deck, the middle-aged customs official explained, “Mother of Dragons, you may not know this, but the Summer Sea has been very turbulent these past six months. There have been many incidents of pirates plundering merchant ships.

“Especially in the area of the Sea of Sorrows near Valyria, people have seen a red demon ship appearing and disappearing in the mists.”

Chapter 69: Sea Monsters and Grilled Squid

“The Red Devil ship?”

Daenerys was amused by the Ghiscari’s words. “Do you really believe a devil would come to the mortal world to be a pirate?” she asked.

“If it’s not a devil, then it’s all the more terrifying!” the customs official warned gravely. “It is said that of all the targets the Red Devil ship has set its sights on, not one has escaped its pursuit—the ship is too fast. And not a single person has survived, for the devils aboard are too vicious.”

“Thank you for your warning.” Daenerys’s smile faded, and she thanked him with a solemn expression.

It was in a devil’s nature to do evil, but for a human to commit such demonic acts was far more dreadful and fearsome.

The customs official glanced around. Seeing the white and green dragons on the observation platform above, he froze in place. While sneaking glances at the two dragons, he tried to make small talk. “The New Ghis Iron Legion is not afraid of pirates, of course, but we understand the importance of taking precautions. That is why, for the past six months, our customs officers have been inspecting every ship entering the bay of New Ghis—not for cargo, but for hidden armed men.”

Seeing that Daenerys and her companions did not respond, the man’s expression remained unchanged as he continued, “Right, besides pirates, you should also be wary of sea monsters. Several galleys that came from the Summer Isles encountered giant, terrifying sea monsters north of the Basilisk Isles. A thirty-meter-long clipper was dragged straight to the bottom of the sea. Of its two hundred sailors, only thirteen were rescued by a nearby ship. The blood stained the ocean red, they said, and the crimson waves churned violently. It was horrifying.”

This piqued Daenerys’s interest. “Is that true? I thought sea monsters were just myths.”

“Heh, seven or eight of those black-skinned folk were scared out of their wits. How could it be fake?” Zhanak, the reddish-brown-skinned Ghiscari, grinned, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth. “Besides, compared to your dragons, what’s a sea monster?”

Daenerys could hardly argue with that. Sea monsters were legendary, but dragons were far more so.

Perhaps having had his fill of looking at the dragons, or perhaps having much work to attend to, Zhanak exchanged a few more pleasantries before leaving with his two soldiers.

Watching the Ghiscari’s small boat head toward a sea vessel behind them, Daenerys turned back and asked Black-bearded Groleo, “Do you think the story of the sea monster attacking the ship is true?”

“Perhaps,” the old sailor said, his face etched with worry. “Tales of sea monsters lurking in the depths of the Summer Sea have long circulated among sailors, and even in the Narrow Sea. Before our fleet set sail for Qarth, someone claimed to have seen a sea monster near the Fingers. They said it attacked an Ibbenese whaling ship with its crimson tentacles. The ship was twenty-five meters long, but it was eventually dragged into the deep. The man was terrified when he told me. He said a single tentacle was as thick as a barrel, as if stained with blood—the very tendrils of a demon.”

A red octopus?

She wondered what it would taste like.

Arstan Whitebeard spoke up. “In the tales of the Seven Kingdoms, it is said that some dragons could snatch krakens from the sea as easily as an osprey catches a fish from a river.”

“That ‘sea monster’ is nothing more than a giant octopus. Don’t we eat grilled octopus all the time?” Daenerys said dismissively.

“No, it’s not what you think,” Jorah interjected. “Legends of sea monsters have existed since ancient times, but actual attacks on ships were almost unheard of before.”

The old sailor, Black-bearded Groleo, agreed. “Ser Mormont is right. I’ve lived on the sea for thirty or forty years, and I’ve only heard credible reports of sea monsters in the last six months.”

Could the appearance of sea monsters be related to the return of magic?

If so, then they might be magical beasts, not ordinary giant octopuses.

But dragons had been gone for more than a century, and the Undying had been weathered by the river of time until only their decaying souls remained. How did those sea monsters survive the age when magic had waned?

“How long can a sea monster live?” she asked.

The men exchanged glances, completely taken aback by her question.

“No one has ever studied them,” Arstan said hesitantly. “Although House Greyjoy uses a golden kraken as its sigil, they don’t seem capable of summoning sea monsters to battle like the Ironborn kings of legend. However, Lord Adrian Celtigar of House Celtigar of Claw Isle has boasted to people that his family possesses an ancestral horn that can awaken beasts from the depths.”

Celtigar?

She remembered Viserys mentioning the house to her. Twelve years before the Doom of Valyria, the Targaryen maiden Daenys had prophesied Valyria’s destruction. At the time, it wasn’t just House Targaryen that had moved their entire family away from Valyria; House Celtigar and House Velaryon had as well.

The Targaryen fief was Dragonstone, the Celtigars were on Claw Isle, and the Velaryons were on Driftmark. The three islands were very close to one another, at most an hour or two’s voyage apart.

In Valyria, the Targaryens were considered a minor noble house, while the Celtigars and Velaryons were not even Dragonlords and possessed no dragons of their own.

Of course, they were still Valyrian nobility, with the ability to communicate with and ride dragons. During the Dance of the Dragons over a century ago, several Velaryons had become dragonriders.

If House Targaryen had even the slightest chance of victory, the Celtigars and Velaryons would be their most loyal allies. But they would never sacrifice their entire houses for a lost cause.

Viserys often found himself hoping those two houses would help him reclaim his throne, while at the same time cursing them as ungrateful curs who had forgotten centuries of allegiance.

Daenerys did not dwell on the Celtigars and continued her questioning. “How long can a dragon live?”

“It is said to be determined by their wisdom. In some legends, wise old dragons lived for a thousand years,” Jorah said, frowning in thought. “But during the Targaryen dynasty, the oldest dragon, Balerion, did not lack for wisdom, and the crown certainly did not lack for his food, yet he lived for only a little over two hundred years.”

“Dragons do not just need food. They crave freedom and the sky,” Arstan said softly.

“Freedom?” Daenerys turned to the old man, puzzled. “Did the Targaryens of old chain Balerion up?”

The old man sighed, his eyes distant. “King’s Landing is primarily built upon three hills.”

“I know this,” Daenerys said. “They are named after Aegon and his two sisters. The Red Keep, where the king lives, is on Aegon’s High Hill. The Great Sept of Baelor is on the Hill of Visenya, and the massive Dragonpit was built on the Hill of Rhaenys.”

A thought struck her, and she asked in surprise, “Was the Dragonpit too small? Did it restrict the dragons’ movement?”

Arstan slowly shook his head. “The Dragonpit was vast. Thirty knights could ride abreast through it, and it was topped by a great dome a hundred meters high. But dragons are dragons. Your ancestors forgot one thing: there were no dragonpits in Valyria.”

No, there were dragonpits in Valyria, Daenerys thought. The Dragonlords lived with their dragons atop the blackstone skyscraping towers, which also had domes and walls. But she did not interrupt the old man’s story.

“From then on, the dragons in the pit grew smaller with each passing generation, until finally…” The old man sighed. “The last dragon was no bigger than a small dog.”

“Nonsense. If walls could limit size, then every peasant living in a hovel would grow to be a dwarf, and every king in his tall castle would be as mighty as a giant,” Ser Jorah scoffed. “In fact, the opposite is often true. Large men are born in cottages, while castles are home to small ones.”

“Men are men, and dragons are dragons. A dragon belongs in the sky, while a man can only live on the earth. These are not my words. The Maesters reached this conclusion only after careful study of the bones of dragons past,” Arstan said seriously.

“Hmph!” Ser Jorah had never been particularly fond of the old man with the white beard. He let out a cold, contemptuous snort and sneered, “For a mere squire, you certainly put on airs. Since you know so much, why don’t you do us the favor of enlightening us with your knowledge of dragons, eh?”

Arstan remained unperturbed. “I was merely fortunate enough to have seen the dragon skulls hanging on the walls of the Throne Room during King Aerys’s reign. The bones confirmed some of the Maesters’ theories. As for more profound knowledge, I am afraid I do not possess it.”

At this, the old man turned to Daenerys and said gently, “Your Grace, if you wish to learn more about dragons, you might ask Magister Illyrio to lend you a copy of Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History when we reach Pentos. It is a most valuable work that contains detailed knowledge about dragons.”

Daenerys’s interest was piqued. “The title sounds as if it’s suggesting that dragons evolved from other animals, unnaturally…”

“Ah!” she suddenly gasped, covering her mouth. “Could it be that humans evolved dragon-like creatures into dragons? Gods, blood magic… the bloodmages of Valyria! Is that book from the old Valyrian Freehold?”

Arstan’s eyes widened. He was utterly shocked that she could deduce so much from a single title.

He looked at Daenerys intently before nodding. “Septon Barth believed dragons were magical creatures created by Valyrian bloodmages from wyverns.”

“A Septon?”

“Septon Barth was Hand of the King two hundred years ago. He served for forty years, bringing peace and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms,” Arstan explained.

“Oh? How did a Hand of the King find the time to study dragons and magic?” Daenerys was dumbfounded.

The crucial part was that he had apparently done so without neglecting his primary duties, managing the realm with great success.

“I know of Septon Barth. I heard he was of humble birth, the son of a blacksmith, sent to the Faith by his father because the family could not afford to keep him,” Jorah said, first in realization, then in doubt. “But why have I never heard of him writing this Unnatural History of Dragons?”

“Septon Barth was exceptionally clever from a young age. The Faith assigned him to work in the royal library, where he not only acquired boundless knowledge but also befriended the book-loving ‘Old King,’ Jaehaerys I.”

He looked at Daenerys and added, “The Old King was the grandson of His Grace Aegon.”

Then he turned back to Jorah. “The book did not survive. When Saint Baelor ascended the throne, he ordered all of Septon Barth’s works to be burned. Only a few handwritten copies survived abroad or were collected by certain noble families.”

Daenerys knew of Saint Baelor. The book of Westerosi tales Jorah had given her was full of stories about him, and she had later asked the knight for more details about his deeds.

Even among the many oddities produced by House Targaryen, he was truly an oddity among oddities.

Chapter 70: Those Peculiar Relatives: Saint Baelor

Baelor Targaryen, known as “Baelor the Blessed,” was a King of the Seven Kingdoms who was also a pious devotee of the Seven.

What Daenerys found most memorable about him was that he had built a tower within the Red Keep called the “Maidenvault.”

And what was the Maidenvault specifically for?

To imprison his sisters.

House Targaryen had a tradition of sibling marriage, but such incestuous acts were strictly forbidden by the tenets of the Faith of the Seven.

Thus, Baelor annulled his betrothal to his sister Daena, and what’s more, took a septon’s vow: to remain a virgin forever and never marry.

This in itself wasn’t so unusual; he wasn’t the first emperor to become a monk.

The truly maddening part was that his three sisters—Daena, Rhaena, and Elaena—were all in the prime of their youth, lovely and captivating, blessed as they were with the beautiful Targaryen bloodline.

And Baelor was a normal man; he felt carnal desire for them.

Yet he was far too pious and had even become the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven.

Baelor frantically suppressed his desires. To resist the temptations of his sisters’ flesh (leaving his sisters utterly baffled), he built a tower in the palace—the Maidenvault—and locked all three of them inside.

You vixens, do not tempt this holy monk!

He wouldn’t touch them himself, nor would he allow any other man to, declaring that it was to protect their innocence from being corrupted by the lust of men and the evils of the world.

Given Baelor’s character, he probably wasn’t lying; he likely truly believed that in his heart.

He and his sisters would ascend to the heavens in blissful purity together.

Saint Baelor later declared prostitution illegal, expelling all of King’s Landing’s prostitutes and their children from the city. Believing that all men were equal under the Seven, he made a highborn lord wash the feet of a leper. To commune with the gods and comprehend the true meaning of the Faith’s doctrines, he would often enter “secluded meditation”—locking himself in a sept to pray without food or water, until finally… he starved to death!

There were many other stories about Saint Baelor. One could almost consider the Faith of the Seven equivalent to Christianity, and Saint Baelor to Saint Peter (chief among the twelve apostles of Jesus). For someone like him, burning books of magical knowledge was mere child’s play.

“Alas, what a pity. Knowledge is priceless, and innocent,” Daenerys sighed.

Her handmaiden Jhiqui, who had been listening from the side, spoke up. “Khaleesi, dragons came from the moon.”

“Oh?” Daenerys was amused. She asked with a smile, “Have you also studied the origin of dragons?”

The Dothraki girl put on a serious face. “Once, there were two moons in the sky. One moon drifted too close to the sun and could not bear the scorching heat. It cracked open like an egg, and a million dragons poured forth.”

“Everyone knows this,” she added hastily after finishing.

“Haha, do you know how far the moon is from the earth? A dragon could fly its whole life and never reach the ground. Besides, the environment beyond the sky is too harsh for even a dragon to survive,” Daenerys said, shaking her head.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. She asked, “Everyone knows this legend?”

“Even the people of Qarth know it,” Jhiqui quickly replied.

Daenerys glanced at Jorah, Whitebeard, and Belwas. “Do you know of it?”

“I do not,” Jorah and Whitebeard said, shaking their heads.

“I’ve also heard myths like that in Meereen,” the portly eunuch said, scratching his head, though he sounded uncertain.

Daenerys fell into thought. The Dothraki, the Qartheen, and the Ghiscari of Meereen were three peoples with different beliefs and cultures. If there was something they all agreed on, then the legend must contain some element of truth.

What if there really were two moons?

It wouldn’t violate the laws of celestial mechanics. Planets with multiple satellites are quite common; in fact, planets like Earth with only one are rare.

What if one moon disappeared? Or rather, what if that celestial body near the sun wasn’t actually a moon?

What if it was another, more distant star?

The most famous characteristic of a three-body system is that the planet’s seasons are completely irregular.

This…

Alright, Daenerys was getting ahead of herself. Even if the “second moon” were a star, that would only make two stars, one short of a three-body system.

Still, a binary star system might also…

I hope the Arch-Sorcerer of Valyria was telling the truth, that there are gods in this world, and that the Greenseer is as bugged as he was in the story. Perhaps I can learn the truth of this world from them.

The moment this thought arose, she laughed mockingly at herself. Even if she understood the mechanics of this star system, what good would it do her?

The fleet stayed docked at New Ghis for three days. On the fourth day, when the sails billowed full with wind, Captain Groleo gave the order, and the thick iron anchor was pulled out of the sea with a great groaning of the capstan.

The fleet continued its voyage west, leaving the small island of New Ghis behind.

Before departing, they had only sent small boats to the harbor to purchase some fruit, vegetables, and medicine.

“The black dragon hasn’t returned. Are you sure we don’t need to wait for him?” Whitebeard asked Daenerys worriedly, looking around.

Big Black seemed to look down on his two little brothers, Little White and Little Green. Was this a case of a star pupil from an honors class disdaining his less brilliant classmates?

He had always been a loner, spending the last few days poaching goats and fat cattle—livestock raised by the Ghiscari—on the interior of Ba’en Island.

Little White and Little Green had far less stamina than Big Black and didn’t dare fly too far from Daenerys, contenting themselves with catching flying fish that leaped from the water near the ships.

“No need to wait. The dragons can sense my location. He will find his way back on his own,” Daenerys said.

Ever since “eating” a spirit of faith (a demigod) in the Palace of Dust, Big Black’s intelligence had grown, and his size had shot up with astonishing speed, as if on some kind of miracle fertilizer.

And growing required a huge amount of food. With the limited supplies on the ship, Big Black could only go out and hunt for himself.

Sure enough, two days later, the sailors on deck suddenly felt the sky darken as if a large cloud had blotted out the sun. They looked up and couldn’t help but let out cries mixed with awe and fear.

The black dragon, now the size of a small horse, spread its wings, which spanned a full ten meters, and was four or five meters wide.

He folded his wings abruptly, his body plummeting like a missile with a piercing shriek. Whoosh!

The water splashed up in a beautiful arc, though not a large amount—it would have been enough to win a gold medal in a diving competition.

Bubble, bubble, bubble!

White steam and black smoke roiled in the blue sea, making that small patch of ocean look like a boiling cauldron.

A full half-minute passed. BOOM!

The sea exploded upwards in a spray over ten meters high, and a black shadow shot out. With a great flap, flap, Big Black spread his wings and hovered four or five meters above the surface, vigorously shaking the water from his wings before letting out a screeching cry, “Screeaa!” and soaring into the sky.

Jorah had been leaning over the ship’s rail, looking down. Now he asked in confusion, “What is it doing? Taking a bath?”

Before his voice had faded, a patch of white slowly floated up from the deep blue sea. It was a fifteen-meter-long white whale with a plump head, its belly turned upwards. Its milky white head was charred and broken, streaming black blood in a gruesome mess.

“The Seven Hells!” Ser Jorah exclaimed in disbelief. “The black dragon actually hunted a kraken.”

Daenerys replied, exasperated, “Why would you think that’s a kraken? It’s a whale, one of the most docile large marine animals.”

“But the black dragon is less than half a year old. When he’s a hundred, he’ll surely be able to kill krakens with ease,” Jorah said earnestly. “It seems the legends are true. Dragons feed on krakens.”

“Oh, the Seven preserve us, the black dragon killed such a huge whale!” a sailor shouted, and soon a large crowd had gathered along the ship’s rail.

“Quick, lower the hooks! I need a sailor to go down and secure the whale,” Groleo called out after watching for a moment, seeing the whale’s carcass begin to fall behind the ship’s stern.

Daenerys sent the three eager dragons away so the sailors could cut the enormous whale carcass into chunks. Then, she stood at the stern, picked up a bloody piece of whale meat from a wooden tub, and hurled it into the sky.

“Screeaa—WHOOSH!”

A pillar of fire erupted from Big Black’s mouth, charring the whale meat almost instantly. Before the chunk could fall, Big Black’s maw, filled with sharp teeth, snapped it out of the air.

She bent down, took another piece from the bucket, and repeated the action. Little White and Little Green fought each other as they scrambled for the food.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Jorah leaned out from the bridge railing, waving to Daenerys at the stern from afar.

Daenerys handed the task of feeding the dragons to Quaithe, washed the blood from her hands with seawater from a bucket hanging by the rail, and walked quickly toward the high platform on the third deck.

Apart from Daenerys herself, the person the three dragons were closest to was the Dothraki warrior, Quaithe.

Feeding a dragon was a way to build a friendly relationship with it.

Daenerys had appointed Quaithe as a dragon guard, so naturally, she couldn’t allow the dragons to harm him. Thus, she often entrusted him with the task of feeding them.

The Saduleon was somewhat like one of the great treasure ships used by Zheng He during his voyages in the early Ming Dynasty, with a hold even larger than a Spanish galleon’s.

However, the bridge resembled that of a sailing ship—an open-air high platform from which one could command the helmsman and the raising and lowering of the sails.

Strong Belwas was squatting to the side, eating greasy, golden-brown, charcoal-grilled whale meat skewers. The front of his small, studded leather vest was splattered with grease, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest, continuing to eat with gusto.

Jorah, Groleo, and Whitebeard all had grave expressions on their faces; it seemed they had been arguing.

“Your Grace, we are but a day’s sail from the Valyrian seas. We must change course immediately!” he said sternly.

He had discussed this matter with Daenerys many times. Although she had agreed with his idea of going to Slaver’s Bay to buy Unsullied, she had never actually ordered Groleo to change direction.

“Your Grace, Magister Illyrio and the people of the Seven Kingdoms are waiting for you!” Groleo urged with a frown. He wasn’t stupid; Ser Jorah couldn’t have just come up with the idea of going to Slaver’s Bay. The princess must have known for some time.

“Your Grace, you are the true queen. The kings of Westeros are embroiled in war, all industry has ceased, and the common folk are destitute. They are waiting for you to set things right,” Whitebeard added, trying to persuade her.

Daenerys looked at them hesitantly, then asked Jorah, “What do you think?”

“Heh,” Ser Jorah sneered at Whitebeard. “These past few days, you’ve perfectly displayed your wisdom and experience to Her Grace. You even know about dragons. So why play the fool now, urging Her Grace to go to her death in Westeros?”

“You’re talking nonsense!” Whitebeard’s white beard practically stood on end with anger.

“Hmph. With your knowledge, surely you understand that besides three young dragons and the Targaryen name, Her Grace has absolutely no capital with which to contend for the throne?”

Chapter 71: The Expensive Valyrian Steel Sword

Before Arstan Whitebeard could answer the previous question, Jorah pressed on aggressively, “Let me ask you again, how will Illyrio arrange for the princess’s future? By contacting the lords of the Seven Kingdoms? By using his fortune to hire mercenaries?”

“The names ‘Dragon’ and ‘Targaryen’ would only spur those warring lords to immediately put aside their disputes and unite against a common foe. Perhaps some might look upon Her Grace with anticipation, but a far greater number would send a steady stream of assassins. Who could guarantee her safety?”

Jorah’s string of questions left Groleo at a complete loss. The old seaman knew nothing of politics; bringing Queen Daenerys back to Pentos was the sole purpose of his voyage.

But in theory, he served the queen now, making him one of her subjects, and this…

Belwas, on the other hand, showed no reaction at all. He continued to eat his grilled skewers. Protecting the little queen’s safety was his job; he cared for nothing else.

Whitebeard pondered for a long while before looking up, his gaze firm as he met Dany’s eyes. “I swear on my life and honor that I will protect Her Grace’s safety.”

“Hah!” Jorah sighed in exasperation. “As a member of the Queensguard, I have already pledged my life to Her Grace. Her Bloodriders would sooner live and die with her. But what meaning does that have against the traitors of the Seven Kingdoms?

“A single company of three hundred mercenaries could wipe out any threat. Do you think Duke Tywin, who shits gold, would be stingy with a few gold dragons?”

Whitebeard’s tall, sturdy frame froze, his lips pressed into a tight line. He asked, “What is your suggestion?”

“Go to Slaver’s Bay. Buy Unsullied,” Jorah declared.

“But a small number of Unsullied are useless, and my ships can’t carry too many!” Groleo lamented.

“We go to Slaver’s Bay first,” Jorah said, not mentioning his thought of selling the cargo on board, or even the great ship itself, for Unsullied.

At that moment, Dany seemed to have finally made up her mind. She gritted her teeth and said, “I have decided to follow Ser Mormont’s advice. We will go to Slaver’s Bay. Are the three of you coming?”

“Wherever you go, I go,” Strong Belwas said, lifting his head, his words muffled by food. “That fat man in Pentos only hired me to protect you. I’m your man now!”

You eunuch, you eat more than my dragons, Dany thought. And to phrase it so ambiguously… I certainly don’t want you.

Dany simply smiled and nodded.

“I am willing to serve you,” Groleo said.

“I am Belwas’s squire,” said Whitebeard.

Thus, a general consensus was reached. Regardless of their loyalties, the three ships temporarily belonged to Dany.

“Shall I give the order to change course, then?” Groleo asked her.

“Let me think,” Dany replied, asking Groleo to unroll the sea chart and mark the fleet’s current approximate position.

This large-bellied carrack was slower than the sailing ships of Earth’s Age of Sail, capable of only about eight knots.

That was roughly fourteen kilometers per hour, meaning it could cover more than three hundred kilometers in a day.

Of course, this depended on the wind. With no wind, the ship would be dead in the water; with favorable winds, it could exceed ten knots.

They had left New Ghis three days ago and were still a day or two’s journey from crossing the storm-tossed seas that bordered Valyria. It was the perfect time to turn toward Slaver’s Bay.

But seeing the ruins of Valyria on the map, Dany was again reminded of the magnificent city of magic she had seen in the House of the Undying.

She gently tapped the location of Valyria’s capital on the map with her finger and turned to ask, “Has anyone ever explored the ruins of Valyria?”

“Yes,” Whitebeard said with a frown. “For nearly four hundred years, countless people have tried to find lost treasures in the ruins of Valyria. Even the most common longsword of a Valyrian noble was forged from Valyrian steel, and the most ordinary Valyrian greatsword would be a priceless treasure today.

“It’s said that Tywin Lannister once tried to buy the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of a fallen minor lord, but no matter how much Tywin raised the price, that lord refused to sell.”

“I don’t know how much Tywin offered, but given the Lannisters’ fabulous wealth, it would have started at no less than two hundred thousand gold dragons.”

“Ahem, hem, cough!” Ser Jorah Mormont seemed to choke on his own saliva, coughing violently.

After a moment, he rubbed his nose, his face flushed red with embarrassment as he muttered, “It wasn’t… it wasn’t a fallen minor lord.”

Whitebeard and Dany’s eyes went wide, and they stared in unison at the exiled lord of Bear Island.

“Could it be that the seller was you?” Whitebeard murmured.

“I never thought of selling Longclaw!” Mormont retorted loudly.

“When I was in Lannisport seeking a loan from Tywin, the man kept pestering me to buy the sword. But Longclaw is the ancestral sword of House Mormont. My old man isn’t dead yet. If he found out, he would probably ride back from the Wall and cut me down with one blow.”

So if your father had passed, you would have sold the ancestral sword then and there?

The thought occurred to them all, and Whitebeard’s gaze toward Jorah grew even more disdainful.

Indeed, just as Mormont couldn’t stand Whitebeard, Whitebeard looked down on a knight who had lost his honor.

“I suppose Lynesse Hightower didn’t know about this?” Whitebeard said with faint sarcasm.

Mormont’s eyes darted away, and he evasively changed the subject. “And it wasn’t two hundred thousand. Tywin’s highest offer was a sky-high price of eight hundred fifty thousand gold dragons, but I refused to sell, even when he threatened to deny me the loan… After that, I went to borrow money from the Iron Bank of Braavos.”

Eight hundred fifty thousand gold dragons?

Dany was left speechless; the sum was enough for Jorah’s spendthrift wife to indulge herself for a lifetime. The thought of going to Valyria grew ever stronger in her heart.

Then another question arose in her mind. “Ser, House Lannister doesn’t have a Valyrian steel sword. How did your House on Bear Island come to possess one?”

Jorah answered immediately, “The Lannisters did have a Valyrian steel greatsword, Brightroar. More than a century before the Doom of Valyria, the King of the Rock paid nearly two million gold dragons to have it commissioned from the Valyrians.”

Damn it, Bear, please don’t tempt me further!

Dany felt her eyes turning into gold coins.

Whitebeard seemed to have guessed her thoughts, for he immediately offered a warning. “After the Doom of Valyria, many coveted the treasures and secret arts of the Valyrians. The Lannisters were no exception.

“Over three hundred years ago, King Tommen II of the Rock assembled a great fleet—known to history as the ‘Golden Fleet’—to explore Valyria, which had been destroyed by the Doom. As it happened, dozens of warships, thousands of sailors, and King Tommen II himself all perished in those ruins cursed by the gods.

“The King of the Rock’s sword, Brightroar, was naturally lost within the ruins of Valyria as well.

“And just ten years ago, Duke Tywin’s own brother, Gerion Lannister, also vanished without a trace on a journey to find the ancestral sword.

“Besides the Lannisters, the people of Volantis, who are closest to Valyria and descendants of the most orthodox nobility of the old Valyrian Freehold, have also gone and never returned.

“The painful experiences of countless people tell us that place is a land of death. Your Grace, with your wisdom, you should not commit such a foolish act.”

Dany’s small band of people and ships were naturally no match for Tommen II’s forces, but she had her own trump card.

“Arstan, I have understood your wise counsel completely,” Dany said, giving him a grateful smile before changing the subject. “But I have dragons. Our fleet need only anchor in the safe periphery. My dragons can cross the dangerous waters and enter the shattered peninsula.”

“This…” Whitebeard became uncertain.

“That might be worth a try,” Jorah said, rubbing his bristly chin, though he was still worried. “But we don’t know what dangers lie within. If there’s an accident, your dragons might…”

“Perhaps it would be better to wait until the dragons have grown, when they are stronger, before you have them explore the ruins of Valyria?” he suggested.

It was a prudent opinion, safe and reasonable, and Dany had no real reason to refuse it.

“The dragon has three heads,” she said with a sigh, “but there is only one dragonrider. When the dragons grow up, I’m afraid the white and black dragons will become wild. They would never harm me, but you…

“Right now they are still small and won’t attack humans, but in a few years, maybe just one… I can’t watch them all the time. Just like Big Black, he’s always leaving my sight to hunt on his own.

“I want to go to Valyria to find the true secret arts of dragon taming, at least to keep those two dragons from eating people.”

She knew that in other tellings of her tale, Daenerys’s dragons did eat people, even a little girl. All three nearly became wild beasts—in fact, the white and green dragons ultimately become wild dragons with no one to control them.

“Can you control the black dragon? I feel he could easily hunt humans right now,” Whitebeard said with concern.

“Yes, there’s no need to worry about the black dragon,” Dany said with full confidence.

It was precisely because the black dragon had once shown the desire to devour a Dothraki child that Dany worried about her dragons eating people.

She could feel Big Black’s emotions. Back in Qarth, a two or three-year-old Dothraki girl had accidentally wandered into her chambers. Big Black had been startled, and his immediate thought was to kill and eat her.

Dany had been terrified at the time. It was the first time she realized that dragons were legendary creatures at the top of the food chain, and humans were just another dessert on their menu.

Later, she had asked Jorah.

The knight told her that dragons not only ate people, they had even eaten several Targaryens.

Of course, that was during Targaryen infighting, when one Targaryen would feed another to a dragon. Under normal circumstances, a dragon would not actively eat a Targaryen—unless that Targaryen lacked the gift of a dragonrider yet insisted on trying to ride one. In that case, they would most likely be eaten.

Later still, after Whitebeard arrived, Dany saw how experienced he was and how well he knew the old history of House Targaryen, so she asked him about it.

Whitebeard said that a dragon with a master would not harm humans. The most fearsome were the wild dragons without masters; they were proud, rebellious, and difficult to control.

He told her a terrifying story. During the Dance of the Dragons, House Targaryen had more than twenty dragons. There were so many that three of them were never tamed and became wild dragons.

One of them, a wild dragon named “the Cannibal,” was utterly terrifying. It not only ate a large group of aspiring dragonriders (Targaryens or other Valyrians without dragons), but it also preyed on its own kind, devouring dragon corpses, hatchlings, and dragon eggs.

So when he heard Dany’s concern, even the most prudent Whitebeard fell silent.

“You can only approach the edge. Absolutely do not enter. That place…” With a sigh, Whitebeard waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll understand when we get there. I hope the black dragon isn’t injured.”

“I understand,” Dany nodded, then turned to ask Mormont, “Why was your Longclaw valued at only eight hundred fifty thousand, while Brightroar was worth two million? Does the price of Valyrian steel swords fluctuate so much?”

Chapter 72: First Exploration of the Valyrian Ruins

“Brightroar is a two-handed greatsword. My family’s Longclaw is a bastard sword,” Mormont said.

“A… bastard sword?” Daenerys was taken aback.

Mormont looked around, but finding no other examples on the ship, he drew his own sword with a clang and gestured with it to explain. “While I can use this sword with one hand, it’s easier to put force behind it with two hands on the hilt, so it’s considered a two-handed sword.”

The sword in Mormont’s hand was a full 1.5 meters from tip to pommel, a fitting size for a big man like him, standing around 1.95 meters tall.

“Besides two-handed swords, there are one-handed swords, which are a quarter to a third shorter than this. A bastard sword is between a one-handed and a two-handed sword. It’s a hand-and-a-half sword, which we also call a ‘bastard sword’.”

“Hahaha, so a two-handed sword and a one-handed sword had a baby, and it was a bastard sword,” Strong Belwas roared with laughter. “A fine bastard sword indeed.”

Mormont shot him a glance and said flatly, “Whether in Westeros or Essos, bastard swords are the most common. One-handed swords lack chopping power, and most people can’t wield a two-handed sword, let alone fight with one.”

Then, he turned back to Daenerys. “So, you understand now? The reason Brightroar is so expensive is because it’s heavier than Longclaw and uses more Valyrian steel.

If Eddard Stark had sold his ancestral sword, Ice, to Tywin, he probably could have gotten three million gold dragons for it. Standing on its end, Ice is taller than most knights, a full 1.85 meters.”

1.85 meters—the tall, rich, and handsome of Valyrian steel swords!

Daenerys griped internally. And that handsome sword went to the Lannisters for free, without them paying a single gold dragon.

But as Mormont said, most people couldn’t handle a greatsword that large. Tywin had melted Ice down and forged it into two swords: “Widow’s Wail” and “Oathkeeper.” Bastard swords?

Hmm, Eddard Stark had brought his ancestral sword to King’s Landing, where he was beheaded, and the sword ended up in Tywin’s hands.

Mormont didn’t know what she was thinking and continued, “I’m not sure of the exact market price for a Valyrian steel sword. The Lannisters have money, and the world of the rich is different from ours. You can imagine that when the Mormonts acquired Longclaw five hundred years ago, they certainly didn’t spend eight hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons.”

“How much did the Starks pay for Ice?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Mormont said, shaking his head. “Perhaps the Starks, like me, have long forgotten what it cost to obtain their ancestral sword.”

At this point, Whitebeard interjected, “Your Grace, the distinction between two-handed, hand-and-a-half, and one-handed swords isn’t determined solely by length. The key is the center of balance in the hilt.

Take the greatsword ‘Dawn,’ for example. For most, it’s a two-handed sword, but Arthur Dayne was tall and powerful, with incredible arm strength, and could wield the greatsword easily with one hand.

So, by adjusting the weight of the pommel, Ser Arthur turned it into a one-handed sword. But after his death, the knights of House Dayne changed it back into a two-handed sword.”

Mormont gave the old man a surprised look and nodded. “The old fellow is right. A sword should be an extension of its master’s arm. When a true knight goes to a smithy for a weapon, he rarely buys one off the rack. He’ll have his arm span and strength measured so the smith can forge one custom-made for him.”

“Arthur Dayne, the legendary ‘Sword of the Morning’!” Daenerys exclaimed in awe. “Viserys said he was the greatest swordsman in the world, that only Rhaegar could compare to him.”

A reminiscent look appeared on Whitebeard’s face, and he sighed with emotion. “Arthur Dayne’s skill was indeed supreme. He could eat a roasted skewer with his right hand while felling all seven of today’s Kingsguard with a sword in his left. As for Prince Rhaegar, he…”

Hearing the hesitation in the old man’s voice, Daenerys waved a hand dismissively. “I know Viserys was exaggerating. Rhaegar was no match for Robert.

But the Sword of the Morning wasn’t a prince; no one needed to flatter him. His skill must have been real. So why did he die at the hands of Eddard Stark, a man not known for his martial prowess?”

The old man pondered for a moment. “Any warrior, no matter how strong, swift, or precise, is still human and has his limits. He can win a difficult duel, and he can lose a simple fight.

I have seen thousands of tourneys and fought in many wars. I know that many factors decide a duel.

A small hole in the grass, something foul eaten for supper—these might mean defeat. A sudden shift in the wind might grant you victory.”

At this, he glanced at Ser Jorah. “And perhaps a token from a lady, worn on the arm, can awaken the god of war within a man.”

The Bear hadn’t expected the old man to drag him into the conversation. His face darkened, and he said coldly, “Watch your tongue, old man!”

At the tourney at Lannisport, Mormont had won the joust with a silk scarf from Lynesse tied around his arm.

But after that day, he never won another competition.

The example was apt, a classic case, and frankly, a bit of a low blow.

The conversation ended on a sour note, and they parted ways unhappily. Daenerys left with her handmaidens as well.

Groleo made a slight adjustment to their course, sailing west by northwest for two days. Then, Daenerys saw it: the Sea of Doom’s Storms.

In the distance, the gray sky seemed to have collapsed, merging with the sea. Or perhaps, colossal waterspouts and storms had formed a barrier, surrounding the northern Valyrian Peninsula like a seal—one that both blocked ships from entering and kept the demons of the ancient ruins from escaping.

“We can’t go any farther, or the storm will tear us to pieces!” Groleo roared at Daenerys, the fierce wind whipping his messy, shoulder-length black hair about.

“Then stop!” Daenerys roared back.

They had to shout. The distant storm, which stretched from the sea to the heavens, brought not only swirling gales and thick sea spray but also a thunderous, continuous roar.

It was strange. Normally, if there was a massive sea storm ahead, the waters nearby would be churning with high waves, even without any rain.

But the seas around the Valyrian Peninsula were completely different.

The sky ahead was a dark, oppressive weight, where wind and waves seemed to erase the boundary between sea and sky, merging them into one.

Yet just over ten kilometers away, the sun shone brightly on a calm sea. Aside from the tremendous sound and the gusting wind, there was almost no effect.

It was as if a wall separated two worlds. Inside was a stormy purgatory; outside, a field of blooming flowers.

The anchors were dropped into the sea, and the three ships came to a temporary halt on the water. Daenerys left Groleo on the bridge to man the helm while she went down to a lower cabin with Jorah and Whitebeard to discuss their next move.

“Your Grace, you must be quick,” Groleo warned Daenerys before she left the bridge. “The sea is calm here for now, but in a few hours, this spot could become the heart of the maelstrom. That storm wall isn’t fixed; it can expand or shrink. Either way, it will cause violent changes in the weather nearby.”

“I understand!” Daenerys called back.

Once below deck, the roar of the storm lessened, and they could speak normally.

As soon as he saw Daenerys, Whitebeard immediately tried to persuade her. “Your Grace, we should leave. I never imagined the waters near Valyria would be this treacherous. Not even a dragon could fly through that storm wall!”

“Sigh, I didn’t expect this either,” Daenerys said, looking helpless. “It’s not reasonable, not scientific. A constant storm would require enormous amounts of energy. It’s been hundreds of years—how has it not dissipated?”

Jorah didn’t know what “scientific” meant, but he understood her point. “The rise and fall of Valyria were miracles in themselves,” he said. “It’s no surprise to find such a spectacle in this place.”

“What are the conditions in the Smoking Sea?” Daenerys asked.

Valyria was built on a peninsula in the Summer Sea. During the Doom, volcanoes in the center of the peninsula erupted, shattering the continent into a strait of boiling seawater—the Smoking Sea.

Valyria was shattered into countless fragments. The land to the north became the Smoking Sea, burning with the fires of hell, while the waters to the south were ringed by an ever-present storm. The environment was as hostile as could be.

Jorah shook his head and sighed. “The Smoking Sea is also dangerous. The undersea volcanoes make the ocean boil, and the reefs that break the surface are scorched until they smoke. The sky is almost blotted out by black smoke from the eruptions, and the sea is a dark red. They say demons and sea monsters live there.”

In such a hostile environment of undersea volcanic eruptions, any creature that survived would become a demon if it wasn’t one already.

“Dragons aren’t afraid of high temperatures,” Daenerys said hesitantly.

“But all of Valyria’s thousands of dragons died in the volcanic eruptions,” Whitebeard said, throwing cold water on her idea.

His words were harsh, but they were the truth.

“Alright. I’ll have Big Black test the storm,” she said with a resigned sigh.

“Scree—”

The bare masts, their sails furled, vibrated slightly in the wind. The three small dragons were perched atop them with their wings folded, curled up and as still as stone gargoyles.

At Daenerys’s command, Big Black’s blood-red eyes snapped open. He leaped down, wings beating with a flap-flap-flap as he glided toward the storm.

Daenerys’s mind merged with his. As he flew onward, she continuously observed the storm wall through his eyes.

“Big Black, gain altitude.”

Big Black circled upward, flying higher and higher, drawing ever closer to the storm ahead. Soon, the great ship on the sea below shrank to a black speck on a blue canvas.

Whoosh—

Her vision shook and tumbled violently. The fierce wind tore at Big Black’s leathery wings, which snapped and cracked like whips on tanned hide.

“Steady, steady, follow the—”

Just as Daenerys was about to tell him to fly with the wind, Big Black had already adapted to the storm. He raised his wings to reduce their surface area against the wind, then swished his long tail like a counterbalance, steadying his body.

Like a gliding paper airplane, Big Black rose and fell in the storm, swaying back and forth, yet he remained steady as a rock.

“Wow, Big Black, you’re amazing!” Daenerys encouraged him excitedly.

CRACK—BOOM!

Within the gray whirlwind, a web of silver-blue lightning, like the branches of a tree, suddenly flashed into existence. One bolt struck Big Black squarely on the neck.

Daenerys let out a muffled grunt. Her vision went black, her ears rang, and time seemed to slow in her mind. A single instant felt like hours passing.

“Khaleesi, what’s wrong?” her handmaiden cried out.

In the spacious cabin, Daenerys, who had been sitting with her eyes closed and not speaking, suddenly cried out in pain. Two streams of crimson blood trickled from her nostrils, over her pink lips and white chin. Her body swayed as if she were drunk, and she started to fall to one side. Thankfully, Doreah reacted quickly and caught her.

“Ah, just some bad luck. Big Black was struck by lightning. I suppose I took part of the damage for him,” Daenerys said, waving a hand to reassure the anxious people around her.

Chapter 73: These Courtiers Are So Obtuse

Big Black’s “crash” didn’t last long. He first plummeted toward the sea like a log, only to be swept upward again by a fierce gust of wind. After being tossed about like this a few times, Big Black awoke from his brief stupor.

Daenerys had never left her draconic spiritual state. Although her soul had been jolted by a shock of lightning, she was still in decent shape. After offering a few words of reassurance to Jorah and the others, she began directing Big Black’s flight once more.

This time, Big Black lowered his altitude.

Daenerys was no fool; she had already considered the possibility of a lightning strike. On Earth, the highest thunderclouds were only about ten kilometers up.

Her original plan was for Big Black to fly above the cloud layer, entering the region near the stratosphere.

Who would have thought that even after reaching his maximum altitude—over ten thousand meters—he still hadn’t cleared the thunderclouds and had the misfortune of being struck by lightning.

Since he couldn’t fly over it, he would have to fly under it. The thundercloud layer couldn’t possibly be ten kilometers thick, could it?

After descending to about two thousand meters, Big Black could go no lower. The sea winds grew fiercer with every meter he dropped, and he struggled to maintain his balance amidst the torrential winds and rain.

Fortunately, this altitude was just enough to avoid the thunderclouds.

And so, Big Black struggled onward through the storm.

Five minutes passed. The path ahead was a vast, oppressive downpour, buffeted by howling gales.

Half an hour passed. The way forward remained dim. Water drenched Big Black’s body, vaporizing into a white channel of steam.

An hour later, Big Black’s stomach rumbled. He was hungry.

“Are we on the island yet?” Jorah asked for the fifth time.

The previous four times, Daenerys had calmly reassured him: “We’ll be there soon, Big Black flies very fast!”

Big Black did indeed fly fast, capable of covering 150 kilometers in an hour.

Could the Storm Wall be more than 150 kilometers thick?

“Something’s wrong. Big Black is lost!” Daenerys realized that the dragon’s perception of the magnetic field had become distorted.

When she had first entered the draconic spiritual state, she had been able to receive seven or eight types of senses from Big Black beyond the five normal ones.

Daenerys had no idea what those seven or eight unfamiliar senses were. She was just an ordinary person and hadn’t cultivated any extraordinary senses, so she could only comprehend sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste.

As an aside, through the sense of taste, Daenerys had learned Big Black’s favorite food—the marrow from the hind leg bones of a wild bull.

Whenever he sucked on a hind leg bone, his taste-sense reaction was particularly excited.

Later, after several months of continuous testing, Daenerys had also identified his magnetic sense, heat sense, and danger sense.

She had discovered the danger sense during the assassination attempt by the Sorrowful Men. The moment the Sorrowful Man produced the box, a sensory input she had never understood began to pulse violently.

Daenerys didn’t know what it meant, but she knew it signified danger.

This was wonderful news for her.

From now on, Daenerys could gauge whether someone bore her ill will by observing the intensity of that sensory signal.

At this moment, she noticed that the fluctuations in Big Black’s magnetic sense were quite large, so she guessed that he might be lost.

“Can you find the way back?” Whitebeard asked nervously.

“Yes, I am the best coordinate,” Daenerys sighed, ending their failed expedition to Valyria.

Big Black changed direction, charging toward Daenerys’s position.

Well, he had been flying away from Daenerys’s position the entire time. In theory, that should have been correct, but this was her oversight; flying in an arc along the Storm Wall also counted as flying away from her.

“Huh, what’s that… a ship!” Fifteen minutes later, Daenerys suddenly cried out in surprise.

“There are other people exploring the ruins of Valyria!” she exclaimed excitedly after a moment of realization.

“What?” Jorah and the others were confused.

“I mean… oh, Big Black saw a ship in the storm,” she said.

“Impossible,” Groleo said, shaking his head.

After waiting on the quarterdeck for two hours with no sign of the dragon’s return, the black-bearded captain had anxiously come down to the cabin.

“No ship can withstand such a violent storm. The moment it gets caught, it’ll be torn to shreds,” he stated with absolute certainty.

Daenerys shook her head and said, “Seeing is believing. When Big Black descends to two thousand meters, he can spot a sand lizard in the desert. You can ask Jorah and Aggo if you don’t believe me.”

“The Khaleesi is right,” Jhogo immediately chimed in. “I’ve seen with my own eyes the dragon dive from high up to catch a sand lizard hiding in the grass.”

“This…” Groleo hesitated. “Could it be the wreckage of a ship?”

Daenerys couldn’t be bothered with him anymore.

Big Black circled for a long time above the ship as it pitched on the waves. Through the dark clouds and heavy rain, she could vaguely see its mainsail was furled, with only two low sails on its sides spread like wings.

Though it swayed from side to side, it was like a roly-poly toy, never capsizing.

This was a masterful sailor.

The sea and sky blended into a single gloomy space, and even with Big Black’s eyesight, she couldn’t make out the people on the ship, nor could she see the ship’s name painted on its hull.

“After it comes out, should we get closer and ask about the situation in the Valyrian ruins?” Daenerys asked her brain trust.

Jorah thought for a moment and said, “Don’t get too close. Send a small boat over first—”

“No,” Whitebeard cut him off bluntly, his expression serious. “Anyone who dares to explore the ruins of Valyria is not to be trifled with. More importantly, if they succeeded, they must have gained a massive haul. No matter what we say, we won’t be able to ease their suspicions, unless…”

The old man’s blue eyes met Daenerys’s violet ones directly, and he said slowly, “Unless Your Grace already intends to take advantage of their predicament.”

You wicked old man!

You saw right through my dark thoughts in an instant.

And even if you did, why did you have to say it out loud?

Shouldn’t a truly good courtier immediately take the blame for such a ruthless suggestion?

For instance, you could have strenuously urged Your Grace to consider the bigger picture, for the sake of the millions of people in the Seven Kingdoms who await you, and suggested a little dog-eat-dog action. With that treasure and secret knowledge, the restoration of the throne would be within reach!

Then, I, righteous and kind, would refuse repeatedly, and you would persuade me repeatedly, finally forcing my hand by acting first and reporting later, leaving me with no choice but to… sigh!

“Then let’s weigh anchor and leave at once,” Daenerys said, looking into his deep, calm blue eyes with a sigh. “Compared to one big fish, I’d rather learn the method of fishing. Ah, never mind. Those people are most likely desperate outlaws. Even if we did have malicious intent, we would be no match for them.”

“What fishing?” The tall, stout eunuch had already drawn the scimitar from his waist and asked in confusion, “Aren’t we going to rob that ship?”

This blockhead. I can’t be bothered with you.

Whitebeard looked as if he had just discovered his daughter had indeed gone to her best friend’s house instead of fooling around with some wild boy as he had suspected. He let out a great sigh of relief and said, “Your Grace, you are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, owner of an entire nation. To you, only your subjects and the honor of your house matter most. Mundane gold and silver are meaningless.”

“Hmph, do you think buying the Unsullied is free? Gold dragons have no meaning? Go say that to Tywin Lannister,” Jorah retorted, then turned to Daenerys with a serious look. “Leaving at once is the right decision. We truly might not be their match.”

“On land, with eighty screaming warriors on their dragon-mounts, we might stand a chance even if they had two hundred swordsmen. But at sea, the horse men can’t even stand steady.”

“As for the few hundred sailors in our fleet, they’re adequate for self-defense, but they lack the courage and motivation to launch a do-or-die attack. A few volleys of arrows from the enemy, and the sailors would surely rout.”

If pirates attacked a merchant convoy, the sailors would fight desperately to survive, and could sustain casualties of over fifty percent. But to die for Daenerys, their morale would shatter if losses reached even ten percent.

Daenerys understood this principle herself, but…

“I never said I wanted to rob that ship,” Daenerys said with a stern face, annoyed. “I only said that since we’ve encountered a ship returning from Valyria, I planned to ask if they needed help, and then ask them where they found an entrance.”

These bastards, what kind of person do they take me for?!

Seeing her anger, the men fell into an awkward silence. Groleo quietly returned to the quarterdeck and began shouting orders for the crew to weigh anchor, hoist the sails, and turn the rudder.

Ten minutes later, Big Black landed on the deck, and Daenerys hurriedly brought him a bucket of fish chunks.

About half an hour later, the sails were adjusted, and the pot-bellied ship began creaking its way northeast, gradually moving away from the Storm Wall.

Another ten minutes later, the lookout shouted down to the deck, “The ship is out! Someone actually made it through the Storm Wall!”

Thump, thump, thump—all the idle sailors on deck rushed to the stern, fighting to get a look through the spyglass.

Indeed, while this world had medieval institutions, its level of technology was not low. The lenses from the city-state of Myr on the west coast were world-renowned, and spyglasses were child’s play. The Maesters of Westeros had even built high-precision astronomical telescopes.

Daenerys didn’t fight for the single spyglass. She only needed Big Black, perched at the top of the mast, to turn his head slightly, and she could see more clearly than any of the sailors.

An eagle can spot a rabbit running through the grass from four thousand meters up and ten kilometers away, and it can continuously adjust its focal length and focus to see more details.

A dragon’s eyes were even more powerful than an eagle’s.

Daenerys saw that it was a longship, narrow as a blade, with a dark red hull and a massive sail as black as the night sky. The wing-like lower spars were gradually being furled as the mainsail was slowly raised. The sail was twice as wide as the hull itself, with the excess portion extending diagonally beyond the ship’s rail.

Its design screamed speed, incredible speed, as if it were built for nothing else.

The huge black sail swelled, as full and firm as the chest of a musclebound Barbie doll, as the ship shot out of the last of the storm zone like an arrow.

It had truly escaped, traversing the hellish Storm Wall.

“Captain, they’ve spotted us!” the lookout shouted.

Big Black’s fiery red eyes adjusted their focus. Daenerys saw it too; a person was standing on the ship’s high prow, holding a spyglass and looking in their direction.

The distance between them was about fifteen nautical miles, roughly thirty kilometers. Not far, but not too close either—basically a safe distance.

The other vessel was a fast ship and could leave quickly, so they had no need to worry about the fleet taking advantage of their situation.

But…

“They’re changing course!” the lookout yelled, bewildered. “It seems… they’re coming towards us. Are they seeking help?”

“Damn it, those are pirates!” Groleo suddenly cursed loudly.

He had a spyglass as well and had been observing the long, narrow fast ship the entire time.

Chapter 74: An Old Acquaintance in a Foreign Land

“Damn it! We didn’t even need to go looking for trouble. They’re pirates themselves, and now they’re coming to rob us!” Captain Groleo cursed loudly.

“How do you know it’s a pirate ship?” Daenerys asked, confused. “It isn’t flying the skull flag that pirates use, is it?”

Indeed, in this fantasy world, the skull flag was also very popular among pirates.

“The skull flag is for hedge pirates,” Blackbeard said, shaking his head with a grim expression. “If a pirate king has his own sigil, he naturally has no need for a common skull flag.”

With that, he paid Daenerys no more mind and began to bark sharp orders, arranging the sailors for battle.

Daenerys observed the ship closely again for a while. Besides the exceptionally conspicuous golden kraken on its black sails, she saw, as it turned, three words painted in black on its dark red hull: Silence.

“Gods, Westerosi!” Daenerys exclaimed. “What are Westerosi doing playing at piracy in the Summer Sea?”

It turned out that Silence was written in the Common Tongue, not in the Valyrian that was most prevalent on the continent of Essos.

“Ser, do you know of the Silence?” Daenerys turned her head and asked Jorah Mormont, who was standing on his toes to get a better look.

Ahem, besides the captain, first mate, and lookout, no one else had a spyglass.

“Silence?” Jorah looked puzzled. “It sounds a little familiar. I don’t know where I’ve heard it.”

“The ship is from Westeros. It has a giant golden kraken painted on its sails. Speaking of which, it looks a bit like the House Greyjoy kraken!” Daenerys explained.

“The Seven Hells!” the Bear slapped his forehead, crying out as if he’d seen a ghost. “Is the hull dark red?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said, astonished. “An acquaintance of yours?”

“Euron Greyjoy, the villain they call ‘Crow’s Eye’!” Jorah said, spitting out each word through gritted teeth, as if he utterly loathed the man that name represented.

“But that kraken… alright, even if it is a kraken, its orientation is reversed. The Greyjoy kraken is head-down, but that one is head-up, and the tentacles are different too,” Daenerys said, perplexed.

One should not think this a trivial matter. Sigils were not to be trifled with; a reversed orientation essentially amounted to two different sigils.

Consider the flags of different modern nations—an ordinary person might see them and struggle to tell them apart, but they are indeed different flags, with crucial differences.

“That, in fact, explains why Euron Greyjoy is here,” Arstan Whitebeard said, a look of realization on his face.

Jorah nodded as well. “He must have done something to be exiled from House Greyjoy by Lord Balon. Exiled men, often out of shame to avoid dishonoring their house, or out of resentment, will slightly alter their family’s sigil—by reversing its orientation, for example.”

Daenerys glanced at the rampant black bear on his chest. Her mouth opened and closed several times, desperately wanting to ask: Do you have no shame, then? Not even a hint of resentment? Why isn’t your bear lying on the ground?

The Bear, Mormont, wore brown leather armor over a black wool tunic. On the chest of the armor was a black bear, rampant, roaring with its mouth open, a perfect match for the House Mormont words: “Here We Stand.”

According to well-known Westerosi tradition, if he felt ashamed, he should have followed Euron’s example and had his black bear lie down.

The Bear noticed Daenerys’s gaze. He blushed and stammered, “I bear my family no resentment.”

Whitebeard said coolly, “So you feel no shame, either?”

The Bear grew flustered. “I serve my queen! It is an honor! And no matter what, I’m still better than someone who doesn’t even dare to show his own sigil.”

“You—” Whitebeard was furious, his mouth open to retort, but after a glance at Daenerys, he forced the words back down.

Only nobles had sigils.

The nobility of Westeros was divided into Sers, Lords, Marquesses, Dukes, and Kings, with Ser being the lowest rank.

A knight could also be called a Ser, but was technically half a rank lower, considered only a candidate for the nobility.

The Bear, Mormont, had two titles: the hereditary Lord of Bear Island, and the knighthood—also a Ser—bestowed upon him by King Robert ten years ago for his part in putting down the Greyjoy Rebellion. He already held the title of Lord, however.

The Bear was to be judged by Eddard Stark for selling slaves—Stark had even brought Ice with him, which surely meant beheading. Afraid of death, Jorah renounced his lordship and went into self-exile.

But the rank of Ser bestowed by Robert was never stripped from him, because he fled before the trial, and Eddard never had the chance to revoke a title granted by the king.

Thus, Daenerys and the others called him “Ser Jorah” or “Ser Mormont.”

Both Daenerys and Jorah knew that Whitebeard was hiding his identity.

His knowledge, experience, and manner of speaking surpassed even those of Mormont, a lord. It would be difficult for someone without a formal noble education to possess the outstanding qualities he displayed.

But Whitebeard wore only a simple linen robe and leaned on a staff, never revealing any proof of identity like a sigil.

Whitebeard must have guessed that his identity was suspected, which was why he was rendered speechless by the Bear’s jab.

Hmm, speaking of which, one had to note that Daenerys, as the most orthodox royal descendant, hadn’t produced a sigil for herself either.

Moreover, she was theoretically “illiterate” and had never received a formal noble education.

“That kraken ship is so fast! It’s really chasing us!” the lookout’s exclamation broke the awkward silence on the ship’s bridge.

Coughing lightly, Daenerys asked, “Why would Euron Greyjoy be chasing us? Could we have guessed wrong? Did his exploration of the Valyrian ruins also end in failure and heavy losses, so now he needs to rob us to recoup his losses?”

“It’s possible.” Jorah glanced at Whitebeard, saying thoughtfully, “We only saw the Silence struggling inside the Storm Wall. Perhaps he was lost in the storm the whole time and never reached the ruins. After all, even the dragons got lost.”

“If we reveal our identities, do you think he might spare us for the sake of being countrymen?” Daenerys said strange words with a strange smile.

It took Whitebeard a moment to react. He asked, “Are you certain of a complete victory? The Greyjoys are not to be trifled with. During Balon’s last rebellion, Euron demonstrated extraordinary cunning and ruthlessness. Lannisport was nearly taken by the Ironborn he led. If he weren’t confident he could defeat our fleet, he wouldn’t be chasing us so aggressively.”

“I have dragons. We are not an ordinary fleet,” Daenerys said confidently.

The old man looked up at the white and green dragons circling in the sky and said gravely, “He has seen your dragons.”

“Hahaha, you don’t really think I’m going to have the dragons burn his ship, do you?” Daenerys laughed.

“I am their mother. I cherish their lives more than anyone. At this age, the young dragons can’t even withstand arrows. If I really sent them to fly over an enemy ship and breathe fire, it would be murder—of my own children.”

With that, she ordered the Bloodrider beside her, “Summon all the warriors from the cabins. Have them bring their bows and iron shields.”

The horse men feared the sea. Unless necessary, they much preferred to stay in the cabins, keeping company with their horses.

“What tactics do you think they’ll use?” she asked Black-bearded Groleo.

The old sailor’s brow furrowed, as if facing something incomprehensible. “Normally, pirates without a large fleet wouldn’t attack us. We have three ships to his one. That means if he tries to board us, our other two ships can attack his flagship from the flank and rear.

We have over six hundred sailors in total. He has only one longship, which can hold three hundred pirates at most. With a two-to-one disadvantage in numbers, how could that Euron possibly win?”

“Unless he has a trump card!” Whitebeard said solemnly.

Daenerys thought for a moment, then asked, “What kind of man is Euron? Could he have suddenly gone mad? Oh, and why was he exiled?”

“The Iron Islands are quite insular, and Euron isn’t King Balon, so few people paid him much attention. I didn’t even know he’d been exiled. But I’m certain he hasn’t gone mad. The man is cunning and unpredictable.”

Whitebeard shook his head and looked at the Bear. “Perhaps Ser Mormont knows him better.”

The Ironborn often raided the west coast of Westeros, especially the North, which had no naval protection. The people of Bear Island frequently fought against the Ironborn who disguised themselves as pirates.

Mormont sighed. “I wish he had suddenly become a fool. But no such luck. Let’s prepare for battle.”

With that, he walked toward the cabins. He needed to change into his full suit of armor.

This fantasy world was not without gunpowder, but unfortunately, it wasn’t very powerful and was mostly used as a prop for pyromancers’ tricks. Therefore, there were no cannons, and naval warfare still consisted mainly of boarding actions, supplemented by archery duels. Armor offered greater safety.

Assuming, of course, one didn’t fall into the sea.

Besides Mormont, Daenerys’s horse men and sailors also began to enthusiastically equip themselves.

The horse men were uniformly dressed in dark red leather armor with breastplates, gleaming red-copper helmets, and a small, round shield of annealed copper strapped to their left wrist. An Arakh was tucked into their belts, and they held longbows in their hands. They were beginning to look like a proper army.

Unlike the uniformly attired horse men, the sailors’ armor was a motley collection: rusted plate mail, ill-fitting chainmail, worn-out leather armor, and some even held up pot lids as shields.

Big Black had flown into the storm around nine in the morning and returned at eleven. Then, around noon, the Silence began its pursuit of the fleet from a distance of no more than thirty kilometers. By three-thirty in the afternoon, the two sides had entered combat range.

One kilometer.

Although this world had no cannons (the cannons on warships during the age of the Armada only had an effective range of three to four hundred meters), catapults and ballistae were mounted on the forecastles and sterncastles.

They didn’t launch stones, but rather oil-soaked cloth bundles. Linen and cotton cloth, saturated with oil, were wrapped into “solid shot” the size of a satchel, which were then lit and launched.

Hitting a target with those things was extremely difficult. They were mainly used against stationary targets, such as in naval sieges or surprise attacks on fleets in a harbor.

The Saduleon was purely a sea-going trader and had no weapons, but the galleys Summer Sun and Jesting Joso were intended to serve as “escorts.” Not only did they have more sailors (rowing required more men), they were also equipped with a total of six catapults and eighteen ballistae.

Blackbeard’s original idea was to stall for as long as possible. If they could hold out until nightfall, the Silence might not be able to catch them.

But he had severely underestimated the speed of that longship. Not only did it have a massive sail-to-hull ratio (the larger the ratio, the faster the ship), but as it drew near the Saduleon, two hundred oars dropped from its sides. The dull thud of a drumbeat carried across the water, sounding as if it were beating in everyone’s heart.

Chapter 75: Euron Crow’s Eye

Seeing the fast ship with its red hull and black sails pursuing them like a sea serpent, Groleo turned to Daenerys, his face pale, and said with utter certainty, “The Silence must be capable of over twenty knots!”

For merchant ships that could only manage seven or eight knots, escape was all but impossible.

“I understand now,” Groleo said, wiping cold sweat from his forehead and gritting his teeth. “The ‘Red Devil’ they’ve been speaking of in the eastern waters of the Summer Sea—that’s her. That’s the Silence. No wonder the Ghiscari say no ship that encounters her ever escapes. She’s simply too fast.”

Whitebeard had no desire for a battle. He’d even had the sailors hoist Daenerys’s banner at the masthead—the black, three-headed dragon on a red field.

Any Westerosi would know what it represented.

“Perhaps he will swear fealty to Her Grace the Queen,” the old man said with some disdain.

Whitebeard already looked down on the dishonored knight Jorah Mormont; he held a pirate who killed and plundered in even greater contempt. Yet, their pursuer seemed utterly fearless, and the old man still hoped to avoid a bloody confrontation.

Unfortunately, the ship behind them did not respond. Instead, it pursued them with even greater fervor.

Through her black dragon’s eyes, Daenerys could even see the cold smirk on Euron’s lips.

Indeed, Euron’s moniker was “Crow’s Eye.” He had only one eye, making him easy to identify. He stood atop the quarterdeck, also holding a spyglass to observe his “prey.”

Observing him closely, Daenerys realized he was quite handsome. He was in his early thirties, with black hair and a beard. Like Jorah, he wore smoke-black full plate armor, though without a helmet. His exposed skin was pale, but his features were strikingly handsome. His left eye was covered by a patch, while his right was a brilliant blue, sparkling with a strange charm, as though it were smiling gently at you.

Beside this roguishly handsome man, Daenerys also saw a powerfully built black man, two meters tall. His body bulged with muscle, and his oiled skin glistened under the sun.

The black man was expressionless, cradling a huge horn in his arms that resembled a saxophone.

Well, its curve was smoother than a saxophone’s; it looked something like a ram’s horn, magnified tenfold.

The twisted horn was likely over 1.8 meters long from end to end. It was black, banded with red gold, and its surface was clearly very smooth, gleaming with a dark luster.

Groleo had already ordered the three ships into a defensive formation, their sails all furled to prevent fires during the engagement.

When the two galleys began launching incendiary projectiles at the Silence, Euron had his sails furled as well, relying solely on his oarsmen to propel the warship.

At a distance of five hundred meters from the Saduleon, the Silence began to change course. It did not charge straight for them, but instead began circling like a predator stalking its prey, searching for an opening.

“Is that Lord Euron of House Greyjoy aboard that ship?” Whitebeard yelled toward the blood-red pirate vessel.

He used the Common Tongue.

His voice was powerful, carrying across the water toward the Silence.

Daenerys grinned. “I wouldn’t have thought a man your age could shout so loudly, Arstan.”

“Your Grace, the knight I served taught me that on the battlefield, a powerful voice is as important as masterful tactics,” Whitebeard said, his face filling with pride at some memory.

Daenerys thought about it and realized he had a point.

A strong voice not only helped in delivering commands effectively during a battle but could also boost the morale of one’s own side.

Hmm, at the very least, Daenerys thought, in the thick of a melee, it lets your own soldiers know their leader is still alive.

“Whose squire were you in Westeros?” Jorah asked, his eyes glinting with a half-smile.

“A knight far greater than you,” Whitebeard replied with a cold snort.

“I am Euron Greyjoy! Is His Grace, King Viserys, aboard?” Euron’s voice also had the quality of a great commander.

Yes, he had a powerful voice, too.

His information was just sorely out of date; he didn’t even know Viserys was dead.

So, did that mean he also didn’t know that Daenerys had hatched her dragons?

“Euron! This is the fleet of Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen! Do you seek to claim the iron price from us?” Whitebeard’s voice rang out.

Twelve thousand years ago, when the First Men invaded Westeros, some did not establish kingdoms on the mainland but instead settled in a bay on the central west coast of Westeros: Ironmen’s Bay.

Within Ironmen’s Bay is an archipelago where these First Men developed a unique culture and religion, calling themselves the Ironborn.

In the culture of the Ironborn, warriors take spoils from the enemies they defeat, which they called “paying the iron price.”

They were even more ruthless than the Dothraki. The horse men would at least trade gifts to get what they needed, but the Ironborn would never buy anything with coin.

Look at the words of House Greyjoy: We Do Not Sow.

The Ironborn lived by reaving and raiding, pillaging for goods, thralls, and salt wives, and they took pride in it, calling this way of life the “Old Way.”

But as civilization advanced, particularly when the rich Westerlands and the Reach began to build fleets more powerful than their own, the Old Way gradually became unsustainable.

When the Targaryens unified the Seven Kingdoms, the Old Way was abolished completely, and the Ironborn were forced to become simple seafolk.

But the Ironborn, led by House Greyjoy, had always hoped to restore the Old Way—for instance, Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion ten years ago.

That rebellion not only cost Balon his eldest and second sons, but his third son, Theon Greyjoy, also ended up under the control of the Starks, ostensibly as a ward.

In truth, he was a hostage.

Now, with Robert dead and a war between kings raging, Balon had rebelled once more, intending to restore the Old Way.

This time, however, King Balon had learned his lesson. He no longer provoked the Lannisters and Tyrells to the south. Picking the softer target, he had brought disaster upon the North, whose forces were depleted.

“Is Her Grace, Daenerys, returning to Westeros?”

Whitebeard had deliberately used the term “iron price” to provoke Euron, but it took Euron a long time to process the information revealed in his words.

“No, we are going to Slaver’s Bay,” the old man said, stopping there. He did not tell Euron that Daenerys planned to purchase the Unsullied.

“Since Her Grace the Queen is present, I would naturally not dare to offend her draconic majesty,” Euron turned and shouted to the pirates on the deck of the Silence. “Throw your weapons into the hold! Hands in the air and stand by the gunwales!”

“We have laid down our arms! May I ask you to cease your attack and allow me to approach and speak with Her Grace?” Euron shouted, raising his own empty scabbard high.

As the Silence had approached, the ballistae and catapults had not ceased their barrage. Once Euron started talking to Arstan, the catapults stopped, but the Dothraki and sailors kept their bows drawn, arrows aimed at the men on the enemy deck.

“Have him row over in a small boat,” Daenerys said in a low voice.

Whitebeard hesitated. “He may refuse. After all, even if his expedition to Valyria was a failure, his ship is surely laden with countless plundered treasures.”

“If he refuses, then let him leave,” Daenerys said flatly. “I have no desire to take a pirate into my service.”

Game of Thrones had been on the air for years. Daenerys might have forgotten some of the early plot points, but the last two seasons were still fresh in her mind.

Euron was completely untrustworthy; he was the one who killed Balon Greyjoy.

Daenerys wasn’t a moral purist, but how could she trust a villain who would even kill his own brother?

He was also wildly ambitious, wanting to conquer the Mother of Dragons and then, as Prince Consort, conquer the Seven Kingdoms.

Ugh. In the show, Queen Daenerys of Meereen was Euron’s first target; Cersei was just the backup option. (Seriously, using a queen as a backup option?) After the Mother of Dragons was snapped up by his niece, he actually climbed into Cersei’s royal bed and made a massive cuckold out of Jaime.

Besides not wanting to be the target of his romantic conquest, the more important reason was that Daenerys believed there wasn’t much to gain from Euron.

In the show, he didn’t even have a Valyrian steel sword, which suggested his trip to the ruins of Valyria was most likely a failure.

A loser, a toad lusting after a dragon’s flesh. He could just get lost!

The outcome, however, was not what Daenerys expected. Faced with such a difficult demand, Euron agreed at once, without the slightest hesitation.

Ten minutes later, the Silence stopped three hundred meters away, and a small boat carrying Euron and a servant began to row slowly toward the Saduleon.

Moreover, Euron had taken off his armor and unbuckled his sword. He wore black silk robes embroidered with gold-thread patterns, a look of understated luxury.

Daenerys received him on the upper deck.

When he saw Daenerys standing at the center of the group, a flash of astonishment and delight crossed Euron’s blue eye. “Your Grace, the bright moon in the heavens cannot compare to your beauty. The winter roses of Winterfell would pale before you. The lords and commonfolk of the Seven Kingdoms will kneel in submission the moment they lay eyes on you, just as I do now.”

As he spoke, he respectfully dropped to one knee, holding a delicate emerald box aloft with both hands.

It was the size of a palm and carved entirely from emerald. One could only imagine that its contents were immensely valuable.

Jorah stepped forward, took the box, and opened it. His pupils immediately contracted, and his breath hitched.

“Whoa, is that really a diamond? It’s enormous!” Daenerys exclaimed, taking the box from Jorah and crying out the moment she looked inside.

Who had ever seen a smoky-purple diamond the size of a goose egg?

In modern society, Daenerys would have assumed it was fake, but in this era, creating a forgery would be far more difficult than finding a real diamond.

“Only you are worthy of this Pearl of Valyria,” Euron said, gazing at Daenerys with deep affection.

His expression and tone were just like that of a boy experiencing his first love.

Daenerys’s good mood from seeing the beautiful diamond instantly vanished.

This guy is just like in the show. He sees me as a target to be won over and conquered.

“Crow’s Eye… did you really go to the ruins of Valyria?” Jorah couldn’t help but ask.

“You are… you look familiar!” Euron stood and stared at Jorah for a good while before saying in surprise, “To think… I never would have imagined meeting Lord Mormont of Bear Island in the Sea of Sorrows.”

“That’s right, I went to Valyria,” he continued. “Haha! My name is known from the Jade Sea to the Summer Sea, and now I have become the first man to conquer the Smoking Sea and the Storm Wall!”

Euron threw his head back and laughed, utterly triumphant.

“The Smoking Sea?” Daenerys’s heart stirred. “You entered from the Smoking Sea and traveled from north to south, clean through the islands of Old Valyria?”

Euron’s smile froze. He rubbed his nose in embarrassment. “I would not dare lie before a true dragon. At first, I had no intention of crossing that ruined peninsula. It would have been far safer to return the way I came, through the Smoking Sea, but… it was very strange. I lost my way in a storm and somehow ended up thousands of miles from where I’d been.”

Huh, that’s all it took? This guy is too damned lucky!

“What did you find on the islands of Valyria?” The moment Daenerys asked, everyone from Jorah and Groleo to the sailors standing nearby grew attentive, their faces full of curiosity as they looked at the Crow’s Eye.

“A curse!” As if remembering something horrifying, Euron’s pale face became almost translucent.

“There were three ships when we set out. Besides my Silence, there were two other great pirate captains. But except for me… every man who set foot on that land is dead,” Euron said, his voice trembling.

Chapter 76: Sudden Change

“What curse?” Daenerys grew more curious.

“I don’t know.” Euron shook his head, a look of lingering fear on his face. “We landed at Tyria, on the northern edge of the Smoking Sea. Some people spread rumors that even after the Doom, Tyria was still inhabited. That’s complete nonsense.”

“The sky there is a dark red, like a furnace. The ground is as scalding hot as an iron plate on a stove, and the well water bubbles with white steam.”

“It’s been four hundred years, and the earthfires still haven’t gone out. If any life could survive there, it wouldn’t be human. It would be devils!”

“This so-called curse… it wasn’t just heat illness, was it?” Jorah asked, stroking his chin.

“No, it absolutely wasn’t heat illness. Although everyone showed symptoms of dehydration, we had no shortage of water, nor did we fear the heat. Two of the other pirates were from the Summer Isles. Do you think they have less tolerance for heat than I do?” Euron retorted.

“How did they die?” Daenerys asked.

“Their limbs were curled up, their hands open like claws. Their skin was covered in blistering, weeping sores—purple-black pustules as dense as pomegranate seeds. It took less than half a day after setting foot in Tyria for hundreds of men to end up in that horrific state. How could that be heat illness?”

As Euron spoke, an undeniable fear flickered in his one good eye.

A thought struck Daenerys, and she couldn’t help but look at Jorah. The knight was looking back at her, and in that shared glance, they knew they were thinking the same thing.

The body of the Valyrian Dragonlord they had found in the south of the Red Waste also had curled limbs and was covered in purple-black, pitted, desiccated skin stretched tight over the bones, as if all his muscles had melted into foul liquid and drained away.

There most likely really was a curse.

I wonder if a dragon could withstand it. Hmm, the corpse of a dragon even larger than Balerion is buried in the sand right now!

“Did you find any city ruins?” Daenerys asked again.

“Tyria itself was the most prosperous city-state outside of Valyria proper. Most of the buildings were buried under thick layers of volcanic ash. How could I have had the strength to excavate them alone? Fortunately, the governor’s mansion was a tall castle. The ash had formed a small hill at its base. Once I climbed it, I was able to get directly to the top floor.”

At this, Euron gave a smug smile. “Ha, the wealthiest man in Tyria was undoubtedly its governor, and he was a noble Dragonlord!”

“Did you find any secret arts?” Daenerys asked, deliberately not asking how much treasure he had found.

Euron’s blue eye darkened for a split second before returning to a “gentle smile” before anyone could notice.

“No secret arts.” He shook his head and explained, “Although the entire Land of the Long Summer was part of the Valyrian Empire, only the city of Valyria, the capital, was the heartland of the Valyrians.”

“The other places were merely the Dragonlords’ colonies, where one or a few Valyrian nobles ruled over the other peoples in the city-states.”

“Just like Volantis today, only the ruling class are true Valyrians, and they aren’t even from the great noble houses. Look, they don’t even have dragons.”

Speaking of which, he glanced at Daenerys. “The Dragonlords were all in Valyria, and so were the secret arts and most of the treasures. Even House Targaryen lost the secret to forging Valyrian steel after leaving Valyria. Or perhaps, the rulers of that time did not permit your ancestors to take the secrets with them?”

Daenerys could see it now. Euron, like her, was more interested in Valyria’s sorcery and magical technologies.

Euron looked around and asked, “Your Majesty, where are your dragons? Where did they come from?”

Daenerys figured it was no great secret and recounted the whole story: her marriage to the Khal, Illyrio’s gift of dragon eggs, and the deaths of Viserys, Drogo, and Rhaego. She spoke in a flat tone, as if telling someone else’s story.

And in a way, it was someone else’s story.

But to others’ ears, these flat words made it seem as if her heart was riddled with wounds, a sorrow deeper than death itself.

“Your Majesty, you…” Euron’s eyes brimmed with tears, as if he felt her pain.

What an actor!

Daenerys didn’t believe for a second that this pirate, who killed without batting an eye, could be so emotional.

“I’m alright!” she said, waving a hand and sighing. “Fate took three loved ones from me—Viserys, Drogo, and Rhaego—but it also brought me three children. A shadowbinder from Asshai told me that only life can pay for life. The three people closest to me were the price for hatching my dragons.”

So that’s how you hatch dragons?

A sharp glint flashed in Euron’s eye. He said, “Your Majesty, perhaps it is the will of the gods. I was lucky enough to survive, to find so much treasure in Valyria, and just as you arrived in these waters, I happened to leave the Storm Wall. That we should meet against one-in-ten-million odds… this too is fate. Fate has decreed that I should bring you the wealth needed to reclaim your kingdom.”

“What did you say?” Daenerys’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“I will offer you all the treasure aboard the Silence. I wish to serve Your Majesty and help you take back your throne from those traitors and usurpers.”

Euron looked utterly righteous. In that moment, he was not alone; he was one with the countless benevolent and righteous men from China’s several-thousand-year history who had sacrificed their family fortunes for their country.

The problem was, in the history of Westeros—a history several times longer than that of Chinese civilization—not a single person had ever done such a thing.

“Are you certain?” Jorah asked, looking at Crow’s Eye with suspicion.

Euron gave a faint smile and said to the dark-skinned servant behind him, “Tell them to bring the ship alongside.”

Without a word, the servant climbed down the rope ladder on the ship’s side, got back into the small boat, and rowed creakily toward the Silence, three hundred meters away.

Neither Jorah nor Whitebeard stopped him, because Crow’s Eye had no intention of leaving. He remained right there, surrounded by their people.

If the Silence made the slightest unusual move, Crow’s Eye’s life would be forfeit.

Could this guy have been seduced by my beauty? Or have I inadvertently revealed some extraordinary quality, some inner beauty I didn’t even know I possessed?

Daenerys thought shamelessly.

It wasn’t just her who was confused; the veteran Whitebeard also felt the situation slipping out of his control. Decades of experience as a bodyguard made him subconsciously take half a step forward, bringing Daenerys within the defensive range of his staff.

But as the red-hulled ship drew near and a gangplank was laid across, nothing unusual happened. A group of bald, bare-chested sailors, each carrying a large chest, walked over from the other vessel.

The heavy chests made the gangplank groan. With every step, the wide plank bent to an alarming degree.

Thud! The first sailor silently placed his chest on the deck of the Saduleon. The lid of the rosewood chest, larger than the biggest travel trunk, was opened, and the gleam of jewels and gold ornaments dazzled everyone. A collective gasp of astonishment went through the onlookers on deck.

Thud! The second chest was filled to the brim with ancient Valyrian gold coins.

Thud! The third chest held shimmering purple pearls.

Throughout the entire process, the only sounds were the heavy thuds of chests being placed on the deck, gasps of wonder as they were opened, and the sound of people swallowing.

Daenerys noticed with growing suspicion that the sailors from the Silence were indeed very “silent.” They didn’t say a word and showed no reaction at all to the crowd’s awe or their whispered discussions.

When the twenty-fourth sailor was opening the twenty-fourth chest, Daenerys said to the bald Strong Man, “You don’t need to open that one.”

But there was no reaction. The man continued to open the lid as if he hadn’t heard her. It was a chest full of exquisite silks from Yi Ti on the Jade Sea, clearly plunder from a merchant ship Euron had robbed, not something excavated from Valyria.

“What’s wrong with them?” Whitebeard had also noticed something was amiss and stepped forward warily.

Euron paused for a moment, not answering immediately. Instead, he gave a strange smile and looked around. “I am the captain of the Silence. As fellow countrymen from Westeros, don’t you understand why it’s called the Silence?”

“You cut out your crew’s tongues?!” Jorah tore his gaze away from the twenty-four chests of treasure and stared at the one-eyed man in disgust.

Snap! Crow’s Eye grinned and snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Correct. I like peace and quiet. I don’t like my subordinates to be chatty, so anyone who wants to board my Silence must first have their tongue cut out.”

“No,” Daenerys said, her brow furrowed. “They aren’t just mutes. They’re deaf, too.”

“Correct,” Crow’s Eye said with an eerie smile, taking a step back to put distance between himself and Jorah. “Your Majesty has keen powers of observation. Can you guess, then, why I filled their ears with molten gold?”

Ooooooo—

Suddenly, the low, desolate blast of a horn, like a heavy black cloud, instantly enveloped the three nearby ships. In that moment, everyone on deck felt as if ten million wronged spirits were shrieking, shouting, cursing, and wailing in their ears. It was as if ghosts were pulling at every inch of their skin, paralyzing them completely.

Jorah and Whitebeard, being strong-willed, fared slightly better than the others. They swayed like drunken men as they shielded Daenerys, but that was the absolute limit of what they could do.

At that moment, their faces contorted in agony. It felt as if a scorching fire was burning in their very marrow, the searing heat radiating from the inside out, roasting their bones, muscles, blood vessels, skin, and every hair on their bodies.

Every cell in their bodies was burning in Dragonflame.

Daenerys felt the same sensation, except for her, the inferno was so exquisitely pleasant she wanted to moan. Not even the peak of carnal pleasure could compare.

Just then, Euron strode forward, leaned in, and knocked aside the trembling Whitebeard and his raised staff with his left elbow. His right hand was a blur as it deftly snatched the iron sword from Jorah’s grasp.

Then, Daenerys felt a chill on her neck that snapped her out of her rapturous state. She was in Euron’s arms, the cold, gleaming edge of a broadsword pressed against her slender, delicate neck.

She had been taken hostage.

“Hehe, easier than I imagined,” Euron chuckled. He stuck out his long tongue and licked the side of her ear, murmuring in ecstasy, “So this is the taste of a queen? How wonderful. What a pity. Daenerys, my darling, my little queen, I’m starting to feel reluctant to kill you!”

“You—”

Skreee—kaaa—

Before Daenerys could respond, she watched in horror as the white and green dragons, which had been hidden behind the horse men’s bronze shields, shot out as if they had gone mad. They opened their mouths and spewed crimson Dragonflame at the swaying, drunken horse men around them.

Meanwhile, her Big Black tumbled headfirst from the top of the mainmast.

Enter the Dragon Spirit, now.

She felt as if she had entered a sea being ravaged by a Category 12 typhoon. This place, which had once been so calm, like a wanderer returning to his mother’s embrace, a place she could merge with effortlessly…

But now.

Chapter 77: The Dragonbinder

“Big Black, what’s wrong?”

The next moment, she let out a muffled groan. It felt as if her nose, eyes, and mouth had been pierced by sharp blades, and blood gushed out.

A suffocating pressure, like that of a superior being, seized her mind, relentlessly grinding down her pride and personal consciousness—this wasn’t her own feeling, but Big Black’s current state.

“I am the Dragonbinder! Submit, submit, submit, submit, submit…”

The ancient Valyrian spell seemed to manifest physically, like the legendary Heaven-Overturning Seal, emitting thousands of golden rays. It carried the pressure and weight of the heavens, striking the black dragon’s very soul again and again.

Perhaps this was what the legendary White Maiden felt when she was subdued by the monk Fahai’s golden alms bowl.

An inexplicable feeling of stifled rage made Daenerys feel it as her own. She wanted to roar, and then she truly did roar: “I am the Mother of Dragons! I am the only Dragonlord in the world! I command the black dragon, and my black dragon commands the entire world—”

Just thirty seconds earlier, atop the bridge of the Silence, the dark-skinned man holding the huge black horn had blown it with the grim determination of one facing death, the very instant Euron snapped his fingers.

The horn, smooth as obsidian, was inlaid with reddish-gold runes. When the horn was blown, the runes first turned fiery red, then emitted a scorching, incandescent white light, as if a great sun had descended upon the Silence.

As Daenerys and Big Black’s souls merged into one, letting out a cry that was both human and draconic, the horn blower’s bear-like, brawny body trembled violently. Then, just like Daenerys before, five streams of blood flowed from his mouth, nose, and eyes.

He was in a worse state than Daenerys. His lips looked as if they had been scorched by fire, covered in a dense circle of broad-bean-sized blisters.

The blisters were shiny, and the slightest pressure caused them to burst, leaking bright red blood.

“Hahaha, do you see?” Euron noticed Daenerys’s strange condition but paid it no mind, assuming her delicate body couldn’t withstand the pressure of the Dragon Horn.

“Mother of Dragons? Haha.” He laughed triumphantly. “Even the Mother of Dragons must submit to the Dragon Master. Ancient Valyria had many Dragonlords, yet none ever dared rebel. Do you know why, my little queen?

“Because the Valyrians forged the Dragon Horn, which can control dragons. As long as the Dragon Master holds the horn, all dragons within his sight will heed his call. Just like now—your three dragons are all mine!”

As he laughed with delight, the white and green dragons seemed to receive a command. They stopped their rampage and flew toward Euron, flapping their wings.

At the same time, Daenerys heard a voice through Big Black: Come here. Devour this woman.

Hearing the command to eat Daenerys, Big Black’s fury multiplied tenfold, and he was about to unleash a gout of Dragonflame.

“Calm down, there’s still a blade at my neck!” Daenerys immediately soothed him. “Go over for now. We’ll find a chance to give that bastard a taste of his own medicine.”

“Hahaha, meeting you… surely the gods themselves are on my side! Having just completed the first successful exploration of Valyria in four hundred years, I immediately get to see my new Dragon Horn shine and gain three dragons. Not even the heroes of legend have it this good. The heavens have destined me to be king!”

Seeing the three dragons obediently crawling toward him, Euron let out a wild, arrogant laugh. “My apologies. Only when their mother is gone will they wholeheartedly obey the commands of their dragon father.”

He sheathed his longsword, shoved Daenerys forcefully to the ground, and commanded the dragons, “Tear her apart! Prove your loyalty to me!”

Screech— The green and white dragons rolled on the deck as if maddened, small flames occasionally sputtering from their mouths and nostrils.

Big Black crouched low, snarling, but did not move.

“Tear her apart! I am the Dragon Master! All dragons must obey me!” A scarlet glow filled Euron’s azure eyes.

It was a tangible light, not an illusion.

Manifested psychic energy?

Seeing the pained cries of the white and green dragons grow more intense, Daenerys could no longer hold back. “Big Black, kill him!”

Boom! Without any warning, Big Black’s head shot out like lightning. A jet of Dragonflame as thick as a bowl erupted, spraying directly onto Euron’s face and chest.

“Aaargh—” Euron let out an inhuman howl. Clutching his face, he scrambled madly toward the ship’s rail and tumbled headfirst into the sea with a splash.

Daenerys glanced toward the gangplank. Dozens of bald pirates had snatched weapons from the horse men and sailors and were now cutting them down.

But her side was not entirely helpless. While most of the horse men and all the sailors had become lambs to the slaughter, Quaro and nine other horse men warriors wielded their curved blades with a whoosh, struggling to keep the situation from collapsing completely.

Well, it was mainly because even though the bald pirates were deaf, they were still affected by the horn’s sound. The fight was an awkward scramble, with both sides hampered.

This was a great relief to her. “Big Black, go—”

She was about to say, “go kill that black devil blowing the horn,” but the horn’s sound suddenly ceased.

Looking up, she saw the big dark-skinned man on the deck of the Silence in a wretched state. Black smoke billowed from his mouth as if from a chimney. He swayed a few times, the horn fell to the deck, and he collapsed stiffly beside it.

The entire sequence of events, from the horn’s first blast to Euron falling into the water and the sound stopping, took no more than two minutes.

“Urgh…” Jorah and Whitebeard staggered to their feet, looking as though they were about to recover.

But the next moment, to Daenerys’s horror, a bald white pirate with a bird tattooed on his chest picked up the enormous horn, seemingly intending to blow it.

Almost instinctively, Daenerys bent down, picked up a loaded two-handed crossbow from the deck, braced it with both hands, aimed the small crosshairs of the sight at the man’s chest, and pulled the trigger.

The whole action took less than two blinks of an eye.

Swish!

Perhaps her months of archery practice had paid off. The white man cried out, “Ah!” in pain, and the horn fell from his hands—she had aimed for his chest, but the bolt had struck the top of his thigh.

The two-handed crossbow had plenty of power; even from thirty or forty meters away, the bolt pierced straight through the man’s thigh. The tattooed man lost his footing and crumpled sideways to the deck.

“Big Black, destroy the gangplank!”

Seeing her “divine shot” had worked, Daenerys’s confidence surged. While ordering Big Black to burn the wooden plank connecting the two ships, she picked up a shortbow and began loosing arrows at the pirates who had already boarded.

“Ouch!” A horse man clutched his rear end and turned to look at his Khaleesi with an accusatory gaze.

“Ah, my apologies. You can stand down for now. I’ll be more careful next time,” Daenerys said with an embarrassed smile.

She had fired a total of eight arrows: five hit pirates, two missed, and the last one hit an ally.

Hmm, not bad efficiency, she thought.

The main reason was that Daenerys lacked strength, and she was using a bow and arrow, not a crossbow. The shots couldn’t kill, only injure the enemy.

A little friendly fire didn’t matter. Her side had more men. She just needed to quickly deal with the pirates on deck, and her people would have time to recover.

Once her men recovered from the horn’s effects, the Silence would be leaderless and trapped between three ships, with no way to escape.

Boom! The gangplank broke in two amidst the flames. Big Black shrieked and flew toward the Silence.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

A volley of arrows flew from the other ship. Big Black twisted in the air and dived toward the sea.

He hadn’t been hit, but a startled Daenerys had urged him away.

The black dragon plunged into the ocean and swam toward the ship’s rudder at the bottom of the hull. Rumble— The sea began to boil, and white steam and black smoke bubbled up from both sides of the ship.

“Your Grace, be careful! Your dragons, Emerald and White Jade!” Jorah shouted, pointing behind Daenerys.

She turned and saw that although the two idiots were no longer rolling around madly, they hadn’t yet recovered from the horn’s influence. Their eyes were crimson. They stared at her back, their mouths opening and closing, a struggle apparent in their expressions. Were they contemplating “matricide”?

The black dragon’s eyes were molten red, the white dragon’s were gold, and the green dragon’s were emerald green. But now, the eyes of both the white and green dragons had turned a bizarre, blood-red color.

“You ungrateful beasts!” Daenerys roared, finding a silver whip on the ground and lashing them furiously across their heads and faces.

“I’ll beat you two heartless bastards to death! Have you forgotten your own mother?”

“Awooo—hiss, whimper—” The two dragons cried out in pain, tucking their heads under their wings and shrieking with a mixture of anger and indignation.

“Snap out of it now!” Daenerys ignored their cries. Seeing the ferocious look still in their eyes, which had not returned to their normal color, she doubled her efforts, continuing to crack the whip against them.

Finally, Daenerys—a firm believer in “spare the rod, spoil the child”—ran out of luck. The two little dragons seemed to have reached their limit. They suddenly thrust their heads forward. Boom!

A face full of Dragonflame.

“Ouch!” Daenerys dropped the whip and fell to the deck with a thud, clutching her face and crying out in pain.

Jorah rushed to grab a bucket of seawater from the ship’s side. As he dipped it, he caught sight of someone in the water. He ran to Daenerys and doused her head with the water while shouting to Whitebeard, “It’s Euron! Euron’s not dead! He’s still trying to control the dragons!”

Hearing this, Whitebeard immediately ran to the rail and looked over. Sure enough, he saw Euron floating by the ship, his face charred and smeared with blood, but he wasn’t dead. His mouth was even opening and closing, as if he were chanting a spell.

The old man moved with swift precision. Treating his staff like a spear, he hurled it down at Euron below.

Thud! It struck the Crow’s Eye right on the top of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he passed out in the water.

“Your Grace, are you alright—” After dealing with Euron, Whitebeard immediately turned back to Daenerys, only to see, with some annoyance, that Jorah had simply doused her with water and then left her, picking up a sword to join the fight against the pirates.

Daenerys sat on the deck. Her leather jerkin and the long-sleeved shirt underneath were burned to tatters. From the neck up, she was a charred, soaking mess. Her forehead was pitch-black, and a patch of shiny red blisters had formed on her cheek.

Whitebeard knelt beside her and examined her carefully. The more he looked, the more shocked he became—not because he was worried about the burns on her face, but because she had taken a dragon’s fire to the face and suffered only superficial wounds.

“Are you truly The Unburnt? You can even withstand Dragonflame?” he couldn’t help but ask.

During her time as a guest at Xaro’s manse, Daenerys hadn’t barbecued herself again, so Whitebeard had only heard of her moniker, “The Unburnt,” without knowing the full truth.

He had assumed it was an exaggeration, but seeing it today left him stunned.

“Is Euron really not dead?” Daenerys asked instead.

Perhaps because it contained magic, Dragonflame was hotter. Ordinary fire could barely harm her, but Dragonflame could burn her skin. If the spray was sustained, it could probably kill her.

Even The Unburnt had limits. When the three dragons grew larger and their flames hotter, she would most likely be incinerated in an instant.

“I knocked him unconscious. He might drown,” the old man said, helping her to her feet and draping his own robe over her shoulders.

Daenerys looked at Little Green and Little White, whose eyes were still crimson and who were hissing unceasingly, and said, “Let’s deal with the pirates first.”

The Silence had over two hundred pirates. All of them had their tongues cut out, but only forty had their ears blocked with molten gold. The remaining one hundred-some men were also incapacitated by the horn.

Chapter 78: The Fourth Egg

With the addition of Whitebeard, Jorah, and the Bloodriders, the tide of battle on deck quickly turned. This was especially true for the two galleys, the Summer Sun and the Jesting Joso, which were farther from the Dragon Horn and less affected.

Under Belwas’s lead, four or five hundred sailors quickly stormed back onto the deck of the Silence.

About half an hour later, the pirates, having suffered over thirty percent casualties, laid down their weapons and knelt in surrender.

After the fighting subsided, a sailor tried to use pliers to pull the gold out of a dead pirate’s ears. The gold from both ears combined weighed nearly half a pound. It was a twisted, cone-shaped plug, seven or eight centimeters long, that passed through the ear canal deep into the brain cavity. The end was still smeared with glistening white brain matter—a gruesome sight.

Daenerys suspected that if one were to look through one ear, they might see the view from the other side of the man’s head—his entire skull had been burned through by the molten gold.

The great scarlet sun lazed upon the western sea, only half its face still visible. The water sparkled, reflecting the dazzling golden light. Big Black had fully recovered from the horn’s blast and was now soaring contentedly amidst clusters of crimson clouds.

A few people stood at the prow of the ship.

Daenerys had already washed up and tidied herself, but her face was still flushed red and covered in a patch of blisters.

Aggo came to report, “Khaleesi, fourteen of the horse men are dead. Four were burned to death by the two dragons when they lost control, and another seven or eight were burned but are still alive.”

“Alas, they were all brave warriors. Have Black-beard prepare funeral boats and oil for their cremation.” Gritting her teeth, she added, “Bring out their mounts, give them a full meal, and slaughter them tonight to accompany their riders.”

All the dead were from the eighty screaming warriors; the old, weak, women, and children had remained hidden in the cabins and were untouched by the battle.

Eighty screaming warriors, eighty precious dragon-mounts. But this time, Daenerys would not try to fool anyone by substituting straw horses for real steeds, as she had done with old Huasheng.

As long as circumstances allowed, Daenerys was willing to give the highest treatment and honor to those who died fighting for her.

Otherwise, who would be willing to lay down their life for you?

As expected, the moment Daenerys spoke, the gazes of all the surrounding horse men grew even more reverent.

Aggo withdrew, and Jorah stepped forward to report. “Two sailors were burned, but none were killed.”

This was to be expected. Knowing that the Arch-warlock Pyat would pursue her at sea, Daenerys had prepared for naval combat.

In this world, the primary tactic in naval warfare was still boarding actions.

So Daenerys had the horse men and the two dragons form a shield line. They used wooden shields the size of door panels with holes cut in the center. The horse men held the shields to protect themselves and the dragons, while the dragons aimed their mouths through the holes to breathe fire.

After a burst of flame, another horse man would immediately block the hole with a small bronze shield strapped to his arm. Once the young dragons had caught their breath, they would move the bronze shield aside and let them breathe fire through the hole again.

It was a ‘dragon-flesh’ version of a flamethrower.

The destructive power of a flamethrower in close combat needs no explanation, does it?

On the narrow deck of a ship, it was an absolute superweapon. With one dragon on each side of the ship, they feared no number of charging enemies.

This was the lethal ‘biological’ weapon she had prepared for Pyat.

If Euron had been a normal man, the ‘Dragon’ brand flamethrower would have certainly made a name for itself in today’s battle, becoming famous far and wide.

Unfortunately…

But who would have thought that fellow possessed something like the Dragon Horn, a magical weapon specifically designed to be used against dragons?

Biological weapon versus magical weapon—the biological weapon was utterly defeated!

Well, I digress.

It was precisely because the two dragons and the horse men had formed these dragon flamethrowers that the horse men suffered the heaviest losses when the dragons lost control. The four horse men holding the shields to protect the dragons all perished.

Alas, it was similar to the fate of a flamethrower operator. It’s exhilarating to burn others, but if your fuel tank gets hit, you become a human torch.

“We lost twenty-seven sailors to the pirates, with another thirty-five injured. Casualties are near thirty percent. Of the enemy, all thirty-four of the deaf pirates who boarded were killed. Belwas and his men also killed fifty-nine pirates on the Silence, fifty-three of whom were mute but not deaf,” Jorah continued.

“Wrap the pirates’ bodies in sackcloth and throw them into the sea. As for our sailors…” Daenerys looked at Black-bearded Groleo and asked, “Are there any special customs?”

“I’ll arrange it,” the Black-beard sighed.

“Right, Euron isn’t dead,” Jorah said.

“He was turned into a torch by dragonflame and he’s not dead? And he was unconscious in the water for over half an hour? Does he know magic?” Daenerys asked, astonished.

“Perhaps the Ironborn undergo special training,” Jorah mused, then explained, “The Ironborn also believe in the Drowned God. The priests of the Drowned God are called Drowned Men. A popular rite among the Ironborn is the Drowning Rite. A Drowned Man holds the person participating in the ceremony underwater until they pass out, then resuscitates them by pressing on their chest to force the water out. Perhaps the Crow’s Eye has undergone this ritual. Perhaps the Drowned God is protecting him.”

“How can the Drowned Men be sure that someone who faints in the sea will survive?” Daenerys asked curiously.

“They can’t be sure. Many don’t make it back, which is why this very ‘old way’ ritual is rarely performed these days,” Jorah said.

Daenerys was taken aback. She had thought the Drowned Men had some unique magical means of extreme CPR. Who knew it was just leaving things to fate.

“Bring Euron to me. I want to ask him about the Dragon Horn,” she said.

“Er, he’s not dead, but he hasn’t regained consciousness,” Ser Jorah said, glancing at Whitebeard. “He was already covered in severe burns, and then Arstan struck him hard on the head. He’s still unconscious!”

“Then bring me the Dragon Horn,” she said.

Jorah grew excited and exclaimed, “Never mind the Dragon Horn for now, Your Grace! Guess what we found on the Silence?”

“Magic books?” Daenerys grew excited as well. “Euron wasn’t just unaffected by the Dragon Horn, he could use it to control my dragons. I even saw his eyes glow. It wasn’t a hallucination.”

“It was indeed not a hallucination,” Whitebeard nodded gravely. “I saw it too. Though it was difficult for me to move, my five senses were still intact.”

But the Bear shook his head and sighed. “We didn’t find any items of mysterious sorcery aside from the Dragon Horn. However, I did find a dragon egg on the Silence, and a suit of Valyrian steel full plate armor.”

“Wow, what an unexpected surprise!” Daenerys clapped her hands and laughed. “Quick, bring me the dragon egg. I want to see if it’s real.”

Real or not, a suit of Valyrian steel armor was worth a fortune.

At that, two horse men came forward, each carrying a chest.

“Khaleesi, this is the dragon egg.” A horse man held out a black wooden box about the size of a jewelry case.

Daenerys eagerly took it and opened it. Inside, a ‘rust-spotted’ bronze lump rested on a soft cushion of Myrish wool.

As she lightly traced a finger over the fine scales, an unconcealable joy slowly spread across her face.

Seeing her expression, Jorah quickly asked, “Is it really an intact dragon egg?”

“A bronze dragon,” Daenerys said with a nod and a smile.

“But it looks like it’s turned to stone,” Whitebeard said, his voice filled with surprise and doubt.

“It is stone. Listen.” Daenerys flicked it with her finger. Tok, tok. A solid, crisp sound.

“Can a dragon really hatch from stone?” Black-bearded Groleo asked in disbelief.

“Hmph, where do you think the Khaleesi’s dragons came from?” Quaro retorted proudly.

“Everyone knows dragons come from stone,” the handmaiden Jhiqui added.

Daenerys placed the dragon egg back in its box and said to her handmaiden, “Jhiqui, put this by my bed. Mmm, from now on, I’ll sleep holding it. You’ll be in charge of looking after it.”

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

“How long will it take to hatch?” Whitebeard asked curiously.

Daenerys thought for a moment. Last time, it had taken Daenerys a year to gather enough ‘spiritual essence’ to form new souls for the three eggs. Since she was more ‘proactive’ in using her Dragon Hatching skill than the original owner of this body, it should be a bit faster.

“About half a year or so. No more than ten months,” she said.

After Jhiqui left with the box, Daenerys didn’t open the large chest containing the armor. Instead, she studied Quaro closely and said, “Quaro, when the Dragon Horn sounded, you and your squad were hardly affected, just like me. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.” The horse man warrior rubbed his bald head, looking puzzled. “When the horn blew, I felt my blood boiling. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and I just wanted to unleash all my strength.”

During the chaos earlier, the enemy had twenty-four tall and fierce pirates, with a dozen more deaf pirates climbing over on the boarding plank. If it hadn’t been for Quaro and the other nine dragon guards fighting back fiercely, two minutes would have been enough for the enemy to cut down everyone on deck.

“I felt as if millions of wandering souls were tearing at my soul. It was hard to even move. They felt like ghosts from a fiery purgatory. My body, from the inside out, from marrow to skin, was burning inch by inch in searing flames,” said Whitebeard.

“Me too,” said Jorah, Black-beard, and the Bloodriders in unison, their voices filled with alarm and uncertainty.

“It was the same for Belwas. Belwas felt…” The fat eunuch patted his large head and asked Daenerys, “Little queen, what did you feel?”

Daenerys’s blistered, red cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red.

“My blood boiled, and my spirits soared,” she said lightly.

“That’s strange,” Belwas muttered.

“What’s so strange about it? She is the Mother of Dragons. How could she be the same as everyone else?” Jorah said, then looked at Quaro in confusion. “Your squad is all dragon guards. Could it be because of your frequent contact with real dragons?”

“Irri, Doreah, you two also sleep in the same room as the dragons often. What did you feel?” he asked, turning to Daenerys’s handmaidens.

“The same as you. It felt like my whole body was about to catch fire. I could move, but it was like I was drunk, unable to control my body as I normally would,” said Doreah.

It was slightly better than how Jorah and the others felt, but still not as unrestrained as Quaro.

“Quaro, there’s definitely something up with you lot!” Jorah said with absolute certainty.

“What do you mean?” Quaro asked with an innocent look. “It’s not like the pirates went easy on us.”

“Ah, I remember!” Irri suddenly cried out, slapping her hands together. “I was in the hold with the horses. They were frantic, but they didn’t collapse to the ground like we did.”

“Horses have four legs. They don’t fall over even when they’re drunk,” Belwas said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

“By the Seven!” Jorah’s eyes flew open in sudden realization. “Dragon dung! The dragon guards, just like the dragon-mounts, have eaten dragon dung!”

“Uhh…” The corner of Daenerys’s mouth twitched. She tentatively asked, “Quaro, you really ate it? What does it taste like? Is it good?”

“Khaleesi, it doesn’t have much of a special taste.” Quaro smacked his lips, recalling, “It’s astringent, a bit like dragon pepper powder. I wasn’t used to it at first, but after a while, I started to feel like my roasted meat was missing something if I didn’t sprinkle a little ‘dragon essence’ on it.”

“Pepper powder? You got used to it?”

Daenerys asked with a wooden expression, “You call that stuff ‘dragon essence’? Does eating it make you full of vigor?”

“Khaleesi, ‘eating dragon dung’ sounds so awful, doesn’t it?” Quaro said with a wrinkled face.

You know that word of you eating shit would sound awful, so why do you still eat it? Is it really that tasty?

Chapter 79: The Otherworldly Guan Yu Becomes a Servant of Three Masters

“It seems we’ll have to start trying to eat some dragon… ahem, dragon essence, adding some to our food from now on,” Jorah said, stroking his chin, his gaze wandering.

“You want to eat it too?” Daenerys’s eyes widened.

“Sigh, Your Grace, haven’t you realized?” Whitebeard said, his eyes downcast. “The dragon… ahem, dragon essence can help one resist the Dragon Horn. It might even have other uses.”

“I’m just afraid…” Daenerys scanned the expectant faces of the men licking their lips, feeling a headache coming on. “I’m afraid that… ahem, that little bit of dragon essence won’t be enough to share among you all.”

“Feed the dragons more, and from now on, don’t let them relieve themselves wherever they please outside,” Jorah suggested.

“All right.”

Daenerys did not want to discuss the topic of dragon droppings any further. No matter what, she would never eat it.

She opened the mahogany chest, which stood half as tall as a man. Nestled on a bed of fluffy silk was a suit of ink-black full plate armor inlaid with gold.

It was black as smoke, the edges of its scales a brilliant red-gold. Its surface was adorned with patterns of whorls, runes, and mysterious glyphs.

She remembered now. Euron had been wearing this armor earlier. Later, to win their trust, he had left both the armor and his sword behind on the Silence.

She picked up the watermelon-sized helmet and tried it on. Hmm, it was like a medium-sized person wearing 4XL clothing.

It was too big.

But it was very light, because it was so thin.

Valyrian steel possessed the properties of being “imperishable and immutable,” so it did not need the thickness of iron armor to increase its defensive capabilities.

In the end, Valyrian steel was still a type of steel—one forged using magical techniques. If it was made thinner, it would naturally be lighter.

It was a shame this was armor for a fierce man; she could not wear it.

Daenerys put down the helmet, her gaze sweeping over her Bloodriders, Jorah, Whitebeard, and the others in turn.

Some of them seemed to guess her thoughts. When Daenerys looked over, Jorah immediately threw his head back and puffed out his chest. Whitebeard set aside the staff he was always leaning on and struck a pose that seemed to say, “This old general is far from finished.”

Even the fat eunuch Belwas took a deep breath, trying his best to suck his enormous belly in.

Only the Dothraki remained blissfully unaware.

“Who wants this armor?” Daenerys asked, rubbing her nose.

“I do not want iron armor. A brave horse man never hides inside iron armor,” Aggo was the first to shout.

He acted as if being offered the Valyrian steel armor was a grave insult.

“Horse men do not wear iron armor. Everyone knows this,” Jhogo said as well.

“Yes, everyone knows,” Rakharo and Quaro echoed in unison.

Never before had Jorah Mormont been so fond of the forthright and brave horse men and their “everyone knows.”

With the Bloodriders out of the running, who else could compete with him, a member of the Queensguard, for the armor?

Sure enough, Daenerys tilted her chin at Jorah. “Alright, Ser, it’s yours!”

“Wait, Your Grace,” Whitebeard said, raising a hand to stop the knight, whose joy was written all over his face as he rushed toward the large chest. “I don’t deny Ser Jorah’s valor, but his loyalty seems less than reliable.”

Jorah’s expression changed drastically. His right hand went to his sword hilt, and he said coldly, “Old man, I’ve warned you. Watch your tongue.”

“Was I wrong?” Whitebeard was not the least bit intimidated, staring at him with sharp eyes. “Do you dare say you’ve never betrayed Her Grace? Swear it on your father’s honor and the name of House Mormont!”

“He is my Queensguard. He has saved my life multiple times. I trust him.” Daenerys took a step forward, pushing the old man aside. She bent down, picked up the helmet, and handed it to Mormont, saying, “If I can’t even trust the benefactor who has saved my life multiple times, who am I supposed to trust?”

“Your Grace, I swear, on my father’s honor and the name of House Mormont, I will protect you with my life.” The Bear’s eyes grew red as he accepted the smoky-black helmet with trembling hands.

“Your Grace!” Whitebeard stomped his foot, wanting to say more, but in the end, he said nothing.

Regardless of the past, from this moment on, Jorah Mormont will be utterly devoted to me. The old man just handed me a perfect assist!

Daenerys thought triumphantly.

The armor could only go to Jorah.

There were three Bloodriders, and with the dragon guard Quaro, there was not enough to go around. Giving it to one and not the others would only create a divisive situation.

As for Whitebeard…

Daenerys had long guessed his identity: Captain of the Kingsguard, the eternally loyal “Barristan the Bold” Selmy.

Hmm, when she watched Game of Thrones, Daenerys knew such a person existed, but he had so little screen time and no shining moments, and his death was particularly pathetic, that she had not remembered his name at all.

But after coming to this world and acquiring a vast amount of information, Daenerys finally learned his name was Barristan Selmy, and what that name represented.

To put it one way, Barristan, who had earned the moniker “the Bold” from Prince Duncan (the first fiancé who broke his betrothal, the one who married Jenny of Oldstones—Daenerys’s great-great-uncle) at the age of ten, was the equivalent of Guan Yu in the World of Ice and Fire.

However, this “Guan Yu” was not loyal to a particular person but to the royal line, and he prioritized honor over righteousness.

If you replaced “king” with Liu Bei and “honor” with “brotherly loyalty,” Barristan would be Guan Yu.

He also possessed Guan Yu’s martial prowess and strategic mind. During the War of the Ninepenny Kings, Barristan charged alone into the ranks of the Golden Company and successfully slew the last of the Blackfyres, Maelys the Monstrous, in single combat, bringing a decisive end to the Blackfyre Rebellion.

Barristan was an incredible figure, a role model for all the knights of Westeros, for he was the last of the Seven Kingdoms’ greatest generation of knights.

Especially in the current, most degenerate era of knights, Barristan held an extraordinary appeal—if one were to vie for supremacy in Westeros, that is.

If Barristan knelt and swore his fealty to Daenerys, his loyalty and contributions would surpass Jorah Mormont’s.

Unfortunately…

The great “Guan Yu of the Seven Kingdoms” had ended up as the “servant of three masters of Westeros.”

Indeed. As a Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy had served Daenerys’s grandfather and father, served the Usurper Robert Baratheon for fourteen years, and even worked for Joffrey, the false Baratheon, for a few days.

Well then. Jaehaerys II and the Mad King Aerys were of House Targaryen, the Usurper was of House Baratheon, and Joffrey was of House Lannister.

A servant of three masters, through and through.

The worst part was, he was looked down on by Joffrey and became the first knight ever to be dismissed from the Kingsguard.

It was known that the Kingsguard was a lifelong appointment; they served the royal family for their entire lives, and in return, the monarch was supposed to grant them a lifetime of honor.

During that great era of knights, there was a time when four of the seven Targaryen Kingsguard were bedridden and unable to perform their duties.

But even with the Mad King’s insanity, he did not have them pack their bags and leave. Instead, he allowed them to live out the final glorious moments of their lives with the treatment of small council advisors.

Yes, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was himself a member of the small council, with the right to advise the king alongside the Hand of the King.

Although he had fallen so low as to take a gamble on Daenerys’s long-shot cause, Barristan still had his dignity. He was unwilling to serve another person unfit to be a monarch.

He was hiding his identity mainly to observe Daenerys, to see if she possessed the noble qualities of a great ruler.

So far, his refusal to reveal himself meant that Daenerys had still not passed his assessment.

Hmm, the old man was probably scarred from being tormented by three degenerate and foolish kings like the Mad King, Robert, and Joffrey. He likely had deep-seated trauma.

But since he was not one of her own people, Daenerys would not give him the precious Valyrian steel armor.

The great eunuch Belwas had been introduced by Illyrio. In Daenerys’s heart, his status was even lower than that of a common Dothraki warrior.

The next day after lunch, as Daenerys lay on her bed studying the Valyrian runes on the large horn, a sailor came to report to the handmaiden Doreah outside her door: Euron Crow’s Eye had awoken.

Daenerys had chairs set up on the aft deck. Twenty Dothraki warriors stood in two rows. It was a pity there was no plaque signifying justice hanging overhead.

Mormont, clad in the smoky black iron armor, brought Euron over.

“Heh heh, what a haul. You even found my armor,” Euron said with a grin, sizing up the imposing iron-clad Jorah. “I was originally thinking of ransoming myself, but it seems you’ve already plundered all my treasures.”

“Tsk, tsk. I daresay you had the idea of robbing Valyrian explorers all along, didn’t you? How convenient that I gave you an excuse. Now you can keep your dark little thoughts hidden away!”

Euron was a miserable sight. Most of his hair was burned away, and his magnificent silk robes with gold trim were charred and tattered. His face, arms, and chest were covered in black and red scabs. As he spoke, the scabs on his face split open and bled.

Chapter 80: The Taboo

“Euron, you’re half right. The Silence is mine now!” Daenerys said with a laugh, lightly fiddling with the two small bells at the end of a long braid resting on her chest. “But ask yourself honestly, is this my fault?

If you hadn’t come chasing after me, if you had just said hello and left, would things have ended up this way? You’re a villain yourself, yet you assume everyone else is a villain too.”

“Very well, my good Queen, what do you plan to do with me, a defeated nobleman?” The sharpness in Euron’s right blue eye faded, replaced by a gentle, smiling expression.

Daenerys looked at Jorah, amused. “According to the old customs of the Seven Kingdoms, how should this lord be dealt with? Or rather, how much ransom should I demand from House Greyjoy?”

“Your Grace, in war, a ransom of one hundred gold dragons is more than enough for an ordinary knight. But he has committed a great crime—the attempted murder of a monarch. If Eddard Stark were here, he would chop off his head with Ice without a moment’s hesitation,” Jorah said coolly, his right hand on his sword as he stared coldly at the Crow’s Eye.

“If Eddard Stark were here, your head, you slaver, would have been the first to roll!” Euron retorted lazily, standing nonchalantly.

“In Westeros, you might have had the chance to take the black, but now…” Whitebeard looked at him with disdain. “If the queen is merciful, she will grant you the Drowning Rite, according to the tradition of the Ironborn.”

The Drowning Rite has two purposes. Or rather, it was originally used to execute guilty Ironborn. Later, with the development of the Drowned God’s teachings, it became a ritual akin to baptism.

“Euron, why did you chase us?” Daenerys asked, puzzled.

“Because I saw dragons circling your mast,” Euron answered bluntly, without any hesitation. “When I found the Dragon Horn in Valyria, I thought it was useless.

After all, there were no more dragons in the world. What good was that thing?

So, you understand? When I saw those two dragons, I could barely contain my ecstasy.”

So that was it.

A man with a hammer sees everything as a nail, eager to strike. A man who found a dragon-slaying blade would surely be eager to test it upon seeing a dragon.

“Where did you get that bronze dragon egg?” she asked.

“Can it hatch a dragon?” he shot back, his pupils contracting with urgency.

“Hmm?” Daenerys drew out the sound.

“Fine!” Euron sighed. “I found it on a merchant ship in the Jade Sea. It was said to belong to an Arch-Sorcerer from Asshai.”

He immediately asked again, “Can you hatch it?”

“I’m not sure,” Daenerys said with regret.

“Why not?” Euron asked, confused.

“Sigh, didn’t I tell you before? A life for a life. My three closest kin for three dragons. I already have three dragons now. Even if I had other kin still alive, I wouldn’t trade them for more dragons,” Daenerys said, suppressing a laugh.

“Can other people hatch dragons this way?” Euron’s eyes flashed as he asked in a low voice.

“Are you insane?” Daenerys glanced at him and said flatly, “Who would be willing to sacrifice their loved ones to gamble on an uncertain future? If you have no feelings for your family, it doesn’t count as a sacrifice. And if you do, would you be willing to make that bet?”

“Are there many dragon eggs in Asshai?” she asked.

Euron scoffed, “Didn’t you just say it wasn’t worth it? Are you not satisfied with three dragons?”

Jorah kicked him in the rear with his iron-shod boot. “Remember your place,” he said coldly.

The kick sent Euron stumbling. The chains on his shackles clanged as he lurched forward a few steps before catching himself and pulling himself up. “Alright, I get it. Dragon eggs are rare in Asshai, too. I plundered dozens of ships and only found one, and it was a fossil.”

“What’s the deal with the Dragon Horn? Why haven’t my little dragons broken free from their frenzy?” Daenerys asked seriously.

“I went to the residence of Tyria’s ruler…” Euron’s voice trailed off, his right eye suddenly flashing with a sinister light—

Whitebeard’s eyes sharpened. He tapped the bottom of his staff lightly with his right foot, causing the two-meter-long wooden staff to shift from vertical to horizontal. He turned his body with the motion, swinging the long staff in a swift arc. The end of the staff struck Euron squarely on the back of the head.

The whole movement was as smooth as flowing water. It looked effortless, but it was incredibly fast and powerful. Just as the dark light flared in Euron’s right eye, a thud sounded, and he was knocked face-first to the deck.

“Behave yourself. Don’t try any tricks in front of Her Grace,” the old man said to the Crow’s Eye, who was groaning on the deck.

Daenerys froze for a moment, then stood up and hurried back to her cabin. Sure enough, the two dragons in the cage had become frenzied again.

It took her a long while to calm them down. She returned to the deck, gave a solemn nod to Whitebeard and the others, then walked over to Euron. “Have you really learned Valyrian sorcery?”

“Heh heh, marry me!” Euron turned his head and gave her a smug smile. “You have three dragons. The black one belongs to you; even the Dragon Horn can’t take it away. But the green and white dragons have become my—”

Thump! Daenerys kicked him hard in the stomach. “I don’t believe it,” she sneered. “I’ll stab you to death, blow the horn myself, and see if they don’t recover.”

“Cough, cough…” Euron coughed painfully. “It’s useless. If you blow the horn again, those two dragons will go mad. Besides, you don’t know how to unleash the Dragonbinder’s magic.”

“Then tell me!” Daenerys said.

“Heh heh.” Euron sneered.

“Kill him,” Jorah advised.

Euron’s smile froze.

Daenerys nodded. “Aggo, cut off his head and throw the body into the sea.”

Shing! The horse man warrior cleanly drew his Arakh and stepped forward to grab Euron by the hair.

Euron’s face turned grim and terrifying as he struggled fiercely, but he was severely injured and couldn’t trouble the horse man in the slightest.

“I surrender! I’ll talk!” Dragged to the ship’s rail, Euron could hold out no longer and cried out.

“What surrender? Just kill him and be done with it,” Daenerys said calmly.

“I know how to get to Valyria!” Euron shouted hastily.

At that moment, Aggo was pressing his neck against the gunwale, his head hanging over the side of the ship. One cut would send his head and blood into the sea, ensuring the deck remained clean.

“Should I kill him?” Aggo asked, his Arakh raised high.

But Daenerys hesitated. To be honest, she really wanted to kill the bastard. After all, in Game of Thrones, he seemed to be the real final boss.

The Others sounded terrifying and made a grand entrance, but they were killed by Arya with a single stab. Euron, on the other hand, killed one of Daenerys’s dragons and countless of her followers.

However, Daenerys had also discovered that this real world was somewhat different from the TV show. The legend of the Child of Prophecy had been passed down for thousands of years, and almost every culture treated it with great solemnity. It seemed the Long Night would not be so easily overcome.

Thus, the secret arts of Valyria were of far greater importance to her than the Iron Throne.

“I can draw the sea charts for you, I swear I won’t fake them!” Seeing the hesitation on Daenerys’s face, Euron grew truly desperate. That woman isn’t just threatening me, she really wants me dead. But… why? Could it be that the Dragon Horn is a greater threat to her than I imagined? Is the Dragon Horn stronger than the Mother of Dragons? At this thought, he began to feel regret. I should have quit while I was ahead yesterday. I shouldn’t have forced the dragons to turn against their mother just to test the limits of the horn’s control…

“Alright.” Daenerys gestured for Aggo to stop and said to the Crow’s Eye, “Swear on your Drowned God, on House Greyjoy, and on your own future.”

Euron immediately swore a long and vicious oath, then said, “Your Grace, now it’s your turn.”

“Me?” Daenerys was baffled. “My turn for what?”

Euron’s one eye widened. “To swear an oath!”

“Why?” she asked, and then it dawned on her.

“Oh, as a queen, how could I go back on my word?” She waved a hand dismissively, amused. “Just talk. Don’t waste any more time.”

Some queen you are, Euron thought. You don’t even have a place to land, and you call yourself a queen.

However, Euron didn’t press the matter. This world wasn’t like modern Earth; a person’s word still meant something. Even Daenerys’s ‘dear’ old father, the Mad King, had rarely broken his promises.

Yes, he was mad, but his madness had a certain straightforward integrity.

“I’ve figured out two functions of the Dragon Horn. The first is what happened yesterday: at the cost of the horn blower’s soul, it briefly stuns the minds of those nearby, making it difficult for them to move. The second is to control dragons.

To blow the horn, you must first draw a tattoo of a winged creature on the blower’s chest, something like a wyvern.

I don’t know if the wyvern tattoo itself contains some sorcerous power, but when the horn is blown, not only do the person’s mouth and nose burn and bleed, but even the eyes of the tattoo weep blood.”

Daenerys hadn’t noticed that. Perhaps the man who blew the horn was a dark-skinned man from the Summer Isles, and the tattoo hadn’t been visible.

“The principle behind controlling the dragons is fascinating,” Euron said, his face a mixture of awe and desire. “You all saw it. The man blowing the horn was a slave, but the one controlling the dragons was me.

That horn seems to possess a magic that automatically determines who the true master is. Or perhaps it sensed that my will was superior to the slave’s?

Maybe the Dragonlords of Old Valyria intentionally forged the horn this way.

Every time it’s used, a person’s life and soul must be sacrificed. Naturally, they wouldn’t use it themselves.”

The listeners exchanged glances. They never would have imagined a horn could be so “magical.” It all defied reason.

After a moment of silence, Daenerys asked softly, “I saw that the horn blower only lasted for two minutes before he died. Isn’t that too short? It’s not nearly enough time for a battle.”

“That was under extreme conditions. Normally, people are stunned by the horn’s blast but aren’t completely immobilized. The first time, that slave lasted a full eight minutes.”

What was the difference between two minutes and eight?

“Does the effect weaken with distance?” Whitebeard asked, glancing at the fat eunuch. Yesterday, the fat eunuch gladiator had recovered sooner than he had, and the old man refused to believe his will was weaker than that of a eunuch gladiator.

“Heh heh, isn’t that obvious?” Euron chuckled. “Why else would I have schemed to get the Silence closer to you?”

“How do I break the control over the dragons?” Daenerys asked seriously. “Can you still control the green and white dragons now?”

Euron gave a strange smile and sighed. “I have to actively reach out to them. I thought they had returned to normal. As for breaking the control… you could blow the horn yourself, or sacrifice one of your subordinates?

Mm, it has to be a loyal subordinate, or the dragon will be under his control.

Also, it’s best not to use this control too frequently.

I wasn’t lying to you before. The Dragon Horn was found in a large chest, along with a parchment scroll written in High Valyrian.

It lists a few taboos. Besides sacrificing the user’s soul, it says that if a dragon frequently changes masters through the horn’s sound, its consciousness might collapse, and it could go mad and die.”

Chapter 81: A True Dragon Cannot Be Bound

Dany did not break her promise. She had Euron’s wounds treated and promised that once they reached Slaver’s Bay, she would find an opportunity to release him and his slave sailors.

But it was clear she had no intention of returning Euron’s ship, the Silence, or the treasures upon it.

If his identity as the “Red Devil” was discovered in Slaver’s Bay and he was hanged for it, he would only have himself to blame.

To prevent Euron from using any secret tricks to influence the green and white dragons, Dany had him moved to an oared ship for his confinement, keeping a distance of more than ten kilometers between them.

In the afternoon, Jorah brought the body of the man who had blown the horn the day before onto the deck and cut open his chest with a dagger.

The bodies of the horsemen warriors, pirates, and sailors had been dealt with the previous night.

The weather on the Summer Sea was too hot; they couldn’t be left out for long.

But the body of the black man who had blown the horn was kept, for it was too peculiar. When Belwas touched him, it was like picking up a roasted sweet potato fresh from the fire pit, even though the man had been dead for half an hour.

Now, as Jorah cut open the chest, everyone was horrified to see that his internal organs were scorched black, especially his lungs, which were almost charred to carbon.

“Your Grace, you—” Whitebeard looked up at Dany, hesitating to speak.

Aggo’s expression changed as well, and he was the first to step forward. “Khaleesi,” he said loudly, “let me sound the horn!”

“I’ll do it. I’m stronger; maybe I won’t die.” Jhogo glared at Aggo, as if rebuking him for trying to steal his glory.

He wasn’t wrong. In horsemen tradition, it was an honor for a Bloodrider to die for their Khal, but a disgrace to let the Khal die before them.

“I am not afraid to die. Let me do it,” Rakharo said, not to be outdone.

Shing!

Quaro drew his blade and shouted, “None of you will compete with me for this! I am a Dragon Guard. Protecting the dragons is my duty and my honor.”

Jorah hesitated for a moment before saying to Dany, “Perhaps we could let Quaro try. He has eaten dragon essence; his resistance is strong.”

“Yes, it should be me!” Quaro said excitedly.

As the horsemen stepped forward one by one to pledge their loyalty, Dany remained unmoved. Covering her nose with a handkerchief, she leaned closer to the body, absorbed in observing the black man’s internal organs.

Hearing Jorah’s suggestion, she snapped out of her trance and smiled. “Why all this talk of life and death? It’s just intense heat. Do you think I’m afraid of heat?”

“But Crow’s Eye said a soul must be sacrificed,” Jorah said, his face clouding with worry.

He had already guessed Dany’s intention: she was going to blow the horn herself.

Dany waved her hand, signaling for the sailors to carry the body away. She returned to the table and chairs at the ship’s prow, gently stroking the horn’s smooth surface. “Do any of you recognize the writing on it?” she asked.

The horn was made from a dragon’s horn, polished smooth and round. Its surface was inlaid with bands of red gold and black Valyrian steel. Besides the ancient magic runes and strange symbols inscribed upon it, there was also a line of Valyrian text.

Magic runes and the written language used for communication were two different systems. Few understood Valyrian runes, but the Valyrian tongue was currently the common language on the continent of Essos.

After all, the ancient Valyrian Freehold had once ruled the entire world for several thousand years.

The Valyrian spoken in the various city-states was often mixed with local accents, much like different dialects of a single language. Some dialects were even more difficult to understand than a foreign tongue.

“I am Dragonbinder. No mortal man shall sound me and live. Blood for fire, fire for blood.” Jorah leaned close to the horn, reading out the words one by one.

“So this Dragon Horn is called ‘Dragonbinder.’ The price for a mortal to use it is their life, but I…” Dany touched her nose and said sheepishly, “It’s not that I think I’m not mortal, but I do have certain qualities that most people don’t.”

“The Unburnt?” Whitebeard came over and asked doubtfully. “Your Grace, are you certain? In the history of House Targaryen, many believed they could be reborn in fire. The most famous was Aerion ‘Brightflame.’ He was your great-grandfather’s elder brother. He was convinced that wildfire could turn him into a dragon. About seventy years ago, he drank a jug of wildfire.”

After a pause, the old man said softly, “Not a single fragment of his bones was left in the green flames.”

“How do you think three fossilized dragon eggs hatched into dragons?” Dany shot him a glare and retorted.

“Was it not life for life, a sacrifice of your loved ones?” Whitebeard asked, puzzled.

“Hahaha, even you believe it! It seems Euron most likely took it for truth as well!” Dany roared with laughter, clutching her stomach.

“The Khaleesi entered the fire and gave birth to the dragons herself. That ‘Cart King’ Viserys died beneath molten gold months ago. How could he have been a sacrifice?” Jhiqui said with a pout.

“She… personally… gave… birth… to dragons?” Belwas’s mouth fell open, as if he had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

“Hmph. The stone eggs shattered, but their weight and volume weren’t diminished at all,” Jhiqui said.

“Alright, I’m going to blow the horn. Groleo, tell the sailors to be careful not to fall from the masts.”

Dany carried the enormous horn into her chambers and placed it on the bed. In a corner of the room stood two iron cages that Blackbeard had prepared for the three dragons earlier. She hadn’t expected to actually use them.

The others stood outside, watching Dany with extreme nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, Dany brought her lips to the mouthpiece of the horn, which was as wide as a wine goblet, and blew gently.

Ooooo— A low sound echoed in the cramped chambers. The reverberations overlapped, the sound becoming almost tangible. The porcelain cup on the table vibrated gently, and the wooden walls hummed. Even Dany, the one blowing the horn, was startled.

Then her attention was diverted by a wave of heat rising from her heart. Following a path from her heart to her lungs, through her throat, and into her mouth, a scorching breath erupted like a tidal wave.

Woooooooo— The horn’s blast suddenly grew ten times louder. Outside, the others once again felt a thousand ghosts wailing in their ears and a thousand spectral claws tearing at their souls. A searing flame ignited deep within their marrow, burning their flesh and bone from the inside out.

Dany’s will, like a ripple, merged with the sound waves of the horn, transforming into a sharp sword that pierced a sea of hellfire. After only a moment of confusion, she realized where she was: this was the sea of souls belonging to Little Green and Little White. The souls of both dragons were here.

Dany had been here several times before, back when she had yet to fully merge with Big Black and become the Dragon Spirit.

“Little Green, Little White, it’s me! Do you remember Mama?” Dany discovered she could freely distort this space, which seemed magnificent but was in fact fragile.

She found the soulscape of the fiery inferno magnificent because, compared to her own soul, the quality and strength of a dragon’s soul far surpassed a human’s.

But compared to the master of the horn, the two dragons’ soulscape was fragile indeed—the soul of a young dragon next to that of an old dragon with horns one point eight meters long was like a candle flame before the bright moon.

That was right. Dany was shocked to discover that the soul of an old Dragonlord was sealed within the horn. This gave her a guess as to the principle behind Dragonbinder.

The Dragonbinder horn was forged from a dragon’s horn. The forger had used sorcery to seal the dragon’s soul and residual essence within it. Blowing the horn was equivalent to using the old dragon’s might to subjugate other dragons.

The reason humans were overwhelmed by the horn was also because the old dragon’s might was unleashed. A simple example: an ordinary person encountering a fierce tiger in the wild would find their legs go weak, unable to move. Even if your will was strong, the horn still contained magical power that stimulated your blood to a boil, making your whole body feel as if it were on fire, likely because the sealed old dragon’s soul invaded the consciousness along with the sound.

Dany now understood how Euron had controlled her dragons.

—By using the overwhelming power within the horn to twist the young dragons’ will.

But these were her children. Dany cherished her little dragons and was unwilling to see their souls ravaged.

Therefore, she could only hope to awaken their true consciousness.

“Little Green, Little White, wake up! Be strong and brave! One day, you too will grow horns two meters long, and then no Dragonbinder will ever bind you!”

As Dany shouted words of encouragement to the two dragons, she also used the “Soul-Gathering” art from her Mother of Dragons gifts.

Dense, minuscule points of five-colored light fell like snowflakes into the sea of fire, causing the flames to burn even brighter. But…

Unfortunately, against the old dragon’s soul in the horn, it was still but a drop in the ocean.

“This…” Dany grew anxious. Although she didn’t know what was happening in the real world, she was absolutely certain that even the Mother of Dragons could not blow the horn for much longer. She had no desire to unwittingly sacrifice her own life.

“I have to find another way, with the help of—” Suddenly, inspiration struck Dany: My soul is connected to Big Black’s. What if I pull him in here? He devoured a demigod, after all!

She acted on the thought. The next moment, the sky above the infernal sea of fire darkened as a black shadow larger than a city loomed over it.

What a massive black dragon! Its wings blotted out the sun, its eyes like boiling pools of lava. Suddenly, Dany felt that the so-called Dragonbinder was nothing special after all.

She now stood atop the black dragon’s head, facing off against a shadow dragon.

ROAR— The shadow dragon soul from the Dragon Horn roared in fury.

Big Black, who was one with Dany’s soul, struck back with even greater force and a mightier voice: “I am Deathwing. Now—get lost!”

To her surprise, Big Black was cooperative, allowing Dany’s consciousness to take the lead for the first time.

Yes, she was the one who had roared those words through Big Black’s mouth.

VMMMM—CRACK—CLATTER!

Since Dany herself was the master of the Dragon Horn, this betrayal from within caused the shadow dragon soul opposite her to instantly shatter.

As if their shackles had been smashed, a white and a green dragon leaped out from the sea of fire. They flew joyfully around Dany, letting out affectionate cries.

“Hahaha, since our birth in the flames, the four of us are finally reunited!” Dany laughed happily.

This scene had appeared once before, on the night of Drogo’s funeral pyre when Dany hatched the eggs. Back then, also in a sea of fire, the three young dragons had rejoiced in the flames as she brought them countless motes of multicolored spiritual essence.

But since the young dragons had been born, she had never been able to gather the consciousness of two of them together at once.

Just as she was joyfully interacting with the three dragons, a crimson-gold bolt of lightning suddenly exploded across the sky with a BOOM. Dany looked up, stunned, her mouth opening and closing as she unconsciously uttered a syllable.

It wasn’t lightning at all, but a twisted, crimson-gold Valyrian rune!

The rune moved through the fiery space like a living creature. But as Dany uttered the syllable representing the rune, using the pronunciation method the Arch-Sorcerer had taught her…

BOOM! The crimson-gold rune suddenly vanished. Dany herself didn’t even notice that a “red lightning bolt” had appeared in the sea of her consciousness.

One rune disappeared, and a black bolt of lightning immediately followed—another rune, this one shaped like red lightning.

RUMBLE…

One bolt after another, they flickered between crimson-gold and brilliant black. In a daze, Dany recited all the runes, memorizing each and every one.

SKREEE— Big Black let out a sudden shriek and then abruptly flipped over. “Ahhh!” Dany screamed as she plummeted from the sky.

“Ah—cough, cough, cough—” In the real world, Dany’s panicked scream turned into a violent fit of coughing. Her vision was completely dark. Had night fallen?

Liquid trickled from the corner of her lips. She tried to raise her hand to wipe it away, but she couldn’t move her right arm at all.

“Khaleesi, Khaleesi…”

“Your Grace, Your Grace…”

A series of panicked shouts seemed to come from the edge of the heavens, indistinct and dreamlike. Then, her thoughts came to an abrupt halt, and Dany collapsed onto the deck of the ship.

Chapter 82: Arrival in Slaver’s Bay

When Daenerys regained consciousness, she found the ship beneath her was as still as solid ground, without the slightest lurch.

She blinked. Above her was a low wooden ceiling. She was still on the great ship—so had it stopped?

At this thought, Daenerys tried to get out of bed to see, but the moment she moved, she found herself completely limp, like a patient recovering from a long illness.

Am I sick?

The moment the thought arose, she recalled the last thing she saw before passing out: I blew Dragonbinder, but I didn’t use the Valyrian method to twist the little dragons’ minds. Then my vision went black, my nose started bleeding, and I fainted.

“Screech—”

As she was thinking, three ferocious “serpent heads” leaned in, radiating a comfortable, scalding warmth.

It was Big Black, Little White, and Little Green. They had been guarding her bedside all this time.

Daenerys was delighted. Little White and Little Green had truly recovered. Their lively golden and emerald eyes were filled with affection as they looked at her.

The instant she touched their warm heads, she felt an illusory surge of strength. She struggled to sit up and called out the door, “Jhiqui! Irri! Doreah!”

Her three handmaidens had been waiting right outside. Hearing her call, they immediately came pattering in.

“Khaleesi, you’re awake!” Irri was so emotional she was on the verge of tears.

“Khaleesi, do you want water? Do you want to eat? It’s been four days!” Jhiqui asked, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes.

“Khaleesi, we’ve arrived in Slaver’s Bay. We’re docked at the port of Astapor,” Doreah said gently, holding a porcelain basin and softly wiping Daenerys’s face.

“Four days? That long?” Daenerys was startled. She quickly asked, “While I was unconscious, was there any unrest among the horse men and the sailors?”

Doreah understood her concern and immediately reassured her, “Your dragons have been by your side the entire time. Everyone knew you had only fainted and that it wasn’t serious. They were just anxious for you to wake up. There were no conflicts.”

“Khaleesi, at the time, your nose, mouth, and eyes were all bleeding. It was so frightening. We all thought… sniffle…” Jhiqui, the Dothraki girl, started sobbing as she spoke.

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m fine, I’m fine.”

After washing up and changing into a Cheongsam, Daenerys walked out with the help of her handmaidens and spent some time reassuring Jorah and the others.

“That Dragon Horn is truly a demonic artifact, Your Grace. Please don’t ever try to use it again.” After just a few days, not only was Jorah unshaven and looking haggard, but even the handsome old Whitebeard appeared exhausted, his snow-white beard stained with brown smudges.

“Where is Dragonbinder?” Daenerys asked noncommittally.

“It’s in the lower hold. You—” Jorah started, anxious to caution her.

She waved her hand and smiled. “I’m not a fool. I just wanted to ask if the horn was damaged.”

“Damaged?” He was puzzled. “Why would it be damaged? It was forged from a dragon’s horn and bound with Valyrian steel bands. You probably couldn’t break it with a sledgehammer.”

That might not be true, she thought. She hadn’t used the correct method to release the horn’s dragon from its bondage. The series of lightning-like runes that had appeared was likely a sign of internal structural collapse.

Moreover, after waking up and trying to enter her draconic spiritual state to heal her body, Daenerys had unexpectedly discovered a string of golden-red, lightning-like runes in her mindscape.

Even though it was the first time she had ever encountered them, she understood that they were most likely a sorcerous rune from the Dragon Horn.

Daenerys was eager to test if she had any ability to use sorcery, but her reason told her it was best to rest and recover in her current condition.

“When did we arrive in Astapor?” Daenerys gazed at the distant cluster of tall, red pyramids that rose like the tombs of gods. She was filled with emotion. To think that a people with such a great civilization had degenerated to the point where the slave trade was their primary economy.

Just how much technical skill did building the pyramids require?

Even in the early twenty-first century, scientists couldn’t definitively say how the ancient Egyptians had constructed them; many even suspected the involvement of alien civilizations.

The knowledge involved in architecture, geometry, dynamics, and astronomy was simply too vast and profound.

Although the Old Ghiscari Empire was destroyed by the Valyrians, the present-day Ghiscari could still build pyramids two hundred meters high. She had heard that the Great Pyramid of Meereen was two hundred and ten meters tall.

“We arrived yesterday at noon. Astapor’s customs officials even came by to ask what kind of slaves we needed,” Jorah replied.

Daenerys had him send word to the slavers of Astapor: she wanted to buy Unsullied.

She rested on the ship for two more days before setting foot on the docks for the first time.

Astapor was situated at the mouth of the Worm River. From the old, dilapidated docks to the broken streets, the severely weathered city walls, and the pyramids within, everything was a shade of red.

The sight was strangely familiar to Daenerys. The Ghiscari of Astapor used fired red bricks. Near her hometown in her previous life, there had been a brick and tile factory that also produced red bricks, which every household in her village used to build their walls.

And here in Astapor, the docks were built of red brick, the streets were paved with red brick, and the pyramids were covered in a thick layer of red brick. The entire place was suffused with a rustic redness.

However, all the structures were far too old. The red bricks had begun to weather on a massive scale. A gust of wind kicked up a storm of red dust.

The fine red dust easily irritated the eyes and made it difficult to breathe. The women of Astapor covered their faces with scarves when they went out.

Her party set out around seven in the morning. For added safety, Daenerys did not ride her little silver mare but instead sat in a spacious ox-cart that Jorah had purchased for her in advance.

Quaro, Aggo, and Belwas remained on the ship to guard the dragons. Now that she was in Slaver’s Bay, Daenerys no longer dared to let the dragons out to hunt.

She was afraid that some might try to earn the glorious title of “dragonslayer.” Even Big Black was put in chains.

Daenerys didn’t bring her handmaidens either. Whitebeard sat across from her.

Ever since Jorah had received that dazzling suit of Valyrian steel armor, he wore it every day.

Clad in full plate, he could only ride alongside Jhogo and Rakharo, guarding the ox-cart.

The docks were deserted in the early morning. The ox-cart’s wooden wheels clattered on the uneven red brick road, the sound mixing with the hoofbeats of the horses and creating a series of echoes.

“Are the Ghiscari really this lazy? The sun has been up for over an hour, and they’re still not out working,” Daenerys said with a puzzled expression, peeking out the window.

“Most people who come here are buying Unsullied. Merchant ships rarely call at this port. Without commerce, there’s no need for dockworkers and vendors. Who would the Ghiscari work for?” Jorah answered.

“Oh, I see.”

“Your Grace, your face,” Whitebeard said. He had been staring at Daenerys’s smooth, delicate face, which looked like a freshly peeled egg, a deep sense of bewilderment in his heart. He had wanted to ask several times but had held his tongue. Now he finally had the chance. “I remember there was a dark red scab on it yesterday.”

“Hehehe, I have to meet guests today!” Daenerys said cheerfully, stroking her smooth, fine skin. “To speed up my recovery, I baked my face over a fire for half the night. It’s a good thing we’re docked, or I wouldn’t have had enough firewood.”

“Baked it over a fire?” The old man grew even more confused.

“Roasted it over the fire, like baking sweet potatoes,” Daenerys explained.

“But wasn’t your face burned by fire in the first place?” Whitebeard asked, aghast.

“It was burned by dragonflame. Ordinary fire doesn’t hurt me,” Daenerys corrected him.

“Ah, you’ll understand when I have a chance to show you,” she said, touching her cheek and muttering things the old man didn’t understand at all. “High temperatures can speed up blood circulation, boost metabolism, and it also disinfects, removes mites, gets rid of dead skin, burns fat, slims your face, and tightens the skin. There are so many benefits!”

“Mooo—” A loud call sounded beside the cart’s window. Daenerys lifted the curtain to see a large elephant with a latticed howdah on its back walking slowly past. A Ghiscari man with reddish-black hair spiked straight up was leading it by a rein.

Once they left the docks and reached the coastal street, signs of life finally began to appear.

“Is that the Targaryen queen from across the Sunset Sea?” a stiff voice in the Common Tongue called out from the intersection ahead.

It was followed by a rapid “clip-clop,” as a dozen or so riders on fine horses galloped toward them, kicking up so much red dust that Daenerys couldn’t help but lower the curtain.

“This is the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the great Mother of Dragons, Her Majesty Queen Daenerys of the First Men, the Andals, and the Rhoynar,” Jorah rode his horse a step forward and called out to the approaching riders.

The riders who came over had amber-colored skin and wore embroidered linen tunics, pleated skirts, and leather sandals.

On their shoulders, they wore formal capes of yellow silk, sewn with many shiny copper disks that reflected countless little suns under the bright sun.

These Astapori knights wore no helmets—not that they could. They followed the Ghiscari tradition of oiling their reddish-black hair and styling it to stand straight up in various bizarre shapes: horns, wings, blades, and even grasping hands.

It was utterly strange, without a shred of aesthetic appeal. Instead, they looked like the horns of demons crawling out of hell.

“The Good Master sent us to the docks to receive you. We didn’t expect you to arrive so early,” the leader said brazenly.

As he spoke, he craned his neck, trying to get a clear look at Daenerys through the gap in the window curtain.

Daenerys was slightly angered by his rudeness but didn’t show it. She simply made a note in her little black book and lifted the curtain to let him have his fill.

To her surprise, the man actually muttered in Valyrian, “There are no dragons!”

Damn it, she thought. If you had just looked amazed and offered a few words of praise, I would have forgiven you on the spot. But now…

“Which Good Master sent you to receive me?” Daenerys asked with a smile, her expression unchanged.

“Aren’t you here to buy Unsullied? It was Good Master Kraznys mo Nakloz, of course,” the knight said.

There were three major slaving city-states on the eastern shore of Slaver’s Bay: Astapor, which specialized in the Unsullied; Kayuan, which trained bed slaves; and Meereen, which dealt in large-scale sales of skilled slaves and elite gladiators.

Despite committing the most heinous atrocities in the world, these slavers had given themselves rather shameless titles: the great slavers of Astapor were called the “Good Masters,” the madams of Kayuan were the “Wise Masters,” and the owners of slave-gladiators in Meereen were the “Great Masters.”

Did the Ghiscari really think that castrating men was good, that mastering the seven arts of pillowing was wise, and that forcing humans to slaughter each other like beasts was great?

“We’re here. This is the Plaza of Pride.”

The Ghiscari knights led Daenerys’s party to a wide plaza. The cart stopped, and she stepped down. Looking around, she saw that the plaza was a hundred meters long and wide, with a massive fountain in the center.

The fountain was also built of red brick. It had a circular basin nearly forty square meters in size, and in the center stood a six-meter-tall bronze statue of a Harpy—it had the face of a beautiful woman with long, gilded curls and eyes and teeth inlaid with ivory. It had no arms, but instead a pair of bat-like wings and the legs of an eagle. From its talons hung a heavy chain, and its rear trailed a curled and venomous scorpion’s tail.

Yellowish water with a faint smell of sulfur gushed from the Harpy’s full breasts, bringing a hint of coolness to the sun-scorched plaza.

The Harpy was the deity the Ghiscari worshipped, and the last sigil of their people.

Chapter 83: The Unsullied

Seven thousand years ago, the Old Ghiscari Empire was arguably the most advanced civilization of its time. Prosperous and powerful, it ruled almost the entire continent of Essos.

But its prosperity lasted only a thousand years. The sudden rise of the dragon-and-magic civilization of Valyria destroyed the empire in a matter of mere decades.

Unlike other parts of the Valyrian Freehold, the Ghiscari Empire was too close to the Valyrian Peninsula, and almost no pure-blooded descendants remained. The Ghiscari of Slaver’s Bay today are all of mixed blood; they do not even speak the Ghiscari tongue.

At that moment, the knight with the wild hairstyle spoke to a fat Ghiscari man in accented Valyrian, “Good Master, I’ve brought the people you asked for.

Tch, those savage Andals can’t even speak Valyrian. You really should hire a better translator.”

Across the plaza stood a great pyramid, one hundred and twenty meters high, similar in shape to the pyramids of the Maya.

Whereas Egyptian pyramids have many steps on each face for climbing, the pyramids of Astapor often have thirty-three massive tiers, making each one very high.

The followers of the Seven revere the number seven; the Ghiscari believe thirty-three holds the most mystical significance.

For a pyramid one hundred and twenty meters tall, a single tier was 3.6 meters high.

To climb to the top, a normal set of stairs was carved into the face of one of the great tiers.

At present, a comfortable divan was placed on the lowest tier, upon which reclined a large, fat man with reddish-brown skin. He wore a tokar gown with gold fringe—like a long, loose, and trailing sheet of cloth wrapped around the body and fastened at one shoulder. When walking, one needed to hold the gown in place with their left hand.

He was the Good Master Kraznys, a great slave trader.

The slaver gripped a short leather whip in his right hand, pointing and jabbing at Dany and her companions. With his left hand, he would occasionally pick up fruit or a wine cup from the tray before him and bring it to his lips. Behind him, a pair of twin girls fanned him.

“I have the best translator. She can speak the local dialects of every nook and cranny in the world,” Kraznys said, gesturing to the young girl beside him.

He too was speaking Valyrian, but with a thick Ghiscari accent.

Dany and the others had been waiting by the fountain for the master’s summons. Hearing their conversation, she couldn’t help but ask in confusion, “Why does that man assume I can’t speak Valyrian?”

A sharp glint flashed in Jorah’s eyes. He said flatly, “I did that on purpose. I want them to think you only speak the Common Tongue of Westeros and Dothraki.”

Dany nodded, understanding his subtle ploy.

“Hey, you Westerosi bitch, look down here!” the slave trader Kraznys suddenly sat up and bellowed at Dany by the fountain. “I sell flesh, not iron. The bronze harpy is not for sale!”

The little translator called out in slightly stilted Common Tongue, “Mother of Dragons, the Good Master invites you to admire the heroic bearing of the Unsullied warriors.”

The girl was not yet ten, with a flat, round face, dark skin, and the distinctive golden eyes of the Naathi.

The Naathi lived on the Isle of Naath near the Basilisk Isles. Known as the “People of Peace,” they were considered the best slaves in the world.

Indeed, they were excessively meek, even more docile than the Lhazareen “Lamb Men.”

Dany had seen the Unsullied the moment she arrived.

To the left of the plaza stood rows upon rows of soldiers in spiked helmets. They were formed into ten columns, one hundred men per column, their bodies as straight as if standing at military attention. Their faces looked as if they were carved from granite, devoid of any lively spirit under the blazing sun. Their eyes, empty of emotion, stared straight ahead, paying no heed to Dany and her party beside them.

“They stand in neat formation, but that doesn’t represent combat strength. I’d like to know the details of their training. If they’re only trained to stand in line, they’re of no use to me,” Dany said with a smile to the young girl as she walked toward the steps.

The flat-faced, dark-skinned girl glanced at her curiously before turning to her master. “The Westerosi woman is very pleased with them, but she offers no praise. It seems she wants to bargain down the price. She also wishes to know how the Unsullied are trained.”

“Are all Westerosi pigs this ignorant?” the Good Master grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Didn’t her savage husband ever tell her the story of the three thousand Unsullied who defended Qohor?”

Four hundred years ago, Old Valyria was destroyed in the Doom, and the political landscape of Essos underwent a drastic shift. In addition to the great free city-states declaring their independence one after another, the nomadic Dothraki people of the east, now unchecked, gradually expanded their power.

A Khal named Temmo led his Khalasar, representing the horse men, on their first westward push into the great plains of the Rhoyne.

Along the way, the twenty thousand screaming warriors burned, killed, and plundered, sweeping through every city in their path.

Finally, they passed through the Forest of Qohor and stopped before the city of Qohor itself.

Khal Temmo’s light cavalry horsemen crushed the Qohori heavy cavalry, terrifying the Bright Banners and the Second Sons, two huge mercenary companies, into fleeing in the middle of the night.

Just hours before the city fell, the three thousand Unsullied that Qohor had ordered from Astapor finally arrived.

Astapor was more than ten thousand li from Qohor, yet without a moment’s rest, the battle of three thousand light infantry against twenty thousand scimitar-wielding cavalry began immediately.

In the end, the Dothraki lost twelve thousand men, while the Unsullied, protected only by leather armor, lost two thousand four hundred. Khal Temmo, his sons, and his Bloodriders all died on the field.

The remaining eight thousand horse men walked one by one before the Unsullied, who still stood proudly on the battlefield, and cut off the braids from the backs of their heads, tossing them at the warriors’ feet as a sign of surrender.

The defense of Qohor became a veritable advertisement for the Unsullied. The tale was spread far and wide, not just across the continent of Essos but even in Westeros, across the Narrow Sea, where it was compiled into collections of legendary stories.

Kraznys stretched his lips into a grotesque, bloody-mouthed smile at Dany. “Tell her the story of the three thousand Unsullied defending Qohor. It will astound her. Be quick about it, slave. Oh, this weather is truly too hot. Can eternal summer have come already?”

The little slave girl recounted the story vividly, her tone animated. She concluded, “Honored guest, rest assured, the skill of the Unsullied with the longspear, shield, and shortsword is unparalleled. This is known to all the world.”

Dany turned her head and muttered to Jorah, “What was wrong with that Khal Temmo? He brought shame upon generations of horse men.”

She knew the screaming warriors well. They were exceptionally skilled fighters. Raised on horseback since childhood, they were masters of the bow and horse, and they were fearless in the face of death—practically the strongest light cavalry in existence.

She had always thought that only the iron-clad heavy cavalry of Westeros could counter them, but…

She glanced again at the Unsullied standing like wooden posts nearby. They wore conical bronze helmets with a thirty-centimeter spike on top, clad only in sleeveless leather armor. A forty-centimeter-long shortsword was tucked into their belts. A leather-faced wooden shield one meter in diameter was strapped to their left wrist, and they leaned on a longspear with their right hand.

They were equipped as standard light infantry.

How could they have possibly crushed the Dothraki cavalry, who were as swift as the wind and whose arrows fell like rain?

“I suspect Temmo was seeing the Unsullied for the first time and underestimated them,” Jorah said, choosing his words carefully. “He most likely ordered his cavalry to charge directly into the Unsullied’s shield and spear wall.”

The defense of Qohor by three thousand Unsullied was historical fact, not some ethereal legend. They had certainly won the battle back then, otherwise the city of Qohor would not exist today.

Whitebeard stroked his beard and sighed. “The horse men are too direct. Khal Temmo led the first charge himself, which means he likely died in the first wave.

The remaining warriors did not know how to change formations. Wave after wave, they charged. Against any other army, they might have broken after suffering twenty percent casualties, but their opponents were the Unsullied. They will not retreat, nor will they panic, even if they are fought down to the last man.”

Kraznys tapped the girl’s small head with his short whip and asked irritably, “What are those savage pigs mumbling about?”

“The two servants are extolling the bravery of the Unsullied to their mistress,” the little translator said.

“Hahaha, at least they have some sense. Let them talk. The more captivated the little bitch becomes, the more slaves she will buy later,” the slaver laughed loudly, then clapped his hands, summoning a group of young female slaves in silk blouses and trousers. They moved to Dany’s side and raised silk-patterned parasols to shield them from the sun.

The parasols were of little use. The weather in Slaver’s Bay was exceptionally hot. The sun had been scorching since dawn, and the thick red bricks of the Plaza of Pride were baked until they radiated heat, which could be felt even through the thick soles of their shoes.

Waves of heat shimmered and rose, making the stepped pyramids of Astapor surrounding the plaza look like a mirage.

“Unsullied, my good slaves!” Kraznys raised the silver whip in his hand and shouted, “Put down your shields and spears! Take off your leather armor! Let the Westerosi woman have a good look at your powerful, well-built bodies!”

Clatter!

The thousand statue-like warriors instantly came to life. In perfect unison, they bent down to place their shields and spears on the ground, then quickly unfastened their leather armor and silk trousers, leaving only the white linen cloths wrapped around their hips and the spiked helmets on their heads.

Quickly, they straightened up again so the Queen of Westeros could inspect them closely.

Dany did indeed take a close look. They all had strong, lean physiques.

Though both were eunuchs, Belwas had a potbelly like a pregnant woman, but every one of these men had at least a four-pack of abdominal muscles.

The slave girl told her, “They are selected based on their build, speed, and strength, and they begin their training at the age of five. Every day they train from dawn until dusk, until they have mastered the shortsword, shield, and three types of longspears.

The training is exceptionally harsh. It is a well-known fact that only one in every three boys survives.

There is a saying about the Unsullied—from the day a man earns his spiked helm, the hardest part of his life is over. No mission henceforth will ever be as grueling as his training.”

Kraznys did not speak the Common Tongue, but he feigned understanding, nodding along as he listened. When the young translator finished, he said smugly, “Tell that queen without a kingdom that my good slaves have been standing there since yesterday.

For a full day and night, without food or water.

Tell her that as long as I do not give the order to dismiss them, my slaves will stand motionless until they collapse. Tell her that even if nine hundred and ninety-nine of them fall dead upon these bricks, the last one will remain standing, unmoving, until his own death arrives. Tell her that this is the courage of the Unsullied.”

After the stern-faced little translator finished speaking, Whitebeard angrily stamped his hardwood staff on the ground and said to Dany in a low voice, “That is not courage, it is madness. Let us leave. The people here are all madmen!”

Chapter 84: The Good Master and the Little Translator

Though the slave trader couldn’t understand what Whitebeard was saying, his tone and expression were clearly not good for business.

“What is that stinking old man saying?” Kraznys asked the little translator.

When the young girl told him, the fat slaver stomped his foot in anger. “This old geezer is nothing but trouble!”

“Tell that western barbarian that we call the Unsullied’s behavior ‘obedience.’ I know Andal knights are famous, but even if a knight is stronger, faster, and more skilled than an Unsullied, there is one thing where they fall far short of my good slaves, and that is absolute obedience, absolute loyalty.

“Then ask that bitch, if her father’s soldiers had been as loyal and obedient as my good slaves, would she still be homeless like a stray dog?”

Finally, he drained a cup of iced wine, let out a satisfied, cool breath, and added, “Of course, watch your wording. Don’t let my good guest feel the slightest bit of displeasure.”

The little girl haltingly translated his words, conveying the full meaning without a hint of offense. Hearing her, Daenerys felt a pang of pity for her: What an impossible task!

Arstan gave a cool smile. “If I wanted meekness, I would be better off selling sheep.”

When Kraznys heard the translation, he grinned, revealing large, white teeth. “At my command, this flock of sheep would tear open his belly and let his stinking old guts spill out onto the bricks.”

The little translator said, “The Unsullied are not sheep. They possess the ferocity and loyalty of hounds.”

“The Hound?”

Daenerys murmured the name, slowly walking along the ranks of slave soldiers as she observed them.

The girl holding the parasol followed closely behind, keeping her constantly in the shade. It served as a reminder: the Unsullied had been standing under the blazing sun for a whole day and a morning, without parasols.

Daenerys noticed that more than half of this batch of Unsullied had the bronze skin and almond eyes of the Dothraki or Lhazareen; clearly, the Dothraki Khalasars had made an “outstanding” contribution to the slave trade.

The rest were fair-skinned people from the Free Cities, Milk Men from Qarth, and dark-skinned people from the Summer Isles. There were even one or two Jogos Nhai with their sallow skin and pointed heads; she couldn’t imagine who had brought them from so far away.

Besides foreigners, there were also Ghiscari with amber skin and straight, red-and-black hair who had been trained into Unsullied.

They don’t even spare their own people. How cruel!

All these Unsullied had smooth cheeks and numb eyes.

Though they varied in height and ranged in age from fourteen to twenty, they gave one the impression of having been stamped from the same mold.

Their appearances are different, but their souls have been forcibly shaped into one, Daenerys thought.

“Why are they castrated?” she asked Kraznys through the little slave. “Everyone knows that men are stronger than eunuchs.”

“What is most important for a warrior?” Kraznys’s expression was unusually solemn. “Strength? Bulls are strong and powerful, but in the fighting pits, they are the ones who die every day.

“Just three days ago, a nine-year-old girl killed a wild bull in the fighting pits of Yosir.

“We, the Old Ghiscari Empire, proved to the world with our global domination that discipline is far more important than strength.

“The Unsullied are the rebirth of the lock-step Ghiscari legions—absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly fearless.”

He has a point, Daenerys thought silently. Countless examples from modern and recent warfare prove one thing: discipline is paramount in an army.

“Even the bravest men fear death and mutilation,” Arstan retorted.

Hearing this, Kraznys grinned again. “Tell that old geezer he reeks of piss and needs a rotten stick just to stand. He’s more crippled than the crippled. He might as well jump in the sea and drown himself to be clean.”

“Truly, Master? Should I say that?” The little translator was exasperated. She didn’t know how to soften such an insult.

The slaver jabbed the dark-skinned girl with his whip, causing her to stumble forward, and snapped angrily, “Are you a woman or a ewe, to ask such a foolish question? If you drive away my customers, with whom will I do business?”

“Then, Master, what should this humble one say?” the young slave girl asked timidly.

“Tell them the Unsullied are not men. Death is nothing to an Unsullied, and injury matters even less!”

As the dark-skinned girl translated, the slaver used the nearby steps to walk down to the plaza. He stopped before a sturdy, strong slave soldier who looked Lhazareen, then abruptly raised the silver whip in his hand and lashed it viciously across the man’s bronze cheek, leaving a bloody welt.

The eunuch soldier only blinked, but he stood motionless, letting the blood trickle down.

“Feel good? Want your master to give you another one?” Kraznys asked the slave soldier, but he was grinning at Daenerys and her companions.

“As long as it pleases the Master, please continue,” the Unsullied said loudly.

Seeing the slaver raise his whip again, Daenerys quickly went over and pressed down on his arm. She said to the little translator, “Please tell the Good Master that I already understand their courage in the face of pain.”

When her words were translated into Valyrian, Kraznys snickered. “Tell this ignorant Westerosi bitch that this has nothing to do with courage.”

“The Good Master says that is not courage, Your Grace.”

“Tell her to open her dog eyes and have a good look.”

Kraznys strode to the next warrior, a tall young man with the blue eyes and flaxen hair of Lys.

“Give me your sword.”

The Lyseni knelt on one knee, deftly drew the shortsword from his belt, and respectfully offered it to the slaver, hilt-first.

“Get up,” Kraznys commanded.

The Unsullied immediately rose.

The slaver smiled at Daenerys and, with a deliberately careless air, slowly drew the sword upward across the Lyseni’s powerful torso, leaving a thin red line from his ribs to his abdomen.

As if that wasn’t enough, he turned the point of the sword and began to cut back and forth. Blood streamed down the slave’s chest like a small brook.

“Ah, by the Seven Hells, what are you doing?” Daenerys cried out.

“Tell that cow not to make a fuss,” Kraznys said impatiently after hearing the translation. “What men have no need for, eunuchs need even less.”

Blood gushed from the Unsullied’s chest, but he did not move until Kraznys returned the sword, hilt-first.

“Take it.”

“This humble one is happy to serve the Master,” the slave warrior said respectfully as he took the sword.

Kraznys turned to face Daenerys. “See? They feel no pain. We have a magic drink called the ‘Wine of Courage,’ made from belladonna, bloodfly larvae, black lotus root, and other secret ingredients.

“From the day they are cut, they drink it with every meal, day after day, year after year, until their feelings grow numb, until they become fearless in battle, until they fear no torture.

“Tell that barbarian that any secret can be safely entrusted to the Unsullied. You can have them guard council chambers, even bedrooms, without the slightest worry of being overheard.

“In Kayuan and Meereen, men like this are not allowed to breed. That would only cause trouble.

“We leave nothing behind. The Unsullied are the purest creatures in the world. The bitch queen can use them without worry.

“Oh, wait, maybe she needs it.

“But don’t worry, while Astapor is not as good as Kayuan… hahaha!”

Should I feed this thing to Big Black, or Little Green? Or maybe Little White?

Daenerys fell into a thoughtful silence.

The little translator swayed, struggling to refine his words before speaking them.

“You animal!” Whitebeard cursed, his face ashen as he stamped his staff.

“That old man is cursing you, Master,” the young slave girl said, her voice trembling.

“Hahaha!” The slaver laughed theatrically at Whitebeard and said mockingly, “I hear that in that barbaric Land of the Setting Sun, there are those who take solemn vows of chastity, to remain childless and live only for duty. Is that so?”

“Yes,” the old man said with a nod after the little translator relayed the question. “There are many such orders: the Maesters of the Citadel, the Septons and Septas who serve the Seven, the Silent Sisters who mourn the dead, the Kingsguard, the Night’s Watch…”

The slave trader’s voice grew low. “Men should not live that way. They would be tormented by temptation every day. Vows are useless; in the end, most will succumb to their base desires.

“The Unsullied are different. The way they are wedded to their swords is something a thousand vows from other men could never match. Neither woman nor man can ever tempt them.”

“Hmph. Do you not know that besides the instinctual desires of the body, there are countless other ways to tempt a man in this world?” Whitebeard retorted scornfully after the slave girl translated.

“Yes, there are countless ways to tempt a man, but the Unsullied are different. They have nothing but their weapons, not even their own names. Money, women, power, food—none of it means anything to them.”

“No names? Then what do I call them?” Daenerys frowned at the little translator.

“Your Grace, they do not have permanent names.”

Kraznys stopped in front of a Ghiscari man. The man had the same amber skin and the same straight, black-and-red hair as him. Even his hairstyle was the same. On closer inspection, their faces bore a resemblance.

Daenerys even had a malicious thought: To make money, has this cruel slaver trained his own spare sons into Unsullied?

Kraznys gestured with his whip at a small, round bronze tag on the sword belt at the “son’s” feet. “Look. If you want to know his name, look at this tag.

“Oh, ask this Westerosi bitch if she recognizes Ghiscari hieroglyphs.”

“I do not,” Daenerys said sullenly.

After getting the answer from the little translator, the slave trader frowned, turned to the Unsullied, and asked, “What is your name?”

“This humble one is called Red Flea, Master.”

“What was it yesterday?”

“Black Rat, Master.”

“And the day before?”

“Brown Flea, Master.”

“And the day before that?”

“This humble one cannot remember, Master. Perhaps it was Blue Toad, or Blue Worm, or Shield?”

“Tell her their names are all like this—insects, rats, toads, worms—to constantly remind the slaves that they are nothing but lowly vermin.

“Every evening, all the name tags are thrown into an empty wooden barrel, and at dawn the next day, they pick one at random.

“Hmph, they are worth less than lowly mosquitos and bugs!”

Chapter 85: The Kind Good Master

“The Seven Hells!” Whitebeard groaned after hearing the explanation, utterly disturbed. “That’s insane, truly insane! How can you expect everyone to remember a new name every day?”

“Indeed. The world may lack many things, but it has no shortage of fools.” Kraznys, surprisingly, nodded in agreement with the little translator’s words. Then he added nonchalantly, “That is why we must select those who are clever, strong, and obedient.

“Those who cannot remember their new names, kill them!

“Those who cannot run for a full day under a heavy load, kill them!

“Those who cannot climb a mountain in the pitch-black of night, kill them!

“Those who cannot walk barefoot across a bed of burning coals, kill them!

“Those who cannot kill a baby, kill them!

“Those who cannot kill a dog, kill them!”

At this, not only Whitebeard but even Jorah’s face twisted in disgust, the hand gripping his sword hilt creaking audibly.

Daenerys was certain that if she gave the order, he would charge forward without a second thought and cleave the smug slaver in two in the blink of an eye.

Truth be told, Daenerys’s own pretty face had gone pale, her features contorted.

Her expression was impossible to hide, and the slaver saw it all. Yet he felt no shame; instead, he was triumphant, his face beaming as he looked at her with utter contempt.

“Kill a baby? Whose baby do the Unsullied kill? Do they also need to be trained in siege warfare?” Daenerys asked, her eyes downcast.

Kraznys said mockingly, “Before they earn the spiked helm and become a true Unsullied, I give each slave a silver coin. They go to the slave market, find a crying newborn, and kill the child in front of its mother.

“Heh heh heh, that is how we ensure that not a single trace of weakness remains in their hearts.”

Crack—

Daenerys thought she heard the sound of teeth shattering. Was it Jorah Mormont, or Arstan Whitebeard?

Only when she tried to speak did she realize her own jaw was clenched tight, a faint, coppery taste filling her mouth.

It was her.

“They tear a baby from its mother’s arms, kill it as she watches, then pay a silver coin to compensate her for her grief? Even for the sake of training the Unsullied, isn’t that far too cruel?” she asked, swallowing the blood in her mouth, her teeth grinding.

“Hahahaha!” Once the translation was complete, Kraznys burst into loud laughter. “This chattering bitch is such a soft-hearted fool.

“Tell her the money is paid to the child’s master, not its mother. Everything a slave has belongs to her master, even her child!”

What was personal slander when compared to the lives and dignity of thousands upon thousands?

Daenerys had once thought the Daenerys from the story was incredibly foolish, abandoning the credit of House Targaryen for the “paltry gain” of a few thousand Unsullied.

Now, Daenerys understood her a little better. Or perhaps, she understood Qin Shi Huang a little better: bearing the scorn of the world to bring fortune to the world.

Alright, she was being a bit dramatic. Qin Shi Huang had it much harder and was far greater than her.

In any case, amidst Kraznys’s triumphant, maniacal laughter, Daenerys made a decision in her heart.

Seeing Daenerys suddenly flash him a sweet and meaningful smile, Kraznys stopped laughing. He stared at her oddly for a moment. When she continued to smile at him, he turned his head away, a little unsettled.

But immediately, a wave of intense shame washed over him. The slaver angrily slapped his leg with his whip and roared at the poor little translator, “Tell that Westerosi bitch that killing a baby is nothing. More slaves fail the dog test.

“Tell her that on the day each boy is castrated, I give him a puppy. He must raise it until the end of the first year, then strangle it with his own hands.

“Heh heh, any boy who can’t do it is executed on the spot. His flesh is carved from his bones and fed to the very dog he couldn’t bring himself to kill.

“The dogs don’t have so many qualms. They eat quite heartily!

“Heh heh heh, for those boys, killing the dog is much harder than killing a man. Ask them if they find that surprising.

“It’s because the eunuch warriors have no feelings for a baby, but the puppy is their only companion, their only source of emotional support. Hahahaha…”

Whitebeard looked away. Kraznys was more than he could stand. He had never been so desperate to leave a city, a bay. The filth here was unbearable for a man of principle.

“Your Grace, I advise you with the utmost sincerity to leave this place at once. A pure soul like yours does not belong in hell,” he said.

“The slavers belong in hell, but what has that to do with the Unsullied?” Jorah countered. “Serving the queen is better than being tortured here.”

“Buying the Unsullied is the same as helping the slavers. They will use the gold dragons we pay them to buy more child slaves, and kill more babies and their dogs,” Whitebeard said through gritted teeth.

“And if we don’t buy them, will they stop producing Unsullied? Are we the only customers in the world?” Jorah said with a sneer.

“Hey, you pack of Westerosi pigs, what are you muttering about?” Kraznys shouted, cracking his whip. “If you’re buying, then hurry up and buy. If not, get out. I’m a busy man. The Pirate King is coming to inspect the slaves later, and he said he wants to buy them all.”

“Master, the Pirate King already came three days ago. Your only appointment today is with Her Majesty the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” the little translator reminded him.

The slaver jabbed the handle of his whip into the back of the little girl’s head a few times. “If he came three days ago, does that mean he can’t come again today? We didn’t finalize the deal last time!”

The girl flinched, squinting as she endured the blows. “You are right, Master. But that Pirate King only wanted to buy one hundred Unsullied, and he was adamant about cutting the price in half. You told him to get lost. Ouch!”

The slaver had struck her on the head again. “You translate what I say, exactly as I say it!” he said angrily. “What does a lowly slave like you know about the wisdom of business? If I don’t pressure her like this, will that silver-haired bitch queen pay a high price for my slaves?”

“Oh, oh.” The little translator nodded meekly and repeated his message.

Just as he’d hoped, Daenerys’s face filled with alarm. “Oh, dear, Good Master, you can’t do this! I need the Unsullied to reclaim my kingdom!”

“Then hurry up and buy them!” the slaver said with a smug smile when he heard the translation. “Sigh, the only war going on in Essos these days is between those two broken city-states, Myr and Tyrosh. It’s too peaceful, and the Unsullied aren’t selling well!

“Otherwise, would I be haggling with that gallows-bait pirate?

“I hear things are quite chaotic in Westeros lately. Once the bitch queen opens up the market with my fine slaves… heh heh heh, it would be best if there was a battle for King’s Landing requiring three thousand Unsullied. That would really astonish those savages who’ve never seen the world.

“I hear they have seven kings? And the richest one, Tywin, can shit gold?

“Heh heh heh, once they come looking for us, we Good Masters of Astapor can raise our prices!”

Seeing the little translator still standing there staring at him blankly, the kind Good Master rapped her on her small shoulder and said angrily, “Hurry, tell them to buy these animals soon.

“Oh, damn it, they are already fully-trained Unsullied!

“The best business, of course, is to sell them the very day their training is complete.

“Alas, what a pity. The Unsullied are not pigs; they don’t get fatter the longer you keep them, but they eat even more than pigs.

“Just feeding them every day is a huge expense, and you can’t skimp on it. If they get too hungry or too thin, no one will buy them.”

“But, Master, you’ve said so much, how is this humble one supposed to translate it all!” The little translator had been trying hard to maintain a serious expression, but now her face was scrunched up, and she looked close to tears.

“You really are a stupid Naathi sheep!” The slaver cursed loudly as he repeatedly struck the little translator on her forehead, shoulder, and the back of her neck. “There are things that can be said and things that can’t. Can’t you judge for yourself?”

The little translator didn’t dare to dodge, simply standing ramrod straight and letting him hit her. Only when he was panting and had stopped did she say, “Master, the only message to convey is—‘Please place your order quickly.’ But you spoke for so long. Even if they don’t understand the words, they’ll know you said more than just one sentence!”

“Huh, that seems right!” The Good Master tilted his head, thought for a moment, then brought his whip down on her little head with another sharp crack. “Why didn’t you remind me sooner? You little wench, you have no sense at all. Were you born from your father and a sheep on the Isle of Naath?”

“I apologize, Master,” the little translator said with a wooden face. “Please, say no more. The guests are watching you!”

Smack! Another lash of the whip. The Good Master hopped on his feet, furious. “You lowly slave, you thing worse than a wild dog, you dare to lecture the great Good Master?!”

“I apologize, Master,” the little translator said, enduring the pain and trying to keep her composure. “You just told me to remind you…”

The Good Master’s raised whip froze in mid-air. After a long moment, he brought it down on her head one last time, then said, panting heavily, “Exaggerate how hot the Unsullied are on the slave market right now. Tell them if they don’t hurry up and buy, they will miss their chance.”

Then, with a serious expression on her small, dark face, the little translator began to earnestly spin a tale.

She said almost as much as the slaver had before. It must have been truly difficult for her.

Daenerys suppressed a laugh as she listened. When the girl had finished, Daenerys said with a tense voice, “Is that so? As you can see, my two councilors are divided. I was planning to go back and hold a meeting to discuss this properly!

“If that’s the case, I suppose we’ll have to give up on the plan to purchase the Unsullied.

“To be honest, I feel that Unsullied who can serve for a lifetime are far more reliable than, say, the Golden Company.”

After the little translator relayed her words, the slaver’s eyes narrowed and he roared, “The bitch is right! The Unsullied serve for a lifetime. The Golden Company is faithless, and their price is so high. What’s even more absurd is that you have to renew their contract every few years. Damn it, the Golden Company again. That time in Myr…”

At this, Kraznys suddenly shot Daenerys a suspicious look. “The Golden Company just signed a contract with Myr, and their motto is ‘Our word is good as gold.’ They have never broken a contract since their founding.

“How could this Westerosi bitch hire the Golden Company? Is she trying to bargain me down? Question her thoroughly.”

Chapter 86: Slaves and the Iron Throne

“Master, should I still translate what you said before?” the little translator asked hesitantly.

“What did I say?”

“You said the Unsullied are incomparably loyal, and the Golden Company cannot be trusted.”

Smack! Kraznys rapped her sharply on her little head and said angrily, “Of course you translate something that helps the deal! You stupid sheep, do you even need to ask?”

The little translator took the blow stoically and said, “But then you said the Golden Company never breaks its contracts, and that they’ve already signed one with Myr, so Her Majesty the Queen of Westeros can no longer hire them.”

“This…” After a moment’s hesitation, the fat slaver master tugged irritably at his sweat-soaked robes. “Just ask her how she plans to hire the Golden Company first.”

After the little translator had relayed the question, she replied, “House Targaryen and the Golden Company are bound by blood. They will help me restore my dynasty.

“After all, the Golden Company’s founder was a Targaryen bastard, and the core of the company is mostly comprised of the descendants of exiled Westerosi nobles.

“Since they have a chance to return home as lords, they naturally wouldn’t want to remain mercenaries in a foreign land with a precarious future.”

Both Whitebeard and Jorah looked at Daenerys in shock, not expecting her to be holding such a card.

“That does seem to make some sense.” Kraznys stroked the forked, black-and-red beard on his chin, which felt like steel needles. He sighed. “Tell her she can go back and discuss it. I will hold this batch of Unsullied for her for the time being.”

That stingy man. It’s already noon, yet he won’t even offer me lunch. I’ve been standing in the plaza all morning without so much as a cup of water, while that fat pig has been gorging himself on iced wine and fresh fruit.

Daenerys cursed the slaver in her heart as she politely took her leave.

They crossed the Plaza of Pride, retrieved their horses and oxen from a pen at the street corner, and as the horse men yoked the oxen to the cart, Jorah asked in a low voice, “Your Grace, do you really have a secret pact with the Golden Company?”

“It’s a lie,” Daenerys said, climbing into the oxcart first and then beckoning for Whitebeard to join her. “Viserys once took me to meet with Captain-General Myles Toyne. Viserys used the money from selling our mother’s crown to feast the Golden Company’s commanders, from the serjeants up, hoping they would agree to help him reclaim his throne.

“Heh. Those men ate and drank their fill, and then, after Viserys had made his plea, they just laughed at him.”

“Myles Toyne?” Whitebeard pondered for a moment, then sighed. “Blackheart Myles died three years ago, and the Toyne line ended with him. The current Captain-General of the Golden Company is Harry Strickland, called ‘Homeless’ Harry.”

Sensing the disquiet in his tone, Daenerys asked curiously, “Is the Toyne family famous?”

“The core members of the Golden Company are almost all descendants of nobles from the Seven Kingdoms.

“A hundred years ago, after the first Blackfyre Rebellion failed, some of the lords who had supported Daemon Blackfyre surrendered. The rest, led by Aegor Rivers, went into exile overseas with Daemon’s sons. The lands and titles of those who fled were reclaimed by the crown.

“Aegor saw many exiled knights and lords forced by necessity to sign on with other mercenary companies. Fearing that the families supporting the Blackfyre cause would dwindle, he decided to form his own company: the Golden Company.”

Speaking of which, the Blackfyre Rebellion can be traced back to “the Blessed” Saint Baelor.

Do you remember the Maidenvault that Saint Baelor built in the palace?

Because he wished to “follow heavenly principles and extinguish human desire,” not only did he break his betrothal to the great lady Diana, but he also locked her and his other two sisters away in the Maidenvault.

To keep himself, and his sisters, from being defiled by “wicked” desires.

But as the saying goes: keep a daughter unwed for too long, and she’ll become your enemy.

Diana snuck out of the tower and took a lover.

The adulterer was none other than one of their own, Diana and Baelor’s cousin.

Soon, Princess Diana’s belly began to swell, and the secret could no longer be kept.

And how did Saint Baelor handle this?

He went to the sept to fast and pray. After fasting on and off for more than forty days, he starved to death.

Saint Baelor remained a virgin his entire life and naturally had no son to inherit the throne. That cousin who stole a taste, Aegon IV, lucked out and became king.

Even though both his parents were Targaryens, they were not married, so the son they produced was still a bastard, Daemon Waters.

Yes, the king’s lands are by the sea, so bastards from the Crownlands are given the surname Waters.

Later, Aegon IV publicly bestowed the Targaryen ancestral sword, Blackfyre, upon his bastard son and acknowledged him. Only then did Daemon change his surname to Blackfyre.

“The Toynes were one of those noble families. Forty years ago, during the Fifth Blackfyre Rebellion—the War of the Ninepenny Kings—I… er, I heard that Ser Barristan killed Myles’s father, Simon Toyne.”

Whitebeard gripped his staff in frustration, having almost let the truth slip.

Daenerys glanced at him. “You even know of a small matter like Barristan killing Simon.”

“It’s not a small matter.” Whitebeard racked his brain, trying hard to recall the glorious history of House Toyne. After a long pause, he stammered, “House Toyne has a strong martial tradition. Every generation produces several powerful knights. One of them even became a member of the Kingsguard!”

“Hmph!” Jorah, beside the cart, snorted coldly. Pointedly, he said, “Why don’t you tell Her Grace what that Kingsguard from House Toyne did?”

Whitebeard was startled and blurted out, “You remember something that happened centuries ago?”

“Heh heh, there has only ever been one member of the Kingsguard who dared to cuckold a king!” Jorah laughed heartily.

As soon as he finished, he slapped his own helmet with a clang. “Ah, my mistake. Now there’s Jaime Lannister, too. The White Bull who gave him that white cloak must be stamping his feet in regret in the heavens. Ser Jaime has single-handedly shattered every taboo of the Kingsguard.”

Whitebeard’s face turned ashen as he listened, his lips pressed into a thin line. He said nothing.

The words were irrefutable.

Jaime Lannister had joined the Kingsguard through the most proper of ceremonies, making him more “genuine” than the Kingsguard of Robert or Joffrey. And yet his actions…

Kingslaying, incest, sleeping with the king’s wife—all of it was just as real.

“Ser, you are also a member of the Kingsguard now,” Daenerys said, breaking the awkward silence.

“This man has no sponsor, no Lord Commander’s approval, and his name is not in The White Book. He cannot be considered a true Kingsguard.” The old man tried to persuade Daenerys, “Your Grace, I feel you should reconsider. Even if Ser Jorah has rendered service a protector, you can reward him in other ways. The reputation of the Kingsguard is already in tatters; it cannot afford to be sullied any further!”

Bang, bang, bang! Jorah angrily pounded on the small window of the oxcart, roaring, “Old dog, come out here! I challenge you to a duel, to the death.”

“Get yourself a proper suit of armor, and this old man will fight you with one hand!” Whitebeard retorted.

“Ahem, have you both forgotten our current situation?” Daenerys reminded them, changing the subject. “Let’s talk about the Unsullied. One at a time. Arstan, you first.”

“I advise Your Grace not to purchase them. The lords and people of the Seven Kingdoms abhor slavery. In the doctrines of both the Old Gods and the New, enslaving others is a profoundly evil act. If you bring an army of slaves to Westeros, intending to use them to conquer the Seven Kingdoms, every lord in the continent will oppose you,” Whitebeard said earnestly.

“Arstan, do you truly trust Illyrio?” Daenerys asked, looking into his melancholy blue eyes.

“That is…”

Seeing the old man’s hesitation, Jorah sneered. “No wise person would trust that fat spice merchant. Entrusting your life to a merchant is not as practical as hiring the Unsullied. The masters and the institution of slavery in Slaver’s Bay are evil, I grant you that. But the Unsullied are very useful. They don’t burn, kill, or loot after a victory, nor do they rape women. Tywin Lannister’s army from the westerlands sacked all of King’s Landing and raped countless women!”

“This is why I feel Ser Jorah is unfit to be a Kingsguard,” Whitebeard said angrily to Daenerys. “He is a slaver himself. Think of what he did on Bear Island, and you won’t find it strange that he’s goading you to come to Slaver’s Bay to buy slaves! He’s an expert at it, after all!”

“Old man, I have put up with you for too long.” Jorah, seething with anger, said to Daenerys, “Your Grace, I suggest you send him and that fat eunuch away immediately. For all we know, Illyrio is just like Xaro of Qarth—they all want your dragons. He sent them here to lure you, all alone, to Pentos. Once you’re on his territory, won’t you be at his mercy? In any case, we’ve reached Slaver’s Bay. We don’t need the big ships anymore. Let them all go back to Pentos.”

“Nonsense! How could I possibly help a Pentosi merchant deceive Her Grace!” Whitebeard, looking deeply insulted, flushed red, his face filled with rage.

“Your Grace, your concerns about Illyrio are correct; merchants cannot be trusted. But you must understand that to win the loyal support of the Seven Kingdoms, you must rely on the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Why don’t we return to Pentos first? I have connections. I can help you contact a number of loyal lords, and from them, you can select knights to be your retainers.”

Daenerys opened her mouth to speak when the oxcart lurched to a halt. Then she heard Jhogo, riding ahead, shout, “Make way for the Mother of Dragons! Move faster, you slaves, don’t block the Mother of Dragons’ path!”

Daenerys lifted the curtain and stuck her head out. At the crossroads ahead, a long column of slaves was shuffling forward silently, dragging heavy ankle chains.

They were common slaves, with light brown skin, black hair, and almond-shaped eyes. Were they Dothraki? Lamb Men?

Normally, one could tell Dothraki and Lamb Men apart at a glance.

Besides their braids and clothing, the two peoples had entirely different spirits. The horse men were more defiant; men and women alike carried an air that said, I don’t even bow to the heavens, so why would I bow to you? Kill me if you’ve got the guts.

But these people all had numb expressions, dull eyes, and a timid, submissive air about them.

They were all naked, including the women. There were no children among them; she supposed the children had all been sent away for Unsullied training.

An overseer walked alongside the column of slaves. Behind them, two Astapori, a man and a woman, followed on white donkeys. The man wore a red silk tokar gown. The woman had an ivory comb in her red-and-black hair and a veil across her face; she wore a sky-blue linen garment adorned with small chips of lapis lazuli, giving her an exotic air characteristic of the Ghiscari.

They had been laughing and joking together. Hearing Jhogo’s shout, the man turned his head and gave Daenerys’s party a casual glance. He simply gestured for the overseer to speed up and then went back to flirting with the woman beside him.

Chapter 87: Do You Want a Wife?

The overseer was a sturdy Dothraki man, holding a long whip braided from five thin lashes. His muscular chest was tattooed with a harpy in chains.

The horseman overseer had a proud demeanor, cracking his whip and shouting things like, “Move faster, you mongrel slaves!”

“Hey, horseman! The one with the harpy on his chest,” Dany called, leaning halfway out of the carriage door and waving to the overseer. “Where are these slaves you’re escorting from?”

“From the Great Grass Sea, of course!” the horseman overseer answered loudly. “Woman, they were brought over from Meereen. They’re all from a defeated Khalasar.”

“Her name is Khaleesi!” Jhogo roared, pointing at him.

“How ridiculous. I’m not part of her Khalasar anyway,” the horseman overseer grumbled.

Dany waved a hand at her Bloodrider, dismissing the trivial matter, and continued to question the overseer. “What will happen to these slaves?”

“They can’t become Unsullied, so they’re being sent to the docks to be sold to slave traders.” Seemingly sensing an opportunity, the Ghiscari man finally stopped bantering with his female companion. He rode his donkey forward a few steps and smiled. “Khaleesi, are you interested in this batch of slaves? Let me tell you, we’re not some middlemen. Our prices are so low, we’re practically giving them away.”

“I bought a batch of horsemen slaves in Qarth once,” Dany said, shaking her head. “They were supposedly shipped from Astapor. Twenty horsemen for forty silver pieces—it was far too expensive.”

“Hah, those must have been middlemen. Shipping from Astapor to city-states like Qarth or Volantis… after a sea journey, of course the price more than doubles!” The slaver pointed to his own slaves and announced loudly, “Three for a single silver piece. Take your pick. If you buy a large number, I can even offer a discount.”

Dany glanced over. There were about three hundred slaves. “What’s the discount if I buy them all?”

“Buy them all?” The man eyed her with suspicion.

“My Khalasar is too small and needs more people,” she explained.

“Oh, that’s right, you’re a Khaleesi,” the man said, realization dawning. His eyes lit up as he made a suggestion. “How about I introduce you to another batch of slaves? There are more than eight hundred, all young and strong. I can give you a twenty percent discount.”

“Are they all horsemen?” she asked, puzzled.

“Alas,” the young slaver sighed, “horsemen are fierce and fearless, but they’re not skilled in the fighting pits. They can’t farm and have no craftsmanship. We have no need for slave soldiers, so besides breeding little horsemen to become Unsullied, they’re practically useless.”

“If they’re so useless, why did you buy so many?” Dany asked.

The Astapori man glanced at Jhogo, then at Jorah guarding Dany’s side, and spoke cautiously. “Since you’re a Khaleesi, you must understand the nature of the horsemen. When a Khal brings tens of thousands of his screaming warriors to our city gates and proposes a ‘gift exchange’—for his own people as slaves—can we refuse?

“Fortunately, the Khals usually don’t ask for a high price. A shipment of common goods can be exchanged for a large number of slaves, so at least we can turn a small profit.”

“Sigh…”

Dany sighed and retreated into the carriage. Through the window, she told Jhogo, “Give him the location of the pier where our ship is docked. We’ll buy the three hundred now, and the other eight hundred when we’re about to leave.”

“Hey, I can give you a better price if you buy them now,” the Astapori man called out eagerly.

“I have nowhere to put them! Just hold them for me. It’ll be three days at most; they won’t eat too much of your food.”

“Very well.”

The carriage moved faster than the walking slaves. As Dany continued on, the column of slaves changed direction to follow her retinue.

They traveled along long, red-brick streets all the way back to the harbor, yet they still saw few people.

In fact, only a dozen or so ships were sparsely docked along the long, red-brick wharf.

The moment she stepped down from the carriage, Dany smelled a rich, meaty aroma. She glanced over and saw Strong Belwas sitting on the red-brick paving, his legs dangling in the sea. A small clay pot sat beside him, the source of the fragrant scent.

Noticing her gaze, Belwas pulled a dripping piece of brown meat from the pot and called out, “Little queen, want some?”

“What kind of meat is it?” she asked, walking over curiously.

“Dog meat.” Belwas looked delighted to see her approach. He grinned and explained, “The Astapori are experts when it comes to dog meat. Roasted dog, dog aspic, puppy fetus, stewed in rich broth… tsk, tsk. Belwas has traveled all over Essos, and the dog meat here is the absolute best.”

Dany copied him, sitting on the ground and dipping her feet into the sea. With her right hand, she scooped a piping hot piece of dog meat from the pot and took a large bite.

“Wow, it’s good! So good!” she called, her words muffled by the food, to Jhiqui, who was peering over the ship’s rail. “What’s meat without wine? Jhiqui, bring those two bottles of red from The Arbor!”

“Hahaha, well said! Meat must be had with wine!” The tall eunuch grew even more cheerful.

“Your Grace.” Whitebeard’s brow was deeply furrowed. He hesitantly admonished, “You are Her Majesty the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, how can you be so… so…”

“Forget Her Majesty the Queen. Even if the Seven themselves came down to earth, they would still have to eat when it’s time. Otherwise, Saint Baelor wouldn’t have starved to death, would he?” Dany said as she ate, the rich juices from the corner of her mouth dribbling down onto her cheongsam.

“You…” Whitebeard was even more shocked. “Saint Baelor was your ancestor!”

“But did he starve to death or not?” she asked casually.

“He did…” Whitebeard said with difficulty.

“So I wasn’t wrong!”

Jhiqui came jogging down, carrying two bottles of wine. With a pop, Dany bit the cork out with her teeth—an unseemly act that made Whitebeard’s eye twitch.

She handed one uncorked bottle to the fat eunuch and took a swig from the other herself. She let out a breath and sighed, “I dare say this feels ten times better than sitting on the Iron Throne.”

“Hahaha!” The fat eunuch slapped his thigh, roaring with laughter. “Let me tell you, from this moment on, Belwas truly likes you. Now you seem like a real queen.”

“Well, I just discovered today that you have some refined taste when it comes to food,” Dany teased. “I used to think you were like a pig who’d stuff anything into its belly!”

“Hahaha…”

“Your Grace, you haven’t forgotten what Kraznys said, have you?” Jorah said, standing to the side.

“What words were those?” she asked, gnawing on a bone while complaining, “It has numbing peppers but no hot chilis. It’s missing something.”

“Hot chilis? You mean dragon peppers, right?” Belwas asked.

“No, dragon peppers are just… peppers. Not the same as chilis. I mean the kind that really sets your mouth on fire.” Dany gestured vaguely, then finally sighed with a wave of her hand. “When my dragons are grown, I’ll ride one and find them for myself.”

Ahem, ahem, ahem… Jorah coughed several times, reminding her that he was trying to talk to her.

“I’m listening, go on,” she said.

“Every Unsullied must kill the dog he has raised for a year, but many fail to complete this test.”

Dany, who was just opening her mouth to bite into a bone as thick as a child’s arm, froze.

Jorah continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “Then the slave master will kill the Unsullied boy and feed his flesh to the puppy. Perhaps many of the dogs in Astapor are fed just so—”

“Stop!” Dany interrupted him, raising her wine bottle. She spat out the bone she was chewing and asked Belwas, “With all your years of experience eating dog meat, you can tell this was an old dog, right? It had to be an old dog.”

Without waiting for Belwas to answer, Dany set down the bottle and pushed herself to her feet. “It was an old dog from a normal family,” she said to Jorah. “Yes. You carry on, Belwas. I’m full. I’m going up for an afternoon nap.”

With that, she walked nonchalantly toward the gangway, though her steps were somewhat unsteady.

Perhaps she was drunk?

In the afternoon, the three hundred Dothraki slaves were brought to the ship. Since a buyer had been found, they were no longer made to stand naked for inspection. They now wore ragged linen tunics and bronze slave collars.

Dany did not assign the men to a combat Niru. Instead, she summoned Avanti and had him arrange menial tasks for them.

“They can hardly be called horsemen now. They’re all but broken,” she told the old man. “Let them first recall the glorious days of the horse lords, then we can make further arrangements.”

At this, she glimpsed several older women among the slaves and asked the old man, “Avanti, do you want a wife? If you nod, I’ll introduce you to a companion.”

Avanti hesitated. “Khaleesi, marriage isn’t common among the horsemen. The weak can never ensure their wives won’t be taken by someone stronger.”

“So that means you’re interested?” Seeing an opening, Dany patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Avanti, your status is different now. You command a whole Niru! Isn’t that enough to puff your chest out? My Bloodriders themselves only make up a single Niru.”

“But the horsemen worship strength,” he said. “Being a Niru commander doesn’t mean much, does it?”

“Hmph. If it means nothing, what right would you have to stand here speaking with me? In my Khalasar, I make the rules. Strength is important, yes, but loyalty to me and contributions to the Khalasar are more important.”

Seeing he was still hesitant, and that the other horsemen nearby also looked unconvinced—for they were all Niru commanders in the Khalasar—she pointed to a tall, burly horseman among the slaves and asked the crowd loudly, “That man could surely defeat three Avantis with ease. Now, what if I were to strip Avanti of his position as Niru commander simply because this man is stronger, and give the title to him instead? From this day on, he would be your equal. Would that make you happy?”

“No!” Avanti cried, his face mournful. “Can’t I just marry a wife? Khaleesi, I followed you all the way across the Red Waste, through the poison water! If you do this… I… I will not be happy!”

“Khaleesi, Avanti has always taken care of our horses, he’s very…” Aggo stepped forward, scratching his head with a troubled frown, unable to find the right words.

Dany waved her hand. “I’m only asking one thing: would you be happy?”

“I don’t know why, but I wouldn’t be happy,” Aggo said glumly.

“Neither would I,” the remaining Bloodriders and Niru commanders all chimed in.

Clap! Dany clapped her hands once. “Exactly! Of course you wouldn’t be happy. Because no one is invincible. If status and position were decided by strength alone, then one day, all of you would be replaced by newcomers.

“They have contributed nothing to this Khalasar. It is only by our great charity that they are free and can regain their dignity as horsemen.

“We are their benefactors!

“How could they join our Khalasar and immediately presume to be our betters? That is not right.”

The horsemen’s faces were filled with agreement. Aggo felt that the Khaleesi had, in an instant, spoken the exact thoughts he had in his heart but could never properly put into words.

Chapter 88: The Horselord Codex

“That’s right! I raise horses for the Khalasar, and I am loyal to you, Khaleesi. I have rendered great service! Even if I am old and frail, my strength no match for theirs, I am far more qualified to become a Niru commander.”

Avanti murmured, his eyes growing brighter with every word, as if he had discovered a truth he had long overlooked.

Seeing their expressions, Daenerys nodded to herself. The power structure of the horsemen was beginning to change today.

Any stable political structure is shaped like a pyramid; the foundation determines the nature of its apex.

Daenerys wanted the apex of the horsemen’s political structure to be “Empress Daenerys,” not “Khaleesi Daenerys,” so the underlying structure had to change.

The new political system would spontaneously build the throne she desired, while also instinctively protecting this new structure.

“From this day forward, merit—that is, one’s contribution to the Khalasar—will determine a person’s position and status. Do you agree?” Daenerys shouted to her Niru commanders.

“We agree,” they replied in unison, without a hint of hesitation.

Of course, they agreed!

In Daenerys’s new political system, they might not be the strongest warriors, but they were certainly the ones with the most merit—the merit of following the dragon from the very beginning!

As time went on, even as the Khalasar grew larger and eventually unified the Dothraki Sea, they would still be able to guarantee their own rights and interests.

This was about protecting their own interests. Anyone who disagreed would be a fool.

“I feel that Your Grace has brought about some… I don’t know how to describe it… some huge change among the horsemen.”

Watching the elated Daenerys and her horsemen commanders on the deck, Jorah had a sense that something momentous had occurred, though he wasn’t sure exactly what.

“From now on, the Dothraki of Your Grace’s Khalasar will recognize only her, and after her death, her children. Once the dragons are grown, the Dothraki will have changed their allegiance to House Targaryen.” Whitebeard’s eyes widened, his body trembling with shock. “She truly is a Targaryen, a born ruler. Perhaps she will be the greatest monarch in the history of House Targaryen.”

“Greater than Aegon the Conqueror?” Jorah asked in disbelief.

“Perhaps. Even Aegon’s vision was not as broad as hers,” the old man murmured.

He actually wanted to say “ambition,” but he wasn’t sure if Her Grace had done this intentionally or had accomplished it by chance.

Daenerys walked over to a horseman slave and asked in Dothraki, “Are you willing to join my Khalasar and abide by my rules?”

“I…” The young horsewoman, barely in her twenties, glanced at her timidly before quickly lowering her gaze, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz. “I am willing to listen to the Khaleesi.”

“Bow your head,” Daenerys said.

The horsewoman dutifully lowered her head, and Daenerys personally unfastened the bronze collar around the nape of her neck.

Clang! The heavy collar crashed onto the wooden deck. The horsewoman seemed to have shed a great burden from her shoulders, feeling inexplicably lighter.

“You are free. Now, you are once again a proud horsewoman.”

“Wooo…” For some reason, hearing the Khaleesi’s simple words, the horsewoman was so moved she began to cry.

Daenerys paid her no mind and moved to the next slave. “Join my Khalasar, and I will give you freedom and dignity, but you must swear to obey my rules. Are you willing?”

“I am willing, Khaleesi.”

Clank, clank, clank… One after another, collars were removed, and the slaves became new members of the Khalasar.

“My first rule, promotion based on merit, you already understand. Now, I will issue my second decree: the promotion of the institution of marriage.”

Daenerys scanned the assembled horsemen and declared, “I swear in my name as Khaleesi that your marriages will be protected and blessed by the entire Khalasar and my dragons.”

“Any act of stealing another’s wife will be considered a violation of the law.”

“Likewise, marriage must be free. Both man and woman must enter into the union of their own free will. It must never be forced, or else their marriage will not only receive no protection and blessing but will be punished.”

“Children born to a married couple have the right to inherit their parents’ property, such as horses, arakhs, and bows…”

For now, the horsemen had no noble titles, but they would surely appear in the future, or something similar to them. At that time, she would add titles to the list of inheritable property.

Minor nobles inherit titles, but only the greatest noble can inherit the throne, after all!

Daenerys went on and on, drawing on her own knowledge to establish what was, for this era, an incredibly advanced system of marriage.

However, after she finished speaking, she began to feel nervous. It wasn’t that she feared the horsemen wouldn’t obey her rules, but rather she doubted they could remember all of them.

It was worth noting that the horsemen had a spoken language but no written script.

She couldn’t even write a proclamation that everyone could read.

Nevertheless, Daenerys found a roll of parchment and wrote down the two laws—“promotion based on merit” and “protection of marriage”—in black and white.

She used High Valyrian script.

There was no fundamental difference between “High Valyrian” and the “Valyrian of the Free Cities.” The former was the language and script of the ancient Valyrians, while the latter had incorporated local dialects and accents, as well as an amalgamation of local scripts into its writing.

It was much like how French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese all belong to the Latin language family but are distinct from Latin itself.

Of course, the differences between the Valyrian dialects of the various Free Cities were not as great as those between national languages; it was more akin to the regional dialects of China.

Although Daenerys had never received a formal education, Viserys had.

It would be strange if a Targaryen didn’t know High Valyrian. But having drifted through multiple city-states on the western continent, Daenerys also understood quite a few of the Valyrian dialects.

After writing, Daenerys signed her name on the back. While in her draconic spiritual state, she urged Big Black to sign his name as well—by drawing a simple yet remarkably lifelike self-portrait.

The onlookers clicked their tongues in wonder. In its own way, this truly added to the sanctity of The Horselord Codex.

Finally, Daenerys had all the Niru commanders sign and affix their marks. She first wrote their names, which the horsemen copied as best they could, and then they pressed their handprints over them.

Of course, the names were transliterations, which lost almost all of their meaning in Dothraki.

Take the syllable “go,” for example. Many horsemen had it in their names: Drogo, Rhaego, Aggo, Jhogo, Haggo…

In Dothraki, “go” meant strong and brave, but all this hidden meaning was lost in the transliteration.

Though the horsemen were savage, they took oaths very seriously, and signing their names now was almost equivalent to swearing an oath.

The men signing today were mere squad leaders, but in the future, they might rise to become Gushan commanders or even Banner Lords.

Thus, Daenerys’s law would be implemented among this generation. When the next generation came of age, one of the pressures the second-generation would face would be the “Ancestral Law” passed down from their fathers.

And when that second-generation, raised under the Ancestral Law, grew old, they would in turn instinctively pressure the third generation to abide by the rules they had lived by their entire lives.

If this continued, as long as Daenerys’s horseman empire did not collapse in a short period (at least three generations), her rules would become what the horsemen called “what everyone knows.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure if she could establish a thousand-year empire for House Targaryen, but she knew that the Dothraki civilization would certainly take a great leap forward.

This “Khalasar reform” was not done on a whim. Daenerys was next planning to do something that would shake the world.

Reforming the horsemen was just a practice run.

Rolling up The Horselord Codex and holding it in her hand, Daenerys continued, “The law of promotion by merit will be effective immediately, but the institution of marriage cannot be accomplished overnight. We will take it slow, in three steps.”

“First, we will establish a few ‘model couples’ to let everyone see for themselves the benefits and workings of the marriage system.”

“Second, we will open the marriage system to everyone. Any horseman of this Khalasar can freely choose to marry, or not to.”

“Third, all newborn horsemen must have clearly identified parents. A child born out of wedlock will be considered a bastard.”

While the horsemen were still processing this information, Daenerys turned to Jorah and the others with a smile. “I’ve already thought of a bastard name for the horsemen. Following the tradition of the Seven Kingdoms, how about ‘Godzilla’?”

The most abundant and worthless thing in the Dothraki Sea is grass. So, ‘Grass’ would have been a more accurate name, but bastard names often have some variation.

For example, Blackfyre. The correct spelling should be ‘blackfire,’ but in reality, it’s ‘Blackfyre.’ The ‘water’ in Waters has also become ‘waters.’

Daenerys’s name choice did not violate the traditions of the Seven Kingdoms.

“But common horsemen don’t have surnames, do they?” Whitebeard said dismissively. “Even Khal Drogo has no surname. If bastards get the name Godzilla, won’t that encourage everyone to have bastards?”

Daenerys gave the old man a mysterious smile. “You will find that they will gradually develop surnames.”

“How will you manage that? Surnames are passed down through generations and have special meaning. You can’t just randomly give them one, can you?” Whitebeard shook his head.

Heh, you foreigners still have such limited perspectives, she thought.

How did surnames originate in China?

Surnames first arose among the nobility; common folk didn’t have them. So where did the nobles’ surnames come from?

Most of them evolved from the names of their fiefdoms.

In the future, Daenerys would use surnames as a reward, bestowing them upon subjects who had rendered meritorious service.

As for the commoners with no merit, they could just wait for the nobles to get their daughters and wives pregnant!

Well, it didn’t matter if the children were really theirs, as long as the nobles thought they were.

Alternatively, she could learn from the Japanese: a child born while farming could be named “Tanaka” (in the field), a child born by a bridge could be “Watanabe” (to cross a bridge), and one born by a stream could be “Kawaguchi” (river mouth).

Whitebeard thought for a moment, then said to Daenerys hesitantly, “You shouldn’t let the Bloodriders marry and have children either.”

“You mean I should adopt the Kingsguard system?”

“Yes. Only then can you ensure their hearts belong completely to you,” the old man said.

Daenerys did not dismiss Whitebeard’s words as nonsense. Centuries of history had already proven the validity of the Kingsguard system.

In the nearly three-hundred-year history of House Targaryen, there had been hundreds of Kingsguard knights. With the exception of Jaime Lannister, they at most had flaws in their character, but their loyalty to their monarch had never fundamentally wavered.

There were only three named, disgraced members of the Kingsguard: one who slept with the king’s mistress (not the queen), one who secretly fathered a brood of bastards (the Kingsguard are sworn to celibacy and cannot even hold hands), and the last was Jaime, who killed his king.

Compared to those who died in battle protecting their sovereigns, the proportion of scoundrels was incredibly low.

It could be said that the Kingsguard were to the chivalric civilization of Westeros what dragons were to the magical civilization of Valyria.

Chapter 89: How to Evolve from a Despised Old Bachelor into the People’s Husband

Take Whitebeard, Barristan, who stood before her in disguise. He seemed to have served four monarchs from three royal houses and now appeared ready for re-employment under a fifth lord, Daenerys.

Was this even more outrageous than Lü Bu, the infamous servant of three masters?

Not really. Setting aside Barristan’s accomplishments in quelling the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and not to mention how he single-handedly rescued the Mad King Aerys during the Defiance of Duskendale, there was the matter of the Usurper’s War. He fought alongside Prince Rhaegar at the Battle of the Trident. Rhaegar fell at the Ruby Ford, and Barristan himself did not escape unscathed. By the time he recovered from his grievous wounds, the Targaryen dynasty had already been overthrown.

As for why he never killed Robert Baratheon to avenge his former masters, one must remember the first groom to break an engagement, the “Prince of Dragonflies,” Duncan.

Because Daenerys’s great-uncle Duncan had forsaken his marriage pact with House Baratheon, the king at the time had no choice but to marry Princess Rhaelle into Storm’s End to appease the duke of House Baratheon’s shame and fury. Robert was Rhaelle’s direct grandson.

Normally, such a distant blood connection would be useless, but at a critical moment, it provided the subjects with an excuse—a self-comforting reason to peacefully submit to the new king.

“Khaleesi, can you give me a few more wives?” Avanti sidled up to Daenerys, asking coyly.

During the initial implementation of the marriage system, the few couples who served as examples were all older horsemen.

Daenerys knew all too well her people’s promiscuous habits. If she had chosen young couples, the beautiful young Dothraki women might have had several, or even over a dozen, lovers. If a massive wave of infidelity occurred, what would be the point of her “model couples”?

Therefore, she had deliberately chosen a group of older people to pair up. The older Dothraki women had lost their youthful looks and surely had fewer paramours. For a Dothraki woman—who generally held no concept of chastity or marriage and would rarely refuse a man—a few more partners in bed was harmless, even beneficial. And with younger, more beautiful Dothraki women available, who would still want to be with an old one?

The old Dothraki men were too advanced in age; the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.

This way, once two old horsemen were married, they could live their lives in peace!

“Have you forgotten so quickly?” Daenerys glared at the old horseman, holding up The Horselord Codex as she scolded him. “Your signature is on it. You swore an oath to obey The Horselord Codex. What do its laws state? Within a Khalasar, unless there is a major war, no one is permitted to take more than one wife until the ratio of women to men is greater than 1.2 to 1!”

In truth, as long as the ratio was more than one woman to one man, polygamy was beneficial to the tribe’s development, but a transitional period had to be considered. If the current ratio of unmarried men to women was 1 to 1.01, a single round of second marriages could instantly flip it to 1 to 0.9, or even more drastically, which would disrupt the harmony of the Khalasar.

“Hehehe, I know, I know,” Avanti said, rubbing his hands together and nodding like a pestle grinding herbs. “Khaleesi, there are hardly any old men among the new batch of slaves. I don’t know how to calculate that ratio, but it’s obvious there are more women than men!”

Hearing this, Daenerys froze. The old codger was right!

Among the newly joined horse people, there were almost no elderly men, but there were plenty of weather-beaten women. Could it be that Dothraki women were hardier than the men?

“Can you even handle it?” Jorah shot a contemptuous look at the old man, whose pigtail hung from the back of his head like a pig’s tail. “You look ancient to me. You don’t have many years left. Don’t go squandering what little life you have left!”

“You—” The old man’s face flushed crimson. If he were a few years younger, he might have charged at Jorah with a knife.

“What do you need so many wives for?” Daenerys asked.

“To help me raise horses!”

“Isn’t your Niru full of herdsmen?”

“Alas, even as a commander, I have to work. If I had a few more wives, I could have them help me with the herding.”

Daenerys asked with a deadpan expression, “And what would you do?”

“I’d command them to feed the horses! I’m old and don’t have many years left. I must focus on preserving my health,” the old man said with conviction.

Just like how I command you to herd horses, sitting in a comfortable office and giving verbal orders?

The corner of Daenerys’s mouth twitched.

Ser Jorah was dumbfounded. “This wretched old man has some beautiful dreams! He wants to live like a nobleman!”

“I can permit you to marry two wives, but they must be willing. And given your extravagant ways, you are not to choose from among the newcomers. As long as any white-haired woman from our original Khalasar is willing to marry you, you may take two wives,” Daenerys said.

As it turned out, Avanti asked around, but not a single one was willing to be his wife.

When he asked why, a Dothraki woman in her fifties said, “I have my own work to do for the tribe. If I marry you, not only will you not help me with my work, but you’ll expect me to help you herd your horses. It’s not like we’re lacking food or drink in the Khalasar, so why should I suffer with you?”

The words made Avanti’s old face burn with shame, and he almost fled with his hands covering his face.

Daenerys, standing nearby, burst into carefree laughter, seemingly unconcerned that her “model couple project” was about to go up in smoke.

The Dothraki woman had spoken the truth!

The horse men were barbaric, true, and the Khalasar system was primitive, also true. But primitive society was closer to a communal system. The horsemen worked for the tribe, and Daenerys ensured that everyone had enough to eat and wear. The elderly Dothraki had no need for children to support them in their old age, nor did they require a spouse’s support.

At least, that was how it was for now.

“How about this: any Dothraki woman who marries will receive an extra cup of mare’s milk wine every morning,” Daenerys said with a smile, casually proposing a solution. “Their husbands are not allowed to take their wine, nor can they interfere with their work.”

Before she had even finished speaking, the eyes of many of the old Dothraki women began to light up.

But Daenerys was not done yet!

“For any marriage officiated under the witness of my dragons and me, the husband must entrust his property to his wife’s keeping. The wife, in turn, is responsible for safeguarding her husband’s chastity and wealth. If they have a child, the Khalasar will help raise it, and the mother will be rewarded with 250 grams of horse meat daily.”

“Avanti, I’m willing to marry you!” the Dothraki woman who had just scorned the old man shouted excitedly.

“Avanti, marry me! I know you’re poor, but I don’t mind,” another old Dothraki woman exclaimed, hopping on her feet.

“Avanti, I want to marry you! I don’t mind being the second wife.”

“Avanti—”

In what seemed like an instant, Avanti the old bachelor was enveloped in the halo of the people’s husband.

“No, I don’t want to.” The way Avanti looked at the women cheering to marry him was as if they were a pack of baring their fangs and claws.

Yes, monstrous hags from old tales, not beautiful spirits.

“Khaleesi, I’m not getting married anymore! I don’t want a wife, not even one,” he begged Daenerys, his voice trembling on the verge of tears.

“No. You said it yourself, you wanted two wives. Not one less,” Daenerys said, suppressing her laughter and forcing a stern expression as she reprimanded him.

In the end, Avanti reluctantly chose two white-haired old Dothraki women. Besides him, twelve other old men from the herdsmen and artisan Nirus also successfully found partners.

They, however, only chose one wife each.

Afterward, Daenerys had Big Black brought out and placed on a large table. She sat beside him herself as the dozen or so joyous Dothraki women led their glum-faced men forward, pair by pair, to perform the ceremonial bows.

First, they bowed to their Khaleesi, then toward the Mother of Mountains to the northeast, and finally, they knelt before Big Black.

Big Black did not accept their respects for free. With a few swift strokes of his claws—swish, swish, swish—he sketched a portrait of each couple on a sheet of parchment, even writing the words “Marriage Certificate” in the Chinese characters Daenerys had taught him.

He worked like a printer, his speed astonishing. In just over half an hour, he had completed all thirteen marriage contracts.

To celebrate this groundbreaking collective wedding, Daenerys had people buy a dozen cattle and sheep from the city, along with dozens of barrels of wine. From five in the afternoon until nine at night, everyone, including the sailors from the four ships, thoroughly let loose.

Even Euron, locked in his cage, was given a roasted leg of lamb and a large flagon of wine.

The stars were bright in the moonlit sky. The sea to the north shimmered, reflecting the cool, pale moonlight. To the south, the tall pyramids were brilliantly lit. On the deck, the horsemen and sailors celebrated, while in Astapor, the great slave masters, as they had for countless nights over thousands of years, reveled in a life of debauchery in their high sky-palaces.

The pyramids of Egypt were built for the afterlife, but the pyramids of Astapor were the residences of the wealthiest slavers. Their pyramids had no pointed tops; instead, the flat platforms at their peak were transformed into magnificent hanging gardens.

Every day at dusk, the Good Masters ordered silk lanterns to be lit on every step of the pyramids, making them all glow with colorful light.

But in the streets, plazas, and fighting pits below, all was pitch black. One could imagine that in the darkest barracks, little boys were feeding leftovers to small puppies—pets they had received on the day they were castrated.

Even from their merchant ship, Daenerys and her people could see pleasure barges adorned with colorful lanterns gliding slowly along the Worm River, the faint sounds of soft music and the laughter of men and women drifting across the water.

These Ghiscari slavers would moor their barges near small islands in the river. Young men and women with straight, black-and-red hair would stroll through the shallows in their flowing robes, enjoying endless food, wine, and certain adult pleasures, acting with utter abandon, heedless of any onlookers.

On the top deck, Daenerys gazed at the decadent lights in the distance and remarked with a sigh, “The lives of the Astapori slavers are even more extravagant than those of the merchant princes in the free city-states.”

“The Good Masters’ pyramids, soaring into the clouds, are built upon the bones of countless slaves. The crimson wine in their cups is like the blood of those slaves,” Whitebeard said with a frown. “Brick and blood built Astapor, and brick and blood her children.”

“That is an old poem a Maester taught me in my childhood. Before this moment, I never knew how true its description was.”

“Your Grace, you may not wish to hear this, but I must still try to dissuade you from purchasing those slave soldiers.”

“—All those who deal in slaves are sullied.”

“This is also what that Maester told me. A buyer stimulates the market; purchasing slaves has a positive effect on the slave trade.”

“Heh, how rare. Not just anyone is qualified to receive tutelage from a Maester,” Jorah said with a faint, knowing smile.

Daenerys smiled faintly as well. “Arstan,” she said calmly, “I have already made my decision.”

“Alas…” Whitebeard tapped his staff lightly on the deck, clearly troubled.

“Astapor’s defenses are lax. Why has no Khalasar ever conquered it?” she asked, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

“Your Grace, there are two reasons,” Jorah said, walking to the railing. He looked down at the reveling horsemen on the lower deck and spoke seriously. “Astapor has the Unsullied. The story of the three thousand Unsullied who defended Qohor is true. That is the first reason.”

“Second, Slaver’s Bay is close to the Dothraki Sea, making it a convenient place for Khals to come and sell their slaves. The two sides have formed a stable trading relationship.”

“Why do the horse men sack cities? For nothing more than gold, treasure, and slaves.”

“If they turned the people of the slaver cities into slaves, who would the horse men sell them to?”

“Moreover, just as the Magisters of Pentos, Norvos, and Myr do, the Sons of the Harpy will certainly feast any passing horselord and present them with lavish gifts.”

“And a Khal, after accepting the gifts, will soon continue on his way, because he has already gotten what he wanted—at a far smaller price than that of attacking the city.”

Chapter 90: The Knight Queen

“Is that all?” Dany raised an eyebrow. “The Ghiscari have been selling slaves for thousands of years, yet they’ve never encountered a decent enemy.”

“Those two reasons are enough to deter the horse men. As for Astapor, it is located in Slaver’s Bay. Meereen and Kayuan might compete with Astapor in trade, but they are by no means enemies.

“The eastern heartlands are almost entirely inhabited by fellow Ghiscari. The Lhazareen to the east of the mountains are a different people, but they are the ‘Lamb Men’ and pose no threat.”

“If…” This time Dany pondered for a long while before slowly asking, “If slavery were to disappear, besides the Ghiscari, who else would suffer immense losses?”

“Your Grace, what… what are you planning to do?” Whitebeard asked, horrified.

“Me? What can I do?” Dany shrugged and smiled. “All who partake in the slave trade are guilty. You were the one who said that. I just want to know who the great sinners of this world are, besides myself.”

Whitebeard stared at her for a long moment, unable to tell if she was joking.

“In the grand scheme of maritime trade, the slave trade is one of the most vital links. City-states like Qarth, Volantis, and Lys are almost entirely supported by slavery. It’s not that no one has tried to end it, but…”

Here, the old man sighed helplessly and said, “Your Grace, the Andals originated on the continent of Essos, you know that, don’t you?”

“I heard they established a kingdom in Andalos, in the northwestern part of the continent?”

The old man nodded, then asked, “And now?”

“It seems there’s no trace of them left,” Dany said.

“The Andal civilization and the Faith of the Seven, which originated on Essos, have all but vanished from this continent. Yet in Westeros, the Andal culture is the most dominant.

“I don’t know what happened back then, but it’s a fact that the doctrine of the Seven has waned on this continent, and that doctrine is staunchly opposed to slavery.”

At this, he asked again, “Do you know how Braavos was founded?”

Dany said, “In Qarth, I heard the story from an old zebra man—oh, a Jogos Nhai. A group of Valyrian slaves, guided by a Moonsinger, escaped the pursuit of the Dragonlords and founded a city of canals at the northwestern tip of the continent.”

“That’s right. Braavos was built by a group of slaves. As the foremost of the Nine Free Cities, Braavos is incredibly powerful.

“A hundred years ago, the Sealord of Braavos fought a war with Pentos for over a decade to abolish slavery. Pentos lost and promised to end the practice.

“Then does Your Grace know if Pentos has slaves today?” Whitebeard asked, looking at Dany.

“Yes. In Magister Illyrio’s manse, I saw many servants wearing slave collars.”

“So you understand?” The old man gave a bitter smile and sighed. “Unless the Seven themselves descend and remain among mortals, slavery can never be abolished.

“Anyone who dares to entertain such a thought makes an enemy of the whole world.

“Even the Braavosi don’t truly sympathize with the slaves. They acted out of political ambition, using the abolition of slavery as a slogan to vie for control over the plains of the upper Rhoyne.”

“I see.” Dany suddenly looked up and asked, “Arstan, how is your skill with a sword?”

“What?” The topic changed so abruptly that Whitebeard didn’t react at first.

“I heard that Aegon the Conqueror’s two sisters were both formidable knights. Visenya even wielded ‘Dark Sister’ and saved Aegon’s life from an assassin, didn’t she?”

Dark Sister is also a Valyrian steel sword, a slender blade made for a woman’s hand. Its last known wielder was Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven—one of the Great Bastards and half-brother to Daemon Blackfyre.

Aegon the Fourth, the Unworthy, really made a mess for his descendants. Both of House Targaryen’s ancestral swords were given to his bastards, and now both are lost.

“Er, yes.” The topic jumped again, leaving the old man even more bewildered.

“How do you think my talent compares to Visenya’s?”

“Oh, you wish to learn the martial arts.” The old man finally understood and said happily, “I can instruct you. I can certainly train you to become a powerful lady knight.”

As if afraid Dany lacked confidence, he said enthusiastically, “Years ago, Prince Rhaegar was obsessed with books from a young age. Many worried he would become a second Saint Baelor.

“Later, after reading something in his books, he suddenly resolved to become a warrior.

“He wasn’t much younger than you are now, but once he dedicated himself to training, he quickly became a knight who dominated the tourney grounds.”

“What did he read in his books?” Dany asked curiously.

“That…” Whitebeard shook his head. “I am not certain. I can only guess it was a prophecy, the one about Azor Ahai. Perhaps His Grace realized his destiny, to…唉, I do not know.”

Training to slay the Others?

Sigh, big brother, you really overthought it. You weren’t the warrior from the prophecy at all.

Hearing that she still had a chance to become a master, Dany was both happy and suddenly hesitant.

If she could only manage to become a third-rate swordswoman, then training as a knight under Whitebeard was fine—just a way to exercise. But if there was a chance to become a first-rate master, then she couldn’t just settle.

She said, “I think a woman is better suited to become a Water Dancer.”

If Westeros is a civilization of knights, then the Nine Free Cities are a civilization of sea trade and assassins.

The martial artists of the Free Cities follow the path of the assassin—light, agile, and skilled in stealth and concealment.

Water Dancers are this type of swordsman. Their swordplay is swift and deadly, emphasizing rapid, graceful movement, stealth, and balance.

According to legend, the greatest Water Dancers can fight on the surface of the water without causing a single ripple.

Besides, the strongest and fiercest woman in Game of Thrones, Arya Stark, was a Water Dancer.

A third-rate Water Dancer is no different from a third-rate knight, but if one can reach the first-rate, a woman with less physical strength is undoubtedly better suited to be a Water Dancer.

After Dany explained her reasoning, Whitebeard nodded. “Your Grace, you have considered this thoroughly. If you become a Water Dancer, your future achievements could be greater. But the question is, why are you learning the martial arts?”

“Hmm, to lead armies and to prevent assassination,” she said.

“Then you should still become a knight. Water Dancers are offensive assassins. On a chaotic battlefield, a Water Dancer’s survivability is even less than that of an ordinary knight, because they wear no armor.”

Saying this, he pointed at Jorah as an example. “The First Sword of Braavos, who protects the Sealord, is the greatest Water Dancer. Without armor, he could fight ten knights like the Ser here and emerge unscathed—”

“Bullshit!” Jorah exploded with anger.

Whitebeard waved his hand, signaling him to calm down, and continued, “But wearing this suit of Valyrian steel armor, Ser Jorah could easily cut down ten First Swords.

“On a battlefield, if one hundred knights like Ser Jorah in ordinary armor were to face one hundred First Swords, the knights would easily annihilate the swordsmen.”

Dany understood the old man’s point. She mused, “You also said the First Sword protects the Sealord. In the future, even if I go to war, I will be riding a dragon. Defending against assassins in daily life seems more important.”

“I, however, believe that the task of defending against assassins belongs to the Kingsguard. Otherwise,” Whitebeard said flatly, sizing up Jorah, “that suit of Valyrian steel armor would be a waste.”

Jorah puffed out his chest and shot the old man a smug look, understanding that he was still bitter about losing the chance to wear the armor.

He had a point. If Whitebeard had revealed his identity, the armor would certainly have been his.

“Your Grace,” Jorah said, “what the Sealord needs more is a Water Dancer’s perception. They are skilled observers and can spot assassins in advance. You can learn the way of the knight first. Later, if you meet a skilled Water Dancer, you can learn their techniques from them. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Alright. Tomorrow, I will begin learning swordsmanship with Whitebeard.”

The next day, before the sun had risen, around four or five in the morning, Dany put on a leather jerkin, leather breeches, and riding boots, and went to the deck to practice with Whitebeard.

There was no specialized stance or strength training. Whitebeard first helped her adjust her center of gravity, then taught her the proper stances for holding and swinging a sword.

He said that once she could control her center of gravity while swinging the sword, he would move on to teaching her footwork.

When Dany asked if there was any strength training, the old man told her that swinging the sword was her strength training.

At first, she didn’t quite understand. But by sunrise, after swinging the heavy greatsword three hundred times in a row, the streams of sweat running down from her thighs and into her boots made her realize the old man hadn’t been lying.

This really is strength training.

A knight’s greatsword is so heavy!

She finished her morning practice around eight or nine. After returning to her room to bathe and change, she was eating breakfast when two men from Astapor came to see her.

They were scribes sent by Kraznys to ask if they could be permitted to assess Dany’s wealth.

That way, they could determine her purchasing power.

—Yesterday, Dany had asked the slaver to reserve the Unsullied for her.

Dany glanced at Groleo and smiled. “If I sell Magister Illyrio’s goods, will he be angry?”

“Well…” Blackbeard glanced at the Silence, which wasn’t far off, and said hesitantly, “Don’t you have Euron’s ship full of gold, silver, and jewels?”

“It might not be enough,” she smiled.

“Just how many Unsullied are you planning to buy?!” Blackbeard asked, stunned.

“How many? I didn’t hear you clearly. How many slaves does that bitch—oh, our good Her Majesty the Queen, want to buy?” Kraznys rose to his feet in shock, asking the little translator, who also wore a dazed expression.

Today, Dany and her party once again walked through the red brick streets, arriving at the Plaza of Pride.

Kraznys’s pyramid was built here; the Plaza of Pride was practically his “courtyard”.

This time, his servants led Dany and her group to a garden at the top of the pyramid. It was about one hundred and fifty square meters, covered with green grass and surrounded by persimmon and apple trees. Large, golden-red persimmons and bright red apples hung from the branches together, a beautiful sight.

On the north side of the garden was a pool where one could soak while enjoying the beautiful view of the harbor.

The same twin Milk Men girls were fanning the slaver. He sat with his back to the pool on a tall wooden chair that resembled a throne. Dany sat opposite him on a low, two-meter-long couch, with Jorah, Whitebeard, Jhogo, and Jhiqui standing behind her.

Yes, a servant girl also held a large, beige parasol over her head.

“Master, Her Majesty the Queen wishes to buy all the Unsullied in Astapor. All of them,” the little translator stammered after receiving a confirming look from Dany.

Chapter 91: The Price of the Unsullied

“Ask that bragging bitch.” Kraznys, having slowly recovered, sneered. “My factor has inspected her fleet. The sale of all her goods would be enough for one thousand Unsullied. Add in the gold, silver, and antiquities, and she can buy perhaps another three thousand slaves. We have at least eight thousand fully trained Unsullied in Astapor. What will she use to buy them all?”

“Your Grace, Astapor has over eight thousand Unsullied. Your funds are only enough to purchase half of them,” the little translator said.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. That morning, when the clerk had come to appraise her assets, he had told her the Groleo merchant fleet’s cargo was worth one hundred fifty thousand gold dragons, and the dozens of chests of treasure on Euron’s ship were worth over five hundred thousand. She had thought it would be enough to buy out all of Astapor, but she hadn’t expected such a massive shortfall.

It averaged out to one hundred sixty-five gold dragons per Unsullied?

“Are you serious? In Westeros, hiring a knight costs only a few dozen silver coins. Even a proper, anointed knight, a ser, has a ransom of only one hundred gold dragons,” Jorah roared, his face flushed with anger.

When Brienne the Beauty was captured by the Brave Companions, Lord Tarth offered three hundred gold dragons for the return of his only daughter.

Brienne was the sole heir to a great lord.

Even Jaime Lannister considered it a sky-high ransom, a true testament to Lord Tarth’s sincerity.

And Jaime was the son of the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms; his idea of a high price was certainly a high price.

As a prime suspect in the murder of King Joffrey, the bounty on Sansa Stark was only one hundred gold dragons.

And never mind that she was accused of killing the king—she was also the first in line to inherit Winterfell in the North, a future Wardeness!

Only one hundred gold dragons.

During the first major climax in A Game of Thrones, Bran’s fall from the tower, Joffrey hired an assassin to kill him, paying a hefty price—ninety silver stags.

Hmm, one gold dragon was worth two hundred and ten silver stags.

The trueborn son of a great lord was worth less than half a gold dragon.

“Far too expensive,” Daenerys said, shaking her head repeatedly.

“Master, they say the price is too high. They also say a ser’s ransom is only one hundred gold dragons,” the little translator told the slaver.

Bang! Bang! Bang! The fat slaver slammed his hand on the armrest of his chair and yelled, “Damn it, ask them if three thousand of their barbarian knights could withstand a charge from twenty thousand screaming warriors.”

Hearing the translation, Jorah answered without hesitation, “Of course they could.”

“Hahaha!” Kraznys jabbed a finger as thick as a carrot at the knight and mocked, “You should go to Qohor and see for yourself. The smiths there are the finest in the world. Their heavy cavalry are so magnificent… compared to them, you Westerosi tin cans are nothing but a band of beggars.”

Daenerys couldn’t refute that. It was precisely because she knew how “steely” the Qohorik heavy cavalry were that she couldn’t understand how the horse men, who could shatter them, had fallen to mere light infantry.

Were the Qohorik cavalry all show and no substance?

“The Qohorik cavalry have fine armor, but they lack the exquisite skill and spirit of a Westerosi knight.”

Unlike Jorah and Whitebeard, who were poor with words and could only flush red with anger, unable to form a rebuttal, Daenerys was not.

Having been tempered by the information age, she could conjure up a mountain of reasons on the spot. Even if they were just fallacies and sophistry, she could deliver them with righteous passion.

“The most important quality of a knight is the spirit of chivalry: humility, honor, sacrifice, valor, compassion, honesty, justice, and piety.

The greatest strength of the Unsullied is their fearlessness in the face of sacrifice, but in Westeros, that is merely the basic requirement to become a knight.

If the story of the three thousand Unsullied defending Qohor had happened in our Westeros, the knightly order involved would have long since disbanded in shame. Not like the Qohorik cavalry, who continue to live on shamelessly to this day.”

“Your Grace, that was marvelously said!”

Whitebeard’s eyes grew moist, his heart soaring as it never had before. He felt as if Her Grace had, in a few words, expressed the true way of the knight.

Hmm, though before today, he had never heard of such a noble and elegant code of chivalry.

Perhaps his own comprehension was lacking?

Alas, I, Barristan the Bold, am truly no match for the greatest legendary knight, the Sword of the Morning!

Yes, Ser Arthur Dayne would surely understand.

Whitebeard thought with excitement.

“If those barbarian tin cans are so formidable, why have you come to buy Unsullied?” the slaver roared, rising to his feet and bellowing at the poor little translator. “Ask this Westerosi bitch! I want to see how she answers!”

Could this possibly stump Daenerys?

“Alas, it is precisely because I know how formidable the knights of Westeros are that I plan to spend my entire fortune to buy all the Unsullied!”

Daenerys’s expression was vivid as she sighed again and again. “Good Master, think about it. If one roasted sausage can fill you up, who would buy a second? Wouldn’t that be a waste? With that money, I would rather buy a cup of milk.”

“I’m worried that even eight thousand Unsullied won’t be enough for the Usurper’s armies to kill!”

With that, she looked earnestly at the fat slaver and asked, “Good Master, tell me the truth. Are there really only eight thousand? To be safe, I think the more Unsullied, the better.”

As Daenerys spoke and the little dark-skinned girl translated, Kraznys clutched his head, madly tearing at his coarse, reddish-black hair.

He was going insane.

Hhhh… hhhh… hhhh… He gasped for breath, then pointed a finger at Jorah Mormont and roared, “Ask that bitch, since a knight is worth one hundred gold dragons, I will buy him for three hundred gold radiants.”

Astapor, like Qarth, used the radiant. Three gold radiants were roughly equivalent to one gold dragon.

Shing! Upon hearing this, Jorah drew his longsword and, pointing it at the slaver, cursed, “You fat pig, go buy your own damn mother!”

Seeing Jorah’s reaction, Kraznys actually laughed. He waved away the guards who were rushing forward and said nonchalantly, “You see? He’s very angry. What does that prove? It proves he feels insulted, because he believes he is worth far more than one hundred gold dragons.

Hehehe, my Unsullied are trained from the age of five. Their martial training and physical conditioning far surpass that of a proper knight.

Does knightly training have such a high mortality rate as that of the Unsullied?

Hah, the only thing of value about these so-called knights is what their status represents.

Nobility?

Ask this Westerosi bitch, what does she want? Warriors, or noble status?

Tell her: warriors from Astapor, courtesans from Kayuan, skilled slaves from Meereen.

Noble status is a quality in itself. If she wants to buy nobles, she should go to Meereen. There, she might even be able to buy a few kings, hahaha.”

The slaver wasn’t lying. Slaves themselves were not valuable; for example, Daenerys could buy four horse men for a single silver coin.

But the price the slavers paid to produce one successful Unsullied was far too high.

For every one Unsullied who earned his spiked helmet, five trainees lay dead beside him, worked to death on the training grounds, and ten boys who failed the test were buried beneath his feet.

The costs incurred by those failures were naturally factored into the price of the successful Unsullied.

Therefore, a price of one hundred sixty gold dragons was a bit steep, but it was not an outrageous demand.

After a moment of contemplation, Daenerys said, “I’m buying in bulk. Can I get a discount?”

The slaver said a few words to the little translator, and the dark-skinned girl said, “Your Grace, for all your jewels and cargo, you may have four thousand Unsullied. Then, the Good Master will gift you an additional one hundred Unsullied.”

Not even a ten percent discount. How stingy!

“Do you have any other assets you have not yet revealed?” the little translator asked.

“On the sea voyage from Qarth to Astapor, I encountered a pirate ship,” Daenerys said thoughtfully. “Has the Good Master heard of the ‘Red Devil’ who has recently been causing such a stir in the Summer Sea?”

Hearing the little translator’s words, the slaver grabbed the arms of his chair and shot up, leaning forward to ask, “Did this bitch actually plunder that pirate ship? No wonder she is so wealthy.”

“That red-hulled longship docked at the pier is the Red Devil’s. The man is Euron Greyjoy of the sea monster’s family, from Ironmen’s Bay in Westeros. I have him locked in my ship’s hold right now,” Daenerys said.

The slaver’s fat, sweaty right hand tapped lightly on the mahogany armrest. He considered this and said, “To think these people even captured the Red Devil. New Ghis, Qarth, the alliance of city-states of the Jade Sea… they have all put a bounty on that one-eyed demon. It must add up to a hundred thousand gold radiants.

Tell that woman, the Red Devil’s ship and the Pirate King can be traded for one thousand Unsullied from me.”

After hearing the little translator, Whitebeard hastily advised, “Your Grace, Euron is a lord. If you sell him as a slave, not only will House Greyjoy suffer a great humiliation, but all the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms will feel it as if it were their own.”

“It is not as a slave,” the little translator explained. “The Red Devil is infamous in the Jade Sea, and many city-states have a bounty on him. Besides, the Good Master said that not even a king would fetch ten Unsullied from him, let alone a mere lord.”

“In any other place, handing Euron over to the city guard would be one thing. But this is Slaver’s Bay. This is Astapor. And you would be handing him over to a notorious slaver,” Whitebeard said, extremely anxious that Daenerys might actually sell Euron.

One thousand Unsullied—Euron was worth a fortune!

In truth, Euron himself was only worth five hundred Unsullied. The Silence had made a great name for itself in the Jade and Summer Seas, and its value had climbed to five hundred Unsullied. Many city-states wanted to study the ship to discover why it was so fast.

Daenerys waved her hand, telling the old man not to be agitated. She shot a meaningful glance at the slaver and said with a smile, “I made a promise. If Euron told me the correct way to enter the ruins of Valyria, I would grant him and his pirates their freedom. A queen’s word is worth three dragons. Not even ten thousand Unsullied could buy it.”

“A wise decision, Your Grace!” Whitebeard said, sighing in relief and smiling in praise.

“The ruins of Old Valyria?” Upon hearing the little translator’s words, the slaver’s expression changed drastically. His thick triple chin trembled as he said, “Quickly, Naathi fool, ask! Quickly ask that bitch, did the Red Devil truly go to the ruins of Valyria in the Smoking Sea?”

Clang! Clang! Clang! Daenerys tapped a few times on Jorah’s smoke-blackened vambrace. “Look at this armor, a study in understated luxury. Look at the faint Valyrian magic runes. Who besides a Dragonlord, the Good Master must wonder, could possess such a noble suit of Valyrian steel armor?”

“By the Harpy,” the fat slaver groaned, his eyes nearly bulging three inches from their sockets as he stared at Jorah’s armor. “Yesterday I thought this barbarian knight and his… ahem, I thought he’d gotten himself a fake Dragonlord suit to look fashionable!”

Six thousand years ago, the legions of the Sons of the Harpy of the Old Ghiscari Empire were invincible across the continent. The training methods for the Unsullied were modeled after those of the Ghiscari legions.

Now, the Ghiscari who had degenerated into slavers no longer possessed the bravery of their ancestors—in fact, after five thousand years of being ground down by Valyria, there were no pure-blooded Ghiscari left in Slaver’s Bay, only mixed-bloods—but the slavers of Astapor still took pride in their identity as the “Sons of the Harpy.”

They lived in pyramids, wore tokar gowns, and styled their reddish-black hair to stand on end.

And the young men would imitate the soldiers of the old empire’s legions, dressing themselves in replica Valyrian Dragonlord armor. They would stand in the fighting pits and command eunuch slaves to fight each other to the death, pretending they were generals of the old empire, or Valyrian Dragonlords.

Chapter 92: The Deal is Struck

Valyrian steel was mysterious. An ordinary person might not see it once in their entire lifetime, but as long as they had heard the legends, even an inexperienced commoner could easily tell a real Valyrian steel weapon from a fake upon seeing one.

Its hardness was extreme, making it nearly indestructible. A single strike with a common iron weapon would make it clear at a glance.

Kraznys was no ordinary man. He didn’t need to strike it. When he walked over for a closer inspection, feeling the weight and texture of Jorah’s helmet, he immediately determined: This is the real thing!

Although House Targaryen itself only possessed two Valyrian steel swords and no armor, a group of minor Valyrian nobles had survived in Volantis. They were not Dragonlords, but they had quite a few Valyrian steel weapons, including a suit or two of armor. But Kraznys was certain that the armor Jorah wore was not one of those sets. More importantly, as rare masterpieces, suits of Valyrian steel armor were too few and too distinctive; any experienced person could tell them apart.

A flash of burning greed flickered in Kraznys’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. Returning to his wide wooden chair by the pool, he said flatly, “Give me this suit of armor, and you can take every man in Astapor who has no balls.”

“Don’t even think about it! The armor—” Jorah, his face flushed red, roared angrily at the slaver before turning to Daenerys with a pleading look, the reluctance in his eyes all too clear.

Daenerys patted his arm, a helpless expression on her face. She said to the slaver, “Besides the armor, that man Euron also found a dragon egg in the Magister’s palace in Tyria. A Dragonlord lived in that palace, and both the egg and the armor were his possessions. I found that the egg still has some life in it, but…”

She paused for a moment before sighing. “I already have three dragons. I can sell the egg to you.”

“Tyria? A dragon egg?” Kraznys stroked his fleshy chin and muttered, “Tyria was one of the most prosperous cities besides Valyria itself. It would be normal to station a Dragonlord there as a Magister.

That Red Devil is truly lucky, not only crossing the Smoking Sea but also finding a Dragonlord’s residence. Hmm, no, it must be this bitch queen who’s lucky.”

“Slave, tell her a single dragon egg isn’t even worth one thousand Unsullied. I don’t believe a Dragonlord’s residence only had armor and an egg. I want more, more,” he snarled at the little translator.

After hearing what the little dark-skinned girl translated, Daenerys shrugged. “Before I hatched my dragons, their eggs were just ornaments. But now that the magical tide has returned, a living egg represents a dragon.

Is a real dragon worth only one thousand eunuch slaves? Or is the Good Master so ill-informed that he doesn’t know about the magical tide?”

“I know. Those damned priests of the Red God are proclaiming it everywhere. They attribute it to the awakening of R’hllor,” the fat slaver said, his expression complicated. “There was even a religious rebellion in Qohor recently. A group of followers of the Red God, empowered by newly acquired sorcery, grew so strong they actually tried to burn the statue of the Black Goat God (the God of Death).

Hah, those fanatics. All they know how to do all day is burn, burn, burn. I heard a red priestess went to Westeros and even tore down and burned the statues of the Seven on Dragonstone.

Slave, ask that bitch, isn’t she the princess of Dragonstone? Hahaha, the statues of her family’s gods have been burned!”

The mainstream faith in Qohor was the Black Goat God; R’hllor, the Lord of Light, was a minority religion.

“They even tore down and burned the statues of the Seven?” Whitebeard had no interest in Qohor, but his brows furrowed upon hearing that the red priestess had abolished the Faith of the Seven on Dragonstone.

“Stannis has gone mad. He must have been bewitched by that priestess,” Jorah sighed. “He’s finished, the first one to be knocked out of the War of the Four Kings. Even Aegon, who had three dragons, had to convert to the Faith of the Seven. What is Stannis compared to him?”

The Valyrians had their own faith. Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes were the names of gods, and House Targaryen had worshiped them for generations.

To integrate into the civilization of the Andals, Aegon had paid a heavy price.

However…

Daenerys recalled a scene she had witnessed in the House of the Undying. The Arch-Sorcerer of Valyria had revealed that the Valyrians were apparently no longer content with ruling the mortal realm; they wanted to advance into the domain of the gods. They had sealed R’hllor and created their own deities—Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes, three spirits of faith, demigods.

When Valyria was destroyed in the Doom, Balerion and the others must have perished along with it. It was only natural for Aegon to change his faith. Ugh, or maybe he dealt the final blow to the dying demigods—completely cutting off their source of faithful power.

Wait, that’s not right!

Because of the three Targaryen dragons, the names Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes have been sung by millions in Westeros for generations. This…

She couldn’t help but shake her head with a wry smile. All her information about the gods came from the Arch-Sorcerer and was fragmented, its authenticity hard to discern. Besides, the gods were too distant from her; there was no need to waste too much energy on them.

But her expression was misinterpreted by the others as sadness and helplessness over what had befallen her family’s lands.

“Stannis’s perverse actions will surely bring retribution,” Whitebeard comforted her softly. “Once you rule the Seven Kingdoms, you can ask the High Septon to personally consecrate new statues on Dragonstone.”

“Perhaps Stannis is already dead,” Jorah added consolingly.

Daenerys rolled her eyes internally. You’re all overthinking it. Forget the statues of the Seven, even if the Second Stag dug up the Targaryen ancestral tombs, I wouldn’t feel a thing.

Besides, the Second Stag wouldn’t die so soon. Aside from King Balon, who was plotting in the shadows, there were now four kings in the open: Joffrey, with the soul of a lion in the skin of a stag; Robb Stark, the third-generation betrothal-breaker; Stannis, the second stag brother; and Renly, the third stag brother.

It might seem like the Second Stag’s perverse actions would get him eliminated first, but the foreign aid he’d found—the red priestess—was truly powerful. With centuries of experience, she could be called the number one mage in Game of Thrones.

By the time Joffrey the second Mad King, Robb the betrothal-breaker, Renly the gay, and even King Balon were all dead, the Second Stag would still be alive and kicking!

“These Westerosi keep chattering on and on. Are you buying the Unsullied or not?” Even though he had started the topic, the fat slaver grumbled and urged the little translator, “Tell that bitch queen, I don’t care about any magical tide. A dragon egg is definitely not worth a dragon, unless she hatches it for me.”

“Your Grace, the Good Master does not believe he can hatch a dragon from the egg himself. Perhaps… you could help hatch it?” the little dark-skinned girl said tactfully.

“Alas, the price of hatching a dragon is too great. I cannot bear it,” Daenerys said, shaking her head bitterly.

“Master, hatching a dragon requires a great price. The Westerosi queen seems very sad. She is unwilling to hatch the dragon for you.”

The fat slaver’s interest was piqued. He opened his wide mouth and laughed, “Ask her, how are dragons hatched? What price did that bitch pay?”

“I’m not entirely sure myself,” Daenerys said, the sorrow on her face deepening. “A witch from Asshai once told me: a life for a life. The birth of each dragon represents the death of one of my closest kin. Their lives brought back the lost dragon souls from the realm of the dead.

That is why my dragons are my family, the children I can never abandon.”

“‘A life for a life?’” Kraznys murmured. “That sounds familiar… It seems to be the doctrine of R’hllor, the Lord of Shadow.”

Daenerys continued, “What the witch said seems to make a lot of sense. Everyone believes my black dragon is the reincarnation of Balerion, reborn from the realm of the dead!”

“Does it really resemble him that much?” Kraznys asked, surprised and suspicious.

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask my followers.”

It was indeed a strong resemblance. Jorah had said more than once that “Black Diamond might be the reincarnation of Balerion.” Later, after seeing Big Black hunt a whale, Whitebeard had exclaimed, “It is Balerion.”

After getting a unanimously affirmative answer from Jorah and the others, the slaver thought for a moment and asked, “Was that witch a follower of the demon in the shadows—R’hllor of the Shadow?”

“The witch Mirri did seem to be able to command shadow demons,” Daenerys nodded.

“That’s him, then. R’hllor has two faces. Light brings shadow, which is why R’hllor the Lord of Light is also called the ‘God of Shadow and Flame.’” The fat slaver nodded, stroking his plump chin thoughtfully. “So, priests of shadow can help hatch dragons… I never knew before.”

His voice grew quieter, but his eyes grew brighter, as if he had made a decision.

“Tell the little queen,” the fat man waved a hand at the little translator and grinned, baring his teeth, “if she can prove the dragon egg is real, I’m willing to persuade the other Good Masters to trade it for the exorbitant price of three thousand Unsullied.”

“I hear there are over eight thousand Unsullied in Astapor? All my possessions plus the dragon egg only gets me 7,100. If I were to tell the Good Master of a shipping route to the ruins of Valyria, I wonder if that would be enough for the remaining eunuchs in the city?” Daenerys asked.

“Are you sure it’s a safe route?” the fat slave trader asked doubtfully.

“I’m not,” Daenerys shook her head. “Since I knew Euron had successfully explored Tyria, I naturally wanted to try my luck as well. I traded his freedom for a sea chart he had.”

“So that’s how it is!” Kraznys laughed and said to the little translator, “I didn’t expect this little bitch to be so clever. But she’s not clever enough. The chart could be fake. It would be better to have the Red Devil lead the way himself.”

The little dark-skinned girl had just opened her mouth to translate his words when the fat slaver roared, “Fool! Shut your mouth, you brainless sheep! No matter how much treasure and how many secret arts lie in the ruins of Valyria, I’ll still think it’s too little if there’s one more person to share it with.

Tell that bitch I will gather all the Good Masters tomorrow to discuss this matter. If the Red Devil himself proves the route is real, then I will agree to her deal.”

Chapter 93: Plaza of Punishment

When Daenerys saw Euron again, she was shocked to find that the burns on his face had already scabbed over.

Having studied medicine herself, she knew full well how difficult severe burns were to heal—suppuration, infection, fever, inflammation.

If she had seen a weak patient with his head wrapped in white gauze soaked through with reddish-brown pus and blood, she would have thought it perfectly normal.

But Euron just swaggered over, casually dragging his heavy chains.

“How did your injuries heal so quickly?” she asked, puzzled.

Euron’s bright blue right eye surveyed Daenerys’s fair, smooth cheeks. He smiled. “Aren’t you healing even faster than I am? Enough of this nonsense. The ships have docked. When are you letting me go?”

“I was planning to release you as soon as you recovered.” Daenerys beckoned to the horse men escorting Euron and commanded, “Unchain Ser Euron. He is no longer a prisoner.”

The horse men glanced at Jorah, Whitebeard, Belwas, Aggo, and the others behind her. Sensing their Khaleesi’s safety was not threatened, they wordlessly stepped forward and deftly unlocked the chains on Euron’s wrists and ankles.

“Jhiqui, bring the new clothes we bought today for Ser Euron to change into,” Daenerys instructed her Dothraki handmaiden.

Euron tilted his neck, stretched his limbs, and then looked at Daenerys quizzically. “What do you want from me?”

She rubbed her nose, then waved for Doreah to bring Euron a small stool. Only after Euron sat down with a suspicious look in his eyes did she say, “It’s nothing major. I plan to buy a batch of Unsullied in Astapor, but I don’t have enough money—”

“What?” Euron exploded in fury. “You sold me? The slave trade is expressly forbidden in the Seven Kingdoms.”

If you were as valuable as a dragon’s egg, I really would have sold you.

“Calm down, calm down,” Daenerys said, holding up a hand to placate him. “Don’t worry, you aren’t worth much—”

This remark seemed to wound the Crow’s Eye’s delicate pride. He interrupted her for a second time, fuming, “A dozen countries in the Jade Sea have high bounties on my head, and you say I’m not worth much?”

Daenerys shrugged. “A few tens of thousands of gold dragons at most. Small change. Or perhaps, to you, a few tens of thousands of gold dragons is a huge sum?”

“Heh, yes, it’s nothing to you, seeing as you robbed me of a ship full of treasure!” Euron sneered.

“To be honest, that ship of yours only held a little over five hundred thousand gold dragons. That’s really not much. Robert Baratheon’s debts exceeded six million gold dragons. As the rightful queen, shouldn’t I have a grander style than him?” Daenerys said lightly.

“What style can a monarch without a kingdom have? I’ve heard that the common folk in the free city-states call your brother the ‘Beggar King.’ As for you…” Euron clicked his tongue but didn’t finish the sentence.

“The Barefoot Princess” was Daenerys’s nickname on the streets.

Because they were poor, and because the climate around Tyrosh and Myr was hot, Viserys had no money to buy his sister shoes, so little Daenerys often walked barefoot through the streets and alleys of the merchant city-states.

“Your Grace, the Kingsguard has a duty to defend your dignity. Even if you pardon the Crow’s Eye for the crime of kingslaying, I ask that you let me duel him!” Jorah said, his right hand on his sword, his cold eyes fixed on Euron like lightning.

“Give me back my armor, and I’ll fight you with one hand,” Euron said, rolling his eyes in derision.

“Sigh, this could have been explained in a few simple words, but you’ve interrupted and turned it into an argument.” Daenerys rubbed her temples and said directly, “I sold the dragon’s egg you found in the ruins of Valyria, along with the sea chart for crossing the Smoking Sea.

“Tomorrow morning, you will come with me to the slavers and recount the story of your exploration of Valyria. The day after tomorrow, once the deal is complete, I will release you immediately. Your band of pirate brothers will leave with you.”

“Any problems?” she asked.

“Yes.” Euron nodded, puzzled. “The egg wasn’t discovered in Valyria. I plundered it in the Jade Sea.”

“So, you lied to me?” Daenerys’s eyes were downcast. She mumbled indistinctly while munching on a large persimmon, “Dragon eggs from the Jade Sea are not unique, but an egg from a Valyrian Dragonlord is one of a kind. Without a doubt, the latter is more valuable.

“Last time, you clearly said you found the armor and the dragon’s egg at the same time in the Magister’s castle in Tyria. Are you going back on your word now?

“If you lied to me last time, then our agreement is void. Don’t blame me for breaking my promise; you were the one who was dishonest first.”

“I misremembered.” Euron immediately saw reason and nodded in agreement. “The egg was discovered in Tyria. There might even be more than one. I was in a hurry and short on men, so I didn’t excavate the castle at all. If the Good Masters are well-prepared, they might find a dragon’s nest and a Valyrian steel armory!”

“Hmm, in that case, I’ve really lost out!” Daenerys wiped the juice from the corner of her mouth and sighed.

“Yes, the Good Masters have made quite a profit!” Euron also sighed dramatically, as if feeling sorry for his queen.

“Here,” Daenerys handed him a large persimmon. “It’s very sweet.”

Whitebeard and Jorah watched the two of them munching on persimmons, their faces expressionless.

The third meeting with the Good Masters was to be held at the Plaza of Punishment. The Plaza of Pride was for inspecting the goods; the Plaza of Punishment was the slaves’ training ground.

It was located behind Astapor’s main gate, a grim public square akin to those used for executions before great palaces. Rebellious and disobedient slaves would be punished or executed there.

The fleet was docked in the northwestern corner of Astapor, so to get to the Plaza of Punishment, they had to circle a quarter of the city. Along the way, Daenerys saw the true face of this slaver city.

A dozen or so tall, magnificent pyramids occupied nearly half of the city’s land, while the rest of the buildings were low and dilapidated. Sewage flowed freely through cramped alleys, and their procession stirred up swarms of buzzing green-headed flies.

A little girl, naked, her back sunburnt and peeling, was squatting by an overflowing red-brick drain, relieving herself. The sound of hooves and wheels on the uneven road startled her. The girl stared blankly at Daenerys’s party with wide brown eyes as they passed, then lowered her head and continued.

They passed through narrow alleys with low eaves and then traveled along a red-brick street near the ancient city wall.

As they passed the ancient wall, Daenerys saw a section full of cracks, precariously close to collapse, and worried it would fall on them.

The Plaza of Punishment had no bronze Harpy statue. In its center stood a huge wooden platform.

Like the gallows of one land or the executioner’s block of another, it was where rebellious slaves were tortured, flayed, and strangled, their bodies left on display.

This platform was the first thing new slaves saw upon entering the city.

Clearly, the Good Masters were experts in training obedient slaves.

The ox-cart stopped on the avenue bordering the plaza. As Daenerys stepped down, she saw a little dark-skinned girl in a long grey linen dress waiting for them.

The girl, who had a flat, round face, trotted over quickly and prostrated herself fully. “Greetings, Your Majesty the Queen,” she said. “The Good Masters have sent this humble one to serve you for the remainder of your visit. If the transaction is completed, this humble one will be given to Your Majesty as a bonus, to help Your Majesty teach the Unsullied the language of Westeros.”

“Rise, little one.” Daenerys walked over and helped her up, asking with a smile, “What is your name, and how old are you?”

“This humble one is named Missandei, and I am ten years old,” the little girl said timidly.

Daenerys was stunned. Missandei was a very important and brilliant supporting character in Game of Thrones, almost Daenerys’s own right-hand woman. But that Missandei, though also dark-skinned, was clearly an adult.

At first, she was a little disappointed, thinking the timing was off and she had missed the dark-skinned scribe. She never expected the plot to have changed so much—Missandei was a child?!

Daenerys patted Missandei’s head, which had a bob haircut, and smiled. “I am Daenerys Targaryen. Did you know that?”

“This humble one knows.”

Nearing the wooden platform, Daenerys at first thought the slave on it belonged to a special race with skin like a striped horse. But as she drew closer and looked carefully, she realized that wasn’t skin at all.

The slave had no skin.

Like peeling an apple, the disobedient slave’s skin had been stripped off in pieces, resembling curled apple peels. This created the uneven, “zebra-striped” pattern.

The slave was not yet dead.

“What did he do?” Daenerys asked, her face pale, pointing at the flayed man.

“He was whipped for resisting. When a Good Master asked him if he understood his lowly nature, the slave, who was tied to a cross, spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm at the Good Master.”

Daenerys pointed to another slave. One of his arms, from fingers to elbow, was crawling with black flies. The rest of his body was intact, but he was no longer breathing.

“And what did this man do?”

“He was a new slave. When his master whipped him, he raised that hand to resist. So the master coated the hand in thick honey and then poured a box of long-horned ants on him.”

As she said this, Missandei’s small, dark face paled. “The slave screamed for three days and three nights before he died. After that, none of the other new slaves dared to resist.”

“Beasts!” Whitebeard’s eyes blazed with fury, his staff thumping repeatedly against the stone ground.

“Let’s go. Take me to the Good Masters.”

The pyramid behind the Plaza of Punishment was one hundred meters tall, the largest and highest building in Astapor.

While climbing the steps, Missandei explained to Daenerys that this pyramid belonged to Grazdan mo Ullhor. It had thirty-three floors. The ground floor housed prisons, slave quarters, storerooms, and servants’ living spaces, as well as the Good Master’s treasury, study, and reception rooms.

This time, a total of eight Good Masters wished to see Daenerys. They were the great figures at the pinnacle of power in Astapor. Grazdan was their leader, far superior to the Kraznys with whom Daenerys had previously negotiated.

Missandei also reminded Daenerys that of the eight Good Masters awaiting her in the top-floor meeting room, five were named Grazdan and two were named Kraznys. It would be best to use their family names as well when addressing them.

Daenerys was instantly baffled. In her eyes, the Ghiscari with their stiff, reddish-black hair and amber skin all looked more or less the same, much like how people of one land often struggle to distinguish the features of another—she couldn’t tell them apart at all.

Now even their names were the same. What was she to do?

Chapter 94: Acquiring a Little Dark-skinned Girl

Even with her utter disdain for the Ghiscari slave trade, Daenerys, a product of modern society, had to admit that the Ghiscari’s architectural prowess was unparalleled.

Before entering the pyramid, she had assumed its stone halls would be dark, damp, and filled with stale, cramped, and filthy air.

She never expected the reception room at the top to be a spacious two hundred square meters. The ceiling, supported by massive stone pillars, was covered in brightly colored murals. The four sloping walls were fitted with clear glass windows, and a gentle breeze flowed into the hall from hidden ventilation shafts, carrying the scent of flowers and fruit from the upper-level gardens.

Cool, fresh, bright, magnificent, and tidy—it was a splendid palace!

At the head of the room sat eight Ghiscari men in a row of massive wooden chairs. They were stout and corpulent, with amber skin, broad noses, black eyes, and stiff, reddish-black hair. Daenerys’s vision nearly blurred; for a moment, she thought Kraznys had used a shadow clone technique.

Fortunately, their tokar gowns were all different.

In Astapor, only free men were permitted to wear tokar gowns.

The Ghiscari of Meereen and Kayuan also favored tokar gowns, and in Qarth, women wore a variation known as a “Qartheen gown.”

A Qartheen gown resembled a sleeveless dress with the strap on one shoulder cut, whereas a Ghiscari tokar was more of a ceremonial accessory than a piece of clothing. One would choose the most magnificent cloth, drape it over one shoulder, and hold the hem fast at the opposite hip with one hand. They had to keep a constant grip on it to prevent the gown from falling off.

The fringes on a tokar gown represented one’s status.

Of the eight Good Masters in the cool hall, the most senior, and the host, was Grazdan, whose gown had large white pearl fringes. Kraznys and four others wore gowns with gold thread fringes, while the two slave masters seated at the ends wore tokars with silver silk fringes.

With Missandei whispering reminders at her side, Daenerys finally managed to greet each of the eight merchants.

Behind Grazdan, the host, stood six servants, while each of the other Good Masters had two or three slaves standing behind them.

After the greetings, Grazdan’s servants brought two purplewood chairs for Daenerys, which were half the height of the Good Masters’ seats.

Daenerys had brought quite a few people with her: Whitebeard, Belwas, Jorah, her three bloodriders, Jhiqui, Irri, and Euron.

Doreah and Quaro remained on the ship to guard the three dragons.

“Your Majesty, the Good Master says the other chair is for Ser Euron,” Missandei whispered.

The young girl was a little afraid of Euron’s scar-covered face and didn’t dare look him in the eye, which only prompted a “wicked” smile from the Crow’s Eye.

Once the two were seated, Grazdan asked in slightly halting Common Tongue, “Westerosi, why do you wish to purchase so many Unsullied? In addition to the eight thousand six hundred fully trained Unsullied, there are another five thousand eunuchs who have not yet passed their test!”

“Good Master, are you perhaps aware of the current situation in Westeros?” Daenerys countered.

“I hear it’s quite chaotic. Several kings are fighting each other over a spiky iron chair,” Grazdan said mockingly.

“Any one of their factions has at least ten thousand soldiers. And as for Tywin Lannister’s wealth, even the people of Qarth know of it. He once lent the Iron Throne three million gold dragons.”

“Wow, is that true? Three million gold dragons is almost ten million gold radiants. You could buy tens of thousands of Unsullied with that.”

“It must be true. I hear the shit Lord Tywin excretes is made of gold.”

“I never thought those western barbarians were so rich.”

Even the extravagant Good Masters were shocked, and they began to murmur amongst themselves.

Daenerys swept her gaze over the Good Masters and said, “Do you all understand now? My enemies are too powerful. Never mind eight thousand six hundred Unsullied; even with twenty thousand more, I wouldn’t be confident of taking back my kingdom.

“In other words, it’s not that I want to buy thirteen thousand six hundred eunuch warriors, but that you only have thirteen thousand six hundred warriors to sell me.”

Her words made so much sense that the eight Good Masters fell silent.

For all their arrogance, not even they would dare claim that eight thousand Unsullied could sweep across the Seven Kingdoms.

It was simply impossible.

“We cannot sell boys who have not completed their training,” one of the Grazdans with silver fringes on the right suddenly said to the others.

“We are slave merchants. As long as the customer pays, why can’t we sell?” said a portly Grazdan with gold fringes.

A third Grazdan sneered, “They haven’t killed an infant yet, so they aren’t truly Unsullied. If they perform poorly on the battlefield, it will surely damage our reputation.

“Besides, she is not our only buyer. Many others are waiting for their orders, and the training cycle for the Unsullied is at least ten years. If we sell them all, Astapor will have a ten-year supply gap.

“Heh, ten years! In ten years, the world may well have forgotten that a thing like the Unsullied ever existed.”

Seeing the hesitation on the face of the pearl-fringed Grazdan, Daenerys immediately spoke up loudly, “Good Masters, I would like to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Kraznys asked.

“Tell me, am I not the single largest customer in the history of Astapor?”

“Hmm, no, not quite,” the pearl-fringed Grazdan said after some thought. “About two thousand years ago, the Valyrians and the Rhoynar went to war over trade disputes—a war of annihilation.

“In the early stages, the proud Valyrians didn’t take the Rhoynar seriously, with only a handful of Dragonlords participating.

“But the Rhoynar leader, Prince Garin, assembled a massive army of two hundred fifty thousand men.

“His army was accompanied by countless powerful water wizards. The Valyrian army of one hundred thousand was annihilated, and several dragons were shot down.

“Because of the water wizards, even the dragons’ flames couldn’t harm the Rhoynar.

“Worse still, the water wizards summoned a great flood on the Rhoyne River that submerged Volontheris—a great Valyrian Freehold—and hundreds of thousands of its residents died in the waters.

“With Prince Garin’s army at their gates, the people of Volantis were terrified and immediately ordered all of our Unsullied—thirty thousand in total.”

Daenerys was captivated by the story and forgot her earlier purpose. “Did the thirty thousand Unsullied fail to defend Volantis?” she asked curiously.

If they had succeeded, this group of slave traders wouldn’t still be harping on about “Three Thousand Unsullied Defended Qohor.”

Two hundred fifty thousand Rhoynar plus water wizards who could cast water-based cataclysmic spells were far more impressive than twenty thousand savage, backward horse men.

The Ghiscari slave master shot Daenerys a look and said flatly, “If they had failed, would Volantis still exist today? Valyria intervened. Three hundred dragons blotted out the sun. I heard even the Rhoyne River was boiled dry by dragonflame. How could the water wizards stand against that?”

So in that battle of gods and demons, the Unsullied had only played a minor role.

Hmm, she thought, in Game of Thrones, the Unsullied played a minor role in the war against the Others, too.

“Ahem, then I must be the largest customer in the last thousand years, right?” she asked again.

“And what if you are?”

“The people of the world will certainly be watching the outcome of my campaign. If I fail to reclaim my throne because I have too few men, and the Unsullied are swept aside by the knights of Westeros, what do you think others will think?”

“This…” The Good Masters’ expressions changed, a dreadful thought crossing their minds: if Daenerys failed, the damage to their reputation would be far greater than what “Three Thousand Unsullied Defended Qohor” could ever make up for.

“Now, think again. If I succeed in reclaiming my throne, won’t the world sing praises of ‘The Unsullied are unmatched when their numbers exceed ten thousand’?”

“This…” The Good Masters’ expressions changed again, a wonderful notion dawning on them: if Daenerys succeeded, the tale of “Three Thousand Unsullied Defended Qohor” could be retired. From now on, they could tell everyone the great story of “Thirteen Thousand Unsullied Conquered the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I have dragons, so my chances of success are very high. But if the number of Unsullied is too small, too inconspicuous, people will assume the dragons were the key to my success,” Daenerys said with a faint smile.

“Done!” Grazdan exchanged a look with his seven colleagues and finally made the decision. “As long as you can afford the price, all the eunuchs in Astapor are yours.”

“Ser Euron,” Daenerys said, leaning back in her chair and gesturing leisurely, “it’s your turn.”

Euron rattled on, recounting his entire experience: how he crossed the Smoking Sea, how he encountered the curse, how he found the Magister’s castle, how he discovered the dragon egg and armor, how he lost his way by accident, and how he finally broke through the Storm Wall.

The Good Masters interrupted several times to ask questions about the sea route, the state of Tyria, and other details, all of which Euron answered.

He had truly been to the ruins of Valyria; this was no empty boast. No matter what the Good Masters asked, he could provide answers that both satisfied and astounded them.

“I swear on the Drowned God and by the name of House Greyjoy that the chart I have drawn is absolutely true,” Euron finally declared, swearing a solemn oath to the Good Masters.

“You’re a pirate. What good is your oath?” someone asked suspiciously.

Daenerys explained, “You may not understand the tenets of the Drowned God. Legend says the Drowned God created the Ironborn to reave and pillage. To earn money through legitimate means instead of raiding would be to defy the Old Way and violate their divine teachings.”

“You certainly know a lot,” Euron said, a strange light flashing in his right blue eye.

Daenerys was right about everything, with one exception.

Euron was a heretic!

Though he was Ironborn, he did not worship the Drowned God. On the contrary, he had made multiple blood sacrifices to the Drowned God’s enemy, the Storm God!

Euron’s ability to navigate the Smoking Sea, to resist its curse, and to pass through the Storm Wall was all thanks to the many slaves he had offered in blood sacrifice to the Storm God.

In this world of fantasy, blood sacrifice was by no means mere superstition.

If Daenerys had been well-versed in heraldry and Ironborn culture, she might have noticed a clue in Euron’s personal sigil.

His sigil was a black iron crown supported by two crows, beneath which was a red eye with a black pupil.

The most notable feature of the Storm God was his two crow servants. Not only did Euron have crows on his sigil, but his nickname was also “Crow’s Eye.”

The Good Masters conferred among themselves for another half hour before Grazdan finally spoke: “A chart for exploring the ruins of Valyria is indeed worth one thousand Unsullied and five thousand eunuch apprentices.

“But I must have a guarantee—that this information remains only between us.

“If you go to every city-state and sell this chart, we will suffer a great loss!”

If the chart was real, it was worth not just one thousand Unsullied and five thousand apprentices, but twenty thousand Unsullied.

—Finding a single Valyrian steel sword would be enough to recoup the cost.

“The Good Master is very thorough. I swear on my honor as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and of House Targaryen that I will never sell this chart again.”

Grazdan glanced at the beaming Euron and nodded solemnly. “Done!”

The others repeated the words of the pearl-fringed Grazdan. “Done!”

“Done!”

There were eight “Done”s in total.

Before they left, Kraznys mo Nakloz pointed to Missandei and said, “This clever little slave is yours. She will teach the Unsullied your language.”

Missandei translated for Daenerys, “Your Majesty, the Good Master has given this humble one to you.”

“Very well. You’re mine now. Come back with me,” Daenerys said with a nod, turning to leave.

“Wait a moment.”

Chapter 95: Beasts in the Arena

“Wait a moment.” Just as Daenerys was about to leave with her followers, Grazdan, in his pearl-fringed tokar, held out a hand to stop her. “We are very pleased to have completed this major deal today and will be holding a celebration in the Great Arena. Mother of Dragons, please join us. The Astapori will present their most splendid performance for you.”

“Now?” Daenerys asked.

“The Great Arena is just behind my pyramid; it is also my property. If we go down now, we can begin watching the duels immediately,” Grazdan said with pride.

In truth, Daenerys had no desire to go. It didn’t take much imagination to know how bloody and cruel the slave duels would be. But the Master had invited her personally, and to refuse would seem peculiar.

In the slave trade, every participant is guilty.

But it was like the flour deals in the movies. The seller lets you try a little, but if you say you never touch the stuff, the business probably won’t go any further. That’s why even undercover cops play along.

“Very well,” Daenerys agreed, nodding.

A servant immediately hurried to the edge of the rooftop garden and waved a red flag vigorously. Without delay, the Good Masters, aided by their attendants, seated themselves in palanquins and descended the pyramid through a rear exit.

Daenerys had no palanquin, nor did the Good Masters offer to prepare one for her.

She, along with Jorah, Whitebeard, and the others, followed the Good Masters down the stone steps on foot.

During the descent, Daenerys found herself growing more impressed by the ingenuity of the Ghiscari design. The system of staircases for entering and exiting the pyramid, for one, was multifaceted.

There were climbable stairs on all four faces of the pyramid, as well as an internal, spiraling stone staircase. This internal staircase not only connected all the rooms within the pyramid but also linked to the entrances of the four external staircases.

Furthermore, being spiral, the internal staircase was far gentler than the external ones. Descending in a palanquin was almost no different from traveling on level ground.

As she walked down the spiral staircase, Daenerys passed spacious, well-lit stone rooms. Inside one, several old, white-bearded scholars were tutoring Grazdan’s children.

She also caught the rich aroma wafting from a stone kitchen, where the chefs’ boisterous calls fell silent as the Good Master’s procession arrived. Busy weavers glimpsed the party outside their door, stopped their work, and knelt to kowtow. There were wine cellars, slave training rooms…

Every time the Good Masters went up or down the pyramid, it was like a king inspecting his domain.

This was how they had ruled their little kingdoms, year after year, for over five thousand years now!

Perhaps their rule would continue for another ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years… perhaps.

As Grazdan had said, the Great Arena was just behind his pyramid. The gates of Astapor, the Plaza of Punishment, the Great Pyramid, and the arena all lay on a central axis.

While the magnificent pyramid soared into the clouds, the massive arena was dug into the ground, a deep pit shaped like the mouth of a bowl, surrounded by circular tiers of red-brick spectator seats.

A stone tunnel, hidden underground, connected the pyramid to the main viewing platform of the arena. It was wide enough for a great elephant to pass through. Along both sides of the tunnel were stone cells with iron bars, housing the “consumables” for the duels: slaves, gladiators, lions, giant elephants, packs of wolves, and more.

“Hahaha, once I get a shadowbinder to hatch the dragon, I’ll build a Dragonpit right here,” one of the Good Masters ahead of them said with a loud laugh, completely ignoring Daenerys and her party as they fantasized about the future.

“A fire dragon eating people would be quite a spectacle,” another Good Master chimed in.

“Ahem, even if you hatch a dragon, have you considered how you’ll control it?” Euron said aloud in Valyrian, a strange smile on his face.

“You’re courting death,” Daenerys whispered in a voice like grinding teeth. “Keep it up if you’re not afraid to die.”

The Good Masters ahead were too far away to hear her words or see her lips move, but Euron’s question carried clearly down the passage. Their cheerful conversation came to an abrupt halt.

After exchanging a look, their “old friend” Kraznys spoke up. “Ser Euron, what are you trying to say?”

Feeling a sharp point press against the small of his back, Euron rubbed his nose and grinned roguishly. “I’m telling you all to take a trip to the ruins of Valyria as soon as possible. You’ll find the secret arts to control dragons there, along with countless dragon eggs. If possible, we could even cooperate.”

“Euron, no one asked you to speak,” Daenerys snapped, cutting the topic short.

Once the Good Masters turned their heads and continued walking, Daenerys gave a subtle wave of her hand, signaling Aggo to withdraw the Arakh he was pressing against Euron’s back.

Euron reached behind him and touched his back, finding his fingertips stained with a hint of crimson. He grinned. “Your Grace, tomorrow I will be a free man.”

“That’s tomorrow’s business. Today, right now, you will behave yourself,” Daenerys said coolly.

“HU-HA! HU-HA! HU-HA!”

Blinding daylight shot into the tunnel from the exit, accompanied by a tsunami of roaring “Hu-has.”

In the half-hour it had taken for the Good Masters and Daenerys to descend the pyramid and walk over, the arena had already filled with Ghiscari, their straight black-and-red hair standing on end.

Compared to a modern basketball or soccer stadium, the Great Arena wasn’t overly large. Daenerys estimated there were no more than three thousand spectators.

The fighting pit below was a circular dirt floor with a fifty-meter diameter. Standing at its center was a powerfully built, muscular man.

He wore nothing but a white loincloth. He waved his arms and bellowed “Hu-ha!”, whipping the atmosphere to a fever pitch.

The eight Good Masters had their designated seats at the highest point of the main platform.

Daenerys, though an honored guest, was only given a wooden chair on the red-brick tier one level below. Euron sat beside her. Jorah, Whitebeard, and the others didn’t even have seats.

“The arrogance of the Ghiscari!” Jorah complained behind Daenerys. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

“The host invites; how can the guest refuse?” Daenerys sighed, placating him. “Since we’re here, let’s make the best of it. It’s almost noon. The duels should be over soon.”

“It won’t be over soon, my lady,” said Missandei. “The Good Masters will have their lunch in the fighting pits, and sometimes even dinner. The duels often last until nightfall.”

“Alas, we truly shouldn’t have come,” Daenerys said with a sigh, taken aback.

Suddenly, the roaring “Hu-has” ceased, and the fighting pit fell silent. The muscular man retreated into a tunnel, and a middle-aged man in a yellow tokar gown emerged, followed by a group of slaves.

The slaves deftly hammered three wooden crosses into the center of the pit. Then, three bewildered little girls, no older than four or five, were tied to them.

Three more slaves approached, each carrying a large clay jar. They tipped the viscous liquid inside over the three girls’ heads.

Two of the girls, who were fair-skinned, began to cry. The third girl, a Dothraki with coppery skin, was stunned for only a moment before opening her mouth, which was missing several teeth, and greedily licking the brown liquid that trickled to her lips, her face filled with an expression of contentment and joy.

A moment later, a mixed smell—cloyingly sweet, foul, and sickly—wafted toward Daenerys.

“To the great Sons of the Harpy, today’s appetizer is ‘The Hungry Bear’s Love’! Three slaves, each doused in a different delicacy: honey, fresh human blood, and rotten fish and shrimp. Our great bear, Brutus, will choose his favorite food. Tell me, which one will Mr. Hungry Bear choose first?”

The announcer waved dramatically toward the beast pens opposite him. As he backed toward a tunnel, he yelled, “And now, let us welcome our great bear, starved for ten days, Brutus the Twenty-Eighth!”

“ROAR!” A tangible shockwave of sound rippled through the arena, silencing even the cheering Ghiscari.

The iron gate had only been hoisted halfway when a three-meter-tall black bear impatiently squeezed through the gap, its immense strength causing the arm-thick steel bars to bend slightly.

Thump, thump, thump! The great bear charged on all fours, running with incredible speed and kicking up a trail of red dust from the dirt floor.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it charged straight for the Dothraki girl, who was still extending her tongue to lick the honey.

CRUNCH!

The bear’s mouth was as large as a washbasin. It was like snapping a stalk of sugarcane. Juices dripped from the side of its furry mouth…

“Retch!” Daenerys doubled over, vomiting as mucus and tears streamed down her face.

“Hehehe, the Westerosi bitch is scared,” Kraznys said to the Good Master beside him with a smirk.

“Khaleesi, are you alright?” a Dothraki handmaiden asked, steadying Daenerys. Jorah and Whitebeard also looked at her with concern.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Daenerys mumbled without standing, remaining crouched on the ground.

Euron watched with great interest as the bear finished chewing its three “sugarcane stalks.” He then turned to Grazdan with a grin. “Good Master, this performance is spectacular, but it lacks a certain thrill.

“I’m actually quite fond of gladiator games myself. The sea voyages can be so lonely. I would use blood to attract a school of sharks, then throw an equal number of sailors into the sea. Each man gets a cutlass and a set of clothes soaked in blood. Tsk, tsk, tsk, now that was glorious entertainment.”

“Hsss—” Grazdan of the pearl-fringed tokar drew a sharp breath. He stroked his fleshy chin, appraising the idea. “Not bad, not bad. Just thinking about it is exciting. It gives me an idea to build a water-based gladiatorial arena. However, if you’re always at sea and always playing this game, you must run out of sailors quickly!”

“Hah, have you forgotten my profession?” Euron waved a dismissive hand and laughed. “To us Ironborn, everything on the sea is ours for the taking—treasure, women, men. As long as you’re a little ‘frugal’ during the taking, how could you ever run out of ‘gladiators’?”

“Euron, say one more word, and I’ll have you thrown down there to put on a spectacular performance yourself,” Daenerys said, rising to her feet and slapping him across his scabbed face.

The lazy smile in Euron’s blue right eye turned venomous. Daenerys stared at him coldly. “Dare to dodge, dare to resist, and I will cut off one of your hands.”

With that, she slapped him another seven or eight times—slap, slap, slap, slap—under his poison-filled gaze.

Her hand was red by the time she finished. The scabs on Euron’s face had broken open, and blood began to seep out.

Throughout the entire ordeal, the Good Masters watched, pointing and chuckling.

When Daenerys had vented her fury and returned to her seat, Kraznys finally turned to the blood-streaked Euron and said with a smile, “Actually, we have some supremely thrilling events as well. ‘The Hungry Bear’s Love’ was merely the appetizer. Coming up next is—”

“The big bear and the little girl!” the announcer’s booming voice drowned out the Good Master’s words. “Next, let’s see if the great bear Brutus can defend his title! Please welcome our most ferocious, wretched bitch—”

Chapter 96: Worthless Bitch

“The Good Masters call the great bear ‘Brutus’, the lion ‘Hades’, and the elephant ‘Angela’. The previous brown bear was ‘Brutus XXVII’. It died on a gladiator’s spear, and this current black bear inherited the name Brutus, becoming Brutus XXVIII,” Missandei quietly explained to Daenerys.

Daenerys pointed to the small, black-haired girl slowly walking out of the tunnel and asked, “What’s her name? What does she do?”

The girl was about Missandei’s age, no older than ten, with black, ear-length hair, pale skin, and plain features. Her eyes were narrow slits, and her face, still holding a bit of baby fat, was, like Belwas’s belly, covered in a crisscrossing network of faint scars.

“She is just called ‘Worthless Bitch’. She is an assassin raised by Good Master Grazdan mo Eraz, and a powerful gladiator,” Missandei said.

“Worthless Bitch?” Daenerys murmured. “That fat pig is either incredibly bold, or incredibly confident in his ability to train slaves.”

Worthless Bitch was barefoot. She wore a short linen tunic, the hem cinched tight by a belt from which a thirty-centimeter short sword hung. Below, she wore a pair of puffy, baggy trousers.

In the time it took to exchange these few words, the announcer had already retreated, and a completely mismatched fight began to unfold in the pit below.

Worthless Bitch seemed to bear her entire weight on one foot, the other hovering a few centimeters above the ground, not touching the dirt at all. She held her sword in one hand, pointing it at the great bear.

“A Water Dancer!” Jorah gasped in a low voice.

The three-meter-tall black bear paid no mind to the girl, who was shorter than the bend in its leg. Three “sugarcane stalks” had not satisfied its hungry belly; the “appetizer” had only made it even more ravenous, eager to devour more sweet “sugarcane.”

“Roar!” The great bear opened its cavernous, bloody maw and, just as before, lunged forward to bite.

But Worthless Bitch was not a girl tied to a stake. She could not only dodge, but her movements were also extremely swift.

Daenerys barely saw what she did. In a blur, the little girl was at the black bear’s right side, leaving the great beast with a mouthful of red mud.

Indeed, a pit the size of a washbasin had appeared in the soft dirt floor.

Daenerys finally saw Worthless Bitch’s next move clearly. Like a nimble cat, she leaped onto the bear’s right paw, then raced up its forearm, wrist, lower arm, and upper arm as if sprinting a hundred meters on flat ground. She reached the back of the bear’s neck like a gale of wind and thrust her sword down fiercely.

“Not good!” The moment Whitebeard saw Worthless Bitch’s dash, he guessed her intention and his expression changed drastically. “She’s small and weak! Her short sword can’t pierce the back of its neck—”

The whole sequence was too fast. Before the old man’s cry had fully escaped his lips, the sword had already struck. The result was worse than Whitebeard had imagined. It seemed to have hit bone; the thin blade did not penetrate deep into the flesh. The great bear, stung by the pain, let out a furious roar that boomed like thunder. At the same time, its giant paw, the size of an iron wok, swatted at the back of its neck.

“Ah—” Daenerys cried out.

Her shriek was cut short in the next moment. The girl, who had been crouched on the back of the bear’s neck, was like a leaf blown by the fierce wind from the bear’s paw, but she didn’t just fall—she fell in the wrong direction. The girl landed directly in front of the great bear’s face.

In the brief second or two of her descent, Daenerys saw three flashes of silver.

“Awooo—” The great bear howled miserably, covering its face with one paw. Black blood soaked the dark fur on the back of its paw. Its other paw flailed madly, as if striking at an invisible enemy.

By now, the girl had already retreated five or six meters, assuming the Water Dancer’s opening stance once more—one foot on its toes, bearing the weight of her body, the other leg behind her, hovering a few centimeters above the ground.

“A union of stillness and motion. There is movement within the stillness. She appears to be standing still, but she is within the Water Dancer’s rhythm, letting the opponent strike first to find an opening and deliver a fatal blow in an instant,” Whitebeard murmured. “I was wrong. This little Water Dancer thinks three steps ahead. That thrust to the bear’s neck used only sixty percent of her strength. It wasn’t a miscalculation that hit bone.”

The short sword in Worthless Bitch’s hand was still pointed at the frenzied bear, but now its tip was crimson, dripping with fresh blood. Between her and the bear lay a black nose the size of a fist—the bear’s nose.

“The black bear’s sight and smell are gone! Such vicious methods. In an instant, three strikes all hit vital spots. She has both speed and power,” said the Bear, horrified.

“Hey, Worthless Bitch!” Grazdan suddenly stood up, leaning over the railing and shouting into the pit. “Worthless Bitch, what are you standing there for? The masters didn’t come to listen to a bear howl! Kill it at once, or be torn to shreds by it. There are a dozen more acts waiting to go on!”

“Worthless Bitch, kill it!”

“Worthless Bitch, kill it!”

The announcer bellowed through a brass megaphone. Gradually, the three thousand spectators rose from their seats, joining the chant. The rolling wave of sound was like a death curse, impatiently trying to drag an innocent child into hell.

“Beasts! Beasts!” Whitebeard’s white beard was practically bristling with rage. His hardwood staff tapped rapidly against the red brick floor—tap, tap, tap—betraying the extreme turmoil in his heart.

Jorah’s face was also grim. “The girl’s strength is too little. Even if she thrusts her sword through its eye socket, it will be difficult to kill the bear. But the bear only needs to hit her once.”

“Good Master, it seems your slave has already won. The duel was wonderful. Perhaps we could move on to the next one?” Daenerys said softly to the pearl-and-tassel-adorned Grazdan.

“That bitch from Westeros is a soft-hearted fool,” ‘old friend’ Kraznys chuckled to the Good Master beside him. “The truly magnificent part of the duel is just beginning, and she says it’s already won? Hahaha.”

The fat slaver’s coarse voice was booming; even his lowered voice was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. The little translator Missandei’s dark face flushed red, her large golden eyes filled with bewilderment.

She didn’t know whether she should translate her old master’s improper remarks to her new mistress.

“It is the tradition of the Sons of the Harpy: a duel in the fighting pits, once started, must never be stopped midway,” Grazdan refused sternly.

With that, he raised a hand toward the announcer, who then barked an order to those around him.

Click, clack.

A group of archers and crossbowmen emerged from the first level of the spectator stands. They spread out above, surrounding the fighting pit, their arrows aimed directly at the hesitating Worthless Bitch below.

The girl noticed the archers above her head and understood that the Good Master was very displeased with her caution.

So she advanced lightly on her toes, circling to the great bear’s rear to deliver a stab. When the maddened black bear turned and swung its arms, Worthless Bitch ducked low and slipped under its armpit.

Now in front of the black bear, the girl crouched down and gave its thick belly a light kick. The great bear sensed its enemy before it, spread its arms wide like a starving husband, and lunged fiercely at his beautiful wife, who was clad in provocative lingerie and still striking poses for him at the head of the bed.

Swoosh— The girl’s crouched body shot up like a spring. Her whole person was like an arrow on a fully drawn bowstring that was suddenly released, and she shot back three meters.

“Ah—” Daenerys cried out. Though the girl was fast, she was still within the bear’s attack range. In the next moment, she would be crushed into a bloody pulp by the bear’s head.

But she was wrong. The girl’s lightning-fast retreat came to an abrupt halt. With a pirouette worthy of a ballet dancer, she arrived at the great bear’s shoulder—the shoulder was lower than the head. The head would have smashed her, but the shoulder merely brushed against her clothes as it crashed to the ground.

Crack— Daenerys heard the crisp sound of breaking bone and the bear’s mournful howl at the same time.

Looking back at the fighting pit, the great bear was lying prone on the ground, blood gushing out as if from an open faucet, quickly soaking a large patch of earth. Worthless Bitch’s face was deathly pale, with beads of cold sweat forming on her face and forehead.

Worthless Bitch was half-crouched between the great bear’s outstretched arm and its head, her right arm bent at an unnaturally sharp angle, trapped beneath the black bear’s neck.

The girl didn’t make a sound, only struggled to crawl out from between the massive, unconsciously twitching body. The three-meter-tall black bear lay on the ground, a rattling sound coming from its throat, but it could no longer get up.

The entire fighting pit was deathly silent. The whole event had happened too quickly, almost in the blink of an eye; the game of “great bear and little girl” was over.

“How did that bear die?”

“Did Worthless Bitch win?”

“What did she do?”

Slowly, a bee-like hum of discussion rose from the pit. The Ghiscari were gesticulating excitedly.

“Impressive.” Whitebeard watched the small girl limping toward the tunnel with a solemn expression, speaking slowly. “I overlooked one thing. She is no novice. She is so experienced it would make even a man of iron feel pity.”

Jorah, his face pale, nodded in agreement. “She knew she couldn’t pierce the black bear’s hide, so she had to use the bear’s own momentum, placing her sword on the ground to meet its brow. Her right arm is likely ruined, who knows how many bones are shattered.”

“Hahaha,” Grazdan laughed triumphantly, turning to Euron. “Well? Was that exciting enough?”

The horror had not yet faded from Euron’s blue eyes. He nodded slightly but did not speak.

“I told you the best was yet to come,” the fat slaver said to Daenerys. “Worthless Bitch is no ordinary person. She’s killed who knows how many raging bulls. Brutus XXVIII didn’t die for nothing.”

A thought stirred in Daenerys’s mind. She remembered her first meeting with Kraznys, when he had said that strength wasn’t the most important thing, that a bull was strong enough, yet was easily killed by a nine-year-old girl.

It seemed the girl he was talking about then was Worthless Bitch.

Only nine years old.

Suddenly, Daenerys sighed, feeling she no longer had any right to cry, “Who dares to have had a worse life than me?”

The world was a crucible, with so many struggling in its inferno. She was neither the first, nor the last.

Afterward, a more conventional gladiator match took place, a 10-on-10 team battle. Twenty bare-chested slaves hacked at each other with swords and knives. Blood splattered everywhere, severed limbs flew through the air, and heads rolled across the ground.

The sounds of battle cries and miserable wails were incessant. Daenerys felt as if she had been transported to the world of Dead Alive, and was so disgusted she wanted to vomit.

After the twenty-man melee, the red soil of the fighting pit had turned into a muddy wetland, soaked with blood.

Daenerys thought that perhaps the red earth had not been red to begin with, but had been watered with blood until it turned crimson.

Chapter 97: Quaithe Once More

The next match was announced after the corpses were cleared away. The first to appear was a group of Ghiscari driving chariots. Their leader wore an exaggerated ceremonial helmet of an Old Ghiscari legion commander—a cylindrical bronze helm festooned with colorful feathers. His subordinates were bare-chested, each wielding a black whip over ten meters long.

Missandei said they were Ghiscari legion lash masters, who used their whips to manage the empire’s millions of slaves.

The next group wore magnificent smoke-black armor. Daenerys didn’t need the little translator to explain; she guessed they were merely imitating the Valyrian Dragonlords.

The last Ghiscari to enter the ring held golden shields in their left hands and gleaming golden shortswords in their right. They wore spiked golden helmets, golden sleeveless leather armor, black leather shorts, and long golden boots. They looked a bit like the Unsullied, but more refined.

When those men in gold emerged in their chariots, the entire arena erupted in thunderous cheers. Even the Good Masters stood and bowed in respect.

“They are the Old Ghiscari Golden Warriors, the strongest fighters of the legions, the very foundation upon which the Old Ghiscari Empire dominated the continent… Bah, they’re fakes, just imitations.” Jorah waved his hand, his face full of disdain. “The Sons of the Harpy are lost in the glory of the old empire, unable to extricate themselves, yet they forget that the Ghiscari Empire fell five thousand years ago.”

Daenerys, however, grew excited. “Are they going to duel too?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes, look.” Jorah pointed to the center of the pit. Three chariots had drawn close together, and several Ghiscari warriors aboard them were solemnly exchanging gold-lacquered parchment scrolls.

He explained, “They’re simulating the ritual of exchanging written challenges to battle before a war between the city-states of the Old Ghiscari Empire. The fight will begin shortly.”

“Excellent. It’s more exciting to see Ghiscari kill each other than to watch slaves fight,” Daenerys said with a low laugh.

It would be best if all the Ghiscari died. Hmm, and it would be even better if those eight Good Masters personally entered the ring!

But Jorah just scoffed. “Your Grace, what slave master nowadays has the courage to participate in the games? Just you watch.”

Amidst the fervent cheers, the three Ghiscari “generals” raised their parchment scrolls high and drove their chariots around the fighting pit three times before exiting one by one through the passage.

On the other side, three cages opened with a creak, and three groups of bare-chested warriors in different colored cloaks walked out.

Each group had about fifty men. The colorful cloaks represented the lash masters led by the Ghiscari legion commander, the black cloaks represented the Valyrian Dragonlords, and the yellow cloaks represented the legion’s bravest Golden Swordsmen.

Then, one hundred and fifty men began to slaughter one another with spears, shortswords, Arakhs, and long whips in the narrow pit.

They fought with a brutal ferocity, completely heedless of their own lives, as if their lives and the lives of others weren’t worth a single copper penny.

It was even crueler than the ten-versus-ten match before. The previously dry ground had turned into a quagmire—and that wasn’t an exaggeration. It truly looked like a muddy field after a heavy rain.

Below, a truly graphic gorefest was unfolding. Above, the blood of the Ghiscari spectators was boiling, and they seemed to enter a strange, feverish state. They weren’t just watching men kill each other; they were transported back five thousand years, becoming members of the Old Ghiscari legions, pushing back the Valyrian Freehold, trampling the water wizards of the Rhoyne, with Andal knights wailing beneath their blades and three hundred dragons lying dead before them.

It was truly a thrilling, blood-pumping sport.

The agitation in Daenerys’s heart inexplicably calmed. Everything around her felt so real yet so illusory. Things were happening in reality, yet she watched from a god’s-eye view, as if watching a movie.

“This is hell. Let’s go back,” she said suddenly, standing up and addressing Jorah and the others.

She noticed the expressions of her entourage. Only Whitebeard and Jorah showed aversion. Missandei’s face was chalk-white, but Belwas and the horse men were watching with great interest.

Even Jhiqui and Irri had been swept up in the atmosphere, shouting excitedly, their cheeks flushed.

“We should indeed leave. A place like this shouldn’t exist in the world,” Whitebeard agreed.

The Good Masters paid no mind to Daenerys’s departure. Kraznys even loudly mocked her weakness and foolishness with another Good Master.

The slaughter in the fighting pit was too bloody. Daenerys hadn’t touched the food the slavers’ servants brought at noon. Whitebeard and Jorah hadn’t eaten either. Belwas, on the other hand, had feasted with gusto. Like the Good Masters, the gore below seemed to be an appetizer that whetted his appetite.

It was nearly dusk when they returned to their ship. Daenerys ate some fruit and white bread to fill her stomach, took a bath, and fed her three dragons their dinner.

The sky was still dark, but she went back to her room to rest.

Lying in bed, Daenerys tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Scene after scene from the arena replayed in her mind. Then she thought of the Unsullied, their faces as hard as rock. She even imagined the scene of them killing puppies and infants.

Finally, her thoughts turned to what she had to do tomorrow, and the day after…

She kept turning over, her movements so large that she eventually woke Irri beside her.

The Dothraki handmaiden had watched a grand spectacle today, eaten and drunk her fill, and had begun to snore softly the moment she lay down.

“Khaleesi, you can’t sleep?” she asked.

In the darkness, Daenerys gave a soft “Mm.”

A moment later, the handmaiden hesitantly reached out a hand. “Do you need my help?”

“Help with what?” Daenerys asked, confused.

“I learned techniques from Doreah. I can please you,” she said, slipping her calloused hand under Daenerys’s covers.

It took Daenerys a moment to understand. She turned away, blushing, and said, “Ah, not that. I’m thinking about what happened at the fighting pit.”

Drogo’s bloodriders were dead, and the other horse men dared not touch Daenerys’s handmaidens. The three women, long without a man, had grown unaccustomed to it. Sometimes, Daenerys would see Doreah with them…

“Oh, what about the fighting pit?” Irri’s voice was flat, with none of the embarrassment or shyness of being rejected. It was as if she had just asked, “Khaleesi, would you like some water?”

Daenerys, while silently marveling at the Dothraki’s brazenness, said, “People should have a moral baseline. The yearning for what is good is what separates humans from beasts. Kindness and compassion are among humanity’s finest qualities. But today I saw that so many people are not like people at all.”

Irri paused before speaking softly. “I never knew my father, but I had a mother and brothers. They all died under the blades of Khal Drogo’s screaming warriors. But after becoming your handmaiden, I have considered myself completely yours.”

“In my heart, this is the way of the world. We’ve all lived this way. I don’t know how it could be better.”

Irri, Jhiqui, Quaro, and Qalarro had not originally been part of Drogo’s khalasar. After their own khalasar was destroyed by Drogo’s, they became his semi-slaves—a status higher than a slave but lower than an official member of the khalasar.

Only after Daenerys married Drogo and the four of them joined her khas did they gain official status in Drogo’s khalasar.

“I know what a better world looks like, and I intend to change this one,” Daenerys said.

“I believe you, Khaleesi. You are the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, a miracle blessed by the Horse God,” Irri said, taking her hand.

After that, neither of them spoke. Less than three minutes later, the handmaiden’s breathing grew heavy again.

Daenerys stared wide-eyed at the pitch-black ceiling. She could hear the faint creak of the ship’s wooden hull, the sound of waves lapping against it, and footsteps on the deck above…

In the silence, she suddenly heard the breathing of a third person. Startled, she sat up halfway and peered into the darkness, calling out softly, “Doreah? Jhiqui?”

“They are asleep,” a woman said. “All are asleep.”

The voice was very close to the bed, as if the speaker was standing right beside it, looking down at Daenerys.

“Shit, Quaithe?” Daenerys recognized the speaker’s voice. “How did you get to Astapor?” she asked in horror. “My guards, didn’t they stop you?”

“It is I.” Quaithe seemed to take a few steps closer. Daenerys could vaguely make out an extremely blurry shadow in the darkness.

“This afternoon, during my meditation, I foresaw again that something world-changing was about to happen. I saw your figure standing amidst blood and fire, a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood at your feet,” Quaithe said flatly.

Daenerys’s face changed. “What do you know?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Prophecies in this world are so infuriating! She barely had a vague notion in her own mind, and it had already set off a vision for Quaithe?

“I know nothing. I am confused. So… can you tell me?”

Quaithe’s words made her let out a great sigh of relief.

“I don’t even know basic meditation, what would I know of prophecy?” she said.

In the darkness, Daenerys felt Quaithe studying her. Just as she was about to ask again how she had gotten past the guards, Quaithe spoke again.

“Daenerys, you must remember: To go north, you must travel south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. And to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadow.”

Her voice grew fainter with each word until the last sentence was barely audible.

A thought struck Daenerys, and she called out, “Big Black, light.”

The sound of a chain dragging came from the corner as the black dragon slowly awoke from its sleep. His dark red eyes glowed like two pearls in the night. “Hiss—”

Big Black opened his mouth slightly and breathed a thin stream of fire. The darkness in the room was instantly banished by the light. Daenerys looked around but a chill ran down her spine: the door was closed, the bolt firmly in place, but there was no trace of the woman in the red lacquer mask.

A locked-room murder?

Oh, wait, a locked-room theft, a locked-room break-in and escape?

How did Quaithe get in? How did she leave?

“Oh my god!” Daenerys suddenly slapped her forehead and exclaimed in a low voice, “Damn it, it must have been the Glass Candle!”

When a scientific explanation was impossible, it could only be magic. The Glass Candle seemed to have the effect of cross-dimensional communication and projection.

Even if it wasn’t a Glass Candle, it had to be similar sorcery.

To test her theory, Daenerys threw off her blanket, slipped on a robe, and opened the door to look outside. Doreah and Jhiqui were asleep on a low couch in the antechamber. Out on the corridor and on the top deck, four or five Dothraki warriors were patrolling back and forth.

Daenerys also saw that Whitebeard had put a sleeping bag at the entrance to the cabin. Hearing her footsteps, the old man woke instantly.

“Your Grace?” Whitebeard asked, sitting up.

“It’s me. Did you see Quaithe?” Daenerys asked.

“No one came in. I can tell a stranger by the sound of their footsteps,” the old man said with certainty.

Daenerys’s bedroom had originally been Groleo’s captain’s cabin, located in the innermost part of the third deck. There was only one way in and out, and Whitebeard was sleeping right beside the passage.

“Sigh, Quaithe came to see me,” Daenerys said with a sigh.

Chapter 98: Departure

The next morning, Daenerys practiced the standard sword-slashing motion three hundred times with Whitebeard, as usual.

The old man told her that while her form was passable, it hadn’t yet become muscle memory. As long as she still considered herself a warrior, she would have to train every day.

After washing up and eating a hearty breakfast, Daenerys changed out of her loose training clothes and into a painted leather vest, silk breeches, horsehair leggings, and leather riding sandals.

A belt of bronze medallions was fastened around her slender waist. Her handmaidens had braided her hair, attaching two small, jingling silver bells to the end—one for defeating the demigod Undying in the House of the Undying, and the other courtesy of Euron.

The battle against Euron had been far more dangerous and brutal than the one in the House of the Undying; Daenerys felt she had earned the right to add another bell.

Today, she would ride her little silver mare to the Plaza of Punishment. The transaction would be completed in the morning, and she might be leaving Astapor by noon.

Her two Bloodriders, Aggo and Rakharo, rode at the fore, each holding a large banner. A black dragon on a green field snapped in the wind.

Daenerys was not using the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen at this time. The black dragon was her personal mount, and the green symbolized the endless Great Grass Sea.

She followed on her silver mare. Belwas, as always, chose to go on foot, jogging to protect Daenerys’s left flank. Missandei rode a small mare to her right, and to Missandei’s right was Whitebeard, mounted on a tall dragon-mount. Jorah Mormont brought up the rear.

Surrounding them were more than twenty screaming warriors on horseback, with curved swords at their waists and longbows hanging from their saddles. Their uniform queue hairstyles drew stares and whispers from the people on the streets.

Behind the warriors was a long train of wagons—one hundred and seventy-seven of them. In addition to gold, silver, jewels, emeralds, and jade, there were six large bundles of tiger skins, three hundred bolts of finely woven silk from Yi Ti, over a thousand jars of saffron, myrrh, pepper, curry, and cardamom, and eighty barrels of fine red, black, and green inks from the capital of Yi Ti.

There was also a barrel of pitted olives stuffed with worms, twelve casks of pickled cave fish, a collection of exquisite bronze artifacts, seventeen ivory eyes, and a wagonload of books from the nations of the Jade Sea.

Besides these precious foreign goods, there were dozens of wagons carrying black rice and wine, mainly used as ballast. They were not particularly valuable, being the most common commodities in the great maritime trade.

The procession, stretching for half a kilometer, caused quite a stir in the red-brick market streets. Daenerys did not assign anyone to guard the wagons; they had already been inventoried by scribes in the harbor district. Their ownership had essentially been transferred to the various Good Masters, so they were perfectly safe within Astapor.

Eight Good Masters, along with their children and wives, stood clad in tokar gowns on the highest step of the great pyramid, looking down as Daenerys rode in from the other side of the plaza.

The Plaza of Punishment was filled with the army of the Unsullied. They stood in row after silent row, as motionless as wooden stakes driven neatly into the ground.

There were eight thousand, six hundred fully trained Unsullied in total, wearing their spiked helmets. Another five thousand were bare-headed, equipped only with spears and shortswords; they had not completed their training and had no helmets.

The youngest among them were mere children, five or six years old, with innocent faces.

Even without their full training, they stood as ramrod straight as the true Unsullied, gazes fixed forward, utterly still.

Daenerys rode ahead, passed through the ranks of the Unsullied, and arrived before the pyramid. She dismounted, took two chests from her saddle, and placed them one by one at the foot of the steps where the Good Masters stood.

Then Euron dismounted as well, walked over, and opened the two chests. The first chest contained a rolled-up chart, the very sea chart Euron had drawn himself.

The second was lined with a thick Myrish rug, upon which rested a rust-spotted bronze dragon egg.

Euron picked up the dragon egg, examined it from all sides, and seeing that its weight and texture were correct, he set it down. He stood up, nodded to the Good Masters, and said, “That’s right. It’s the dragon egg that was stolen from me.”

“It is my spoil of war!” Daenerys corrected.

“This dragon egg of a Valyrian Dragonlord now belongs to Astapor!” Grazdan said with a chuckle.

“Not until the transaction is complete,” Daenerys said coolly.

By then, a scribe had scurried up the steps and presented the cargo manifest to the Good Masters.

Seeing that not a single item was missing, Grazdan said sternly, “Complete one last thing, and the deal will be made.”

“What is that?” Daenerys’s heart pounded, but her expression remained serene.

“Swear that the bronze dragon egg is truly viable and can hatch a dragon,” the slave master declared in a loud voice.

Daenerys relaxed internally. “By my honor as a descendant of Valyria and of House Targaryen, and as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I swear that the bronze dragon egg I obtained from Euron is viable,” she proclaimed. “In my hands, it can certainly hatch a dragon.”

Then, raising an eyebrow, she warned the slave masters, “I am the Mother of Dragons. I have awakened the legendary blood of Old Valyria, so if I pay a certain price, I have a very high chance of hatching a small bronze dragon. But if you wish to hatch it, you must not only seek out a shadowbinder, but it would be best to have a true descendant of the dragon, or a Valyrian noble, perform the hatching.”

“We have Valyrian blood as well,” Kraznys muttered.

This was true. From Qarth to Slaver’s Bay, to Volantis, to every free city-state except Braavos, the high nobility possessed Valyrian blood. In the days of the Freehold, it was pure-blooded Valyrian nobles who ruled these cities. The Dragonlords with their dragons resided in the capital of Valyria, while lesser nobles or branches of the great houses who lacked dragons were granted lands elsewhere.

After the Doom, it was these lesser nobles and their descendants who survived.

Among them, the rulers of Volantis had the purest bloodline, even purer than that of House Targaryen. This was because the Targaryens had intermarried with other houses many times over the subsequent four hundred years, while the nobility of Volantis was more numerous, their larger population allowing for a closed and conservative system of heredity.

“I have sworn my oath and given my warning. May we complete the transaction now?” Daenerys asked.

“And after the deal is done, is Ser Euron free?” Grazdan asked, a question that seemed quite unrelated to the current topic.

But Daenerys understood. The dragon egg was precious, but the sea chart was ten, even a hundred times more valuable.

How much wealth had Valyria plundered during its five thousand years of rule?

It was impossible to imagine.

Some speculated that the gold and silver there was more than all the wealth in the rest of the world combined.

And what had allowed Valyria to rule the world for five thousand years?

Dragons and magic.

Real, true dragons, and real, true magic.

In the four hundred years since the Doom, how many explorers had tried to cross the Smoking Sea, hoping to find treasure and secret arts in the city-states of Valyria?

Countless.

It was like the fabled pirate king whose dying words about his treasure launched an age of piracy.

But that pirate king’s treasure would not amount to a single hair compared to Valyria’s.

Unfortunately, in all these years, only one man had returned from the ruins of Valyria: Euron Greyjoy.

Although the treasure he brought back seemed small, he had not returned empty-handed. The key was that the Silence was a narrow longship, not a merchant cog or carrack. The space for cargo was relatively small; Euron had returned as fully laden as he could be.

If Groleo’s Saduleon had returned safely from the ruins of Valyria, the treasure it carried could have bought all of Astapor, perhaps even all of Slaver’s Bay.

The sea chart was priceless, but the Good Masters were even more eager for an experienced guide like Euron to show them the way. To be honest, if Euron were more trustworthy, if he could show even a shred of loyalty to Daenerys, she would have wanted to keep him as well.

But if an experienced guide was dishonest and deliberately led you into a trap, the damage would be far greater than a novice fumbling their own way.

In Daenerys’s mind, Euron was not trustworthy in the slightest. And so, regretfully, she had to abandon the wonderful idea of having him lead the way.

“I promised to free you and your crew as soon as we returned to land,” Daenerys said, nodding as she looked at the grinning Crow’s Eye. “Once we are outside the gates of Astapor, you may go wherever you please. However, I still advise you to travel with me. This is Slaver’s Bay, and you have bounties on your head in dozens of city-states. Don’t get yourself caught and sold as a slave.”

“I know,” Euron said casually. “But I crave true freedom more.”

“As you wish.”

Hearing their exchange, Grazdan smiled with satisfaction. At his signal, his “old friend” Kraznys hurried down the steps. He came to Daenerys’s side, raised a whip high in the air, and announced, “The Good Masters say, the deal is made!”

“The deal is made!” Grazdan, adorned with pearl tassels, echoed loudly from the high steps.

“The deal is made!”

“The deal is made!”

Eight Good Masters, eight declarations. Every Unsullied and every Ghiscari bystander in the plaza saw and heard it all.

“The deal is made,” Daenerys said with a nod. She waved a hand behind her, and the horse men who had been standing by the chests of treasure and goods moved away one by one.

Then, she took the whip, known as the “Harpy’s Finger,” from Kraznys’s hand.

The thirty-centimeter-long handle was exquisitely carved from black dragonbone, inlaid with gold at both ends. One end was a golden ball shaped like a woman’s head with sharp ivory teeth in her mouth; the other was connected to eight thin leather strips, each tipped with a gilded eagle’s claw.

It felt slightly heavy in her hand, but the meaning it represented was far heavier—control over thirteen thousand, six hundred Unsullied.

It was like the deed to a property.

While Kraznys eagerly unfurled the sea chart, Daenerys mounted her silver mare. Standing in the stirrups, she raised the Harpy’s Finger above her head and made a silent circuit around the plaza.

Finally, she deliberately shouted in halting Valyrian, as if she had just learned the language: “You belong to me now, people of the Mother of Dragons! Form ranks, five men to a row! Follow me, onward to a new world, a new future!”

Daenerys rode at the head of the column, and behind her, the Unsullied fell into neat ranks, five men to a row, forming a long column that stretched for three or four kilometers.

After a cursory look at the sea chart, Kraznys turned to Euron beside him and said mockingly, “That whore must have practiced those few lines all night. She said it well enough. The eunuchs all understood.”

Euron opened his mouth, wanting to say, “She’s a legitimate descendant of Valyria and has lived in the Free Cities of the western continent for over a decade. Why would you think she couldn’t speak Valyrian?”

But not far away, Whitebeard was holding a large box, watching him like a hawk. The Crow’s Eye rubbed his nose and said in a low voice, “Interested in working together sometime?”

“That is precisely what I desire!” A sharp glint flashed in Kraznys’s eyes.

“Then I’ll see you later.” The Crow’s Eye’s blue right eye held a warm, friendly smile that was so convincing.

“Euron, your crew is waiting outside the city gates. Go on,” the old man said coldly.

Euron nodded, swung himself onto his horse, and galloped away.

Whitebeard turned back to the slave master and said, “Queen Daenerys has asked me to bring a gift for the Good Masters.”

Chapter 99: Guest Gift

“A gift?” Kraznys was bewildered. Then, he pointed at the old man in surprise. “How do you speak the Valyrian language?”

The old man paid him no mind, opening a leather chest the size of a cello. It was lined with thick, exquisite silk from Yi Ti, and resting upon the soft cloth were eight black staffs. They were nearly two meters long, as translucent as obsidian, yet exuding an indescribable air of nobility and authority.

The tops of five of the staffs were inlaid with large pieces of gold, carved into the likeness of a Harpy’s head. Their eyes were set with luminous rutilated quartz, and their teeth were carved from ivory as white as jade.

Where one would grip the staff, there were golden bands with fine grooves to prevent a sweaty hand from slipping.

Kraznys looked closer and saw Valyrian script inlaid with fine diamond dust on the golden bands. One of them read “Kraznys mo Nakloz”—his own name.

Two others were inlaid with silver at the top, identical in style. A thought struck the slaver, and he looked at the silver bands. As expected, the names on them were of the Good Masters who were only permitted to wear tokar gowns with silver-fringed tassels.

The last staff was the most magnificent of all. Though also made primarily of gold, it was studded with at least eighty pearls the size of fava beans. It bore the name of Grazdan, who wore the pearl-fringed tokar.

“Are these really for us?” The notoriously stingy Kraznys’s pig-like eyes widened in disbelief. “If I’m not mistaken, these are dragonbone staffs, aren’t they?”

Dragonbone was unique. It had the texture of metal, yet it was far lighter than black iron—if it weren’t, dragons couldn’t fly.

At first, Kraznys had thought they were staffs of black iron, but after picking one up and examining it for a moment, he was certain. They were all dragonbone.

“They are dragonbone,” Whitebeard said, placing the box before the slaver. “I hope the Good Masters will find them to their liking. I will take my leave.”

With that, he turned to leave, leaning on his own hardwood walking stick.

“Wait,” Kraznys called out to the old man, his face full of confusion. “But why? Eight exquisite dragonbone staffs must be worth several thousand, perhaps even ten thousand gold dragons.”

“We are leaving Astapor today. The queen asked me to deliver these gifts,” Whitebeard said flatly.

In truth, he was somewhat perplexed himself. He didn’t even know when Daenerys had prepared these gifts.

It was only when they were setting out that morning that she had a horse man, who had taken up the trade of a smith, deliver a large box. She had instructed him to personally deliver the gifts to the Good Masters after she had left with the Unsullied.

“Hey, tell your Westerosi whore queen,” Kraznys said, stopping Whitebeard again. Looking at the magnificent dragonbone staff, he felt he should offer something in return and gave his sincere advice. “It would be best to let the slaves gain some combat experience first.

“On the way west, there are many small cities perfect for raiding. Whatever spoils she takes, she can keep for herself, as the Unsullied have no desire for gold or jewels.

“She can arrange a single escort to bring any captives back to Astapor. Meereen and Kayuan will not interfere.

“Hmm, warriors with high martial skill can be sold to Meereen, young women and slender, delicate men to Kayuan. We will buy the healthy young boys at a favorable price.

“Perhaps she’ll have earned back the money from this sale before she even reaches the Sunset Sea. And perhaps in ten years, the boys she sends us will in turn become Unsullied. It would create a virtuous cycle, beneficial for everyone.”

“Hmph!” The old man’s face turned ashen. He shot the slaver a glare and rode away without another word.

As he rode out of the city gates, he saw the vast army arrayed on the plains of the Worm River.

He spurred his horse forward a few hundred meters and found Daenerys by the side of the dusty, earthen road.

She was on horseback, speaking with several Ghiscari men in tokar gowns. Nearby on the flat ground stood nearly a thousand horse men, all wearing bronze slave collars around their necks.

“All the horse men slaves in Astapor are here, nine hundred and thirty-six of them in total. Since you’re buying so many, I’ll give you a twenty percent discount. You can have five for a single silver radiant,” said an old slave trader with spiky red-and-black hair, a wide grin on his face.

“Aggo, give this Good Master two hundred silver coins,” Daenerys said to the Bloodrider behind her.

“Hehe, that’s too much, too much,” the slave trader said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Besides, I’m just a small merchant. I can’t be called a Good Master.”

“It couldn’t have been easy for you to find all the horse men in the city. Consider the extra silver coins a gift from me.” As she said the word ‘gift’, Daenerys gave him a meaningful smile. “One day, you will enjoy the same treatment as the Good Masters.”

“Hehe, thank you for your auspicious words,” the slave trader said, his delight growing.

After the Ghiscari man left with a large bag of coins, Whitebeard approached. “The gifts have been delivered. The slavers liked them very much.”

“Good.” Daenerys nodded and ordered her Bloodriders to lead the horse men slaves to join the main column.

In the Red Waste, though some of the horse men were old or weak, everyone had a horse. Their numbers were small, making them easy to manage, and they could cover over a hundred kilometers a day.

Now, the conditions were better. There was no shortage of water or fodder for the horses, but the army was huge and consisted entirely of infantry. They would be lucky to cover thirty kilometers in a day.

“The slaver also suggested that you…” The old man hesitated for a long time. In the end, loyalty won out over his conscience, and he haltingly relayed Kraznys’s words. “He said you could have the Unsullied sack the towns along the way. It would replenish your military supplies, and you could also… aigh!”

In the end, he just couldn’t bring himself to advise her to sell slaves.

“Hehe, sell the residents of those towns as slaves to the cities of Slaver’s Bay, creating a virtuous cycle, is that it?” Daenerys finished for him with a smile.

“Er…” The old man faltered, then pleaded, “Your Grace, you mustn’t sell slaves. Never mind how the people of the Seven Kingdoms would react if they found out; you’ve seen for yourself how miserably the slaves live.”

“If we don’t plunder the small cities, how will we cross the tens of thousands of miles back to the Seven Kingdoms?” Daenerys asked deliberately.

When the slaver sold the Unsullied, he only provided a set of sleeveless leather armor, a shortsword, a longspear, an iron-bound wooden shield, a bedroll, and three days’ rations for each.

The fully trained Unsullied also had bronze-spiked helms, but the apprentices had no helmets at all.

If they didn’t resort to raiding, a month from now, Daenerys wouldn’t even be able to feed these ten thousand-plus people. Then again, she still had the wealth she had brought from Qarth.

After thinking long and hard, Whitebeard suggested tentatively, “Perhaps… you could take out a loan.”

“From whom?” Daenerys’s interest was piqued.

“From the banking merchants of the Free Cities, or the Iron Bank of Braavos.” The old man glanced at Ser Jorah, who had remained silent. “Even the Lord of Bear Island can secure a line of credit for tens of thousands of gold dragons from the Iron Bank. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms borrowing a few million should be no problem at all.”

“What do you know?” Jorah’s face flushed red. “My family’s sword, Longclaw, is Valyrian steel. Lord Tywin offered me eight hundred thousand gold dragons and I didn’t sell it. The Iron Bank is shrewd! Besides, to pay off the interest, I sold my life to them for years, hovering on the brink of death dozens of times.”

The old man stroked his chin, sizing up the knight’s magnificent gold-inlaid black armor. He nodded and said, “Your Grace, the money from selling that armor would be enough for our ten thousand-plus people to circle the globe twice.”

“You can’t—” Jorah’s face turned crimson as he looked at Daenerys imploringly.

“Enough. It was only a jest. I already have a plan,” Daenerys said, waving her hand with a smile.

“What plan?” the two men asked in unison.

She mused for a moment before asking, “Do you know why I sent gifts to the slavers?”

The two men looked at each other, both completely baffled. After a moment, something clicked in Jorah’s mind. He suddenly recalled a topic they had discussed several times before and said tentatively, “A Guest gift?”

“Hehe.” Daenerys nodded with a smile.

“But we have no guest-host relationship with the slavers,” the old man said, confused. “They were selling slaves, and we were buying Unsullied. It was a perfectly normal business transaction.”

“That can also be considered a kind of guest-host relationship,” Jorah said, gently pulling on his reins, his expression thoughtful. “The Free Cities are different from the Seven Kingdoms. In Westeros, a stranger passing a lord’s keep fulfills the prerequisite for a guest-host relationship. As long as the lord takes the guest in, Guest Right automatically takes effect. According to Her Grace’s previous theory, this is a kind of credit, a ‘pact’ of mutual non-aggression. In the Free Cities, successfully completing a transaction based on credit also counts. We came to this city, and the city’s masters did not rob us. Yesterday, they even invited us to lunch and to watch the fighting pits. Does that not count as a guest-host relationship?”

Jorah’s words convinced Whitebeard, and he slowly came around to this point of view. He nodded and sighed, “That’s true. In Westeros, as long as you eat the salt provided by your host, Guest Right is—”

At this, his head shot up. He stared at Daenerys in shock and stammered, “Your Grace, the… the… the gifts you sent to the Good Masters… were Guest gifts?!!!”

Jorah was stunned at first: Isn’t that obvious? Why is he so shocked? But a moment later, when he understood the full significance of a “Guest gift,” his face paled. In a trembling voice, he said, “A guest gives a host a Guest gift primarily to express gratitude for their generous hospitality. B-but at the same time, it also signifies the end of the guest-host relationship. Neither we nor the Good Masters are protected by Guest Right anymore. You intend to—”

Daenerys turned back to him, her expression serene, and cut him off. “You despise and hate slavery, yet you only think of avoiding it. I am different. I want to change all of this. After tomorrow, we’ll see who still dares to sell warrior-slaves.”

Her words confirmed their suspicions. For a moment, they were both stunned into silence, not knowing what to say.

“Will the Unsullied… will they follow your… plan?” Whitebeard asked hoarsely after a long pause.

Daenerys smiled. “I’m not certain myself, which is why I wanted to leave Astapor to test it.”

If the Unsullied obeyed, she would execute Plan A and make some big news. If things looked bad, if she lacked the original Daenerys Targaryen’s “queenly aura” and couldn’t make the Unsullied bow down in submission, she would immediately flee with her horse men followers.

In any case, she was already several kilometers from the city. Even if the slavers knew she was going to move against them, they wouldn’t be able to catch her.

They were currently traveling along the coastal Old Ghiscari Road, and Groleo’s four ships were following them along the coastline!

However, based on the prophecy Quaithe revealed yesterday, Daenerys guessed she had a ninety-nine percent chance of success.

Thinking of this, she turned and waved to the little dark-skinned girl who was lagging a dozen meters behind, calling out, “Missandei, come here.”

Her handmaiden, Jhiqui, had prepared a small mare with a red mane for her. It was short, gentle, and tame—the perfect size for her to ride.

“Master, what do you require of this humble one?” Missandei asked respectfully as she rode over.

Chapter 100: Daenerys’s Entrance Music

Daenerys frowned. “There are no slaves among my people. From this moment on, do not call me Master, and you need not refer to yourself as ‘this humble one.’”

Missandei looked at her with some fear and asked in a small voice, “Then what should this humble one call Master?”

“Refer to yourself as ‘I,’ and you may call me ‘Khaleesi’ or ‘Princess’,” Daenerys corrected.

“This humble one understands, Khaleesi,” Missandei said, then glanced doubtfully at the long column of Unsullied. “Are they not slaves?”

“They won’t be for long,” Daenerys said with a sigh, not correcting her use of “this humble one” again. “Are the Unsullied very obedient?”

“Indeed. The Good Masters teach them only two things: martial skill and obedience. If you forbade them to breathe, they would find it easier than disobeying an order.”

“What would happen if I ordered them to become free men?” Daenerys asked again.

“This…” Missandei hesitated. “No one has ever given the Unsullied freedom. I do not know what they would do. Perhaps they would be at a loss, and then do whatever you say.”

Whitebeard interjected, “Slavery is forbidden in Westeros. If the Queen, after reclaiming her throne, ordered them to kill themselves, would they obey?”

“Yes.” Missandei’s eyes dimmed, and she said softly, “But the Unsullied are very valuable. They can be sold off if they are no longer useful.”

“Hahaha, you needn’t worry. Whitebeard was joking! As I said, there are no slaves among my followers. They will all become free men,” Daenerys said, comforting the little girl. Then she asked curiously, “You seem very opposed to them killing themselves. Do you have a friend among them?”

Could she really have fallen for Grey Worm? But she’s only ten!

“No, no, this humble one has… I have no friends among the Unsullied,” the little girl said with difficulty.

“Could it be that one of your relatives became Unsullied?” Jorah asked in surprise.

“Y-yes,” Missandei said, lowering her gaze. “This humble one has three brothers who became Unsullied, Ser.”

“But you’re only ten. The training for an Unsullied takes ten years,” Daenerys said, puzzled.

“When this humble one was one or two, I was sold to Astapor along with my elder brothers. There were five brothers originally, but only two completed the training. This humble one has some talent for languages and became a scribe for the Good Masters,” Missandei said sorrowfully.

Daenerys leaned closer, full of sympathy, and stroked her little head. “Do you still remember your homeland, the Isle of Naath?” she asked gently.

“When I was three, one of my brothers described an island as beautiful as paradise. After he died, no one ever spoke of it to me again. Now I only remember that the Isle of Naath has many, many beautiful butterflies,” Missandei murmured, her golden eyes filled with confusion and grief.

“Smack!” Daenerys slapped her saddle decisively and announced, “Missandei, you and your brothers are free. Tomorrow… No, in a few days, I will arrange a ship to take you back to the Isle of Naath, back to your homeland. You can see for yourself how beautiful the butterflies are there and see the paradise your brother once described.”

But instead of cheering, the girl’s face was filled with terror. “This humble one wants to stay, to stay and serve you,” she said frantically.

“You…” Seeing the fear in Missandei’s eyes, Daenerys couldn’t bring herself to say the words on the tip of her tongue.

I will send you home.

She made a silent vow but said no more. The little girl had been conditioned by the slavers for so many years; she had likely endured many similar “tests.”

“This girl’s experiences are a bit like my own,” Daenerys sighed, speaking to Whitebeard and Jorah. “We were both born on an island, lost our parents at a young age, and wandered foreign lands as slaves.”

“You were not a slave,” Whitebeard said with a frown.

“Haha.” Daenerys glanced at Jorah and chuckled. “Why don’t you ask Ser Mormont if I was sold to the horselord by Illyrio and Viserys?”

Mormont’s face flushed, and he lowered his head without a word.

In theory, Daenerys really had been a slave—a highborn breeding tool acquired from Viserys by Drogo, in a deal brokered by Illyrio, for the price of the Iron Throne or twenty thousand screaming warriors.

Clip-clop-clop…

The sound of urgent hoofbeats came from behind. The group turned to see Euron galloping toward them in a great hurry.

Heeeeyah—

Euron yanked on his reins. The horse reared up, neighing as it stopped by the roadside, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust that obscured everyone’s vision.

“Her Majesty the Queen, we’re already two or two and a half kilometers out of the city! Aren’t you going to set me free?” Euron bellowed.

“I was wondering about that!” Daenerys frowned, waving the dust from her face. “Why are you still following my column?” she said, annoyed.

Euron stared blankly for a moment before replying, “I can leave? But… where are my sailors? Didn’t you promise to release them as well?”

“Your crew of pirates is at the city gate. Didn’t you see them?” said Whitebeard.

“No!” Euron said, confused. “I thought…”

“Ha, you took the wrong road,” Jorah laughed. “We left through Astapor’s main gate, but your crew is at the gate near the docks.”

Euron…

“Hahaha…” Daenerys was amused as well. “You’ve been following us for over an hour, and you’re only just realizing this?”

“You old bastard, you did this on purpose!” Euron yelled, pointing at Whitebeard. “This guy only told me my men were outside the city gate.”

Whitebeard stroked his long white beard and said helplessly, “We are traveling by land. We must go north for five hundred kilometers to enter the Great Grass Sea. Aren’t your men returning to Westeros by sea? Of course they’d be at the docks.”

“You left the Silence?” Euron asked, his hope rising.

“In your dreams. The ship is mine now.”

Groleo’s three vessels were merchant ships, but Euron’s longship was a warship. Daenerys planned to keep it to seize naval supremacy; why would she return it to him?

“Then how am I supposed to get back to Westeros? Swim?” Euron sneered.

“Her Grace left five hundred gold radiants for you. Your sailors can work on a sea vessel. In any case, it’s more than enough for you to return to the Seven Kingdoms with food and drink to spare,” Whitebeard said.

Euron gave Daenerys a long, deep look, then spurred his horse and rode away.

Daenerys looked around for a moment. “This is far enough. We’ll make camp here for the night.”

Just outside Astapor, the roadsides were lined with farms growing wheat, fruits, vegetables, and olive trees. But after an hour’s ride, the road began to be overgrown with weeds, the wheat fields disappeared, and they were surrounded by wilderness.

Whether the Unsullied were the strongest fighting force remained to be seen, but their discipline and obedience were undoubtedly the best in the world. At Daenerys’s command, it took them only half an hour to shift from a marching column five men abreast to a square formation of one hundred men per row on the grassy plain.

And this was a column nearly three kilometers long!

Daenerys didn’t need to shout at each of them individually. She only had to make her intentions clear to the first few dozen men, and the Unsullied passed the command down the line themselves.

From this, Daenerys understood that even among the Unsullied, there was a relatively complete system of military ranks.

In stark contrast to the Unsullied were the nearly one thousand horse men slaves. Their shackles had been removed, but the slave collars still hung around their necks.

Daenerys planned to set an example with the horse men, whose slave mentality was not yet as deeply ingrained. She had them line up in a 100x10 formation on the other side of the Unsullied column.

The result was a sloppy mess; the horse men’s lines were like a smear of mud.

Helpless, she could only have them join hands and form a circle around the Unsullied legion. In other words, the nine hundred-plus horse men now surrounded the Unsullied formation.

After another hour of this, Daenerys sent the two hundred-odd Dothraki horsemen to spread out and guard the perimeter, lest any passing merchant caravan stumble into their camp.

Hmm, originally there were only sixty-odd dragon-mounts left, but Daenerys later had Jorah buy over a hundred more in Astapor, so basically every male horse man was assigned a horse.

The women and children rode cheaper, more docile mules.

Riding slowly before the ranks of the Unsullied, Daenerys shouted to Quaro and the others on the outer edge, “Unchain the true dragons!”

“Skreeee—” The three young dragons, who had been confined for three or four days, tilted their heads back and cried out. With a powerful push from their legs and a great flap of their quilt-sized wings, they leaped into the sky with a rushing “whoosh.”

“Skreeee—”

“Skreeee—”

“Skreeee—”

The three pony-sized young dragons circled above Daenerys’s head. Under the midday sun, their flickering shadows danced across the faces of the Unsullied and the horse men slaves.

The horse men slaves wore expressions of terror and awe. Even the granite-like faces of the Unsullied shifted, showing surprise, reverence, and curiosity…

Big Black, on my command, get ready to breathe fire with your brothers.

Daenerys told the black dragon in her mind, preparing them for their entrance music. The Mother of Dragons was about to make her dazzling debut.

Then, she picked up a tin horn from her saddle and shouted in her loudest, clearest voice, “I am Daenerys Stormborn, heir to the Targaryen dynasty, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and the Mother of Dragons!”

As she finished saying “Mother of Dragons,” Big Black immediately opened his mouth and shrieked with all his might, “Gaaaaa—”

Then, with a whoosh, it unleashed a seven or eight-meter-long stream of blood-red Dragonflame.

“Skreeee—whoosh!”

The white and green dragons roared and breathed fire in unison.

The three vividly colored dragons and the three billowing streams of black-smoked Dragonflame seemed to form a fiery crown above Daenerys’s head.

Everyone present—the Unsullied, the horse men slaves, even Whitebeard and the others who had just joined them in Qarth—wore looks of utter shock.

After displaying her “special effects,” Daenerys raised a hand. The three dragons stopped their roaring and breathing of Dragonflame. She raised the horn to her lips and yelled, “There will be no more slaves in my retinue! Now, I can shatter the slave collars on your necks, but only if you shout one thing: ‘I want freedom.’”

She made a point of repeating this sentence four times in both Dothraki and Valyrian.

Hmm, the square formation had four sides.

While she couldn’t guarantee everyone had heard, at least forty percent of them understood her words.

Next, Daenerys’s little silver mare walked up to one of the horse men slaves. She asked loudly, “Slave, do you wish to remain a slave, or do you want to be a free horseman once more?”

“I…” The middle-aged horse man was baffled.

I’m just a simple, stupid horse man. I’ve never been through this kind of routine before! Khaleesi, give me a hint.

Daenerys didn’t mind. Raising the horn, she shouted toward the Unsullied legion, “Freedom must be earned by your own efforts, even if it’s just with a single sentence.”

“Now, slave! Remain a slave, and I will send you back to Astapor. Or shout ‘I want freedom’ and join my Khalasar, to fight for the Mother of Dragons.”

The sound of the horn boomed in the horse man’s ears. He nearly wet himself.

But the Khaleesi’s hint was so obvious—he certainly didn’t want to go back to Astapor. So, he would do whatever she said!

I’m a slave anyway, I must obey Master Khaleesi…

“I want freedom!” he shouted, his face contorted.

“You are free,” Daenerys announced loudly.

Click! Aggo and Haggo unfastened the bronze collar from his neck.

Chapter 101: The Oath

With the first man setting an example, the rest of the horse men seemed to know what to do.

Dany would ask once, and they would immediately shout, “I want freedom.”

This became a routine. As Dany rode past the lines of slaves, they didn’t even wait for her to ask, scrambling to yell, “I want freedom!” Then, her Bloodriders and their Niru would step forward to remove their slave collars.

Dany even suspected that some of them had no idea what they were actually shouting.

But it didn’t matter. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sense that a revolution was underway. Her slave liberation movement was off to a good start.

It took nearly two hours for Dany to circle the entire formation of the Unsullied legion. With the help of twenty horse men, over nine hundred slaves had their status as freemen restored.

She could clearly feel ripples stirring in the hearts of the Unsullied, who had been polished into emotionless stones.

Their expressions had changed!

With a satisfied nod, Dany waved her hand, signaling for her horse men warriors to lead the newly freed Dothraki away. Then, she turned to the Unsullied and shouted, “I have restored the freedom of the horse men slaves. Now, at this very moment, I declare that all thirteen thousand six hundred of you Unsullied are freemen.”

Even though the Unsullied might have suspected this was coming, her words left them feeling lost. Just as Missandei had said, knowing only how to obey, they were thrown into a state of utter bewilderment.

Of course, Dany knew a single sentence couldn’t break them of their slavish mentality. Today’s grand display wasn’t about unlocking the shackles on their hearts, but about establishing a glorious and great purpose for them.

In other words, while soldiers only need to obey their superiors, an army needs a soul—an ideology.

For instance, military discipline is emphasized everywhere, but different armies have different souls. For America, it’s freedom above all else; for China, it is to die in service to their people.

“You are freemen,” Dany said, riding her little silver mare through the ranks of the Unsullied. “You are free to leave, to return to your homelands, to find your families.”

—That was nonsense. The Unsullied began their training at the age of five; how many of them could still remember their parents or their homes?

The only exceptions were rare coincidences like Missandei’s, where several brothers were sold to Astapor together and ended up as slaves under the same Good Master.

“Is anyone leaving? You are free.”

Dany rode to the front of the formation, stood up in her stirrups, and raised the Harpy’s Finger high so all could see the symbol of ownership over the Unsullied legion.

“Do you see this? This is the shackle upon you, the slave collar around your neck.”

She rode back and forth through the ranks like this for ten full circuits, ensuring every eunuch warrior saw her.

Finally, her voice growing hoarse, Dany shouted, “Freedom can only be won by yourselves! Now, if you shout ‘Freedom,’ I will break the slave collar from your necks.”

The entire field was silent. The sound of the ocean tide in the distance was faintly audible.

Dany rode a little further and repeated her words.

The Unsullied remained like granite statues, seemingly incapable of a response.

Standing on her saddle, Dany raised the Harpy’s Finger and rode through their ranks, repeating her call a third time.

Then a fourth time, and a fifth…

“The princess is wasting her strength. The Unsullied will never shout that word. They are destined to live their entire lives under the slaver’s whip,” Jorah sighed.

Whitebeard murmured with a wry smile, “Any boy with a rebellious heart was killed by the slavers long ago. The ones who remain have lost all will for freedom. I’m beginning to wonder if they can even think.”

“They can,” Missandei said, her large, golden eyes fixed on the lone silver figure in the sea of gray, her round face filled with conviction. “My brothers still recognize me. I would secretly weep for their pain, and they would offer me a happy smile when they saw me.”

When Dany, for the fifty-eighth time, endured the burning pain in her throat and shouted the words in a strained voice, an Unsullied to her silver mare’s left whispered, “I want freedom.”

Dany tapped her right foot, and the little mare obediently came to a halt. She looked at the Unsullied and said in a raspy voice, “Your voice is not even as loud as a woman’s. I cannot hear you.”

“Freedom!” he shouted, as if learning the word for the first time. It came out with difficulty, but his voice was loud and clear.

“I heard you, but not clearly,” Dany said, still holding the Harpy’s Finger high. Sweat trickled down her cheeks, soaking the Dothraki vest she wore.

“Freedom! I want freedom!” the Unsullied cried out.

“You are free,” Dany nodded, urging her mare forward to repeat her call for the fifty-ninth time.

Then, a scattered chorus of “Freedom! I want freedom!” rose from the ranks.

A brilliant smile spread across Dany’s face as she cried out, “You are free!”

She rode a little further and repeated her words for the sixtieth time.

This time, the Unsullied gave her no chance for a sixty-first repetition. A tsunami-like roar of “Freedom” erupted around her, and Dany felt as if she were in an ocean of sound, tossed about by its powerful waves.

“Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

“Freedom! I want freedom!” Missandei cried, tears streaming down her face as she, like a single drop of water, was irresistibly swept into the sea of voices.

“They’re mad! They’ve all gone mad! We have to protect the Khaleesi!” Jorah’s face changed color as he yelled anxiously at the Bloodriders.

“There is no need,” Whitebeard said, stopping him and the other horse men. He looked at the petite figure in the center of the roaring crowd, his expression complex. “The princess is safer now than she has ever been. Not even the gods could harm her.”

The terrifying ocean of sound lasted for nearly ten minutes. Dany repeatedly motioned downwards with her free left hand, and when the Unsullied finally fell silent again, she shouted, “All of you! All thirteen thousand six hundred Unsullied! You are free!”

Dany spurred her silver mare and galloped to the front of the formation. She yelled, “Dracarys!”

As she spoke, she threw the whip high into the air with all her might.

FWOOOSH—

Big Black arrived just in time. A torrent of searing dragonflame surged forth. Droplets of molten gold splattered onto the grass, and the Unsullied at the front of the ranks watched as the magnificent Harpy’s Finger was reduced to nothing more than a twisted, charred section of dragonbone.

This time, they strictly obeyed Dany’s command and did not shout “Freedom” again, but the way they looked at her seemed hotter than the dragonflame itself.

“You are free. You can leave now. Or you can stay. You can leave anytime in the future, just as you can stay.”

Dany waited for them to fully digest her promise before continuing, “You are warriors, and I will not shy from admitting that I need the strength of warriors.

“For those warriors who choose to stay, please elect a leader who can represent your will.”

Having shouted “Freedom,” the Unsullied seemed to have opened their long-closed hearts, and they immediately began to murmur amongst themselves.

Faster than Dany had expected, in just three minutes, a dark-skinned Unsullied stepped out from the ranks and walked before her little silver mare.

He placed his shield and spear on the ground beside him, removed his helmet, and tucked it under his right arm. He then knelt on one knee and said respectfully, “Mother of Dragons, I am the commander of the Unsullied.”

Dany discovered, with both surprise and a sense of destiny, that he was the very first person to respond to her with “I want freedom.”

She dismounted and walked over to him, helping him to his feet. “I recognize you,” she said. “You were the first free Unsullied. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Your Grace, this humble one is called ‘Grey Worm’,” he said.

Excellent, Dany thought. Missandei has appeared, and now Grey Worm. The key players are finally assembled.

“Freemen can choose their own names,” she said. “You can take back your original name. Do you remember it?”

“I do,” Grey Worm nodded. “But the name this humble one was given at birth was cursed, which is why I was forced into slavery. ‘Grey Worm’ is the name this humble one drew on the day he was liberated by Daenerys Stormborn. It is a lucky name. I have decided to keep it.”

“Very well. You may all choose any name for yourselves. But you no longer need to call yourself ‘this humble one.’ You are not a slave anymore.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Why did everyone choose you as their leader?” she asked.

“Not everyone. About sixty percent of the men chose me. I had the most support.” He paused before continuing, “In the Unsullied training camps, my performance was the best—in swordsmanship, endurance, and courage. Especially in the art of battle formations. I have experience leading the Unsullied in formation.”

“I see,” Dany nodded. “Bring the other warriors who were nominated but not chosen to me.”

Grey Worm simply turned and spoke a few words to the Unsullied in the first rank, relaying Dany’s message. Within minutes, over thirty Unsullied had stepped forward.

The Unsullied legion possessed a discipline that surpassed Dany’s imagination. She was beginning to believe that the ancient Ghiscari legions truly could have gone head-to-head with Valyria.

The Unsullied of today were a lesser version of the ancient Ghiscari legions.

It was said that the two empires fought for decades, engaging in five major wars. The first and second wars were even initiated by the Ghiscari, who sought to conquer Valyria and steal their dragons.

The Unsullied training methods were modeled after those of the ancient Ghiscari legions.

When they came before Dany, the defeated candidates all removed their helmets, just as Grey Worm had.

Dany had them stand in the front rank of the Unsullied formation, with Grey Worm standing alone before them.

Then, standing in front of Grey Worm, she faced all the Unsullied and said, “As I said, I need warriors. You are freemen now. You can choose to go home, or you can choose to stay and fight for me.”

“I am willing to fight for the Mother of Dragons until my last breath,” Grey Worm declared, his expression resolute.

“We are willing to fight for the Mother of Dragons,” answered every Unsullied who heard her, from the commanders in the front to the common soldiers in the back, without a hint of reluctance.

Dany held up her hands to quiet them and said gravely, “You don’t even know what I want. How can you fight for me? If I ordered you to plunder cities, to sell the freemen of other city-states to slavers, would you still be willing to fight for me?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Grey Worm said earnestly, “I would.”

Though the response from the others was not as fervent as before, they too gave their firm pledge, “We are willing to do anything for the Mother of Dragons.”

“I am grateful for your loyalty,” Dany nodded. Smiling, she raised her right hand and declared in a clear voice, “I swear. I swear to all the gods of the world, and I swear on the honor of every ancestor of House Targaryen, that I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, will only use the strength of the Unsullied for just causes.

“A just cause is one that benefits the majority of humanity, and that does not include helping House Targaryen reclaim the Iron Throne.”

Chapter 102: The Army at the Gates

Euron grinned and held up one finger, saying softly, “My price isn’t high. A longship. A weapon that can control a dragon for just one ship—it’s a great deal.”

“Even if you didn’t say it, I could have guessed. That weapon must be in that woman’s hands.” Grazdan slapped his hands together in frustration and exclaimed, “I can’t believe we all underestimated her. She pretended not to know Valyrian and deliberately concealed her true wealth. Otherwise, with her desperation for the Unsullied, we could have definitely tricked that dragon-controlling weapon out of her.”

Kraznys’s face flushed red, then paled, and he gritted his teeth. “Send a message to Kayuan at once. Tell them to—”

“What can they do?” Euron interrupted him with a wave of his hand, sneering. “That bitch has thirteen thousand Unsullied now. Do you think the slave soldiers of Kayuan can stop them?”

“We don’t need a war. She definitely can’t afford the food and water for a large force of nearly fifteen thousand men. We’ll force her to use that weapon… what is it? Tell me, now!”

Seeing Euron’s still-nonchalant attitude, Grazdan’s eyes turned dangerous. He threatened, “Remember your place. Don’t force us to do something the Good Masters are very willing to do. If we were outside the city, if we were on the great sea, and I got my hands on you, I would train you to be the most obedient slave. I could make you lick me, and you would do it with pleasure.”

If we were on the great sea, if I still had my Silence, I could take on all eight of you fat pigs at once. I’d easily slice off those things between your legs and sacrifice them to the Storm God!

A vicious thought flashed through Euron’s mind, but he just shook his head and said, “One longship, and I’ll tell you everything. Likewise, giving me and my crew a place to stay is the foundation for our future cooperation.

Just as you said, Good Master, once we’re out on the sea, who knows if you’ll keep your promise. Without my own ship, I will never explore the ruins of Valyria again.”

The eight Good Masters exchanged glances and quickly came to a tacit agreement. Kraznys stepped forward and promised, “A New Ghis warship.”

Ships on the sea can be roughly divided into three types. The first is like Daenerys’s ship, the Saduleon—a flat-bottomed, wide-bellied sea vessel. It has a large cargo capacity and is not easily capsized in a storm.

Its disadvantages are as prominent as its advantages. It’s too large, relies entirely on wind for propulsion, is slow, and is easily stranded when there’s no wind.

The second type is the warship, mostly longships with narrow hulls. They are powered by both wind and oars. The ram at the bow is specially reinforced, allowing it to ‘pierce’ an enemy ship’s hull like a blade during boarding actions, both damaging the enemy vessel and forming a stable ‘springboard’.

Armed longships are primarily used to seize control of the sea. Because the timber required to build them is of extremely high quality, flagship-class armed longships are also incredibly expensive.

After the Game of Thrones version of the “Battle of Red Cliffs,” Cersei spent one million gold dragons to rebuild the royal fleet and only managed to build a little more than ten armed longships.

However, armed longships have narrow hulls and cannot carry much cargo.

Euron had plundered so many eastern merchant ships, yet Daenerys found not a single bolt of silk or jar of spice on the Silence. Clearly, he had thrown away all those “cheap” goods, as he had no room for them.

The third type is similar to the Summer Sun from Black-bearded Groleo’s fleet, which has sails, oars, and a large cargo hold.

An oared merchantman.

It has some escort capabilities but is relatively slow, has weak ramming power, and cannot achieve control of the sea.

The New Ghis warship Kraznys was promising was a standard armed longship, which was exactly the type of ship Euron wanted most.

“Oh, a New Ghis armed fast ship?” Euron’s interest was piqued. He leaned forward from his relaxed position in the chair and asked curiously, “New or old? How many oars?”

“Three hundred oars, in service for over ten years,” the slaver said.

“Ten years?” Euron frowned. It wasn’t that a wooden-hulled ship couldn’t be used for more than ten years; the key was that it had been ‘in service,’ which meant it had been constantly fighting pirates and had been damaged who knows how many times.

Perhaps the New Ghis Iron Legion had decommissioned it and sold it to the Astapori at a low price?

“That’ll do.” He slowly nodded and said, “It’s a dragon ho—”

“Woooooo—”

The low, desolate sound of a horn spread like ripples in water, sweeping across the garden atop the pyramid and over the entire city of Astapor.

“The Dragon Horn?!” Euron shot to his feet in shock. He strode to the half-meter-thick granite parapet and glanced outside the city gates. His face changed dramatically. “Damn it, don’t you garbage Ghiscari have any sense of security? An army of ten thousand is at the damned city gates, and no one has come to report it?!”

Grazdan’s Great Pyramid was separated from the city gate only by the Plaza of Pride, a distance of just over two hundred meters. Standing atop the one-hundred-meter-high pyramid, one could clearly see the dense, black mass of Unsullied outside the city, their sharp swords drawn.

“Report!”

As soon as Euron finished speaking, a Ghiscari guard in a yellow silk cloak came panting up the steps. With a sob in his voice, he said, “Good Masters, it’s terrible! The Westerosi queen is attacking with the Unsullied!”

“What?” The Good Masters, still reeling from the sudden turn of events, were horrified. “She’s insane! Why would she do this?” they asked in disbelief.

Kraznys scrambled down from his high-backed wooden chair, his ornate tokar gown slipping from his shoulders. After just one glance down, he collapsed to the ground like a lump of soft clay.

“This is impossible, this…” he murmured, dazed. “Just yesterday, she gave each of us a precious dragonbone staff. Why would she attack Astapor?”

A thought struck Euron, and he asked urgently, “When did she give you the gift?”

“Before she left.”

“Shit! You fools, that was a guest gift! It signifies the end of the guest relationship!” Euron was furious. How could they have missed such an obvious hint?

You greedy slavers squeezed nearly every last gold dragon out of her. Only an idiot would give a gift to show gratitude.

“She hasn’t attacked immediately,” Grazdan suddenly realized, as if clutching at a saving straw. He grabbed the messenger-guard by the collar and roared at him like a possessed stallion, “Is she trying to extort travel money to go home?”

“No!” The Ghiscari guard’s upright, black-and-red hair was a mess. He wailed through his tears, “It’s over! We’re all doomed! She doesn’t want a single copper penny. She’s just come to kill all the slave masters.”

As he spoke, he held up a roll of parchment.

A slaver took it and saw that the text was written in Valyrian, titled “The Seven Hatreds.”

Grazdan could barely comprehend the first few “hatreds”—about slavery being bloody and cruel, against human decency, and in violation of divine doctrine. But the last ones, “hindering the development of civilization” and “disturbing social harmony”—what the hell were those?

Euron leaned in for a look. He didn’t understand what “development of civilization” or “social harmony” meant either. Rubbing his nose, he guessed, “House Targaryen converted to the Faith of the Seven three hundred years ago. That bitch probably believes in the Seven, too. For followers of the Seven, the number seven is the most auspicious, so she probably just scraped together seven charges to make up the number.”

“Screee, screee—”

Suddenly, the Good Masters felt the sky above them darken.

“Bang!”

With a muffled sound, “snowflakes” began to drift down from the sky.

“A dragon. It’s her dragon.” Euron looked up and saw the black dragon circling more than fifty meters above them, with small white slips of paper fluttering down from the sky.

“Let’s get inside the pyramid, quickly!” The scarred skin on Euron’s face seemed to throb with a phantom burn, and he scrambled into the stone stairway.

The eight Good Masters didn’t react as quickly. It was the first time in their lives they had ever seen a real dragon. They couldn’t help but look up at the sky, completely mesmerized.

Daenerys, however, was in a Dragon Dream state. Besides scattering leaflets over the pyramid, she also wanted to scout the enemy’s situation.

After all, besides the Unsullied, Astapor still had several thousand city guards, and the Good Masters also kept a number of slave soldiers.

Seeing the eight Good Masters and Euron having a “party” on the rooftop garden with not a single archer or crossbowman nearby, Big Black immediately dove down from the sky.

“FWOOSH—”

A torrent of dragonflame instantly ignited three of the Good Masters and the six servants behind them.

“Aaaah!” As if waking from a long dream, the remaining five Good Masters scrambled and crawled, wailing as they fled toward the passageway.

“SCREE—FWOOSH—”

This time, Big Black locked onto its target, roaring as it swept over Grazdan’s head, leaving a seven- or eight-meter-long pillar of fire in its wake.

“AHHH—” Grazdan’s eyes and nose melted in the crimson dragonflame, like a candle exposed to high heat.

“SCREEE—”

Big Black circled, saw Kraznys and two other Good Masters escape into the passage, gave a frustrated roar, and flew toward the next pyramid.

There were eighteen pyramids in the city, and over each, five hundred copies of a proclamation titled Declaration of Freedom were scattered: “I am the Mother of Dragons, the Hater of Slavery, the Mother of the Free. In the name of my army of thirteen thousand Unsullied and my three dragons, I declare that you are free. Take up the swords in your hands and kill the slave masters at your side. Remember, freedom can only be won by yourselves, even if it begins by shouting, ‘I want to be free! Long live freedom!’.”

Daenerys didn’t drop leaflets anywhere else besides the pyramids.

The Unsullied could easily take the city, but each pyramid was a fortress in itself.

Pitifully few slaves were literate; even if they picked up the leaflets, likely few could read them. But the slave masters certainly could.

The leaflets were actually intended for the Ghiscari. They would pass Daenerys’s message on to the slaves—for example, by placing heavier chains on slave soldiers, or by whipping the slaves to intimidate them out of rebellion.

Slaves are human. They know how to read expressions, to understand their masters’ slightest change in countenance, and to judge their emotions from it. Those who couldn’t had long ago become corpses hanging on the wooden platforms in the center of the Plaza of Punishment.

Every time a slave sensed another sliver of fear in their master’s heart, a sliver of their own fear would diminish. Eventually, the fear would vanish, and they would begin to summon their courage.

Daenerys divided her forces into three groups, stationing them at the main northern gate, the eastern gate near the Worm River, and the wharf district to the west.

On the northern wall, a Ghiscari in a bronze helmet suddenly appeared. Shielding himself, he used a tin megaphone to shout down at the unmoving army below: “Unsullied! Protect your masters! Protect your city! Kill that oath-breaking Westerosi bitch!”

The five thousand Unsullied remained as still as stone statues. Only the white banner with the black dragon held by the front rank snapped in the sea breeze.

Chapter 103: The Queen of Astapor

The man trying to incite the Unsullied to rebel was none other than Daenerys’s “old friend,” Kraznys. He was not the foremost slave master in Astapor, so the Black Dragon had not made him its first target.

After coming down from the pyramid, he had immediately taken eight old “Harpy’s Fingers” to the tower above the city gate.

Hiding behind a shield, he held up the dragonbone whip and shouted.

Once, eight Good Masters had used their ancestral Harpy’s Fingers to control the Unsullied for decades. Each whip represented the masters’ supreme authority over their slaves.

Countless slaves had pledged their absolute loyalty beneath that whip.

But now…

Tap, tap, tap. The only response he received, aside from the flapping of banners, was the crisp sound of horse hooves.

The Unsullied ranks silently parted, creating a path down the middle. Daenerys, riding her small silver mare, ambled to the front of the army.

She stopped about thirty meters from the gate. Whitebeard and Missandei followed behind her, while Strong Belwas held a two-meter-tall, 1.4-meter-wide wooden shield before the silver mare.

Today, Daenerys again wore her hair in a Dothraki braid, with three bells tied into it—Jhiqui and Irri had unanimously agreed that she had conquered thirteen thousand, six hundred Unsullied the previous afternoon.

Perhaps after today, another bell would be added?

However, she was not wearing her painted leather vest. Instead, she was clad in a magnificent suit of gleaming iron armor, a greatsword with a hilt inlaid with seven-colored gems hanging at her waist.

It was intricately carved, enameled scale armor, with a three-headed dragon sculpted on the breastplate. The white and green dragons on the left and right shared a blood-red body with the black dragon’s head in the center.

A pure white cape was fastened at her shoulders. Like the Unsullied banners, it was emblazoned with the black-stitched outline of a dragon soaring in flight. The cape was long, draping down from her back and covering the silver mare’s rump.

The three-headed dragon plate armor and the jeweled greatsword were both gifts from the Blacksmiths’ Guild of Qarth.

Indeed, when Daenerys had opened her “Dragon Zoo,” it was just like when the weavers had gifted her silks of all colors and sewn cheongsams for her.

The armor looked magnificent, but it was not very practical. It wasn’t even full plate armor; it lacked a visor, gorget, gauntlets, fauld, greaves, or iron boots. In actual combat, it would be riddled with weaknesses.

But for making an impression on an occasion like today, it was more than adequate. It combined splendor with a martial air, giving her an extraordinary and valiant bearing.

“Kraznys, save your strength.” Daenerys smiled at the slave master, who was still waving his whip and shouting, unwilling to give up. With a shing, she drew the greatsword from her waist, pointed it diagonally toward the gate tower, and cried out, “Soldiers, tell the slave master who you are!”

“Free warriors of the White Banner!” five thousand men roared in unison. Their voices were perfectly synchronized and thunderous, like a tidal wave crashing over the ancient, decaying city.

“Freedom!” Daenerys shouted, raising her sword high.

“Freedom! Freedom!”

Thump! Thump! Thump!

“Freedom! Freedom!”

The Unsullied rhythmically struck the ground with their longspears. With every three strikes, they roared “Freedom” twice. The sound was heard across more than half of Astapor.

On the city wall, Kraznys’s face was ashen, his eyes filled with despair and disbelief. It was promised! The Unsullied could not be tempted by anything—not money, not women, not freedom, nothing of this world, no material object or spiritual desire.

Was that bitch possessed by the Seven?

The Good Masters had trained them for over ten years; their individual wills should have been ground to dust long ago.

“Woman, what do you want?” Kraznys shouted from behind the wall.

“I want the slave masters to be punished. I want there to be not a single slave left in Astapor.”

“Impossible! This is Slaver’s Bay! Slaver’s Bay! Slaver’s Bay! Slavery has existed since the Harpy created the Ghiscari. The Dragonlords of Valyria needed slaves, the free city-states need slaves, the great sea trade needs slaves. As long as humanity exists, slaves will be necessary.”

The slave master sounded as if he were proclaiming a universal truth, his voice hoarse and self-righteous.

“Haha, that’s not for you to decide anymore,” Daenerys said contemptuously. “Freedom is won with blood and fire. We are prepared for that. Are you?”

“Do you hear that?” She pointed to where smoke was rising within the city. “Your slave kingdom is whimpering. It’s about to die, without my army even having to lift a finger.”

Daenerys’s leaflets had struck fear into the slave masters and given the slaves hope and courage.

The Unsullieds’ cries of “Freedom” were like a torch igniting a fuse. Finally, someone had broken the shackles in their mind and begun to resist.

With the Black Dragon as her reconnaissance aircraft in the sky, the situation in the city was as clear to Daenerys as the lines on her palm.

“You broke your promise.” Kraznys looked fearfully at the slave soldier holding a shield for him nearby. His fat cheeks were twisted in a grotesque expression, and his voice cracked.

“How did I break my promise?” Daenerys asked, amused.

“We had an agreement! You would go and plunder the small cities, then sell the slaves to us,” Kraznys bellowed out from the city. He then turned back, took a few steps away, and waved over a nearby Ghiscari guard, pointing at his own slave. “There’s something wrong with his eyes. Seize him!”

“I…” The slave soldier dropped to his knees on the stone wall with a thud. His face flushed red, and he opened his mouth several times to argue, but no words came out.

Because just a moment ago, he had entertained two very improper thoughts: Should I kick this fat bastard off the wall? Or, I hope the Mother of Dragons hurries up and sends her dragon to kill these Ghiscari. I certainly won’t stop it then.

It’s over! he thought in despair. Just like countless times over countless years, my shrewd master has seen through my innermost thoughts.

“Rise up, you who refuse to be slaves!” Daenerys shouted at the perfect moment.

If she could, she would have preferred to have the five thousand Unsullied sing a grand chorus of La Marseillaise—though the lyrics would have to be modified, of course. They couldn’t be rebelling against Her Majesty the Queen’s tyranny.

“I’ll fight you to the death!” The slave soldier was jolted from his stupor as if blessed by the Warrior himself. He raised his bronze shield, paid no heed to anything else, and lowered his head to charge the slave master.

Kraznys backed away, shouting in terror, “The slave soldiers are rebelling! Kill them!”

Daenerys put a hand to her forehead, despairing at his stupidity.

While the Ghiscari guards moved to seize the rebelling slave, the other slaves had already stepped far back. But now, hearing the slave master’s cry, their expressions changed drastically. They exchanged glances, and it was unclear who started it, but with a cry of “Long live the Mother of Dragons,” almost all the slave soldiers erupted in rebellion.

Shouts of “Long live the Mother of Dragons,” the clang of battle, and screams of agony merged into one another along the city walls.

“Your Grace, we can attack now,” said Whitebeard.

“To be honest, I was originally planning a two-day siege,” Daenerys said to the old man with a wry smile.

At the very least, they would have had to fell trees and build some siege engines.

She gave a mental command to the Black Dragon, and Big Black executed a powerful dive, tracing a graceful arc over the gatehouse.

BOOM!

Several Ghiscari, engulfed in roaring flames, screamed as they leaped from the ten-meter-high tower. Thick smoke billowed from the wooden structure.

“A dragon, a real dragon! Long live the Mother of Dragons!”

The slaves cheered jubilantly. The Ghiscari guards’ already low morale plummeted. Some soldiers even dropped their weapons and fled toward the pyramid.

Seeing that the Ghiscari arrows were as sparse as hairs on a bald man’s head and their bowstrings as limp as waterlogged noodles, Daenerys had Big Black land directly in front of the main gate, with Strong Belwas, Quaro, and a few other Dragon Guards holding shields above his head.

FWOOSH—

The faintly smoking dragonflame heated the iron plates bordering the city gate until they glowed bright red. Plumes of thick black smoke rose from the wooden planks, and the sounds of panicked Ghiscari shouts echoed from within the gate tunnel.

Big Black’s mouth was like a welding torch; the searing column of fire burned through the thick wooden gate in a matter of seconds.

Crack! The thick hardwood bar behind the gate was burned through and snapped. With a groan, the gates swung open.

“The gates are open! Charge!” Grey Worm raised his longspear high and was the first to charge toward the gate. The Unsullied poured into the ancient city of Astapor like a flood.

“Scree!” Big Black leaped up, soaring into the sky once more.

“Long live the Mother of Dragons! Kill!”

Through the eyes of the Black Dragon, Daenerys saw the Unsullied and the rebelling slaves as a gray tide, gradually drowning the ancient red city.

On the walls, in the streets, in the plaza where the Unsullied once trained, men and women in tokar gowns were being cut down. Blood once again stained the land that had devoured countless souls.

A debt of blood must be paid in blood. The blood of the slavers and their families washed away the lingering resentment of the spirits who had refused to leave the slaver city. They found release in the agonized cries of their enemies.

However, this cycle of cause and effect did not end today. The ghosts of the Astapori Ghiscari took the place of the former slave spirits. They lingered in the streets, in the plazas, in the pyramids, refusing to depart. Only the blood of that woman and her dragon could cleanse the resentment from their souls.

But Daenerys was already resolved. Today, she had only taken the first step. The overture of her song of blood and fire had just begun.

“Your Grace, I never expected you to be so bold. We have destroyed the very source of the Unsullied,” Whitebeard said, filled with emotion. “You are the first person to dare say ‘no’ to slavery with such ruthless means. But what about Westeros?

“You swore to use the power of the Unsullied only for just causes, so it’s clear you don’t intend to rely on them to take the Iron Throne—though I believe your return to the Iron Throne is the most just cause of all.”

“I can’t return to Westeros.” Daenerys sighed as the thick scent of blood and smoke drifted from the city. “This… this is the beginning. And once it has begun, it cannot be stopped.

“Kayuan, Meereen, and New Ghis are the first wave. Volantis and Qarth are the second. The entire network of trading city-states that rely on the slave trade to function is the third wave.

“They will come for me, all at once, or even form an alliance.

“Arstan, my goal is not to destroy Astapor or kill the Good Masters. My ultimate goal is to end slavery completely!

“Today I can give everyone in this city their freedom, but the moment I leave tomorrow, a new batch of Good Masters will spring up faster than bamboo shoots in the spring rain.”

“Then what about Westeros?”

The old man understood that her words were true, but Westeros was his home. He yearned for his homeland and could not bear to see the country he loved trampled by a few petty usurpers.

“You said this year is a ghost summer?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes. I received a warning from the Maesters at the Citadel that winter is coming,” the old man said.

“An eleven-year summer is over. A ghost summer this year, autumn next year, and then, beginning the year after, there will be a winter that lasts at least four years.

“So, do you understand?

“If I really were to bring thirteen thousand Unsullied back to Westeros, what I would bring the people of the Seven Kingdoms wouldn’t be peace and prosperity, but a winter as harsh as the Long Night.”

Looking at the old man’s stunned face, she said slowly, “Man-made calamities are worse than natural disasters, and war is the greatest man-made calamity of all!”

“Your Majesty, you have the wisdom and courage of a king, and even more, a king’s mercy! You are the Child of Prophecy, Azor Ahai reborn, a born queen!”

At that moment, the Daenerys in the old man’s eyes was radiating a brilliant light.

He had met so many kings in his long life.

But only today had he finally found a truly worthy ruler!

Daenerys’s mouth twitched a few times. Under the old man’s fervent gaze, she forced a smile and said, “The city has fallen into my hands. Let’s go inside.”

A four-year winter? Way too optimistic.

The Long Night is coming soon. Am I supposed to go to Westeros to feed the Others?

Chapter 104: The Butcher

Long before they set out, Daenerys had told the Unsullied that they could only kill three types of people: Ghiscari in tokar gowns over the age of twelve, anyone who attacked an Unsullied, and any slave found raping women or slaughtering children.

Most Ghiscari who wore tokar gowns were connected to the slave trade.

Ordinary Ghiscari, even freemen who were entitled to wear the tokar, would only don the restrictive garment on important occasions.

After all, on most days, they had to work to support their families.

If anyone dared to attack an Unsullied, even a child could be cut down on the spot.

Daenerys had not forgotten that a nine-year-old little bitch had once killed a three-meter-tall giant bear in single combat with just a short sword.

This was another world, not Earth. And even on Earth, there were children who were experts with an AK-47—and I don’t mean the gamers from the Celestial Empire.

When Daenerys entered the city, the Unsullied guarding the eastern gate followed her in.

Later, in the Plaza of Pride, she met with Jorah and Captain Groleo.

Jorah had commanded three thousand Unsullied in the assault on the eastern gate, while Groleo, with six hundred Unsullied and a few hundred sailors on four ships, had blockaded the harbor district.

Of course, Blackbeard had been able to accomplish this mainly because he had the help of the dragons.

The first wave of attack had been launched from the sea. Big Black, Little White, and Little Green had assaulted the harbor. For every ship docked there, regardless of whether it belonged to a slaver or a merchant there to trade, the three dragons had burned the sails and ropes from their masts.

Afterward, the white and green dragons had circled over the sea as a deterrent.

“Your Grace, we have taken all of Astapor except for the pyramids,” Grey Worm and Jorah reported to Daenerys.

“What are the casualties on both sides?” Daenerys asked.

“Just over thirty Unsullied were wounded, but not one was killed. More than two thousand slaves died, and over six thousand Ghiscari. These are not the final numbers, as we still don’t know the situation inside the pyramids,” Jorah said.

“Are the Ghiscari so weak in battle?” Daenerys frowned.

“There were only five hundred Ghiscari guards. The rest were unarmed civilians. Aside from the slave traders in their tokar gowns, many women and children also…”

Sighing helplessly, Jorah continued in a low voice, “The slaves in the city nearly went out of control. Many ordinary Ghiscari families were wiped out. Of those two thousand dead slaves, no more than five hundred died in direct combat. Of the remainder, the Unsullied killed the better part, and a smaller number died inside Ghiscari homes.”

“We did all we could, Your Grace,” said Whitebeard, seeing the displeasure on Daenerys’s face and offering a word of comfort.

Jorah nodded. “Arstan is right. Fifteen years ago, the damage Tywin inflicted on King’s Landing was more than ten times worse than this.”

“I understand,” Daenerys said, then began to arrange the clean-up.

“Grey Worm, the Unsullied’s performance was excellent.”

A hint of joy appeared on Grey Worm’s granite-like, serious face. “Thank you for your praise.”

“Next, take all the slaves who participated in the battle to the Plaza of Punishment. Then, divide your troops in two. Setting aside the wounded, three thousand men will patrol the streets in squads of fifty. The other two thousand will clear the bodies of the dead.

“Bring the slaves’ bodies here; I will hold a mass cremation for them.

“Pile the Ghiscari bodies in the Plaza of Pride and allow their families to claim them. They may bury them according to Ghiscari custom, but a register must be kept.”

“As you command!” Grey Worm took his orders and departed.

Daenerys turned to Jorah. “Your three thousand Unsullied will continue to surround the pyramids. Do not attack.”

“As you command.”

“Groleo, you will continue to command the six hundred Unsullied. First, investigate the docks and determine which ships belong to slavers and which to merchants here for trade. Afterward, the merchants’ goods must also be categorized: ordinary goods, luxury items, and slaves.”

“This…” Black-bearded Groleo hesitated. “Inspecting merchants’ cargo is somewhat against the rules. Astapor is an open port; there’s no smuggling or tax evasion.”

“I will not allow any ship to leave this harbor with slaves. Do you understand?” Daenerys said sternly.

“But there’s no need to inspect the cargo in detail, is there?” the old sailor asked, confused.

“Did my dragons not burn their ships?” Daenerys countered.

“The sails and rigging of every ship in the harbor were burned,” Groleo confirmed.

“Well then!” Daenerys shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If I don’t get a clear accounting of their goods, how am I to compensate them?”

“Oh, you intend to compensate the innocent merchants for their losses!” Groleo realized, a new level of respect appearing in his eyes as he looked at Daenerys.

With everything arranged, Daenerys turned to look at the pyramid of the House of Grazdan behind her, her gaze firm. “We must take this pyramid within two days.”

The pyramid was not only the residence of the Good Masters but also a storage warehouse. Eighty percent of the city’s food was hidden within it.

Just as she finished speaking, an old white man wrapped in a robe emerged from the entrance on the pyramid’s first level.

“Don’t kill me! I am not Ghiscari! I am also a slave!” the old man in the fine white robe shouted, his hands raised high.

He repeated himself in both the Common Tongue and High Valyrian.

The Unsullied gathered around the entrance to the steps parted to let Daenerys ride past on her little silver mare.

“Who do you represent?” Daenerys asked in Valyrian, stopping seven or eight meters from the old man.

The old man knelt and touched his head to the ground. “This humble one is Ithan, a scholar. I once served the Good Masters, but now I represent Lord Cleon in negotiations with the Mother of Dragons.”

“Rise, Ithan!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The old man stood as instructed, his movements fluid and graceful.

Even the way he knelt was so refined; he truly seemed to be a man of learning.

Daenerys asked curiously, “Is Cleon Grazdan’s son?”

“No, Cleon is Astapor’s foremost butcher. He, too, used to serve the Good Masters,” the old man Ithan said.

“A… a butcher?” Daenerys’s jaw nearly dropped.

Jorah, clad in magnificent knight’s armor, took a step forward and said coldly, “Since Cleon is also a slave, how dare he presume to negotiate with the Mother of Dragons, the liberator of slaves? Does he wish to discuss whether he should remain a slave?”

“No… no, that’s not it,” the old man stammered, flustered. “Lord Cleon merely wishes to know what his reward will be for taking the Good Masters’ pyramid. If there is no reward, that is also acceptable, but… although he holds the status of a slave, he has Ghiscari blood, and his wife and three daughters are also of the Ghiscari people, so…”

Daenerys pointed to an amber-skinned warrior in the Unsullied ranks. “Do you see him? He is also Ghiscari. I am against the institution of slavery, not the Ghiscari people.”

“Oh…” the old man nodded, his eyes still fixed on Daenerys.

“Is there anything else? I guarantee the safety of Cleon and his family,” Daenerys said.

“Is there really no reward?” the old man asked pitifully.

Daenerys sighed.

“To be honest, if he has truly taken control of this pyramid, it’s not unreasonable for him to ask for a reward. But I have no idea what I should give him. Tell him to come down and speak with me himself. No matter what, I will not harm him in any way,” she said, rubbing her nose in resignation.

“Very well,” Ithan nodded and walked back into the great pyramid.

“Cleon is an opportunist!” Jorah whispered to Daenerys, his tone thick with undisguised disgust.

“Or perhaps a man of great talent,” Daenerys replied.

In the time it took for that exchange, Grey Worm’s Unsullied had begun bringing in the rebel slaves from all corners of the city. There were men and women, all of them young.

They still wore slave collars of leather or bronze, and many still had chains on their ankles.

Under the scorching afternoon sun, their ragged linen clothes were soaked with sweat, and they looked utterly wretched.

However, when they saw Daenerys on her little silver mare from a distance, they became incredibly excited, shouting “Mother of Dragons,” “Long live the Mother of Dragons,” with a few shouts of “Mhysa” mixed in.

Daenerys smiled and waved at them, shouting through a tin horn, “Wait a moment! We’ll wait until everyone has arrived!”

“Mother of Dragons!”

“Long live the Mother of Dragons!”

Even though many of them hadn’t clearly heard what she said, Daenerys’s response sent their spirits soaring, and they cheered with even greater volume.

“Your Grace, they are coming out,” Jorah said, leaning closer.

Daenerys turned and saw a group of slaves walking out of the tunnel at the pyramid’s base, lined up and cowering.

Unlike the rebel slaves, these had slave collars but no shackles. Some were broad-shouldered and powerfully built, some wore fine clothes and had well-maintained skin, and there was a group of silk-clad boys and girls, powdered and painted, whose perfume could be smelled from afar.

Among the servants dressed as handmaidens, Daenerys even recognized a few who must have served her.

The last one to emerge, making a grand entrance, was a brutish man with shaggy, dark red hair. His skin was swarthy, not like a pure-blooded Ghiscari.

He was 1.7 meters tall with a waistline of 1.7 meters, his arms thicker than Daenerys’s waist. His face was a mass of thick, menacing flesh, with a flat nose from which a tuft of stiff black hair protruded from a large nostril.

His small eyes, however, were very bright, giving him a shrewd look.

Daenerys scanned the rows of servants standing before the pyramid and was shocked to find there were nearly two thousand of them.

More than two thousand servants for the Grazdan family alone. How extravagant.

When the butcher saw Daenerys in her magnificent knight’s half-plate on her little silver mare, a look of undisguised awe flashed in his eyes. He hurried forward, knelt before her on one knee in a clumsy imitation of a Seven Kingdoms knight’s bow, and said, “This humble one, Cleon, greets Her Majesty the Queen. You are more moving than the moon in the sky, more valiant and heroic than Nymeria!”

“You know of Nymeria?” Daenerys asked, intrigued.

About two thousand years ago, Prince Garin of the Rhoyne had led an army of two hundred and fifty thousand men south to attack the Valyrian Freehold. He had even used forbidden water magic to flood a city, drowning hundreds of thousands.

The Dragonlords of Valyria were enraged and assembled a super-squadron of three hundred dragons that nearly boiled the Rhoyne River dry.

The army of two hundred and fifty thousand was scattered to the winds, and Garin himself met a miserable end.

That great army had been composed of dozens of Rhoynish lords, among them a queen named Nymeria. (The Rhoynar had not established a unified kingdom; they were a loose confederation of city-states, like ancient Greece, and the ruler of each city-state could call themselves king.)

During the Valyrian conquest of the Rhoynar, Nymeria played the role of Moses, leading hundreds of thousands of her people through many lands before finally crossing the sea to Dorne, in the south of Westeros.

This is why the full title of the King of Westeros is “King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.”

Nymeria was considered the most legendary heroine and warrior-princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

For example, Arya Stark’s direwolf was named “Nymeria.”

Alright, that wasn’t a great example, seeing as the butcher had just praised Daenerys by comparing her to Nymeria.

Of course, given the butcher’s background, he shouldn’t have known the customs of Westeros.

“Before Your Majesty the Queen, this humble one is filled with awe and dares not lie. In order not to commit a breach of etiquette in your presence, I specifically consulted a scholar about the customs of the Seven Kingdoms,” Cleon the Butcher said, not looking the least bit awed.

“Mm, you are an honest man,” Daenerys nodded.

Taking his cue, the “honest” butcher immediately said something quite dishonest: “This humble one has but two virtues: honesty and valor.”

Chapter 105: How Can a Good Queen Not Keep a Vicious Dog?

“You were the first to revolt in the pyramid?” Daenerys asked the plain-faced Cleon.

Cleon pulled a piece of parchment from his waist, a fawning grin splitting his face. “I found this.”

“You can read?”

“This humble one has been a slave since birth. I cannot read, but scholars can. With a blade to their neck, they’ll say anything and do anything.”

With that, he gestured to the brawny group of slaves behind him. “Through the window, I saw the great army outside the city and your dragons. So I joined forces with the kitchen hands to answer the Mother of Dragons’ call. We used kitchen knives and butcher knives to kill the guards of Good Master Grazdan’s household.”

Daenerys nodded. “I will announce that all slaves are free, and I will reward those who have performed great deeds in the uprising. Since you are the first to ask me for a reward, you shall be the first to receive one. Tell me, what do you want? Do not worry. You are a freeman now, with the freedom to speak your mind freely.”

“Really? I can?” Cleon’s eyes lit up, his voice eager.

“Of course.”

The butcher pondered for a moment before speaking. “Her Majesty the Queen will likely head north next to liberate the cities of Kayuan and Meereen, correct? And you will eventually return to Westeros?”

“That is highly likely.”

The pork butcher’s eyes shone. “I am willing to pledge my loyalty to Queen Daenerys, and like the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, govern a domain in your name.”

In other words, you want the city of Astapor?

The request sounded audacious, but it was actually quite in line with the “customs” of this world, particularly those of Westeros.

The Crownlands, ruled directly by House Targaryen, were the smallest of the Seven Kingdoms, and not as wealthy as the Reach, the Riverlands, or the Vale of Arryn.

The seven great lords, including the Lord of House Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, all enjoyed a high degree of autonomy in their respective lands.

For instance, it was not uncommon for a great lord to lead the lesser nobles of their domain in rebellion against the king.

Under normal circumstances, the loyalty of lesser nobles and common folk lay with their own lord, far more so than with the king on the Iron Throne—unless, of course, the king had fire-breathing dragons.

In a world where a feudal system was the norm, if Daenerys were to truly leave Astapor and Slaver’s Bay, she would most likely leave behind a few lords—or even kings—to rule these slave cities.

So, although both Whitebeard and Jorah wore grim expressions, neither of them loudly rebuked Cleon.

“Cleon, you are very ambitious. That is a good thing,” Daenerys first encouraged him, then continued, “But you should understand that below a Duke, there are Marquesses, Counts, Sers—which are equivalent to barons—Knights, and freemen.”

She paused, waiting for the butcher to digest the hidden meaning in her words before continuing with a smile, “If you wish to reach the top of the pyramid, you must climb the steps one at a time.”

“Of course, it is also possible to be airdropped directly onto the rooftop garden. Like me, for example. I have dragons, and riding them, I can ignore all obstacles on the ground.”

Cleon’s face soured. “I can only become a knight?” he asked stiffly.

Whitebeard’s expression grew even more grim. With a cold snort, he advised Daenerys, “In Westeros, a knight represents not only status but also noble character. Your Grace, you must be prudent.”

Cleon shot the old man a sidelong glance, an unconscious flick of killing intent in his eyes.

Even the novice Daenerys sensed it, let alone battle-hardened veterans like Whitebeard and Jorah.

This pork butcher is a ruthless one!

“Cleon, do not blame Arstan for being too blunt. I can declare that as the first slave to rise up in the pyramid, you possess a noble character worthy of becoming a knight.”

“But a knight also requires chivalric skills, the ability to fight on horseback in iron armor. How about this: for your great merit in taking the Great Pyramid, I shall grant you the title of Ser. It is half a rank higher than a knight. Are you willing to accept?”

A smile finally broke through the butcher’s stiff face. He exclaimed loudly, “Ser Cleon is willing!”

In a way, Cleon’s主动 request for a title had done Daenerys a great favor.

It broke the existing power structure in Astapor and allowed for the establishment of a brand-new “Neo-Westerosi” political landscape with Queen Daenerys at its core.

Simply put, Cleon had inadvertently helped Daenerys carry out a “political reform.”

The reason it was a “Neo-Westerosi” feudal system was obvious: a certain someone would definitely be smuggling in too many of her own ideas from China.

Following this, Daenerys led Cleon to the wooden platform at the center of the Plaza of Punishment.

The bodies of the crucified slaves still hung there. Under the glaring sun, green-headed flies and fat white maggots squirmed in the rotting flesh. Slaves who were not quite dead yet still twitched unconsciously. A foul stench, thick with the scent of sin, permeated the air.

Suppressing her nausea, Daenerys forced a calm and composed expression as she called out to the slaves and servants gathering around the platform, “Do you all see this? This is what it is to be a slave. Your body is not your own, your destiny is not in your hands, you have no right to self-respect or ambition. What we seek to end is a world like this, a world that should not exist among humankind.”

“In this slave uprising, Cleon the Butcher was among the first to answer my call. His heart, which still longed for freedom, led him to make the right and just choice—to abolish slavery.”

“He has set an example for all the slaves in the world who still wear chains, both in body and in spirit.”

“He not only liberated his own soul, but he also liberated the Great Pyramid. Under his leadership, two thousand slaves overthrew the rule of Astapor’s foremost slave-master family.”

“For this, when he asked me for a title, I agreed.”

“Now, before all of you, Ser Cleon will become the first man to go from slave to nobleman in a single day.”

Daenerys looked around. The more than ten thousand slaves at the scene were silent, their gazes complicated as they looked at the butcher, who was excitedly waving to the crowd.

“Cleon, do you know the ceremony for being raised to a ser?” she asked in a low voice.

“I know a little.”

“Alright.” Daenerys composed her features and called out in a loud voice, “Cleon!”

The butcher froze for a moment before kneeling before her, his face flushed with excitement. “I am willing to pledge my loyalty to Queen Daenerys.”

Shing! Daenerys drew the longsword from her waist and placed the tip on Cleon’s shoulder. “Will you dedicate your life to the cause of liberating slaves?” she asked.

These vows are a bit different from what the scholar told me.

Cleon hesitated for only a few heartbeats before a sharp sting at his neck jolted him back to his senses. Seeing the impatient look in Queen Daenerys’s eyes, he immediately cried out, “I will!”

Daenerys shifted the blade pressing against his neck slightly to the side and smiled. “Will you be the vanguard of the slave liberation movement?”

“I will!”

Damn it, is my neck bleeding? It hurts like hell!

So that’s what the sharp sword on the shoulder is for during a Westerosi lord’s oath.

“Will you be the representative of the slave rebels?” Daenerys asked again.

“I will.”

“Very good. I see your resolve, Ser.” Daenerys moved the slightly blood-tinged tip of her sword to his other shoulder and solemnly declared, “I now grant you the title ‘Ser Chainsbreaker.’ You may also choose ‘Chainsbreaker’ as your family name.”

“Use your butcher’s knife to shatter the slave shackles beneath the Harpy’s talons, my Ser Cleon Chainsbreaker!”

The Ghiscari called themselves the “Sons of the Harpy,” and the symbol of Astapor was a Harpy with its talons clutching broken shackles.

As for a family name, Cleon’s family had been slaves for generations; they had no surname. Using his title as a surname was part of Daenerys’s plan.

“I, Cleon Chainsbreaker, swear in the name of Ser Chainsbreaker, that I will guard my oath with my life!” Cleon’s thick lips split into a wide, joyous grin.

Honestly, although he had asked Daenerys for the lordship of Astapor, deep down he hadn’t held much hope.

After all, the one ruling Astapor now was Queen Daenerys, who possessed the Unsullied and dragons. Kayuan and Meereen were still distant prospects.

What he truly wanted was to be above others. As the only ser among the former slaves, he felt his status was now second only to Queen Daenerys, above tens of thousands.

He had achieved his goal and was, for the moment, very happy and content.

“A cheer for Ser Chainsbreaker!” Daenerys sheathed her longsword and began to applaud.

“Long live Queen Daenerys!”

“Long live the Mother of Dragons!”

“Ser Chainsbreaker! Ser Chainsbreaker!”

A chaotic mixture of shouts, clapping, and stomping feet rose from below, punctuated by the crisp sound of clashing chains.

After the commotion died down, Daenerys held up her hands for silence, pointed to the bodies on the crosses, and said to Cleon, “Ser Chainsbreaker, you will cut down their bonds for me.”

“As you command!”

Amidst the cheers of the crowd, the blood-rushed butcher-turned-ser drew the pig-slaughtering knife from his waist and deftly cut the hemp ropes and long nails binding the slaves’ wrists, ankles, and necks.

Such practiced knife work, it truly had the flair of an artist. Worthy of being Astapor’s number one pork butcher!

Daenerys knelt on one knee and personally unfastened the collars from the slaves’ necks. With each collar she removed, she held it high above her head for all the slaves below to see, then cast it to the ground, announcing in a clear voice, “I declare you free. Return to the realm of the gods as freemen.”

She went through more than a dozen corpses, her fair hands becoming stained with filth, blood, bits of flesh, and a few fat maggots.

“Mother of Dragons! Mother of Dragons!”

“Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa!”

Tears of emotion streamed down the faces of the slaves below. Gradually, “Mother of Dragons” turned into “Mhysa.”

Mhysa, in the Ghiscari tongue of the Old Ghiscari Empire, meant “Mother.”

The fervent atmosphere of the scene moved even Daenerys, who had begun this with a certain degree of showmanship.

Sigh, I can’t just think about ruling the world and establishing an immortal Golden Family. I should bring something better to this world.

Abolishing slavery was one of those goals.

At that moment, the realization in Daenerys’s heart sublimated into a firm conviction.

She patted the newly-minted ser on the shoulder and ordered, “Ser Cleon, I now entrust you with a glorious task. Take your former kitchen subordinates and go to the various pyramids to accept their surrender and recruit the rebellious. You need not fight personally. You may recruit a personal guard of one hundred men.”

Glancing at the blood and grime on his shoulder, Cleon’s mouth twitched. He stood stiffly and said, “As you command!”

“Ser, you must understand that rank is elevated through merit,” Daenerys said meaningfully.

The hint in her words was too obvious. The butcher-ser’s eyes lit up. “I guarantee I will complete the mission!” he said with excitement.

After assigning the dirty work to the ambitious Ser Chainsbreaker, Daenerys continued her own glamorous performance.

She began with a heartfelt speech, primarily expressing her deep-seated hatred for slavery and her profound sympathy for those enslaved.

Then, just as she had with the horse men slaves and the Unsullied, she declared: to cast off the status of a slave, one must fight for it themselves.

The slaves who had participated in the riot had been separated from the other Astapori by the Unsullied guards.

The slaves who rose up on the battlefield had already paid the price in blood. Daenerys walked past them one by one as the Unsullied unfastened their chains and slave collars. She announced loudly, “You have won your freedom with your own hands and courage.”

Excluding the two thousand slaves who had died in battle, about five thousand rioting slaves had survived. They had all been brought here by the Unsullied.

And after the Unsullied had announced Daenerys’s policy throughout the city districts, another ten to twenty thousand curious slaves had gathered to watch at the Plaza of Pride—their masters no longer dared to hold them back.

As for these “clever ones” who had done nothing and were now simply reaping the rewards, Daenerys did not make things difficult for them. She only required them to shout “I want freedom,” just as she had asked of the Unsullied the day before.

Almost everyone shouted.

Hmm, “almost” meant that there were still those who did not wish to become free people.

Chapter 106: Dany and Daenys

Unshackling tens of thousands of people kept Daenerys busy for three or four hours. As the sun set and the sky turned indigo, hundreds of torches were lit in the plaza. Left with no choice, she summoned one hundred Unsullied to help remove the slave collars.

Even so, slaves who had heard that the Mother of Dragons was freeing people in the Plaza of Punishment continued to pour in. Daenerys had to announce, “It is too late today. You cannot see my face, and I cannot see your sincere and emotional expressions. Let us resume tomorrow morning!”

The slaves thought it made sense. They couldn’t waste this rare opportunity to see her face. They decided to break their own manacles and fetters first and come back tomorrow to have their slave collars removed by her.

Daenerys didn’t have a clear picture of the Ghiscari situation within the city, so she didn’t immediately “overthrow the local tyrants and redistribute their land.” The newly freedmen either pitched tents in the plaza and streets for the night or returned to their former masters’ homes, but they were forbidden from harming the homeowners.

During this time, Jorah sent messengers several times to report that he and Ser Chainsbreaker were taking one pyramid after another.

Jorah led the Unsullied to surround the pyramids, both to intimidate the enemy and prevent them from escaping, while Ser Chainsbreaker was responsible for calling on the slaves inside to revolt, personally joining the fray when necessary.

By midnight, they had taken five pyramids. In each case, the slaves inside had revolted, and Cleon had coordinated with them from the outside.

Those pyramids were like pustules on the body of Astapor. As they were burst one by one, Daenerys felt an inexplicable sense of relief and satisfaction.

The last event of the night was a grand funeral for the slaves who had died in the uprising. Two thousand bodies were gathered together, covered with firewood and oil, and piled densely around the central wooden platform in the plaza.

Bathed in the firelight, Daenerys raised a tin megaphone and delivered a eulogy for the dead.

“Some of them died in battle. Some died at the hands of the Unsullied, because they went from being victims to perpetrators. I have helped you win your freedom, but freedom has its limits. An individual’s freedom cannot be used to harm others—not even the wives and daughters of the former masters.”

Daenerys had been running around all day and was physically exhausted, but her spirit was unusually exhilarated. She had done something she could never have accomplished in modern society, and it was something truly meaningful—fighting for human freedom!

For the first time, she no longer missed her modern life. As a lonely orphan with no parents, it was better to let loose in this other world and accomplish something great.

“But even if they sinned, they also performed a great service. They made an outstanding contribution to the cause of liberating slaves. Therefore, I will personally see them off, sending them to the realm of the gods as freemen. And I promise that they, along with the countless rebels still living, will be forever remembered by the world.”

Taking a step back, under the gaze of tens of thousands nearby, Daenerys waved to the sky.

“Screeeech—”

“Screeeech—”

“Screeeech—”

“BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!”

Three true dragons descended from the sky, their dragonflame spewing from their mouths to ignite the enormous funeral pyre.

“WHOOSH!”

A crimson wave of fire surged toward the heavens. Hot tongues of flame licked at the skin of the crowd, and the searing blast of heat created a powerful repelling force, making everyone instinctively retreat—everyone except Daenerys.

The storm of high heat carried dark red embers that brushed against the hair at her temples. The firelight cast a deep red glow on her pretty face, like a red-hot branding iron, yet she stood at the forefront of the flames, motionless.

She even seemed to be enjoying it?

Well, if it weren’t for the “fragrant” smell of roasting human flesh wafting over, she really would have been enjoying it.

Crack—BOOM!

The tall wooden platform, which had once displayed countless slave corpses, groaned in the inferno before reluctantly succumbing, just like its master who had struggled in Big Black’s dragonflame, and just like the city’s ancient, decaying institution—slavery.

“In blood and fire, a new world will be born!” Daenerys murmured.

“Little queen, there’s a situation!” Strong Belwas said, jogging over to whisper in her ear.

The eunuch gladiator had always called her “Little queen, little queen,” his tone and demeanor suggesting he still saw Daenerys as an underage girl. And she was, in fact, only fifteen, still a year shy of adulthood in this world.

After the tumultuous events of the past few days, Belwas’s attitude toward Daenerys had become much more cautious.

“What is it?” Daenerys asked.

Tonight, she and her Unsullied army were to move into Grazdan’s Great Pyramid. Before entering, she had sent the eunuch gladiator with some Unsullied and Ithan the scholar to inspect every room and bring out Grazdan’s family.

If a few assassins had been left behind to sneak into her bedroom in the middle of the night, it would be a truly unjust way for her to die.

“The Master’s family has all been killed. Not even the children were spared,” Belwas said gravely.

“What?” Daenerys’s face changed, and she gritted her teeth. “Cleon deserves to die!”

In truth, her heart was cold. Her current rage was more of a performance.

As soon as Ithan had said he was negotiating on behalf of the slaves, Daenerys had guessed the fate of Grazdan’s family.

Would a ruthless man who dared to negotiate with the Mother of Dragons spare the Master who had oppressed him for decades?

But Daenerys had no intention of holding Cleon responsible and had deliberately delayed sending men to clear out the Great Pyramid.

It wasn’t that she was so malicious as to wish for the death of the entire Master’s family, but reality forced her hand. She couldn’t set this precedent; there were a dozen more pyramids waiting for her.

It was clear that every pyramid might have one or more “Cleons” of its own. They might not share Cleon’s ambition, but they would certainly seek revenge against their masters and vent their long-suppressed hatred.

If she killed Cleon, would she have to storm every pyramid as if it were a fortress?

The cost of killing slaves committing crimes in the streets was different from killing slave-bandits inside the pyramids.

In the streets and alleys, the Unsullied had killed nearly seven hundred rapists and vicious thugs who had annihilated their masters’ families, all with the absolute advantage of zero fatalities. But the pyramids were different.

Never mind how many supplies and treasures inside would be destroyed—how many of her Unsullied would die in the complex environment of a pyramid?

Were the lives of her eunuch soldiers so cheap?

Sorry, but on the scales in Daenerys’s mind, ten of the masters’ infants were not worth a single adult Unsullied.

“It wasn’t Cleon who killed them,” the eunuch said, however.

“Er…” Daenerys’s expression must have twisted at that moment.

After I put on such a deeply felt performance, you’re telling me it was all a misunderstanding?

After a long moment, she regained her composure and asked curiously, “Did they commit suicide?”

When dynasties changed, it wasn’t uncommon for cornered warlords to kill their own wives and children.

“No. More than thirty children under the age of fifteen all had their throats slit by a single person.”

Hiss— Daenerys sucked in a cold breath. “Someone even more ruthless than Cleon? I didn’t even notice them.”

“She didn’t come out. Neither Cleon nor I dared to provoke her.”

“She?”

“The little girl from the fighting pits two days ago, the one who killed the bear. The Worthless Bitch,” Belwas said, his tone complicated.

Grazdan didn’t have thirty children. Most of them were his relatives, living a life of luxury in the pyramid and receiving the best education.

Because Cleon had learned the contents of Daenerys’s leaflets from the scholar, he had only locked the children in a spacious study, even after torturing and killing a dozen of the slaver’s adult relatives.

Now, Daenerys climbed the one-hundred-meter-high pyramid and, on the platform at the entrance to the top-floor palace, saw the Worthless Bitch once again.

The little girl sat on the stone steps, her right hand bandaged, while her left hand deftly toyed with a short dagger. She looked relaxed, content in her own world.

And just behind her, through the open doors, dozens of bodies could be seen lying haphazardly on the spacious stone floor. Dark blood had even seeped out of the room, leaving damp, dark red stains on the hundreds of steps.

Some ten hours had passed, and in this sweltering heat, the entire palace reeked of rot and death.

The Worthless Bitch glanced at the stern-faced Whitebeard standing protectively in front of Daenerys and said crisply, “I won’t harm the Mother of Dragons.”

Daenerys didn’t think she was lying. She pushed Whitebeard aside, took a few steps forward, and asked, “Why did you kill those children? Many of them were younger than you.”

The little girl stared at Daenerys, studying her curiously for a moment before replying, “I’m younger than a lot of people, yet I still had to fight a bear in the pits. Weren’t you there?”

Daenerys gave a bitter smile. “I can’t argue with that. If you were an adult, I would kill you to uphold humanity’s last moral line—not to harm innocent children. But with you, I can’t find a reason to punish you.”

“They weren’t human,” the girl said, her face hardening into a serious expression. “Pigs birth pigs, dogs birth dogs. The masters are demons, and demons only give birth to little demons.”

Daenerys and Whitebeard exchanged a look, both seeing surprise and astonishment in the other’s eyes.

“The masters are indeed devils, but they were once human. They slowly degenerated from men into man-eating demons. Even if their children are little demons, they can become human again if they are raised in the ways of good people.”

Daenerys spoke these fine-sounding words that she herself didn’t quite believe, but the little girl looked half-convinced.

Such a simple child, she lamented inwardly.

“What is your name? Do you remember your parents or your home? I can send you back.”

“My name is Worthless Bitch. I don’t remember where my home is, and I don’t know if I had parents,” the little girl said in a flat tone.

Daenerys blurted out, “Your name is not Worthless Bitch.”

“Then what is my name?” the little girl asked, looking up at her, a hint of longing in her eyes.

“Hmm…” Daenerys stroked her smooth little chin, thinking. “Across the Sunset Sea, there was a legendary heroine named Nymeria. I hope you can become a great, respected hero like her one day.”

“I don’t want to be called Nymeria,” she said, shaking her head stubbornly. She blinked her eyes, which were neither pretty nor bright. “From now on, my name is Daenerys.”

“Er…” Daenerys was stunned.

But Whitebeard and Belwas burst out laughing.

“We can’t have the same name,” Daenerys said, feeling both awkward and pleased. Did the little girl choosing her name mean that, in her heart, Daenerys was even more legendary than the hero Nymeria?

“‘Daenerys’ is a name that evolved from ‘Daenys.’ Four hundred years ago, a maiden of House Targaryen named Daenys nearly changed the fate of the world.”

At the very least, she changed the fate of Westeros.

Hmm, and now she is beginning to change the fate of Slaver’s Bay, too.

“Why don’t you be called ‘Daenys’?”

Chapter 107: The Grace of Astapor

“Your Majesty the Queen, this is Grazdan, the Green Grace!”

The next morning, after a night’s rest in the top-floor garden, Daenerys was preparing to go to the Plaza of Punishment to continue freeing slaves when Cleon arrived with a middle-aged woman. She was clad in a green robe, her head and face veiled with thin green gauze.

“Please, have a seat, Ser Chainsbreaker, and you as well, Your Grace,” Daenerys said, gesturing for them to join her.

She was having breakfast: chilled persimmon soup, white bread, boiled goose eggs, seared bacon, and scallion steak.

A great deal of arduous work awaited her today, and she might not even have time for lunch, so Daenerys was eating a hearty breakfast.

Unlike the high-and-mighty Good Masters, Daenerys had a long wooden table set up on the grass, seven or eight meters long and oriented north to south.

Daenerys sat at the northern end, with Whitebeard and Jorah to her left, each served the same meal as her, but with larger portions.

Doreah, Jhiqui, and Irri had already eaten. As handmaidens, the three of them were not qualified to dine with Jorah and Whitebeard.

Indeed, in Westeros, a king might share a table with minor nobles, but never with servants. Daenerys was no naive idealist and had no intention of changing this.

—Instead of trying to change etiquette and customs that had been passed down for millennia, it was far more practical to find an opportunity to grant her three handmaidens knighthoods in the future.

Ser Chainsbreaker and the Green Grace took their seats on Daenerys’s right. The Green Grace was composed, her movements graceful and practiced. The butcher looked a bit awkward but was mostly thrilled; this tangible change in his status was intoxicating.

Doreah came over to serve them food, and Daenerys asked, “Your Grace, I hope the Unsullied did not disturb the Temple of the Graces?”

Daenerys had previously been nothing more than a novice surgeon, completely ignorant of politics, but she still understood the principle that “the two great affairs of a state are rites and warfare.”

With over ten thousand Unsullied and three dragons, military power was firmly in her hands.

And as for rites, which referred to sacrifices, it was more about faith and traditional ceremonies.

Before attacking Astapor, Daenerys had arranged for Unsullied to both protect and monitor the Temple of the Graces.

She had to prevent the Graces of the temple from being harmed, which could trigger religious unrest—the most troublesome kind of conflict—but she also couldn’t allow them to stir up trouble for her.

The Temple of the Graces was itself a pyramid of peculiar design. Its clergy were all women, collectively known as “Graces.”

The Green Grace was the high priestess among them, akin to an archbishop in a faith, and each city generally had only one Temple of the Graces, which in turn usually had only one Green Grace.

In other words, the woman before her, Grazdan, was the religious leader of Astapor.

Yes, that was right, this Grace was also named Grazdan—a feminine variant of ‘Grazdan.’

The first Grazdan had been a great figure in the Old Ghiscari Empire, and nearly every Ghiscari of any standing desperately wanted to be named Grazdan.

“Your Majesty the Queen, the Unsullied are the most obedient of warriors. They did not disturb the temple,” the Green Grace said softly, taking an elegant sip of her persimmon soup.

“That is good. Once the turmoil in the city has subsided, I will have them withdraw,” Daenerys promised.

“Your Majesty, how do you intend to quell the unrest in Astapor? I mean, the other city-states like Kayuan, Meereen, and New Ghis will not simply stand by and watch,” the Green Grace asked nervously.

“Alas, I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Daenerys said with a wave of her hand, speaking boldly. “When I see an injustice, I act.”

Hmph, three thousand Unsullied were enough to guard Qohor. How many thousands do I have?

Besides, apart from New Ghis and its Iron Legion, Kayuan and Meereen rely entirely on slave soldiers to maintain control. Let them come. Let them see just how sharp Queen Daenerys’s cannons are!

Hah, cannons of the mouth!

However many slave soldiers they sent would be that many more warriors delivered to her to fight for freedom.

Her army would only grow with every battle. She might even end up with a terrifying army of a million men.

The mere thought would scare those slave traders to death!

Even if the worst happened and she was besieged by everyone at once, her current followers could surely hold out for two or three years, right?

And in two or three years, wouldn’t she be able to sweep across the world with her three dragons?

The Green Grace sighed and asked, “Your Majesty, what is your goal? Are you not returning to Westeros?”

A glint shone in Daenerys’s eyes as she countered, “Your Grace, may I ask what deity your temple worships? The Harpy?”

“No, we do not worship the Harpy. In fact, the ancient teachings have been lost. The Ghiscari of today have little connection to the Old Ghiscari Empire. The Temple of the Graces does not serve to spread faith. We exist for the people.”

Slaver’s Bay in the World of Ice and Fire was like Egypt in the real world.

Many people assume that Egyptians have always been Egyptians, and some even doubt the authenticity of Egyptian history and the pyramids—arguing against a five-thousand-year history and believing that pharaohs never used pyramids as tombs.

Their reasoning is quite sound: if every pharaoh had a pyramid, how many would there be over five thousand years of history? Why are there only a few dozen? The sarcophagi of many pharaohs were not discovered in pyramids, either.

In truth, the Egyptian people can be divided into several periods, with the ethnicity of the rulers differing in each. The line of the ancient pharaohs went extinct long ago.

Dynasties are not the same as ethnicities; customs, traditions, and even beliefs change.

Moreover, pharaohs often did not establish a large, unified empire, and their state power was insufficient to build pyramids, just as not all dynasties in China were as powerful as the Han and Tang.

So, while there were many pharaohs, not all were worthy of a pyramid, or perhaps the pharaoh’s people at the time did not have a tradition of being buried in them—their gods having no doctrine of resurrection from death.

The Ghiscari of Slaver’s Bay were similar to the Egyptians. Although they were called Ghiscari, they could hardly be considered the same race as the Ghiscari of five thousand years ago. Their culture and faith had also fundamentally changed—Valyria would never have allowed them to possess a strong and unifying faith.

“The Temple of the Graces has seven colors of Graces. The Green Grace is the high priestess; the Blue Graces are healers; the White Graces are girls of noble birth who study the skills of womanhood in the temple, and they may choose to become Graces of other colors.

“The Pink Graces are attendants, who may serve as handmaidens to the highborn; the Gold Graces are scholars, who can educate the children of great houses; and the Purple Graces can serve as stewards for great houses.”

At this, the Green Grace sighed helplessly. “The Pink, Gold, and Purple Graces are all products of the Valyrian era, but they have little reason to exist now.

“Each generation of the Green Grace still requires the service of Pink Graces, but the Gold and Purple Graces have been all but phased out. Nowadays, the most numerous are the Red Graces.”

“What are the Red Graces?” Daenerys asked.

“Ahem.” Jorah coughed, looking uncomfortable and a little embarrassed.

The Green Grace’s expression remained unchanged. “The Red Graces are sacred prostitutes,” she said calmly. “We do not shy away from the pursuit of physical desire. The temple’s most exquisite quarters are the Garden of Pleasures, where the Red Graces wait every night to be chosen by men. Those who are not chosen wait until dawn.”

Daenerys did not feign shyness or blush. She had already discovered that, from Slaver’s Bay to Qarth, social mores were exceptionally open.

Garments that exposed half a breast, erotic art painted on city walls—such things were almost unimaginable in ancient China.

“From the actions of the Temple of the Graces, it seems you do not strongly support slavery,” Daenerys observed.

“But we do not oppose it, either,” the Green Grace replied.

“But my conscience opposes it, justice in this world opposes it, the very baseline of humanity opposes it, and any god with a shred of mercy would oppose it,” Daenerys declared.

“I will not oppose you, Your Majesty, nor will the Temple of the Graces. I have come today only to understand your plans for Astapor,” the Green Grace said with a sigh.

An institution without even a clear set of doctrines was so lacking in fighting spirit that Daenerys felt a pang of sympathy.

“My promise is that I am only targeting the institution of slavery. If a queen cannot bring a better life to her people, then she is better off abdicating. Your Grace, I will only make Astapor better—for the majority, of course,” Daenerys said with a solemn expression.

“I understand. It is time for me to take my leave.” The Green Grace rose, preparing to depart.

“Wait,” Daenerys called out, persuading her, “I hope the Temple of the Graces will become more deeply involved in the building of the city in the days to come.”

“What do you mean?” the Green Grace asked, puzzled.

“Even the wisest monarch cannot rule a kingdom alone. When a king rules based solely on his own whims, his kingdom is not far from ruin.”

The Green Grace looked thoughtful, while Jorah stared at Daenerys in shock, astonished to hear such words from her.

Whitebeard’s expression was one of deep emotion, his eyes moistening.

“I will form a council to govern this city, and you, Green Grace, have earned a seat as a councilor.”

Daenerys looked at the graceful high priestess and asked, “Are you willing?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for this opportunity. I am deeply grateful,” the Green Grace replied, her voice tinged with excitement.

“Excellent. You may begin exercising your authority now,” Daenerys said with a smile.

After the Green Grace sat back down at the table, Ser Chainsbreaker asked with a fawning expression, “Your Majesty, if I may ask, am I qualified to be a councilor?”

“Of course. You are the first Astapori noble under my command.”

Afterward, Daenerys sent the Green Grace, Cleon the Butcher, and Jorah to continue subduing the remaining pyramids, while she took Whitebeard to the Plaza of Pride to free more slaves.

Even more people had come today.

Excluding the Unsullied, Astapor had a population of nearly one hundred thousand. The ratio of slaves to Ghiscari was as high as seven to one, meaning there were over eighty thousand slaves!

Yes, that’s right. The Ghiscari had become a minority.

After six thousand were killed yesterday by the Unsullied and the rampaging slaves, only half of the Ghiscari population remained.

This wasn’t just true for Slaver’s Bay; even in Volantis, one of the Nine Free Cities, the ratio of slaves to freemen was five to one. This showed just how promising Daenerys’s cause of “liberating the world” was.

As long as she played her cards right and didn’t get reckless, she was destined to win.

“These are the ashes of two thousand slaves who died fighting for freedom.” Under the blazing sun, standing on the first tier of a pyramid’s steps, Daenerys pointed to a huge wooden crate beside her, two meters tall. Before tens of thousands of slaves, she boomed into a tin megaphone: “I made a promise that their glory would be immortal.

“Before I remove your slave collars, I have two announcements to make. First, no slave master will ever punish you again. From this moment, this plaza is renamed the ‘People’s Plaza’! Who are the people?

“The people are you, me, all of us! The people are the true masters of Astapor.”

“Long live the People’s Plaza! Long live the Mother of Dragons!”

“Mhysa, Mhysa!”

Tens of thousands of white, black, brown, and amber arms shot into the air as they roared at the top of their lungs. The surging wave of sound nearly scattered the white clouds in the sky. In truth, those at the back couldn’t hear a thing, but with three vividly colored, true dragons circling and crying out above Daenerys’s head, they were all overcome with excitement!

Daenerys lowered her right hand, and when the crowd quieted down again, she continued into the megaphone: “My second announcement is this: in the center of the People’s Plaza, where the wooden platform once used to punish slaves stood, I will build a stone monument with the ashes of these two thousand Freedom Fighters—the Freedom Fighters’ Monument.

“It will represent all the warriors who have sacrificed themselves for freedom—past, present, and future. It will represent their will and their glory.”

Chapter 108: The Seventh-Rank County Magistrate and the King

People’s Plaza and the Freedom Fighters’ Monument were not merely for show. Freeing the slaves was not as simple as just unlocking their shackles and chains.

In the original story, Daenerys had thought and acted this way, and then she had failed.

After destroying an old system, a new one must be established to keep society running stably. Otherwise, a world without a system is worse than the old one.

The plaza and the monument were mainly to constantly remind the newly freed people: you are the masters of this city, and it is your duty to build and defend your home.

Hmm, Dany had conquered the slave city yesterday, and today she was preparing to put new “shackles” on the freemen.

She needed them to work, to serve, and to farm the land.

In the morning, with the help of the Unsullied, Dany removed the collars from all the slaves.

In the afternoon, under the scorching sun, the new freemen formed long lines in the red-brick plaza, waiting at the scribes’ desks in front of the pyramid to register their names, occupations, family status, and hopes for the future.

Yesterday afternoon, after freeing the slave soldiers, Dany’s next target for liberation had been the group of servants who came out of the pyramid.

Manual laborers like cooks, kitchen maids, and female weavers were all joyful and grateful to the Mother of Dragons. But when it came to those in skilled professions like scholars, gardeners, and healers, they refused to become freemen, no matter what.

When Dany asked why, the scholar Ithan said, “The Good Master treated me very well. My food, lodging, and clothing were all of the highest quality. My work was also quite easy, and I even had two handmaidens to serve me. If I had to go out and make a living on my own, I might not survive.

“If Your Majesty truly wants what’s best for us, you would be better off selling us to Kayuan or Meereen. We are very popular and can fetch a good price.”

This was not hard to understand. The Qing dynasty had the Baoyi system, and the Baoyi were essentially household slaves.

But why did so many people fight to become Baoyi for the Manchu nobility? Even in time-travel romance novels set in the Qing dynasty, why was the “great” female protagonist’s identity so often a Baoyi?

A Baoyi was a slave. Their life and dignity were not their own. Their daughters and wives could be taken by their master as he pleased.

Even modern women from the new society wanted to travel back in time to become slaves for the Manchus. It was fucking unbelievable!

The problem was that the Manchu Qing class structure was “Imperial Family—Nobility—Baoyi—Han Officials—Han Commoners.” If you were an imperial Baoyi slave, your status was truly no worse than that of an ordinary Manchu.

First, they didn’t have to worry about food or clothing. They had whatever the emperor had, and often things the emperor didn’t have. Second, power. As the saying goes, “you have to see who the master is before you beat the dog.” Who would dare to strike the emperor’s dog under normal circumstances?

Lastly, prospects. Could serving the emperor as a slave have no future?

Heh, how many princes and grandsons of the emperor were born to Baoyi mothers? Even the Jiaqing Emperor’s mother was a Baoyi—this was the core motivation for the female protagonists in those time-travel novels.

And then there was the famous Cao Xueqin. His family had controlled the Jiangning Imperial Textile Manufactory for three generations, and their status in Jiangnan was second only to the Viceroy of Liangjiang. Yet their identity was still that of a Baoyi family from the Imperial Household Department.

The scholar Ithan and the others were in a similar situation.

Dany’s way of handling them was simple. Since you are so shameless, then you can be my slaves. It will save me a lot of money!

Just like now, dozens of scholars, each with a desk, a chair, and a parasol over their head, were arranged in neat rows below the steps of the Great Pyramid.

In the blazing sun, they helped the freemen register their identities and issue identification documents, all of them busy, sweating profusely, and panting for breath.

But Dany didn’t have to pay them a single copper penny. Slaves received no wages for working for their master.

However, she was not hiding in the cool of the pyramid herself. Instead, she had brought a chair and sat among the scribes’ desks, personally answering difficult questions for the freemen.

In this world, especially in Westeros, a king had the duty to hold regular audiences for petitioners.

To put it in simpler terms, a king was like a combination of a community leader and a county magistrate.

Those who had grievances, those who had encountered difficulties, and those who simply wanted to have a heart-to-heart with the king could all line up at the palace at a designated time to wait for an audience.

If the king was rather lazy, he would have the Hand of the King handle it for him.

For example, Eddard Stark sat on the Iron Throne to hear the people of the Riverlands accuse Ser Clegane of atrocities, which subsequently triggered a series of events including the Brotherhood Without Banners and Lady Stoneheart.

Hmm, this was another point of difference from the ancient Celestial Empire. In all the dynasties of the Celestial Empire, which Hand of the King would have dared to sit on the emperor’s throne in the Golden Throne Hall?

But here, the Hand of the King could represent the king, sit on the king’s throne, control the entire nation’s military and finances, and also held the power to appoint and dismiss officials.

Aside from not being able to sleep with the king’s wife, they could do everything the king could. The power of the Hand was great enough to make the powerful ministers of every Chinese dynasty burn with envy, jealousy, and hatred.

But in the three hundred years of the Targaryen dynasty, and even in the subsequent Robert and Lannister dynasties, not a single Hand of the King had ever rebelled. Every one of them was incredibly obedient. If the king wanted to execute them, they let him; if he wanted to exile them, they would pack their bags and leave Westeros without a word of protest.

The main reason was that in a feudal system, the Hand of the King was just the Hand of the King.

They only represented the king. The king’s authority was greatly diminished outside the Crownlands, let alone the Hand’s.

Any Hand of the King who dared to rebel would immediately face countless nobles, great and small, raising their armies to teach him a lesson.

Besides fulfilling her duties, Dany also wanted to use the process of meeting the new freemen to gain a deeper understanding of the common people’s living conditions and needs, and then try to select some capable individuals.

Honest, simple folk with no particular talents would generally just follow the crowd. Whatever the Mother of Dragons arranged, they would do.

The people who actually came to see Dany either had some “advanced” ideas owing to their own talents or, like Cleon, they were unwilling to remain obscure and had a heart set on climbing higher.

Dany would naturally be wary of the latter, but on a chessboard, there are no useless pieces. As a player, one must be adept at using every piece.

She clearly remembered the case of Zhatra!

Despite being the foremost national heroine of the Jogos Nhai, all she left for posterity was a string of unpleasant titles like “Zebra-faced,” “the Barren,” and “the Cruel.”

There were bad things, evil things, that she couldn’t get involved in herself, yet they still had to be done. For this, people like Cleon had their uses.

When the Green Grace arrived in her small palanquin, she saw Dany under a parasol, bent over a pristine white parchment scroll, writing and sketching, while speaking to a person from the Summer Isles across from her.

“…You can go ahead and do it without worry. I will give you an interest-free loan, which you can pay back within ten years. If you can’t sell your goods, every quarter—err, once every three months—I will buy up all your remaining stock at market price.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty the Queen.” The young dark-skinned woman wiped her tears, bowing repeatedly. She only took her leave when she noticed the Green Grace’s figure.

The people waiting in line behind her also tactfully stepped back a few paces, giving Dany and the Green Grace space to talk.

“What is she planning to do?” the Green Grace asked, puzzled.

“Her name is Lisa. She’s a weaver whose embroidery skills are on par with the court weavers of Yi Ti.” Dany handed over a handkerchief embroidered with an exquisite peony pattern and said with a smile, “She wants to open a clothing shop but has no capital and fears no one will buy her goods. I’m providing a ten-year interest-free loan to help her open the shop, and if the goods don’t sell, I’ll buy them all.”

“This…” The Green Grace’s wisdom told her there was a deeper meaning to Dany’s actions, but her lack of experience and worldly knowledge prevented her from seeing the truth.

“What did you come to see me about?” Dany asked as she had Jhiqui pour the Grace a cool, sweet glass of lemonade from an earthenware jar.

Dany didn’t emulate other kings and queens, who sat high on their thrones with their audience standing below to display their authority.

—In that kind of situation, how could you hear anyone’s true thoughts?

Her wooden chair had belonged to a Good Master and was certainly large and ornate, but the petitioner across from her also had a chair, allowing them to speak with Queen Daenerys face-to-face.

The Green Grace sat down and looked at the glaring, brilliant sunlight all around. She felt as if she were sitting on a burning fire pit. Wiping her forehead, she sighed, “Your Majesty, you should be receiving visitors inside the pyramid.”

“The pyramids are too high. Ordinary people can’t reach them, and they can’t see what’s happening,” Dany said with a smile.

The base of the pyramid was low, but it mostly contained prisons, storerooms, and servants’ quarters. Visitors would be received at the top, one hundred meters high. You’d be panting and puffing on the way up, and wheezing and gasping on the way down. If it were she, she would hesitate on whether to go meet that upstart queen.

Besides, a trial without a crowd of onlookers could hardly be considered open and just.

The Green Grace hesitated. “But for the Queen to receive guests in the plaza is too…”

“In a few days, I will have a spacious hall renovated at the base of the pyramid, specifically for receiving the common people,” Dany said.

“This…” The Green Grace’s expression changed behind her green silk veil. “Your Majesty, the Ghiscari nobles have a tradition of making their ancestors’ corpses into mummies and placing them at the base of the pyramids. You…”

“Your Grace need not worry,” Dany said, waving her hand. She picked up a porcelain bowl from the table and gulped down half of the lemonade, letting out a comfortable breath. “Even if they were all heinous slave Masters, they are dead now, and I will not harm their remains. Weren’t the bodies of the Ghiscari who died in battle a few days ago placed in the Plaza of Pride for their families to claim?”

The thought of that plaza, reeking with the stench of decay, made the Green Grace’s face turn pale.

So many family lines had been wiped out. Who would come to claim their bodies?

In the scorching summer heat, over the past few days, the bodies had already started to liquefy.

“Your Majesty, please have the rest burned, lest it cause a plague,” she advised.

“Yes, they will be burned tonight,” Dany replied.

She would have burned them even without the Green Grace’s reminder.

She had already made it clear that families had only three days to claim the bodies of their relatives. After three days, the remaining corpses would be immediately cremated.

There were even notices posted in the Plaza of Pride!

“I will have all the coffins from the pyramids consolidated into a single pyramid. That way, I won’t violate the traditions of the Ghiscari nobility, and it will also free up a large amount of space for other uses.”

“Your Majesty is wise!” The Green Grace was very pleased with Dany’s thoughtfulness and took the opportunity to say, “I came to see Your Majesty about two matters. First, there are still three pyramids occupied by nobles. If they are willing to surrender, how will you deal with them?

“The second matter concerns the conduct of Ser Chainsbreaker…

“In the process of taking fifteen pyramids, twelve families were slaughtered—men, women, old, and young. Only a few families had children under the age of five left alive. The nobles in the other three pyramids surrendered, yet the Ser still slaughtered all the adults over the age of fourteen.”

Seeing Dany’s expression turn serious, the Green Grace advised, “If you only plan to rule Astapor, then doing so is of little consequence. But you have the grand ambition to change all of Slaver’s Bay. You must know, Astapor is only a peripheral city in Slaver’s Bay. Kayuan and Meereen have far more pyramids, and on a much grander scale, with strong city walls outside them.”

“I gave a strict order to kill only the most wicked slave Masters and to never harm their children. The leaflets scattered on the pyramids and the notices posted in the streets all stated this clearly.

“Two thousand of the rebelling Freedom Fighters died, and almost half of them at the hands of the Unsullied, because they violated the bottom line I set,” Dany said slowly.

“But the family in the Great Pyramid behind you was annihilated, yet no culprit came forward to take responsibility. After that, Ser Chainsbreaker lost his inhibitions. It seems those at the other pyramids found a precedent in this; before the masters even opened their gates to surrender, they would kill the great merchant’s entire family.”

Chapter 109: The Underdeveloped Scholar-Gentry

Three days after the city gates were breached, all the pyramids fell into Daenerys’s hands. Excluding the strange, dome-topped pyramid that was the Temple of the Graces, there were eighteen in total.

The tallest, belonging to the great slave master Grazdan, stood at 100 meters, while the shortest was just over 50 meters.

Of the families who owned them, eight were wiped out entirely. Another four were left with only a few young children under the age of five. Three more saw all their adults killed, with only those under the age of fourteen surviving. Thanks to the Green Grace’s intervention, Daenerys did not execute a single person from the final three families.

It took another week for the Unsullied to sweep through the entire city. The population, including both the new freemen and the original Ghiscari commoners, numbered more than 123,000.

And so, the eighteen pyramids and their attached fighting pits contributed tens of thousands more slaves.

The ratio of slaves-turned-freemen to Ghiscari commoners was nearly twenty to one. Astapor was now completely under Daenerys’s control.

As the scribes registered the freemen, they were divided into five classes: “Soldier, Scholar, Farmer, Artisan, and Merchant.”

Simply put, skilled craftsmen were classified as Artisans. They could also choose to start their own businesses, like the textile worker Lisa, and become small Merchants.

For the honest people who lacked skills and literacy, or those with family ties, Daenerys would assign them dozens of acres of fertile land to become Farmers on the plains of the Worm River outside the city.

Those who were unskilled but restless, such as former slave soldiers and gladiators, were drafted into the militia, with Knight Jorah responsible for training them into a regular army.

This, too, would be a selection process. Elite militiamen would be drawn out to form a separate unit, while the unqualified would become a local guard force, akin to police and constables.

For now, the Unsullied still served as the police force maintaining order in the city, but their true value lay in large-scale field battles. Using them as city guards was a great waste.

Those who were literate were classified as “Scholars,” but the scholars under Daenerys were a completely different concept from the scholar-gentry.

True power lay in the hands of the sword-wielding nobility, those with the power of life and death. In this world, a scholar-gentry class could never emerge.

This was because the world’s social structure was open; one couldn’t just close the gates and live a peaceful life as the Celestial Empire of Huaxia had.

Without a doubt, a scholar-gentry was beneficial for maintaining the rule of a monarch.

If one wanted to centralize power and become a true emperor whose every word was law, the scholar-gentry was the sovereign’s best ally.

And yet, in any dynasty where the scholar-gentry gained power, the nation’s strength inevitably declined.

When warriors ruled a nation, it easily led to turmoil, but the military strength was truly formidable.

In a relatively closed environment like the Celestial Empire, even a declining unified dynasty was stronger than the barbarian nations nearby. As long as the government was clean and efficient, it could comfortably play the role of Big Brother most of the time.

But this world was open. If your military was weak, you simply could not survive.

Thus, though the Citadel in Westeros had existed for thousands of years, with almost every noble house having a maester as an advisor, and though the maesters’ knowledge and insight surpassed that of the scholars of the Celestial Empire by several, even dozens of times, the maesters still failed to become a powerful scholar-gentry class.

This was no attempt to belittle the ancient scholars of the Celestial Empire or to elevate the status of maesters.

The maesters in the song of ice and fire were incredibly capable. Arts, literature, arithmetic, and agriculture were just the basics; they had to dabble in philosophy, archaeology, astrology, medicine, anatomy, magic, mysticism, and more.

Moreover, maesters were not just bookworms. The process of becoming a maester was extremely rigorous, and their capacity for action was off the charts.

They could serve as doctors, tutors for children, or as advisors, secretaries, and stewards for noble lords. In times of war, they could even act as military strategists. They could fill almost any role imaginable.

Maesters were also exceptionally unafraid of death, often traveling to the far corners of the world to explore new knowledge, like Maester Marwyn, the teacher of the witch Mirri.

A man from Westeros who actually went to “study” in the Shadow Lands, tens of thousands of kilometers away.

Daenerys classified anyone who could read and do arithmetic as a “Scholar.”

That is, a “Scholar” in the sense of a maester—someone who specialized in serving others.

She herself established an advisory staff of two hundred, all of whom were slave-scholars who did not wish to become freemen.

Daenerys did not treat them poorly. They were still housed in the Great Pyramid, attended by two maids, and their three daily meals were only a grade or two below her own.

The maids, however, were no longer slaves. They signed labor contracts and received wages, pensions, and medical insurance—truly comprehensive health coverage, in fact.

Even so, this was cheaper than hiring scholars as scribes.

If those scholars had shed their slave status and signed labor contracts with Daenerys, the salaries they would have earned would far exceed the cost of her providing for them.

“I really don’t know what they’re thinking,” Daenerys complained to Whitebeard.

Whitebeard told her it was quite normal. In Westeros, maesters were much the same as these scholars; they received no wages, serving their lords for a lifetime for free, while the nobles were responsible for supporting them for life—and they were obligated to provide the maester with a respectable life to the best of their ability.

If a noble dared to insult, abuse, mistreat, or dismiss his maester without cause, the Citadel would stand up for the maester. Besides threatening to no longer provide the noble family with a maester, they could also advise the king, through the Grand Maester in King’s Landing, to punish the offender.

Without a maester, no one could manage the ravens, and a noble would be cut off from outside communication.

And the Grand Maester, as one of the councilors, was entitled to attend the Small Council meetings.

Although Daenerys had artificially established five social classes, these new strata were very unbalanced.

Including the service industry, workers—mostly women—made up the vast majority, numbering over fifty thousand. There were thirty thousand soldiers, with ages ranging from fifty or sixty years old down to just eight or nine. The few thousand remaining Ghiscari all chose to be “Merchants,” though they had almost no businesses or storefronts.

Very few people chose farming, nearly all of them from “cowardly” agricultural peoples like the Lhazareen and the Naathi.

These past few days, with the exception of the Ghiscari who had homes and businesses, all the new freemen in the city were being supported by Daenerys. Although the pyramids were well-stocked, this communal way of living could not last.

Therefore, she had to restore normal city order as quickly as possible.

The first priority for a new society under a new system was to establish clear laws and regulations.

Ten days after the capture of Astapor.

The hazy morning mist dissipated like a phantom. The brilliant red sun, like an egg yolk, had not yet risen to the apex of the Great Pyramid, but the red-bricked plaza was already beginning to feel warm.

Wuuuuu—

A long, low horn blast sounded from the top of the Great Pyramid. The entire city awoke swiftly under a strange power. In the ten days since the Mother of Dragons began her rule of Astapor, this had happened several times. The citizens knew she was summoning them to assemble at People’s Plaza.

“I hear that’s the sound of the Dragon Horn. They say the Dragon Horn can control dragons,” a new freeman whispered to his companion as they walked.

He was a middle-aged black man from the Summer Isles, thin as a monkey and under 1.5 meters tall. His body was gaunt but his limbs were nimble. He had been an acrobat for a Good Master and was now considered a skilled worker.

“Perhaps,” said the acrobat’s companion, a freed scholar. He was a white man in his forties, of average height. His scholarship was not profound, nor was he a master of letters; he was not one of those high-class slaves who lived in comfort.

Still, he was more knowledgeable than his acrobat friend. He said worriedly, “I hope it’s not the slave masters from Kayuan coming to attack.”

“What’s there to be afraid of? Besides the newly formed thirty-thousand-strong guard, Her Majesty the Queen still has over ten thousand Unsullied! I wish I could join the Queen’s guard. Then I’d have a chance to get my revenge on the slavers! I’d even be happy to be one of Her Majesty’s hornblowers,” said the skinny man.

“You don’t understand. The slave masters of Kayuan don’t need to defeat the Unsullied. If they burn the manors outside the city first, the livelihood of over a hundred thousand people in the city will become a huge problem,” the freed scholar said.

No city could be entirely self-sufficient; it relied on the agriculture and animal husbandry of the countryside for daily necessities. Astapor was no exception. Besides the hundred thousand-plus people within the city walls, the plains of the Worm River basin outside were dotted with slave masters’ manors, holding at least another two hundred thousand people.

Of those two hundred thousand, about thirty thousand were Ghiscari. Before she had a chance to deal with those manor lords, Daenerys had dispatched her horse men cavalry to post notices of The Four Great Prohibitions in the villages: anyone who dared to slaughter their own slaves on a large scale would have their entire family line extinguished; anyone who dared to burn granaries, wheat fields, and olive groves, or slaughter cattle and sheep on a mass scale and let them rot and fester with maggots, would have their entire family line extinguished; anyone who dared to poison wells, block them up, or destroy canals and agricultural infrastructure, would have their entire family line extinguished; and anyone who dared to conspire together, gather an army, and kill the horse men cavalry patrolling the villages and towns, would have their entire family line extinguished.

Of course, Daenerys was not solely relying on brute force. Following the four prohibitions was An Address to the Ghiscari People to placate them: Queen Daenerys solemnly promises that the families and children of any manor lord who does not violate the four prohibitions above will be kept safe, and their property, including fields and grain stores, will be protected to a limited extent.

Neither the freed scholar nor the skinny acrobat knew any of this, much less that over twenty manor slave masters had already had their families wiped out in the past ten days.

If slave masters could be frightened by a few notices, they wouldn’t be evil slave masters to begin with.

Some of the more cunning ones deliberately set fire to their granaries and olive groves, hoping to lure in the horse men patrols, then lie in wait for them and wipe them out in one fell swoop.

Alas, a vivid and beautiful ideal, but reality was exceptionally cruel.

The work of handling the “household registration” for the new freemen was indeed complicated, but it was the team of scribes who were busy. Daenerys herself was rather idle. She practiced her swordsmanship with Whitebeard and received a few visiting citizens, leading a relaxed and pleasant life.

Therefore, she had time to act as a scout for the horse men cavalry.

Before each operation, Big Black would fly a circle over the rebellious manor. The situation of the Ghiscari could be seen clearly, and the Black Dragon would even land and use its claws to draw a map of the manor’s defenses on the ground.

The rest was simple. One thousand Unsullied would surge forward, with two hundred horse men cavalry providing covering fire from the outside. Almost all the rebellious manors were wiped out in a single wave.

Then, the heads of each troublemaking slave master’s family were impaled on the horse men’s spears and paraded around the villages, and the remaining people became obedient.

Daenerys’s so-called “wiping out the family line” didn’t mean killing the entire family. She still only executed the adults. Children under fourteen were temporarily locked up, to be dealt with after she was finished with this busy period.

There were two reasons she didn’t just send the Unsullied to raze the manors directly: first, she feared the manor lords would be driven to desperate measures, madly destroying food supplies and means of production; second, the casualties would be too high.

Even with Big Black’s help, quelling the unrest in those twenty-odd manors had resulted in the deaths of eighteen Unsullied and twenty-two horse men warriors, while the enemy had only suffered just over a thousand casualties among the Ghiscari farmers.

Note, this wasn’t ‘1,000 Unsullied + 200 horse men’ versus ‘over 1,000 ordinary Ghiscari’. Of those 1,700-plus Ghiscari, only half were men, and they were spread out across more than twenty manors.

In each battle, the one thousand Unsullied faced fewer than a hundred Ghiscari and three to four hundred wavering slave-farmers.

The main issue was that the complex environment of the manors was ill-suited for assault warfare. Each manor was practically a small castle, easy to defend and difficult to attack.

Chapter 110: The Code of Daenerys

The Address to the Ghiscari People that Daenerys issued was no empty deception; she genuinely intended to acquire the properties and grain stores within the manors through purchase.

“Hey, Tom, look! The Unsullied are posting notices again. Let’s go see what’s written on them.”

Before the Freedom Fighters’ Monument was erected, Daenerys had ordered artisans to build a low wall around the perimeter of People’s Plaza, which served as Astapor’s bulletin board.

Whenever Daenerys issued a decree, in addition to posting notices on the bulletin board and around the streets and alleys, she would dispatch the Unsullied with bronze gongs to every corner of the city. They would beat the gongs to attract the citizens’ attention while loudly reciting her commands.

They didn’t just recite it once. They repeated it over and over like a broken record. If any citizens approached them with questions, they would even provide detailed explanations for specific articles of the decree.

Well, in truth, ninety-nine percent of the Unsullied were illiterate. Or rather, the slave masters had never taught them to read. The only reason they could recite the decrees aloud and explain them to the citizens was because the scholars had “tutored” them the night before.

Daenerys commanded the scholars, the scholars relayed the “sacred will” to the Unsullied, and the Unsullied went out into the streets to make the Queen’s instructions clear to all the city’s inhabitants.

Initially, Daenerys had considered having the scholars themselves stand beneath the notices to act as explainers.

It would be like a scene from a historical drama, where a wanted poster is displayed at every city gate, and beneath it, there is always an old, failed scholar smugly showing off his literacy.

As the old scholar explained the notice, the illiterate crowd around him would chime in with “oohs” and “aahs.”

Unfortunately, the scholars thought themselves above such work and were unwilling to do it.

“Your Majesty, it is not that this humble one wishes to defy your will, but a king would not use fine Yidu porcelain as a chamber pot. When the Good Master purchased this humble one, he spent a full one thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight gold radiants! This humble one is proficient in history, literature, poetry, and musical performance. At the age of twenty-five, I even obtained a senior scholar’s certificate from the Great Library of Volantis. I cannot be lumped in with common street performers!”

So Ithan had lamented to Daenerys at the time.

Then Daenerys asked Jorah, “The ransom for a knight of Westeros is typically only a hundred gold dragons?”

(About 300 gold radiants)

Jorah nodded, his expression grim.

“The Code of Daenerys, First Volume. Preamble: I, Daenerys Targaryen, establish this code to let the light of justice shine upon the land, to eliminate all sin and evil, so that the strong may not oppress the weak.” The free scholar, Tom, read it out loud, word by word.

“So it’s a legal code,” the skinny acrobat said with disappointment.

“Jerry, you don’t understand. A code of law is the foundation of rule, the pillar of a state. Now I can rest easy,” the scholar Tom said with a laugh.

“Rest easy about what?” the skinny acrobat asked, confused.

“I was always worried that Her Majesty the Queen would leave with the Unsullied after liberating Astapor. After all, she intends to return to Westeros to restore the Targaryen dynasty. If that happened, we would be in a terrible predicament.”

“What does a code of law have to do with her leaving or staying?” The acrobat was still confused.

The free scholar shook his head, pointed excitedly toward the Great Pyramid, and exclaimed with emotion, “Queen Daenerys is even wiser, more martial, braver, and more fearless than I imagined. She truly wants to change the world, and she has the power to change this corrupt old world. It’s not as I feared—that liberating the slaves was merely a fleeting moment of a little girl’s compassion.”

“Hey, Mister Scholar, stop sighing over there and hurry up and tell us what’s on the notice!” an illiterate citizen nearby stamped his foot impatiently.

“Oh, let me see…” The free scholar turned his gaze back to the bulletin board and read aloud, “1. Beneath the gods, though mortals may have different stations, all are born free. To enslave another is the first cardinal sin, and it shall be cursed by the gods and the true dragons.”

“Yes! Well said! We are born free! The slave masters can go to hell!”

“Long live the Mother of Dragons! Long live Queen Daenerys!”

“Mhysa, Mhysa!”

As the first article of the code was read, the surrounding new freemen all cheered loudly.

The scholar, however, frowned slightly. He noticed that this law did not specify the punishment for those who dealt in slaves.

If the curse of the gods was effective, how could Astapor have existed for six thousand years?

It would have been more practical to say, “shall be punished by a breath of dragonfire.”

But he didn’t know that Daenerys had her reasons.

The First Volume of the Code was only meant to tell the people what they could and could not do. It was written to be relatively simple and easy to understand, to increase its circulation and acceptance.

If the first article was too detailed, the illiterate citizens would find it tiring to listen to, likely wouldn’t remember it, and would also neglect the equally important articles that followed.

It was better to turn the First Volume of the Code of Daenerys into a custom and tradition that “everyone knew.” When it came time for actual sentencing, the Second Volume of the Code of Daenerys would provide the detailed interpretation.

Yes, there would definitely be a Second Volume of the Code of Daenerys in the future, prepared for professionals like judges and lawyers.

Hmm, even Westeros, the most civilized of lands, had no judges or lawyers. This time, Daenerys was truly raising the level of civilization in this world by a great measure!

“2. Harming the life of an innocent person is a grievous crime and shall be met with an equal punishment, with the killing of young children and infants being the most heinous of all. 3. The lawful property of a citizen is sacred and inviolable; not even the king can claim wealth from subjects beyond decreed taxes. 4. The faithless shall be scorned by the gods; written contracts and verbal agreements with witnesses are protected by the king and the dragons. 5. Theft…”

The first four articles were rather “epoch-making.” Perhaps various peoples had similar traditions, but none had been codified into clear, written law.

From the fifth article onward, the content of the Code of Daenerys became more universal, common to all times and places—though it was, of course, better suited to this era and this world.

It provided detailed regulations on criminal and civil matters, trade, marriage, inheritance, trials, taxation and corvée labor, and household registration.

Indeed, the household registry was also a novel concept.

Although Daenerys had been talking about learning from the Manchu system, and had even introduced the queue hairstyle and the Eight Banners military system, her enacted laws revealed that the “kingdom” she was building in Astapor was, at its core, more like a Han Chinese dynasty—as the Qing dynasty itself had largely followed the Ming system.

The household registry and the system of taxation and corvée labor, in particular, could be extended to form an alternative concept of the commandery and county system.

Of course, she wasn’t about to replicate the Han dynasty verbatim.

Any Chinese dynasty, regardless of its strength, naturally gravitated toward strengthening centralized power.

Dynasties with a high degree of centralized power were destined to be short-lived.

The reason was simple: all state power was concentrated in the hands of the emperor, and the probability of a foolish or mediocre ruler appearing was far higher than that of an enlightened sovereign.

This was especially true given that House Targaryen had the “Mad King” gene. If the successive Mad Kings of House Targaryen had been born into the Celestial Empire, given their penchant for courting disaster in ever more creative ways, it’s doubtful their dynasty’s lifespan would have lasted even fifty years.

Dong dong dong… The sound of beating drums suddenly erupted from the direction of People’s Plaza, like muffled thunder rumbling in everyone’s hearts.

“The Queen is summoning us!” the free scholar cried out and quickly began pushing his way toward the Great Pyramid.

He knew from personal experience that if you were too far from the Queen, all you could do was shout “Long live the Queen!” along with the crowd. You wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything else.

The skinny acrobat was also sharp, moving even faster than him. The two of them practically scrambled their way to a spot about ten meters from the pyramid.

Yes, any closer and they wouldn’t be able to see Queen Daenerys on the stone steps.

“Long live the Mother of Dragons! Long live Queen Daenerys!” It was the first time the scholar Tom had seen the Queen so clearly, and he was so moved that his eyes filled with tears.

Daenerys stood on the second great tier of steps, about seven meters above the plaza ground. To her left stood the Green Grace and Ser Chainsbreaker; to her right stood Whitebeard and Aggo.

“The slave masters!” the skinny acrobat exclaimed, pointing at the third tier of steps.

The free scholar was taken aback. He looked up and saw nearly a hundred Ghiscari in tokar gowns standing on the tier above the Queen. There were young boys and girls, women with silk scarves covering their faces, and even children a few years old held in their mothers’ arms.

“Are they going to put the children of the Good Masters on trial?” the free scholar wondered aloud, then chuckled at his own words. “If they were criminals, how could they be standing above the Queen?”

Woooo— The Queen stepped forward and blew into a shiny black horn fixed on a wooden stand. The desolate, low sound made every heart in the plaza sink for a moment.

Suddenly, the plaza of tens of thousands fell so silent that people could only hear their own breathing.

“You have seen the Code. The second article: harming the life of an innocent is a grievous crime, and the killing of young children and infants is the most heinous of all.

Who are the innocent?

Without a public and just trial, only the gods know if a person is guilty. But ignorant young children, babes in arms, are surely without sin. To harm the life of one who is sinless is a grievous crime, an unpardonable one!”

The free scholar was inwardly praising, “How wise the Queen, how benevolent the Queen,” yet at the same time, he was puzzled. What is she trying to say?

Then she pointed sharply to the relatives of the great slave masters on the third tier above. “Their fathers and brothers traded in slaves, treated the lives of slaves as worthless, and their hands are stained with blood. They deserve death.”

“Death! Death!” The crowd below roared, their emotions stirred to a frenzy.

The Ghiscari nobles on the steps above experienced this kind of “public denunciation” from the common people for the first time. Every one of them turned pale, on the verge of tears.

Whether they repented their past lives as sinful slave masters, no one knew. But at this moment, they all understood one thing with profound certainty: the small world they had lived in had changed.

Seeing the Queen press her right hand down, the free scholar, like everyone else, immediately stopped shouting and stared wide-eyed as she continued to speak.

“A person can decide their own future. They can choose to change at this very moment. But they cannot choose the circumstances of their birth. Yes, most of them are the descendants of sinful slave masters, but they had no choice in that. They are still young. Their hands are not yet stained with blood.”

“They are innocent. They do not deserve to die. And yet, many innocents have died—at the hands of the rebelling Freedom Fighters.”

“Oh, no. She isn’t going to punish us now that our job is done, is she?” A jolt went through the free scholar as a very bad thought occurred to him.

“What?” The skinny acrobat was bewildered. He sighed and said, “I think Her Majesty speaks great sense. I never thought about it before, but after hearing her words, I realize that people really can’t choose their birth. I didn’t want to be a slave, either!”

The free scholar was stunned. If you could choose, would you have chosen to be reborn as a sinful slave master?

Alright, that’s not the point. It seems the Queen’s words are paving the way for what she’s about to do!

Chapter 111: Robb, Take Notes

What happened next began to confirm the scholar’s ominous premonition. One by one, men in sackcloth with shackles on their hands and feet were led out onto the first tier of the stone steps below the Queen.

They were escorted by the Unsullied. On the front and back of their short-sleeved white linen tunics, the word “CRIME” was painted in large black Valyrian script. On their heads, they wore tall, white, conical hats, also bearing words: “Freedom Fighters.”

Tom the scholar’s expression twisted. What is the meaning of this? Is she acknowledging their contribution to the slave liberation movement, yet also declaring them criminals for killing the sons of the Good Masters? Is she letting them die a glorious death?

The prisoners’ clothes and appearance were tidy enough, but their faces were full of indignation and resentment. Clearly, they would rather “live in disgrace” than “die a great death.”

“Isn’t this a bit much?” Skinny Monkey reacted as well, suddenly feeling the Queen was being too severe. The four sides of the first tier were almost packed with “Freedom Fighters.”

A rough estimate put their number at over five hundred.

“Without a doubt, they are all Freedom Fighters, and their merits in the slave uprising were outstanding. But they have also committed heinous crimes, killing hundreds of innocent, underage children, many of whom were infants.”

The tens of thousands of new freedmen in the square fell silent. In their hearts, they agreed with the Queen’s words, yet they also felt the slave masters deserved whatever they got, even if their entire families were burned to ashes. At the very least, the heads of the rebel slaves shouldn’t be the ones to roll.

It hits too close to home.

The Queen’s speech continued, her voice booming through the speaking horn. “Before I entered the city, I distributed hundreds of leaflets to the Great Pyramid, stating clearly that no child under the age of fourteen was to be harmed. They violated the laws I established and crossed the bottom line of what it means to be human.”

“During the slave uprising in the city, the Unsullied executed hundreds of Freedom Fighters for rape, for harming ordinary people, and for killing the young children of slave traders.”

“Trafficking slaves is a crime. Raping women and killing children is also a crime. There is no difference between the three. Today, I have promulgated the Code of Laws, which makes clear that evil must be cleansed and justice must be proclaimed.”

“I declare them guilty!” the Queen pronounced, pointing at the “Freedom Fighters” forced to their knees on the stone steps by the Unsullied.

A clamor of discussion rose from the square below. The atmosphere was not friendly. Tom the scholar looked around and saw that everyone’s face was grim, their eyes filled with displeasure. He couldn’t help but sigh. “It’s over. Her Majesty is too uncompromising. After today, some of the new freedmen will surely bear a grudge against her.”

“Alas, Her Majesty is just and impartial, but I still feel unsettled,” Skinny Monkey the acrobat said with a frown.

“The hearts of the people are like water, and the masses are moved like smoke! Everyone hopes for a sage ruler, but when a truly sage ruler arrives, how many can accept her absolute justice?!” the scholar said bitterly.

“It would have been better to kill them quietly and post a notice afterward,” someone nearby who had overheard their conversation interjected.

“Indeed,” the scholar said, looking at the speaker with surprise. The man was tall and plump, with a fairer complexion than his own. Perhaps he’d met a fellow academic.

“My name is Tom, a freelance scholar.”

“Oh, hello, Tom. My name is Morono, a warrior in the infantry legion of the Mother of Dragons’ guard,” the stout, pale man said.

A warrior?

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitched. Just as he was about to ask another question, he heard the Queen’s voice ring out from above. “They are guilty and must face judgment. But by the same token, they rendered great service in the liberation of the Great Pyramid.”

“Therefore, I ask one thing of you, Your Grace the Green Grace. Can you beseech the gods to lay the sins of these men upon me? I am willing to accept their punishment in their stead.”

Dany’s words stunned not only the “Freedom Fighters” below, who had been cursing her in their hearts, and the countless freedmen in the square, but even the Green Grace beside her was caught completely off guard. The shock and disbelief on her face were obvious behind her green silk veil.

Seeing her standing there agape, Dany continued, “The Green Grace, as the High Priestess of the Temple of the Graces, is qualified to communicate with the gods and convey Their decisions. May I accept the punishment of the law in place of these sin-bearing Freedom Fighters?”

What am I supposed to say?

The Green Grace’s mind was a chaotic mess. She couldn’t fathom Dany’s actions at all and could only respond mechanically, “Your Majesty’s benevolence and sense of justice move heaven and earth. The gods themselves are touched by your deeds.”

“Her Grace the Green Grace has told me,” Dany announced, as if she had just received a divine oracle, shouting excitedly into the speaking horn, “that the gods permit me to accept the punishment in place of the Freedom Fighters! Their sentence was death, but as Queen, I cannot take my own life. Therefore, for the sins of every ten men, I shall receive one lash of the whip!”

“You mustn’t, Your Majesty the Queen! There are five hundred men down there!” Whitebeard’s expression had been complicated. He was moved by his princess’s justice and kindness, but also worried about her “upright” and “uncompromising” nature.

Now, hearing that his queen intended to take a slave’s punishment—and such a heavy one at that—he was so overcome with emotion that tears welled in his old eyes.

Your Grace, you are truly the kindest, most benevolent, just, and righteous queen since the dawn of civilization!

It wasn’t just Whitebeard. Even the Green Grace, who had been “spoken for,” was thunderstruck. She never could have imagined Dany possessed such audacity.

Down below, the Freedom Fighters and the freedmen in the square who had heard the Queen’s words clearly were all teary-eyed, crying out, “Mhysa! Mhysa!”

Above, the descendants of the Ghiscari nobility, in their profound shock, were also slowly won over by the “kind and just” Queen Daenerys.

Yes, the poor people of the World of Ice and Fire, experiencing this kind of classic Machiavellian tactic from the Celestial Empire for the first time, were conquered in a single move.

It wasn’t that these people were naive. While Dany’s maneuver would seem like pure theater to a modern person, one need only think of Boss Cao. The elites of the Three Kingdoms era had been seasoned by all manner of schemes, yet when faced with Cao Cao cutting his hair in place of his head, they were still deeply shaken and filled with awe for him.

Compared to Boss Cao, Dany was truly putting her own skin in the game this time. The price she was paying was far greater.

Forget this other world with its even stricter class hierarchy; even in ancient Huaxia, she could have easily surpassed Cao Cao and Liu Bei (Liu Bei throwing his son Ah Dou was also pure theater).

The fundamental reason was that in this era where the nobility possessed the highest privileges, people were never equal.

Setting the world of the Three Kingdoms aside, just look at Westeros, the most civilized of lands. If the lowest-ranking knight killed a freeman on his lands or freely took a farmer’s wife and daughter, it was hardly considered a crime.

A kind-hearted one might pay a few silver coins in compensation. A crueler one would just pull up his trousers after he was done and kill the entire family.

If a hunter hunted in the woods on a noble’s lands, it was considered theft of the noble’s property. The punishment was either having a hand chopped off (literally) or being sent to the Wall to be fed to the Others.

And in Slaver’s Bay, the privileges of the nobility were displayed with even more wanton abandon. For a single stage play, to simulate a battle of the ancient Ghiscari legions, the Ghiscari would make two hundred slaves pay with their lives.

Clearly, in the eyes of a Good Master, the deaths of two hundred slaves were well worth it if it brought him a moment of hearty laughter.

And who was Dany?

The Mother of Dragons, a descendant of a noble royal line, the true Queen of Astapor. To take a lashing for every ten slaves…

Even if she had let the Freedom Fighters’ merits cancel out their demerits and then had each of them whipped a few times, the Green Grace, the descendants of the Good Masters, and the new freedmen in the square would have praised her justice.

And yet…

Alright, Dany also wanted to complain. It was a shame the saying, “one’s body, hair, and skin are gifts from one’s parents,” wasn’t common in this world, otherwise she would have just cut her hair.

Quickly, the Unsullied erected a wooden cross at the entrance to the second tier of the pyramid. Dressed in a light, apricot-yellow linen cheongsam, Dany willingly placed her hands into the shackles on the crossbeam, her body pressed against the thick vertical post.

Then, a hulking man with a heavily scarred face and rippling muscles walked out from inside the pyramid. He was bare-chested, stood two meters tall, and the knots of muscle on his abdomen were bigger than Dany’s breasts. His arms were thicker than her waist, and he weighed over 175 kilograms.

“Hattar the Devil’s Tail?!” A series of horrified gasps swept through the square.

Just as Cleon’s pig-slaughtering skills were number one in the city, Hattar’s whipping was judged by all to be the most vicious, like the tail of a demon.

It was said he had once whipped a female slave who bit Kraznys into two pieces, and it had taken him only twelve lashes.

“Sob… to have Hattar carry out the sentence, it’s too…” Someone in the crowd began to cry.

Dany explained, “Only the whip of Hattar can atone for the sins of ten Freedom Fighters.”

“Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa!”

Everyone, unable to restrain themselves, raised their right fists and chanted her name.

“Khaleesi, I am your blood of my blood. Let me take the punishment for you,” Qalarro said, his face paling.

“Blood of my blood, I will be fine. Besides, right now, my role is not just Khaleesi, but the Queen of Astapor.”

“Hattar, if anything happens to the Khaleesi, I will slice you into nine thousand pieces,” Jhogo said in a low voice, speaking in clumsy Valyrian.

Aggo said nothing. He simply drew the curved blade from his belt and, staring at the big man, began to sharpen it on his leather belt.

I don’t need your threats. Just last night, Her Majesty summoned me to the fighting pits to watch how those three dragons tore a healthy bull into a pile of charred, shattered bones.

At the end, she even asked me: “Which is more robust, that wild bull from the Red Waste, or you?”

Fucking hell, I haven’t been able to sleep since. Every time I close my eyes, I dream of three dragons breathing fire on me.

Crack—! With a wooden expression, Hattar the Devil’s Tail lashed the Queen across her back.

With just one strike, the cloth of her dress tore, revealing snow-white, tender skin and a thirty-centimeter-long crimson welt. Blood was already seeping out, but Dany bit down on the piece of soft wood in her mouth, her face pale, letting out only a muffled grunt.

“Her Majesty the Queen! Sob, sob, sob…”

One lash atoned for the sins of ten men. As soon as Dany took the blow, the Unsullied immediately escorted ten hat-wearing prisoners up from the lower level.

In front of everyone, the Unsullied unlocked the chains on the prisoners’ hands and feet and removed the “CRIME” tunics from their torsos.

The ten bare-chested, strapping men showed no joy at their newfound freedom. When they saw the whip mark on Dany’s back, they couldn’t hold back and fell to their knees, wailing loudly.

The freedmen in the square below were also choking back sobs, calling out “Mhysa” in waves.

Crack—! Hattar struck again with a deadpan expression, though his mind was on one thing: The first few lashes must be vicious—brutal but without lasting damage. They have to look deep, with skin split open and blood flowing freely, but they have to be mere flesh wounds, not harming muscle or bone in the slightest.

After a few lashes, Her Majesty’s back will be a ruin, like mangled flesh.

That way, for the dozens of lashes that remain, I just need to make them loud and spectacular. They’ll look like they’re cracking and splintering, the whip a blur of motion, but in reality, they won’t even cause a surface wound.

With my, Hattar the Devil’s Tail’s, unparalleled whipping technique, I can even make the whip a blur of afterimages, cracking like thunder, yet landing with the lightness of a feather’s touch.

This is the kind of skill that will guarantee I won’t be fed to the dragons!

Chapter 112: Barristan the Bold

Whitebeard finally understood why Daenerys was called “the Unburnt”—because she truly was unburnt.

Yesterday morning, her “atonement by whipping” had earned her the tears and reverence of the people. Queen Daenerys was nearly elevated to the status of “blessed by the gods” Saint Daenerys—unfortunately, there were no Septons of the Faith of the Seven here.

Everyone in the city, whether the new Freemen, the common Ghiscari people, or the Ghiscari nobles, revered and worshipped her to the utmost.

When the news spread beyond the city walls, a dozen of the great estate owners closest to the city immediately declared their allegiance.

Because in the process of Queen Daenerys’s personal deification, the “Queen’s Code” she established had also become unshakeably authoritative, sacred, and inviolable.

Her Majesty the Queen had used her blood to forge its infinite sanctity and immense authority.

It could be said that in the more than ten thousand years of this foreign world’s history, never had a code of law been so wholeheartedly and deeply accepted by the people, and held in such awe, from the very day of its creation.

And that was precisely Daenerys’s main objective.

With her knowledge of a history as deep as the Celestial Empire’s, she had countless methods and schemes to win the love and worship of the people. Whipping herself seemed too foolish, the price too high.

The more central purpose of yesterday’s fifty lashes was to promote the Code. As long as her Code was quickly known and accepted by the people, Astapor could be stabilized in the shortest possible time, transforming from her burden into the cornerstone of her support.

Daenerys hadn’t forgotten that to the north lay Yunkai and Meereen, to the south New Ghis, to the east Qarth, and to the west Volantis.

Those city-states all relied on the slave trade to maintain their twisted prosperity and would not easily let Daenerys, this “aberration,” go.

Compared to all that, the price of fifty lashes was far, far too low.

And indeed, after a night spent roasting over hot coals, her wounds had all scabbed over by this morning. In a few more days, they would not only be completely healed, but not a single scar would remain.

Witnessing the queen’s flesh being roasted for the first time, Whitebeard was inexplicably astonished, constantly muttering to himself, “Blood of the dragon, true dragon… The Mad Kings of history weren’t all mad after all. There really are true dragons, reborn in flame!”

He thought for a whole night, and then this morning, he came before Daenerys, knelt on one knee, and said, “Your Majesty, Queen Daenerys, I have something to tell you.”

In the garden atop the Great Pyramid, a soft couch was set up in the shade of an apple tree. Daenerys was lying on her stomach, leisurely flipping through a thick book.

The salty sea breeze blowing from the distant ocean mixed with the sweet fragrance of apples from overhead, and the faint, elegant scent of nearby pansies and cosmos flowers, creating an intoxicating scene of vibrant life around Daenerys.

“What is it?” Daenerys’s eyes did not move from her book.

After gaining complete control of the eighteen pyramids and the Temple of the Graces, she had all the books within them—as long as they weren’t duplicates, regardless of language or content—moved into the Great Pyramid where she resided.

Thus, in an era before the invention of printing, Daenerys possessed a vast and luxurious library.

Er, of over three hundred books…

The book she was reading now was a history book, written from the perspective of the Ghiscari, describing the five great wars with the Valyrians that led to the fall of the Ghiscari Empire.

Through this relatively objective and fair history book, Daenerys confirmed one thing: the Ghiscari Empire of five thousand years ago was not like Egypt, but rather more like the ancient Roman Empire.

In their Harpy emblem, the harpy’s talons were not clutching slave chains at all, but golden lightning bolts—the two symbols carrying vastly different meanings.

The Ghiscari Empire of old could truly be considered a great and glorious civilization, but after the Valyrians destroyed the Ghiscari capital of Old Ghis, the Ghiscari people fell completely into depravity. Not that they could be blamed. The original purpose of Slaver’s Bay was to cultivate high-quality slaves for the Valyrians: bed slaves, scholars, stewards, gardeners, servants, slave soldiers, and so on.

The Ghiscari had no right to choose their own path of development.

“Your Majesty.” Seeing that Daenerys was still engrossed in her book, Whitebeard couldn’t help but call out again.

“I’m listening, go on.”

“Alas, I have deceived you,” he said with a sigh, his head bowed.

This piqued Daenerys’s interest. She placed a bookmark in her book, closed it, and turned to look at the old man kneeling on the ground. “How have you deceived me?” she asked.

“My name is not Arstan,” the old man said, a hint of poorly concealed pride in his hesitant eyes. “My true name is Barristan Selmy.”

Daenerys gave him a strange look, wondering why he would reveal his identity now. She nodded and said softly, “I had long suspected you were hiding your identity, but I never imagined you were Barristan the Bold.

“Viserys told me many legends of Westeros, and your deeds made up a large part of them, even more than the White Bull, second only to Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.”

Daenerys’s reaction left the old man both disappointed and, for some reason, relieved.

Although Her Majesty didn’t show the ecstatic shock one would expect upon meeting a legendary figure, neither did she fly into a rage over his being a “servant of three masters” who surrendered to the Usurper.

The old man let out a breath and said slowly, “His Highness the Prince flatters me. It was Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, who placed the white cloak on my shoulders. He was the legendary Lord Commander of my time. As for Ser Dayne’s skill with a sword, I could never hope to match it.”

“Heh heh.” Daenerys chuckled, looking at him strangely. “If it were Viserys here, he wouldn’t be speaking with you so calmly. He would have had his guards drag you away and execute you on the spot.

“For the past ten-odd years, he never had a single good thing to say about you. Every time he mentioned legendary Kingsguard like the White Bull or the Sword of the Morning, he would curse your name in the same breath.”

“Your Majesty, I… I am deeply ashamed! I have stained my own honor and dimmed the glory of the Kingsguard.” The old man’s face flushed red, so overcome with shame he wished the earth would swallow him whole.

“Ser Selmy, please rise.” Daenerys’s smile vanished, and she said seriously, “The truth before my eyes is far more compelling than any rumor—even rumors spread by millions. In the days we have spent together, I have clearly witnessed your noble character and extraordinary martial skill.”

The old man did not rise. Instead, he bowed his head lower and said with a choked voice, “Your Majesty, your magnanimity only makes me more ashamed.”

I need to be magnanimous enough to make you feel ashamed. How else will your loyalty increase?

Daenerys said earnestly, “I am not being magnanimous. Your actions thus far are enough to earn you the right to explain your intentions with your head held high.

“Ser Barristan, how did you end up here with me? Surely you haven’t come to assassinate me on behalf of the Usurper?”

“No, I would never think of harming you.” Whitebeard immediately waved his hands in agitation and said quickly, “My white cloak was stripped from me by Joffrey. I will never again serve those people in King’s Landing.”

“Robert’s heir, Joffrey, took your cloak? Isn’t the Kingsguard a lifetime appointment? Why would he do that? Did you pick the wrong side in the game of thrones?” Daenerys asked curiously.

In ‘Game of Thrones,’ Barristan didn’t have a large role, and his character wasn’t very distinct. Her memories of him were already fuzzy.

“The Kingsguard devote their entire lives to the king. How could there be such a thing as picking the wrong side?” Barristan shook his head with a bitter smile.

Whether the king is wise or mediocre, merciful or cruel, intelligent or mad, the Kingsguard offer him their complete loyalty.

“House Clegane are the Lannisters’ most useful and ferocious hounds. Gregor Clegane is called ‘the Mountain,’ Duke Tywin’s foremost attack dog. His younger brother, Sandor Clegane, is known as ‘the Hound’ and is Joffrey’s most obedient thug.

“After that evil boy ascended the Iron Throne, he wanted his own dog to wear the white cloak.

“And Queen Cersei wanted her own brother, Jaime Lannister the ‘Kingslayer,’ to become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“By driving me away, the wishes of that mother and son could be easily fulfilled,” Whitebeard said, his voice filled with grief and indignation.

“Hmm, so you’re saying that if they had let you continue as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, you would have stayed on and given them your full loyalty?” Daenerys asked with a frown.

“I do not wish to deceive you. If Joffrey on the Iron Throne had not stripped me of my position, it is highly likely I would have remained in King’s Landing, serving the king. Admitting this fills me with shame, but it is an undeniable fact.”

At this, he raised his head and looked at Daenerys with sorrowful eyes. “Your Majesty, you must understand. The Kingsguard was created with Aegon I. Our fundamental duty is to offer our complete loyalty to the king on the Iron Throne.

“A change of dynasty is something that has happened for the first time in Westeros. And Robert Baratheon also has the Blood of the True Dragon. His grandmother was Princess Rhaelle, who was your own grandaunt. In a way, you and Robert are cousins.”

Well, that’s a tricky argument.

“Alright, I understand. You are a knight who values honor as much as life itself, and serving the Iron Throne is the greatest honor for the Kingsguard.” Daenerys nodded, deciding to let his “servant of three masters” transgression slide. She asked, “What are your plans now?”

“Your Majesty, I have had an awakening!” the old man said solemnly.

Daenerys’s mouth twitched. “An awakening about what?” she asked wryly.

“When Joffrey took the white cloak the White Bull had placed on my shoulders, and then sent men to kill me on the very same day, it was as if my vision was shrouded in a bewildering fog—how could all this have happened, and for what reason?”

The tall, sturdy old man’s face held a look of reminiscence as he said wistfully, “I grew a beard, disguised my identity, and went to the Great Sept of Baelor to seek answers from the Seven…

“From your father, to Robert the Usurper, to the evil and cruel Joffrey, I thought back, bit by bit, about what I had truly done while serving them.

“Ultimately, I understood. Once I don the white cloak, I am of the Kingsguard for life. But this time, I must find a true king. I will die for a true king.”

“Am I the first candidate you’re considering?” Daenerys asked, tilting her head to look at him.

“Not exactly considering. When Illyrio told me you had hatched three dragons, I had already decided to devote my life to you.”

So that’s your “awakening”?

Because I have dragons, and dragons are invincible, and I have the best chance to end this age of chaos and reunite the Seven Kingdoms?

And to think you spent all that time praying in the Great Sept of Baelor.

“Why did you hide your identity, then?” she asked.

Barristan’s eyes sharpened. He glanced around before saying seriously, “Because there are spies from King’s Landing around you. In fact, you and your brother have been watched this entire time.

“As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I was a member of the small council and had the right to attend all council meetings, whether public or secret.

“For fourteen years, I heard Varys report on the situation of you and your brother to Robert hundreds of times.

“Which Archon received you, which mercenary company your brother contacted, every promise Prince Viserys made to the great merchants of the Free Cities in his quest to reclaim his throne.

“Even every woman the prince slept with, and even the day of your first blood, were all reported in detail to King Robert and his councilors.”

Chapter 113: Sorry, I’m a Cop

“King Robert had to ensure that Prince Viserys and you had no bastards.”

Daenerys’s face flushed and paled. She was shocked, ashamed, and at the same time, utterly bewildered. How did the two of us even survive?

Thinking this, she asked it aloud.

“My cousin never sent anyone to kill us? I remember for more than ten years, to evade assassins, Viserys would often drag me out of bed in the middle of the night, either to flee the city or hide in the sewers of the slums for days on end. Was he just being paranoid?”

“Sigh, I should have seen through Robert’s nature as a villain masquerading as a hero long ago.” The old man sighed painfully, blaming himself. “All this time, I’ve been subconsciously denying a widely circulated rumor—that when Tywin Lannister brought the bodies of Prince Rhaegar’s two children before Robert, he laughed with joy.”

Has this old man gone mad with agitation?

We were clearly discussing assassins, how did it get sidetracked to Rhaegar’s children?

“As a usurper, and one who seized the throne through his connection to a collateral branch of House Targaryen, what’s wrong with him being happy that someone helped him eliminate future threats?” Daenerys said with a blank expression.

“In Westeros, killing young children is an extremely dishonorable act. The sole reason Robert Baratheon had so many supporters was his personal charisma—his generosity, integrity, bravery, valor, pride, and passion.

“During the Usurper’s War, captured royalist nobles were often won over by his magnanimity. How should I put it… before he became king, Robert had an aura about him that made people admire him, respect him, and willingly fight for him.

“But if it could be proven that he was responsible for the deaths of those two toddlers, his aura would shatter. Countless people would scorn him, leave him, and oppose him.

“Tywin Lannister did for him what he wanted to do but couldn’t, and for that, he received a huge reward—Tywin, who was the last to join Robert’s side, became the king’s father-in-law.”

After catching his breath, the old man continued, “In the beginning, I never understood this. I directed all my resentment and anger toward Duke Tywin. If… if I had seen him laugh at the mangled bodies of Rhaegar’s children, no one in this world could have stopped me from killing him.

“But I was too gravely injured at the time and wasn’t even in King’s Landing.

“It was only after I swore fealty to him that I vaguely heard such rumors. At first, I didn’t believe he was that kind of person—Robert might have secretly breathed a sigh of relief with a guilty conscience, but his knightly upbringing would never have allowed him to laugh out loud at the shattered corpses of infants.”

“Anyone who steps onto the throne changes from that moment on,” Daenerys said lightly.

“But some change for the better,” the old man said, looking at her with a burning gaze.

“Because compared to the supreme glory, I see more of the responsibility, the heavy responsibility,” she said.

“That is why you are a true queen, and he is not.” The old man smiled, a smile both bitter and gratified. “Compared to a stubborn old man like me, Robert much preferred to have Jaime attend him.

“Perhaps, when facing the Kingslayer, he, the Usurper, could be more at ease.

“However, I also came across several instances where he secretly ordered Varys to arrange for assassins to execute you and Prince Viserys.

“From that point on, I gradually understood that he was far from being as upright as he appeared to outsiders. That rumor… sigh!”

He plotted to usurp the throne, and you still call him upright?

Daenerys didn’t even have the heart to make a sarcastic comment.

“You said ‘secretly’?”

“The Hand of the King at the time, Jon Arryn, was an honorable man. He did not approve of exterminating the children, and Robert was unwilling to openly oppose him. After all, besides being the Hand of the King, Duke Arryn was also his foster father.”

During the Usurper’s War that ended the Targaryen dynasty, Jon Arryn was the first to raise the banner of rebellion, but not for his own sake.

Because Prince Rhaegar had “abducted” Lyanna, the “Mad King” Aerys demanded that Jon Arryn hand over Eddard Stark and Robert. Before this, the Mad King had already roasted Lyanna’s father and eldest brother alive (truly fucking insane).

Both Eddard and Robert were Jon Arryn’s foster sons. Because he was old and had no son of his own, he had always raised the two boys as his own flesh and blood.

Seeing that the Mad King wanted to take the lives of his two foster sons, he immediately rebelled. He could be called the best foster father in the World of Ice and Fire.

“Since Robert did indeed send assassins after Viserys and me multiple times, why did they always fail? Viserys definitely didn’t have any skill in counter-assassination.”

In fact, after years of being hunted, Viserys, who had once been a relatively normal person, was driven completely mad.

“Perhaps… someone else was protecting you in secret,” Barristan said thoughtfully.

“Who?”

“Illyrio? I don’t know.” The old man shook his head with a bitter smile.

Daenerys’s expression flickered, and she asked, “Did you just say the person who reported information about Viserys and me to Robert was always Varys?”

“Varys is nicknamed ‘the Spider.’ He serves on the Small Council as the Master of Whisperers. His methods are astonishing; no information, big or small, in the Seven Kingdoms or across the Narrow Sea can escape his eyes and ears. Robert relies on him heavily.

“Oh, and Varys also served your father for several years.

“He was born in Lys and made his fortune as an information broker in Pentos. His reputation for being skilled in intelligence work came to the attention of His Majesty Aerys.”

Daenerys nodded and asked again, “Among the people around me, who is the spy?”

Stunned for a moment, Barristan said, “Jorah Mormont. Before you were even married to Khal Drogo, Varys sent a warning to Robert—that Prince Viserys would trade you to the horselord for ten thousand screaming warriors, or that the horselord himself would help him reclaim his throne.

“On the day of your wedding, Jorah Mormont, having accepted a mission as a spy for King’s Landing, took the initiative to cozy up to Prince Viserys and swore fealty to him. He is a shameless, honorless spy. A slaver who swears oaths lightly, completely untrustworthy.”

“Khaleesi, let me go kill him,” Aggo, who was standing beside her, shouted in anger.

Daenerys sighed and said to her Bloodrider, “Aggo, you… go have Grey Worm bring Ser Jorah here. It’s better to clear some things up face to face.”

The Bloodriders and the Queensguard were both her trusted protectors. The three Bloodriders took turns guarding her personally, while the other two were helping her train the screaming warriors.

After conquering Astapor, aside from the Unsullied, almost all the Dothraki slaves were absorbed into Daenerys’s Khalasar.

While she was in the Red Waste, she had taken inspiration from the Qing dynasty’s Eight Banners to create a crude imitation of her own. It wasn’t a perfect replica, as Dany didn’t truly understand the Qing military system; she had just established a similar hierarchical structure.

After establishing a relatively complete system of non-commissioned officers, the newly joined horse men just needed to be slotted into the ranks obediently.

As former slaves, their rebellious spirits had been completely worn away. How could they not be obedient?

Her small Khalasar now numbered over fifteen hundred people. Excluding the elderly, there were about eight hundred adult men—several hundred more had been added from the ranks of the rebelling slave soldiers.

Her Bloodriders had marked out a pasture outside the city and built an encampment. Besides daily training, they also had to patrol the gates of the slavers’ manors.

As for Jorah, he was helping Daenerys train the militia.

In theory, Jorah Mormont held the position of Daenerys’s “Commander-in-Chief,” and Grey Worm, the commander of the Unsullied, was also his subordinate.

Whitebeard advised, “Your Majesty, it would be best to have the Unsullied bind him, strip him of his armor, and then bring him before you.”

“That won’t be necessary. If he wanted to kill me, how many chances has he had in the past?” Daenerys said with a wave of her hand.

A ruler should indeed be suspicious of everyone, but as a human being, if you’ve never placed your trust in anyone, isn’t that too sad a way to live?

About forty minutes later, Jorah, dressed in his armor, was led by Grey Worm to the top floor of the Great Pyramid.

As soon as the knight emerged from the stairway, he sensed that the atmosphere was off. The spirit of that fake squire who had always disliked him was completely different today. The way he was looking at him now was… a little too righteous.

Hmm, just like Chen Wing-yan looking at Lau Kin-ming on that rooftop.

Jorah had actually long since discovered Whitebeard’s true identity, but he didn’t dare expose him to Daenerys, because he knew the other man must also know his identity—his identity as a mole.

“Ser Jorah, this is Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold. Do you know him?” Daenerys said directly.

Jorah’s heart sank. Treacherous old fox, he cursed silently. What about our unspoken agreement?

As if reading his mind, Barristan said coldly, “I will not allow anyone to secretly threaten the safety of Her Majesty the Queen.”

An illusion seemed to appear before Daenerys’s eyes: Barristan, speaking coldly to a bitter-faced Jorah, “Sorry, I’m a cop.”

“I…” The burly, bear-like knight seemed to deflate both physically and mentally. He looked at Daenerys bitterly and said, “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. I’ve been meaning to confess to you.”

“At a time like this, you still talk of confessing?” Barristan sneered.

“You traitor, what right do you have to talk about me?” Jorah glared at Whitebeard and tried to persuade Daenerys, “Your Majesty, you can’t trust this man. He betrayed the king and prince he served and sided with the Usurper.

“Of King Aerys’s seven Kingsguard, besides him and Jaime Lannister, the White Bull, the Sword of the Morning, Prince Martell, and the others all died on the battlefield for their monarch. Clearly, Whitebeard and Jaime are cut from the same cloth.”

This was a grave insult. Jaime Lannister was almost universally acknowledged in the Seven Kingdoms as the “most fallen” knight, the one with the least chivalry.

And Barristan valued honor above all else, especially the honor of being in the Kingsguard.

“You’re spouting lies! At the Battle of the Trident, I stood by Prince Rhaegar’s side with Prince Martell and Ser Darry. The three of them died valiantly. I was gravely wounded and fell unconscious on the spot. It took me more than half a year to recover enough to hold a sword again.

“And you?

“While I was bleeding for Prince Rhaegar, you were standing on the side of the rebels!” Barristan’s old face flushed red as he roared, pointing at Jorah.

“Your Majesty, Jorah Mormont has been selling your secrets all along. Your journey to Vaes Dothrak with Drogo, your pregnancy, everything you’ve done, everything you’ve said—this shameless spy sold it all to the Spider.

“Every piece of information was exchanged for a large sum of gold dragons. Once you and your brother were dead, Robert would have pardoned him of all his crimes, allowing him to return to the Seven Kingdoms in glory.”

Daenerys thought for a moment, then said slowly, “Ser Jorah, you had your reasons for joining Eddard Stark to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty, just as Barristan had his for siding with Robert after the war. I can understand that, and I won’t hold it against you. We will speak only of the present.”

Whitebeard glanced at Jorah’s miserable, pale face and said with emotion, “Your Majesty, your magnanimity, your profound wisdom, and your benevolent heart surpass those of any monarch in history. It’s just a pity that some people are not worthy of your mercy.”

Jorah also knew that in his capacity as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Whitebeard would be privy to all the information he had sent to King’s Landing.

There was nothing left to say. There was nothing for it but to confess and hope for leniency. Maybe he’d even live to see the new year.

“Yes, I served King’s Landing. The year before last, when I was a mercenary in Myr, one of Varys’s little birds found me…”

Chapter 114: An Endless Hell

“Varys promised that upon completion of the mission, King Robert would issue a royal pardon, absolving me of my crimes of selling slaves and evading justice.

“At Your Majesty’s wedding to the Khal, Prince Viserys easily accepted the fealty of an exiled knight.

“Your Majesty, you must understand, at that time, I held little loyalty to House Targaryen.

“Not only had I participated in the war that overthrew the Targaryen dynasty, but as the Lord of Bear Island, my allegiance was to the Lord of Winterfell.

“Besides, it’s only natural for any man of the North to hate the Targaryens—King Aerys murdered a Lord of the North and his heir in a cruel and deeply insulting manner.

“Of course, I held no prejudice against you or Prince Viserys. The problem was Prince Viserys’s conspiracy with Illyrio.

“When I received the mission from Varys, I even felt a sense of purpose… I thought, no nobleman of the Seven Kingdoms would wish to see the Dothraki ravage Westeros.

“As I once advised you, spurred on by foreign invaders, the warring great lords might even set aside their differences and unite to fight the outsiders.

“—even if the one leading the foreigners into Westeros was of the former royal family, and even if those lords were mired in conflicts, having already crossed swords with one another.”

Tap, tap, tap.

The rooftop garden was exceptionally quiet, the only sound being Daenerys’s fingers lightly tapping on the cover of a book.

She wasn’t furious, merely serious.

Because he understood Daenerys’s personality, Jorah’s words were very direct, completely revealing his state of mind at the time.

If it were the Daenerys of before, he would only have pleaded tearfully for her forgiveness, and would never have spoken such candid and sincere words.

Saying them would only have backfired, making the delicate, sensitive Daenerys, with her intense obsession for restoration, hate him all the more.

This Daenerys was more reasonable, possessing the ‘magnanimity’ to put herself in another’s shoes and consider their perspective. As long as the reasons were sound, she would generally accept them.

After a long while, a sea breeze blew in from the northern sea, rustling the branches of the persimmon tree. Plop. A large, golden persimmon fell into the pool.

Daenerys seemed to stir from her thoughts. She looked at Whitebeard and asked, “Ser Barristan, do you think Ser Jorah’s choice was wrong?”

“This…” The old man’s face wrinkled, his mind a tangled mess.

—He actually found himself somewhat agreeing with Jorah’s words, which…

“Sigh, I understand,” Daenerys sighed, addressing the anxious mole. “From your perspective, it was not a grave error.

“The question now is, was your oath to me, the oath you swore to become a member of the Queensguard, part of your undercover work? Can I still trust you?”

“I—”

Daenerys raised a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t force yourself. Please, follow your heart completely. I will not harm you, no matter what.

“It’s only human to miss one’s home. When you leave, I will give you a large sum of money, enough for you to return to Westeros and live a life of wealth and comfort. You can even take the suit of Valyrian steel armor with you…”

“Your Majesty, as far as I know, there isn’t a single suit of Valyrian dragonlord armor in all of Westeros.” Barristan stepped forward anxiously, interjecting, “A bit more gold and silver would be enough for him. This armor might bring him disaster instead. Duke Tywin might come after him out of greed. He’s lost even his lordship; how could he stand against a Duke?”

“I think you’re just jealous!” Jorah shot the old man an angry glare, then turned back, his eyes red-rimmed, and said emotionally, “Your Majesty, I will not leave. My oath to you in the Red Waste was completely sincere.

“Have you forgotten? I urged you many times to leave Essos, to seek refuge in the cities of the Jade Sea to escape the Usurper’s plots against you, because I knew how dangerous your situation was.”

“Just leave. Who knows if you’re telling the truth? The Khaleesi has us to protect her,” Aggo said coldly.

“I am of the Kingsguard, and like you, I am also Her Grace’s ‘Blood of my blood,’” Jorah argued.

“You are not ‘Blood of my blood.’ You are an Andal who looks down on the horse men. You’re afraid of the Khaleesi leading the horse men to sweep through the Seven Kingdoms and take back her Iron Throne. You said so yourself just now,” Aggo’s words were sharp.

“I…” Jorah was at a loss for words. He stomped his foot in agitation and cried, “That was what I thought over a year ago! I don’t give a damn about Westeros anymore! If Her Grace is the Khaleesi, then I am willing to fight for her as a warrior of the Khalasar!”

Jorah’s words made Whitebeard look at him askance, and even Aggo the horse man’s jaw dropped, leaving him speechless.

After a pause, the agitation left Jorah’s face. He looked at Daenerys slowly and solemnly and said, “I am of the Queensguard. I will serve Her Majesty the Queen for the rest of my life. Nothing else is within my consideration.”

Daenerys met his gaze, her expression just as solemn. “I hope you remember the words you’ve spoken today.”

The plot of Game of Thrones wasn’t very effective for Daenerys in predicting the future; her real experiences differed greatly from the television series. However, the characters’ personalities in Game of Thrones rarely deviated.

Jorah Mormont was never cunning, and in the original story, he was Daenerys’s most loyal subordinate.

Jorah understood that she was accepting him again. Overjoyed, he knelt and swore, “I swear by the life of my father, Jeor Mormont, that I, Jorah Mormont, pledge my full loyalty to Daenerys and will fulfill my duty as a member of the Queensguard until death.”

The corner of Daenerys’s mouth twitched. The Bear’s father, ‘the Old Bear,’ probably didn’t have many days left.

“Your Majesty, please accept my fealty. I wish to become a member of your Queensguard,” Whitebeard said solemnly, glancing at the Bear before kneeling on one knee.

“I accept the fealty of you both. Mmm, after my injuries have healed, we will hold a more formal ceremony,” Daenerys said seriously, nodding.

“Queen, what about me?”

Having watched the drama unfold from the side, the tall, strong eunuch Belwas tossed aside the pig leg bone in his hand, wiped his greasy hands casually on his silk trousers, and sidled over with a grin. “My squire has become a member of the Queensguard. My status can’t be lower than his.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do you know what the Queensguard represents? Besides being the finest knights, once you take the oath, you must serve me for life. You don’t want to go back to Pentos?”

“Finest knights?” The fat eunuch looked Jorah up and down, shaking his head. “He’s definitely not as good as me. As for Pentos… sigh, I was never that fat spice merchant’s subordinate to begin with.

“Let’s put it this way: I was originally a gladiator in Meereen, a slave. After being sold a few times, I became your bodyguard, which also makes me your slave. If you can provide for me for the rest of my life, with no worries about food or drink, that would be for the best.”

So you just want to freeload off me for the rest of your life? Can I tell you to leave right now?

“You can be a Queensguard-in-training,” Daenerys said, figuratively holding her nose as she took him in.

Daenerys wasn’t sure about his combat prowess, but she quite liked the fat eunuch’s personality.

As for whether he might be Illyrio’s spy? Unlikely. A year ago, the fat eunuch was still a gladiator in Meereen. There was no reason for a slave to betray ‘Mhysa’ for a slaver. Besides, Illyrio’s wealth truly couldn’t compare to Daenerys’s at this point.

Prospects, wealth, faith, ideals, future—no matter which, he would gain more by following Daenerys.

“Khaleesi, what about me? Should I become one of your Queensguard?” Aggo asked hesitantly.

“Why would you think of that?” Daenerys asked, curious.

Without a doubt, the relationship between a Bloodrider and his Khaleesi was far more intimate than that between a Queensguard and his Queen.

A Kingsguard was a subordinate, but a Bloodrider was a blood-brother.

Mmm, to make an analogy, Zhao Yun was like Liu Bei’s Kingsguard, whereas Zhang Fei and Guan Yu were Uncle Liu’s Bloodriders.

Ever since the Dothraki people came into existence, there has not been a single case of a Bloodrider betraying their Khal.

Daenerys had always treated her Bloodriders extremely well. Not to mention their treatment, whatever she had, they could have. And whenever important matters were discussed, they were always included.

She had even considered marrying her handmaidens to her three Bloodriders, to stop them from pleasuring each other every night, and inviting her to join them.

The reason she hadn’t had them marry immediately was because the Khalasar’s customs hadn’t completely changed yet, and the institution of marriage had only just been implemented.

If the six of them fell into their old habits and started messing around, then…

Aggo said seriously, “By becoming a member of the Queensguard, perhaps the Andals will no longer oppose you.”

“No need. You are Bloodriders. You don’t have to care what the people of Westeros think,” Daenerys said, touched.

She never would have thought the rough-hewn horse man could be so sensitive.

After speaking, she glanced at Jorah and Barristan and said seriously, “Just as I will not throw the Unsullied into the game for the Iron Throne, the Dothraki are my people. They deserve to live freely on the continent of Essos, not to die hated in a foreign land.”

“Your Majesty.” The two men from Westeros looked at Daenerys, their expressions complicated. They seemed to want to say something but held back, ultimately sighing with emotion and saying no more.

—though they were ashamed to admit it, they were indeed relieved.

Ugh, their relief might have been a bit premature.

In a few years, when the second Long Night in history descends and the Others run rampant in Westeros, the proud nobles of the Seven Kingdoms would most likely be on their knees, wailing, “Queen Daenerys, Father Unsullied, Grandpa Horse Man, come save us!”

Thinking of the Long Night that would envelop the entire world in winter, Daenerys felt a sense of urgency. She didn’t know if the Others would appear on Essos, but crop production would certainly cease under the ice and snow.

A winter that would last at least five years. She would have to prepare more than five years’ worth of rations for her people in advance.

She also had to consider the horse men of the Dothraki Sea. Having never had the habit of storing grain, they wouldn’t necessarily fare any better than the people of Westeros.

Production must be restored as soon as possible.

This ‘Infernal Affairs’ incident had to be resolved quickly, so that her subordinates could unite and focus on a grand production effort.

With this in mind, Daenerys looked at Jorah and said, “Ser, since everything is out in the open, tell me how you contacted King’s Landing, and what you were involved in.”

Jorah avoided her gaze and said awkwardly, “The people who contacted me were all Varys’s subordinates. I don’t know who they are, but they all know me.

“Normally, if they needed information about you or wanted to pass on instructions from King’s Landing, they would send me a secret signal when I was alone.”

Thank goodness I’m sharp enough. The major secrets I’ve learned since coming to this world, no one knows but me.

She hadn’t even told them the truth about what happened in the House of the Undying, or matters related to Valyria and the gods.

“When and where did you encounter the Spider’s secret signals? And what information did you pass on to King’s Landing?” Daenerys asked again.

“There were people from the Spider in almost every city-state. Pentos, Qohor, Vaes Dothrak, the Lhazareen towns, Qarth…”

Seeing Daenerys’s face darken and Aggo begin to grip the hilt of his sword again, Jorah quickly said, “By the time we reached Qarth, I had begun to hesitate, and then—”

“The Seven Hells!” Daenerys pounded on the fur cushion beneath her. “What is wrong with you?” she said, exasperated as if with a hopeless underachiever. “In Vaes Dothrak, in the Red Waste, how many times did you save my life? Saving me and swearing fealty to me on one hand, while betraying me and swearing fealty to King’s Landing on the other. Aren’t you tired?!”

“Tired, so tired!” Jorah felt the urge to burst out sobbing, as if he had finally been understood.

Chapter 115: King, County Magistrate, Neighborhood Committee Director

Half a year passed in the blink of an eye. According to the reckonings of Westeros, the ghost summer had just ended, and the Seven Kingdoms were about to enter a rare, long autumn—an ‘autumn year,’ as it were, before officially entering a ‘bitter winter’ the following year. Slaver’s Bay, however, had a tropical marine climate with no significant seasonal changes.

Although Daenerys had been in this world for over a year, she had remained in temperate and tropical regions, giving her no direct experience of winter or this world’s seasonal shifts.

Many times, while inspecting the manor fields with her Queensguard, she would joke with the two Westerosi, “Do you think Slaver’s Bay counts as the legendary ‘long summer’?”

Following the principle of preparing for the worst, Daenerys went full steam ahead with production during this relatively peaceful period. In half a year, they had harvested two crops of rice and one crop of wheat and turnips, with the second harvest not far off.

Besides the slave trade, the Ghiscari excelled in two areas: brickmaking and bronze smelting.

Daenerys recalled from her memories that the Free Cities were mostly built of stone. When she asked Jorah and Barristan, they confirmed that in Westeros, nobles lived in stone castles while commoners lived in wooden houses.

Just how incredible was the Ghiscari skill in brickmaking?

The three cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen—including their pyramids, streets, squares, common residences, and city walls—were all constructed from brick.

Well, it must be noted that the main structural material of the pyramids was still giant stones.

This was where the genius of the Ghiscari master builders shone. They had already considered the problem of weathering. If the stones were left exposed, the pyramids would “quickly” weather and collapse. Thus, the exteriors of the stone pyramids were lined with multiple layers of red brick.

Of course, the Ghiscari architects’ concept of time was different from that of modern people; they truly intended to build a legacy for the ages.

The Great Pyramid where Daenerys resided, which she had named the “Sunrise Palace,” was over five thousand years old.

Back then, the Ghiscari Empire had fallen to Valyria. The Ghiscari left Old Ghis—the imperial capital, located across the straits from New Ghis—which had been burned and salted, and moved into Slaver’s Bay to build the cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen.

Were there any buildings on Earth over three thousand years old?

Daenerys didn’t know.

But in this fantasy world, there was no need to stop at three or five thousand years; many structures in Westeros were eight thousand years old, such as the nineteen castles of the Night’s Watch at the foot of the Wall, Winterfell, Casterly Rock, and Storm’s End.

Alright, she was getting sidetracked.

The Ghiscari skills in brickmaking and bronze smelting were formidable. South of Astapor, near the mountains, there were sprawling brickyards and smelters, but Daenerys did not start mass-producing red bricks.

After freeing all the slaves who worked the kilns, she had them sign labor contracts to be re-employed. However, their new posts were not in the brickyards but in the smelters, which were dedicated to producing farm tools and weapons.

Astapor had scarce iron ore deposits; over ninety percent was copper. Precious iron and steel were prioritized for making agricultural tools like hoes, sickles, and shovels.

To improve farming efficiency, Daenerys also verbally invented three types of plowshares: a “small” version for mules and horses, a medium-sized one for wild oxen, and a giant one for elephants.

By “verbally invented,” it meant she only described their intended use, and a large group of smiths and scholars puzzled over them until they brought them into reality.

Bronze weapons were certainly unsuitable for a world that had entered the Iron Age thousands of years ago, but a bronze spear was still more threatening than a wooden stick.

Never mind the Queen’s own Mother of Dragons’ Guard—even the able-bodied farmers who served as part-time militia in the countryside were each equipped with a bronze spear and a bronze scimitar.

Daenerys’s strategy for ruling Astapor could be broken down into two steps. First, establish a legal code to stabilize the populace and formalize systems. Second, develop agriculture and the military—that is, to fill bellies and build a powerful army.

The Long Night was coming. She didn’t have time for a “five-year plan,” only a “half-year plan.”

The goal of the first half-year plan under Daenerys’s rule was to restore agricultural production, stabilize city prices, and ensure every household had surplus grain.

Three days after The Code of Daenerys was promulgated, forty percent of the slave masters from the manors outside the city opened their gates and surrendered.

Afterward, with Daenerys leading them personally, the combination of the Unsullied, horsemen archers, a militia supply train, the Black Dragon for reconnaissance, and the white and green dragons as flamethrowers crushed all stubborn resistance with irresistible force, moving at nearly a dead run.

Daenerys did a rough tally: she had acquired a total of 660,000 acres of cultivated land and an equal amount of fallow land—the Ghiscari practiced crop rotation to maintain soil fertility.

One shouldn’t wonder how two hundred thousand people could cultivate 660,000 acres. They did not practice the kind of intensive farming seen by the farmers of China, and a portion of the land was planted with pasture grass for grazing.

Of the remaining fields, half were planted with olives and grapes.

For the slave masters who surrendered voluntarily, Daenerys confiscated land based on the number of slaves on their manors.

For each slave, one and a half acres of land were confiscated, and the rest was also taken over by the “state.” Well, Queen Daenerys was the state.

However, she kept her promise and provided monetary compensation, purchasing the land at full market value.

At the same time, the manor lords were allowed to take their wealth with them, aside from grain and livestock—a considerable sum of money.

Though they had lost more than half their land and a great deal of grain, they were far luckier than the manor lords who had not surrendered.

For the manor slave masters who had merely gathered forces and rebelled, Daenerys did not execute anyone after conquering their manors, save for those who died in battle. Instead, the adult men and women of those households were sentenced to serve corvée labor for a period of three to ten years, depending on the stubbornness of their resistance. The Long Night was coming; ninety percent of those shouting “The Queen is merciful!” would likely not last ten years anyway.

If a slave master not only resisted the heavenly army but also dared to commit atrocities in a scorched-earth policy, then they would be beheaded.

In the latter two cases, all family property was confiscated, regardless of the circumstances.

Once the land survey was complete, Daenerys redistributed all the farmland. Everyone in the city—Ghiscari, Freeman, city dwellers, former slave farmhands, horsemen, and Unsullied—received two and a half acres of land.

Yes, only the farmland was distributed. The pastures, orchards, and olive groves remained in Daenerys’s hands for the time being.

Did it seem like there wasn’t enough to go around?

Many people had no need for land, such as skilled workers, city merchants, and ordinary Ghiscari citizens. Daenerys was simply using land distribution as a means to achieve a completely fair redistribution of the society’s concentrated wealth.

Those who did not need land could take their household registry booklet to the Sunrise Palace, find one of the Queen’s scribes, and exchange their land for gold and silver.

There was no haggling over the price; it was based on the same market value Daenerys had established when she first took Astapor.

Indeed, Daenerys’s Great Pyramid had been renamed the “Sunrise Palace,” and a plaque written in both Chinese script and the Valyrian tongue was hung at the entrance to the first floor.

She told others that the beautiful, square characters were the Dragon tongue, which she had learned from the dragons and which possessed magical powers.

The first and second floors of the pyramid had been renovated by Daenerys. The first floor was where she received visitors and presided over trials for major crimes, and citizens were free to enter and watch. It was equivalent to an ancient prefectural court.

It was incredibly spacious, about the size of a football field.

The second floor served as offices for “government” officials, handling matters like household registration, signing contracts for the populace, and property and land sales.

The houses that had originally belonged to the Ghiscari now all belonged to Daenerys, either purchased at full price, confiscated as punishment for crimes, or reverted to public ownership when a household died out.

Aside from herself, not a single ordinary family remained in any of the city’s pyramids.

With the exception of one smaller pyramid that held the remains of Ghiscari ancestors, Daenerys used the rest as granaries and warehouses for storing supplies.

City dwellers could purchase the brick houses that had once belonged to the Ghiscari from Daenerys, or they could buy land and build their own—this latter group consisted mostly of the relatives of the great slave masters. Daenerys would first confiscate all their family assets and then provide them with a “support payment” of ten thousand to one hundred thousand gold dragons, nominally for the care of their infants and young children.

Daenerys was nothing like a black-hearted modern real estate developer. Whether it was a ready-made house or a plot of land for building, the prices were truly dirt cheap.

One and a half acres of land could be exchanged for a one hundred-square-meter house. How much cheaper could it get?

Astapor had a population of over three hundred thousand, and each person was allocated two and a half acres of land. In theory, they could have exchanged their land for fifteen houses in the city.

Of course, although many people had died during the liberation of the slaves, there were still not enough houses for every one of the three hundred thousand-plus residents, and it was impossible to allow them to trade freely.

Only those with a city household registry could exchange land for houses in the city, while farmers with a rural household registry could only exchange for the grand manors that had belonged to the slave masters.

Whether they were city dwellers or farmers, each household could only exchange for one house. The remaining land of the farmers could not be sold, while city dwellers could convert theirs into gold and silver to use as startup capital for businesses.

As for this arrangement…

…it was hard to say who got the better end of the deal.

The city district was certainly in a prime location, but apart from the pyramids, the ordinary streets were all sorts of dirty, chaotic, rundown, and old. One even had to wear a veil when going out to prevent the red brick dust kicked up by the sea breeze from getting into their eyes.

In contrast, the slave masters’ manors were all exceptionally luxurious, with brick castles, gardens, clean and clear water wells, swimming pools, fruit-laden trees, spacious courtyards and riding grounds, and magnificent halls.

Aside from being a bit far from Her Majesty the great Queen, they were practically perfect.

Order in the city was maintained by the Unsullied, while the countryside was managed by village elders.

Daenerys assigned a village elder to each manor. Depending on the size of the manor, one elder would manage ten to fifty households. They lived together in the red brick castle, regardless of status.

Then, ten village elders would form a village council, responsible for collecting taxes and organizing corvée labor. The elders would take turns serving as the village head, and the village head had the right to an audience with the Queen.

The eight hundred horsemen of Daenerys’s Khalasar continued to serve as village patrol teams. They patrolled only the main roads and could approach the entrance and exit of a village, but they could not enter the manor grounds without the village head’s permission.

The horsemen had two main duties. First, to act as couriers and postmen—relaying Daenerys’s decrees to the villagers, escorting village heads into the city, or delivering mail between different villages. Second, to assist the village militia in apprehending thieves.

The women and the elderly of the Khalasar took over all the pastures obtained from the manor lords; herding for the Queen was now their job.

It could be said that the “small” city of Astapor was completely under Daenerys’s control.

From the city center to the outlying villages, Daenerys’s rule was like an octopus, its tentacles ensnaring all three hundred thousand-plus people in its network.

She herself didn’t think it was any great feat, but Jorah, Whitebeard, and even the Green Grace were all utterly stunned by such an orderly method of “governing.”

They called her “Queen” and had always regarded Astapor as a kingdom, but to Daenerys, Astapor was not even the equal of a county seat.

In ancient China, a county magistrate was called a “Marquis of a Hundred Li,” and the magistrates of many prosperous counties ruled over a million people.

At most, Daenerys was merely the magistrate of a medium-sized county, not even qualifying as a prefect.

In modern society, a single large community in a first-tier city would have more than three hundred thousand people. In that context, Daenerys the Queen would be immediately demoted to a “neighborhood committee director.”

Chapter 116: The Spider

“Duke Tywin has returned to King’s Landing. Did you know?”

“It was a war that decided the fate of the Iron Throne. Even several coastal trading city-states were alarmed. How could I not know?”

Late at night.

In Westeros, in King’s Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, stood the Red Keep, the palace upon Aegon’s High Hill.

From a dim stone passage deep beneath the Red Keep, voices gradually grew louder. The light of a torch cast two distorted shadows upon the wall.

As the two figures drew closer, a tallow torch could be seen in the hand of a stout man wearing an iron helm.

His companion was even more corpulent. Each of his ten carrot-thick fingers bore one or two jeweled rings of red gold and silver, set with rubies, sapphires, large diamonds, and yellow-streaked tiger’s eyes.

He looked just like a showy, nouveau riche country bumpkin landlord.

Though both were fat, their steps were light. The helmeted man seemed to glide across an icy surface, not making a single sound. The “landlord” with the forked yellow beard was even more peculiar; his entire center of gravity rested on his heels, maintaining the stalking posture of a Water Dancer with every step.

Appearances can be deceiving; these two fat men were both accomplished Water Dancers!

“Since you knew, why did you choose such a perilous time to find me? Tyrion may possess Duke Tywin’s intellect, but Duke Tywin is far more vigilant, and far more cunning and ruthless. When facing him, I, the Master of Whisperers, must be careful every minute, every second. Not a single word, not the slightest movement, can be amiss,” the helmeted man said, his voice laced with complaint.

The man in the steel helm wore old, hardened leather stained brown, covered by a breastplate of rusted iron. A dagger and a shortsword were fastened at his waist.

He had a scarred, round face, a smooth upper lip, and a short tuft of black whiskers on his lower one. If not for the sharp, brilliant gleam that occasionally flashed in his eyes, anyone would mistake him for a down-on-his-luck warrior one might see anywhere in Flea Bottom.

The landlord sighed. “I didn’t want to come to King’s Landing at a time like this either. Although Stannis’s fleet suffered heavy losses in the last battle, he has hired Salladhor Saan’s fleet. That notorious pirate has proclaimed himself Lord of Blackwater Bay and practically sealed off the sea routes from the Narrow Sea to King’s Landing. Besides, not a single ship is left in the waters around the city; it’s completely bare. My ship didn’t dare approach the shore. I had to wait until the middle of the night for smugglers to bring me to the treacherous shoals at the base of the Red Keep in a small boat, under the cover of darkness.”

“Then why did you still come?” the helmeted man asked, puzzled.

“That disobedient little queen in Slaver’s Bay sent me a message,” the landlord sighed.

He seemed to be sighing a great deal tonight.

The helmeted man’s expression turned grave. He asked, “Did she send you a message, or did your people report information related to her?”

“She specifically had a merchant ship bring me a letter.”

“What did it say?”

The landlord truly did not want to sigh again, but the question prompted another heavy one. “First, she thanked me for sending a fleet to receive her. Then she apologized for trading my goods for the Unsullied.”

“After some pleasantries, she promised to compensate me double for the loss of wealth from detaining my goods and fleet. Because Astapor is outnumbered and isolated, and the seas are often patrolled by ships from Meereen and New Ghis, she needs Black-bearded Groleo to command her navy.”

“Yes, that’s right. She’s established a small navy—a dozen or so merchant ships and two longships. Groleo has become the little queen’s Minister of the Navy, and those sailors have been transformed into the Mother of Dragons’ Sea Knights.”

“Alas, the terrified girl who once lived under my roof died on the Dothraki Sea and was reborn in blood and fire. The new Dragon Queen is a true Targaryen.”

After a long silence, the helmeted man said, “I know all of what you’ve said. For the past six months, New Ghis, Yunkai, and Meereen have all been stirring. They’ve even formed an ‘Alliance against the Mother of Dragons.’ But, wary of the queen’s ten thousand-plus Unsullied, they only dare send fleets to harass the coast of Astapor.”

“But she has dragons. Even young dragons can quietly burn sails and rigging in the dead of night.”

“After losing four ships one after another, the alliance changed its strategy. They no longer harass the docks and coastal settlements, but instead have completely blockaded Astapor’s trade. But besides the slave trade, what other attractive goods does Astapor have? The blockade has no effect on her.”

If Daenerys were here, she could have easily guessed their identities from their conversation. One was the Magister of Pentos, an “old friend” of House Targaryen, Illyrio.

The other was the Master of Whisperers of Westeros, Varys, known as the Spider.

After Jorah’s confession, Daenerys had guessed that Illyrio was in contact with Varys.

Upon hearing her suspicion, however, Barristan told her directly that Varys and Illyrio had been the closest of friends and partners for over twenty years.

Varys, as an information broker, operated in the shadows, responsible for gathering intelligence.

Illyrio, on the other hand, was the public face who found clients in need of information for him, while also building his own network of business contacts by helping those clients.

They were a perfect match, making quite a name for themselves in Pentos—so much so that even King Aerys across the Narrow Sea had heard of them.

At this moment, the two old friends walked onward as they spoke, soon reaching the end of the passage.

They climbed a narrow, spiraling staircase for about two stories, and the view before them suddenly opened up. As the torchlight cast its glow, the hazy heads of monstrous beasts in the darkness were revealed: within a massive cavern, rows of huge, ferocious-looking dragon skulls were arranged between the stone pillars on both sides.

“I wonder when the Dragon Queen’s three dragons will grow to be that large.”

Illyrio gazed at the skull before him, as tall as a house—the legendary Balerion—and sighed with emotion. “Her letter to me explained her reasons for not coming to Pentos in detail.”

“First, she is too soft-hearted. Originally, she only intended to buy the Unsullied to protect herself. But after seeing the miserable state of the slaves, she decided to do what a queen ought to do—make the world a better place.”

The corner of Varys’s mouth twitched. He was speechless. “As I recall, she received no education as a royal, and was surrounded by savage horse men. Where did she get such an idea?”

“Perhaps from that overly righteous Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? Barristan the Bold is practically a figure from the legends. His influence on her is surely greater than Mormont’s.”

“I’m starting to regret arranging for that old man to find the little queen,” Varys sighed.

“We originally thought Barristan would help build her prestige. He is renowned in Westeros and could influence the choices of certain knights,” Illyrio shrugged and continued, “Second, she wants to wait for the dragons to grow.”

“Very clever,” Varys nodded in appreciation, then shook his head. “But we don’t need an Aegon. She can be a Rhaenys, she can be a Visenya, but she cannot be an Aegon!”

“If she controls all the dragons, our plan…”

Varys’s voice trailed off. A strange light flickered in his eyes, and his expression gradually turned grim.

“Hehe, don’t worry, my brother.” Illyrio patted the portly eunuch’s shoulder and said with a grin, “The dragon has three heads. One rider can only control one dragon. The Dragon Queen was asking me about Targaryen bastards!”

“She wants…” Varys’s expression softened as he fell into thought. “I didn’t receive this information. It seems my little birds in Astapor have grown lax!”

“Perhaps she never mentioned it to anyone else. Your little birds can’t possibly overhear every secret. She told me she saw a prophecy in the House of the Undying: the dragon has three heads. Her dragons need three dragonriders. If there are no bastards, she said to contact House Velaryon on Driftmark.”

At this, Illyrio asked the fat eunuch teasingly, “Should we do that six-year-old boy a favor?”

House Velaryon was to House Targaryen what House Mormont was to House Stark: a thousand years of loyal service.

Back when Valyria ruled the world, the Velaryons were vassals of the Targaryens.

Later, when the Targaryens left Valyria for Dragonstone, the Velaryons followed, settling on the neighboring island of Driftmark.

In the early days of the dynasty, the two houses intermarried so frequently they were practically one family.

During the Dance of the Dragons, Velaryons, in addition to those of Targaryen blood, also earned the right to ride dragons.

If House Velaryon knew now that Daenerys had hatched dragons, they would likely abandon their homes and fortunes, leave Westeros, and flock to her banner. And Daenerys would surely accept and value them highly.

Unfortunately, they didn’t know. And even if they did, they were willing but powerless.

In recent years, House Velaryon had dwindled severely. The last Lord Velaryon had just died in the Battle of the Blackwater orchestrated by Tyrion, leaving only a six-year-old son and an adult bastard brother.

An idea struck Varys. He suddenly guessed Illyrio’s purpose in seeking him out this time and said pensively, “You want to send Little Griff to Astapor ahead of schedule?”

A sharp glint flashed in Illyrio’s fat, pig-like eyes. He nodded with a smile. “It was precisely because I had this idea that I came to find you. This is something that can only be discussed safely in person. What do you think?”

Varys’s brow furrowed tightly. He wedged the torch between the sharp teeth of a dragon skull and began to pace back and forth in the vast stone hall, agitated.

The thick soles of his shoes made a frustrated scraping sound on the floor. It was clear he had lost his previously maintained composure and broken free from his Water Dancer’s state.

“The horselord died unexpectedly, and she miraculously hatched dragons from those three worthless stones you gave her… Our plan has changed again and again. The third revised plan was to have Little Griff slowly approach her, approach the dragons, and only reveal his identity after gaining the dragons’ favor. Now… though I am reluctant, it seems it is time for a fourth revision.”

Illyrio sighed, exasperated. “Astapor is not Pentos. There are some things I can no longer arrange.”

“Continue,” said the Spider.

“Continue with what?”

“The third reason.”

“Oh,” Illyrio nodded. “She believes winter is coming, and launching a war of conquest now would cause massive civilian deaths. This reason aligns with our previous plan, though not out of concern for the common folk, but because the cost of waging war in winter is too great, and the uncertainties are too many. A sudden blizzard could wipe out an army of a hundred thousand men.”

“Alas, the situation is changing too quickly. The rhythm is no longer in our control.” Varys looked utterly helpless. The war between the lion and the wolf was a part of his pre-written script, but it had happened too early.

Years too early. So early that he had been forced to pull in Viserys and the horselord to fill the gap. But not only had those two failures failed to fill the gap, they had dug an even deeper pit…

“I have a feeling that besides myself, there is another player—or even several players—hiding in the shadows,” the eunuch sighed.

“Dragons are a symbol of status, but more than that, they are a force that can determine the course of events. Any setback, no matter how great, is insignificant in the face of a dragon,” Illyrio said firmly.

Varys nodded in agreement.

In the game of thrones, dragons were enough to offset all disadvantages, and could even flip the entire board.

“We can send Little Griff over, but not now.” Varys gritted his teeth and said with some resentment, “Since she has over ten thousand Unsullied, why didn’t she immediately sweep through Slaver’s Bay?”

“The Alliance against the Mother of Dragons is now recruiting mercenary companies on a massive scale. Over the past six months, the Second Sons, the Company of the Rose, and the Stormcrows have entered Yunkai one after another. If the Brave Companions hadn’t been hired by Duke Tywin first, that band of bloody mummers would also be standing against the Dragon Queen.”

Chapter 117: The Messy Affairs of Westeros

In the past year, the situation in Westeros had undergone tumultuous changes.

While Daenerys was still a guest in Qarth, the Usurper Robert’s best friend—Duke Eddard Stark of Winterfell—followed in the footsteps of his father and older brother, beheaded in the most humiliating manner by “Mad King the Second” Joffrey.

Without a doubt, House Stark of the North were the absolute protagonists of Game of Thrones, and their tragic fate earned deep sympathy from the audience. When Daenerys watched the show, she often put herself in their shoes.

But from an objective viewpoint, their family’s suffering was not entirely undeserved.

First, let’s talk about Eddard’s death. It would be more accurate to say that his wife and daughter conspired to get him killed, rather than that he died at Joffrey’s hands because of Robert.

Everyone says Eddard Stark had low emotional intelligence and lacked political acumen, but in reality, he was quite self-aware. He knew he wasn’t suited for King’s Landing and had intended to refuse when Robert personally came to the North to ask him to be his Hand.

“Robert is my best friend. If I refuse him, he’ll definitely fly into a rage and curse me out, but after a few days, we’ll be back to normal.”

At the time, after an intimate moment with his wife, Eddard told her this.

Eddard and Robert had grown up together in the Vale of Arryn. Both were wards of Duke Arryn, and they had rebelled together, making them arguably the greatest pair of friends in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.

Eddard’s judgment was not wrong.

But his wife was a quintessential highborn lady, and her thinking was very pragmatic.

In her youth, Catelyn Tully had been able to face the adoration of her childhood friend, Littlefinger, with the utmost rationality. Now, as a mother of five, she handled King Robert’s invitation with the same logical approach.

She strongly urged her husband to accept the king’s appointment for two reasons: First, you were best friends in the past, but now he is the king and you are his subject; a king’s favor is fickle. Second, the children are of marriageable age, and King’s Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, is a gathering place for the rich and powerful, offering more opportunities than the desolate North.

Their eldest son Robb, as the heir, had to stay behind and manage Winterfell in his father’s absence. Their youngest son Rickon was only three and too young to leave his mother—Catelyn herself would not be going to King’s Landing.

At the time, three children were planned to go with Eddard to King’s Landing: their older daughter Sansa, younger daughter Arya, and second son Bran.

The two daughters needed to find husbands (Catelyn and Eddard didn’t think much of Theon and never considered him for Sansa), and as the second son, Bran had no inheritance rights, making his future uncertain. This was not an unfounded worry; Eddard’s own brother, Benjen, had resorted to joining the Night’s Watch at the Wall because he had no inheritance.

In King’s Landing, under the protection of his father, the Hand, and his “uncle,” the King, Bran could at the very least become a proper knight. With a bit of luck, he might even join the Kingsguard.

Without a doubt, Catelyn Tully made the choice a good wife and mother should.

Unfortunately, she was far too politically naive, ignoring the fact that a great storm was brewing in King’s Landing, and her husband completely lacked the ability to navigate it.

Persuading her husband to go to King’s Landing was perhaps justifiable, but kidnapping Tyrion was utterly moronic.

Well, part of it was that Littlefinger was simply too clever. He cultivated a ‘Mary Sue’ complex in her—the idea that ‘a man who is deeply in love with me would never hurt me, and even though I’m married, he will continue to be my devoted admirer.’ He easily deceived Catelyn, making her firmly believe that Tyrion was responsible for the attempt on Bran’s life.

Here, one can’t help but comment that Littlefinger is truly a paragon among devoted admirers; his devotion ultimately led to the complete ruin of that damned couple’s family.

Getting back to the point, although Tyrion was a dwarf and not favored by his father, he was still a Lannister. By kidnapping him, Catelyn officially declared war on House Lannister on behalf of ‘House Stark and House Tully’.

This immediately created a life-or-death standoff in King’s Landing between Eddard and the queen’s faction. Although his best friend was the king, the Lannisters were simply too powerful—Robert owed Duke Tywin three million gold dragons, and the court’s finances depended almost entirely on House Lannister.

Now that we’ve covered how the wife screwed over her husband, let’s talk about how Sansa Stark screwed over her father.

After discovering that the king and queen’s three children were not Robert’s biological offspring, Eddard didn’t immediately reveal this to Robert.

He possessed a sense of honor that bordered on naïveté, and he worried that Robert would have Cersei’s three children killed, just as Tywin had murdered Prince Rhaegar’s infants.

So, he secretly went to Cersei and told her, “I know about your dirty secrets. I haven’t told my poor, yet brutal, best friend yet. I’m giving you three days to take your children and leave. After that, our houses will settle this on the battlefield!”

Once Cersei knew that he knew, she had Robert killed ahead of schedule.

Because in King’s Landing, all of Eddard’s power came from the king.

Logically, after having Robert killed, Cersei’s next move should have been to immediately seize Eddard and his family, or at least restrain him.

But Cersei didn’t.

The great power struggle that marked the first act of Game of Thrones—“Eddard vs. Cersei”—featured two protagonists who were complete novices in the art of political intrigue. Compared to seasoned players like Tywin, Varys, Littlefinger, Prince Martell, or the old Queen of Thorns of Highgarden, the two of them were like amateurs fumbling against each other.

Cersei had maxed out her skills in palace scheming, but her political maneuvering was atrocious.

Eddard, having lived through the “Usurper’s War” that overthrew the Targaryen dynasty, had at least some experience and a degree of political instinct.

Seeing his best friend die tragically the day after he gave Cersei his ultimatum, he immediately understood that he had gotten his friend killed.

Filled with grief and regret, he resolved to defend his friend’s “Baratheon dynasty” with his life.

By then, Eddard was prepared to die, but he did not want his two daughters to perish with him.

So, he bided his time, planning to secretly get his two daughters onto a fast ship he had prepared. Once they had left King’s Landing, he would then fight the Lannisters to the bitter end, even if it meant mutual destruction.

And truth be told, in the immediate aftermath of the king’s death, Eddard actually had the means to make a stand.

Because Renly, Varys, and others intended to support him. Even Littlefinger, who had secretly betrayed him so badly, didn’t want him to fall right away.

These men weren’t supporting Eddard for his righteousness, but out of consideration for political balance. If Eddard fell, the next Hand of the King would undoubtedly be Duke Tywin—a man whose skills in military strategy, finance, political machinations, and court intrigue were all maxed out.

Unfortunately, Eddard righteously rejected the advice of everyone who tried to side with him. The king’s youngest brother, Duke Renly, was forced to flee. Varys never dared to see him again, and Littlefinger decisively threw his lot in with Cersei.

At this point, Eddard’s defeat was still inevitable, but he had already come to terms with it: “My best friend is already in hell, what do I have to fear from death?”

It has to be said, if Eddard wanted to, his ability to keep a secret was actually very strong.

Just as he concealed the truth of Jon Snow’s parentage from everyone, including the treacherous and cunning Varys and Littlefinger, his plan to secretly send his daughters away had also escaped the notice of almost everyone in King’s Landing.

And then, his elder daughter Sansa betrayed him. The night before they were to leave, she secretly ran to Cersei and told her everything. In her early days, Sansa was a typical, star-struck noble girl; she was infatuated with handsome boys, and Joffrey was very handsome. She couldn’t bear to leave.

Cersei was abruptly alerted, and the next day she seized Eddard and threw him in the dungeons.

All of Eddard’s men were killed and the Tower of the Hand was massacred. Only Sansa and her handmaiden, Jeyne, survived, while Arya escaped to the streets.

Eddard had already resolved to die and felt no fear in the dungeons, but with his two daughters in Cersei’s hands, he was forced to abandon his honor for the second time in his life.

For his daughters’ sake, he confessed before the people of King’s Landing at the Great Sept of Baelor: he had committed treason, and Joffrey was the rightful king.

—According to his agreement with Cersei, after he surrendered and confessed, Joffrey was supposed to let him take the black and join the Night’s Watch at the Wall. But Joffrey was too mad and changed his mind at the last minute, beheading her father right in front of Sansa.

Sansa didn’t just doom her father; she also bears a large part of the responsibility for the series of tragedies that later befell House Stark.

How many foolish things did Catelyn do to save her?

Alright, now that we’re done with Eddard’s death, let’s talk about the other major events.

After Eddard’s imprisonment, four kings rose up at once:

Robb, the King in the North, seeking revenge for his father, held the North and the Riverlands—the wolf and the trout;

King Robert’s ‘son,’ Joffrey, holding the Crownlands and the Westerlands—the lion;

Robert’s middle brother, Stannis, Duke of Dragonstone, controlling Dragonstone and its surrounding islands—the flaming heart of the Lord of Light, plus the stag;

Robert’s youngest brother, Renly, Duke of Storm’s End, commanding the Stormlands and the Reach—the golden rose and the crowned stag;

Of the Seven Kingdoms, only Dorne and the Vale of Arryn had not yet joined the fray. However, House Martell of Dorne had a blood feud with the Lannisters; Rhaegar’s wife, Elia, was a Dornish princess, and she and her two children had met a brutal end at Tywin’s hands.

Although the Vale of Arryn was controlled by Catelyn’s own sister, Lysa, and should have theoretically sided with Robb, Lysa only listened to Littlefinger.

Of the four powers, Robb’s faction was the strongest on paper. The vast alliance of “wolf + fish + falcon (the Vale) + stag” forged during the Usurper’s War had not entirely crumbled—at least, that’s how the naive Robb and Catelyn saw it.

But the turmoil itself had been triggered by Lysa’s madness—she had murdered her own husband but told her sister the Lannisters were responsible. The ‘falcon’ had already broken from the alliance.

Speaking of Lysa, one can’t help but roast the situation. Eddard Stark’s marital relations were a mess: I married my sister-in-law, my foster father married my younger sister-in-law, making my most respected foster father and me brothers-in-law who married sisters. Our families became even closer, which delighted me. But my younger sister-in-law turned out to be the devoted admirer of my wife’s devoted admirer.

“Third Stag” Renly was quite willing to continue the previous alliance, but “Second Stag” Stannis had a stubborn and difficult personality, and no one could ever figure out what he was thinking.

On one hand, the Second Stag would say through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to be king, I don’t want to be the Child of Prophecy, why are you forcing me?” Yet on the other hand, he secretly had the Red Priestess kill his own brother with a ‘shadow baby’.

Hmm, as mentioned before, the Lord of Light, R’hllor, has two faces: he is both a god of fire and a demon who controls shadows. His priests possess blood magic that allows them to kill with shadows.

The Red Woman’s shadow demon seemed even more ridiculously powerful than the shadow techniques of the Nara clan from Naruto. When the shadow slit Renly’s throat, he was wearing a full gorget made of fine steel that an axe couldn’t dent, yet the shadow tore through the thick steel plate as if it were thin paper.

The Third Stag died before his army ever saw true victory, becoming the first to be killed off.

The “crowned stag and golden rose” alliance under his command was dissolved. The “stags” pledged their allegiance to the Second Stag, while the “golden rose” became unaligned.

After becoming the leader of the “stags,” the Second Stag not only rejected Robb’s grand alliance but also commanded the Red Woman to curse Robb with blood magic. It’s uncertain whether Robb’s death was connected to the curse, but Joffrey, Robb, and Balon, the three men she cursed, all met untimely ends.

Chapter 118: Huo Qubing, Cao Cao, Zhou Yu, and Guan Yu

Now, let’s talk about the Lannisters.

With the Westerlands and part of the Crownlands, they were enemies with nearly all of the other six kingdoms.

Even setting aside the ambivalent Vale of Arryn, the situation was the Wolf, the Fish, the Stag, and the Rose versus the Lion.

Dorne was also watching the Lion with predatory eyes.

If either the Second Stag or Robb had possessed a functioning brain, House Lannister would have been finished.

The Second Stag was already yelling about how he’d eat the roasted goose alone before he’d even brought it down—a bit moronic.

Because his father and grandfather had both died in King’s Landing, Robb developed the mindset that “it’s not that we Northerners lack political sense; it’s that you Southerners are too cunning.”

He wanted to shatter the unity of the Seven Kingdoms, declaring the independence of the North and the Riverlands, and naming himself the King in the North. So what if we Northerners are simple? I’m not playing with you people anymore!

If he had only declared the North’s independence, probably no one would have paid him any mind.

The North was harsh and cold. On the surface, it not only contributed nothing to the Seven Kingdoms but was also a massive burden—when winter came, Northerners couldn’t survive and would head south to beg for food.

The key was the Riverlands. The vast plains of the Trident River basin were the heart of Westeros and, along with the neighboring Reach, were known as the “Granaries of the Seven Kingdoms.” No king who won the Iron Throne would ever permit the Riverlands to be independent.

The Third Stag, Renly, was somewhat more rational. Faced with this demand, he merely said, “Let’s take King’s Landing first. We can allow the North’s independence as a bottom line, but we’ll postpone discussing the Riverlands.”

The Second Stag, however, directly declared Robb a rebel and, for good measure, hit him with a “Grand Curse.”

Even though Robb and the Second Stag were fools, starting to fight amongst themselves before their common enemy was defeated, the Lannisters’ situation was still not good.

The Second Stag was a seasoned commander, and Robb was a natural-born general—the author of A Song of Ice and Fire wrote him as if he were Huo Qubing.

Huo Qubing at least had a brilliant general for an uncle to teach him. Robb, on the other hand, was born with a “God of War aura”—his father, Eddard Stark, was neither a renowned strategist nor a fierce warrior. No one taught him.

Huo Qubing interned in the army for several years before soaring to fame at seventeen. Robb, who was still practicing swordsmanship with a weapons master at thirteen and hadn’t even finished his training, burst onto the scene in glory at fourteen, handing crushing defeats to even a celebrated commander like Tywin and a fierce warrior like Jaime.

So how did Robb achieve such godlike feats?

It began when Tywin launched a preemptive strike the moment his son Tyrion was kidnapped by Catelyn. He divided his forces into two. One army, led by Jaime with twelve thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry, marched out from the Golden Tooth along the River Road, striking directly at the Riverlands’ capital, Riverrun (Robb’s maternal grandfather was the Duke of Riverrun). The other army, led by Duke Tywin himself with about twenty thousand men, took the Goldroad, passing through the Crownlands to circle around and attack the Riverlands from the “rear.”

In the early stages of the war, caught in this pincer attack, the Riverlands were nearly crippled. The “Fish” was caught by the “Lion.” Not only was Riverrun besieged by Jaime, but Robb’s uncle Edmure, the sole heir of House Tully, was also captured.

Tywin’s army lived off the land in the Riverlands, thoroughly destroying the local nobility’s rule and its agriculture and industry.

Tywin had hired a mercenary company from Essos, the Brave Companions, specifically for such dirty work.

The Brave Companions were arguably the most notoriously infamous mercenary group in the World of Ice and Fire, and the Riverlands were turned into a living hell.

Then, Robb, stepping onto the battlefield for the first time, led thirteen thousand infantry and five thousand cavalry south.

At that time, Tywin was already lying in wait, his troops arrayed on the east bank of the Green Fork along the Kingsroad—the “only” path south to King’s Landing.

If Robb had marched directly south, he would have run right into Tywin’s army, which held the advantageous terrain.

And Tywin had indeed prepared a killer move for the Young Wolf: he positioned Tyrion’s mountain clansmen and the Mountain’s force of the old, weak, and infirm at the edge of the Green Fork.

Because the Mountain and Tyrion were leading, Robb’s side would surely assume they were the main force.

Once Robb committed his main army, Tywin’s true main force would charge out from the east, driving everyone fighting by the river—including his own men—into the water.

But Robb had grown up hearing the legendary tales of Duke Tywin. Deep down, he was afraid of a direct confrontation with him. At the same time, Robb’s “God of War” sixth sense was also warning him: this battle is perilous.

And then he truly activated his god-mode.

He also split his army in two, sending the most cautious Roose Bolton with thirteen thousand infantry to face Duke Tywin, while he himself led five thousand cavalry west to relieve Riverrun.

But aside from the Kingsroad, the only other way to cross the Green Fork was at the Twins.

Marquis Frey, whose family had a “mere” six hundred years of history, had built a bridge over the Green Fork.

To cross the river, Robb made a sacred pact with Walder Frey: House Frey would swear fealty to the King in the North. In addition to allowing Robb’s army to cross, House Frey would also send several thousand of its own soldiers to join Robb’s forces.

In return: 1. Robb would marry one of Lord Frey’s daughters. 2. “Arya” would marry into House Frey. 3. Catelyn would take two of Lord Frey’s trueborn sons as her wards.

To be honest, Marquis Frey wasn’t really taking advantage of the situation; the contributions and rewards on both sides were roughly balanced.

After all, Robb was in rebellion. Allowing him to cross was one thing, but the Freys also provided a large number of troops and supplies. Among Robb’s vassals, aside from his own uncle, House Frey contributed the most, with probably four to five thousand soldiers.

With his own five thousand cavalry plus several thousand men from the Freys, and led by the local expert, the “Blackfish,” Robb launched a surprise attack in the Whispering Wood, capturing Jaime Lannister.

The Blackfish, Brynden Tully, was Robb’s granduncle. He had made a name for himself in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and had fought in the “Usurper’s” war to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty. He was a seasoned and famous commander.

Robb’s talent + the Blackfish’s experience = Invincibility.

After capturing Jaime and wiping out the fifteen thousand “Lions” besieging Riverrun, the tide of battle in the Riverlands immediately turned.

On the main front, Tywin was pinned down by Roose Bolton’s northern infantry. On his flank, Robb consolidated the armies of the Riverlands lords, creating immense military pressure.

And in his rear, King’s Landing was not only unable to provide support but was also facing a siege from the “Stag” armies.

You could say that at that moment, the survival of House Lannister rested on a single thought from Robb. If Robb had been just a little less clever and gambled on an all-out assault, even if Tywin managed to escape, he would have fled to King’s Landing alone.

Unfortunately, Robb was too cunning.

This isn’t meant as a criticism. He was already considering the postwar situation: the Second Stag wouldn’t allow his independence, making him an enemy too. If the “Wolf” and the “Lion” went all out against each other, even if he won, it would be a pyrrhic victory, leaving the Second Stag to clean up the mess.

Of course, the Lannisters were ultimately different from the Second Stag. The Second Stag only opposed the North’s independence, but the Lannisters had chopped off his father’s head.

So, Robb would not let that old fox Tywin go.

Since a direct confrontation was out, he would have to use strategy.

After all, I’m a natural-born God of War!

Thus, instead of turning east to encircle and destroy Tywin, Robb marched west, bringing the war to the Lannisters’ own territory.

He came up with his own version of the “Feigned Retreat Ploy.” If Tywin gave chase, he would find a favorable location and lead him into an ambush—the Blackfish and Robb had even already scouted the ambush site.

If Tywin didn’t chase, the Westerlands would be at the mercy of the Starks. The Lannisters had many gold and silver mines, and Robb’s forces plundered them to their hearts’ content. Once they took Casterly Rock, House Lannister would be finished.

It must be said, Robb’s plan was very thorough. To prevent his strategy from leaking, even his own uncle Edmure and Roose Bolton, who commanded the northern infantry, knew nothing of his “Feigned Retreat Ploy.”

To make it even more convincing, Robb deliberately left Edmure at Riverrun to “block” Tywin’s return west.

Robb knew his uncle was a poor commander and would certainly fail to stop Tywin’s march. With this bait defeated, Tywin would not suspect a trap.

Throughout the entire process, Robb could be said to have calculated every move for both himself and his enemies, employing tactical skill to its absolute peak.

According to his plan, even if the Second Stag easily took King’s Landing—which only had three thousand ragtag soldiers—and the “Wolf” suffered heavy losses fighting the “Lion,” he could still recuperate in the Westerlands. Jaime was already his captive, and if he could capture Duke Tywin as well, Casterly Rock would most likely surrender.

One could say that Robb had done everything he possibly could on the battlefield.

Unfortunately, Tywin refused to be led by the nose.

From the very beginning, just as Robb wanted to defeat Tywin “without losses,” Tywin also wanted to send that little upstart to see his dead father with minimal cost.

When he discovered that Robb was not the novice he’d thought, Tywin completely gave up on the idea of winning on the battlefield. The Lannisters had plenty of other enemies; they had no energy to waste on the “hard-headed blockheads” from the North.

War is merely an extension of politics. Tywin was not only a commander, but also a master of the “game of thrones.”

While Robb was still hunched over his maps, racking his brain over his “Feigned Retreat Ploy,” Tywin was already writing letters.

One of Tywin’s classic quotes: “Some victories are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens.”

Every day, he sent and received over one hundred ravens. Robb’s battlefield was in the Riverlands and the Westerlands; his was the entirety of Westeros.

Did the Freys and Boltons, who would later betray Robb, receive his ravens?

They certainly did.

Roose Bolton, considered “cautious, prudent, and steady” by the Northerners, committed a major “blunder” while garrisoning Harrenhal. He split his already strained infantry forces again.

His original thirteen thousand infantry had already been reduced by four or five thousand by Tywin at the Green Fork, leaving only about eight thousand. Then Roose Bolton sent half of the remainder south towards King’s Landing.

At that time, Robb was at the Crag, while about a third of the northern infantry was attacking Duskendale.

The distance between the Crag and Duskendale is over two thousand kilometers.

Even from Roose Bolton’s garrison at Harrenhal, the distance to Duskendale is over six hundred kilometers.

And this was the Middle Ages, with muddy roads and armies marching on foot.

Without a doubt, those troops sent to attack Duskendale were wiped out to the last man.

Here, it’s worth noting that Robb’s army was composed of vassals from many houses. Roose Bolton had also brought soldiers from his own lands.

And the men he sent to their deaths at Duskendale were all Stark loyalists. His own men remained safe and sound in Harrenhal.

After the battles at the Green Fork and Duskendale, only a third of the northern infantry remained—or rather, only the Boltons’ men remained.

This was one of Tywin’s methods.

Besides undermining the enemy from within, Tywin was also secretly cultivating new allies—the “Golden Rose” of Highgarden, who had become unaligned after the death of the Third Stag.

Tywin arranged the marriage between Joffrey and Margaery of House Tyrell. The Lion would be king, the Rose would be queen.

In terms of the strength of a single kingdom, the “Rose” of Highgarden was the most powerful of the Seven Kingdoms. It not only possessed a third of Westeros’s naval power but also the largest number of cavalry.

For example, Robb, the King in the North, only had five thousand cavalry. The Westerlands had a bit more; Tywin and Jaime’s cavalry combined probably numbered seven thousand.

But the Reach had prepared over twenty thousand cavalry for the Third Stag, and with infantry, their forces exceeded fifty thousand. Even if Khal Drogo hadn’t died, his entire Khalasar would have been no match for Highgarden alone.

As long as the Seven Kingdoms were united, no one could hope to conquer Westeros by force, unless the Valyrian Empire was reborn. Even Daenerys with her three dragons couldn’t do it; ten thousand Unsullied would barely make a ripple.

To get back on topic.

The Old Lion, having secretly allied with the Rose, did not reveal this trump card. He deliberately played along with Robb’s plan, “hastily” marching west, only to be “defeated” by Edmure. Then he abruptly turned south, joined forces with the eastbound Rose army, and marched straight for King’s Landing.

That’s right, he was ignoring Robb now.

Because at this point, Robb had already made a fatal mistake and was no longer a threat.

Remember the first oathbreaking groom, the “Prince of Dragonflies”?

For Jenny of Oldstones, he broke his sacred betrothal to a Baratheon princess. For Jeyne of the Crag, the third oathbreaking groom, Robb, broke his vow to House Frey.

History repeated itself at that moment: another gentle, beautiful Jeyne, and another passionate, handsome young king.

During the assault on the Crag, Robb was wounded by a stray arrow. Afterwards, he was tenderly cared for by Jeyne Westerling, the daughter of Gawen Westerling, Lord of the Crag. Why would the eldest daughter of a lord personally care for him?

Where were the servants and handmaidens?

It was very likely deliberately arranged by Jeyne’s mother, Sybell. Her situation at the time was dire: her husband was Robb’s captive, and their castle had been taken by the Northerners.

It’s uncertain how much of a role Duke Tywin played in this, but in any case, it wasn’t long before Robb and Jeyne slept together.

To protect Jeyne’s honor, and because he was an inexperienced young man and rather impulsive, Robb didn’t take Jeyne as his lover. Instead, the day after they held hands, he publicly announced their marriage.

And Jeyne’s mother, Sybell, had been in contact with Tywin all along and was secretly feeding her daughter moon tea—the Westerosi equivalent of a contraceptive pill.

After Robb’s death at the Red Wedding, Sybell received great rewards from the Lannisters: her brother was promoted to Lord of Castamere (a rich fief with gold mines, as in “The Rains of Castamere”), her son married a Lannister, and advantageous marriages were arranged for both of her daughters—including Robb’s wife, Jeyne.

Robb the oathbreaker was inexplicably eliminated from the game of thrones. Next up was the Second Stag.

The Second Stag had the Red Woman use blood magic to kill the Third Stag and used similar means to seize his brother’s castle of Storm’s End. Then, advancing by both land and sea, he intended to take King’s Landing in one fell swoop.

At the time, King’s Landing only had six thousand Gold Cloaks, four thousand of whom were newly recruited street thugs, not even qualified to be cannon fodder.

Their naval power was also no match for Dragonstone’s fleet; the Second Stag held firm control of the sea.

If nothing unexpected happened, the Second Stag could have easily taken King’s Landing.

But the Imp, Tyrion, had a massive power-up. As one of the main characters, he was also a cheater.

To be honest, Daenerys hatching dragons and gaining the Unsullied was already a cheat, but it paled in comparison to Tyrion.

Facing the Second Stag’s overwhelming numerical superiority, Tyrion became possessed by the spirits of “Zhou Yu and Guan Yu,” instantly turning the Second Stag into Boss Cao at the Battle of Red Cliffs.

Here’s how that battle played out.

King’s Landing is on the north bank of the Blackwater River. To the east of the city is Blackwater Bay. The Second Stag’s army was approaching from his lands in the south.

Tyrion had preemptively burned all the wharves, shipyards, and any other structures along the Blackwater River that could aid a landing. The area outside the city walls was completely cleared.

To attack King’s Landing, the Second Stag would have to build a pontoon bridge across the Blackwater.

Therefore, his fleet had to enter the river from the sea. They would either transport troops by ship or link the ships together with planks to form a crude “wooden bridge.”

Tyrion had two winch towers built at the mouth of the Blackwater River, with a massive iron chain suspended between them. When the Second Stag’s fleet entered the river, the chain rested on the riverbed. Once most of the enemy fleet was inside the Blackwater, the winches were turned, pulling the chain taut and sealing the river.

In a normal ancient naval battle in the real world, this might not have been a big deal. Even with my escape route blocked, my forces are superior; I don’t need to retreat.

And my ships aren’t chained together like Cao Cao’s. If you float fireships down from upstream, I can dodge them or push them away with poles.

The problem was, this was a fantasy world. The Maesters had been developing for thousands of years without ever discovering this thing called “science,” but the Pyromancers had long been able to mass-produce the strange substance known as wildfire.

Tyrion was indeed possessed by Zhou Yu. He sent fireships downstream, but their holds were filled not with lamp oil, but with wildfire.

Wildfire = (Incendiary Bomb + Amaterasu) / 2.

The green flames turned the lower half of the Blackwater River into an inferno.

After setting the warships ablaze, Tyrion transformed into Guan Yu. Despite his dwarfish stature of just over a meter, he carved a path through the towering enemy ranks seven times over.

If Cersei (?) hadn’t sent someone to stab him in the back, the Imp might have passed the hell-level difficulty stage of “Stag’s Siege of King’s Landing” without a scratch.

And Duke Tywin was ruthless enough to hide on the sidelines, biding his time, waiting until the Second Stag’s army had lost all its momentum at the city walls before emerging to pluck the fruits of his son’s victory.

Thus, in the war of the four kings, the Third Stag, the Second Stag, and Robb were successively eliminated, leaving Joffrey with the last laugh. Well, at least he wasn’t dead yet.

The first wave of Westeros’s war of kings had come to a close.

Chapter 119: The Anti-Mother of Dragons Alliance Has Come

Flap, flap.

If dragons could sweat, Big Black would be drenched right now. His wings carved great arcs through the air; he had to use every ounce of his strength just to keep from sinking.

Daenerys clung tightly to his slender neck, her legs dangling uselessly against his undulating back. Gripped by the fear of having no leverage, she could only tighten her hold, squeezing Big Black’s neck even harder.

“Scree—”

Two long, thick plumes of white vapor shot from Big Black’s nostrils as he seemed to roar at Daenerys: I can barely breathe!

“Honestly, you’re bigger than my little silver mare and you weigh more too. Why can’t you carry me as easily as she does?” Daenerys glanced down at the ground below. The Great Pyramid was only the size of a bowl; they had to be over one thousand meters in the air.

Yes, Daenerys could ride a dragon now.

Well, not exactly “ride.” She had to lie flat on the dragon’s back to distribute her weight evenly. If she concentrated her weight on his neck, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

And she could only lie on Big Black. It wasn’t that Little White and Little Green refused to let her ride, but they simply weren’t as large as Big Black. There was no space for her to lie down.

Six months had passed, and the effects of Big Black consuming the spirits of faith from the Undying were becoming more apparent. He was now ten meters long from head to tail. Excluding his long neck and tail, his back was over two meters long, which was enough room for Daenerys to lie on.

The white and green dragons were only two-thirds of Big Black’s size; the difference was obvious.

In fact, two months ago, Daenerys had already known she could ride them, based on how much weight the three dragons could carry.

For the past half year, the three Ghiscari city-states of Meereen, Yunkai, and New Ghis had formed the “Alliance Against the Demon Mother of Dragons,” which Daenerys simply called the Ghis Alliance.

Not only did the Ghiscari spread propaganda claiming Daenerys was a debauched demon who “ate ten babies for breakfast and slept with ten strong men at night,” but they also frequently sent fast ships to raid the harbor district and coastal strongholds, launching incendiaries—clay pots filled with oil, or flammable bundles of cotton soaked in pitch.

At first, Daenerys had Big Black conduct night raids on the enemy sails, but the enemy grew smarter. They began hiding a few hundred sailors with heavy crossbows below deck. As soon as Big Black breathed fire, they would open small hatches in the deck and loose a rain of bolts.

On one such occasion, Big Black was shot full of holes, turning him into a veritable hornet’s nest. That wasn’t an exaggeration. Daenerys counted afterward, and Big Black had taken at least seventy bolts.

He plummeted from the sky, and even Daenerys, in her draconic spiritual state, was terrified.

Fortunately, they were close to the coastline, and Big Black managed to glide down and land among friendly forces. His two thin, leathery wings were like a pair of torn rags, and the scales on his belly had been pierced. White smoke rose from his blood as it gushed out.

The one silver lining was that the iron arrowheads were short, only about four centimeters long. A dragon’s blood is incredibly hot; the wooden shafts behind the arrowheads were instantly burned away, and the iron tips themselves began to soften.

Because the arrowheads were too short to penetrate Big Black’s abdominal muscles, his organs were unharmed. It looked horrific, but it was only a flesh wound.

It was also a blessing they were in Slaver’s Bay and not Westeros. The people of the Seven Kingdoms had seen dragons many times over and had developed fairly sophisticated dragon-slaying techniques. The New Ghiscari, however, had never fought a dragon—though the Old Ghiscari Empire had slain them.

If the crossbows that had fired on Big Black had been custom-made “dragon-slaying ballistas,” there would have been a thirty percent chance he would escape unharmed, a fifty percent chance he would be gravely wounded, and a twenty percent chance he would be killed on the spot. Dragon-slaying ballistas were enormous and difficult to operate, so a ship could only mount a limited number, and each man could not wield one. They fired fewer bolts and might miss in the dark, but a direct hit would mean grave injury at the very least.

After that injury, Daenerys changed her strategy. No more dive-bombing attacks; it was time for high-altitude bombing.

Barristan had told her that the bolts for dragon-slaying ballistas were made of solid steel, heavier than an Unsullied’s spear. Their maximum effective altitude was two hundred meters.

Thus, Big Black only needed to stay at an altitude of five hundred meters to drop incendiaries on the ships below without taking any damage.

Big Black was the first to master the “bomber” skill. The white and green dragons just couldn’t get the hang of it. During training, they would be flying along and suddenly dive straight down to breathe fire with their mouths.

Ever since the incident with the Dragon Horn, the white and green dragons had become much more subservient to Daenerys. They usually listened to what she said, and they rarely talked back (by breathing fire at her) when she disciplined them with a whip.

But without entering the draconic spiritual state, it was difficult for Daenerys to make them understand her intentions.

Later, Jorah suggested shooting them with blunted arrows during training. It would train them to dodge projectiles while also teaching them what to do.

It sounded like a good idea at first, but in practice, it was a disaster. An Unsullied soldier was burned.

The dragon children could tolerate it from their mother, Daenerys, but if anyone else dared to harm them, they would fly into a rage and unleash a torrent of dragonflame.

If Daenerys hadn’t been standing by to restrain the dragon, that warrior would have earned a glorious death. Well, not so glorious, perhaps. Rather pathetic.

After that, Daenerys arranged several crossbows side-by-side, with a single thread tied to their triggers. A single pull could fire dozens of bolts, and she trained the dragons herself.

It actually worked. The two dragons grew much smarter and gradually learned the art of high-altitude dropping.

Dragons have exceptionally good eyesight, so their accuracy was very high. The three of them took turns bombing, dropping at least dozens of kilograms of oil-soaked cloth bundles in a single run. A direct hit could basically destroy a ship.

They would first drop the fuel packets, then dive down quickly to ignite the bundles with dragonflame.

It was by comparing the weight of the bundles the three dragons could carry with her own weight that she determined when she would be able to ride them.

Without armor, Daenerys weighed forty-five kilograms, while Big Black could lift a one-hundred-kilogram bundle and fly at high altitude. Only then did she dare to attempt riding him.

Little White and Little Green, on the other hand, could only lift about sixty-five kilograms.

“Scree—” After flying a loop around the farmsteads outside the city, a distance of about one hundred and fifty kilometers, Big Black began to feel as if he were “running out of fuel.” Daenerys had no choice but to have him take her back to the Great Pyramid.

Flap, flap—thud!

Big Black landed heavily on the grass, the leaves of the nearby fruit trees rustling from the downdraft of his wings.

Daenerys leaped nimbly from his back, a height of over two meters.

She had been practicing swordsmanship with Barristan for the past six months, and her strength and agility had increased dramatically. The old man even praised her, saying her talent was no less than Rhaegar’s.

Daenerys wasn’t the least bit flattered by this. Rhaegar’s fame far outstripped his actual skill.

Legend had it that his martial prowess was matched only by Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, yet he was crushed by Robert in his first real battle.

A great warhammer to his chest—a miserable death.

“Your Grace, urgent intelligence has arrived from Yunkai.” She had just jumped off the dragon’s back when Jorah approached with a grim expression.

Jorah’s attire had changed once again. His smoke-black Valyrian steel armor now had a layer of exquisite white enamel inlaid over the chest, and a heavy, pure white cloak was draped from his shoulders, its silver thread and clasps glinting in the sun. It was as if his entire bearing had been elevated.

Any nobleman from Westeros would have seen him and exclaimed, “A Kingsguard!”

After Barristan revealed his identity, Daenerys appointed him Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Jorah had no objections whatsoever; the man’s qualifications were too extensive, his reputation too legendary.

Daenerys later held a simple yet grand swearing-in ceremony for the old man on the third terrace of the Great Pyramid, where he took his oath before tens of thousands of soldiers and citizens.

An announcement was then issued so that all would know.

Once Barristan became Lord Commander, he followed tradition and invested Jorah Mormont with the white cloak.

Thus, the Bear became an official White Knight, his name to be recorded in the White Book.

Aside from the white cloak, there was also white scale armor. Jorah, of course, had no desire to change his armor, so he specially commissioned a smith in the city to inlay his breastplate with a pattern of icy flowers in white enamel.

Belwas, the Strong Man, wanted the station of a Kingsguard but refused to wear the white scale armor or the white cloak, let alone the elaborate cape. He believed it would slow the speed of his blade.

The portly eunuch favored the swift and agile fighting style of the horse men.

After Barristan joined Daenerys’s inner circle, he assumed the position of military commander.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Jorah, but his experience and military skill were far inferior to Whitebeard’s.

Jorah had commanded a thousand men at most, whereas Barristan had commanded grand armies and had experience in large-scale warfare.

Thirty-five years ago, during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, he had been a commander of the entire host, with more than one hundred thousand men under his command, including land and naval forces, cavalry corps, infantry, and longbowmen.

Jorah became the deputy commander, also serving as the Master of Whisperers.

After all, he did have experience as a spy; he was familiar with the work.

The Spider’s intelligence network reached as far as Vaes Dothrak, Lhazar, and Qarth. There was no way Daenerys could place less importance on intelligence warfare than a man from a bygone era.

Some time ago, a group of merchants had been stranded in Astapor for over a month after their sails were burned by the dragons. When they finally left with the compensation Daenerys provided, a newly trained batch of spies went with them.

It wasn’t as if she expected them to be James Bond or Ethan Hunt; she only needed them to gather common knowledge in Yunkai and Meereen.

One had to admit, the ravens of this world were a kind of fantastical creature.

The straight-line distance between Yunkai and Astapor was five hundred kilometers, and a raven could make the round trip in about two days and one night.

Daenerys took the damp towel Irri handed her and wiped the sweat and dust from her face and arms as Jorah said in a low voice, “Yunkai has gathered thirty thousand slave soldiers, three thousand Yellow Cloaks, and five thousand mercenaries, along with an uncountable number of camp followers. They set out this morning, marching on Astapor.”

“Ten Wise and Great Masters have declared themselves supreme commanders of the allied army. One among them, a Wise Master named Grazdan mo Eraz, who calls himself the Warrior God of Yunkai, is the army’s actual commander.”

The Ghiscari guards of the Slaver’s Bay city-states were accustomed to wearing yellow silk cloaks, onto which were sewn dense rows of palm-sized, reflective copper discs. Hence, they were often called “Yellow Cloaks” or “Brazen Shields.”

“Heh, another Grazdan. And he’s bringing thirty thousand slave soldiers. Is he trying to send me reinforcements?” Daenerys, who was drying her hair, couldn’t help but chuckle.

Jorah wore a strange expression. “Your Grace, I’m afraid you misunderstand. Your reputation in Yunkai is not good. Your deeds—liberating slaves, distributing land to them, building a nation of freemen—are not known there.”

“To the slaves in the other cities, you are nothing but a treacherous, crazy woman who got lucky taking Astapor.”

“Those people have gone too far! You offended the masters for the sake of those slaves,” the Dothraki handmaiden said angrily.

“When the news is controlled, what can the common folk do?” Daenerys shook her head.

She didn’t look angry, but rather a little disappointed.

She asked, “The proportion of slave soldiers is too high, and the rest are mostly mercenaries. There are very few actual Ghiscari.”

“Is this the resolve of the descendants of the Old Ghiscari Empire?”

“At this point, some of my policies might be hidden from the lowest slaves, but can the masters at the top still be ignorant? Is there not a single clever person among them who understands the impact my arrival will have on the institution of slavery?”

Jorah gave a bitter smile.

“If they did not see you as a threat, they would not be sending an army to attack Astapor. But Meereen and Yunkai are slave cities. Besides the slave soldiers, the combined city guard of freemen from both cities wouldn’t even number five thousand.”

Chapter 120: The Realms of Swordsmanship

Clang, clang, clang.

In the garden atop the Great Pyramid known as the Sunrise Palace, two snow-white blades, each three fingers wide, clashed rapidly in mid-air.

A suit of bright silver armor weighing 32.5 kilograms did nothing to hinder Ser Barristan’s agile footwork. His center of gravity remained steady as his body slid back and forth, left and right. His right hand was on his hip; he used only his less-practiced left hand to spar with Daenerys.

Dany, clad in brown boiled leather armor, gripped her sword with both hands, mirroring Barristan’s footwork almost perfectly—advancing, retreating, and dodging side to side.

But unlike Barristan, who moved with the leisurely grace of a stroll in a courtyard, she was drenched in sweat, each thrust and strike of her greatsword consuming nearly all her strength.

The old captain only parried, never attacking her, yet Dany aimed for his vitals with every slash she could muster.

On her first day of formal sword training, the legendary knight had gravely admonished her, “As a warrior, especially a female one, the first rule you must understand is this: when you draw your sword, be ruthless. Aim for your enemy’s vital points. On a true battlefield, a single moment can mean a lifetime. I have seen too many promising young knights, showered with applause in tournaments, die on the battlefield at the hands of enemies who were weaker, slower, less courageous, less skilled, and worse armored than themselves—all because they hesitated for a split second when they should have delivered a killing blow.”

“Training in a yard with a blunted sword is one thing,” he had told her with solemnity. “Plunging a four-foot blade into another person’s belly and watching the light fade from their eyes is another matter entirely. Until you become a seasoned veteran like myself, capable of perfect control, you had best cultivate a physical memory of killing any enemy you see. The fear in your heart will only compel you to act on your body’s instincts. It is cruel to your enemy, but it is far better than dying a pathetic death yourself.”

Although the old man held a knight’s honor as dearly as his own life, he was not in the least bit hidebound. A hidebound man would not have lived to his age.

After completing their sword-swinging drills, they would move on to sparring practice. There were no elaborate martial arts routines like those in martial arts novels.

In the old knight’s words: “You only need to use the movements you are most familiar and comfortable with to deliver the sword’s edge to your opponent’s vitals. In the complex chaos of the battlefield, no one can maintain the elegant postures of the training yard.”

Then, the old man had drawn a diagram of human anatomy, teaching her where the vital points were, which strikes were instantly fatal, and which would incapacitate an enemy without killing them.

It was impressive. In this medieval-like era, the anatomical chart was completely without error.

The old man explained, “Maesters have been experimenting on human corpses for thousands of years. This ‘vital point attack chart’ was not my invention. The royal library holds many research reports from fallen scholars. Over generations, the Kingsguard have studied them and spent hundreds of years distilling their findings into the most efficient killing techniques with a sword.”

Fallen scholars, as it turned out, were Maesters who had been caught secretly experimenting on living people. Upon discovery, the Citadel would strip them of their title.

Dany, being a former surgeon, learned exceptionally fast. She could often grasp a concept and infer three more from it, so much so that the old knight exclaimed in astonishment, “It is as if Prince Rhaegar himself has returned!”

She had to admit, her identity as the last princess was incredibly useful. Had she been reborn as a commoner, she likely would have never come into contact with the most orthodox knightly training methods in her entire life.

Compared to Barristan, even Ser Jorah Mormont seemed like a brutish knight from the countryside.

The “White Knight’s killing techniques” were taught in two steps. After Dany had quickly mastered the vital points, the old man began to teach her how to attack the weak points in armor.

This was somewhat different from the techniques Jorah had learned from his master-at-arms on Bear Island. Jorah’s method was to use his knowledge of armor to find gaps that a sword’s edge could pierce.

In front of Jorah, the old man, seemingly teaching Dany but also passing down the techniques of the White Knights to a new generation, said, “Iron armor is not impenetrable. Did not nine-year-old Daenys, with her extraordinary eyesight and skill, use the great bear’s own strength to pierce its brow? Every member of the Kingsguard is the finest knight of their generation. Without exceptional talent, how could one be called ‘the finest’? Armor that seems perfect to an ordinary person may be riddled with openings in the eyes of a White Knight, whose strength, speed, and skill are extraordinary.”

“And even if some lack natural aptitude, they can still become superhuman with the right equipment.”

“Therefore, for us, the technique of finding weak points is different from others. We combine factors such as the thickness of the opponent’s armor, the vital point attack chart, the knight’s own strength, and the current environment to judge the true opening in an extremely short amount of time.”

The White Knight’s method of finding an enemy’s weaknesses was incredibly complex and could not be fully described in words. Dany could only level up slowly under the guidance of a grandmaster like Barristan.

Clang—

Once again, Dany’s sword was knocked out of her hands. She waved at the old knight, signaling that was enough for the day. Her face was flushed from the heat, and she leaned forward, hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

The White Knight bent down to pick up her sword, placing both blunted training weapons back on the rack. He smiled. “Your Majesty, your progress in swordsmanship is truly swift. Six months ago, you couldn’t even swing a sword, and now you have nearly reached the realm of ‘wielding it as an extension of your arm.’ Perhaps in less than two years, you will become a qualified knight.”

Gulp, gulp. Taking the porcelain flask from her handmaiden Doreah, Dany drank nearly a liter of pure milk, which had a slightly gamey taste, in one go.

She let out a contented burp, feeling as if she had come back to life. Half a year of high-intensity training and high-energy nourishment had made her shoot up in height. She was now nearly 1.7 meters tall and had gained 7.5 kilograms.

In Qarth, the fifteen-year-old Dany had been 1.65 meters tall but weighed only 37.5 kilograms, which was slightly underweight. Only now did she have a normal physique.

Now, Dany was tall and slender, with long limbs, a well-proportioned figure, powerful arms, a stable stance, and light footsteps. She even had four faint squares of muscle on her abdomen. She was a beautiful girl, brimming with vigorous life.

Dany set down the flask and asked curiously, “The realm of ‘wielding it as an extension of one’s arm’? Swordsmanship has realms? How come I’ve never heard Ser Jorah mention this?”

Barristan, re-fastening his own greatsword to the clasp on his belt, replied, “Those northerners pay no heed to the theories of swordsmanship. As long as they can go to battle and kill their enemies, they are satisfied. In the orally transmitted Codex of the White Knight, swordsmanship is roughly divided into four realms: wielding the sword as an extension of one’s arm, lifting the heavy as if it were light, lifting the light as if it were heavy, and the sublime unity of mind, intent, and body.”

“What do they mean?” Dany’s interest was piqued.

“Wielding the sword as an extension of your arm means the blade in your hand becomes a part of your arm. Wherever your mind directs, the sword follows. Every movement is perfectly precise.”

Dany nodded, acknowledging his explanation.

She was starting to feel a bit of that herself, a strange sensation: I can accurately strike what my eyes see.

It was like playing basketball in university. Sometimes, the moment the ball left her hand, she would get a feeling that it would definitely go in, and then—swish—it would pass cleanly through the net. Such moments were rare, however, happening perhaps once in several hundred shots. It was nothing like now, where she almost constantly felt a confidence that “wherever my mind directs, the sword follows.”

“I do indeed have the feeling you describe. Are there many people who reach this first stage?” Dany asked.

“Not many. It is rare for even one in ten proper knights to reach such a realm.” The old man sighed, his tone complex. “Anyone who can lift a sword can swing it, but personal talent and diligence prevent most from advancing further.”

Dany felt a small burst of delight, mixed with shock. “So, wielding it as an extension of your arm is already rare. How powerful must the later realms be?”

“Your bastard sword weighs 6.5 kilograms, while my two-handed greatsword weighs 10 kilograms. For a short time, you might be able to wield your sword as an extension of your arm, but over a longer period…”

The White Knight gestured with his chin, indicating her current state of being drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted.

“Swinging a 6.5-kilogram longsword two hundred times must feel different from swinging a wooden stick two hundred times, right? But in my hands, a wooden stick and a longsword can have the same weight… hmm, that is to say, lifting the heavy as if it were light, and lifting the light as if it were heavy.”

The old man brushed the fine, graying strands of hair from his forehead. “To put it simply, when you can wield a longsword as easily as swinging a wooden stick, that is lifting the heavy as if it were light. This realm primarily increases one’s combat endurance.”

“How can a longsword be as light as a wooden stick? That’s not logical,” Dany said, shaking her head.

Hearing this, the White Knight’s expression grew nostalgic. He sighed. “Someone else asked that question long ago.”

“Who?”

“Jaime Lannister!” Barristan’s face was a mixture of emotions. “Jaime became a Kingsguard at the age of sixteen. He had great potential, but his sword skills were not yet mature. The one responsible for teaching him back then was the greatest swordsman of that time, Ser Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning?” Dany asked, her interest growing. “What was his answer to the Kingslayer?”

“He said that lifting the heavy as if it were light and lifting the light as if it were heavy are actually the same realm. The key is to grasp the center of gravity—not the sword’s center of gravity, nor the person’s, but the combined center of gravity of the person’s body, armor, arm, and sword, all as one. During combat, the sword’s edge moves, the direction of the tip changes, but the overall center of gravity remains almost at a single point. If the center of gravity doesn’t change, it’s like standing still, using almost no effort. Naturally, the person feels at ease. Lifting the light as if it were heavy is the opposite. By adjusting the overall center of gravity, it seems gravity is converted into speed? Ugh, I can’t remember. In short, adjusting the center of gravity can increase the force at the tip of the blade. Even a thin assassin’s blade can achieve the impact of a heavy two-handed sword’s strike.”

At this, the old man frowned, a look of confusion on his face, and he seemed unsure how to continue.

Because he himself didn’t understand it. Although he had reached the realm of lifting the light as if it were heavy, the old knight had achieved it purely through instinct.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I don’t quite understand Ser Dayne’s words… and The Book of White Knights is not here. Because of Jaime’s question, Ser Dayne felt that the detailed theory should be recorded, just like the ‘White Knight’s killing techniques,’ to be left for future generations to study.”

Incredible. Absolutely incredible.

Dany was utterly impressed. The knightly civilization of Westeros might not have progressed from the Iron Age to a technological era in six thousand years, but the man-killing techniques they had honed over millennia had practically reached the pinnacle of the age of cold steel.

Although Whitebeard’s explanation was halting and he himself seemed unsure of what he was saying, Dany understood perfectly what the Sword of the Morning had meant.

There were two key points: center of gravity and leveraging force!

“Truly worthy of the name, the Sword of the Morning!” she exclaimed in admiration.

“Ah, Your Majesty understands?” the old man asked in astonishment.

Chapter 121: The Great General, Daenerys

Dany first nodded, then shook her head. “I think I understand,” she said, “but just understanding isn’t enough!”

I understand Newton’s three laws, too, but that doesn’t mean I can make meteors fall from the sky or command universal gravitation!

“You are truly gifted!” the old man said appreciatively. “It took Jaime Lannister half a year to grasp a part of it, and another four years to reach the state of lifting the heavy as if it were light. With more practice, you should learn it quickly.”

“I didn’t realize the Kingslayer was so skilled,” Dany said in surprise.

Not even one in ten knights could achieve the state of wielding the sword as an extension of one’s arm, and surely even fewer could reach the second stage.

The White Knight smiled bitterly and said, “Your Majesty, you must understand, the Kingsguard was once the highest honor for a knight. The seven white-cloaked knights were truly the greatest knights of their time. All seven of us had reached the state of lifting the heavy as if it were light.

“Unlike now, when the monarch ignores skill and character, appointing people based on personal preference and cronyism, handing out positions in the Kingsguard as if they were courtly titles.”

Am I that crony-appointing monarch, or is it Joffrey? Is Jorah Mormont the one unworthy of the Kingsguard, or is it the Hound who took your place?

“What about the Bear? What’s his level?” Dany asked, rubbing her nose.

“Jorah? Hah, he’s worse than you. He can barely manage ‘wielding the sword as an extension of one’s arm’,” the old man said with a look of disdain. “After we deal with this attack from the Ghiscari coalition, you should relieve him of his duties and have him study with me for a few years! If his chivalry is subpar, at least his martial skill should be up to standard, shouldn’t it?”

Dany was dumbfounded. “How could I possibly be a match for Jorah?” she said in disbelief. “I think he’s very strong. Many of the horse men are no match for him.”

“Your Majesty, these stages are merely levels of skill, not a measure of overall strength,” Whitebeard said seriously. “Innate power, speed, the environment at the time, and each person’s mindset are all crucial factors in determining victory or defeat.”

“Take the Sword of the Morning, for example. Ser Dayne had reached a transcendent realm of divine understanding, yet he still died at the hands of Eddard Stark…”

At this, the old man sighed with deep emotion, murmuring in confusion, “Eddard Stark wasn’t even as skilled as Jorah Mormont. His stage, strength, and agility were all inferior. So how did he defeat the Sword of the Morning, who was peerless in strength, agility, skill, and composure? It’s been fifteen years, and the battle at the Tower of Joy remains a mystery, but I’m certain Duke Stark was hiding something.”

He was hiding the Child of Prophecy, Jon Snow!

As they were talking, an Unsullied soldier came jogging hastily from the stairwell.

“Your Majesty, a scout has returned with an urgent report. The enemy is less than one hundred kilometers away. They should be near the wheat fields outside our estates by tomorrow evening.”

Dany walked to the edge of the parapet and looked down at the militia practicing spear thrusts in formation in People’s Plaza. “They’re finally here,” she sighed. “We’ve been waiting for them for half a month. The work in the fields has been held up.”

After receiving news that the anti-Mother of Dragons Ghiscari coalition had set out from Yunkai, Daenerys had ordered a “national” mobilization.

Besides the Unsullied and the five thousand-strong Mother of Dragons’ Guard, every family with brothers or adult sons—whether they were city dwellers or farmers on the estates, New Freemen or Ghiscari—had to send one able-bodied man to serve.

The numbers weren’t enormous. Excluding the families that already had members in the Mother of Dragons’ Guard, a total of thirty thousand laborers were conscripted.

The mobilization was more efficient than that of the dukes of the Seven Kingdoms, and its negative impact on production was smaller. Every household had at least one adult man and one adult woman remaining, and each estate had also been allocated oxen and plow horses.

The North has a population of over five hundred thousand, yet Robb Stark recruited only eighteen thousand men, and the entire North’s agricultural production nearly collapsed. Because the war dragged on for too long, vast fields of wheat rotted where they stood.

At dawn the next day, Dany mounted her little silver mare and led five thousand Unsullied, five hundred Dothraki screaming warriors, four thousand of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard, and twenty thousand laborers north along the coastal road.

The eighteen thousand men Robb took from the North were all warriors, with no laborers to transport supplies. The army’s needs en route were partly met by the lords along the way, and partly by sending scouts to fan out across the countryside and seize rations from the smallfolk.

They were no different from the Japanese invaders plundering the countryside for food. The people of the Riverlands even organized a guerrilla force—the Brotherhood Without Banners—specifically to hunt down the Northmen who stole their food and violated the women of their villages.

Hmm, you might ask, how could Robb, a protagonist in the story, do something so atrocious?

If he didn’t, his army would have starved.

In fact, as a typical scion of nobility, Robb couldn’t have cared less about the lives of the common people.

Most of the nobility in Westeros are much the same. Even in the eyes of Barristan, who pursues chivalric honor, as long as the king’s war is just, it is only right for the people to offer up their life’s-sustenance to the king.

Duke Tywin was a bit smarter than Robb. He hired a mercenary company from across the Narrow Sea, from Qohor, the most notoriously infamous company of warriors in the world.

The company was also called the Brave Companions, and with over five hundred members, they specialized in “foraging” for Duke Tywin’s army in the countryside.

After only a year or two of war, the once-prosperous Riverlands was left with nine empty homes out of ten.

Alright, I’ve digressed.

The laborers conscripted by Dany were mainly responsible for transporting supplies for the army, setting up camp, and digging trenches. The actual fighting force consisted of only 9,500 professional soldiers.

The wheat on both sides of the road had filled out, its stalks beginning to yellow. From time to time, farmers in straw hats could be seen on the ridges between the fields, sickles in hand, staring blankly under the glaring sun at the Queen’s army, which snaked along like a great dragon.

Perhaps they were searching for their husbands and brothers in the train of supply wagons.

One hundred horse men rode as cavalry, scattered five kilometers ahead to scout for the main army.

Dany rode at the very head of the column, leading the way. Today, she wore an inconspicuous suit of grey-black iron armor. Helmet, visor, gorget, breastplate, vambraces, faulds, greaves, and iron boots—it was a complete set, leaving no part of her exposed.

Even her little silver mare was barded with silver mail on its head and belly.

To her left and right were Strong Belwas and Barristan, the captain in the white cloak. The fat eunuch was also on horseback today—a mounted infantryman.

Jorah was left to defend the city, and Cleon the Butcher had his own duties, so neither had come along.

Behind Dany were the five thousand Unsullied led by Grey Worm, followed by the four thousand of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard, and then the twenty thousand laborers pushing handcarts and leading oxcarts.

The column stretched for four or five kilometers, with the remaining four hundred horse men weaving back and forth along its length, relaying messages and keeping count of any stragglers.

Dany was not ignorant of the principle that an army marches on its stomach; the key was that they were the defending side. Sending the laborers ahead first would be like delivering supplies straight to the enemy, wouldn’t it?

Clip-clop-clop. Under the scorching sun, the distant wheat fields and orchard estates wavered in the heat haze rising from the red-earth road, but Dany could still make out horse-men scouts riding toward them.

“Report!”

A short while later, a “strangely” dressed horse man pulled up before her little silver mare.

Yes, the horse men no longer wore their iconic Dothraki vests. Dany had forced them to switch to the same “lightning rod” helmets as the Unsullied and light mail, with a cocked crossbow hanging from each side of their saddles.

Compared to normal horse men, they really did look a bit strange.

“Khaleesi, enemy scouts were spotted five kilometers ahead. Aggo Ko killed two of them with his bow.”

“How far are we from the designated battlefield?” The words came out from behind her visor, her voice slightly distorted.

“Another eight kilometers.”

“This…” Dany turned to her supreme commander. “Did we miscalculate? How did they move so fast? Yesterday they were one hundred kilometers from Astapor, and now they’re about to reach Poplar Hill, twenty kilometers outside the city, by noon?”

As early as five months ago, when the anti-Mother of Dragons coalition was still forming, Barristan had considered this very situation. He had spent half a month personally scouting the terrain within a fifty-kilometer radius of the city.

The experienced old veteran had advised Dany to abandon the idea of a defensive siege for three reasons: First, the estates outside the city would be destroyed. The enemy was coming from afar and would have difficulty with supply lines; arriving outside the city, they could easily live off the land.

Of course, Dany could have implemented a scorched-earth policy, but the cost would have been too great.

Second, they would lose the initiative. The enemy had traveled five or six hundred kilometers on a long and arduous journey; they were bound to be exhausted. Taking the offensive was the best option.

Third, Dany’s Unsullied and horse men were both suited for open-field battles. The open terrain outside the city would be more advantageous for her.

He had then chosen a location twenty kilometers outside the city: a low hill named “Poplar Hill.”

Poplar Hill was a hundred meters above sea level, with a gentle slope that was advantageous for a downward charge. It was flanked by the sea on the left and the coastal road on the right, making it impossible for the enemy army to bypass.

Behind it was a large poplar forest, convenient for felling trees to build a camp and for constructing catapults on-site.

Based on the Ghiscari’s previous marching speed of just over twenty kilometers a day, there was no way they should have suddenly covered seventy kilometers today to reach Poplar Hill before them.

Hearing Dany’s question, Barristan remained completely calm, his voice exuding a sense of tranquility. He said, “Do not be hasty. It should only be their vanguard, and their numbers won’t be large. Send out all our cavalry to clear their scouts within five kilometers of Poplar Hill.”

“All of them? Didn’t you say their numbers weren’t large?” Dany was taken aback.

Barristan smiled faintly. “Their scouts must be mercenaries. Let’s give them a show of force first. Those sellsword companies might just get other ideas.”

“Surrender to me? They’ve surely signed a contract with the Ghiscari,” Dany said, shaking her head.

“With the exception of the Golden Company, every sellsword company has a history of breaking contracts,” the old man said contemptuously.

“Alright.”

The order was quickly passed down. The horse men shouted loudly, and the blue-and-white-winged banners of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard waved back and forth. Moments later, two thousand five hundred riders galloped swiftly forward along the path cleared by the infantry.

“Long live the Mother of Dragons! Long live Queen Daenerys! Long live the Wings of Freedom!” Every rider who passed Dany roared the slogan.

The four thousand ‘Mother of Dragons’ Guard accompanying Dany on this expedition consisted of two thousand light cavalry and two thousand longbowmen, trained in the ‘666’ model for half a year.

Clearly, with super-infantry like the Unsullied, Dany had no intention of training more foot soldiers.

Initially, she had wanted to directly create heavy cavalry similar to the knights of Westeros, but Astapor lacked not only good warhorses and steel but also skilled blacksmiths.

Ordinary horses cannot carry an armored cavalryman. A proper heavy cavalry knight, in addition to a mounted squire, requires three fine warhorses to be effective in sustained combat.

Hmm, after an afternoon of high-intensity charging, a fine steed needs to rest for nearly half a month; otherwise, there’s a risk of ruining it. If a battle lasts for a long time, a knight will switch horses mid-fight. The man doesn’t rest, but the horse does.

Chapter 122: Daenerys’s “Old Lover”

Poplar Hill couldn’t be called a place of legendary strategic importance, but it was the best ground for deploying troops within thirty kilometers.

The sun had just set. Daenerys stood on the hillside, her left hand resting on a cheval de frise made from sharpened poplar trunks, her right hand holding a spyglass as she gazed into the distance.

In the twilight, on the plains a kilometer away, pillars of smoke rose, as dense as a forest.

They came from hundreds, thousands of campfires. The dim red flames flickering in the night wind made it seem as though the starry curtain of the sky had fallen and settled over the plain.

The tents of slaves and mercenaries sprouted like gray, yellow, brown, and red mushrooms from the firelit fields.

By the light of the campfires, Daenerys could see the watchtowers before the enemy camp and the archers upon them. Within the camp, she saw slave soldiers holding spears with chains dragging at their feet, Ghiscari soldiers in yellow silk cloaks, and mercenaries in various styles of iron and leather armor.

There were also camp whores parading about, scantily clad, carrying wine jugs as they shamelessly flirted with the mercenaries who groped them, and vendors pushing small carts, shouting their wares to the mercenaries and Ghiscari.

A short, fat swineherd drove a flock of fat pigs through the campfires. Every so often, a mercenary would toss out a gleaming silver radiant, and a squealing pig would be led aside by a few grinning mercenaries. A flash of a blade, and the dying pig would let out its final squeal.

Messengers ran with information, slaves sharpened blades on whetstones, knights unsaddled their warhorses, and grooms in the paddocks scolded unruly steeds.

All these different scenes were clearly imprinted in Daenerys’s eyes. The myriad sounds of people, neighing livestock, and clashing metal, mixed with the smoky smells of roasting meat and boiling porridge and the stench of horse manure, sweat, and urine, all blended together. The cacophony drifted over the camp’s palisade, across the fields and hillside, surging towards Daenerys like a tidal wave.

Vaguely, it almost made her think she was hearing the sound of waves from a distant sea.

In contrast, the camp behind Daenerys was as dark as a ghostly realm, as quiet as a midnight screening in China for Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, where you’re the only person in the theater.

The old general Barristan wasn’t this strict; it was Daenerys who demanded such discipline from her soldiers.

Whitebeard’s earlier guess had been correct. A troop of mercenary cavalry had separated from the main army, thirty kilometers ahead, with orders to requisition grain from the villages near Astapor.

Well, the anti-Mother of Dragons allied army had never expected Daenerys would have the guts to ride out of the city to meet them in battle.

The result had been grim. Fewer than two hundred cavalrymen were surrounded by Daenerys’s twenty-five hundred horsemen. Aside from a dozen or so who escaped, half of the rest were killed, and the other half, seeing the writing on the wall, laid down their arms and surrendered.

Mmm, the horse men all rode dragon-mounts, which had great stamina and speed.

Another full day and a morning passed before the enemy arrived, dawdling. When they had first reached the foot of Poplar Hill this afternoon, Daenerys had been given quite a start. They were a vast, boundless host—how could they look like an army of hundreds of thousands?

Was the intelligence wrong? Or had another group joined them by sea along the way?

Then Barristan taught her on the spot how to quickly estimate enemy numbers, calculating that they had over seventy thousand men, perhaps more.

Aside from thirty thousand slave soldiers, three thousand Yellow Cloaks, and five thousand mercenaries, the rest were all merchants and their slaves.

Just as Daenerys had to arrange for laborers to transport grain, the enemy’s thirty-eight thousand soldiers had been marching for over twenty days, and their daily consumption of supplies was enormous.

Barristan was not surprised by this. He said to Daenerys, “In the wars between the trading city-states of Essos, merchants follow armies like flies chasing a stream of shit from a bull’s backside.

They provide the soldiers with food, wine, medicine, whores, and weapons. They also buy broken weapons and armor, surplus warhorses, and even defeated soldiers as slaves from the victorious army.”

Then Daenerys asked if it was the same in Westeros.

Barristan nodded strangely, then shook his head. “The trading city-states place a higher value on commercial credit. In Westeros, merchants follow armies too, but they usually belong to the lord leading the army.

For example, in Duke Tywin’s army, most of the vendors are from Casterly Rock or lands associated with it.

If a merchant from an enemy power dared to approach, they’d be picked clean. Forget making money, they’d be lucky to keep their lives.”

Seeing the wooden gates of the enemy camp open and a group of torch-bearing riders galloping towards Poplar Hill, Daenerys lowered her spyglass and turned to Grey Worm behind her. “Light the torches. Guide our guests.”

“Guests are arriving! Light the torches!” Grey Worm shouted the order.

After the call was repeated several times, two rows of torches were lit in succession, starting from the middle of the hillside and extending all the way up to the camp gate.

And just twenty meters behind the gate, in a spacious clearing, a wooden palace had been erected. Its walls were made of wooden stakes, the roof was thick canvas, and the interior was a full one hundred square meters.

When Daenerys walked over, the wooden palace was already brilliantly lit.

Irri and Jhiqui were waiting by the door. Seeing Daenerys, they immediately lifted the leather flap and said, “Khaleesi, should we prepare wine and food?”

Daenerys thought for a moment and said, “Bring some wine and horse-milk wine. Don’t bother with food.”

“Yes.”

The handmaidens who were horse men could ride and were better suited to military life. Doreah was not, so she had been left behind in Astapor.

About ten minutes later, Belwas, still in his studded black vest, led in three guests wearing polished helms with black plumes.

“Your Majesty, these are the three captains of the Stormcrows. They claim to have completely equal honor and authority, so they have come together.”

The three captains were each from a different people. One was a stout, broad-faced Ghiscari, nearly fifty, with a great deal of gray streaking his stiff, black-and-red hair.

One was a Qartheen with milky-white skin, a bald head, and crooked scars on his face.

The last was a lavishly dressed Tyroshi.

According to prior intelligence, the Ghiscari’s name was Prendahl na Ghezn. He had repeatedly made unfavorable remarks about Daenerys in the markets of Yunkai and had called upon all the great Sons of the Harpy to join the campaign against the demonic Mother of Dragons.

The Qartheen was named Sallor.

Daenerys’s focus was on the Tyroshi named Daario Naharis. He had been the original Daenerys’s favorite lover.

Ugh, the original Daenerys had been a little mayfly with very strong desires. She swung both ways and had several lovers.

After observing him carefully, Daenerys could only think that the original owner had rather extreme tastes.

Daario’s mustache was styled into three prongs and dyed blue. His eyes and hair were also blue. The small beard on his chin was painted gold, and he even had a blue manicure on his fingernails.

He was also in his early thirties, twice Daenerys’s age.

How had this flamboyant rogue of a Daario managed to attract the original Daenerys?

Daenerys’s expression was hidden behind her faceplate, so no one else noticed a thing. Only Daario’s face showed clear disappointment when he saw her in a suit of grayish-black full plate armor.

Mmm, the rumors all said the Mother of Dragons was a peerless beauty with a seductive figure!

Daenerys wasn’t shy or afraid of being seen. Mostly, she was afraid of dying!

What if an assassin suddenly jumped out and shot her with “Pear Blossom Storm Needles”? Wouldn’t that be a pathetic way to die?

This suit of armor, while rather ugly—she had done it on purpose to be less conspicuous—was truly sturdy. Daenerys had tested it herself. Fired upon with a hardened steel crossbow from two meters away, even the weaker gorget had only been dented, not pierced.

She had decided that for the duration of the campaign, she would wear her armor at all times, except when eating. She would even sleep in it.

Bathe?

Sorry, she had no plans to bathe for the next few days.

The fat eunuch first introduced the mercenaries’ names and positions to Daenerys, then pointed to the armored queen seated high on her wooden chair and said to the three mercenaries in an immensely proud tone, “See? The current Queen of Astapor, the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys the First! If you ask me, you should just kneel and surrender now.”

“Haha, all I see is a pathetic creature cowering in iron armor in the middle of the night.” As Daenerys was marveling at Daario’s bizarre makeup, the Ghiscari Prendahl’s booming laugh came from across the way.

“Captain Prendahl, for a weak woman such as myself, caution is a good habit.” Daenerys let out a light laugh. Her voice was clear and carried the unique charm of a young girl, but her tone was bone-chillingly cold. “The question is, how has a veteran mercenary like you, with such a loose tongue, managed to live to such a ripe old age?”

“What did you say?” The Ghiscari’s broad face was flushed with anger.

“I said, right now, I am strong and you are weak. If you displease me, you might not live very long,” Daenerys said with a smile.

“With that rabble of yours? Or do you plan to kill me here, breaking your oath just as you did when you took Astapor?” Prendahl sneered loudly.

“Irri, Jhiqui, pour wine for our guests.” Daenerys beckoned to her handmaidens before turning back to the Ghiscari captain. “I did not break my oath then, and I will not break it now.”

Prendahl, without any ceremony and unafraid of poison, picked up his cup and drained it in one gulp.

“Hmph. The Good Masters of Astapor treated you with sincerity, yet you stole their city. How is that not breaking an oath?”

“I ask you, when I bought the Unsullied, did I buy them on credit?”

Before he could answer, Daenerys asked again, “After the transaction was complete, was I not free to act as I pleased?”

“Then we are also free to attack you, and in the end, kill you,” Prendahl said coldly.

“You are no match for me. I invited you to this parley out of respect for traditional etiquette, and also in the hope of persuading some who do not deserve to die to avoid a journey to hell,” Daenerys said faintly.

“Woman, your threats are as empty as a donkey’s bray!”

“A woman’s words may not be threatening, but I am not just a woman. I am of the blood of Old Valyria, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. If that is not enough to make you feel threatened, then I am also the queen of ten thousand Unsullied, with thirty thousand Freedom Fighters under my command, and three dragons in the sky,” Daenerys said with a faint smile.

“Pah!” Prendahl spat a thick wad of phlegm in Daenerys’s direction and jeered, “All I see is a horselord’s whore. After we win, my mount and I will take turns riding you, hahaha.”

Strong Belwas drew his Arakh, looked left and right, and asked, “Whitebeard, is it not yet time for the Kingsguard to perform their duties? Let Strong Belwas cut out that disgusting tongue of his!”

Barristan shot Prendahl a glance as sharp as a sword and said faintly, “No, Belwas. The Queen has guaranteed these men’s safety. Tomorrow, I will fulfill my duty. I have committed this square-headed Ghiscari’s face to memory.”

“Alas, it seems we can’t continue this discussion, Captain Prendahl.” Daenerys took the broadsword resting on her lap, leaned it against the back of her chair, and then stood up, gesturing for them to leave.

“Unless Captain Sallor and Captain Daario have a different opinion?” she asked at the last moment.

“No need to sow discord, our answer is unanimous,” the Stormcrows captains said, rising from their chairs in unison. Prendahl stared at Daenerys as if she were a dead woman. “And that answer is, no!”

With that, he and his companions rose and left.

Chapter 123: The Mercenary Companies

Less than half an hour after the three commanders of the Stormcrows departed, the eunuch Belwas brought three men and one woman from the opposing camp. The men were all rough-featured, burly and tall, with shoulder-length, curly black hair and full beards. They wore grey-black plate armor over brown cowhide, looking every bit the fierce warriors.

The three were dressed so similarly, and looked so much alike, that Daenerys found them a bit hard to tell apart.

The woman, however, caught Daenerys’s eye. She had a high-bridged nose and sharp, well-defined features, her beauty laced with a martial air. She stood tall at around 1.75 meters, with an imposing presence. Her limbs were long and powerful, and her long legs were snugly encased in leather armor, looking full and firm. Her fiery red hair blazed like a burning flame in the torchlight.

Unlike the casual attire of the Stormcrows, all four of them wore a palm-sized blue rose insignia on their chests.

“Are all four of you commanders of the Company of the Rose? With equal standing?” Daenerys frowned.

Convincing one commander to surrender was certainly simpler than convincing several. Sometimes, even if one or two were open to the idea, they would hesitate to express it for fear of their companions.

“I am the Commander. They are Captains who wanted to see the dragons,” the man in the middle, who had a centipede-like scar over his eyebrow, also frowned. His gaze swept back and forth over the unsheathed longsword on Daenerys’s lap, his brow furrowing deeper the more he looked.

Daenerys nodded. “Hello, I am Daenerys Targaryen. But the dragons are not here. I’m afraid you won’t be able to see them tonight.”

“That is a pity. I am the commander of the Company of the Rose, Jon Snow.”

“What?” Daenerys lost her composure, crying out in shock.

Jon Snow was here?

But… well, she remembered that in the television series, Jon also had black hair and a full beard and didn’t look much like a fifteen-year-old boy at all.

Yes, Jon Snow was about the same age as her, perhaps even born in the same month.

Hearing Daenerys’s exclamation, the four visitors showed no surprise at all.

“Your Majesty heard correctly. I am a Snow. My ancestors were from the North of Westeros, and we have always followed the customs of the North,” the bearded commander said with a nod, sighing with a complicated expression.

Oh, right. His name was Snow, a bastard from the North.

This was like meeting a fellow countryman in a foreign land!

Daenerys let out a deliberate “Oh,” disguising her earlier outburst as the surprise of meeting someone from her homeland. “It is rare to meet someone from Westeros so many thousands of miles away.”

The North had plenty of Snows, and just like “Brandon” in House Stark, the name “Jon” was exceedingly common. For example, Robb had two vassals, one called Greatjon and the other Smalljon.

Besides the protagonist, there were probably dozens of other Jon Snows in the North.

“Not just one. All four of us have Northern blood,” the red-haired woman interjected with a smile. “My name is Lyla Amber. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mother of Dragons.”

“My name is Bruce Wayne. Hello, Mother of Dragons.”

“My name is Hermantoha.”

The other two men introduced themselves in turn.

Well, after meeting a Jon Snow, a Bruce Wayne could no longer faze Daenerys.

“Your Majesty, the Company of the Rose was founded during the time of Aegon the Conqueror. Awed by the power of the dragons and the might of King Aegon’s army, the King in the North, Torrhen Stark, decided to lay down his crown and willingly surrender to Aegon I.

“However, a large number of Northmen did not agree with Torrhen’s decision and chose self-exile.

“Those Northmen who drifted to the far side of the Narrow Sea, in order to survive, formed a mercenary company to serve the various city-states. That company is today’s Company of the Rose.

“The company’s emblem is the flower of the North, the blue winter rose,” Barristan explained slowly.

Torrhen Stark had actually made a very wise decision. The other five of the Seven Kingdoms had already surrendered. Aegon had gathered the strength of five kingdoms, an army several times the size of the North’s, and he also had three dragons. There was no chance of victory at all.

But because he was the only king to surrender without a fight, he was judged harshly by history and known as “the King Who Knelt.” In the ancient Celestial Empire, he would have received titles like the “Marquis of Submission” or the “Duke of Comfort.”

It was no wonder that a group of stubborn Northmen would choose to exile themselves to a foreign land.

“This man… could he be the legendary Barristan the Bold?” Commander Jon stared at the white-bearded man beside Daenerys for a long moment before asking in shock, “What are you doing here?”

“It is I. I have come to protect the true dragon!” the old man said with a slight, proud nod.

Jon Snow’s expression changed again, and his companions began to whisper amongst themselves.

“Alas, your ancestors refused to submit even to Aegon. It seems our talks today will not bear any good fruit either,” Daenerys sighed.

Lyla’s eyes flashed. She put down her wine cup and smiled. “How can there be wine but no meat? I’m still starving!”

“During a time of war, I will not offer food and salt to any but my allies,” Daenerys said, looking at her steadily.

“It seems I understood correctly. Placing an unsheathed sword upon your lap signifies a refusal to establish guest right,” Jon said thoughtfully.

“Oh, so you haven’t forgotten your roots,” said Daenerys.

“But what is the point of this? The others may not understand your meaning,” Lyla said oddly.

“Etiquette and tradition are not chains to bind others. I learn them, and I understand them, only to restrain myself and govern my own conduct,” Daenerys said coolly.

Upon hearing this, Barristan, Jon Snow, Lyla, and the others all showed expressions of shock and were visibly moved.

“Your Majesty, I am very sorry, but we cannot break our contract. As you said, since we understand tradition, we must uphold it ourselves, regardless of what others do,” the bearded Jon said slowly after a long pause.

His tone was much softer than before, and his attitude toward Daenerys was more respectful. Even his form of address had changed.

Daenerys saw the clear regret and conflict on the faces of the other three. After a moment’s thought, she said, “This afternoon, I made a promise to the Ghiscari Alliance that I would not attack your camp tonight. This means that, for tonight at least, we are not enemies. In honor of the fact that we all hail from Westeros, I have a gift for you.”

“How many men does the Company of the Rose have?” she asked, turning her head to Belwas.

“Three hundred cavalry, five hundred infantry.”

“Send Commander Jon one hundred and sixty barrels of ‘The Wall’s Dry Red.’ Let all our fellow Northmen drink their fill,” she declared magnanimously.

“The Wall’s Dry Red” was, of course, a name she had just invented for the Northmen. After all, the most famous landmark in the North was the Wall.

Given its actual potency, it should have been called “Three Bowls and You Can’t Cross the Ridge.”

The barrels containing the “high-proof spirit mixed with sweet grape juice” were small, five-liter casks. One hundred and sixty barrels were more than enough to ensure that eight hundred people experiencing distilled spirits for the first time would not be getting out of bed until the sun was high in the sky.

“The Wall’s… Dry Red?” The red-haired Lyla was taken aback for a moment, then she laughed heartily. “We have the blood of the First Men. Both our men and women can hold their liquor. I’m afraid one hundred and sixty barrels won’t be enough!”

“No matter. Then add another eighty barrels. I hope you will be satisfied.”

After the four members of the Company of the Rose left, Barristan asked quizzically, “Your Majesty, didn’t you plan to give that wine to the Ghiscari…”

“Rest assured, we have prepared enough.”

About an hour later, the fat eunuch led the commander of the Second Sons into the wooden palace.

This time, thankfully, only one person came.

The commander of the Second Sons, Mero, was a tall Braavosi man who had given himself the moniker “The Titan’s Bastard.” He had a pair of pale green eyes and a long, thick, red-gold beard.

Indeed, it was even longer than Daenerys’s braid, with the end of the beard almost reaching his waist.

The Braavosi with a braid growing from his lips was incredibly arrogant. The moment he sat down, without a word, he first drained the cup of wine on the wooden table before him, let out a disgusting belch, and leered at Daenerys. “The Silver Queen? Heh heh, I remember screwing one of your sisters back home in a brothel. Or was that you?

“Show your face and let me have a look. Silver-gold hair, purple eyes, full… damn it, you’re not as big as her even with that thick iron shell on. My mistake, sorry. But we can give it a try now, ha ha ha.”

Inside the wooden hall, everyone from Barristan and Belwas to the Unsullied guards and the horse men handmaidens wore looks of fury, itching to swarm forward and hack the “Titan” to pieces.

Daenerys, however, remained calm. She smiled faintly. “Have I remembered incorrectly?”

“Uh, what?” Daenerys’s attitude stunned the long-bearded man.

“In the story of the Three Thousand of Qohor, didn’t your Second Sons prove to be very pragmatic and run away? Why have you become so moronic today?” Daenerys said coldly.

“Hmph, that’s an old story from years ago! Now, it is the Titan’s Bastard who commands the Second Sons!” Mero roared.

“So you’re saying you’ve decided to lead your five hundred men to fight my one hundred thousand-strong army to the death?”

Well, as someone from the Celestial Empire, how could she not follow the traditions of her ancient predecessors?

During the Battle of Red Cliffs, Boss Cao dared to proclaim “I have an army of eight hundred thousand” when he only had seventy thousand. Daenerys hadn’t even flown a banner claiming “two hundred thousand,” which was already quite modest and low-key.

Hearing Daenerys’s threat, the big, bearded man burst out laughing.

“Little sister, you want to recruit me?” He beckoned to Daenerys, who was seated high upon her wooden chair, then patted his own thigh and smirked. “Take off that troublesome armor, come sit on my lap, and please me. If you satisfy me, maybe I’ll consider bringing the Second Sons over.”

“I will have you castrated,” Daenerys said coldly.

“Commander of the White Flag,” Daenerys called out.

“Present!” Grey Worm stepped forward and knelt on one knee in response.

The banners of the Unsullied were white, with a few light grey brushstrokes outlining the rough shape of a dragon, symbolizing the pure and flawless soldiers of the dragon.

They were worthy of using pure white, for they did not pillage or rape, making them arguably the most “honorable” army in this world.

It should be noted that in the world of Ice and Fire, a white flag did not signify surrender. Instead, a striped, colored flag was a symbol of peace, and a defeated army could also raise a colored flag to surrender.

Hmm, this seemed a bit inconvenient for the people of this world. It meant one couldn’t surrender with their underwear in a moment of crisis!

After all, white underwear was more hygienic, cheaper, and more common.

Who would wear colored striped underwear?

“Grey Worm, before we launch the attack tomorrow afternoon, be sure to issue this order to the entire army,” Daenerys pointed at the big Braavosi man, her voice as cold as a winter spring. “Friend or foe, any soldier who kills a man with a beard longer than my braid shall be made a Lord and rewarded with ten thousand gold pieces!”

“Yes!” Grey Worm was momentarily confused but immediately replied with an impassive expression.

“Hiss—” The Titan’s Bastard sucked in a sharp breath. The mocking, lecherous look on his face vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of utmost gravity.

“But… a lot of men in the camp have long beards!” he said with a forced smile.

“Better to kill a thousand by mistake than to let one escape,” Daenerys said, her killing intent chilling the air. “I am a Queen. I have plenty of gold and vacant lordships to spare.”

Chapter 124: The Slavers’ Strategy

The bearded Mero shifted restlessly, as if he were sitting on a hot iron. “Dragon Queen, listen to me. The mercenary company isn’t mine to command alone. We have, after all, signed a sacred, inviolable contract with Yunkai. Could you let me discuss this with my brothers and give you a reply tomorrow morning?”

“A reply about what?”

“Uh, about pledging our allegiance!”

The man had softened after just a few words.

“Fine. Go and discuss it with them,” Daenerys said, dismissing him with a hint of disdain.

The Titan’s Bastard didn’t get up. He gripped the back of his chair tightly, a strained expression on his face. “About… the bounty…”

“I’ll see what your reply is tomorrow morning. The attack doesn’t begin until the afternoon, anyway,” Daenerys said coolly.

“Very well.” Mero’s tall frame rose to his feet. As a final thought, he added, “Dragon Queen, you sent the Company of the Rose hundreds of barrels of fine wine. Don’t the Second Sons have a gift to represent our friendship?”

“You may have ten barrels.”

“That’s too few! I have a whole band of brothers under me! The Titan’s Bastard doesn’t drink alone.” The big man’s cheeky grin returned.

“Thirty barrels. The Company of the Rose has already, cough, cough, cough.” Daenerys seemed to have let something slip. She coughed sharply and turned her head slightly to one side, adding unnaturally, “The Company of the Rose is different from you. They are all descendants of Westerosi nobles—”

“Your Grace!” Barristan’s face was grim as he called out, interrupting her.

He then fixed Mero with a pair of eyes brimming with killing intent. After a long moment, the hostility faded, replaced by helplessness and a sigh in his blue eyes.

Oh, this old man is something else, Daenerys thought, giving Barristan a mental thumbs-up. Such improvisation, such seamless cooperation, such acting…

She cleared her throat a few times and said, “Commander Mero, the Company of the Rose was too shameless and has already claimed most of my fine wine. We still have to entertain other… guests later. I’m sorry, but thirty barrels is all.”

A glint flashed in Mero’s eyes. He didn’t press the matter further, instead saying with a broad smile, “Khaleesi, we will toast to you three times and give you an answer when the sun rises.”

While waiting for the next mercenary commander, Whitebeard asked uncertainly, “Your Grace, it seems Mero is genuinely considering defecting. His earlier insolence felt more like a test—a test of your tolerance for him. The more you tolerate, the more desperate you must be for his company, and the more desperate you are, the higher his price. When the price is high enough to offset the cost of breaking his contract, he might just bring the Second Sons over to our side.”

“On the other hand, there’s the Company of the Rose. They were the most courteous to you and were clearly won over by your wisdom and presence in the end. But the Company of the Rose’s reputation is far beyond what the Second Sons can compare to. In all of Essos, the Golden Company is without a doubt first in reliability. If the Company of the Rose isn’t second, it’s certainly in the top three. Short of being defeated in battle, the Company of the Rose will absolutely fight us to the death.”

Daenerys glanced at him and smiled. “Weren’t you just playing along with me a moment ago?”

“Sowing distrust in the Company of the Rose among the anti-Dragon Queen alliance?” The old man gave a wry smile. “It’s common sense, just as I often remind you: never place your full trust in sellswords. The Ghiscari have similar wisdom. Whether the ploy to create discord succeeds or not, it won’t change the slave masters’ wariness toward the mercenary companies.”

“Heh, just you watch,” Daenerys said with a faint smile.

Afterward, Daenerys met with seven or eight more commanders from smaller mercenary companies.

Mercenary companies were a dime a dozen in Essos. Aside from the two or three “renowned” companies with centuries of history, the smaller, unknown outfits didn’t have many members. The strongest of them had four or five hundred men, a mix of infantry and cavalry, barely enough to form a legionary line. The smallest had only fifty or so foot soldiers, fit for little more than guarding merchants and caravans—more pathetic than Daenerys had been back in the Red Waste.

Although the Second Sons and the Stormcrows only numbered five hundred men each, they were all cavalry. Every man had armor, their mounts were barded, and each rider was a “true” cavalryman with three fine horses and an attending squire.

Daenerys treated all the mercenary commanders equally, not asking them to come as a group just because their forces were small and weak. As long as they held the title of commander, they were granted a private audience and received the same invitation to “join her righteous cause.”

If any of them asked for wine, Daenerys gave it away in barrels of five or ten.

Those smaller companies were weaker and had less nerve; none of them dared to speak to Daenerys as insolently as the commanders of the Stormcrows and Second Sons had.

She was busy until the early hours of the morning, when the final wave of guests arrived.

The number of Wise and Great Masters who came was quite large, forcing Daenerys to leave her wooden palace and greet her guests at the main gate of the encampment.

One hundred attendants surrounded ten great slave masters. The Ghiscari guards rode tall, magnificent black horses, while the Wise Masters of Yunkai and the Great Masters of Meereen sat atop towering, white, two-humped camels.

Like the Ghiscari warriors of Astapor, they had tall, red-and-black styled hair, yellow cloth skirts, leather armor, silk undershirts, and silk cloaks sewn with neat rows of polished copper discs. But these warriors had one additional piece of equipment: a bronze helmet. It was a cylindrical helmet nearly a meter tall, almost the length of two heads.

Though it was the first time she had seen such an outlandish helmet, Daenerys immediately understood its design. After all, with hairstyles like those of the Ghiscari, only such a helmet could be worn without crushing the strangely shaped, towering hairdos beneath.

To allow her guests to enter the wooden palace with their heads held high, Daenerys had to order the Unsullied to quickly remove the wooden lintel of the gate and slice away the attached canvas with their blades. Fortunately, the ceiling inside the palace had been built especially high to accommodate the bonfires.

Eighty of the Ghiscari attendants remained outside the wooden palace, as there wasn’t enough room for so many people inside.

After the ten corpulent slave masters were seated, each assisted by two servant-soldiers, and introductions were made, Daenerys asked out of politeness, “Would you like to take off your helmets for a while? You might be more comfortable.”

But her kindness was met with merciless scorn. “The Sons of the Harpy are not as delicate as a little girl like you.”

“Hah. Do you have any idea how much this armor weighs? At least I don’t need anyone to help me move,” Daenerys retorted coldly.

While her armor wasn’t as ludicrously heavy as Barristan’s 32.5 kilograms, it was still full plate armor that covered her from head to toe, weighing a solid 20 kilograms. Over the past six months, she had trained relentlessly, using the rapid recovery effect of her draconic spiritual state, which was the only reason she could run normally today in such heavy armor.

Yes, run, not walk.

“Woman, cease your empty boasting,” said the middle-aged man seated in the center. He, too, was a Grazdan, but from the renowned Eraz family of Yunkai, not the same one whose entire family had been cremated.

This must be him—the one called the “Warrior God of Yunkai” in the intelligence reports.

It had to be said, this Grazdan was lean and solid, with sharp eyes, and he truly did have the air of a fighter… provided one ignored the unicorn-horn hairstyle that jutted twenty centimeters from his forehead. With a hairdo like that, it would be almost impossible to perform any overly vigorous movements, unless he planned on goring his enemies with the “horn” on his head.

Grazdan seemed to have been woken from his sleep and was in a foul mood. “This should be a time of rest for the great Wise Masters, yet we are forced to negotiate with an arrogant and ignorant woman like you. That you are willing to sit and talk with us is a good thing. It shows you have some sense left, that you know you have no chance of victory on the battlefield. Leave Astapor immediately. Leave Slaver’s Bay now, with your eunuchs in tow. This is the greatest mercy we can offer you.”

“I’m sorry, but I will not be leaving.” Daenerys clasped her lobstered gauntlets together, her cold gaze sweeping across the ten men opposite her. Slowly and firmly, she said, “I will conquer Slaver’s Bay. I will conquer Yunkai. I will conquer Meereen. I want there to be not a single slave left in Slaver’s Bay. I want not a single Ghiscari to ever dare buy or sell another person. I will make this land a paradise of freedom!”

“Hahahaha!”

“Hehehehe…”

“Heh heh heh…”

The ten slave masters and their twenty Ghiscari guards roared with laughter, some of them laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces.

“This little bitch says she’s going to conquer us?” Grazdan grinned wickedly, speaking to the men on either side of him.

“It’s dark out. She must be dreaming!”

Grazdan nodded, looking at Daenerys with contempt. “We are the Sons of the Harpy, heirs of the ancient Ghiscari Empire. When your Valyrian ancestors were still tending sheep, we already ruled the world.”

“If boasting of ancestors was of any use, I would now be the commander of three hundred dragonlords astride their dragons,” Daenerys said flatly.

“Hmph. Before you now stands an army of one hundred thousand men. Behind that army are impregnable cities, and within those cities are proud and valiant nobles and fearless common folk. Beyond Slaver’s Bay, countless free cities stand with us, with thousands of warships and hundreds of thousands of soldiers. We may lose tomorrow, and we may lose the day after. We may suffer countless defeats in the days to come, but this world needs us. Countless people will support us. We will never truly be destroyed.”

“And you…” Grazdan pointed a finger at Daenerys, his voice cold as ice. “You might win one battle, or two. But your Unsullied will dwindle with each one. And after your first defeat, you will never have the chance to win again.”

“I can even see your end. The best possible future for you is to be defeated and captured in tomorrow afternoon’s battle. In that case, we might be interested enough to take you as a slave, bring you to Yunkai, and teach you the seven techniques of the spring cry. Hehehe, I imagine the men in the pleasure houses of Lys and Tyrosh would pay handsomely to bed the last of House Targaryen.”

Daenerys rolled her neck, a thoughtful look on her face. “I always thought you slave masters had your heads stuffed with dung, completely devoid of wisdom and the capacity for thought. I never imagined you would know that you are very likely to lose tomorrow’s battle, and that you are preparing to use a war of attrition to grind down my Unsullied soldiers.”

She had always wondered. The whole world knew that over twenty thousand Dothraki screaming warriors had fallen to three thousand Unsullied. On what grounds did the slave masters think they could face ten thousand Unsullied with thirty thousand slave soldiers, three thousand Yellow Cloaks, and five thousand sellswords?

So, it turned out they had never intended to annihilate her in a single stroke.

Daenerys couldn’t help but think of the wealth she had plundered in Astapor. It was endless. Counting only the gold and silver, it amounted to fifteen million gold dragons, enough for Robert to squander for thirty years!

Yes, that much gold. It might seem like an exaggeration, but considering Astapor had never been conquered and had peacefully engaged in the slave trade for five thousand years… did that average out to only three thousand gold dragons saved per year? Well, most of that wealth had been accumulated in the last four hundred years; when Valyria still stood, the gold and silver were taken by the greedy dragonlords.

Yunkai was several times wealthier than Astapor, and Meereen was richer still than Yunkai… The wealth of Valyria itself was even more unimaginable. No wonder people flocked to the Smoking Sea, one after another, despite knowing it was a journey of no return.

But she was getting sidetracked. With such vast wealth, how many mercenaries could the Ghiscari slave masters hire? According to the anti-Dragon Queen alliance’s plan, they could simply grind Daenerys, trapped in Astapor, to death.

Chapter 125: Dawn

It had to be said, the Ghiscari had a beautiful plan.

In a “normal,” symmetric war, Daenerys was doomed to lose.

But this wasn’t just a war; it was a revolution. Having grown up with a Marxist philosophical worldview, Daenerys was one hundred percent certain: as a revolutionary martyr, she might very well end up martyred, but as long as the momentum was built, the slave system would inevitably be eliminated.

The idea that a feudal system could not defeat a slave system? Marx himself would disagree.

The arrogant slave masters only saw the Unsullied, ignoring the hundreds of thousands of Freemen who were growing accustomed to freedom and the ‘wonders of feudal society.’ They were the true foundation of Daenerys’s future; the Unsullied belonged only to the present.

With each victory, her ranks of Freemen would swell, and the Freeman Guard formed from them would grow ever stronger.

Mercenaries fought for coin, but the Freeman Guard fought for freedom and family. Who would be more resilient, who would have greater resolve?

Daenerys was certain to win.

Leveraging the power of former slaves, now Freemen, to shatter the slave system and create a snowball effect—this was the difference between this Dany and the original Daenerys.

That Daenerys had sympathized with the slaves and despised the masters, acting solely on personal feelings. She had the Unsullied liberate the slaves, but she failed to provide the temporarily unshackled Freemen with a new, stronger system.

For the original Daenerys, the hundreds of thousands of newly freed slaves had always been a burden, a immense pressure that left her breathless: providing them with food and clothing, protecting them with her Unsullied, and even marrying a great slave master to prevent them from being slaughtered. Urgh, yes, the liberator of slaves ended up marrying a great slave master.

Seeing that Daenerys understood their intentions yet showed no sign of panic, Grazdan’s heart sank, and a terrible premonition instantly gripped him.

“You are Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the true heir to the throne of the Sunset Lands. Why not return to your own country? Under the faith of the Seven, there are no slaves, no slave trade. You should return to your paradise,” he said slowly, steadying his emotions.

“I will go back, but not now,” Daenerys said flatly.

“If you go back now, we will allow you to take the wealth of Astapor, at least ten million gold dragons, I’d say? That should be enough for you to reclaim your kingdom.”

Then Grazdan’s gaze sharpened, and he threatened, “When you are defeated and flee, not only will you lose your formidable Unsullied army, but you won’t take a single copper penny with you.”

“Hmm, esteemed Wise Masters, Great Masters,” Daenerys suddenly chuckled, her voice soft. “I believe you’ve misunderstood something.”

“What?” Grazdan asked, puzzled.

“You are not like the Good Masters of Astapor. They did demonic things, like killing infants in their treatment of the Unsullied. Naturally, I had to send those demons back to hell.

“Though you are also cruel to your slaves and bear many sins, your crimes do not warrant death.

“I want to tell you all that even if I take Yunkai and Meereen, I will not deal with you Wise and Great Masters as I did with the Good Masters of Astapor.” Daenerys said with a smile, speaking grand but empty words.

Grazdan said coldly, “You are arrogant, but tomorrow our army of one hundred thousand will slaughter your Unsullied.”

Daenerys waved her hand and smiled. “Let’s leave the war for tomorrow. For now, let’s just discuss our bottom lines. If accidents happen in war, let’s not blame each other.

“But if you find the situation turning against you, there’s no need to panic. You can surrender to me, and I promise I will not harm any of you.

“Surrendering before the battle would be best. I will only take the slaves under your name, and the wages for their years of service to you.

“How about that? Very lenient terms, aren’t they?

“Without slaves, you can just hire contract workers!

“There are no slaves in Westeros, either. Have any of you ever heard of noble lords tilling their own fields or cooking their own meals?”

“What you call lenient terms are the greatest insult to the great Sons of the Harpy!” Grazdan roared in fury. “Listen, as long as we draw breath, we will never surrender to a lowly whore queen!”

“The Sons of the Harpy will bow to no one!” the other nine slave masters declared in unison.

“Excellent, worthy of the great bloodline of the Old Ghiscari Empire!” Daenerys applauded in admiration.

“Hmph, as long as you understand,” Grazdan said proudly.

“Yes, I understand your unyielding pride. Now, please remember our Westerosi tradition—only a colored banner signifies surrender and peace,” Daenerys said with a smile.

Grazdan and the nine slave masters stared at each other, their faces tightening.

The Great and Wise Masters departed in a huff with their one hundred guards, riding their white camels.

By the time they left, the moon and stars had faded, and the sky sank into its deepest darkness.

The once-raucous camp below the hillside was now quiet, with only the dim embers of bonfires flickering in the gentle breeze.

“Aah,” Daenerys stretched lazily and murmured, “Dawn is coming. Grey Worm, wake all the soldiers and the labor corps. Breakfast first, then armor. Remember, be quiet. Don’t make a loud clatter of metal.”

“Your Majesty, rest assured. The iron armor is covered with a layer of linen cloth to prevent reflections and muffle sound. As you commanded, the horses’ hooves are also wrapped in soft furs, and hard wooden blocks have been placed in their mouths.”

The eunuch warrior’s iron-cast face was devoid of expression, but as he spoke the last sentence, a strange look flickered in his eyes.

“Your Majesty, your method truly works. With something in its mouth, the horse really doesn’t make a sound,” he said.

Of course the precious wisdom of the ancestors wouldn’t be wrong.

After Grey Worm left, Barristan looked at Daenerys with a complicated expression. “I’ve been a soldier my whole life, but I’ve never fought a war like this.”

“How do you usually fight?” Daenerys crouched by the camp gate and took a steaming beef bun from Irri. It was large with a thin skin, filled with a huge ball of pure beef, and oil dripped from her mouth as she ate.

Now that she was a queen, how could Daenerys not use her privileges to recreate the exquisite food of the Celestial Empire?

She only had to say a few words, and her cooks would produce authentic meat buns.

It wasn’t just stuffed and plain steamed buns; dumplings, spring rolls, and fried dough sticks had all become favorite breakfast foods for the Astapori.

The beef buns had been steamed the previous evening. While Daenerys was meeting with the mercenary commanders, her soldiers had been fast asleep.

From seven last night until about three in the morning, they should have had enough rest. Their breakfast was the still-warm meat buns.

“We would assemble our forces, form up on open ground, and charge each other honorably, soldier against soldier, knight against knight,” the White Knight said.

“Heh, in a life-or-death struggle, if you held an iron sword and your opponent only had a wooden stick, would you throw away your sword and pick up a stick to fight him fairly?” Daenerys asked with a smile, taking a sip of milk.

“We are not inflexible,” the old man said indistinctly, taking a bun the size of a bowl from a servant’s tray and chewing a large bite.

“Not to mention the Unsullied, our soldiers drill three times a day—morning, noon, and afternoon—with only one day of rest every seven. Even the militia that organizes the labor corps for supply transport has military training twice a week.

“In terms of discipline and formation proficiency, we are far superior to them. Since I know my side’s strengths perfectly counter their weaknesses, why wouldn’t I make good use of that?” Daenerys smiled.

“That’s true,” the old general sighed. “Your Majesty is not only a natural-born queen but also a natural-born commander.”

“I’m only responsible for specific assaults. You are the true commander of my army.”

Daenerys was well aware of her own limitations. She only offered suggestions during tactical planning; the details were all left to the experienced old general.

A short while later, Grey Worm returned, leading forty to fifty fully armored officers in a soft rustle of movement.

“Khaleesi, the men are ready,” said Aggo.

The dozens of commanders—Unsullied, horse men, Mother of Dragons’ Guard, and militia leaders—formed two neat rows according to their rank.

“Let’s speak inside the tent.” Daenerys nodded to her Bloodriders and led the way toward the wooden palace.

One hundred square meters felt a bit crowded for forty or fifty officers, especially with a large round table in the middle of the room.

“This is the new map of the enemy’s camp defenses,” Daenerys said, pointing to a large parchment scroll on the table.

Barristan, holding a stack of smaller pieces of parchment, distributed them to each general who entered.

He said, “The areas marked with red lines are the targets for your respective squads. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can compare it with the large map or ask me.”

“Your Majesty, has my mission changed?” a bald, scarred strong man in grey plate armor asked, looking at Daenerys with confusion.

This man was called ‘Scarback’ Simon. Though his face was covered in scars from whippings, the marks on his back were even more horrific, so dense they would be impossible for someone with trypophobia to look at.

They were all from a slave master’s whip for his disobedience. He was a Rhoynar man with a strong spirit of resistance.

When registering for the household registry, he had sought out Daenerys as she was receiving petitioners in the square and recommended himself, claiming to have some military talent and a desire to be one of the queen’s guards.

He hadn’t been boasting. Due to his excellent performance in the Freeman Guard training, he was now the commander of the Mother of Dragons’ cavalry company, a position second only to Barristan.

“Heh, last night, the Company of the Rose’s camp was moved to the southwest corner. And they’ve already drunk more than half of the two hundred barrels of ‘The Wall’s Dry Red’ I sent them. The militia just needs to contain them. Your elite cavalry regiment will focus its assault on the Stormcrows’ camp.” Daenerys said with a bright smile.

Daenerys’s army was situated to the south, the slave army was a kilometer away to the north, and to the west was a stretch of uneven coastal rocks, making it very difficult for an army to advance.

According to the slave masters’ envisioned battle plan, the Company of the Rose, positioned in the southwest corner, would have no way to retreat if they launched a frontal assault on the Mother of Dragons.

By the same token, if the Company of the Rose truly intended to destroy their centuries-old reputation and secretly ally with the “depraved Mother of Dragons,” their position in the southwest corner of the battlefield would also make them less of a threat to the Ghiscari camp.

“All three dragons are here. What about Astapor?” asked a fat general who looked like a scribe.

The fat man’s name was Morono os Dubo, a very intelligent fellow.

He had also been a miserable slave. After being freed by Daenerys, he first joined the militia, then distinguished himself and was selected by Jorah Mormont to join the Freeman Guard. He was now the infantry commander of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard, one of the few strategist-type generals under Daenerys’s command.

The longbowmen were part of the infantry and currently under Morono’s command.

“We’ll work with the time difference. It’s only twenty kilometers; they can fly back in ten minutes or so,” Daenerys told him.

Glancing through the open roof and seeing the fish-belly white of dawn in the eastern sky, Barristan frowned. “Are there any problems?”

“None.”

“The map is very detailed, and we’ve surveyed the terrain before.”

The officers murmured their assent.

“Move out immediately!” the old general commanded.

“Yes, sir!” the commanders replied in unison.

Chapter 126: Sweeping Through the Army

On the eastern coast of Slaver’s Bay, the camp of the Anti-Mother of Dragons Alliance stretched for over five kilometers. Though it was a chaotic mix of mercenaries, slaves, merchants, and prostitutes, the allied army did not lack basic military sense.

Along the camp’s perimeter, a two-story watchtower stood every one hundred meters, extending five hundred meters out from the main encampment.

Each watchtower held two or three sentries, armed with either bronze gongs or horns slung at their waists, ready to sound the alarm at the first sign of an enemy.

Daenerys’s two thousand six hundred cavalry left their camp from behind Poplar Hill, first heading east for two kilometers before turning north for three under the cover of the dense forest and tall grass.

Then, under the pale morning light, they slowly crept west toward the enemy camp.

Indeed, they were not charging the enemy’s stockade head-on.

If Daenerys had her way, acting on her own impulses, she would have certainly charged down the hillside and slammed straight into the enemy camp.

But the experienced old general had advised her: although the camp looked chaotic, filled even with merchants and prostitutes, the front was garrisoned entirely by mercenaries accustomed to pitched battles and open-field warfare.

Moreover, the enemy would have layers of cheval de frise and trenches arranged around their tents. To charge in would be to face a series of small, fortress-like defensive pockets.

Simply put, within the large, sprawling camp were dozens of smaller, heavily fortified camps. While the main camp was loose, the individual mercenary encampments were extremely tight-knit.

Even if a commander couldn’t hold back and wanted to take a prostitute’s hand, he would have to do so outside his own mercenary camp.

Because their defenses were so solid, the mercenaries were relatively confident in their safety. With each company being tightly organized, mass panic—the most feared phenomenon in ancient armies, especially at night—was unlikely to occur even if chaos erupted.

—With the commander right there, how could you panic?

The cowardly and the disobedient had long been weeded out through countless battles.

This was the difference between the ancient armies seen in television dramas and the reality of mercenary companies in this world.

Therefore, Daenerys did not lead her army to charge the enemy’s “iron head,” but instead took a wide detour to strike their “tofu waist.”

A gentle breeze rustled the branches in the forest, the soft sound whispering in Daenerys’s ears.

The east was turning a fish-belly white, and the sky overhead looked as if it were covered in a layer of leaden clouds, gradually shifting from deep indigo to pale gray.

Like the other soldiers, Daenerys led her warhorse, crouching in the waist-high grass. Her little silver mare, though gagged with a wooden ball to keep it from neighing, was restless, constantly pawing at the damp, leaf-covered ground.

The buzzing of insects’ wings filled the air, along with the hushed breathing of the warriors behind her. Occasionally, the faint clash of weapons or the sliding of mail, sounds made by nervous soldiers, could be heard.

But even these sounds seemed hazy and unreal to Daenerys.

Oh my god, I’m about to lead a charge. Is this really happening? Can I post on social media to relieve some stress? If I could livestream this, how many followers would I get?

As she waited, Daenerys’s mind raced with wild thoughts.

Whoosh—

A massive black shadow flew over her and her soldiers’ heads.

It was Big Black.

His flight over the army was the signal that Aggo and his squad of horse men had taken out the forward watchtowers.

Daenerys immediately rose and led her horse forward through the grass. Without needing her command, the other two thousand-odd cavalrymen followed her lead, instinctively rising and advancing after feeling the great dragon pass overhead.

Indeed, they were not riding. To conserve their horses’ strength, they had walked the entire five kilometers, leading their mounts by the reins.

Swish—

“Argh—” A soldier in a watchtower clutched the arrow shaft protruding from his chest and cried out in pain.

Clang, clang, clang! The other guard on the tower ignored his companion’s plight, deftly ducking behind a wooden pillar while frantically beating the bronze gong in his hand.

“Enemy attack! We’re under attack—” His shrill cries, along with the sound of the gong, spread rapidly toward the rear.

Rumble…

Finally, within two hundred meters of the camp, Aggo’s men had slipped up.

It wasn’t their fault. The sky was already pale gray, and the ball of fire cresting the eastern horizon was beginning to shoot golden arrows across the land.

To remain concealed, they had to stay low in the grass and couldn’t get too close.

And so, someone missed, failing to take out all the sentries simultaneously.

“Mount up!” the old general Barristan commanded, rising and swinging onto his horse with nimble agility.

No longer concealing their movements, the stealthy cavalry company broke cover. They burst from the dim grass like a black cloud, charging to cut the western camp in half.

“Clang, clang, clang—enemy attack—” a reaction finally came from the enemy stockade. Even two hundred meters away, Daenerys could feel the panic and terror in the sound.

“Steady! Hold your speed! Do not break into a full charge!” Scarback Simon roared at his knights.

Daenerys cracked a small smile.

That voice. The enemy in the camp had surely heard it too.

She remembered the day she had received her commissioned officers. The White Knight had told her that Scarback Simon was chosen as a commander not only for his honest, stubborn nature and his trustworthy loyalty, but also because his unrivaled booming voice was a huge bonus. In truth, his actual combat skills were not high, not even up to standard.

But combat and command skills could be learned, whereas a booming voice was a gift from birth.

Wooooo—

As they neared the enemy’s wooden palisade, a continuous drone of low horns echoed across the five-kilometer camp.

As the first rays of morning sun broke through, the slave masters who had only just fallen asleep were brutally roused from their dreams.

“The True Dragon is with you all!” Daenerys reined in her little silver mare, drew her longsword, and shouted.

Shing, shing, shing! Thousands of knights drew their longswords or scimitars in unison, roaring as one: “Long live the Mother of Dragons! Long live the True Dragon! Long live freedom!”

“Big Black!” At Daenerys’s command, the black dragon swooped down, flying almost low enough to skim the cavalry’s heads before reaching the fence.

BOOM— As if a bundle of crude grenades had been detonated, the simple, sparking wooden stakes were blasted into the air.

Neighhh—

Mooooo—

Beyond the fence were not soldiers’ tents but a massive paddock stretching for half a kilometer, filled with cavalry warhorses, draft horses for pulling carts, cattle awaiting slaughter, and oxen for pulling wagons.

The few sparks of flame only managed to singe a few horses near the fence, but Daenerys’s true weapon was the Dragon’s Dread!

SKREEE—BOOM— Big Black landed on the ground, standing in the gap of the fence and unleashing a torrent of dragonflame, displaying the full might of a great dragon.

SKREEE—

SKREEE—ROAR—

The white dragon beat its broad wings, gliding low over the panicking herd of horses. An uncontrollable terror spread through the livestock.

“The horses are out of control! Ahhh—” A groom in the paddock screamed in terror.

BAM— A tall black steed slammed into him, sending him flying. His scream had barely begun before it was abruptly cut short.

Neigh, neigh, neigh, neigh… Hiss, hiss… Thump, thump, thump…

The terrified cries of the warhorses were soon drowned out by the thunder of hooves. The groom was trampled into a bloody pulp.

The grooms in the paddock were only the beginning. As the herd tried to leap the fences and flee into the vast fields beyond the camp, Big Black timed his flight perfectly, swooping low along the camp’s edge to force them back inside.

Outside the camp, Big Black steered the maddened herd. Inside, Barristan and his knights galloped behind, driving the animals forward.

Following the line of the camp from north to south, they reaped the lives of the enemy.

Slaves with their hands and feet in shackles, slave masters with their bellies hanging out as they crawled from ornate tents, naked prostitutes running in confusion, mercenaries, and merchants—they either screamed in terror, cursed as they tried to rally their soldiers, or fell to their knees to beg for mercy.

But the herd of animals, in a state of terror under the Dragon’s Dread, was uncontrollable. They had no mercy, no reason. Under the thundering hooves, slaves and slave masters, mercenaries and prostitutes, were all trampled without distinction.

As one horse paddock after another was destroyed by the stampede, new herds joined the frenzied rush, eventually forming a death plow of tens of thousands of animals that roughly tilled half the camp.

And this was only the beginning. Behind the crazed herd came a group of true grim reapers, like a fine-toothed steel comb, meticulously clearing the half-destroyed camp.

Anyone wearing a tokar gown was to be killed.

Anyone holding a weapon, be they mercenary or slave, was to be killed.

Anyone with lavish clothes and tall, straight black-and-red hair was to be killed.

Only women and shackled individuals kneeling on the ground were left completely unharmed.

If they encountered a tent flying a colorful banner of peace—most of whom were merchants who had prudently displayed their flags of identity upon entering the battlefield—the horse men would step in and string up the people inside on ropes.

The stampede could not destroy every tent. Some of the more vigilant mercenary companies had erected sturdy cheval de frise outside their camps. The smarter ones even covered them with lit blankets, tents, and other flammable materials.

The camp was so vast that some tents were lucky enough to be missed by the stampeding herd.

This was when Daenerys and her other dragons made their entrance.

The black dragon ‘herded sheep’ on the outskirts of the enemy camp—a highly technical job that only Big Black, connected to Daenerys’s Dragon Spirit, could perform. The white and green dragons were temporarily repurposed as infantry, surrounded by a protective guard of knights in iron armor, using their dragonflame to clear out small, stubbornly resisting encampments.

“You’re a treacherous oathbreaker! We agreed to a formal battle this afternoon! You even swore on the names of your Targaryen ancestors! You are shameless!”

In front of an ornate golden yurt, a disheveled Wise Master cursed at Daenerys, who stood beyond a tall cheval de frise, his voice filled with grief and fury.

By now, the sun was bright. The stampede had long passed the Ghiscari allied army’s camp, arcing around the eastern side of Poplar Hill—the green dragon had remained at the center of the Unsullied lines, and the herd had not dared to approach.

Barristan led two thousand knights, galloping through the camp to mop up the scattered enemy soldiers, while a hundred horse men managed the prisoners of war.

Daenerys, with five hundred knights and the white dragon, was assaulting the small fortresses.

She had already taken over a dozen encampments, capturing three mercenary commanders and three Wise or Great Masters.

This was now the fourth great slave master.

Strong Belwas and Aggo each held an iron-plated oak shield the size of a door, while Daenerys sat atop her little silver mare behind them, laughing. “Your Excellency, the Wise Master, what did my letter of challenge from yesterday noon say?”

Before he could answer, she declared loudly, “I swore on my ancestors’ names that we would decide the victor under the sun. Why don’t you look up at the sky? It’s nearly high noon!”

“But…” The short, stout Wise Master with the wing-shaped hairstyle stared, his pupils wide. He desperately wanted to shout: Last night, you explicitly hinted to nearly every mercenary commander that the attack would be in the afternoon, even giving them until noon to decide whether to defect to your side!

But Daenerys wasn’t wrong. Yesterday afternoon, before the Ghiscari allied army had even finished setting up camp, they had received her challenge. The letter promised she would not attack while they were still finding their footing and proposed that they settle the matter under the witness of the sun the next day. It never specified the afternoon.

Damn it! You have dragons and the Unsullied! You have the strength for a frontal assault! How could you be so cunning?!

Chapter 127: Baptism of Blood and Fire

Looking around, blood stained the earth red, tents were burning, and thick smoke billowed from the collapsed wooden palisade. The cruel, scorched smell of blood and fire hung in the air, punctuated by the terrified gasps of the Yellow Cloak guards.

Farther off, soldiers lay on the churned-up, muddy grass, awaiting their final release, their groans hovering between the world of the living and the hells.

Beside him lay several dismembered corpses, trampled by hooves into a gory mess, making it impossible to distinguish between man and horse.

The portly Wise Master shivered violently. This is hell. How did I get here? Right now, I should be in the gardens at the apex of the Great Pyramid, feeling the softness of a slave girl’s chest beneath my feet, enjoying roast lark with black truffles and caviar from the Sea of Sighs, washed down with black beer and Myrish firewine.

The “hundred-thousand-strong” army of yesterday was now nothing but a field of wreckage. A single battle had truly decided the victor!

It was too cruel.

But as the commander of the allied forces, this Wise Master had his own merits. He quickly shook off his dazed reverie, his eyes turning crimson as he roared, “The Sons of the Harpy will never surrender!”

Daenerys did not waste words. She backed away a few steps. With a clatter of chainmail, one hundred iron-armored cavalrymen dismounted, took bronze shields the size of pot lids from their saddles, and swiftly formed a shield wall before the small wooden fort.

Then, the large, clustered group of armored horsemen parted, revealing Little White crouching on the ground within.

Daenerys, mounted on her little silver mare, stroked the white dragon’s head. “Go on, give them a taste of something fierce.”

“Scree—”

Little White propped himself up on his forewings, then pushed off hard with his two sturdy hind legs, stomping his way to the back of the shield wall.

“Dracarys!” Daenerys shouted in High Valyrian.

Clang! A window the size of a washbasin opened in the shield wall, and Little White shot his long neck through it like a bolt of lightning.

FWOOSH—

The Wise Master was still trying to figure out what was happening when a flash of red filled his vision. A seven or eight-meter-long torrent of crimson dragonflame instantly incinerated the solid wood cheval de frise and the stockade behind it, the outer edges of the flames licking the line of archers standing in front of him.

“Ah—fire! I’m on fire! Help me—”

“Aah, my eyes! My face! Mother, Mother, save me—”

“A dragon! By the gods, they have a dragon! She truly is the Mother of Dragons! No one can stand against a true dragon.”

The dragonflame hadn’t touched many of them, but the Ghiscari soldiers of the Yellow Cloaks had lost their nerve. They dropped the bows and crossbows in their hands and scrambled to get away from the fire.

“Forward, march!” Daenerys commanded, brandishing her sword.

“Hah! Hah! Hah!” The one hundred soldiers of the shield wall grunted in unison, advancing with an almost perfectly synchronized rhythm.

CRASH—BOOM!

The tall cheval de frise and the wooden palisade collapsed in the raging fire. The iron-shod boots of the shield wall soldiers stomped over red-hot timbers and scorching ground, advancing slowly but surely into the camp.

Daenerys led Little White, following behind the shield wall. Every ten seconds or so, once Little White had caught his breath, she would shout, “Dracarys!”

Then the shield wall would open, and Little White would stick his mouth out to breathe fire.

On Daenerys’s left, right, and rear, one hundred armored knights stood guard on each side.

“Aaaah—”

Tongues of fire lashed out across the hundred-meter-square encampment, making it seem as if one had stepped into a fiery purgatory.

The soldiers’ clothes and cloaks would ignite if the dragonflame so much as grazed them. The tall palisade that had once made them feel safe had become their death warrant. The Ghiscari soldiers cried out, hacking at the thick wooden posts with their curved swords to no avail.

Then, a scene unfolded that shattered their morale completely. An unlucky wretch, failing to escape in time, got a faceful of dragonflame. Before the eyes of his comrades, his eyeballs, face, and head melted like a candle in high heat, quickly turning into a puddle of dark red liquid.

“I surrender! I surrender!” The Wise Master collapsed in front of his ornate tent, snot and tears smearing his face.

But in the chaos, with the shouts of men and the neighing of horses everywhere, Daenerys couldn’t hear him at all.

However, Daenerys hadn’t planned on burning the slaver to death in the first place, or the magnificent tent woven with gold thread behind him would have long been aflame.

Finally, seeing the enemy formation completely broken, Daenerys called a halt to Little White and shouted, “Surrender and you will be spared!”

Five hundred unscathed warriors roared in unison, “Surrender and be spared! Surrender and be spared! Surrender and be spared!”

Clatter—Clang. One by one, the Yellow Cloaks dejectedly threw down their weapons, lowered their once-proud heads, and knelt silently on the ground.

“Aggo, tie them up,” Daenerys instructed her bloodrider before striding away with her shield-bearing cavalry. There were other stubborn encampments awaiting her.

Across the three-kilometer-long encampment, Daenerys and Barristan, with their armored cavalry and dragon, cut a path from north to south, from east to west, and then from west back to east.

Though Daenerys was protected by hundreds of armored riders most of the time, her own sword was stained with blood on several occasions, and her iron armor rang with the impact of arrows.

No one was a fool. When the other entrenched encampments saw the miserable fate of their neighbors being ravaged by a dragon, they certainly weren’t going to wait around to be roasted alive. They charged out of their camps, some on warhorses, others running with spears and swords raised, launching desperate assaults on Daenerys’s cavalry force.

Naturally, not all of the two thousand six hundred cavalrymen were clad in iron armor, but the five hundred riders guarding Daenerys were the most elite heavy cavalry in full plate armor.

And she had a dragon, whose overwhelming presence made the enemy warhorses collapse to the ground in terror, sometimes even throwing their own masters.

Thus, in every frontal clash, Daenerys and her five hundred riders achieved a crushing victory.

The battle raged from morning until noon. Daenerys, drenched in blood, was so exhausted she nearly fell from her little silver mare.

Her blood-stained, dark grey armor had seven or eight arrows stuck in its crevices, and her vambraces and breastplate bore several deep scratches, a testament to the fact that she had truly fought with her life on the line.

Well, it also went to show that equipment was truly important!

As the cavalry-led forces converged with the Unsullied legion up ahead, the battle temporarily came to a close.

Daenerys sat on a burnt-out wooden stump, gently tracing the seven or eight bean-sized notches on her blood-stained longsword. She couldn’t help but think of the short mercenary whose curved sword she had shattered with a single blow earlier.

Their brief exchange had been her most perilous fight of the day.

At the time, the two cavalry forces were about to collide when Little White let out a roar from behind. The enemy warhorses, not having been fed any “dragon essence,” immediately went weak at the knees. One of the riders lost his stirrups and, carried by immense inertia, flew seven or eight meters to land directly in front of her little silver mare.

It was just bad luck. The little silver mare lost its footing and was tripped by him, and Daenerys was thrown uncontrollably from the saddle.

Even though riders immediately halted to protect her, Daenerys had already rolled into the fray, coming face-to-face with the dismounted enemy rider.

Without a word, they both raised their weapons and swung at almost the same time. Daenerys wielded a greatsword, her opponent a slender Arakh.

The scene was almost a reenactment of Jorah’s fight with the horse men. Daenerys couldn’t keep up with her opponent’s speed at all; sparks flew as his blade struck her arms, thighs, and chest.

Fortunately, she had consulted Whitebeard early on about how to handle such a scenario.

She had also asked Jorah Mormont.

Jorah had told her not to try to follow the enemy’s blade, because it was impossible. She shouldn’t fear getting hit, but should instead ignore it and attack her opponent’s vital spots.

Barristan, however, had advised Daenerys that while Jorah’s method of simply powering through wasn’t wrong, she would be better off not copying it. She was a woman, her armor wasn’t as thick as his, and her strength was far inferior.

Less strength meant the opponent could block her attacks. Thinner armor meant there was a limit to how many hits she could take.

And plate armor could be broken.

There was another point: a curved sword was much lighter than a greatsword. An Arakh generally weighed only two to two and a half kilograms, while Daenerys’s bastard sword weighed over five kilograms, and Barristan’s sword was a hefty ten kilograms. With Jorah’s strength, even if a curved sword blocked his greatsword, it would only slow the blow. With Daenerys’s strength, if the opponent blocked, it was a solid block.

For Daenerys, the best approach was not to aim for vital spots right away. First, she should do her utmost to disrupt her opponent’s rhythm, and only then look for an opening to deliver a fatal blow.

How to disrupt their rhythm?

Watch his sword arm. Based on the movement of his shoulder, estimate the general arc of his blade—predicting the exact position of the swing from the shoulder alone was almost impossible in this world of low martial prowess. Then, use her own sword to attack the part of his body furthest from that arc. The opponent wasn’t wearing armor, so a successful hit would surely wound him.

If the opponent ignored it, she could trade injuries with him; with her full plate armor, she would definitely have the advantage. If the opponent was forced to block, he would have to drastically alter his movements, which would certainly create an opening.

As for what kind of opening, that depended on the individual.

Just as Whitebeard had said, when Daenerys did just that, she discovered an opening: the material of the mercenary’s curved sword was nowhere near as sturdy as her steel blade!

Her sword only got a nick the size of a grain of rice, while his blade gained a gash as deep as the joint of a little finger.

Involuntarily, she remembered something else Whitebeard had once said: good steel was hard to come by in this world. In Westeros, only the smiths in King’s Landing could forge fine weapons. Most mercenaries, and even some nobles, used iron swords of poor quality, which was why bronze weapons hadn’t been phased out in Qarth and Slaver’s Bay.

Indeed, the fact that the Qartheen camel riders used bronze scimitars and spears wasn’t because they were poor; on the contrary, no other city-state dared claim to be richer than Qarth.

They used bronze weapons simply because bronze weapons were sufficient to deal with their current enemies.

But she was digressing.

Once Daenerys realized her opponent was one of the mercenaries Whitebeard had described as “so poor they can only use shoddy weapons,” she began to strike his curved sword forcefully with the edge of her own.

The unlucky wretch realized her intention, but he had no choice but to block. If he didn’t block with his sword, he’d have to block with his flesh. Finally, with a loud CLANG, his shoddy blade snapped in two. Daenerys’s sword continued its momentum, splitting his skull in half.

Thinking of this, she couldn’t help but swear a silent oath: “In the future, I must get a full suit of Valyrian steel armor, and a Valyrian steel sword, no matter what.”

Grey Worm strode through the haze of blood and fire, stepping over a fallen, smoldering wooden palisade. He found Daenerys in the ruins of the camp, sitting on a charred stump and staring into space.

Her white dragon was lying nearby, tearing at the carcass of a scorched warhorse.

Sensing his approach, the dragon raised its fearsome head warily, two thin jets of flame flaring from its nostrils. When it recognized Grey Worm, it lowered its head again and continued to suck on a bloody thigh bone.

“Her Majesty the Queen, what should be done with the surrounded mercenary companies?” Grey Worm asked respectfully.

He had seen the bloodstains and sword marks on Daenerys’s armor, and his reverence for her deepened by another three parts.

The Mother of Dragons could not only command a great dragon, but could also swing a sword and cut down men like a warrior. How could he not be filled with awe?

It had to be said that although Daenerys had faced some danger in this battle, after being baptized by the fire and steel of war, her prestige in the hearts of her soldiers had more than doubled.

Chapter 128: Leave No Survivors

“Which mercenary companies are still resisting?” Daenerys looked up at Grey Worm, noticing a few specks of fresh blood on his leather armor. Still, he was far cleaner than she was. It seemed the Unsullied had completed their task with relative ease.

“There are seven small encampments left.”

According to the battle plan, the two thousand six hundred cavalry were to cut the enemy camp in half, then drive the massive herd of horses to stampede through it from north to south.

Meanwhile, the five thousand Unsullied and two thousand longbowmen were to block the enemy’s escape route at Poplar Hill. After all, the Ghiscari Alliance army wasn’t stupid; seeing ten thousand horses thundering in the distance, they would naturally know to get out of the way.

Once the herd had bypassed Poplar Hill and moved on, the Unsullied would advance from the hill, pressing toward the shattered Ghiscari camp and forming a pincer attack with the two thousand cavalry.

After clearing out the scattered stragglers, twenty thousand laborers would carry sandbags to build barriers at the gates of the smaller enemy encampments.

This was to prevent the enemy from escaping. The Unsullied had no horses, so they couldn’t give chase.

“The Company of the Rose on the periphery is the most intact. The Second Sons’ camp was breached by the stampede; they suffered heavy casualties, and only two hundred men managed to take refuge in the Ghiscari Wise Masters’ camp.

“The Stormcrows had it even worse. They were a powerful force with five hundred heavy cavalry in iron armor.

“But because their entire company was cavalry, their camp was connected to their stables. Nearly two thousand of their horses joined the stampede, and their camp was trampled into oblivion. Almost no one survived.”

At this point, even the usually stoic eunuch warrior couldn’t help but sigh with a look of pity on his face. “To think the strongest mercenary company would meet the most ignominious end. They should have surrendered to Your Majesty sooner.”

So, my ‘old flame’ got unceremoniously killed off. How tragic.

“That was a choice they made themselves,” she said flatly, pulling her visor down. Standing up, she called out to the horsemen who were protecting her from a distance in a wide circle, “Aggo, tell Ser Barristan to proceed with the plan. He is to coordinate with the Unsullied and clear out the ten kilometers to the north.”

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

“Let’s go. Once we finish the cleanup, we can finally get some rest,” Daenerys said to Grey Worm.

Seeing her approach, a horseman immediately led over a tall steed with a yellow coat.

Her little silver mare had stumbled and was injured.

The remaining heavy cavalry guard, now numbering less than five hundred, quickly closed ranks around Daenerys once more.

Little White also spat out the bone in his mouth, beat his wings, and flew up to circle above her head, following the troop’s slow advance.

“Quaro, how many brothers did we lose?” Daenerys asked the iron-armored guard beside her.

Unlike Aggo and the other two Bloodriders, Quaro had begun adapting to iron armor after joining the Queen’s guard.

“Twenty dead, forty wounded. Khaleesi, how are your injuries?” the young horseman asked with concern.

He had personally witnessed Daenerys’s fall from her horse.

“I’m fine. The inner armor absorbed most of the impact.”

Putting on full plate armor was a very complex process; it wasn’t as simple as just putting on a layer of iron over one’s clothes.

It started with a close-fitting cotton garment, then a layer of soft, thin leather armor, a supple and resilient inner padding, and a silk or linen tunic, with the iron armor being the final layer. For a more aesthetically pleasing look, one could even wear a surcoat over the plate.

Of course, a common warrior could never afford a complete set. For them, poor-quality inner armor would only hinder their fighting ability, so in most cases, they would only wear a layer of leather armor underneath the plate.

The difference between a noble knight and a common heavy cavalryman was this: if both fell from their horses on the battlefield, the noble lord would shake it off, get back up, and continue swinging his sword as if nothing happened. The common cavalryman, even if he didn’t rupture an organ, would suffer internal bleeding and would most likely be unable to fight on.

Furthermore, iron armor with fine lining could offer partial resistance to blunt force trauma. A common suit of iron armor, when faced with a brute swinging a warhammer, offered little protection; a glancing blow would injure, a direct hit would kill.

In battles between heavy cavalry, the warhammer was the most lethal weapon, followed by the steel lance, then the two-handed greatsword, and finally the scimitar.

“What about the casualties among the Unsullied and the longbowmen?” Daenerys asked Grey Worm, who was walking beside her.

“Not a single Unsullied or longbowman died. Only a dozen warriors were grazed by stray arrows.”

Finally, Grey Worm praised her respectfully, “Your Majesty, you have fought a battle that will be celebrated for millennia!”

This was no empty flattery. Ignoring the Ghiscari slave soldiers and the pathetic Yellow Cloaks, the five thousand mercenaries were a terrifying force.

Mercenaries had a bad reputation, but their combat prowess was undeniable. In terms of both individual martial skill and small-unit tactics, they surpassed the regular armies of almost every nation and city-state in this world.

To put it simply, if five thousand mercenaries faced five thousand Unsullied in a head-on clash, there was a fifty percent chance the Unsullied would lose.

Unlike the Dothraki screaming warriors, mercenaries possessed far superior tactical skills and were extremely versatile. Many could serve as cavalrymen, archers, or, if equipped with armor, heavy knights.

Take Jorah Mormont, for example. He had once been a mercenary, signing contracts with several small, unknown companies.

Even with Jorah’s level of skill, the highest rank he ever achieved in the mercenary world was as a squad leader of a fifty-man team. Most of the time, he was just an ordinary member of a company.

More importantly, mercenary companies were wealthier than the Unsullied and had better equipment.

The Stormcrows, for instance, who had been annihilated in the stampede, officially had only five hundred cavalrymen, but they were equipped with one thousand five hundred warhorses and five hundred packhorses, not to mention countless other supplies.

“Khaleesi, you can add another bell to your hair! I dare say no Khal on the great grass sea can match your record of victories.”

Quaro was also ecstatic, feeling a deep sense of pride for being able to serve such a great Khaleesi.

“Khal Drogo would be cheering for you in the Night Lands.”

If you hadn’t said that last part, your flattery would have gotten a perfect score. I’m taking off forty points, so you barely pass. Keep up the good work.

Daenerys roasted him silently, but her voice was full of compassion as she said aloud, “It is all thanks to the dedication of our soldiers. For the great cause of liberating the slaves, we have sacrificed many brothers today, and we will lose many more comrades tomorrow.”

“To die in battle for the Khaleesi is my honor!” Quaro declared immediately.

“We are willing to die for Her Majesty the Queen!” the four hundred-some knights roared in unison.

Good, their loyalty is firm and morale is high!

Perhaps she could change her established strategy.

Previously, she had only planned to repel this attack, then wait for her dragons to grow for another year while she farmed the lands, after which she would sweep through Slaver’s Bay with overwhelming force.

But the slave masters’ extensive hiring of mercenary companies was a reminder that they were incredibly wealthy. Those bastards who deserved to be in hell were using her money to hire soldiers to attack her city. This…

Daenerys’s thoughts churned with indignation.

“Don’t kill me, don’t—argh—”

A sudden, miserable cry startled Daenerys from her thoughts.

“What’s going on?” She tapped her horse’s flank a few times, urging it forward to the front of the column.

Not far ahead, a man in a linen shirt with a large dragon’s head printed on the chest was crouched over a corpse, desperately pulling at a chain around the dead man’s neck.

Under the noon sun, the chain glinted with gold. Was that a gold chain as thick as a finger?

Daenerys hadn’t had a chance to “invent” printing or papermaking yet, but she had managed to create dyeing equipment using large carved oak blocks.

Being something of a perfectionist, she couldn’t stand the chaotic uniforms of this era. All of her soldiers, even the laborers, had standard-issue clothing: two undyed linen shirts with a black dragon’s head printed on the chest.

Just like the man stripping the corpse.

Daenerys’s eyes swept across the surroundings. The earth was torn apart by the hooves of ten thousand thundering horses. The wild grass and flowers of the fields had been trampled into the mud. The remains of men and horses were scattered everywhere, alongside smoldering wooden stakes and tents pressed into the ground. The air was thick with the fresh scent of earth and the acrid smell of blood and fire.

A group of her laborers was spread out across this land that had been “plowed” by sword and steel. They carried baskets and clutched curved knives, reaping the lives of the dying wounded as if harvesting crops. They stripped them of their leather boots, leather armor, helmets, iron arrowheads, weapons like swords and knives, and even the purses and valuable jewelry they carried.

A curved blade slid across a dying man’s throat, occasionally eliciting a short, sharp cry of agony. Daenerys opened and closed her mouth several times but said nothing. She slapped her horse’s rump a few times and continued forward in silence.

Perhaps she had the means to save a few of them, but what would be the point?

She couldn’t even save all of her own men. Why should she waste her energy and scarce medical supplies on the enemy?

This was war.

Soon, she passed through the battlefield and arrived at the seven remaining encampments at the front line.

They had survived the stampede mainly because they were located further west, nestled in a rocky cove along the coast.

At this moment, each small encampment was surrounded by a low wall of stacked sandbags, only about one point two meters high. A light cavalryman at a full charge could probably leap over it—if he ignored the phalanx of Unsullied spears waiting behind the sandbags.

“Which encampment are the Second Sons hiding in?” Daenerys asked.

Before Grey Worm could answer, a familiar loud voice boomed from the top of a wooden tower forty meters away, “Your Majesty the Queen, I surrender! I am willing to lead my men and join you!”

That particular encampment was backed by a series of large, greyish-green rocks, the tallest of which were four or five meters high, with the smaller ones being about a meter square. The other three sides were enclosed by a “fence” made of a mix of wagons and wooden stakes.

It looked recently constructed, but the wagons were connected by iron chains as thick as a man’s wrist and seemed quite sturdy.

Behind the wagon wall stood two rows of warriors, shields in their left hands and short swords in their right. Behind the shield wall were over a hundred archers, and at each archer’s feet lay three or four cocked crossbows.

Behind the warriors, near the rocks, were wooden barracks with their tent roofs removed, similar to Daenerys’s own wooden palace, with wooden walls and canvas tops.

Inside one of these roofless barracks, a small watchtower a little over four meters high had been constructed from wooden tables and posts. Two men were standing on top.

The one waving and yelling at Daenerys was the long-bearded “Titan’s Bastard,” Mero.

The slave master beside him was someone Daenerys had met just last night—a Great Master of Meereen, also named Grazdan, though she couldn’t recall his family name.

“Lay down your weapons and come out to surrender,” Daenerys called from behind the sandbag wall.

“The Second Sons wish to serve Your Majesty,” Mero said.

“Lay down your weapons first.”

“We are warriors. We can serve Your Majesty.”

Daenerys grew annoyed. Pointing at the large Braavosi, she addressed the mercenaries and Ghiscari soldiers inside, “Cut off the head of this man who has shown me such disrespect. Lay down your weapons and kneel in surrender. Otherwise, you will all be killed without mercy!”

“You—” The Titan’s Bastard was both shocked and enraged, his long golden beard, which reached his waist, trembling uncontrollably.

He couldn’t have imagined Daenerys would be so imperious. His Second Sons still had over two hundred members!

Two hundred elite mercenaries were practically equivalent to two hundred experienced knights. In Westeros, that would be over two hundred landed lords.

“My men have all sworn to die for me, Mother of Dragons! I apologize for my inappropriate words last night. But please understand, if you accept my allegiance, you will gain several hundred brave warriors. If you choose a fight to the bitter end, my brothers and I will take a thousand of your Unsullied with us!” Mero suppressed his anger, using a mix of soft and hard tactics to persuade her.

At the same time, he swore to himself that if he got out of this, he would find a chance to get his revenge on this silver-haired bitch.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The swordsmen of the Second Sons immediately began banging their short swords against their shields, both to show support for their commander and to display their unity and courage to Daenerys on the other side.

“The Titan’s Bastard! The Titan’s Bastard!” they roared in unison.

The large Braavosi stood up straight, looking down at Daenerys behind the sandbag wall with a smug smile on his face.

Amidst the cheers of the Second Sons, Daenerys slowly backed away behind the line of Unsullied and said coolly, “Use the fire oil pots. Leave no survivors!”

Chapter 129: A Prairie Fire of Fury

Daenerys’s command was carried out immediately. The Unsullied in the front rank propped their shields on the sandbags to form a shield wall, while the Unsullied behind them, firing by ranks, formed a line to hurl pineapple-sized earthenware jars at the enemy encampment.

Crash, crash, crash, crash.

The pungent smell of asphalt quickly spread over a hundred-meter radius, reaching even the other mercenary companies watching the situation unfold from their nearby small camps.

The Braavosi watched the jars of oil shatter against the mercenaries’ shields and screamed in terror, “You little bitch, what are you trying to do?”

“We’re willing to surrender!” a mercenary suddenly shouted. He picked up the crossbow at his feet, turned, and fired at Mero on the watchtower.

“Ah—a defector!” The Titan’s Bastard took an arrow to the arm. He ducked down and roared in fury, “Kill him! Kill that traitor!”

Swish, swish, swish— Mero’s long-standing authority over the Second Sons had its effect. The nearby mercenaries instinctively raised their crossbows and riddled the turncoat mercenary with bolts, turning him into a pincushion.

But as soon as they killed him, their expressions changed drastically. What the hell did I just do? I should have let that idiot… no, that hero… bear the sin of killing the Commander alone so the rest of us could live!

Sigh. Now we can only hope that after witnessing our unyielding loyalty, the Mother of Dragons will, with her great magnanimity, take pity on our valor!

“I never thought the Second Sons, second only to the Brave Company (Brave Companions) on the list of infamous mercenaries, would be so loyal and brave.” Daenerys saw their ‘unyielding’ display and said to Grey Worm with a complex expression, “Send them on their way.”

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

At a wave of her hand, the longbowmen behind her loosed several hundred fire arrows.

BOOM— In an instant, a blanket of orange flame covered the wagons serving as a barricade, the mercenaries’ shields, and their helmets, adding another wave of heat to the scorching noon.

“Aaaah—I surrender, Mother of Dragons, I surrender!” The mercenaries threw down their shields and bows, rolling frantically on the ground and letting out blood-curdling screams.

There were also some fierce mercenaries who picked up crossbows and fired desperately in Daenerys’s direction. When their bolts were spent, they picked up bows and continued shooting, retreating cautiously to avoid the spreading flames.

Thud, thud, thud, thud. A series of clangs rang out from the shields in front of Daenerys, and steel-tipped arrows could be seen deflecting off them.

“Charge! Charge out and fight them!” the Braavosi was still shouting.

A dozen or so armored horsemen braved the arrow storm, leaped over the burning wagons, and charged the sandbag wall. But before they could get close, a dense forest of longspears stabbed out from between the sandbags, forming a wall of spikes. Horses and knights fell screaming into pools of their own blood.

“Commander, climb the rocks! Head for the sea!” a mercenary yelled as he scrambled up a two-meter-high rock, stumbling through the uneven stone formations toward the western coast.

The others followed his example. Soon, the remaining hundred or so men, including the long-bearded Mero and the Great Master from Meereen, had left the encampment and entered the rugged, narrow stone paths.

SKREEE—

“Aaaah, a dragon!” A desperate scream erupted from the first mercenary who had climbed the rocks.

It was followed by a WHOOSH—

A bright red tongue of flame, trailing black smoke, licked over the bodies of a dozen mercenaries at the front. They struggled desperately as their flesh melted in the intense heat, their bones twisting in the dragonflame like candles tossed into a furnace.

SKREEE—

SKREEE—

Two more dragons flew in from the direction of the sea, swiftly passing over the mercenaries’ heads and leaving behind a long wave of fire.

Mero hid behind a granite boulder, feeling the searing heat sweep past him, and screamed in terror, “Use your bows! Shoot down the demonic dragons!”

If your arrows could kill dragons, I wouldn’t have brought them out in the first place, Daenerys sneered inwardly.

Without heavy crossbows, powerful longbows, or special arrows forged from fine steel, it was nearly impossible to inflict a fatal wound on a dragon unless they were hit directly in the eye.

In truth, the terrified mercenaries didn’t dare attack the three dragons swooping back and forth. They had already thrown away their bows. Were they supposed to slash at the dragons in the sky with their swords?

“Kill the Braavosi who insulted the Mother of Dragons!” the Great Master howled in fear.

“Kill Mero!”

“Mero insulted the Mother of Dragons! He is no longer the Commander of the Second Sons! Kill him!”

“Kill him and we can escape this fiery hell!”

The Ghiscari Yellow Cloaks and the mercenaries of the Second Sons all had bloodshot eyes. They dodged the rolling heatwaves while searching for the large Braavosi.

Creak— The nearby mercenary companies and slaver masters, who had witnessed the dragons’ rampage, immediately opened the gates to their own camps. They no longer dared to dream of putting up a futile resistance, nor did they dare to state conditions for their surrender to the Mother of Dragons.

As long as we’re not burned to death by the dragons, we’ll even take getting beheaded by the Unsullied, they thought in terror.

Daenerys sent the Unsullied to deal with those who surrendered, but she herself stood as if frozen, watching the three dragons melt over a hundred desperately screaming people into grease.

In the end, Little Green and Little White even landed on the rocks and began tearing at the charred, sparking corpses. The “corpses” were still letting out hoarse screams—it was an utterly gruesome scene.

ROAR— Big Black flapped his wings and opened his mouth wide as if taking a deep breath.

In reality, Daenerys had already entered her draconic spiritual state. Through the black dragon’s eyes, she saw countless shimmering, colorful motes of spiritual essence floating in the flames.

She immediately merged her soul with Big Black’s and used her “Mother of Dragons’ Soul Endowment” skill to absorb the spiritual essence dissipating from the burned mercenaries into Big Black’s spiritual sea.

This wasn’t the first time she had discovered dissipating spiritual essence from human corpses.

The last time, during the attack on Astapor, over ten thousand people had died. When Daenerys had the bodies of the slaves and the unclaimed slavers cremated separately, she had discovered that a dense field of spiritual essence would spill out when human bodies were burned.

The fresher the corpse, the higher the concentration of spiritual essence. The Ghiscari bodies had been left for two days and had already rotted into puddles of foul-smelling fluid, yet a batch of spiritual essence still emerged from them.

Daenerys had been amazed at the time.

In life, a person continuously draws nourishment from nature. After death, the elements that make up the body return to the earth, and the qualities that make up the soul dissipate into the sky.

Although this phenomenon was fantastical, she could understand it and found it quite logical.

But if the spiritual essence originated from the soul, why did it still exist in a corpse several days after death?

Afterward, she had secretly burned a batch of “mummies”—the specially treated desiccated corpses from the bottom of the Great Pyramid.

It was fashionable among the Ghiscari nobility to store the bodies of their ancestors at the base of their family pyramids. Daenerys had even respectfully reserved a small pyramid for the descendants of the surviving nobles.

Daenerys was even more shocked after the burning. Even the desiccated corpses still released spiritual essence, although the density was significantly lower.

Could it be that the body and soul were not separate entities, but that every cell in the human body contained a part of the soul, a complete unification of spirit and flesh?

If these remnants of the soul could be reanimated, then could the dead of this world be resurrected?

Uh, it seemed they could. For example, the Others resurrecting human corpses into Wights.

Daenerys almost switched careers from queen to scientist.

Well, she was, in a way, conducting an experiment right now.

The density of the spiritual essence released during the burning of a living person was truly terrifyingly high!

“You bastards! Who told you to eat people?” Coming back to her senses, Daenerys saw the two dragons chewing on glistening white human spinal columns, the sound of them sucking out the marrow making a sickening sloshing sound. She was furious.

Couldn’t they see the surrounding prisoners were about to piss themselves from fright at this horrifying scene?

Never mind the captive mercenaries; even Daenerys’s own followers had turned pale and looked ready to vomit.

Wearing iron armor, Daenerys struggled to climb up the rocks, raised her whip, and began lashing the two vicious dragons about the head and face.

Crack, crack—whimper, squawk—

The two dragons were beaten until they scrambled away, covering their heads, but they no longer breathed fire at Daenerys as they had before. They didn’t even hiss at her.

During the incident when Euron tried to steal the dragons, she hadn’t used the Dragon Horn to control the white and green dragons. Instead, she had combined her power with the black dragon’s to lead the other two in forcibly breaking the horn’s bonds.

The horn’s “Dragonbinder power” had been destroyed, turning it into a magical instrument that could no longer control dragons.

Well, it could still use the dragon soul within the horn to intimidate ‘lesser’ beings.

Ever since then, her relationship with the white and green dragons had become much closer, not just in terms of simple affection, but through a strange connection that originated from the depths of their souls.

To put it another way, if Big Black died one day, Daenerys could immediately establish a stable draconic spiritual relationship with either the white or green dragon. If she had three ‘skill slots,’ she could even pull the souls of the white, green, and black dragons together for a game of mahjong, even if they were in different places.

“Your Majesty, Commander Jon of the Company of the Rose wishes to see you.” Grey Worm said, his expression somewhat timid as he watched Daenerys chase after the dragons, cursing and whipping them.

Mmm, down below, every soldier, friend or foe, who had witnessed the dragons breathing fire, burning men, and eating them, now looked upon the scene of the two ferocious dragons fleeing from Queen Daenerys’s whip. They regarded her with the awe one would reserve for a god: This is a true dragon, a Dragonlord Queen who can subdue great dragons!

“I’ll starve you for two days when we get back!” Daenerys threatened viciously, pointing the tip of her whip at the two dragons flying toward the sea.

Only after Little White and Little Green had flown far away did she step on Belwas’s shoulder to climb down from the rocky shore.

“Has the Company of the Rose surrendered?” she asked.

“They are willing to surrender, but they wish to discuss the terms of their treatment afterward,” the Unsullied commander replied.

“Heh, they’re quite bold.” Daenerys mounted her large yellow horse and, as she rode, instructed Quaro, “The battle is over for today. Take off your armor first, then go collect some livestock carcasses from the battlefield for Big Black. And… if Little White and Little Green come back, keep an eye on them. Don’t let them eat people again.”

“There’s no harm in them eating the bodies of our enemies,” the horse man youth muttered.

Daenerys shot him a glare. “Today they eat corpses, tomorrow they might eat the living, and the day after they might even eat you, their Dragon Guard. Would that still be no harm?”

“Uh…” The horse man knight rubbed his nose and silently rode away.

Riding all the way to the base of Poplar Hill, Daenerys saw Morono, the infanty commander of her Mother of Dragons’ Guard, directing men to lay out banners on the grass. She couldn’t help but ride over and ask, “Are these the banners of the Ghiscari Alliance and the mercenary companies? What are you collecting them for?”

“Long live the Mother of Dragons!” Seeing Daenerys, Morono immediately stood ramrod straight, snapped his right arm up, and shouted the slogan.

Yes, if you replaced the words with “Heil Hitler,” it would be a perfect Nazi salute.

The first time she encountered this military salute, Daenerys had been taken aback. Later, after inquiring with Whitebeard and Morono, she learned that the “raised-hand salute” had been popular since the era of the Old Ghiscari legions.

In Westeros, there was the “chest-pounding salute,” where one stood straight and struck their heart with a clenched right fist; there was the more formal kneeling on one knee; and knights also used a raised-hand salute.

On the continent of Essos, the fist bump, which had spread from the Summer Isles, was also popular among mercenaries.

Later, Morono suggested that Daenerys standardize the raised-hand salute for her entire army, because in Slaver’s Bay, the salute of the Ghiscari legions seemed more formal, much like the Valyrian language among other tongues.

“Your Majesty, I did not collect these for myself. They symbolize your glorious military achievements and should be hung in the great hall of the Great Pyramid for your guests to admire,” Morono said, pointing at the tattered and filthy banners.

Chapter 130: Recruiting Jon Snow as a Follower

Although Jon had terms to discuss with Daenerys, he didn’t lock down his camp and put his entire army on high alert like the Second Sons had.

On the contrary, the gates of the Company of the Rose’s camp were wide open, and the mercenaries inside…

Er, most of them were still fast asleep in their tents.

“Your Majesty, your ‘Wall’s Dry Red’ is truly potent. My head is still spinning, and most of my men are still hungover,” the bearded Jon said with a wry smile to Daenerys, who was atop her warhorse.

“How could it bear the name of ‘The Wall’ if it weren’t potent,” Daenerys said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Of course it’s potent, she thought. That spirit was never meant for drinking.

It was a high-proof alcohol that could be used for sterilizing wounds. Mixed with grape juice and a large amount of white sugar, even someone who couldn’t handle alcohol could down a large cup in one go. But the after-effects were not something the average person could withstand.

Speaking of “The Wall’s Dry Red,” one had to lament the “poverty” of Slaver’s Bay’s produce.

Before Daenerys’s arrival, Slaver’s Bay had five main products: slaves, olives, copper ore, beets, and sour grapes. Apart from olive oil and slaves, there was almost nothing that could be exported.

Yes, the grapes of Slaver’s Bay were unsuitable for winemaking; even the plantation owners themselves wouldn’t drink the wine they produced. It had an astringent taste that Daenerys couldn’t quite figure out, even though the grapes themselves were large and sweet.

After Daenerys arrived, she implemented three measures as part of her economic reforms in Astapor. First, she distilled the wine into a high-proof spirit, which could be used to clean wounds or sold as a specialty liquor—a counterfeit wine made by mixing the spirit with grape juice. Second, she used the beets to produce sugar. Third, she subsidized artisans to establish more than a dozen bronze workshops, creating a production chain from copper ore to copper ingots to exquisite bronze wares.

But that was a digression. Astapor was currently blockaded by the Ghiscari, its sea routes and trade roads cut off. Even with good products, there was no way to sell them.

“Your Majesty, how do you plan to deal with the Company of the Rose?” Commander Jon asked seriously.

Daenerys gently tapped her iron gauntlet against her saddle. Instead of answering his question, she smiled and asked, “Do you now understand why Torrhen Stark surrendered so readily to Aegon three hundred years ago?”

Commander Jon nodded with a wry smile and sighed, “Our ancestors misjudged ‘The King Who Knelt.’ He was very wise and made the best choice for the people of the North.

“You swept through the Ghiscari Alliance’s army with minimal losses, armed with just three young dragons. King Torrhen’s forces back then weren’t even as numerous as ours are now.

“And His Majesty Aegon possessed a military might far greater than yours, with mature dragons much more powerful. An army of mortals was virtually invincible against him.”

“So, as descendants of self-exiled Northern nobles, have you now come to terms with what happened back then?” Daenerys continued.

“You know we are descendants of nobility?” Jon asked, his expression complicated.

“Hehe, don’t forget that I am also from Westeros,” Daenerys said gently in the Common Tongue. “Your three companions: Lyla Amber, Bruce Wayne, and Hermantoha.

“I’m a bit unsure about Wayne, but Amber of Last Hearth and someone from House Karstark of Karhold, or another house from Torrhen’s Square… am I wrong about them?”

“Your Majesty has a keen eye. Wayne’s ancestors were knights sworn to Winterfell, with no lands of their own. After they left House Stark, their title was naturally lost.”

“I see,” Daenerys nodded.

This world placed great importance on lineage. Or rather, the class structure was too rigid. Even when the descendants of nobles became mercenaries alongside commoners, it was mostly those of noble birth who rose through the ranks.

They inherited skills in swordsmanship and tactics, knowledge, etiquette, and ambition, which gave them a greater chance of survival and a higher likelihood of attaining high positions. Under the same conditions, others were also more likely to recognize and respect noble blood.

“And you are a Snow. Most common families can’t even afford a wife, let alone produce a bastard,” Daenerys continued.

Bastards in Westeros were like mistresses in modern society—not something a common family could afford to have.

“Who is your father?” she asked curiously.

Jon Snow shook his head with a bitter smile and sighed. “My father was probably a mercenary in Braavos. My mother doesn’t even know who he was.”

“Eh…”

“My mother was a Bolton.”

“A Bolton? From the Dreadfort, the Flayers?” Daenerys asked, shocked.

“Yes.”

Commander Jon quickly added, “Your Majesty, I do not flay people. In fact, after the ancestors of House Bolton came to Essos, they stopped the practice. It’s too bloody, too barbaric. It would disgust our clients and damage the Company of the Rose’s reputation.”

“Do you know of the current situation in the North?” Daenerys asked.

“I have been following it. I heard that Robb Stark has led the Northern lords south into the Riverlands to contend for the Iron Throne,” Jon said.

“He is not interested in the Iron Throne. His main goal is to avenge his father.”

“How can you be certain he has no interest in the Iron Throne? Your Majesty, forgive me for saying so, but fifteen years ago, Robert Baratheon also raised his banners in rebellion under the pretext of revenge, yet in the end, he sat on the Iron Throne,” Jon said with a cold laugh.

“What plans do you have for the future?” Daenerys changed the subject, probing. “The Seven Kingdoms are in chaos, with four kings vying for power. You could join one of the factions. Perhaps you’ll have a chance to restore your ancestors’ glory.”

“Well…” Jon hesitated for a moment, then said frankly, “Your Majesty, do you also intend to reclaim the Iron Throne? To be honest, our ancestors were self-exiled. Their family titles still exist, and we hold no grudges against our current houses.”

“Alright, I won’t beat around the bush,” Daenerys said bluntly. “I believe that with the Company of the Rose’s reputation and integrity, you are worthy of swearing fealty to me. For now, my goal is simply to crush Slaver’s Bay and dismantle the institution of slavery. As for the future, I cannot be certain at this moment.”

“Thank you for your praise, Your Majesty. We have merely held fast to our last shred of principles.”

“So, are you and your Company of the Rose willing to swear fealty to me? You can continue to be mercenaries, selling your lives for coin; or you can serve me, and your strength will be used for the meaningful and just cause of liberating slaves. Which will you choose?” Daenerys asked.

“Your Majesty, you are making an enemy of the world,” Jon replied, his eyes glinting.

“The world was ruled by Dragonlords for five thousand years,” Daenerys said.

“You only have three young dragons.”

“My enemies are trash. Young dragons are more than enough.”

“…” Bearded Jon Snow was speechless.

Are the Company of the Rose and I also trash?

His face flushed, and he desperately wanted to argue, but the reality was that their five thousand elite mercenaries had been swept aside like trash by the queen before him.

“The slave masters of Yunkai and Meereen have wealth beyond measure, enough to hire every mercenary company in the world. When that time comes, they will have learned their lesson from today’s defeat. At the very least, there will be countless scorpions hidden among their tents,” the bearded Jon said, outlining a tactic to counter dragons.

“Hehe, Commander Jon, do you think those slave masters will get another chance to form an allied army? Do you think dragons can only breathe fire?” Daenerys’s laughter was as crisp as a bell.

“Let me ask you this: Party A fights for money, while Party B fights for their own lives and the lives of their families. Party B outnumbers Party A, and they know all of Party A’s tactics and camp defenses, while Party A knows nothing about Party B. Who will win?”

“That…” Jon was stunned.

“Today’s surprise attack was no exception. From now on, every battle between myself and the Ghiscari Alliance will be similar to today’s—a complete asymmetry of information.

“Go back and discuss it with your companions.

“I won’t force you. If you refuse, you need only pay the traditional ransom and swear an oath never to join my enemies again.”

With that, Daenerys turned her horse, preparing to return to Poplar Hill.

“Wait,” Jon called out to her, asking seriously, “Your Majesty, please tell me, how would you make use of the Company of the Rose?”

Daenerys reined in her horse and looked back. “I will expand the Mother of Dragons’ Guard. Both the cavalry and infantry will be enlarged several times over, with soldiers chosen from the slave army. If you swear fealty to me, I will break up the Company of the Rose and make you all officers in the new legions.”

Not every mercenary could be a Jorah Mormont, but they were certainly capable of commanding squads of ten or companies of a hundred.

The Company of the Rose had eight hundred core members. Even if she only promoted them to squad leaders, Daenerys would immediately gain eight thousand warriors.

No matter how poor the quality of the slave soldiers, they had to be better than the peasant levies of Westeros armed with dung forks and sickles, right?

As for why she didn’t just promote officers from the existing Mother of Dragons’ Guard to form a new army for better loyalty—that was precisely the problem. The members of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard were former slaves, and very, very few had received any military training. Even the current officers in her army were barely qualified.

Take her cavalry commander, Scarback Simon, for example. Whitebeard had chosen him as commander for only two reasons: his voice was loud, and his political alignment was good.

Well, by political alignment, it meant he was born a slave, harbored an extreme hatred for slave masters, and had a high level of personal adoration for Daenerys, the liberator of slaves.

His actual tactical and combat skills were quite poor. His horsemanship wasn’t even as good as Daenerys’s handmaiden, Irri.

If the Ghiscari Alliance didn’t take the offensive, she would have had Jorah and Barristan train them for another year or two.

But Jon had a point. The slave masters had money; they could hire all the mercenaries and assassins in the world.

She had to take advantage of Yunkai and Meereen’s current weakness after their defeat, lead her army north, and conquer those two cities within three months.

Typically, it took mercenaries from the trade cities of the western coast two to six months to reach Meereen.

“Your Majesty, Jon Snow is willing to swear fealty to you,” the bearded commander said, walking quickly to Daenerys’s horse and kneeling on one knee with great solemnity.

“Oh? And what of your men?” Daenerys heard the implication in his words and asked with a smile.

“The Company of the Rose is hereby disbanded by my hand. Its members are free to choose. They can stay and pledge their loyalty to you, but they will no longer have a subordinate relationship with me.

“If any members choose to leave, I will hand over the winter rose banner. They can reform the Company of the Rose,” Jon Snow declared loudly.

This man is clever.

Daenerys dismounted, drew the longsword from her waist, and rested its tip on the bearded commander’s shoulder. “Do you remember how to swear an oath to a monarch?”

“I believe so…” Jon Snow was both thrilled and apprehensive at how seriously Daenerys was treating his pledge of fealty. At the same time, a sense of sacred ritual welled up within him.

I swear, I will never fail the one who has bestowed such an honor upon me! he resolved in his heart, his face flushed with emotion.

“Do you now follow the Old Gods or some other faith?” Daenerys asked gravely.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gritted his teeth and said, “I should follow the Old Gods, but there are no weirwood trees in Essos. I could adopt the most popular faith on this continent, the Red God, R’hllor the Lord of Light, but I feel that I will always be a man of Westeros. Therefore, Your Majesty, I wish to swear my oath in the name of the Seven!”

“Very well. I, too, follow the Seven,” Daenerys said with a smile.

This wasn’t a lie. As a monarch, Daenerys had to have a faith. The faithless were even less accepted by the world than the corrupt.

She could hardly tell people that she believed in Buddha or the Three Pure Ones, could she?

Well, that wasn’t quite right either. In modern society, she didn’t believe in Buddhism or Taoism at all.

The Seven: the Father (judgment), the Mother (motherly love and nurturing), the Warrior (courage and victory), the Maiden (innocence and purity), the Smith (crafts and labor), the Crone (wisdom), and the Stranger (death and fear of the unknown).

The Faith of the Seven had no true gods. The Seven merely represented seven stages of life and seven noble virtues, not fundamentally different from a modern moral code.

Daenerys felt that the doctrine of the Seven was one of the most advanced in this world, so she didn’t mind adopting it as her faith.

Chapter 131: Daenerys, the Knight-Queen

A southwesterly wind brought the clean, salty air of the sea to the eastern shore of Slaver’s Bay, diluting the smell of blood and fire from the battlefield below Poplar Hill.

The midday sun reflected a dazzling white light off the snow-white blade, which had seven or eight nicks in it, making Barristan and the others watching from the side narrow their eyes slightly.

Seven wooden posts stood behind Daenerys. The upper half of each post was freshly carved with the face of one of the Seven: a bearded man holding scales (The Father), a smiling woman (The Mother), a young man with a longsword (The Warrior), a veiled girl (The Maiden), a stout man with a hammer (The Smith), a hunchbacked old woman holding a lantern (The Crone), and a faceless person with no features (The Stranger).

Tapping the flat of her blade three times on the shoulder of the emotional, bearded man, Daenerys announced in a clear voice, “Jon Snow, bastard of Braavos and the North, in the sight of the Seven, do you vow to pledge your fealty to me, to be my loyal knight for all your days, and to serve me with your courage, your strength, and your wisdom?”

She had taken off her helmet. Her silver hair, tumbling down to the grey-black pauldrons on her shoulders, shimmered in the sunlight. Her palm-sized, fair face was filled with solemnity and gravity; her smoky violet eyes conveyed only sincerity and majesty, making one overlook her stunning beauty.

The bearded Jon Snow knelt on one knee and shouted emotionally, “I, Jon Snow, bastard of Braavos and the North, pledge fealty to my lady Daenerys Targaryen, vowing my loyalty, and to never leave your side.”

“I accept your fealty.” Daenerys smiled faintly, a smile like a hundred flowers blooming. “I swear that you will always have a place by my hearth. You will drink at my table and eat my meat. I vow never to allow your service to be stained with dishonor. In the name of the Seven, I, Daenerys Targaryen, do solemnly swear.”

She then sheathed her longsword, glanced around at the onlookers, and finally let her gaze fall back upon Jon’s head. “As Jon Snow’s liege lord and Queen,” she said softly, “I declare that Jon Snow is the son of Luna Bolton, and from this day forth shall inherit his mother’s name.”

“Jon Bolton… Thank you, my Queen!” the bearded man’s voice trembled.

And just like that, the imitation protagonist I just recruited was gone.

Daenerys took two steps sideways to another bearded man kneeling on one knee. Tapping the flat of her blade on his shoulder three times, she said, “Bruce Wayne, descendant of exiles from the North, in the sight of the Old Gods and the New, do you vow to pledge your fealty to me, to be my most loyal knight for all your days, and to serve me with your courage, your strength, and your wisdom?”

Right, Bruce, like many in Westeros, believes in both the traditional Old Gods of the North and maintains a sense of reverence and piety for the Seven.

Jorah Mormont was the same. Though a man of the North, he was anointed in a ceremony of the Seven and became a proper knight.

For Bruce, Daenerys altered the vows slightly.

After Bruce swore his oath, it was the tall, red-haired woman, Lyla Amber, and then the middle-aged, dark-haired man, Herman Tallhart.

But that was not the end. Once the four newly-made knights had risen excitedly, Scarback Simon, the fat Morono, Tal the Black, and the horseman Quaro, along with twenty-one other warriors, formed two rows and knelt before the carvings of the Seven and Daenerys.

This was a rewarding of merit. The twenty-five men before her had performed great deeds in today’s battle and would all be knighted by Daenerys together.

They could hold other beliefs, but they would still be anointed by the Seven and become true knights—even if many of them lacked the proper skills of a knight.

Watching Quaro, his face flushed red, loudly reciting his oath to Daenerys, Aggo said to Rakharo with a hint of envy, “I want to be a knight, too.”

“Me too,” Rakharo murmured.

Haggo was startled, then shook his head repeatedly. “No! The Khaleesi said we bloodriders are her ‘Blood of my blood.’ Our closeness and loyalty far surpass that between a knight and their liege lord. We mustn’t confuse our priorities!”

“Right, you’re right! The Khaleesi’s father’s kingdom was overthrown by his own vassals, but there has never been a bloodrider in the Great Grass Sea who betrayed their Khal,” Aggo said excitedly, coming to his senses.

“Yes, we are the Khaleesi’s final shield!”

In addition to knighting the twenty-five warriors, Daenerys then bestowed upon each of them the title of Ser.

Not all Sers are knights. A knight has only just stepped onto the threshold of nobility, while a Ser is considered a true noble.

Even if it was the lowest rank of nobility.

Daenerys was clear in her rewards and punishments. The Company of the Rose had only just surrendered; it was impossible for them to receive the same reward as the officers who had fought and won a great victory for her.

The ceremony did not end after the new Sers were made. Daenerys also had to knight herself.

Indeed, knighthood and a noble title were not the same. A knight dubbed by a king could be called “Ser,” but he was not necessarily a true lord.

And Daenerys, even with the title of Queen, was still not a knight. She had not been anointed in the knighting ceremony, had not been touched by the holy oils, and had never served a true knight.

How could the queen of so many knights not be a knight herself?

As Commander of the White Knights, Whitebeard Barristan was qualified to knight anyone if he was willing to pledge his own honor as a guarantee.

Except for the king.

If the Mad King Aerys were still alive, or even if Daenerys’s second brother still lived, Barristan could have knighted her as a princess.

A princess or a crown prince could kneel before the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but a queen or king could not.

It wasn’t that a queen couldn’t become a knight. If an Archsepton of the Faith of the Seven were present, he could knight Daenerys on behalf of the Seven.

But right now, there wasn’t even the lowest-ranking Septon.

However…

Daenerys had all her knights, including Barristan, line up below her and announced loudly, “There are no Septons of the Seven in Slaver’s Bay, let alone an Archsepton. Therefore, I have decided to follow historical precedent and serve as the Archsepton of Astapor myself.”

She wasn’t just boasting. Saint Baelor the Blessed—the one who locked his three sisters in the Maidenvault and thus planted the seeds of the Blackfyre Rebellion—had held both the titles of king and Archsepton.

If Daenerys could maintain this persona until the moment of her death without it ever faltering, she would surely be praised by later generations as “Saint Daenerys.”

Her historical status within the Faith of the Seven would be even higher than Saint Baelor’s, perhaps comparable to “Saint Peter,” “Saint John,” or “Saint Paul.”

Now, Saint Daenerys, in her capacity as Archsepton, would knight Queen Daenerys the First.

Daenerys, the Knight-Queen, drew her sword and planted it in the ground beside her. Facing the wooden posts of the Seven, she knelt on one knee. Behind her, dozens of knights drew their longswords and scimitars in unison, and, copying Daenerys, knelt solemnly behind her.

“I vow to be kind to the weak!” Daenerys declared.

“I vow to be kind to the weak!” the knights behind her shouted in unison.

“I vow to be brave against the violent!”

“I vow to fight all that is wrong and unjust!”

“I vow to wield my sword to fight for all the people of the world!”

“I vow to harm no child or babe!”

“I vow to help my brother knights!”

“I vow to be honest and true!”

“I vow to obey the laws of the land and the customs of the people!”

“I vow to hold ignorance as shameful, indolence as shameful, and extravagance as shameful!”

Daenerys recited a line, and her knights swore the oath with her. The scene was simple yet sacred, the atmosphere grave and solemn.

The surrounding soldiers quietly witnessed it all, filled with awe, reverence, and infinite yearning.

However, the knightly vows Daenerys had just “invented” were, ahem, a little loaded with her own ideas. By the end, she was almost shouting out the “Eight Honors and Eight Shames.”

Alright, the Eight Honors and Eight Shames were undoubtedly more… well, progressive in thought than true knightly vows.

The knightly lords of Westeros treated laws with contempt; they were all ignorant, unlearned, extravagant, and endlessly greedy. It was time for them to be anointed by the advanced ideology of the great Celestial Empire!

Daenerys concluded with one final vow spoken in a clear voice: “In the face of a strong foe, be fearless. Be bold and loyal. Be honest and true. Sooner die than yield. Protect the weak and break no divine law!”

As a feudal Knight-Queen, she certainly couldn’t let her underlings forget “loyalty and courage.”

If she didn’t promote loyalty, was she supposed to encourage her knights to rebel?

And since they were at war now, being brave and fearless was even more important.

After the ceremony ended, Daenerys stood up and looked around. She saw that the soldiers’ morale and spirit were much higher than before. Clearly, they had seen not only glory but also the tangible benefits that military merit could bring.

The army’s morale was high!

Daenerys noted this with satisfaction, then ordered the laborers to prepare wine and meat. After such a great victory and the creation of so many knights and sers, a celebration was in order!

After arranging the afternoon’s festivities, Daenerys gathered all her newly-made knights to wrap up the aftermath of the battle.

The Unsullied were in charge of leading the laborers to clean up the battlefield. Grey Worm was the first to step forward and report the battle’s outcome: “Your Grace, we lost one hundred twenty-seven knights, and another two hundred six were wounded and cannot immediately join the next battle.”

Daenerys’s brows furrowed. Even with such an advantageous position, the casualties were over ten percent. That ratio…

As an aside, during the Red Wedding, when House Frey (about two to three thousand men) and House Bolton (about three thousand infantry) conspired to kill Robb’s four thousand elite mixed force of infantry and cavalry, the Freys lost only about fifty men, and a dozen of those were killed by Robb’s direwolf, Grey Wind.

In the Game of Thrones television series, Grey Wind died pathetically in a kennel, a sad life and a wretched death. In the A Song of Ice and Fire novels, however, Grey Wind was released by Raynald Westerling and went on a killing spree, dying a spectacular death.

Raynald Westerling was Robb’s brother-in-law, the elder brother of Jeyne from The Crag, and the eldest son of Lady Sybell.

The gods have pity. Sybell never told her children about her collusion with Tywin, making her the number one mole in A Song of Ice and Fire.

She had even made a pact with Tywin to find a Lannister wife for Raynald.

The result was a traitorous mother and a loyal son. That night, Raynald committed suicide by jumping into the river during the Red Wedding.

Outnumbered and unwilling to surrender to House Frey, who had violated Guest Right, he was loyal and brave to a fault.

Another side note: Robb’s direwolf was several times more sensitive to danger to its master than Daenerys’s dragons. It had repeatedly bitten and snarled at Sybell and her brother in Robb’s presence, trying to warn his master, yet it was very affectionate toward Sybell’s son, Raynald.

“Why were there so many deaths?” Daenerys asked, looking at Barristan.

She had only lost about twenty men when she, Little Green, and five hundred knights cleared out the stubborn enemy strongholds. When Whitebeard led the main force to charge the open camp, they should have been unstoppable, especially since the entire camp had already been trampled by horses.

“We didn’t lose many men in the southern camp, but when we changed horses to sweep through the northern camp, we met with considerable resistance,” the old general sighed.

Daenerys nodded and said no more.

The Ghiscari masters had, as expected, placed the mercenary companies at the very front of the camp. After getting a clear view of the enemy camp with her dragon, Daenerys had precisely cut the Ghiscari Alliance’s camp in two.

The northern side was mostly merchants and slave soldiers, who posed little threat and could be dealt with later.

The mercenary companies were all located at the southern end, and she had wiped them out in one fell swoop.

After Whitebeard’s two thousand cavalry had swept through the mercenary camp several times, they switched to fresh mounts and swept northward.

The price of a few hundred casualties to capture tens of thousands of slaves and merchants was completely worth it.

Chapter 132: The Maiden with the Torch

“How many escaped?” Dany asked, looking at Barristan.

“All six Great Masters and Wise Masters fled, including the allied army’s supreme commander, Grazdan. Ninety percent of the Ghiscari soldiers in their Yellow Cloaks also escaped. The merchants and prostitutes were crying and trying to run, too, but I told them you wouldn’t harm the innocent, so they stayed.”

At this, he frowned, a wry smile on his face. “In truth, they couldn’t have escaped even if they wanted to. The slavers and Ghiscari soldiers had fast horses, but the merchants had heavy bags of radiants to carry, and the prostitutes had no horses and couldn’t ride.”

“As long as the slave soldiers remain, it’s fine,” Dany said with a nod.

“It’s not just slave soldiers. There are also several times their number in hard laborers, all of them slaves,” Barristan said.

“Even better.”

Then, she turned to Grey Worm and asked, “What are the casualties among the Unsullied and the Freeman Guard?”

“The Unsullied and the archers were fortunate; there were no deaths or injuries. They remain at full strength. Eight laborers died and seventeen were injured while cleaning the battlefield. Three others were flogged ten times by the Unsullied disciplinary squad for forcing themselves on prostitutes.”

After a moment of thought, Dany sighed. “Grey Worm, later, have the Unsullied distribute a reward of ten gold radiants to each cavalryman. The archers and Unsullied will each receive forty silver radiants, and the laborers two silver coins each. And then…”

Gritting her teeth, she said in a low voice, “Tell those merchants to bring all the prostitutes over, but do not allow them into the Poplar Hill camp.”

“As you command.”

“Avanti, were all the horses stopped?” Dany asked, turning to the old horse man.

Avanti, one of the horse men laborers, had led a group of old and female horse men to set up a barrier behind Poplar Hill to stop the herd.

“Khaleesi, in total, there are twenty thousand warhorses, thirty thousand packhorses, twenty thousand cattle, thirty-five thousand sheep, and nine hundred fat pigs. The horses stick to the herd, so probably not many got away. But the pigs like to run into the woods. I don’t know how many thousands of them have become wild boars,” Avanti said.

“Have the laborers salted the meat from the dead livestock in the camp?” Dany asked, looking at the militia squad leader.

“Your Majesty, you already made arrangements. We were basically butchering and salting them as we cleared the corpses. They probably won’t spoil, but…”

The middle-aged black man from the Summer Isles trailed off.

“Squad Leader Tako, but what?” Dany asked with a frown.

“Your Majesty, some of the bodies were trampled to pieces. We can’t tell if the meat is from a man or a pig,” the big black man, Tako, said awkwardly.

“Human hair is soft, and pig bristles are coarse. You can’t tell the difference?” the red-haired Layla retorted.

“On some men, in some places, the hair is very coarse too,” Tako shot back, refusing to concede.

“Ahem.”

Dany waved her hand dismissively. “Throw it out. Throw out anything you can’t identify.”

“Aren’t the bodies supposed to be burned?” Tako asked, confused.

“Burn them, burn them,” Dany nodded. Then she asked, “How many cattle and horses were seized from the northern main camp?”

“Eight thousand warhorses, fifteen thousand packhorses, and countless draft cattle, pigs, and sheep. But many of them belong to the merchants. Should we seize them?”

“Hmm. Our Code of Laws states that property obtained through legitimate means is sacrosanct and cannot be seized, not even by a king. Leave the prostitutes’ carriages, carts, and livestock alone. But the merchants who supplied the slavers with grain must have half their assets confiscated. Then, use the confiscated gold and silver to buy the other half of their livestock,” Dany said with a cold smile.

After a thought, she added, “Oh, and tell them they are not to inflate their prices. Actually, just set the price according to the current market rate in Astapor. Make it a flat rate.”

Dany then issued further orders concerning the captured supplies and disease prevention. After the officers left to carry them out, she mused, “Our losses in this battle were small. We can continue the fight. This time, it will be our turn to attack the slavers’ cities.”

“Your Majesty, do you intend to take Yunkai?”

Jon, a newly joined knight, immediately recalled what she had said before: to ensure the slavers would never have the chance to hire mercenary companies again.

“How many troops would it take to capture Yunkai now?” she asked.

Jon answered immediately, “Yunkai’s main industry is the training and trade of pleasure slaves; it never had much of a military force to begin with. Now that Your Majesty has annihilated the Ghiscari allied army, Yunkai is practically an empty city. With the morale of your army and the help of your dragons, it should be easy to take with just two thousand cavalry riding there quickly.”

“The problem is that holding Yunkai will tie up a large number of our people. Not only will we be unable to move on Meereen, but if things drag on, the six hundred-kilometer coastline from Astapor to Yunkai will become a huge burden,” Barristan said with a frown.

“Hmph. The next step is to develop a navy. I’ll turn Slaver’s Bay into my own bathtub!” Dany declared confidently.

“A navy is a highly technical military branch. It would be difficult to establish one in a short time, unless Your Majesty’s dragons can patrol the mouth of Slaver’s Bay daily,” the White Knight said.

“If they grow for another year or so, we could try it,” Dany said hesitantly.

“Regardless, taking Yunkai and Meereen sooner is better for us. At the very least, we can kill all the slavers and empty the two cities of their wealth,” Scarback Simon said viciously.

“Then we rest for one night and set out for Yunkai tomorrow?” Dany asked Barristan with her eyes.

She could set the strategic goals, but the actual command of the battle had to rely on the experienced old general.

“I will make the arrangements,” Whitebeard said slowly.

“You’ve been up all night. Go and get some rest,” Dany said gently.

“And you, Your Majesty?”

“I’m young. Staying up late doesn’t affect me much.”

“Very well.” The old man smiled wearily.

He couldn’t help but think of himself forty years ago, during the war against Maelys the Monstrous in the Stepstones. Staying up all night to discuss tactics with his brothers-in-arms had been a common occurrence.

After the meeting, Dany, surrounded by Belwas, her Bloodriders, and others, went out into the fields for the funeral of her fallen soldiers.

The climate in Slaver’s Bay was hot, and bodies could not be kept for long.

Over two hundred funeral pyres were arranged in neat rows. Before each pyre stood a cavalryman in iron armor, holding a banner with black wings on a blue field.

This was the Wings of Freedom banner of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard: on a field of blue sky, a dragon with black wings soared freely, just like Queen Dany’s black dragon.

As for why it wasn’t Little Green or Little White… alas, they were relatively small, not nearly as imposing as Big Black, nor as intelligent as the black dragon. Big Black just had the aura of a final boss.

Watched by over ten thousand off-duty soldiers, Dany rode her large yellow horse past each funeral pyre, looking upon the face of every fallen warrior.

The soldiers’ bodies had been cleaned and stitched. Their iron armor was removed, and over their leather armor, they wore a loose T-shirt with the image of a black dragon printed on the chest.

Uh, don’t doubt it. The people of Slaver’s Bay wore short shirts even before Dany arrived; she just adjusted the style to be a little more modern.

After making a full circle, she called out toward the pyres, “Send off our soldiers.”

The knights holding the Wings of Freedom banners stepped forward, placing the flagpole in the crook of each martyr’s arm so that their right hand grasped the staff.

“Even in the realm of the dead, you are still free warriors, still my soldiers, and still heroes who brought freedom and a better future to countless slaves!” Dany declared, her voice ringing out as she surveyed the crowd.

The midday sun beat down relentlessly, spilling light and heat across the fields. Tens of thousands of soldiers watched with solemn expressions as their Queen personally lit each funeral pyre with a torch.

Dany did not stay to watch the flames die down. The temperature wouldn’t drop until evening. The funeral rites were complete, and the remaining work would be done by the laborers.

They would collect the ashes of the fallen into jars. Once back in Astapor, these jars, labeled with names and numbers, would be delivered to the soldiers’ families along with their death benefits.

If a soldier had no family, their ashes would be stored in the lower levels of Dany’s Great Pyramid, where she kept her supplies.

Next came the part Dany was most practiced at: freeing slaves!

She had done it so many times, she knew exactly how to use slogans to inspire morale, how to make the slaves revere her like a god and feel grateful to her as if she were the parent who had given them a second life.

In the modern world, she could probably become a pyramid scheme kingpin—no, wait, the correct term is “presidential candidate.”

To the chants of “I want freedom! Long live the Mother of Dragons!”, slave collars and chains were unlocked and thrown to the ground. One by one, slaves disappeared, and new freemen appeared in their place.

Over seventy thousand new freemen stretched their arms toward Queen Dany, chanting ecstatically, “Mhysa! Mhysa!” Dany spurred her horse onward, weaving nimbly through the forest of arms.

She opened her arms, leaning low over her horse’s back, and her hands skimmed across the sea of white, brown, black, and amber-skinned arms, stirring up tumultuous waves.

Beneath the blue sky and white clouds, three vibrantly colored dragons circled and danced above her head, their roars echoing the tsunami of “Mhysa!” from below.

Well, in fact, Dany had been in a draconic spiritual state the whole time. The black dragon was watching a ten-meter radius around her, its eyes fixed on every person’s slightest movement, in case there was an assassin.

Honestly, even if an assassin disguised as a slave tried to kill her, Dany wasn’t afraid. Her thick suit of armor had almost no weak points.

And if something truly unpredictable happened, Big Black would swoop down in a second or two, pluck her up with its talons, and carry her away.

Dany pushed the new freemen’s passion to its peak. She cried out, “I need warriors! Warriors who will fight for me, fight to defend freedom, and fight to strike down the slavers!”

Countless people raised their arms and shouted, “We will die for the Mother of Dragons!”

Watching the countless warriors with combat experience line up at the recruitment points, Dany said proudly to Jon Bolton, “Now you know where my soldiers come from, don’t you?

“Wherever there are slavers, there are slaves. And no slave does not yearn for freedom. I am the very symbol of that freedom!”

“Your Majesty, you are Slaver’s Bay’s Goddess of Liberty!” the knight exclaimed.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that…” Dany tilted her head in thought for a moment. “As the Archsepton of Slaver’s Bay, I must make a small adjustment to the doctrine of the Seven here.”

“The Maiden embodies innocence and purity. A fine meaning, but it seems a bit narrow.”

“I’ve decided. In Slaver’s Bay, the Maiden of the Seven will represent purity and freedom.”

“The Smith has his hammer, the Warrior his sword, and the Father his scales. The Maiden should hold a torch, to light the path to freedom for all who set foot in Slaver’s Bay!”

“Brilliant, brilliant!” The red-haired Layla clapped her hands and laughed. “The Maiden’s previous meaning was indeed a bit thin. Now that Your Majesty has revised it, she has become more noble, more divine, and it’s especially fitting for the current social climate in Slaver’s Bay.”

“Yes, we can carve the statue of the Maiden in Your Majesty’s likeness. Your Majesty is the Maiden made flesh,” the bearded Bruce said fawningly.

“Hahaha,” Dany waved her hand, chuckling. “It’s too early to talk about that. Our immediate goal is to take Yunkai.”

Too early didn’t mean never, the shameless girl thought.

“Waaah—” As they were talking, a sudden cry, like a pig being slaughtered, came from nearby.

Dany turned her head and saw that on the outskirts of the long recruitment line, one of her guards in iron armor had shoved a richly dressed fat man, who stumbled and fell on his backside in the mud.

The fat man struggled to get up, wailing, “I want to see the Dragon Queen! I’m not a slaver! I want to see the Dragon Queen!”

Chapter 133: Daenerys’s Commercial Policy

“You’re a merchant who was transporting supplies for the Ghiscari Alliance?” Daenerys asked, looking down from her large yellow steed through the slit of her visor at the fat, white-skinned man with straight black hair below. “Though you are Ghiscari, I haven’t treated you merchants as I did the Wise Masters. The penalty of half your goods is not my invention; there are many such precedents in the wars between the city-states.”

Daenerys was not wrong. In a war between city-states, if one side won a pyrrhic victory, they would often seize part, or even all, of the captured merchants’ wealth to offset their losses.

After all, the profits of war were simply too vast. Two city-states might fight to the death, only for a great merchant from a third city-state to reap all the benefits.

In this instance, for example, the wealth Daenerys had seized from the Ghiscari slavers was less than a third of what she had confiscated from the merchants.

Over the six-hundred-kilometer march, the Ghiscari allied army had spent most of its gold radiants on the caravan of merchants trailing behind them.

“Your Majesty, I am not Ghiscari.”

“You wear your hair in that style, and you’re dressed in a tokar gown, yet you claim you’re not Ghiscari?” Daenerys scoffed. “Don’t be afraid. I am not targeting the Ghiscari people. In fact, most of the Ghiscari in Astapor are living better lives than before.”

This was, of course, a boast.

The Ghiscari who had become slaves due to bankruptcy were now freemen. They had been given dozens of acres of land and could even receive large, interest-free loans from Daenerys. Naturally, their lives were better than before.

But the Ghiscari who had formerly been slaves were a minority. Without the privileges of high-born citizens, some of the great Ghiscari artisans, masters of their craft, were even considering leaving Astapor.

“Your Majesty, my skin is so fair, how could I be a pure-blooded Ghiscari? I only dress this way to gain more respect from the Ghiscari slavers. Look.” He untied the band from his forehead, revealing a tattoo of green stripes on his left brow.

Daenerys’s expression grew strange. She looked the fat man up and down: a black unicorn hairstyle, a puffy face like a steamed bun with a humble smile, and narrow black eyes that glinted with shrewdness. His nose was small, but his lips were unusually thick, looking as if two sausages were hanging from his mouth.

He wasn’t tall, about 1.65 meters, a little shorter than Daenerys, but he was very stout. Yes, not merely fat, but like the eunuch Belwas, it was a solid kind of “fat.”

“You were a slave before, from one of the free cities?”

Slaves in the Free Cities had different kinds of tattoos on their faces according to their profession.

For example, slave soldiers were tattooed with fierce beasts like tigers, lions, or scorpions, while tavern servers were tattooed with gentler animals or objects, like turtles, blades of grass, water jugs, or wheels.

Prostitutes, however, were generally uniform, with only a teardrop mark tattooed at the corner of an eye to avoid marring their appearance.

Slaves in Slaver’s Bay typically had no facial tattoos, mainly because the bay was a slave-processing factory. The “products” were meant for export, and the slave masters in other city-states might not have appreciated the “factory’s” own tattoos.

The sausage-lipped fat man grinned. “Your Majesty the Dragon Queen, I am from Volantis. My name is Fater Dorsim. I was once a sergeant-major in the Tiger Cloaks. After distinguishing myself in battle several times, I gradually made a name for myself in Volantis.

“As luck would have it, a grain merchant, whose daughter was too fat and ugly to find a husband, bought this handsome and valiant man—me—to be his son-in-law. After my father-in-law died, I inherited his business.

“News of you liberating slaves caused a great stir in Slaver’s Bay. The great slave masters of Meereen and Yunkai started throwing money around, hiring mercenary companies from all over the world.

“I, too, wanted to seize the opportunity to make a fortune. I brought four hundred carts of sesame oil with me, followed the Second Sons across the Dothraki Sea, and came to Meereen in Slaver’s Bay. After selling the sesame oil to the slave masters, I bought up a large amount of grain and livestock… hehehe, and then I came all the way here.”

“Don’t tell me you secretly got his daughter pregnant, forcing an irreversible situation so your father-in-law had no choice but to buy you as a live-in son-in-law?” Daenerys asked suspiciously.

“Your Majesty, why would you think that?” Fater asked, stunned.

“Have you never looked in a mirror? Or is it the custom in Volantis to wear sausages on one’s lips for decoration?” Daenerys said with a smile.

“Your Majesty, this is something you wouldn’t understand.” After realizing what she meant, the stout white man stroked his thick lips and said proudly, “A man with thick lips looks honest! My father-in-law worried himself sick over his daughter’s future, and I haven’t let the old man down. Although I’ve kept seven or eight mistresses and fathered fifteen bastards, Daelin has always been my wife, and her children will safely inherit my fortune.”

Daenerys’s face turned cold. “Perhaps I should kill you and let your wife and children inherit your fortune immediately. Your dead father-in-law would surely rest easier.”

“Your Majesty, that’s entirely unreasonable.” The scoundrel of a fat man was not the least bit afraid of her. Hearing Daenerys’s murderous threat, not only did he not grovel and beg for mercy, but he had the gall to say, “You have no idea how ugly my wife is. I don’t need a mirror when I wake up in the morning. Seeing her is like seeing myself in a mirror.”

“Hehehe…” Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh.

Seeing that he had made Daenerys laugh, the fat man put on a pitiful expression and said, “There are only two kinds of men who wouldn’t look for a mistress when they’re with someone that ugly: a pauper, and a man whose… equipment doesn’t work. And I happen to be—”

“That’s enough. I don’t have time to listen to your nonsense.” Daenerys waved a hand, cutting off the glib man’s dirty joke. She got straight to the point. “What do you want from me?”

“Your Majesty, you took half of my packhorses and then forcibly bought the other half, but you weren’t interested in the carts or the grain on them. This…”

The fat man’s chubby face wrinkled up like the pleats of a steamed bun. He wailed, “You’ve even taken away my slave laborers. With so much grain piled up in the wilderness, how am I supposed to move it?”

“Oh. My apologies, I hadn’t considered that,” Daenerys said, embarrassed.

Fater Dorsim froze.

The Mother of Dragons said “my apologies” to me?

She admitted her mistake to a small merchant like me so readily?

For some reason, an impulse surged within him, and he wanted to shout: Long live the Queen! You must go and liberate Volantis at once!

“How about this? I will purchase all of your grain at Astapor’s market price,” she offered.

To hell with ‘Long live the Mother of Dragons.’

Fater’s face turned wooden. “Your Majesty, the market price in Astapor is even lower than what I paid for it in Yunkai. It’s not even one-fiftieth of what I was selling it for to the Ghiscari allied army. If I sell at that price, I’ll surely go bankrupt.”

His words were no exaggeration. Transporting grain over five hundred kilometers, with men and horses to feed and losses during transit, meant the cost would increase at least tenfold.

Meanwhile, Astapor had enjoyed two consecutive seasons of bumper harvests. Aside from Daenerys and the breweries, no one was buying grain, so the market price was extremely low.

Even though Daenerys had used macroeconomic controls—massively increasing the government’s grain reserves—to avoid harming the farmers’ interests, the price of grain was still only half of what it had been before she took Astapor.

It was precisely because the granaries in the Great Pyramid and the villages were overflowing with grain that Daenerys had no interest in the merchants’ stock.

“Then what do you propose?” Daenerys asked.

“I just want to break even.”

“You lost the war and you still expect to break even?” Daenerys sneered.

The fat man gritted his teeth as if he had made the agonizing decision to part with half his life. “Then… losing a little less is also acceptable.”

Daenerys was about to mock him again when a flash of inspiration struck her. She smiled sweetly. “Fater, have all the merchants lost everything?”

“Not all of them. Those old madams who keep a flock of prostitutes have made a killing. They’re going to make another fortune off your soldiers tonight. Right now, those bitches are rubbing their hands together, getting ready for a big night!” the fat merchant said sourly.

Daenerys thought for a moment, then said to an Unsullied, “Inform those prostitutes that the Mother of Dragons grants them their freedom. They can abandon their profession of selling smiles and become freemen of Astapor.”

“Hahaha, Your Majesty, do you really think those little vixens would give up their extravagant, decadent lives to become farmwives or textile workers in Astapor?” Fater Dorsim cackled.

Daenerys glanced at the fat man, then continued speaking to the Unsullied, “Ask those women if they want husbands. If they do, I can help them find good matches.”

“They all want to marry great merchants and rich men. Even becoming a rich man’s mistress is better than marrying a soldier,” the fat man chimed in with a cynical remark.

“You should worry about yourself first,” Daenerys said coldly.

“Oh, Your Majesty, you must help me,” the fat man immediately pleaded pitifully.

“Alright, I’ll still purchase your goods at Astapor’s market price. Then, I’ll compare it to the price you were selling to the Ghiscari slavers, and I, in my personal capacity as Queen, will reimburse you for the difference.”

The fat man’s narrow eyes practically bulged out like two large eggs. He stammered, “Your… Your Majesty, have you gone mad?”

Daenerys shot him a glare. “The difference will not be paid to you in radiants. Instead, you can buy goods in Astapor. No matter what you buy, and at what price, I will refund forty percent of your expenditure.

“The cumulative rebate cannot exceed the total price difference for the grain.

“Of course, you don’t need to use up your entire rebate amount at once. You can register your name and your company’s name at the customs office. A line of credit for the rebate will be recorded under your name, and it will be valid anytime you return to Astapor.”

“This…” Fater Dorsim was confused at first, but gradually, his bulging, pig-like eyes grew brighter and brighter. The way he looked at Daenerys was now filled with naked reverence.

“Your Majesty, I am certain now. You are a true queen!” he said, his tone solemn. “Wisdom, courage, mercy, justice—the perfect Knight-Queen.

“At the same time, you possess an extraordinary understanding of governance and commercial development.

“In all of recorded human history, I can find no monarch more perfect than you.

“The world will surely change because of you. The greatest festering sore in the history of human development—slavery—may truly be at its end.”

Well, what do you know? I misjudged him, Daenerys thought. Merchant Fater may be fat, lecherous, and greedy, but his insight is quite remarkable!

As the saying goes, a single virtue can hide a hundred flaws. Daenerys suddenly found the fat man not quite so jarring to look at.

But just as quickly, the fat man became obsequious and sycophantic once more. He pleaded with tears in his eyes, “Your Majesty, since you’re so benevolent, why not see your good deed through to the end? How about you just reimburse me in gold radiants? At an eighty percent rate? Or maybe seventy? I can’t go bankrupt! If I go bankrupt, my whole family will die! Boo hoo hoo…”

“What do you mean? How would you go bankrupt and your whole family die?” Daenerys asked, annoyed.

Her right hand instinctively rested on the hilt of her sword. If the fat man said one more unpleasant thing, she would slash him across his chubby face.

“Your Majesty, your policy is excellent, but what goods are worth buying in Astapor? It can’t be the Unsullied, can it?” the fat man said with a pained expression.

“Heh, your impression is still of the Astapor from half a year ago. Say no more, just go and see for your—huh?”

As she was speaking, Daenerys’s expression suddenly changed. She said to the fat man, “I have urgent business and must leave immediately. If you have any problems, go to Astapor and speak with my scribes.”

“What business?” the fat man asked, puzzled.

“It’s no secret. The Ghiscari navy has entered the Worm River,” Daenerys said faintly over her shoulder before spurring her horse and galloping quickly toward Poplar Hill.

Chapter 134: The Coastal Defense Battle

As Big Black flew back to Poplar Hill from Astapor, Jorah Mormont’s raven arrived at almost the same time.

This time, the “Anti-Mother of Dragons Alliance” wasn’t just attacking from land; in fact, there was more than one land army.

One great army, consisting of five thousand mercenaries, thirty thousand slave soldiers, and three thousand Yellow Cloaks, had assembled in Yunkai and was marching south along the main road to attack Astapor.

Another great army had gathered more than twenty longships and seventy to eighty galleys from the four cities of Yunkai, Meereen, New Ghis, and even Qarth. Over one hundred ships in total had entered the waters off Astapor.

There was also a third army: a commando force of the Ghiscari Iron Legion, striking north from the south.

After annihilating the Second Sons in the morning, Daenerys had sent Big Black back to Astapor alone to monitor the enemy fleet within a radius of several dozen kilometers from an altitude of five thousand meters.

Barristan guessed that the Ghiscari allied army was in contact with the fleet by raven, and that perhaps the enemy intended to follow “Daenerys’s plan” and launch a simultaneous land and sea assault this very afternoon—the Ghiscari Iron Legion north of the Worm River would also push north to destroy the agricultural and industrial systems Daenerys had worked so hard to build.

“The northern army has been utterly defeated. I thought they would retreat. Did the slave masters lose their raven while fleeing? Did the allied fleet not receive the message?”

Barristan, having taken a short two-hour nap in his armor, was already back to work.

“Perhaps they have scorpions mounted on their ships, and they’ve gotten bold. They want to try their hand at being dragon slayers?” Daenerys sneered.

While clearing the Ghiscari allied army’s camp, the militia had discovered the wreckage of several hundred heavy crossbows. Most had been trampled and destroyed along with other military supplies, but dozens in the northern camp remained intact.

These weapons were made from Summer Isles goldenheart wood as thick as an adult’s wrist, with a bow-span of two meters. The bowstring, as thick as a little finger, was woven from nine strands of Qohor-refined steel wire. It took two strong men turning a winch with a pulley system to draw the string.

The bolts were three-meter-long steel spears as thick as a thumb, with a tri-edged arrowhead inscribed with a string of dark red flame runes—magical enchantments added by Red Priests and Pyromancers.

Daenerys had tested one herself. She had Little White and Little Green breathe fire on a bolt. The steel shaft quickly turned red and began to soften, but the runed arrowhead, though glowing bright red, showed no signs of melting.

She couldn’t tell if the runes were truly effective or if the Qohori blacksmiths had used some special kind of steel.

Just the two thousand steel bolts they found were worth over twenty thousand gold dragons. Adding the expensive goldenheart crossbows, the Ghiscari allied army had spent at least one hundred thousand gold dragons on scorpions.

The newly-joined Company of the Rose also revealed that the Ghiscari had ordered over five hundred scorpions from Qohor. It was easy to imagine that the enemy warships were also well-equipped with similar weapons.

However, after inspecting them, Barristan stated that Qohor was not capable of building true scorpions. These were modified from siege crossbows, eighty percent less flexible and deadly than the scorpions developed by the Maesters.

“All-steel bolts are too heavy and can’t fly high. As long as the dragons maintain an altitude difference of fifty meters or more from these crossbows, they will be safe. But Balerion’s dragonflame has a direct kill range of over eighty meters,” he had told Daenerys.

Daenerys privately roasted the previous Targaryens. What the hell were they thinking? Cooperating with the Maesters to research a dragon’s kill radius? Did they even have Balerion help the Maesters develop crossbows to kill him?

The old man seemed to guess her thoughts and said quietly, “Knowing your dragon’s limits is the best way to protect yourself and your dragon.”

“That makes sense. I’ll be careful,” Daenerys nodded, then ordered the militia to prepare firewood to cremate the bodies of the dead mercenaries and Ghiscari.

Unlike their own side, which had lost just over two hundred cavalry, the Ghiscari allied army had left behind at least twelve thousand corpses. Cleaning them up was a troublesome task, and it was nearly two in the afternoon before they had managed to clear the field.

Gathering enough firewood to burn over ten thousand bodies was another massive undertaking. They estimated the pyres could be lit by noon the next day.

“I’m leaving now. Remember to have the militia dig latrines for the newly-joined slaves. The Ghiscari camp needs to be sprinkled with a layer of lime powder, too,” Daenerys instructed Barristan solicitously as she climbed onto Big Black’s back.

Barristan was a seasoned veteran of countless campaigns, but military hygiene was another matter entirely. In the tens of thousands of years since civilization began, practically no one had ever paid it any mind.

Half a year ago, upon seeing the Unsullied relieving themselves wherever they pleased just outside their tents, Daenerys had swiftly established “Military Hygiene Regulations.”

For instance, everyone must wash their hands and face before eating. If there was no water, they were to scrub with sand.

For instance, a trench must be dug around the perimeter of the camp, and everyone had to use it for defecation and urination. Even if generals were not comfortable urinating alongside their soldiers, they had to use a bucket, which would then be carried by a squire to be emptied into the trench.

For instance, after a battle, bodies must be immediately cleared and burned, and a thin layer of lime powder sprinkled over the battlefield and camp.

And every few days, the soldiers’ tents were to be disinfected with steamed vinegar.

“Let’s go!” Daenerys called out to Little White and Little Green. The three dragons flapped their wings and, with a powerful push, leaped into the sky.

The vigorous flap of their vast, leathery wings kicked up a cloud of grass and dust, forcing Jon Bolton to raise a hand to shield his eyes. In the sunlight, the black dragon’s dark back and the deep red bones of his wings glinted with a metallic sheen.

Watching him carry Daenerys higher and higher, the knight asked with concern, “Will Her Majesty be alright returning alone?”

Barristan said calmly, “Don’t worry. Astapor still has one Kingsguard, over three thousand Unsullied, five thousand of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard, and ten thousand militia. Let’s go and select new Freedom Guards from among the registered slave soldiers.”

The three dragons covered the twenty-kilometer distance in just a quarter of an hour. From far away, through the heightened senses of her draconic spiritual state, Daenerys could see the Ghiscari fleet stretching for four or five nautical miles.

Brown, tan, and white sails bloomed like roses on the azure sea. Together, they seemed to form a garden bed half-encircling the city of Astapor.

She had returned at the perfect time. The battle was just beginning.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The ballistae and catapults on Astapor’s walls roared to life.

Astapor’s defenders had the advantage of height. Their siege catapults were larger, more powerful, and had a longer range than those on the ships, so they were the first to attack the enemy galleys as they struggled to form up into an attack formation.

Long, thick bolts gleaming with a cold light and fire oil pots trailing black smoke streaked across the sky. Most of them only raised splashes in the sea, but a few hit their targets, punching holes in enemy decks or igniting a string of flames on a massive sail.

Daenerys could even see Jorah, clad in his white cloak, shouting orders. The banners of the Wings of Freedom on the wall-walk whipped in the sea breeze as bare-chested, muscular soldiers strained to turn the winches, reloading the catapults.

She also saw Ghiscari sailors, nimble as monkeys, scrambling up the rigging. They climbed above a burning sail and emptied sand from their bags onto the flames.

Then, four or five two-meter-long crossbow bolts flew toward them. By sheer bad luck, one pierced a skinny sailor through the waist. Like a piece of lamb on a skewer, the thick wooden shaft carried the sailor, screaming and flailing his limbs, another seven or eight meters before pinning him to the railing below the ship’s bridge.

The tail of the bolt was still quivering with a hum, and the sailor was still groaning, but no one paid him any mind. The first mate yelled at a second crewman to climb the mast and fight the fire. The captain on the bridge merely glanced down at the suspended corpse before cursing and shouting for the catapults on the forecastle and sterncastle to return fire.

As the warships adjusted their positions, the docks of Astapor came into their attack range.

“The dragon! The dragon has returned!” The Mother of Dragons’ Guard on the walls cheered loudly.

Both warring sides looked up. The three dragons circling high above were only the size of falcons, and with the glare of the bright sun, most people wouldn’t even have noticed them. But the people of Astapor were all too familiar with their three dragons; they had seen similar sights countless times over the past half-year.

It started with just a few voices, but soon, nearly twenty thousand soldiers throughout the city were shouting in unison: “Long live the Queen! Long live the Mother of Dragons!”

Hearing the cheers from the city, the enemy ships on the sea raised their spyglasses. After a moment of observation, they too spotted the three dragons circling in the sun.

“Woooo—woooo—” A low horn blast slowly spread across the water. In an instant, nearly all the ships began to lower their sails.

The warships that had not yet found their positions extended long oars from their sides. To the “thump, thump, thump” of a drumbeat, hundreds of naked sailors chanted “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!” as they rowed with all their might.

The galleys obeyed their captains’ commands, groaning as they moved.

Indeed, the rowers wore no clothes, and most still wore the leather collars of slaves.

“They’re certainly bold, chasing us all the way to the Worm River delta.”

Looking at the longships prowling within the river channel, Daenerys sneered.

The Ghiscari allied fleet had two types of ships. The first were the slower but larger galleys, their decks packed with several, or even more than a dozen, catapults. Their sides bristled with rows of powerful ballistae, and their prows were fitted with sturdy rams. These ships were primarily for gaining control of the sea.

The other type of warship was the longship, with a narrow, low hull. When their rowers pulled with all their strength, they could briefly reach speeds of twenty-five knots. The rowers were also elite warriors experienced in sea battles. In boarding actions and pursuits, these longships were as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel.

Black-bearded Groleo’s dozen or so galleys were completely outmatched, so a few days ago they had entered the Worm River and taken refuge in the port on the delta plain in the middle of the river. Dozens of merchant ships were also beached there.

Illyrio’s one-hundred-meter-long Saduleon lay tilted on the sandy shore.

A fat-bellied sailing ship was useless as a warship; Groleo’s current flagship was Euron’s Silence.

Of course, it was no longer called the Silence. It had been renamed The Viserys.

Ugh. It was named in memory of Daenerys’s unlucky wretch of an elder brother.

The truth was, Black-bearded Groleo had wanted to call it The Aegon, but Daenerys felt that someone as awesome as Aegon deserved better. As the ruler of a bayside city-state, she would surely build a massive fleet in the future, with much mightier warships.

The name The Aegon could wait. For now, she would let the ghost of Viserys fill in.

However, the name The Viserys seemed truly unlucky. Since receiving its name, the ship had been constantly harassed and besieged by Ghiscari warships. It didn’t dare leave the dragons’ line of sight, and now it had been forced into a freshwater river, not even daring to leave the harbor.

Thud! Daenerys leaped down from Big Black’s neck, her iron boots leaving two shallow prints on the red brick wall.

“Prepare fire bombs for my dragons,” she said to the militia squad leader who came to greet her.

“Your Majesty, you should wait in the Great Pyramid. It’s too dangerous here,” Jorah Mormont urged.

BOOM!

Before he finished speaking, a bundle of blazing incendiaries crashed against the base of the city wall. The flames made the brickwork crackle and pop, and the acrid black smoke made Daenerys’s eyes sting.

“Asphalt?” She leaned over the parapet to look down. A patch of burning cloth was stuck to the wall, spreading out and charring a black streak up the bricks with its thick smoke.

“It’s refined fire-paste,” said Jorah.

A dozen plumes of thick, smoky fire had already erupted along the northern, sea-facing wall. Unsullied were shouting for the militia to extinguish the flames, while officers brandished gleaming longswords, roaring at the soldiers under their command, “Reload the catapults! Kill those son-of-a-bitch slavers!”

The battle was gradually reaching a fever pitch, even more ferocious than the surprise attack at dawn.

“I’ll stay here to command the dragons.” Daenerys smiled and said, “Just arrange for four Unsullied to hold shields for me to block the bolts. The fire can’t hurt me.”

Chapter 135: Strategic Bomber

BOOM—

As if a napalm bomb had detonated, the 40-meter-long ship was instantly engulfed in a dazzling fireball. A circular shockwave, visible to the naked eye, blasted outward, flinging a dozen helpless sailors through the air and pushing nearby ships three to five meters away.

Through her spyglass, Daenerys could even see the warship, with “The Grazdan” painted on its hull, slowly disintegrating. Countless sailors struggled and shrieked in the flames. Then, their bodies, twisted into grotesque shapes, burned with a crackling sound.

Serpents of fire hissed from the ballista ports on the lower deck, licking out with their fiery tongues. Hundreds of sailors, looking like human torches, threw themselves into the sea.

The tremendous fiery explosion silenced the entire battlefield for a few seconds, followed by the frenzied cheers of twenty thousand soldiers: “Long live the Mother of Dragons! The True Dragon is invincible!”

“Long live the Mother of Dragons! Long live Daenerys the First!”

“The True Dragon is invincible! The True Dragon is invincible!”

The soldiers even stopped what they were doing to wave their arms and shout at the great dragons circling in the sky. Their officers didn’t reprimand them; instead, they waved their longswords and joined the cheering crowd.

The roar of the crowd seemed to encourage the green and white dragons. Following the example of their big brother, Big Black, they flew up to a height of 3,000 meters, then folded their wings and went into a freefall, like spears hurtling from the sky.

Below them were two giant warships.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh…

They fell for 1,000 meters, constantly twitching their tails to fine-tune their trajectory.

In the dragons’ eyes, it was as if they had crosshairs, perfectly aimed at the highest structure on the warship—the bridge.

They abruptly spat a small flame at their talons before snapping their wings open, their bodies carving a graceful arc through the sky as they flew toward Daenerys on the city wall.

But the giant fire bombs they had released continued to plummet vertically at incredible speed, letting out a piercing shriek as they accelerated.

The fire bombs Daenerys had the brasiers specially make looked exactly like missiles.

They had a pointed head cast from bronze, which kept the “missile’s” center of gravity forward so it would fall nose-down (as bronze is denser than pottery). Its bulbous pottery body was stuffed with white phosphorus, oil, and pitch—the small amount of white phosphorus was soaked in the oil, preventing it from contacting the air.

The missile had fins on its tail to keep it on course, and from its rear extended another tail—a long, thick hemp rope tied to the dragon’s talons.

To release the bomb, the dragons would use their Dragonflame to burn through the rope on their talons. The dragon would then fly away, while the missile continued its freefall.

A 40-kilogram oil bomb, with a bronze-cast “warhead,” falling from 3,000 meters.

Thud— the fire bomb pierced the ship’s bridge.

Crash—

The hard, brittle pottery jug shattered, spraying oil and white phosphorus inside the cabin. The high-speed descent had generated tremendous heat from air friction, raising the temperature of the contents. The white phosphorus ignited upon contact with the air, and in the next instant, the oil—which had practically vaporized on impact—caught fire. BOOOOM!

The bridge was blown away, the ship’s hull was torn apart, and the structures and people on deck were incinerated in the fireball.

“How terrifying! If the oil were replaced with Wildfire…”

An image formed in her mind: Big Black, finally an adult, capable of carrying five hundred kilograms. He flies ten thousand meters above King’s Landing, a “bomb” ten times the current size clutched in his talons.

Cast from sheet iron and filled with four hundred kilograms of green Wildfire, he drops it on the Red Keep…

Daenerys shivered. Damn, she thought. Who needs fire-breathing dragons? They could just become strategic bombers.

“Continue! Arm my dragons with fire bombs! Burn the slavers!” she ordered loudly, drawing her longsword.

“Long live the Mother of Dragons! Burn the slavers!”

In the square behind the city wall, the three dragons landed on a launch platform. A dozen militiamen pushed carts to the base of the wooden platform.

The flatbed carts were piled high with soft straw, and in the center of each stood a “missile” two meters long and as thick as a bucket. A net of chopstick-thick hemp ropes was woven around the missile’s body, gathering at the tail into a single thumb-thick rope. Soldiers crouching beside the dragon tied the seven-to-eight-meter-long rope to its talons.

Big Black had been the first to complete his run and the first to return, and now he was the first to take to the skies again, flapping his wings and slowly ascending as he dragged the “missile” behind him.

Because he needed a short runway, the soldiers below had to match Big Black’s speed, pushing the cart forward for four or five meters so he could lift the missile into the air.

Watching the “missile” swing only slightly beneath Big Black, Daenerys couldn’t help but marvel again at the dragon’s sense of balance and stable flight.

About ten minutes later, it was whoosh whoosh whoosh—boom boom boom! all over again.

Three fire bombs took out three warships.

A single warship costs at least ten thousand gold dragons to build, and forty or fifty thousand is not uncommon.

Meanwhile, the oil for a single fire bomb cost only one or two silver coins. The white phosphorus… that was a bit expensive. Only a few pyromancers in the city could produce it, and it cost Daenerys three gold dragons per 500 grams.

Even so, the cost of one fire bomb was no more than five gold dragons.

This was a massive gain!

“Did you really think you could fight me at sea just because Astapor has no navy? I’ll fight you slavers until you’re bankrupt.” Daenerys laughed triumphantly, watching the three mushroom clouds rising from the sea.

But the enemy’s tenacity was beyond imagination. Even after four waves of fire bombs destroyed twelve of their largest warships, not a single ship had retreated.

Not only did the enemy fleet not retreat, but the sailors who had been thrown into the water were all swimming toward the docks. Within an hour or so, twelve ships had been destroyed, and two to three thousand of their crewmen had gathered at the docks.

The city wall was seventy to eighty meters from the shoreline. Between them lay a wide, red-brick road, as well as taverns, eateries, warehouses, and other brick-and-stone buildings.

The residents of the dock district had, of course, been evacuated long ago, but the buildings were still standing. The sailors who swam ashore did not charge the city wall just dozens of meters away. Instead, they scattered, taking cover at the base of the buildings.

A dark-skinned Unsullied glanced at Daenerys and hesitated for a moment, but then walked over to Mormont, who was loudly directing the soldiers’ attacks on the enemy fleet. He asked for his orders: “Commander Mormont, should we dispatch the Unsullied to go down and clean up those sailors?”

The military regulations Daenerys had established clearly stipulated that junior officers were only to report military situations and request orders from their direct superiors. They were absolutely forbidden from revealing military secrets to others, even those of higher status, let alone obey orders from an officer not in their direct chain of command without explicit permission from their superior. The regulations also stated that if their superior was killed in action, or if they were unable to contact their direct superior in an emergency, non-commissioned officers could obey orders from the highest-ranking officer present. Of course, none of these rules applied to the Queen; her commands held the highest authority at all times and in all places.

This was why the Unsullied Captain had hesitated upon seeing Daenerys, unsure if he should ask her for orders.

The Unsullied were organized with fifty men to a squad, ten squads to a platoon, and three platoons composed a company. The entire force of 8,600 Unsullied formed a single legion.

The Commander of the legion was Grey Worm. This particular Captain was also an acquaintance of Daenerys: Misande, brother of her scribe Missandei.

Missandei had been sold to Astapor along with her three brothers. She became a scribe for the Good Masters, while her brothers became “sisters.”

One of her brothers didn’t survive the training and was killed by the Good Masters, leaving two: Misande and Misanlo.

Perhaps Missandei’s family had good genes. At ten years old, Missandei was fluent in more than a dozen languages, a true prodigy. Her two brothers were also highly skilled fighters who could read and write, possessed excellent military sense, and were very quick learners.

Thus, Misande and Misanlo had been elected as Captains by their fellow Unsullied.

Daenerys was not angry with Misande’s choice, for just a few days earlier, before she had marched out, she had given all her officers a clear order: Jorah Mormont was the commander-in-chief of Astapor’s defense, and during the war, he held the highest command authority.

“If they don’t try to attack the city, leave them be,” Jorah said without hesitation.

“Commander, those sailors have gotten clever,” Misande said. “They jump into the sea the moment they see a dragon flying over their ship. On the last nine ships, almost no one was killed. I fear the number gathering below will only grow.”

“How many could there possibly be?” Jorah said contemptuously. “A hundred-something ships means forty or fifty thousand crewmen at most. But they’ve been in the water; they have no armor, and most don’t even have weapons. How is an army of fifty thousand with no iron armor, no horses, and no siege equipment supposed to take this city?”

“I understand,” Misande said, seeing his point.

Just then, Daenerys interjected, “Ser Jorah, don’t you find them a bit too courageous? In just over an hour, they’ve lost more than ten percent of their ships. Shouldn’t they have scattered and fled by now?”

Jorah frowned and sighed. “I’d like to think they’re just waiting for nightfall to escape the dragons. But I’m deeply concerned they have some trump card we don’t know about. That’s why I’m meeting all contingencies by holding our ground. The Unsullied will defend the city and will not sally forth.”

Daenerys looked west. The blazing white sun had turned a dark red. It was about four in the afternoon; dusk was still an hour or two away.

Reloading the ammunition was slow, but the three dragons could still launch three attack waves in an hour. Six waves in two hours… eighteen ships.

It made no sense.

Even if they raised their sails and fled at full speed, how many ships would they really lose? Could the Ghiscari navy have guessed she had “Little Melons” specially designed for their sailing ships?

Ugh, beer-bottle-sized fire bombs, tied together in a string, specifically for burning sails.

A single dragon could drop four or five strings at a time. And since they didn’t need to dive from high altitude—two hundred meters was enough—their turnaround time would be much faster.

At the same time, Groleo would lead his fleet in pursuit. The Viserys was the fastest ship in Slaver’s Bay; it could serve as an “aircraft carrier” for her “dragon fighters,” providing ammunition for the three of them.

They would truly lose more than just eighteen ships.

“Huh—” Daenerys’s expression changed as her gaze swept past the Great Pyramid behind her. She quickly raised her spyglass to look again.

Just as she feared, her Dragon Horn was gone.

“Big Black, hold your drop. Go to the garden on the top floor of the pyramid and take a look,” she immediately sent a message to the black dragon in the sky.

Big Black was incredibly fast. The pyramid, five hundred meters away, was just a wingbeat away.

One glance was all it took for Daenerys’s brow to furrow. Hidden among the flower bushes on the north side of the rooftop garden were two bodies. They were two young-faced Unsullied, lying on their backs, with blood streaming from their eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouths.

Six months ago, she had acquired 8,600 fully trained Unsullied and another 5,000 Unsullied trainees.

Five thousand of the Unsullied had gone with her to Poplar Hill, leaving thirty-six hundred to defend the walls. As for the five thousand trainees—not counting about a thousand boys under the age of ten—half had been sent to the countryside to maintain village order, while two thousand served as Astapor’s city guard.

During this time, her Great Pyramid was being guarded by the Unsullied trainees.

Now, an enemy had infiltrated the pyramid, and her Dragon Horn had been stolen.

Chapter 136: A Bright Mirror Hangs High (Seeking Subscriptions, Seeking Recommendation Tickets)

“Damn it, my Dragon Horn has been stolen!” Daenerys said with a grim face.

“What?” The topic changed too quickly, and Jorah Mormont didn’t react for a moment.

“The Dragon Horn that I hung at the top of the Great Pyramid as a rallying call is gone.” She said it again.

The Dragon Horn sealed a Dragon Spirit, the spirit of a Dragonlord.

The blower can integrate their will into the Dragon Spirit, enter the dragon’s soul sea with the Dragon Spirit, and leave their will in the depths of the dragon’s soul by using the Dragonlord’s power.

The above is the magical principle by which the Dragonbinder controls dragons.

Last time Euron left his will in Little Green and Little White’s mindscape. In a normal way, Daenerys only needed to blow the horn, attach her will to the Dragonlord’s spirit, break through the soul defenses of the two dragons again, and leave a mark of enslavement in the depths of their souls.

However, Daenerys believed that breaking the young dragons’ soul defenses twice in a short period had already caused great damage to their souls. If she enslaved the little dragons again with the help of the Dragonlord’s power, it would inevitably cause indelible trauma to them.

More importantly, as a Dragon Spirit, she was used to fusing with Big Black’s soul, and enslaving the green and white dragons made Daenerys feel guilty for betraying her own children.

Although she wanted Little White and Little Green to honestly listen to their mother, she didn’t want two obedient slaves who hated her.

Deep down, she also believed that dragons should be free and not be bound by anyone, except for her.

She was a Dragon Spirit, and she could merge with the dragon’s soul. The reason why she couldn’t merge before was because the “skill slot” was occupied by Big Black, and Little Green and Little White’s soul seas could not accept her.

But with the help of the Dragon Horn, Daenerys broke the restriction and entered Little White and Little Green’s soul seas again.

Then Daenerys did something crazy. She dragged Big Black into Little Green and Little White’s soul seas, just like on the night of Dragon Hatching in the Red Waste, the three dragons and her souls merged together.

After the fusion, they joined forces and directly overturned the Dragonlord’s spirit, which was also in the soul seas of the two dragons.

The reason why the Dragon Horn can bind dragons is because the Dragonlord’s spirit is of a higher level than the souls of ordinary dragons.

Indeed, Big Black, Little Green, and Little White alone were not opponents of the Dragonlord.

But the three-in-one plus ‘Mommy Daenerys’, the Dragonlord’s spirit was almost shattered.

Well, it did shatter.

The magic runes inside the Dragon Horn fell off the horn and landed in the soul seas of the two dragons, where Daenerys “picked” them up.

After Daenerys recovered her health, she tried the Dragon Horn several times. The Dragonlord’s spirit still existed, but it could no longer break through the dragon’s soul space.

Although it could still intimidate all living beings with the Dragonlord’s majesty, it could no longer control the dragons.

The Dragon Horn became a simple horn.

However, Daenerys did not put it on a high shelf. When the Unsullied attacked Astapor, she used it as a military horn.

After taking Astapor, she regarded the horn as the “villagers’ rallying call.”

Alas, Daenerys was a village kid in her previous life. When the Village Head summoned the villagers for a meeting, he would carry a gong and beat it hard at the entrance of the village. The villagers who heard the sound of the gong would walk out of their homes one by one and slowly gather towards the place where the Village Head was beating the gong.

Even if the people at the end of the village couldn’t hear it, nearby neighbors would remind them.

The Dragon Horn could almost cover the entire city of Astapor, which was much more awesome than Grandpa Village Head’s gong.

The little girl who used to have a runny nose inherited Grandpa Village Head’s mantle and became a Village Head herself, the Village Head of Astapor Village, and she also hung a “gong” at her doorstep.

Daenerys was not worried that someone would steal her “gong” at all. The Great Pyramid was one hundred meters tall, and how many civil servants and guards were inside?

There were also two Unsullied working in three shifts to stand guard in the rooftop garden, while the “Sunrise Palace” at the bottom was crowded with people, acting as a government office and court every day, with countless bored citizens coming to watch the gossip.

When Daenerys led the army on an expedition, her little scribe Missandei sat on the lower left of the Queen’s wooden chair, in the position of the “Hand of the Queen,” handling daily affairs on behalf of the Queen.

Well, Missandei was equivalent to the Hand of the King who only had the right of judgment.

But someone broke into the Great Pyramid and stole her horn.

Suddenly, Daenerys thought of someone, her face changed, and she gnashed her teeth and said, “Damn it, it must be Euron, that bastard. It’s been half a year, and he still hasn’t returned to Westeros.”

“It’s very likely him.” Jorah nodded in agreement.

At that time, Daenerys seemed to surround Astapor on three sides and leave one open, but in fact, several hundred horse men cavalry were secretly ambushed at the “open” gate. None of Astapor’s Good Masters escaped.

But Euron didn’t plan to escape at all. After he came out of Grazdan’s Great Pyramid, he stayed in the inn openly. Daenerys didn’t make things difficult for him after entering the city.

Half a month after Daenerys entered Astapor, the merchants trapped in the dock area began to leave one after another. Because the slave sailors were liberated—becoming members of Groleo’s fleet—many merchant ships lacked sailors, and Euron and his two hundred mute sailors were still very popular.

Uh, Euron hid his identity as the pirate king of the Summer Sea’s “Red Devil” and instead acted as a Westerosi Ser in distress.

At most, Daenerys thought that Crow’s Eye would loot his employer halfway and then return to Westeros, or become a pirate again. She never thought that the guy would dare to steal from her, Queen Daenerys.

Or, did he sell the secret of the Dragon Horn to the Ghiscari? So the Ghiscari warships refused to retreat, just to create an opportunity for the thief?

Instructing Big Black to continue to be a bomber, Daenerys turned around and called two squads of one hundred Unsullied in total.

“I’m going to the Great Pyramid to take a look. Ser Jorah, you continue to command the battle here according to the previous plan.”

“It’s not certain who broke in. Let me go with you.” Jorah said worriedly.

“Don’t worry, there are still five hundred little Unsullied in the Great Pyramid!”

Daenerys found a horse, and one hundred Unsullied jogged behind her, arriving at the bottom of the Great Pyramid in just ten minutes.

Outside, there was a constant barrage of artillery fire, but here, hundreds of citizens were leisurely watching Missandei’s trial.

What was even more outrageous was the case Missandei was trying.

Two farmers were arguing over a piglet.

Half a year ago, a forty-year-old Lhazari farmer took out an interest-free loan from Queen Daenerys and sold a strong boar as a breeding pig. Farmers within ten kilometers often led their sows in heat to his house for mating.

A few months ago, his boar broke through the pigsty fence and ran away. When the Lhazari found it, the boar was lying on the back of a sow.

It was a sow raised by a white youth from a neighboring manor.

There was no major conflict at the time. After the two pigs were finished, the Lhazari whipped his boar a few times and led it home cursing.

Even though the sow from the neighboring manor gave birth to a litter of piglets three days ago, the Lhazari farmer didn’t care.

Until yesterday morning, when the Lhazari’s wife was weeding in the rice field, two people walked along the ridge not far away.

The chest-high rice seedlings blocked the woman’s figure, and the young couple walking on the ridge spoke without restraint.

Among them, the white husband told his wife triumphantly: He deliberately took advantage of the fact that no one was at the Lhazari farmer’s house and led his sow around the pig pen. The strong boar couldn’t bear it, broke through the wooden fence, and followed the pig’s scent. In this way, he saved a piglet!

Well, it costs money to mate a sow with a boar, and it’s not cheap.

Either pay one hundred copper pennys, or allow the boar owner to choose a piglet after the sow gives birth to piglets.

So the Lhazari farmer made a fuss.

Faced with the Village Elder’s questioning, the young man refused to admit it and instead accused the Lhazari farmer of slandering his honor.

More importantly, the place where the boar rode the sow was in the young man’s vegetable garden, and the wooden fence of his pigsty was also broken.

The Village Elder had no choice but to let the two go to the “Village Head” to resolve it.

Daenerys stood on the periphery and listened for a while, only feeling that these “commoners” were really big-hearted. There were more than one hundred thousand enemies from the land and naval forces outside the city, and hundreds of thousands of troops were fighting on both sides.

Not to mention Slaver’s Bay, even the continent of Essos had not seen such a large-scale war in thousands of years.

These two guys were good. For the sake of one piglet, they left the village, crossed the “possible war zone”, and came to the Queen’s palace to file a lawsuit.

MMP, there were also hundreds of Astapor citizens acting as gossipers next to them. Even her maid, Doreah from Lys, was eating persimmons while watching with great interest and excitement.

However, after seeing Doreah, Daenerys also breathed a sigh of relief: Doreah did not stay in the rooftop garden and did not encounter misfortune.

“Ah, ah.” A citizen wearing a linen T-shirt turned his head inadvertently and saw Daenerys, who was surrounded by Unsullied. He immediately shouted excitedly, “Her Majesty the Queen is here, long live the Mother of Dragons, the Queen is back! Long live Queen Daenerys!”

The guy was a little incoherent and at a loss, but he also alarmed the others in the hall. Everyone shouted “Queen” and “Mother of Dragons”, and the solemn “government office” became as noisy as a vegetable market for a while.

“Quiet!” Daenerys raised her hand and shouted loudly.

“Dong dong dong” The Unsullied in the two rows under the Queen’s wooden chair stomped the red and black lacquered sticks in their hands forcefully and shouted in unison: “Majesty——”

Uh, those Unsullied had changed into dark blue robes, wore cloth hats printed with red dragon patterns, and also held water and fire sticks completely dressed as Celestial Empire yamen runners.

Well, they even wrote a large “soldier” in Chinese characters on their chests.

In front of the acting “magistrate” Missandei, there was also a table with a gavel on it.

Above the Queen’s seat hung a plaque, written in Valyrian: Justice above, benevolence below.

“Majesty” can be shouted in Chinese, as long as the momentum is sufficient to deter everyone. The plaque cannot be written in Chinese characters, because if it is written, no one will recognize it, so what is the point?

A group of people quieted down, and Missandei came over and asked suspiciously, “Your Majesty, what’s wrong?”

The little dark-skinned girl was very smart and guessed that if there were no accident, Daenerys would climb the Great Pyramid directly from the stairs outside even if she came back. Disrupting the trial was not her style.

“Someone infiltrated the Great Pyramid. I will temporarily block all entrances and exits. Even if I can’t find the infiltrators, I must find out how they entered the top of the Great Pyramid.” Daenerys did not hide it from the people and spoke very loudly.

“Oh my god, an enemy actually infiltrated the top of the Great Pyramid? Didn’t the Unsullied guards notice?”

“Could they be hiding among us?”

“It must be that group of slave owners who should go to hell. They want to assassinate Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Are you stupid? Who doesn’t know that Her Majesty the Queen led the team on an expedition?”

“Could they want to steal something?”

The group of citizens watching the “government office” trial chattered and guessed eight or nine out of ten of the enemy’s purpose.

Daenerys waved her hand, and the Unsullied who acted as runners stomped their sticks again “dong dong dong”, prolonging the tone and shouting: “Majesty——”

“The horn I placed on the edge of the garden has been stolen. Everyone, please register your name and house number with the scribe immediately, and then you can go home. Today’s court session will be suspended first and will resume as usual tomorrow morning.” Daenerys said.

The crowd of gossipers walked towards the scribe desk at the door in an orderly manner, and soon they consciously formed two long queues.

“Your Majesty, what about us?”

Chapter 137: An Otherworldly Mission: Impossible

“Your Majesty, what should we do?” The crowd of onlookers was leaving in an orderly line, but the two litigants at the center of the enclosure were completely lost.

Daenerys wanted to say, “Come back and sort this out tomorrow,” but on second thought, she realized that while the case seemed simple, there was little tangible evidence. Missandei would most likely leave it for her to decide.

And so…

With a shing, she drew the longsword from her waist and drove it into the ground. Thwump. The blade sank half an inch deep into the redwood floor. “Be honest, the two of you. Which one of you is lying?”

Thud!

The two men dropped to their knees.

“Your Majesty, I’m not lying!” the middle-aged farmer wailed, tears streaming down his face.

“Your Majesty, I… I didn’t…” The young man’s eyes darted around as he stammered a denial. “I wouldn’t dare lie.”

“Hmm?” Daenerys lowered her voice, tilting her head toward the young man. The steel gauntlet gripping her sword hilt creaked audibly.

“I… Your Majesty, I am guilty! I lied!” Through the slits of her visor, the young man thought he saw the Queen’s cold, purple eyes glowing. He felt an oppressive “kingly might” wash over him like a physical force, and he burst into tears.

It wasn’t just the young man. Even the citizens still in line to leave felt the Queen suddenly radiate a formidable “overbearing aura of a ruler.” Necks retracted and hearts trembled as they thought excitedly: Here it comes, here it comes! We get to see Her Majesty’s ‘iron-masked judgment’ again!

Crying, the young man confessed, “Six months ago, I was fortunate enough to meet my wonderful wife, Ellena, at the ‘city-wide matchmaking event’ Your Majesty arranged. I love her very much, and she is very fond of jewelry. For our wedding, I bought her a silver hairpin inlaid with pearls, which used up my entire interest-free loan quota. I wanted to save the money for breeding my sow… Your Majesty, I was wrong!”

Daenerys released her draconic spiritual state, and Big Black’s spirit withdrew from her sea of soul. Her “shining” eyes instantly dimmed, and the “kingly might” seemed to vanish.

“According to the Code of Laws, what crimes should this man be convicted of?” she asked, turning her head to her “Chief Justice,” Missandei.

In her draconic spiritual state, Daenerys could enter Big Black’s sea of soul, gaining access to his five senses, his sixth sense, and beyond. Similarly, because their human and dragon souls could merge perfectly, Big Black could also enter her sea of soul and gain her five senses.

Previously, Daenerys could only enter Big Black’s soul sea. But after she devoured the spirits of faith of the Undying in the House of the Undying, Big Black seemed to have undergone some kind of evolution that wasn’t outwardly visible. In the Dragon Horn incident instigated by Euron, Daenerys had first pulled Big Black into her own sea of soul to help him break free from the Dragonlord’s soul’s oppression. Later, when freeing Little White and Little Green, she used her own soul sea as a relay station to pull Big Black into their spiritual spaces.

When Big Black’s spirit entered Daenerys’s sea of soul, she was essentially imbued with the soul of a dragon. To others, seeing her was almost like facing a great dragon, especially when they looked into her eyes. Her Dothraki handmaiden had once said with lingering fear, “I thought I saw the Horse God.”

This was why Daenerys’s judgments were often infallible, making her even more just than any legendary judge.

“Your Majesty, Dick has committed two crimes: theft and breach of trust. According to the Code of Laws, Dick’s theft of Muratu’s stud boar’s seed is an ‘extremely minor’ offense, punishable by one lash of the whip and restitution to the owner.” The little dark-skinned girl’s tone was strained, her round face contorted. “One piglet?”

“Yes,” Daenerys nodded.

Missandei breathed a sigh of relief and continued, “There is no physical punishment for breach of trust, only compensation of five to ten times the damages incurred by the breach of contract. Dick must compensate Muratu with an additional five piglets, for a total of six.”

“Do you accept this judgment?” Daenerys sheathed her longsword and looked at the two litigants.

“Her Majesty is fair and just! I will accept this judgment,” the Lhazareen man, Muratu, declared loudly.

“Her Majesty is fair and just. I accept this punishment,” said the young man, Dick, his spirit broken.

“Mm. Justice above, mercy below. Dick, your family has encountered economic hardship not of your own making. I have decided to grant you another interest-free loan for a term of ten years, in the amount of twenty piglets,” Daenerys announced.

“Thank you for your mercy, Your Majesty!” the young man cried out, his face flushing with excitement.

“Justice above, mercy below! Long live the Queen!” The citizens, who had thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle, began to chant along.

“Wow, Your Majesty, you’re amazing! You made the criminal confess and submit with just a few words again,” Doreah exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she clapped her hands.

Daenerys felt a swell of pride, but her expression remained stern. “When did you leave the top-level garden?”

Doreah’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of confusion. “I came down right after lunch. Was the Dragon Horn really stolen? But there are more than a dozen checkpoints on the way up. How did they get there?”

“Let’s go have a look!”

They didn’t take the internal staircases. Although they covered the same height, the stairs inside the Great Pyramid were not contiguous, making the journey longer.

Doreah followed behind Daenerys, asking about the situation on the front lines as they climbed the stone steps. When she learned that Daenerys had routed the fifty-thousand-strong allied army that morning with a loss of only two hundred cavalry, the Lysene handmaiden gasped repeatedly in amazement.

It wasn’t just her; even the Unsullied guards surrounding Daenerys were flushed with pride, thrilled by their Queen’s astonishing victory.

They chatted as they went, and soon Daenerys stepped onto the final tier.

It was a spacious platform of about thirty square meters, occupied by four young Unsullied and a mongrel dog. The four boys and the dog guarded the entrance to the top-level palace.

“Woof woof woof!” As soon as Daenerys set foot on the platform, the grey mongrel lunged at her, snarling and baring its teeth.

“Oh! Tinkerbell, what are you doing? This is Her Majesty the Queen! Don’t you remember?” a ten-year-old Unsullied boy yelped, his face red with panic as he yanked on the leash with all his might.

After taking in the Unsullied trainees, Daenerys had naturally abolished the trials that violated basic human decency. A group of young Unsullied, luckier than their predecessors, were allowed to keep their puppies.

“Grrrrr…” From four or five meters away, the young mongrel strained against its tight collar, continuing to bark at Daenerys despite its master’s shouts.

The young Unsullied said anxiously, “Your Majesty, I’m sorry. Tinkerbell was so well-behaved before. I don’t know what’s gotten into him today…”

Seeing tears welling up in the boy’s eyes as his longspear clattered onto the stone ground, Daenerys waved a hand dismissively and offered a comforting smile. “It’s probably because I just came from the battlefield. I’m covered in the scent of blood. Tinkerbell must have been startled.”

Just then, two Unsullied ran out of the top-level palace. They jogged toward Daenerys, reporting loudly, “Your Majesty, you were right! The enemy really did infiltrate the pyramid by scaling the outer wall. We found fresh steel claw marks at the southwest corner of the grand staircase.”

“Oh? I’ll go have a look.” Daenerys’s expression changed. She strode quickly past the still-growling dog and headed for the palace stairs.

The Great Pyramid had four stone staircases running up its north, south, east, and west faces. These four stairways divided the thirty-three great square tiers into four sections. The north-facing staircase was the main entrance, the east and west were side entrances for servants and soldiers, and the rear entrance faced the fighting pits.

After Daenerys took up residence in Astapor, all the fighting pits had been closed. The one behind the Sunrise Palace had become a sheep pen. If the three dragons couldn’t find enough food in the wild, they could fly down and snatch a couple of sheep for themselves.

The pyramid had a square base, so its four corners were indeed blind spots, especially the southwest and southeast corners.

Daenerys walked grimly to the edge of a flowerbed. Two teenage Unsullied, around thirteen or fourteen years old, were laid out on stretchers. On the back of their necks was a purplish-black circular mark, slightly swollen and about the size of a small coin.

Looking closely, one could see a silver needle, as fine as an ox’s hair, in the center of the mark, glinting with a faint purple light in the setting sun.

In the hot climate, the two bodies had already begun to emit a faint odor of decay.

“The projectiles were poisoned, perhaps from a blowgun,” an Unsullied reported.

Daenerys said nothing. She stepped over the low brick flower bed border and into the garden. The stems of the grandiflora roses snapped with a crunch under her gray steel boots. Butterflies sipping nectar from the pink hearts of the flowers were startled and fluttered away from the knight.

The flowerbed was built along a half-meter high wall. In the southwest corner, Daenerys indeed found two sets of claw marks, six in total, on the red brick wall.

One could imagine how the lush flowers and branches in the garden had stood between the guards and the wall. If the infiltrators had been gentle enough, the Unsullied would never have noticed the grappling hooks catching on the wall. The rest was simple: two poisoned darts to kill the guards, steal the horn, dump the bodies in the flower bushes, and climb back down the way they came…

Euron, that bastard, must have teamed up with the Ghiscari! Daenerys cursed inwardly.

Thump, thump, thump. A moment later, two more Unsullied ran in, carrying a filth-covered cloak. “Your Majesty,” they reported, “we found traces of the enemy in the sewer on the west side of the pyramid. There must have been four of them.”

The cloak was originally terracotta red, almost a perfect match for the color of Astapor’s red bricks. Now, it was stained with gray-black sewage and reeked of the characteristic stench of a sewer.

There were four hooded, wide cloaks in total. In broad daylight, four agile assassins had climbed the Great Pyramid wearing red camouflage…

Euron had just shattered Daenerys’s perception of the intelligence of the “ancients” of this world.

Ancients weren’t stupid at all!

“Aren’t there bronze grates in the sewers?” she asked.

“Someone filed a doorway through the grate,” the Unsullied said.

Daenerys frowned. “But at the outlets near the coast, I implemented a multi-pipe runoff design. Each pipe is only as wide as a soup bowl.”

Over the past half-year, Daenerys had not only built a comprehensive administrative system for Astapor and launched a series of industrial and agricultural plans, but urban renewal was also a major part of her political achievements. Within the urban renewal project, the sewage system and urban sanitation were the two most important items.

Having seen too many movies in modern society where people infiltrated places through the sewers, Daenerys had personally designed a nearly foolproof city drainage system. In addition to bronze grates, many sensitive areas had their single, large channels replaced by multiple smaller pipes.

With a diameter of about fifteen centimeters and a length of seven or eight meters, how could a normal person pass through?

“Your Majesty, the enemy chiseled through the stone wall between two adjacent pipes.”

“Ugh…” Daenerys was dumbfounded. “With that amount of work, how long have they been plotting this?!”

“Your Majesty, we should conduct regular patrols of the sewers from now on,” an Unsullied suggested.

“Good point. And the great stone steps of the pyramid.”

Doreah interjected, “It’s too hot to post guards on the pyramid’s steps. Why not build flowerbeds on a few of the tiers and plant dense flowers? If anyone tries to climb, they’ll surely leave obvious traces. The soldiers patrolling below would only need to look up every now and then.”

“Not bad, Doreah. You’re really using your head today!” Daenerys teased.

“Hee hee hee…” The Lysene handmaiden giggled, blushing.

Chapter 138: Dany’s Face-Smashing Stomp

Planting trees on the steps of the Great Pyramid did indeed have some surveillance effect, but the plant roots would corrode the pyramid’s walls, and they were only effective during the day.

From dusk until dawn, even if the dense flowers showed traces of someone walking through them, the guards below wouldn’t be able to see it.

On the contrary, the flower bushes could become hiding spots for the enemy.

So, Doreah hadn’t gotten any smarter; she had offered a terrible idea, and Dany had only said otherwise to tease her.

Losing the Dragon Horn only made Dany more vigilant, not heartbroken. She quickly regained her spirits and directed the Unsullied to lay long bamboo poles along the edge of the thirty-second step. The poles extended beyond the stone steps, with thorny fishing nets strung between them.

Unless someone cut through the nets, no one could climb up from below. From now on, patrols would periodically check the nets for any damage.

After all the activity, the western sky was already a deep, dark red. Through Big Black’s eyes, Dany saw the remaining seventy or eighty warships slowly retreating under the efforts of their oarsmen.

“Your Majesty, are you returning to the city walls to command the battle now?” Doreah asked with concern, seeing Dany walk towards the stairwell.

“What is it?” Dany stopped and asked quizzically when she noticed her handmaiden’s hesitation.

“Your Majesty, you should rest for a while! I think the enemy fleet is withdrawing. The battle for today is over,” the handmaiden advised.

Dany sighed and said, “There’s still a group of sailors huddled at the docks. I plan to persuade them to surrender and join our side. Also, although the three dragons inflicted immense damage, the enemy’s hundred-plus ships attacked continuously all afternoon. Our forces also suffered considerable losses. I still need to visit and comfort the wounded.”

“Well…” Doreah said with a strange expression, “Your Majesty, you should at least take a bath!”

“Ugh, is the smell that bad?” Dany lifted her arm to her nose and sniffed. There was indeed a monstrous odor of mixed blood and sweat.

She blushed and looked around. There was a pool by the garden on the top floor. She could soak in the bath while controlling Big Black to pursue the enemy ships.

With that thought, she said to her Unsullied guards, “Go down and wait for me. I’m going to take a bath and change my clothes. It will take about an hour.”

After the Unsullied left, Dany walked to the pool. With Doreah’s help, she removed her helmet and unfastened her gorget and armguards.

To keep her vision clear, her smooth, silver-gold hair had been pinned up in a bun. When the helmet came off, she was embarrassed to find that her hair had matted together with the purple crystal on the hair clip.

Once the gorget and armguards were removed, a corner of her collar was revealed. Her white shirt was now stained a yellowish-brown with sweat, and a rather strong body odor wafted to Dany’s nose, making her even more embarrassed.

She held out her arms so Doreah could use pliers to loosen the screws on the side of her breastplate. The sudden loss of weight brought a wave of emotion over her. “Oh, it feels like a great mountain that’s been pressing down on me has finally been lifted. Even breathing feels easier.”

“This is Your Majesty’s first time fighting in armor, so you may not be used to it. I see Ser Jorah Mormont wearing his iron armor every day, and he seems to enjoy it,” Doreah said, deftly unfastening the breastplate. Like opening a can, she freed Daenerys’s torso from its confinement.

The feeling of relief made Dany moan softly, wishing she could jump into the pool and swim a few laps immediately.

“Doreah, your skill at removing armor has improved. You’re much faster than before,” Dany praised.

Doreah’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly. Then, while placing the breastplate on a nearby table, she said with a smile, “My duty is to serve Your Majesty. Your satisfaction means my practice has been very effective.”

“Hehe, very good. You even know to practice,” Dany said with an appreciative smile.

A cold glint flashed across the calm surface of the pool. Dany, who had been looking down at the water, froze, then abruptly bent over.

The flash of light was as swift as a meteor, but she still couldn’t evade it completely. Shhh— With a sound like scissors cutting through soft silk, Dany felt a sudden icy numbness in her back. Though terrified, her counter-attack was not affected.

As she ducked, she planted her hands on the ground and viciously kicked backward with her right leg, which was still clad in its greave and iron boot.

She kicked air.

Nothing. She hadn’t hit anything.

Dany had no time for frustration. Her eyes remained fixed on the pool’s surface, her smoky violet irises glinting with specks of black light. The moment she saw the shadow behind her dodge to the left, she pushed off hard with her hands.

“Argh—” she let out a low cry of pain.

The iciness in her back suddenly erupted into a blazing fire. The searing heat spread from her back through her entire body in an instant, like a net of fire binding her tightly.

Dany’s reason deserted her as countless manic thoughts churned in her mind.

Her will was burning fiercely, but her body could barely move.

Dany’s attempt to use her hands to roll under the nearby table was only half-completed before she could no longer move. After rolling half a turn on the ground, she lay there, stiff and motionless.

She looked at the mysteriously smiling Doreah and asked with great difficulty, “Who are you?”

By now, the muscles in Dany’s face were numb, and her throat felt as if it had shrunk to a narrow slit, making even breathing an immense struggle. The few words she spoke were as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

After speaking, her jaw opened and closed, making a gasping sound as if she were desperately trying to say more.

“Doreah” had Doreah’s exact face—her hair, eyes, nose, mouth, even the blush on her cheeks, the small freckles by her nose, and the faint down on her upper lip…

If she wasn’t certain that the real Doreah was utterly inept at fighting and lacked such agile movements, Dany would have almost believed her own handmaiden had betrayed her.

The assassin wore a peculiar, long nail-like dagger on the middle finger of her right hand. It was about ten centimeters long, half as narrow as a scalpel, and its blade, thin as a cicada’s wing, was a pale blue color, with a few beads of blood slowly sliding down it.

With a light flick of her right hand, the blood drops flew from the dagger into the pool. “Doreah” spoke in the exact same Valyrian as the real Doreah, complete with a Lysene accent. “I didn’t expect you to still be able to speak. Truly befitting of the Mother of Dragons, who miraculously hatched dragons.”

This assassin was nothing like the killers in plays, who loved to lecture their dying victims.

She had no intention of even answering Dany’s question. After muttering her single line of admiration, she pounced toward Dany with the speed of a wildcat.

She extended her right hand in a fist. Before the attack even landed, the biting cold from the tip of her middle finger made Dany’s brow throb with a faint, sharp pain.

As the wind rushed towards her face, Dany’s mouth was still uttering incoherent syllables. Then, her eyes suddenly flared with brilliant black light, and her pupils constricted into snake-like vertical slits—no, the black light held a hint of dark red, almost identical to the vertical pupils of the Black Dragon.

“Begone!” Finally, Dany spat out a word with a clear meaning.

In Valyrian.

As the last syllable fell, Dany’s mouth opened as wide as it could.

“——————”

A formless, soundless, yet clearly delineated wave of air burst from her mouth in a cone, striking “Doreah” square in the face.

“ROAR—”

Though there was no sound to be heard, a thunderous dragon’s roar exploded in “Doreah’s” soul sea. The sound was filled with rage and chilling killing intent, and her mindscape nearly boiled over from the roar.

At almost the same instant, drops of blood seeped from Dany’s mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, creating a terrifying sight.

And five hundred meters above the sea outside the city, Big Black also went rigid. He carved a slanted trajectory through the sky and plunged headfirst into the ocean.

BOOM! A massive spray of white water erupted, stunning the tens of thousands of soldiers on both sides of the conflict.

Jorah Mormont screamed in terror. The enemy ships, which had been scrambling to leave, began to slow down. Had the turn of events they were hoping for finally arrived?

“Screee—” Little Green and Little White shrieked madly. They casually dropped the grape-like clusters of firebombs from their claws into the sea, beat their wings with all their might, and shot like arrows toward the Great Pyramid.

Thud! “Doreah,” who had been mid-lunge, fell straight to the ground like a log that had lost all its momentum.

Ting—

“Doreah’s” dagger clinked against the side of Dany’s right greave. At the same time, her head slammed hard against Dany’s iron boot.

Dany saw her wide eyes, filled with shock and disbelief. It was clear that although “Doreah” couldn’t move, she was fully conscious.

And indeed, she was. “Doreah” could clearly see Dany slowly moving towards her, but she felt as if countless demonic hands were reaching up from hell, dragging her soul down. She couldn’t move an inch. The ground seemed to have turned into a swamp, and her body and soul were slowly sinking, sinking into hell.

Shing— Dany finally managed to touch the longsword resting on the table, but she realized with a start that in her current state, she would never be able to lift the heavy blade.

“Hiss… hiss…” She tried to call towards the stairwell, but her throat muscles spasmed and contracted. Her vocal cords were almost out of her control, and even breathing was becoming increasingly difficult.

Noticing the assassin was beginning to struggle, just as Barristan and Jorah had after being hit by the Dragon Horn, Dany realized she wasn’t completely stunned. She stopped her useless calls for help, laboriously lifted her right foot, and aimed the heel of her iron boot at “Doreah’s” slightly trembling head.

She stomped down.

BAM—

Blood gushed from “Doreah’s” nose.

Dany raised her steel-clad right foot again.

BAM—SPLAT!

“Doreah’s” eyeball burst like a crushed bladder, splattering red and blue fluids onto Dany’s right leg.

But she remained unmoved, raising her right foot a third time, then a fourth. After stomping only seven times, Dany collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

“Doreah’s” face looked as if it were smeared with a layer of dark red birthday cake, a complete blur of flesh and blood. But she was still struggling, struggling to get up, her right hand shakily raising the dagger…

“Screee—” The white and green dragons finally crossed the two-thousand-meter distance and entered the sky above People’s Plaza.

Thump, thump, thump… But a group of Unsullied beat the two dragons, charging onto the garden platform.

It turned out that the Unsullied guards at the northern gate of the palace on the top floor had also witnessed the strange events: the Black Dragon plunging into the sea and the other two dragons flying madly toward the pyramid.

After calling out “Her Majesty the Queen” several times and getting no response, they had begun running towards the top-floor garden.

Just as they climbed the last step, the Unsullied saw their queen leaning against a table leg, one of her feet covered in blood.

Dark red blood flowed across the stone slabs, and that handmaiden with the unrecognizable face was struggling to prop herself up, a small dagger in her right hand, seemingly about to lunge at the queen.

Dany’s Character Attributes

Dany’s Character Attributes

Character: Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons, Archsepton of the Seven, the Liberator, Queen of Astapor

Class: Knight, Dragonlord (Dragon Rider), Dragon Spirit

Physique: 1 (Balanced Strength and Speed, Average)

(Very Weak (below 0.5) — Weak (0.5-1.0) — Average (1.0) — Strong (1.0-1.5) — Very Strong (1.5-2.0) — Monstrous (2.0-2.5) — Giant (5-10)

Strength has no lower limit but does have an upper limit. For an ordinary human, the maximum is 2.5, while for a Giant it is 10. Giants, krakens, and other non-human species are not included in this scale.)

Skill: Wielding the sword as an extension of one’s arm (Intermediate)

(Amateur — Basic Skill — Proficient with Blades — Wielding the sword as an extension of one’s arm — Lifting the heavy as if it were light — Lifting the light as if it were heavy — Transcendent. Each stage is divided into four levels: Novice, Intermediate, Advanced, and Peak.)

Magic: Standard Pronunciation of 108 Valyrian Runes

Soul Strike (Incomplete) — A newly created forbidden sorcery, developed after the host obtained Valyrian sorcery runes from the Dragon Horn. In the draconic spiritual state, the dragon’s soul enters the host’s soul sea, merging human and dragon. By simulating the Dragon Horn and using sound waves as a medium, this unified soul can forcibly invade an enemy’s soul.

Bloodline Talent: Mother of Dragons (Awakened, Intermediate)

1. The Unburnt (Intermediate): Ordinary flames may cause varying degrees of burning pain—depending on your affinity for fire—but flames are the companions of the Mother of Dragons; they will not harm your body.

2. Spiritual Endowment (Intermediate): Imbue dragon eggs with flames and spiritual essence, allowing fossilized eggs that retain their original soul, dead eggs, and healthy eggs to hatch into young dragons. You can also imbue spiritual essence into dragons with whom you share a spiritual connection.

3. Dragon Dream (Intermediate): You and the dragons are two parts of a whole. Your soul can merge seamlessly with theirs. Unconsciously (while dreaming), you can achieve a spiritual resonance with them. A conscious, willed merge results in the draconic spiritual state.

Transmigration Quest: Liberate the Slaves (10%)

Quest Reward: Based on the completion percentage, an upgrade for one of the character’s learned skills or awakened talents.

Chapter 139: Goodbye, Khaleesi

“Protect Her Majesty the Queen!” The squad leader’s face was stricken with horror. He shouted the order as he rushed over like a whirlwind.

Bang—

With a flying kick, he slammed his foot into the abdomen of the handmaiden who was just struggling to her feet, sending her straight into the pool.

“Scree—” Just then, the green and white dragons returned. They circled above Dany’s head, angry and helpless, randomly spitting out long, thin streams of fire.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty, wake up!”

Seeing the Queen bleeding from all seven orifices, with a long wound from the center of her back to her left waist still gushing blue blood, the Unsullied were so terrified their blood ran cold and their courage failed.

Dany forced her eyes open and said in a daze, “Fire… light… a fire. Get me… lamp oil. Pour it… on me… set it alight!”

“Ah, Basilisk venom! The Queen must have been poisoned by Basilisk venom! She’s gone mad!” the Unsullied supporting Dany exclaimed in terror.

If she could move, she would have given this dark-skinned eunuch warrior a huge slap across the face.

“Fire… I… I’m… The Unburnt…” she said, using almost all her strength.

Her throat muscles were constricting, making it almost impossible to breathe, and Dany’s face began to turn purple.

The squad leader suddenly had a realization and shouted, “Spearhead, Shortsword, Husk, Corn, you four, help unfasten Her Majesty’s leg armor and iron boots! The rest of you, follow me.”

With that, he led the way, racing down to the lower hall. Although the Unsullied didn’t understand his intention, their excellent military discipline made them obey the command reflexively.

The four Unsullied drew their shortswords and deftly, swiftly pried open the iron buckles on the outside of Dany’s thighs. The remaining twenty-some warriors followed their squad leader to the lower hall.

“Go get lamp oil! The Queen needs fire to purge the poison!” the squad leader roared.

As he spoke, he ripped an oil lamp sconce from the wall and, carrying it, ran headlong to Dany’s side, pouring the three or four kilograms of fuel, wick and all, onto her.

Once Spearhead, Shortsword, and the other two had pulled off the Queen’s last iron boot, he quickly took out a flint from his waist and, with a few strikes, set Dany’s chemise ablaze.

Whoosh—

Orange-red flames instantly spread across Dany’s entire body.

The squad leader didn’t stop. He drew his shortsword, smashed the nearby table and chairs, and piled the wooden splinters and sticks onto Dany.

Just then, the twenty-some Unsullied also ran over, carrying oil lamp sconces. They hesitated, unsure if they should pour oil on the Queen. The squad leader, who was always quick on the uptake, immediately roared, “What are you standing around for? Can’t you see the Queen’s hair isn’t even burning?”

“Oh, oh.”

The Unsullied looked down and saw that the chemise had burned to black ash stuck to the Queen’s skin, yet her exposed flesh was still fair and delicate, glowing with a vibrant halo.

“Her Majesty the Queen truly is The Unburnt!” an Unsullied murmured in disbelief.

“Quick, inform the brothers below! Tell them to hurry to the lower kitchens and bring some firewood!” the squad leader continued to shout.

“Squad leader, we should lock up that assassin first,” one of the Unsullied said, pointing to the handmaiden struggling to her feet in the pool.

“Tie her limbs securely. Right, strip her naked, and check her teeth carefully. Then put a gag on her,” the squad leader said hatefully.

An hour later, as the indigo canopy of the sky began to be dotted with shining eyes of the night, Jorah Mormont, clad in iron armor, climbed the one-hundred-meter-high Great Pyramid, panting.

Seeing a “funeral pyre” made of firewood burning fiercely, he went cold all over, so terrified he could barely breathe. “Your Majesty… Where is Her Majesty?”

“Under the embers, we don’t know…”

Thump, thump, thump—BOOM!

Before the squad leader could finish, the neatly stacked pyre suddenly trembled. It was as if a fire demon was struggling to climb out of the flames.

BOOM—

A fair-skinned fist emerged from the red-hot charcoal, followed by a series of rustling sounds. Then, Dany, her silver hair unbound, sat up.

Her hair, face, neck, and shoulders were all covered in soot, making her look like a mischievous child who had spent the day playing marbles in the dirt.

But her eyes were bright, her violet irises full of life and vitality.

“Your Majesty!?”

“Her Majesty the Queen, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Dany sat cross-legged in the fire and complained, “The soot is making it hard to breathe, and the temperature inside isn’t as high as the outer flames. It’s not a comfortable burn. Aigh, it looks like I’ll have to have a special grill made in the future, one I can lie on comfortably.”

Jorah Mormont’s jaw dropped, his face blank. His mind couldn’t help but wander: imagine a street-side teppanyaki grill magnified a hundred times, with the Queen lying on it, sizzling away…

He quickly banished the chaotic thoughts from his mind. Mormont asked, “Your Majesty, do you know who sent the assassin?”

“Is there any doubt? It must be the Ghiscari,” Dany said, rolling her eyes.

Jorah Mormont looked around. Seeing no outsiders present, he asked directly, “I heard… the one who tried to assassinate you was Doreah? Is she…”

His tone was strained, as if he couldn’t believe it. “Is she a spy from King’s Landing, or a Faceless Man?”

The last two words took almost all his strength to say. The meaning behind the term “Faceless Men” was simply too terrifying.

“They haven’t found Doreah’s body yet?” Dany asked with a frown.

Her question was tantamount to confirming the assassin’s identity. Jorah let out a long breath and murmured, “I thought the Ghiscari slavers were decadent, but I didn’t expect them to be so bold. Your Majesty, this war isn’t over. We must take Meereen and Yunkai. Those Ghiscari are too rich.”

The squad leader looked at Jorah, then at Dany, and said, “Your Majesty, we’ve practically turned the Great Pyramid upside down, but we haven’t found Lady Doreah.”

“That… that Unsullied with the pet dog named ‘Tinkerbell,’ bring him here,” Dany said after a moment’s thought.

“You mean Iron Head, who guards the north gate of the palace?” the squad leader asked.

“His name is Iron Head?” The rustic-sounding name made Dany roast him internally. “I don’t know his name. When I entered this afternoon, his dog barked wildly at me.”

“Oh, that’s Iron Head. I’ll call him up right away,” the squad leader said with a nod.

Dany didn’t know Iron Head’s name, but she had seen him and his dog no fewer than ten times. They were just passing acquaintances who had never spoken, but the mutt had never bared its teeth at her before. Today, however, it was unusually aggressive, as if it had encountered a hated enemy.

At first, she thought it was because she had just killed people today and was stained with the scent of blood, and the mutt had been agitated by it.

Thinking back now, the dog wasn’t targeting her at all. “Doreah” was right by her side. The mutt had sensed her identity as an assassin, and both Dany and the young Unsullied had misunderstood the perceptive little dog.

“Your Majesty, are you… are you all right?” After a moment, the young Unsullied trotted over, leading the gray-furred dog.

The boy, seeing Dany bathed in flames for the first time, was stunned speechless. His gray-furred dog also cowered obediently by his leg, perhaps frightened by the three dragons lying nearby.

Mmm, the Soul Strike had ended, Big Black’s soul had returned to its body, and not long after, it had struggled out of the sea and taken flight.

It was also because he saw that Big Black was largely unharmed that Mormont had remained on the city walls to continue commanding the battle until night fell and the last enemy ship had disappeared from view.

“I’m fine. You’re called Iron Head, right?” Dany said with a smile.

“Yes, this humble one is called Iron Head.”

“Your little dog, Tinkerbell… before I returned today, did he see Doreah?”

“No. The guards at the north gate of the palace rotate through three shifts: morning, afternoon, and night. I’m young, so the squad leader doesn’t have me work the night shift. For the past few days, I’ve been coming at noon and leaving after dark.”

“Doreah was in the great hall on the first floor watching the citizens’ legal disputes this morning. She had lunch with me and didn’t return to the top-floor palace this afternoon,” Missandei said at once.

“Then, Iron Head, when was the last time you saw Doreah?” Dany asked again.

Iron Head answered without hesitation, “The evening of the day before yesterday. Sister Doreah sat with me on the stone steps and fed Tinkerbell. She used to really like Tinkerbell.”

“The day before yesterday… The day I left.” Dany furrowed her brow in thought. The firewood crackled beside her. Under the night sky, the orange-red flames kissed her cheeks like little sprites, and her silver-gold hair danced rhythmically with the waves of heat.

Beautiful, mysterious, like a goddess of flame.

“Has the treasury been checked?” Dany asked.

She suddenly remembered that Doreah held the key to the treasury. If a Faceless Man had replaced Doreah, they would certainly have her key as well.

“It’s been checked,” the squad leader said.

“Hmph, are you sure you searched the lake of gold coins?” Dany said lightly.

“This…”

“Go look again. And right, take Iron Head and his Tinkerbell with you.”

Dany had confiscated over ten million gold dragons from the slavers. Gold dragons were the currency of Westeros; Slaver’s Bay used radiants. In other words, the Queen’s treasury held more than forty million gold radiants.

The number of silver radiants exceeded five hundred million. Copper coins were not worthy of entering the Queen’s treasury.

They hadn’t been counted precisely, only estimated by weight.

It was a veritable lake of gold and silver, large enough not only to swim in, but even to row a small boat across.

“We found her, Your Majesty! Lady Doreah was indeed buried in the gold coins.”

Only a quarter of an hour had passed before two Unsullied carried a still-twitching body to the fire.

“Wooo, Sister Doreah, don’t die!” Iron Head wailed, holding Doreah’s hand. Tinkerbell also paced anxiously nearby, letting out sorrowful whimpers.

“Doreah…”

Doreah wasn’t completely dead. A white cloth was wrapped around her head from forehead to neck, leaving only her two nostrils exposed. Streaks of crimson soaked through the cotton gauze, emitting a faint, strange smell of blood and medicine.

Anesthetic? Painkiller? Antiseptic?

Dany guessed the Faceless Man’s purpose almost instantly: a dead body would start to stink, and not even gold coins could mask it. The Faceless Man hadn’t been sure when Dany would return.

Doreah’s chest was still rising and falling, but her breathing was rapid and shallow—more air going out than coming in.

“Bring her here.” Tears streamed down Dany’s face as she sat in the fire, beckoning to the Unsullied.

The teardrops had barely slid down her cheeks before they evaporated in the orange-red flames.

“Perhaps she can still be saved,” Jorah said hesitantly.

“She can’t be saved. Let her… let her find peace sooner,” Dany said sadly.

“Perhaps we can get Doreah to tell us—”

“There’s no need,” Dany interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

With strong external stimulation, they might be able to induce a brief moment of terminal lucidity in Doreah, allowing them to ask what happened after she was captured by the Faceless Man.

But Dany didn’t need to ask to know that the Faceless Man must have used cruel methods to extract a great deal of information from the Lysene handmaiden—information about Dany, and about Doreah herself.

But what was the point, other than to cause Doreah more pain?

The skin on her lips had been peeled off…

Braving the wantonly rolling tongues of flame, the Unsullied placed Doreah in Dany’s arms. After a moment’s hesitation, the squad leader also drew his shortsword and placed it on Doreah’s abdomen.

Crackle, crackle. The Lysene handmaiden’s dress burned in the fire. Dany held Doreah in her left arm, and with her right, she grasped the shortsword and pressed it against her throat.

“Doreah, you…” Dany jerked her head away and thrust the shortsword forward.

Tsssss— Blood splattered onto the hot coals, raising a puff of acrid white smoke.

Dany saw a multicolored spiritual essence float out of Doreah’s body. It seemed to form a figure in the night sky, smiling and waving at her, as if to say: Khaleesi, take care, and goodbye!

Chapter 140: All Men Must Die

“You’re not dead?!” In the dark, musty stone room, the woman with the ruined face spoke in disbelief.

She was a young woman in her early twenties, bald, with her purple-green left eye swollen like a small bun. A ruined eyeball dripping black blood sat in its socket. There were reddish-blue bruises on her nose, forehead, cheeks, and chin. A few teeth were missing from her mouth, and she spoke with a slight lisp.

The Unsullied had not mistreated her; the injuries to her face were all from where Daenerys had smashed her with an iron boot yesterday.

The assassination attempt had been yesterday. It was now the morning of the second day after the naval battle.

Daenerys could vaguely make out that the woman’s original face was very plain. Her skin was coarse, pale with a sallow undertone, just like all the women on the street who lived numbly through hardship.

Her features had the distinct three-dimensionality of a Westerner, but they were unremarkable. Her nose was neither high nor flat, her mouth neither large nor small, her eyes neither big nor small, and her eyebrows neither thick nor thin.

Her jaw was square and common. Her uninjured right eye was a pale blue, unlike Doreah’s beautiful, deep sea-blue eyes.

“You were stabbed in the back. Even if the blade didn’t go deep, the poison surely entered your heart. A mixture of Basilisk and manticore venom, enhanced with blood magic. The strongest gladiator would die within the time it takes to drink a cup of tea from a mere scratch.”

“How did you survive?” The female assassin’s one eye widened as she carefully studied Daenerys, who was now dressed in a purple gauze gown.

The hair at her temples was plaited into small braids, tying her silver hair back to reveal a full forehead and a small, heart-shaped face. Her skin was rosy, her gaze sharp—she looked nothing like someone on the verge of death from poison.

“You don’t know about this?” Daenerys opened her right hand, holding a purple crystal before the other woman’s eyes.

“What is that?” the assassin asked.

“Hmph, it seems the Faceless Men aren’t so impressive after all. You couldn’t even gather the most basic intelligence,” Daenerys sneered.

“You—” The assassin flared with anger but immediately calmed down again. Like a monk chanting a prayer, she lowered her gaze and whispered, “Valar morghulis.” (All men must die).

A glint flashed in Daenerys’s eyes. So she is a Faceless Man. She’s admitted it.

After a long moment, the female Faceless Man looked up again and asked slowly, “What did I overlook?”

“Before leaving Qarth, Lord Xaro, one of The Thirteen, gave me a magical amethyst collar that wards off poison. Later, I pried the magic crystal from the collar, had it made into a hairpin, and have worn it ever since.

I was indeed poisoned at first, but while the magic amethyst isn’t as miraculous as Lord Xaro claimed, it slowly forced the toxins in my body out through the wound,” Daenerys said blandly.

“Impossible!” The female assassin became agitated again. “Only a powerful priest of the Red God can create a poison-warding crystal. And they must prophesy the exact poison they will encounter on a future day and prepare the corresponding antidote or magic in advance. The stories about magical crystals warding off poison have been misunderstood and exaggerated countless times. It’s utterly impossible for one to defend against all poisons. I knew the people of Qarth gave you a magical amethyst, but even if it were a real magic crystal, you are no priest of the Red God. Otherwise, you would have foreseen today’s assassination, and I would never have been able to harm you.”

So that’s how it is. No wonder this stupid crystal has no effect at all. Daenerys cursed that scoundrel Xaro ten thousand times in her heart.

And to think she had been wearing it on her head these past few days.

No matter how terrifying Basilisk and manticore venoms were, they were biological toxins.

To put it simply, they were a type of protein, and any protein would lose its biological activity when exposed to temperatures of eight or nine hundred degrees.

Daenerys’s own cells, neurons, spinal cord, teeth, red and white blood cells, and even the beneficial substances in her blood like amino acids and glucose could withstand high temperatures. But things harmful to her body could not.

Therefore, she often used fire to sterilize, kill mites, and remove dead skin and calluses.

Besides its cosmetic benefits, it also aided her digestion and increased cellular activity and nutrient absorption.

The higher the temperature, the greater the molecular activity—very scientific!

When her body temperature rose to two hundred degrees, the mixed Basilisk and manticore venoms broke down from proteins into amino acids, which were then digested and absorbed by Daenerys.

But she wouldn’t tell the female assassin this. The Unsullied who had been present at the time had also been ordered to keep silent.

It was better to have her enemies try to poison her than to have them come up with foolproof plans like decapitation or having her heart ripped out.

“Believe it or not, my magic crystal truly has an anti-poison effect. Xaro himself used it to survive multiple assassination attempts by the Pureborn of Qarth,” Daenerys said flatly.

Without waiting for the woman to say anything more, she put away the amethyst after her explanation and asked, “Who hired you?”

“Do you think I would know?” the female assassin said mockingly.

“As a Faceless Man, you don’t even know who your client is?” Daenerys said in disbelief.

“Hmph. The Mother of Dragons lived in Braavos for a few years. Do you think the House of Black and White only has one Faceless Man?” the assassin sneered.

Without a doubt, as the world’s number one assassin organization—one that openly did business with people from all over the world—the Faceless Men had to have the backing of a powerful government and must themselves be an extremely tightly-knit organization.

The female assassin was likely telling the truth. She was merely a tool for carrying out missions; she wouldn’t know who the client was or why the target had to be killed.

Just like Arya Stark in Game of Thrones.

“What is your name?” Daenerys changed the subject.

“This one was once called ‘Doreah.’ Now, she is ‘No One’,” the female assassin said with an eerie smile.

Daenerys’s gaze sharpened. “Then,” she said coldly, “have you ever gone by the name ‘Auntie Kaeti’?”

“Hehehe, the fat cook from Seaside Street?” The Faceless Man chuckled with an unsettling laugh. “That’s right. This one was also Auntie Kaeti.”

A stranger would never have been able to get close to Doreah. That was why Daenerys had ordered a check of all the staff in the Great Pyramid last night, which revealed that a fat cook named Kaeti was missing.

It was obvious: the Faceless Man had first infiltrated Astapor, found an opportunity to replace the cook Kaeti, and then, after making contact with Doreah, discarded the Kaeti identity.

As for poisoning the food while disguised as a cook… just as very few emperors were ever successfully poisoned by assassins, Barristan had also established a thorough food inspection system for Daenerys.

“You’re a Faceless Man. Why would you cooperate with others?” Daenerys asked.

“Cooperate?” The female assassin’s ugly, gap-toothed mouth split into a sneer. “A Faceless Man has no partners, but we can use anyone’s strength to complete our mission.”

Daenerys couldn’t help but think of Arya Stark. It was said a Faceless Man she knew had seemingly failed a mission in King’s Landing and been captured, imprisoned in the black cells with two companions. But his identity as a Faceless Man was unknown, and he had merely been using the two ruffians to cover his true purpose.

“Do you know who you were cooperating with?”

The female assassin laughed smugly. “You should go ask that person. Ask him if he knew who his partner was. Hahaha.”

“Then, what about the three dragon eggs in my treasury? Euron only knew about one of them. What about the other two?” Daenerys asked placidly.

At first, the Unsullied hadn’t even noticed the dragon eggs were stolen. Later, at Daenerys’s reminder, they returned to the treasury to carefully search for Doreah buried under the gold coins, only to discover with horror that the Queen’s dragon eggs were also missing.

The assassin studied Daenerys’s face intently. “You’ve lost three dragon eggs, yet you’re so calm?” she asked, puzzled.

Because all three eggs were fake.

She had never thrown away the fragments left over from hatching her dragons. After meeting a merchant from Asshai in Qarth who sold fake dragon eggs, she had learned his method and glued the three broken stone eggs back into whole dragon eggs, even changing their colors.

The brass-colored dragon egg she had used to trade for the Unsullied was one of these fakes. Even Euron himself hadn’t recognized it.

At first, her three guileless handmaidens knew nothing of this, because Daenerys wasn’t sure who she would deceive next or when she might sell them for money. Her handmaidens’ reactions in the moment might have given her scheme away.

But after conquering Astapor… well, when the Good Masters fell, Daenerys ate her fill. She no longer needed to swindle people with fake eggs, so she had her handmaidens casually toss the three stone eggs into the treasury, along with the dozens of chests of jewels.

The brass dragon egg she had seized from Euron, however, had been kept in her bedroom. She held it almost every night as she slept, waiting for it to slowly hatch.

Doreah, of course, knew which eggs were fake and which were real. But clearly, the handmaiden from Lys was not foolish. On the contrary, she was rather clever, managing to trick the Faceless Man one last time at the end of her life. Oh, wait—it must have been Euron who wanted the dragon eggs. That man hadn’t given up on the Dragon Horn, and he wasn’t about to give up on the brass dragon egg either.

It made sense. Dragonbinder plus a young dragon—a perfect match!

A pity.

Daenerys sneered inwardly, but her expression remained placid. “I can barely control three dragons. What use would a few more wild dragons be?

Besides, the price of hatching a dragon is too great. One must exchange the soul of someone most beloved to call back the spirit of a long-dead dragon from the Night Lands. Just like my black dragon—he is the reincarnation of Balerion.”

At this, she couldn’t help but reveal a look of melancholy, saying sorrowfully, “If I had a choice, I would rather not have a single dragon.”

Daenerys’s performance moved the female Faceless Man. Realization dawned on her. “No wonder you kept the dragon eggs locked in a chest and paid them no mind. The eggs were not my mission objective. They were all left in the flower garden and taken by that person, along with the horn.”

“Alright. You’ve answered my questions, and I’ve told you many secrets. Now, you have only one last bit of value.” Daenerys raised her index finger and said coldly, “Tell me the secrets of the Faceless Men, and I might spare your life.”

“Hehehe. All men must die!” The female assassin closed her one eye, her tone mocking.

“I hope you can keep that up. Hattar, take good care of her.”

Crack, crack, crack! A mountain of a man walked out of the shadows, grinning ferociously. “Rest assured, Your Majesty. There isn’t a mouth in this world The Devil’s Tail can’t open!”

Daenerys didn’t waste much more time on the Faceless Man. There were still several thousand sailors at the docks waiting to be recruited!

Last night, before the Ghiscari fleet left, they had sent a signal to the sailors gathered in the dock area. Several thousand men had swarmed into the sea, swimming for the ships.

The sailors who had swum to the docks after falling overboard had not been planning to attack Astapor. They didn’t even have a weapon per man, so how could they assault the six- or seven-meter-high city walls? Their main concern was that as soon as they climbed aboard a friendly ship, they would be hit by the dragons’ fire bombs again.

Of course, they weren’t willing to surrender to Daenerys either, so when the fleet began to leave after dark, they swam out towards the ships in the sea.

The Ghiscari had a good idea. At night, the sky was dark, and the ships were moving slowly, which would naturally render the giant fire bomb “missiles” ineffective.

But Daenerys had already planned for this. The three dragons were immediately re-equipped. Dozens of beer-bottle-sized clay pots were tied together, resembling a cluster of grapes. The dragons flew five hundred meters up, from where they could vaguely see the ships on the water. The “grapeshot” fell towards the sea in a wide scatter, and a few pots would always hit a ship’s sail, crippling it.

Thus, not only did the Ghiscari fleet fail to rescue the sailors who had fallen overboard earlier, but they also lost another seven or eight ships.

It was also the Ghiscaris’ own greed. At dusk, after the black dragon had plunged into the sea, the three dragons had been out of action for a period. If they had fled then, they could have rescued eighty percent of the sailors gathered at the docks.

But not only did the Ghiscari fleet not leave, they thought Daenerys was dead and began to approach the coast, launching their fiercest assault on the city walls. This was why Jorah, despite being worried for Daenerys’s safety, had held his ground for over half an hour before leaving the battlefield.

As it happened, Daenerys had regained consciousness after only a few minutes of being burned. The three dragons, keenly aware of their “mother’s” condition, followed Big Black’s lead and returned to the docks to resume their role as bombers.

Chapter 141: The Anxious Wise Masters

Recruiting the enemy sailors was not a difficult task. Daenerys was the Mother of Dragons, the Liberator of Slaves; any slave sailor with half a brain would be willing to surrender.

She simply rode Big Black in a circle over the heads of the sailors at the docks, and all ten thousand-plus crewmen who had lost their ships surrendered.

It was a conditional surrender.

The slaves were allowed their freedom, but Daenerys couldn’t “force the people into banditry” when it came to the non-slave crew members.

Obviously, the ships didn’t just carry galley slaves and slave soldiers. There were also free men of “higher” status like the captain, first mate, and second mate. They weren’t slaves, and most came from well-off families. Naturally, they had no desire to join Daenerys in a treasonous business like “rebellion,” which carried a death sentence.

Well, the wealthy were entitled to an education, and educated people at least had some perspective on the bigger picture.

Like the northern descendants of the Company of the Rose, these experienced senior crewmen all believed that by abolishing slavery, Daenerys was setting herself against the entire world.

An individual who challenges the world is destined for a bad end.

Therefore, they requested that Daenerys follow tradition and allow them to ransom themselves.

Although Daenerys cherished the talents of these elite seamen, she understood that you couldn’t force a union. She readily agreed: ransoms were acceptable, but since they had broken the law, all of them would have to work the farmlands for the city of Astapor for five years.

Of course, the ransom for a nobleman would not be the same as for a common sailor, and the treatment they received would also differ.

Well, their food and living conditions would be a little better.

Daenerys didn’t ask for an exorbitant price, only setting a traditional ransom for each captive who refused to join her.

She didn’t even treat the Ghiscari any differently; they all received the same terms.

Faced with such magnanimity from Daenerys, the sailors immediately raised their hands in surrender.

Hmm, those men surely didn’t know that autumn was nearly over, and the Long Night would soon be upon them.

In total, eight thousand able-bodied slave soldiers were recruited, while the remaining three thousand-odd true sailors became forced laborers on the farmlands.

After dealing with the sailors in the morning, Daenerys rode Big Black back to Poplar Hill in the afternoon, leading five thousand infantry. After cremating the bodies of the more than ten thousand fallen soldiers of the Ghiscari allied army, she began a large-scale reorganization of her expeditionary force the next day.

There was a supply train of twenty thousand laborers and militia, five thousand Unsullied, ten thousand mixed infantry, cavalry, and archers of the Wings of Freedom, and a new fifteen-thousand-strong Queen’s Guard, selected from the seventy thousand slave soldiers.

Daenerys bestowed a banner of a white dragon on a yellow field to the Queen’s Guard, officially marking them as a new army.

Here, Daenerys employed a bit of Celestial Empire statecraft, intentionally dividing the new freemen from different city-states into separate units to prevent the increasingly powerful freedman guard from gaining too much influence.

“The Mother of Evil Dragons is reorganizing her forces! She’s about to lead an army of two hundred thousand to attack Yunkai!”

In just one night, the Wise Masters of Yunkai learned of this terrifying news.

A black raven brought black tidings.

It was unavoidable. Among the several thousand captured merchants and prostitutes who had been servicing the Ghiscari allied army, there were bound to be spies from Yunkai, or merchants who would report to Yunkai for the sake of gold radiants.

“Is it true?”

“Is the information confirmed?”

“Alas, a dozen ravens have brought the exact same message. It must be true! That woman has even written a proclamation for merchants to spread around the world, A Proclamation to the People of the World on the Seven Sins of the Wise Masters of Yunkai.”

“Damn it, this again! She wrote The Seven Hatreds when she attacked Astapor last year. It looks like she’s really determined to fight us to the death this time.”

“Sigh, an army of two hundred thousand, and we don’t have time to recruit more mercenaries. Why won’t she just die? The slave trade is the foundation of global maritime trade. Even the people of Qarth and Volantis want her dead, so why can’t an assassin just kill her already? The heavens are blind!”

“Indeed, the heavens are unjust, and the gods are blind. We are so peaceful, minding our own business here in Slaver’s Bay, honestly conducting our trade, repeating the simple and unadorned life of millenniums past. We treat others with integrity and provide quality service to the whole world. Why must that woman come and provoke us honest folk?!”

“When all is said and done, it’s the fault of those useless Sorrowful Men from Qarth. They managed to sneak into the Great Pyramid and even got their hands on the dragon eggs, yet they still couldn’t kill that woman. It cost us more than thirty greatships for nothing.”

“We should find more professional assassins. Let’s be decisive. We’ll all chip in and hire the Faceless Men.”

“Hiss… the Faceless Men? Wouldn’t that cost tens of millions of gold radiants?”

“Given the current situation, no less than twenty million. It would probably be the most expensive price in history. But if we include the Great Masters of Meereen, a million gold radiants from each of us would be enough.”

“Distant water won’t quench a nearby thirst. We can hire the Faceless Men, but we must first repel this attack. I, for one, am perplexed. Even if Astapor defeated our allied army, didn’t they suffer losses? Don’t they need to rest and reorganize?”

Inside the top-floor palace of the Great Pyramid, the Wise Masters seated around the circular table discussed amongst themselves with panic on their faces.

Thump, thump, thump!

The chief Wise Master knocked on the tabletop, interrupting the escalating arguments. His gaunt old face was stern, his sharp eyes sweeping over the commander in the Yellow Cloak below the conference table. “General Zhakaluo, they claim to have two hundred thousand men. What is their actual number?”

The Wise Master was from House Daznak. Dressed in the most distinguished tokar gown fringed with yellow crystal, he was nearly fifty, his face gaunt yet filled with authority. To conceal his receding hairline, his straight, black-and-red hair was swept forward, somewhat resembling a pompadour.

“Your Excellency, Wise Master Muliniao, that woman has at least fifty thousand troops,” said the portly Ghiscari general.

“Fifty thousand.” The Wise Master’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. He tapped his fingers on the table for a long moment before saying, “Yunkai is smaller than Astapor, but its walls are taller and stronger. If we had ten thousand defenders, could we withstand their attack?”

“Your Excellency, under normal circumstances, Yunkai’s ten-meter-high walls—especially with the sea at our back ensuring a supply line—would allow five thousand elite soldiers to hold off an army of a hundred thousand for ten years. But that woman… she has three evil dragons,” the fat general said hesitantly.

“We don’t need ten years. We can hire the Faceless Men and be done with her within half a year,” Muliniao said faintly.

“You really intend to hire the Faceless Men? We all know that the House of Black and White has the shadows of the Iron Bank and the Sealord’s Palace behind it. The Braavosi will surely take the opportunity to make a series of political demands,” the general said, shocked.

“Those Braavosi only interfere in other nations’ finances through banking. Here in Slaver’s Bay, we only have the slave trade, no finance.”

“In that case,” the fat general grit his teeth and said, “I need more soldiers. I also need an unlimited supply of scorpions. It would be best to line the entire city wall with them.”

“Done.” A slight smile cracked the Wise Master’s dry lips. “We have more than eighty warships and over five hundred greatships. Within half a month, we can transport all of Meereen’s troops and bolts to Yunkai.”

“Will the Great Masters of Meereen agree?” another Wise Master asked uncertainly.

“They will. I trust the Great Masters understand that if the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold. Besides, the battlefield will be in Yunkai. The city ravaged by war will be Yunkai alone. The Meereenese can enjoy the fruits of victory in peace and serenity. Why wouldn’t they agree?”

Yunkai had spies from Astapor. Within two days, Daenerys received a raven message: the Great Masters of Meereen and the Wise Masters of Yunkai were gathering their forces to face the evil Mother of Dragons in a decisive battle at Yunkai.

At that moment, Daenerys was just finishing her military preparations and was about to lead her army out. With fifty thousand troops and over a hundred thousand cattle and horses—be they warhorses or pack horses—each soldier was allocated two mounts. If there were no horses, oxen, mules, or donkeys would be used as substitutes. In short, every soldier had at least two animals.

Fifty thousand troops and over a hundred thousand livestock, carrying half a month’s worth of rations, would advance at a speed of fifty kilometers per day to launch a surprise attack on Yunkai within ten days—this had been Daenerys’s original plan.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to take Yunkai in a short amount of time now,” Whitebeard said with a grim expression.

Once again clad in armor, Daenerys retorted fiercely, “Then we will lay siege. Let the three dragons bombard Yunkai’s walls day and night without rest. Let’s see how long they can hold out.”

“I fear we might be the ones who can’t hold out first,” Jon Bolton said with a frown.

“Oh? How so?” Daenerys asked, looking at him.

“I’m worried they will adopt a scorched-earth policy,” the commander of the Queen’s Guard said slowly.

Yes, Daenerys had not gone back on her word. The newly formed Queen’s Guard had members of the Company of the Rose as its backbone, and the former commander of the company was naturally put forward as its new commander.

With eight hundred elite mercenaries forming the framework for fifteen thousand slave soldiers, they became a capable fighting force in just a few days.

This wasn’t an exaggeration. The regular armies of the Seven Kingdoms in Westeros operated on a one-to-one hundred ratio, with one or two hundred knights leading ten or twenty thousand farmers who had just set down their hoes.

To put it simply, it was a world where competence was relative; everyone was terrible, so you only had to be slightly less so.

The situation was roughly this: slave soldiers < a lord’s peasant levies < new freemen with some combat experience (elite selections from slave soldiers) < the top thirty mercenary companies < the Unsullied < knightly orders with faith and complete training (including the knightly units of some large mercenary companies and the armed holy orders of the Faith).

That was why Daenerys was allowing the newly established Queen’s Guard to accompany her on the expedition.

As for whether the Queen’s Guard would be controlled by the Company of the Rose and Jon Bolton?

Without a doubt, it would be.

But Daenerys was doing this intentionally. Besides balancing the growing power of the new freemen, her main purpose was to introduce a new, more advanced system for the liberated slaves—a Sinicized Westerosi knightly system.

Currently, Astapor was implementing a commandery and county system, which was conducive to centralized power. But as Daenerys conquered Yunkai, Meereen, and even the entire Slaver’s Bay, the more “vigorous” feudal system was bound to emerge.

—The feudal lords of Westeros had maintained their power for over eight thousand years. Compared to the three-hundred-year cycles of dynasties in ancient China, it was far more “vigorous”!

Yes, vigorous—the power to live on. In terms of governance, the feudal system was far inferior to the centralized authoritarian system of China.

Daenerys would not copy the system of the Celestial dynasties wholesale, even if centralized power could bring about a “Golden Age of Daenerys” unprecedented in this world for two or three generations.

Because she was a monarch, not a commoner. If there was a golden age for the first Daenerys, there would inevitably be a ‘Last Emperor of the Nth Dany Dynasty’.

Simply put, she wanted her own line to rule for ten thousand generations. As for whether the country rotted, she cared, but she cared more about whether her descendants would have their entire family executed.

Besides, no matter how rotten the country became, her descendants would still be monarchs.

The feudal system had another benefit: vassals were often quite loyal to their liege lords, far more so than a grand marshal, a grand commandant, or a provincial inspector was to an emperor.

For example, House Stark had been Kings in the North for eight thousand years.

The King in the North himself had only a small number of directly controlled troops; most of his army came from his subordinate lords, just like Daenerys and Jon Bolton at this moment.

Chapter 142: Scorched-Earth Policy

In the chaotic times of the ancient Celestial Empire, a man like Jon, upon gaining command of the royal guard, might have become overly ambitious and sought to usurp Empress Daenerys.

But in this world, the chances of Jon doing so were minuscule, and he lacked the means. He only had a small number of troops directly under his command; the squad leaders of the royal guard beneath him were also Daenerys’s direct vassals.

For example, when Robb Stark took his cavalry to raid Jaime Lannister, the Northern infantry was left under the command of Roose Bolton.

Seeing Robb courting disaster and realizing the North was about to lose the war, Roose Bolton began to harbor thoughts of rebellion.

But even as commander of the infantry, he had no direct control over the forces of the dozen or so noble houses that composed it. To rebel, he couldn’t simply command the other lords. Though their positions differed, their status was the same—they were all direct vassals of the King in the North.

Thus, Bolton could only resort to trickery, feeding the other nobles’ soldiers to Tywin Lannister until only his own forces remained among the Northern infantry.

Only then could his rebellion succeed.

As for the loyalty of the other members of the Company of the Rose to Jon Bolton, there was no relationship of fealty between them. The captain-general of the mercenary company was elected, not a hereditary position.

The fathers of Lyla Amber, Bruce Wayne, and Herman Tallhart had all served as captain-general of the Company of the Rose.

In fact, the previous captain-general had been Bruce’s father. Jon’s mother, who had been so promiscuous that no one even knew who his father was, had never even held the rank of squad leader. She was just an ordinary member, a tagalong.

The members of the Company of the Rose might band together for warmth, but they would never betray their sworn liege lord, Daenerys, for one of their own.

Not unless the Targaryen “mad blood” flared up and Daenerys became as reviled as the “Mad King” Aerys.

Despite all the advantages of the feudal system, Daenerys had no intention of simply copying the institutions of Westeros. She would adapt and choose flexibly based on the situation.

But this was all getting ahead of things. She hadn’t even taken Yunkai yet. It was too early to be dreaming of “Daenerys the Great.”

While Daenerys hesitated, debating whether to launch a surprise attack and lead her fifty-thousand-strong army on a swift march to Yunkai, or to conscript laborers, transport supplies, and wage a conventional siege, more news arrived from Yunkai that very evening.

Daenerys handed the parchment to Jon and sighed. “You were right. The Great Masters of Yunkai have ordered a scorched-earth policy. The landowners on the Yunkai plain are gathering in the city. They’re moving as much of the grain, cattle, and horses as they can into the city walls. What can’t be moved is being burned on the spot. All the crops in the fields—the wheat, the corn—are also being set aflame. The wells are either being sealed or poisoned.”

“This…” Jon’s face turned grim. “If our surprise attack fails, even if the whole army isn’t annihilated, this northern campaign of liberation will still end in failure.”

“Your Majesty, we have superior numbers. Why not fight the slavers in a straightforward battle? We can conscript the newly freed slaves as laborers to transport our grain. It won’t affect Astapor’s industrial or agricultural production,” Barristan said gravely.

The Ghiscari allied army’s slave legions and the merchants’ slave transports had provided Daenerys with nearly seventy thousand slaves. From them, the elite were selected to form the fifteen-thousand-strong royal guard.

The remaining new freemen were granted an Astapor household registry. Those with skills became city dwellers, while those who couldn’t start a business in the city were each given thirty mu of land to become farmers on the plains of the Worm River.

Daenerys’s brow furrowed. She knew the Long Night was coming. The wise path now was to focus on production.

She could not commit all her strength to war, and she absolutely could not allow a surprise attack on the north to devolve into a war of attrition.

She stared at Yunkai’s position on the map, deep in thought. After a long moment, a flash of inspiration struck her. She laughed aloud. “Heavens, I’m so foolish! Why not learn from Tian Ji!”

“Tian Ji,” she had said in the Han language, leaving the military commanders around the map table utterly bewildered.

“Your Majesty, what are you talking about?” asked the red-haired female knight, Lyla Amber.

“The plan is unchanged. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow at dawn, the entire army marches north,” Daenerys commanded with a wave of her hand, her voice brimming with confidence.

“With only half a month’s worth of food?” Scarback Simon frowned. “Does Your Majesty have a way to end the battle quickly?”

Daenerys wore a triumphant expression. She tapped a location on the map. “Hehe, here’s my plan…”

The next evening, the golden sunset dyed the ancient city of Yunkai a bloody red, as if foretelling the coming of fire and blood.

But inside the palace at the apex of the Great Pyramid, the halls were filled with laughter. The Wise Masters were in high spirits, all rejoicing at the news they had received: the Mother of Dragons, underestimating her enemy, was making a reckless advance. Fifty thousand soldiers, carrying rations for only half a month, were on a long-distance forced march toward their fortified city, six hundred kilometers away.

“Hahaha, that woman is young and inexperienced after all!” Grazdan mo Eraz laughed heartily, seemingly having recovered from the crushing defeat a few days prior.

Of the slavers who had gone to face Daenerys, there had been seven Wise Masters from Yunkai and three Great Masters from Meereen—ten great slavers of high station in total. Only the three Wise Masters and one Great Master from the northern camp had managed to escape.

This Grazdan of Yunkai had been luckier than his Astapori counterpart. Though the entire allied army had been annihilated, he, its commander, had survived completely unscathed.

He was lean and well-built, with exceptional stamina. While the other two surviving Wise Masters were still on their way, he had pushed his horses to their limit, riding four to their deaths to cross six hundred kilometers in three days and escape back to the city of Yunkai.

After resting at home for a day, he had shown up at the council of Wise Masters the next day without a hint of shame.

“Inexperienced?” A fat man in a yellow silk tokar with golden tassels glanced at the increasingly gaunt and sun-darkened Grazdan with his yellow eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pray tell, Your Excellency, our great commander of the allied forces, how was it that you were beaten by an inexperienced woman and forced to flee back here all alone? You took the fifty-thousand-strong army we spent half a year preparing, did you not?”

The fat man was not seated at the round table. He sat alone by a giant mosaic stained-glass window, bathed in the iridescent light of the sunset, like a boneless slab of fat splayed across a massive, two-meter-wide bamboo chair.

The nearest Wise Master was a good four or five meters away. Even so, those closest to him wore grim expressions and held handkerchiefs to their noses, as if an unbearable odor emanated from the fat man.

“It was not my fault. She has dragons. Warhorses go weak at the knees at the sound of a dragon’s roar. In an open field, dragons are nigh invincible. Anyone in my position would have met the same fate,” Grazdan argued.

The fat man pursed his lips and surveyed the room. “That’s why I said from the beginning that there was no need to provoke her. Let her stay quietly in Astapor, and we could continue living our own lives. Wouldn’t it be better for us to coexist in peace—”

Pfft—

A sickening sound escaped from the fat man’s posterior, followed by a thick, putrid stench that filled the entire chamber.

The fat man’s doughy face flushed red. Several nearby Wise Masters clutched their noses and rose, scurrying away in disgust.

Ugh, as the fat man spoke, he had lost control of his bowels and soiled himself.

Though the other Wise Masters either fled their seats or fanned the air with disgusted looks, no one seemed surprised. It was clearly not the first time the fat man had done this in public.

“Apologies, my old brothers. It’s an old ailment of mine!” the fat man said with an embarrassed laugh.

“Yazan, if it weren’t for your clever mind and the fact that you are the richest man in Yunkai, capable of making great contributions to the cause of resisting the Mother of Dragons, I would never permit you to befoul my palace. So, even if you can’t hold in the filth from below, you must at least control the mouth above. Don’t spew nonsense that stinks worse than the shit in your breeches,” said the Great Master, Muliniao, his voice icy.

As soft squishing sounds continued to emanate from the fat man’s rear, several slaves immediately moved to lift his body while two pretty young girls knelt to clean him.

Hearing the Great Master’s words, Yazan, while enjoying his servants’ ministrations, retorted nonchalantly, “Muliniao, my wisdom commands me to speak words of wisdom. You lack such wisdom, so you cannot hear my words. Summoning me here was a waste of time. If you need me to cover military expenses or pay for the Faceless Men, just contact my steward. There’s no need to waste my time.”

A cold glint flashed in the Great Master’s eyes. “Very well,” he said coldly. “You need not come tomorrow. The Alliance will also be taking over House Quaggaz’s estates on the Yunkai Great Plain.”

“What do you want with my family’s estates?” Yazan zo Quaggaz asked, his confusion quickly turning to disbelief and horror. “Are you really going to be so ruthless? The Mother of Dragons only demands the freeing of slaves, not the extermination of the Ghiscari. Why must you do this?”

“Heh, without slaves, who will lick your arse clean for you?” Grazdan sneered.

“You—” Yazan glared at him venomously, then said to the servants behind him, “We’re leaving. This is no place for the living. It’s just a room full of ghosts.”

The Great Master’s face immediately darkened. The other Wise Masters muttered curses upon Quaggaz and his entire family, though one dullard was heard asking his companion, “What did that pig of shit mean by that?”

The Great Master swept a chilling gaze across him before saying cruelly, “Today’s agenda: how to implement the scorched-earth policy to its fullest extent!”

Half a month after the assassination attempt on Daenerys, as dusk approached, the sun, like a beast struck by a blade, swayed as it sank below the horizon, spilling bright red blood across the vast wilderness.

Two hundred kilometers outside the city of Yunkai, beside the great road, the thorny stem of a red wild rose trembled gently. A cricket in the heart of the flower suddenly stopped sipping the sweet nectar, its two antennae twitching as if listening intently.

A moment later, as if shocked by an electric current, the cricket kicked its powerful legs and leaped from the flower, tracing an arc through the air before landing on the ground and scurrying into a crack between stones.

It began as a faint drumming from the distance. Gradually, the earth began to tremble, and a yellow dragon of dust came roaring from the horizon.

Rumble, rumble, rumble…

A powerful silver steed galloped like the wind, thundering down the road with abandon, its hooves kicking up clouds of yellow dust.

On its back, an iron-armored female knight’s crimson cape whipped and snapped in the fierce wind like a banner, inspiring the fifty thousand iron-clad cavalry that followed.

Fifty thousand cavalry and one hundred thousand horses and cattle—an army of a scale this land had never seen. The ground boomed, raising a cloud of yellow dust that stretched for several kilometers.

The flowers and grasses in the fields trembled at the sound of the hooves, just like the hearts of the Wise Masters.

“Screech—”

“Screech—”

“Screech—”

Three dragons, now even more robust after their baptism of fire, circled high in the sky, brazenly announcing their presence.

Chapter 143: The Nth Use for a Dragon

“Your Majesty, it is getting late. The scouts ahead have identified a well for travelers one li from here, and a lake three li away. We can make camp there,” Barristan called out loudly to the Queen beside him, his voice carrying from atop his tall black steed.

Daenerys, at the head of the cavalry vanguard, galloped for another three kilometers before slowing her horse to a gentle stop by the edge of the long, narrow lake. She raised her right hand sharply and shouted, “Halt!”

Her command was given, and the army instantly obeyed.

In a matter of moments, the fifty thousand mounted warriors behind her came to a stop, along with another fifty thousand packhorses tied by their reins to the cavalry’s saddles, their backs laden with sacks of dry wheat.

“Make camp here. The White Banner Army will construct the fortifications.”

Grey Worm rode out from the ranks and acknowledged the order, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Surveying the endless fields from the Black Dragon’s perspective, Daenerys added, “The Wings of Freedom will disperse to graze the cattle and horses.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Scarback Simon and the portly Morono answered in unison.

“The Queensguard will form up and stand watch southwest of the woods. The three dragons will drive the game from the northeast,” Daenerys said with a smile, glancing at the green and white dragons already flying toward the western mountains.

“As you command!” Jon replied, his expression full of reverence as he looked at Daenerys.

“Commanders of the Yellow Banner Army, Aggo, Tako,” Daenerys called out.

“Khaleesi.”

“Your Majesty.”

Aggo and a dark-skinned man stepped forward together.

“Divide the twenty thousand militia into two groups. Ten thousand will set up tents and stoves, and ten thousand will go to the seashore to gather fish,” Daenerys said with a peculiar look.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Screee—”

“Chirp chirp… Squeak roar…”

The three dragons roared as they flew just above the treetops, splitting into three directions over the dense eastern forest. They occasionally breathed fire, causing the wild boars, elk, deer, rats, rabbits, and even tigers and wild oxen in the woods to mix together in a mad frenzy, stampeding blindly forward.

Rumble…

The sound of millions of running animals grew louder and louder. The soldiers waiting in formation outside the forest nervously tightened their grip on their shields, their eyes fixed intently ahead.

“Archers, nock your arrows!” yelled the red-haired Ser Layla.

Rumble…

A mixed herd of goats and wolves surged out of the forest like a tidal wave, charging straight at the shieldmen in the front rank.

“Loose!”

Swish, swish, swish…

Ten thousand arrows flew at once, and a chorus of pained cries from various animals filled the air.

Layla smiled at the bearded Bruce beside her and said, “What a great harvest. If we smoke it dry, it can last for days. Her Majesty’s method for gathering provisions is brilliant.”

“Using dragons to drive out forest animals… how did Her Majesty even think of that?” Bruce remarked with great emotion as he watched a pikeman stab a yellow-skinned tiger that had leaped over the shield wall.

How did she think of it?

Daenerys had seen Big Black and the others hunt countless times. As soon as they entered a forest, they would let out a couple of roars, sending the beasts into a stampede. Then they would dive down and unleash a gout of dragonflame on the largest wild ox.

“Forget the game in the forest. Look,” Layla said, pointing to the three dragons flying towards the sea. “The dragons can also dive into the ocean to find and drive schools of fish. We’ll be having fresh fish soup tonight.”

And indeed, before nightfall, to the cheers of ten thousand laborers, a wave of silvery-white fish broke the surface of the sea and leaped onto the wide, sandy beach.

The men then charged onto the beach wielding a motley assortment of weapons—scimitars, shortswords, notched longswords, axes—and picked up the still-flopping cod and tuna. They chopped off the heads and tails, washed the guts out with seawater, and placed the large torsos into bamboo baskets before moving on to the next fish.

That’s right, the laborers simply tossed the fish heads and tails aside. It was remarkably extravagant.

However, some laborers would collect fish maws, roe, and large fish heads, which were set aside for Her Majesty the Queen.

Without a doubt, whether it was steamed fish head, fish maw stir-fried with dragon peppers, or fish roe stewed in beef bone broth, these dishes were a hundred times more delicious and nutritious than simple grilled fish.

Daenerys had many times tried to promote the delicious cuisine of the Celestial Empire to her men. It wasn’t that they disliked the taste; the main problem was that the preparation was too troublesome.

As Queen, Daenerys had dedicated chefs to prepare her food with care. But the laborers, after a long day of work, were exhausted to the bone, ready to fall asleep the moment they lay down. How could they find the energy to meticulously steam a fish head, or wait for hours just to simmer a rich beef bone broth?

If Daenerys hadn’t told them that eating bone marrow could strengthen their bodies and taught them a method to split open marrow bones with their swords, they would have thrown away the wrist-thick wild ox leg bones after gnawing off the meat.

That night.

The bonfire in the center of the wooden palace cast a reddish glow on Daenerys’s cheeks, but her eyes, fixed on the letter in her hand, were incredibly sharp and filled with killing intent.

“Yunkai has decided on a scorched-earth policy,” she said coldly.

Barristan looked puzzled. “We had already anticipated that possibility.”

Daenerys’s eyes were frigid. “The most thorough scorched-earth policy. Wise Master Muliniao has ordered that all the grain from the manors be moved into the Great Pyramid of Yunkai. He also ordered the burning of the wheat fields, the olive groves, and any grain that cannot be moved.”

“We anticipated the burning of grain and the poisoning of water sources.”

“But that Wise Master has also encouraged the slave masters to purge ‘unstable elements’—to slaughter the slaves on their manors to prevent them from defecting to me.”

The letter was passed among the commanders around the map table. Everyone who read the contents of the parchment pursed their lips, their expressions grave.

Finally, Jon broke the silence, sighing, “At least there is one piece of good news. The Ghiscari Alliance fleet will transport two thousand mercenaries, ten thousand Yellow Cloaks, ten thousand gladiator slaves, several hundred scorpions, lamp oil, and other supplies from Meereen to Yunkai tomorrow.”

“Why so many Yellow Cloaks? I remember two months ago, Meereen only had two thousand Yellow Cloaks to maintain order,” said Ser Herman Tallhart, captain of the Queensguard, looking confused.

Jon sighed. “They must be newly recruited. Of the three cities in Slaver’s Bay, Meereen has the best location. It has sea transport, river transport connecting to the Lhazareen, and its back is to the Dothraki Sea.”

“Meereen can be considered the capital of Slaver’s Bay. It’s the largest city, has the most Ghiscari nobles, and the largest Ghiscari population, around one hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Hehehe, fifteen to one. Have almost all the able-bodied Ghiscari men of Meereen gone to Yunkai?” Scarback Simon chuckled foolishly.

The chubby Ser Morono stroked his double chin, looking perplexed. “Why is there no Iron Legion? Even Meereen is going all out. Why hasn’t the New Ghis Iron Legion been deployed?”

“Where is the New Ghis Iron Legion? It’s our ace, our main force! Why isn’t it here?” The next morning at the docks of Yunkai, a Wise Master’s face was ashen as he looked at the fleet that covered the sea.

The rising sun cast a field of fine, golden-red scales across the azure sea. Over five hundred ships—painted dark red, stark white, black, and brown—broke through a thin layer of haze, bringing slivers of cheerful, dancing golden sunlight to the docks.

Something called hope came with it, spreading like sunlight across the land, filling the hearts of the people watching from the city walls and the Great Pyramid.

“Look, the blue and white forked-tail banner! It’s the Windblown!”

“The Windblown are one of the strongest mercenary companies on the western continent. They have two thousand mixed infantry and cavalry.”

“Wow, so many Yellow Cloaks! All the warriors of Meereen have come to defend Yunkai!”

The common Ghiscari people rejoiced at the arriving reinforcements, filled with pride at the sight of the endless fleet of white-sailed galleons. It seemed the Mother of Dragons could no longer silence a crying child, hush an adult, or make a Wise Master’s face pale with her name alone.

But the Wise Master was exceptionally furious. He confronted the fleet commander, demanding, “Meereen has brought us ten thousand Ghiscari warriors. Why didn’t you even send a single squad from the Iron Legion?”

Among the four Ghiscari city-states, New Ghis on the Summer Sea possessed the strongest navy, so the commander of the Ghiscari Alliance fleet was a captain from New Ghis.

The thin captain, with his short, spiky black-and-red hair, was not intimidated by the Wise Master’s aggressive demeanor. He replied with neither servility nor arrogance, “Your Excellency, the previous allied army was divided into three routes by land and sea. The combined forces of Meereen and Yunkai advanced from north to south. The Third Legion of the New Ghis Iron Legion, with a total of two thousand five hundred warriors, crossed the Ghiscari Strait to advance north from the eastern coast of Old Ghis to the Worm River plain.”

“The distance from Yunkai to Astapor is six hundred kilometers, and the journey from Old Ghis to the Worm River plain is about the same. But traversing the mountains and forests via the old way is too difficult. It’s an imperial road built by the Old Ghiscari Empire thousands of years ago.”

“It’s hard to get in, and hard to get out. They are still stuck in the marshes at the end of the Worm River!”

“Hmph. An entire legion held off by five hundred men. I am aware of this matter that has brought shame upon the name of the ancient Ghiscari legions. But New Ghis has five legions, and can mobilize ten more if necessary. You should have sent at least five thousand men to Yunkai,” the Wise Master said coldly.

The fleet captain retorted, annoyed, “It was not just five hundred. The enemy had two thousand five hundred soldiers in total, and they occupied a strategic, defensible pass.”

“I don’t know how that woman is so vigilant, but it seems she discovered the Third Legion’s surprise attack long ago and even set up traps with lamp oil and falling rocks in the narrow valley just for them.”

“Every member of the Iron Legion is a Son of the Harpy of noble lineage. Many even bear the surnames of great, legendary heroes.”

“The loss of a single warrior causes a great shock in the New Ghis council. This time, six or seven hundred warriors died for nothing. Do you still expect the council to dispatch another two legions?”

The “Iron Legion” of New Ghis was modeled after the glorious legions of the Old Ghiscari Empire. Every free male citizen on the island of New Ghis was required to serve in the army for three years, with training and equipment similar to that of the Unsullied.

Or rather, the Unsullied themselves were modeled after the Ghiscari legions.

The most elite of the conscripted soldiers could choose to become professional soldiers, which meant joining the Iron Legion.

The fact that New Ghis could hold its own in a waterway rife with pirates was without a doubt due to the Iron Legion being truly “iron,” perhaps no less formidable than the Unsullied.

In the first “Anti-Dragon Mother Campaign,” New Ghis had also contributed significantly. Not only did they send their elite fleet to battle, but they also dispatched a legion to sneak into the Worm River basin, intending to destroy the foundation of Daenerys’s rule—the manors on the fertile lands—in one fell swoop.

Thanks to ravens delivering messages quickly and reliably, the original plan called for the three armies to launch their attacks on Astapor at almost the same time.

Even if the navy and mercenaries couldn’t take Astapor in a single assault—the Ghiscari were not fools and had fully accounted for the strength of eighty-six hundred formidable Unsullied—the Iron Legion could still run rampant across the Worm River plain, burning all the manors and granaries under Daenerys’s rule. The new freemen slaves would also have been slaughtered to the last.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the dragons, the Ghiscari plan might very well have succeeded.

How could Daenerys, a newcomer to Slaver’s Bay, know about an old Ghiscari imperial road from over six thousand years ago?

Chapter 144: The Wise Master’s Wisdom and Magnanimity

Thankfully, Daenerys had always encouraged her three dragons to hunt for themselves. This not only lightened her own burden but also honed the dragons’ abilities.

Half a year had passed, and the larger beasts in the mountains and forests near Astapor had grown scarce. The three dragons had no choice but to venture deeper into the southern highlands, sometimes flying as far east as the Red Waste.

Six months ago, Big Black’s speed had already reached one hundred fifty kilometers per hour; now, his average speed exceeded two hundred. Daenerys often used Big Black’s eyes to observe this primordial, fantastical world. In the days leading up to the war, she frequently scanned the sea’s surface, searching for the Ghiscari fleet.

On one such occasion, from an altitude of eight thousand meters, she spotted a long, moving line of black “beans” on the red, saline-alkali earth.

They looked like ants on a chessboard.

Subsequently, Ser Chainsbreaker led five hundred warriors and two thousand laborers out of Astapor and into a valley several hundred kilometers away to set an ambush.

Through careful searching, Daenerys had found a perilous valley with steep slopes on both sides, preparing to show these “country bumpkins” from another world some of the brilliant military strategies from The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

Unfortunately, she was disappointed. The Iron Legion didn’t foolishly line up in a single file to march straight through the valley pass. Instead, they divided their legion into five companies of five hundred men each and advanced in batches.

Luckily, Ser Chainsbreaker wasn’t a fool either. He knew that if he let even one enemy company pass through the valley, his own twenty-five hundred men would likely be outmatched.

So he didn’t attempt to cut their formation in half. The moment the first company entered the pass, they launched their attack.

Well, it turned out that “Three Kingdoms strategies” were quite effective after all.

They blocked both ends of the valley and rained down a barrage of lamp oil, firewood, rolling stones, logs, and arrows. Finally, they sent soldiers down to finish off any survivors. Without losing a single man, the five hundred soldiers of the Iron Legion were completely annihilated.

The rest of the legion, blocked outside the valley by boulders, listened to the wretched screams of their comrades, nearly driven mad. In a fit of rage, they charged the treacherous mountain pass.

Ser Chainsbreaker was also a cunning and ruthless character. To provoke the enemy further, he had the heads of the five hundred slaughtered Iron Legion soldiers severed and thrown out beyond the valley pass.

Needless to say, the legion commander, who had just been trying to restrain his impulsive soldiers, felt a surge of fury shoot straight from his gut to the crown of his head.

Over the next four or five days, another two hundred of his soldiers were killed, and more than a thousand were wounded or maimed. In contrast, Ser Chainsbreaker had lost only a dozen soldiers and about a hundred laborers.

Faced with such a devastating outcome and having received word that the allied army had been swept aside by Daenerys, the Iron Legion commander’s fevered brain finally cooled. Dejectedly, he led his battered troops in a retreat toward the southern coast.

After defeating the Iron Legion, Ser Chainsbreaker left a few hundred militia to build a permanent garrison at the valley pass, while he himself immediately rushed his warriors toward Kayuan.

He was worried the Queen would grant him a fief in this godforsaken place.

Indeed, Daenerys had sent a letter to test Ser Chainsbreaker, asking if he was willing to become the ‘Lord of Old Ghis’ and guard the frontier for the Queen.

To be honest, Daenerys had no intention of shortchanging him. Although Old Ghis had been destroyed by the Valyrians, its lands sown with salt, sulfur, and bones, six thousand years had passed. With a deep plowing, the land could be cultivated once more.

After all, Old Ghis had been the capital of the Ghiscari Empire!

“Wise Master, let me be frank with you,” the fleet commander began. “The Third Legion suffered over fifty percent casualties and is practically crippled. With our fifty-thousand-strong army swept aside by the Mother of Dragons, the council is being extremely cautious about dispatching the Iron Legion again. And besides…”

“Besides what?” the Wise Master asked, his expression grim.

After a moment’s hesitation, the fleet commander leaned close to the Wise Master’s ear and whispered, “New Ghis is preparing a second option: dragons and magic! That’s right, we plan to send a fleet with the Red Devil across the Smoking Sea.”

“That Andal Pirate King, Euron Greyjoy?” The Wise Master was taken aback. “He truly went to the ruins of Valyria?”

“We were skeptical at first, too. After all, countless heroes have perished in the Smoking Sea throughout history. But the dragon eggs, the horn, the armor—they have all been verified these past few days. Especially that Dragon Horn we traded thirty warships for…”

At this, a look of terror crossed the fleet commander’s face, and his voice dropped even lower. “We have felt it ourselves. It is terrifying, an authentic Valyrian Dragonlord’s horn. A magical weapon possessed only by the highest Valyrian nobility—Dragonbinder!”

The anger on the Wise Master’s face vanished, replaced by astonishment and doubt. “If the Dragon Horn is real, why not use it to control her three dragons?”

“Alas, the Andal tried once before. The green and white dragons could be controlled, but the black one… For some reason, the black dragon was able to resist the horn’s binding power. Its sudden defiance last time caused his plan to capture the dragons to fail at the last moment.”

“On the day the allied army attacked Astapor, he did have a chance to sound the horn, but while the white and green dragons were still struggling, the black one blasted a fire bomb his way… so you understand?” the fleet commander said helplessly.

“Then, did you bring the horn with you this time? We could use it in the siege! Our Great Pyramid is completely immune to fire bombs,” the Wise Master said, his spirits rising.

“We did not,” the fleet commander replied, shaking his head with regret.

“Why not?”

“The Andal pirate will only teach us the horn and the secret arts to control it after he has completed his expedition and reaped his ‘great harvest’. He is still leading our expedition; we cannot turn on him yet.” The fleet commander finished with a look that said, You understand, don’t you?

Of course, the Wise Master understood. Discarding someone after they have served their purpose.

They had not yet crossed the river, so naturally, they could not dismantle the bridge.

“Alas, without the Iron Legion to hold the line, we will have to use our last resort. Kayuan is truly going to be devastated this time!” The Wise Master turned to look back at Kayuan, bathed in the golden-red light of dawn, his eyes cold and grim.

Screeeech—Boom, boom, boom boom!

Suddenly, a terrifying screech echoed from the heavens, followed by a pillar of crimson fire as thick as a washbasin and twenty meters long descending from the sky. It was like a tangible, fiery razor, carving a path from the sea three kilometers away, shredding sails, masts, decks, and the sailors upon them.

Splintered wood and charred remains flew amidst the flames. A straight line of warships burned and exploded in the dragonflame. Countless sailors and soldiers screamed and cried, struggling and fleeing from the inferno.

Under the clear blue sky, over a dozen columns of thick black smoke, reeking of burnt flesh, rose from the shimmering sea. They looked like the reaper’s charred fingers, reaching from the water’s surface to pierce the heavens.

The Ghiscari populace, who had been cheering for the massive reinforcements from the city walls and the pyramid, were frozen in shock. The words they knew caught in their throats.

“Hhhh… hhhh…” The Ghiscari people’s throats were dry as they managed a pained groan. “De-mon… dra-gon…”

“The demon dragon is attacking! Quick, archers, scorpions!” the general on the wall roared wildly at his soldiers, his face a mask of contorted muscles.

Screeeech— But Big Black pulled up sharply as he neared the docks, soaring five hundred meters into the blue sky, leaving a fleeting, terrifying black shadow across the faces of the Wise Master, the Ghiscari soldiers, the people on the pyramid, and even the slaves in the streets.

Then, Big Black released one of his claws, and a corner of the quilt-sized bundle he was carrying came undone.

Rustle—

In the warm sunlight, a shower of paper reflected the glittering white light, dazzling the eyes and confounding the hearts of the city’s several hundred thousand inhabitants.

Soon, a Ghiscari man picked up a piece of snow-white parchment, the size of a notebook page. The title was clear: A Proclamation from the Mother of Dragons to All Citizens of Kayuan.

“I, Daenerys the First, Mother of Dragons and Liberator of Slaves, hereby inform all slave masters, great and small, that within seven days an army of two hundred thousand will arrive at your gates to liberate Kayuan.”

“My intent is to abolish the inhumane institution of slavery, not to target the Ghiscari people.”

“If you are willing to open your gates and surrender, I will allow you to retain the right to govern Kayuan. If you are unwilling to accept defeat and intend to defy the will of heaven with futile resistance, I am willing to engage the Ghiscari legions in a great and legendary battle of knights.”

“However, though I possess a benevolent heart and the honor of a knight, I also possess the wrath of a monarch.”

“Whoever dares to burn crops shall be shown no mercy. Whoever dares to harm slaves shall be shown no mercy. Whoever dares to poison wells shall be shown no mercy.”

“A monarch’s fury brings rivers of blood; a Dragonlord’s fury brings cities to ashes. Let it not be said that you were not warned!”

Big Black circled Kayuan once more. Everywhere he went, he was met with panic and the incessant thrum, thrum, thrum of bowstrings as countless metallic-gleaming bolts rose and fell beneath him.

Screeeech— With a final, parting cry, Big Black flew leisurely southward, leaving behind a city filled with terrified screams.

“Dragon—” A muscle in the Wise Master’s eye twitched, and his teeth ground together audibly.

Watching the black dragon gradually disappear from view, the Wise Master turned back and said, his tone resolute and enunciating every word, “You obtained three dragon eggs last time. Kayuan will have one!”

“This…” the fleet commander hesitated. “Obtaining two extra eggs was a pleasant surprise, but one bronze dragon egg went to the Andal, and one white egg was taken by that Sorrowful Man. Only a single golden dragon egg remains, and New Ghis needs a dragon as well!”

“Over half a year ago, the Pureborn of Qarth managed to acquire two dragon eggs from a merchant from Asshai. Now you want to split another one. Aren’t you afraid of choking on your greed?” the Wise Master said, displeased.

“We are not certain who hired that Sorrowful Man. It could have been the Pureborn, The Thirteen, or the Tourmaline Brotherhood. Or perhaps… perhaps the Sorrowful Man never delivered the egg to his employer. An ancient order of assassins would surely want to raise a dragon of their own. Who doesn’t want a dragon?”

“I heard that after the news of that woman successfully hatching dragons from stone eggs reached Asshai, the price of fossilized dragon eggs skyrocketed a hundredfold, even a thousandfold. In truth, certain great lords in the free city-states and Westeros are also secretly collecting dragon eggs. Everyone wants dragons! And even for the Pureborn, who already have two eggs, three dragons isn’t too many. That woman has three, doesn’t she?” the fleet commander said with a shrug.

“In that case, have the Pureborn of Qarth managed to hatch their dragons?” the Wise Master asked nervously.

“They only just learned how from us. I heard they sacrificed seven or eight scions from noble branch families, but with little effect.”

“The old priest who conducted the ritual explained that perhaps the blood purity of the sacrifices wasn’t high enough to please R’hllor, the Lord of Light, or perhaps it simply takes time for results to show. It was his first time hatching a dragon; he was confident, but he had no experience,” the fleet commander said, shaking his head.

The Wise Master looked down at the populace in the streets below, who were shouting in panic, “The Mother of Dragons is coming!” and “The Mother of Dragons will burn the city to the ground!” His expression grew darker and darker.

Finally, he whipped his head around, glaring at the fleet commander. “Since the ships from New Ghis have already departed for the ruins of Valyria, they will surely be able to bring back a few dragon eggs, just as the Andal did. Right now, Kayuan needs that golden dragon egg!”

“Wise Master, why not wait for the fleet to return? It is not as if a dragon can be hatched in a day,” the fleet commander refused.

“No, look—”

The Wise Master pointed to the seething city below and said coldly, “One black dragon has thrown our army into complete disarray. If we cannot restore the morale of the people and the army, then when the mother of demon dragons arrives with her three dragons at our gates, Kayuan will immediately become the second Astapor.”

“I need the dragon egg to placate the people. I need to bring hope to the terrified Sons of the Harpy. A dragon! We all know dragons are far from invincible. In fact, I would be pleased if that woman’s dragons dared to burn the city. But the common folk are ignorant. In their minds, only a dragon can fight a dragon.”

“Therefore, I want the dragon egg. I will gather the people and tell them that Kayuan is hatching a dragon, that Kayuan will soon have its own great dragon.”

“But the price of hatching a dragon is quite high,” the fleet commander hesitated. He grasped the larger picture and understood how damaging the fall of Kayuan would be to the Ghiscari Alliance.

“Hahaha, young man, you are still too naive.” The Wise Master clapped the stout, middle-aged officer on the shoulder, winked slyly, and asked with a smile, “What was our plan before this?”

“To stall for time, to make the Mother of Dragons exhaust her food supplies…”

As he spoke, the confusion on the fleet commander’s face vanished, replaced by admiration. “Wise Master, you are brilliant. We only need to restore the army’s morale for ten days. No, five days will be enough.”

“When the people see the Mother of Dragons outside the walls, so hungry she’s reduced to gnawing on horse bones, everyone in the city will become a fearless warrior.”

“Very well! On behalf of New Ghis, I agree to give the golden dragon egg to Your Excellency!”

“Hahaha,” the Wise Master roared with laughter, though in his mind he thought: You’re still too young, boy. Only meat in your own belly is truly yours. Who knows what’s in the ruins of Valyria? What if there’s only one dragon egg left?

As for the price of hatching a dragon…

Hehehe, if that little girl had the guts to sacrifice her only brother, her husband, and her newborn son, is my magnanimity any less than hers?!

Besides, I have many wives and many sons. My capital is far greater than hers!

Chapter 145: Sweetheart and the Tattered Prince

After the fall of the Ghiscari Empire, the Ghiscari people were forced to leave their capital of Old Ghis and established four new city-states to the north and south. In the south, along the golden shipping route of the Summer Sea, was New Ghis, the core city of the Ghiscari. On the eastern coast of Slaver’s Bay stood three great cities: Meereen, which purchased slaves; Yunkai, which trained pleasure slaves; and Astapor, which produced eunuch soldiers.

Meereen and Astapor were both built at the mouths of freshwater rivers, situated on major sea routes.

Yunkai lay between Meereen and Astapor, with no convenient river transport nearby. Moreover, Yunkai was only 250 kilometers from Meereen. Geographically, it seemed unnecessary to build the city of Yunkai.

After all, the Ghiscari population was very small, only a few hundred thousand. Both Meereen and Astapor had thousands of square kilometers of fertile land left undeveloped.

In truth, Yunkai was blessed with a unique natural environment, possessing a great plain perfectly suited for agriculture.

If this were the Celestial Empire during the Three Kingdoms period, Yunkai would be considered the foundational breadbasket of an imperial dynasty.

It was a pity that such a blessed land was occupied by the degenerate Ghiscari.

Perhaps it was because the environment of Slaver’s Bay was too forgiving, allowing one to eat their fill without effort, that the Ghiscari were corrupted by their comfortable lives?

Regardless, Dany highly valued the great granary that was the Yunkish plains.

She had even decided in her heart that if the slave masters were obedient and left the entire plain intact for her, she would treat the Wise Masters of Yunkai kindly. After all, Yunkai specialized in training pleasure slaves; they reeked more of perfume than of blood, far less so than the Good Masters of Astapor.

Regrettably, her heart was set on the moon, yet the moon shone only on the gutter.

Three afternoons after Big Black had delivered The Mother of Dragons’ Proclamation to All Citizens of Yunkai, the blazing sun shone quietly upon the land as Dany arrived on the great plain of Yunkai.

She slowly reined in her little silver mare.

The view, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a scorched, blackened land from which wisps of white smoke rose. The colors of black and gray even overpowered the brilliant sunlight, making one feel as if they had entered a world of only black and white.

“Hee-hee…” The little silver mare stamped its hooves, shifting about in nervous little steps, as if trying to avoid the scalding earth beneath, or perhaps terrified by the forest of corpses that lined the entire dirt road.

The wheat fields on both sides of the earthen road had been burned. The road itself was lined with wooden pikes three to four meters long. The long, sharp tips had been driven through the raggedly dressed slaves, piercing their bellies or anuses, passing through their chests and throats, and stopping only at their upper jaws.

The old, the young, children, men, women, white people, black people, brown-skinned people, amber-colored people…

But no matter their skin color or age, it was difficult to tell them apart now. Only after the slaves were nailed to the posts along the road did the Ghiscari set fire to the crops on either side.

Although the corpses were not directly roasted by the flames, they were smoked like meat. The black smoke and hot flames ignited the slaves’ already pitifully scarce, tattered linen clothes and hair, then licked at their skin.

A moist, oily sheen seeped from their blackened skin. Faintly, the savory scent of smoked meat wafted through the air, but then another gust of wind brought the foul stench of feces and urine.

—The corpses near the field ridges had been scorched by the flames, their internal organs swelling until their bellies burst open like sausages, revealing the ruined intestines within…

The charred wheat fields, the smoldering white smoke rising from leftover tree stumps, the black-and-gray dust kicked up by the wind, the black forest of corpses like smoked bacon.

Was this not a scene from hell?

Fifty thousand soldiers clenched their fists in silent rage.

“Damn them! Damn them!” Barristan’s face was ashen, his white beard trembling with his twitching facial muscles.

“They will die,” she said. Her faceplate concealed her expression, but her voice carried a chilling killing intent.

The forest of corpses was directly in front of her. All the bodies had been deliberately arranged to face south. Their mouths gaped open, revealing the hardwood points within. Their dull, lifeless eyes bulged from their sockets, as if staring right at Dany.

The female corpse at the very front had been specially prepared. A plaque hung around her neck, her hands holding either side of it. Her cheeks had been sliced from the corners of her lips to her ears with a sharp blade, creating a grotesque smile like a clown’s.

On the gray-black wooden plaque, a line was written in white paint: The slaves are all lined up to welcome you, Queen of Slaves!

“We are still thirty kilometers from Yunkai. It’s early, so we’ll continue forward.” Dany turned her horse around, leaving the earthen road and entering the warm, charred wheat field.

“What about these bodies…” the red-haired Layla asked cautiously.

“Leave them for the militia at the rear to handle.” Dany sent horsemen to relay the message to the militia column five kilometers behind them.

As the saying goes, a long journey tests a horse’s strength.

As the army drew closer to Yunkai, the difference between well-bred warhorses and packhorses and mules became more and more apparent. The formation of Dany’s fifty-thousand-strong army stretched longer and longer, spanning dozens of li from front to back.

There were even several hundred laborers a hundred li away, riding water buffalo and leading horses, slowly making their way north.

Fortunately, the situation was not a tense stalemate between evenly matched forces. Otherwise, just a few guerrilla squads behind their lines could have caused her no end of trouble.

Iron hooves trampled the warm fields, kicking up sparks and clouds of dust. The gray ash left by the burnt wheat straw swirled and danced in the sky, almost making one believe they had entered a world of swirling snowflakes.

As they rode on, the mood grew heavier. The dense forest of corpses on the road had not been an isolated case.

Intermittently, they would come across the ruins of a manor, and not far away, another forest of corpses would appear on the road.

The crops were burned, the manors were burned, and a ten-thousand-acre olive grove near the sea was reduced to half-charred stumps still smoking… It seemed as if the entire world had been set ablaze, instilling a sickening and oppressive sense of world-weariness.

Even a battle-hardened veteran like Barristan was affected. For the past day or two, his face had been grim, and he had spoken very little.

The next morning, Yunkai appeared in the army’s field of vision—a solitary city in the midst of a blackened land. Soldiers in full armor already stood atop the ten-meter-high city walls.

As the dragon banner appeared, figures could be seen moving agitatedly on the walls.

Dany knew the Ghiscari had spotted her army as well.

“I’m in a foul mood. I want to kill a few beasts to vent my anger,” Dany said, turning to Barristan.

“We have a plan…” the old man hesitated.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t lost my mind. Only when they feel pain will they cooperate and hide in their shells. In a moment, here’s what we’ll do.” Dany quickly outlined a plan to a dozen of her commanders.

Two hours later, in a brick watchtower to the right of Astapor’s city gate, a group of Ghiscari commanders were observing the army slowly marching past the city, using spyglasses.

This watchtower was not tall, just one of the many sentry towers on the city wall, much shorter than the main tower above the gate.

Such an inconspicuous tower would naturally be an unlikely target for a dragon.

“Hahaha, the Wise Master’s plan really worked! Look, that woman’s soldiers are all dejected and their leather armor is covered in black ash. What a pack of beaten dogs!” Grazdan laughed heartily, holding a spyglass.

Through the lens, the soldiers were indeed disheveled, their hair messy, and many had black soot smeared on their exposed skin.

Yazan the Shit Man, slumped in a wide bamboo chair, struggled to lift his head and asked the enchanting attendant by the window, “Sweetheart, do you see the Dragon Queen?”

Yes, Yazan had come today as well.

But the narrow window was too high for the Shit Man, and no one else wanted to crowd around him, so it was his pleasure slave, Sweetheart, who held the spyglass.

Ahem, “Sweetheart” was his name.

Sweetheart was slender, with a delicate face, fine skin, beautiful purple hair, and a pair of charming, passionate purple eyes. He wore a magnificent gown decorated with moonstones and Myrish lace.

He looked like a noble lady emerging from a castle.

“Master, the one riding at the head is the Dragon Queen. She and her dragons went south long ago.”

Sweetheart’s voice was sweet and delicate, making the bones of several Wise Masters nearby go weak.

Gazing at Sweetheart’s lovely appearance, Grazdan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. He patted the hilt of the blade at his waist and tested, “Yazan, don’t you really like this Valyrian steel scimitar of mine? How about you trade Sweetheart for it?”

Sweetheart did not get angry at this. Instead, he shot Grazdan a shy, flirtatious glance.

“Give it up, Grazdan! Sweetheart is mine! Not even the gods can take him from my side!” Yazan said angrily.

“A Valyrian steel weapon! A once-in-a-century treasure!” Grazdan pressed.

“As rare as a Valyrian steel scimitar may be, can it be as unique as my darling Sweetheart?” Yazan was unmoved.

Nearby, an old general with silver-gray hair and silver-gray armor swept a contemptuous glance at Yazan and Grazdan and jeered, “The Mother of Dragons’ fifty-thousand-strong army is at our doorstep, and you’re still bickering over a monster that is neither man nor woman. A great doubt is now growing in my heart: was accepting Yunkai’s contract the right decision?”

Strangely, the old general’s cloak was tattered and torn, sewn together from patches of different colored cloth, as if he were wearing rags.

Sweetheart used a slender finger to tuck a curly purple lock that had fallen to his brow behind his ear and giggled. “I may be both man and woman, but I am certainly no monster, oh!”

“Shut up! What right does a worthless creature like you have to speak here?” the Wise Master snapped, turning to glare coldly at the androgynous Sweetheart with eyes as sharp as blades.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Yazan slammed his hands on the armrests of his bamboo chair and yelled in displeasure, “Muliniao, you bastard who deserves to be captured by the Mother of Dragons and fed to her dragons! You dare shout at my Sweetheart? I can have you removed as Wise Master right now, believe it or not!”

“Yazan, this is a critical time. With your wealth and connections, I doubt you can shake the Ghiscari allied army’s trust in his excellency, the Wise Master,” a Great Master from Meereen said coolly.

“Trust him?” Yazan sneered. “You fools can just wait and see how the Mother of Dragons avenges those fifty thousand slaves!”

“Get this fatso out of here. He’s disrupting the morale of the troops,” the silver-haired old general said, pointing at Yazan.

“You King of Rags, you want me to get out? Do you know whose food those two thousand animals under your command are eating? Whose whores are they fucking?” Yazan bellowed.

Sweetheart leaned against the Shit Man and giggled, covering his mouth. “Tattered Prince, the three hundred thousand radiants for hiring The Windblown were all provided by the great Master Yazan. In other words, Master Yazan is the true employer of you Windblown.”

The commander of The Windblown, the Tattered Prince, stared at the master and his slave with an indifferent gaze for a moment, then turned back to the Wise Master. “The enemy has crossed nearly six hundred kilometers in ten days. Their stamina is almost at its limit, and they’ve been demoralized by your forest of corpses tactic.”

“Faced with these weary soldiers, you are so timid that you let them march casually in formation, slowly walking right past the city gates?”

Chapter 146: Grazdan the War God

“What do you mean?” a Wise Master asked with a frown.

“Send out all the cavalry,” the Tattered Prince said coldly. “Cut their column in half at the city gates, and charge north to slaughter the Mother of Dragons’ militia and laborers.”

“This…” The Wise Master hesitated, looking toward the supreme commander of the allied army, Kayuan’s greatest war god, foremost strategist, and fiercest general: Grazdan mo Eraz.

Ah, yes, Grazdan—the very same man who was swept aside by Daenerys with almost no losses—was indeed Kayuan’s greatest war god. He’d even studied abroad in New Ghis!

After serving for ten years as a legion captain in the Iron Legion, he only returned home to inherit his father’s business after the old man kicked the bucket, changing careers to become a great Wise Master.

And because Grazdan’s resume was so impressive, both Meereen and New Ghis had approved his appointment as commander of the allied army.

Grazdan thought for a moment before speaking. “I have observed them carefully. The white banner of the Unsullied, the ‘Wings of Freedom’ of the Mother of Dragons’ Guard, and the red banner of the newly formed Queensguard have all passed.

The three dragons didn’t fly to Emerald Lake, three kilometers to the north. Instead, they flew east to the forest, more than twenty kilometers away. Perhaps they are hunting. They’ve been gone for about an hour and a half…

If we can complete our raid within an hour, we should be safe. And if the commanding general is brave enough, he could deliberately wait for the dragons to appear before retreating to the city gates…”

A cold glint flashed in Grazdan’s eyes. He chopped his right hand down like a blade. “We can set up the scorpions near the gate in advance. Perhaps today we will be able to slay those vile dragons.”

The Tattered Prince looked Grazdan over with surprise and praised him, “Great minds think alike! Are you willing to be the warrior who lures the dragons, Your Grace?”

The smug look on Grazdan’s face froze. Damn it, he thought. I paid a fortune to hire you mercenaries to come to Kayuan, wasn’t it so you would be the ones risking your lives?

But he couldn’t refuse. He had lost an army of fifty thousand men just half a month ago. He had to redeem himself.

“No problem,” he said, his fighting spirit soaring.

A short while later, the city gates creaked open, and Grazdan, now clad in iron armor, led one thousand elite cavalry charging out.

“Charge!” he roared, raising his Valyrian steel scimitar.

Rumble… The earth shook. Dust kicked up by the thundering hooves formed a yellow dragon, hurtling toward the marching column a kilometer away.

Under the afternoon sun, the militia, who had been riding lazily north of Kayuan, were stunned. With a cry, they began whipping their horses’ rumps frantically, scattering in all directions.

The thousand cavalry, a mix of mercenaries and Yellow Cloaks, ignored the scattering militia. They swept out from the east gate in an arc, charging head-on toward the long column stretching to the south.

“Scatter! Drop the supplies and scatter!” a militia squad leader shouted, coming forward.

And so, thousands of sacks of wheat, copper pots, and tents were abandoned on the road. The riders spurred their horses on in a headless panic, not even loosing a single volley of arrows, as if they had lost their nerve completely.

“Don’t break formation! Hold steady! Pierce through their ranks!”

At the head of the arrowhead formation, Grazdan waved his scimitar and roared. Seeing the militia column melt away like butter before a hot knife even before he reached them, he was filled with satisfaction.

Grazdan had never felt so exhilarated on the battlefield. He felt his very soul ascending in the charge. The shadow of his defeat half a month ago was completely banished, and the terrible roars of the dragons could no longer trouble him—

“Screeeech—”

Suddenly, the “militia” riders ahead stopped scattering. Instead, they stood quietly in place. Then the nightmare returned: a terrifying roar echoed from behind the militia’s ranks.

Neigh— His famous steed, “Black Dragon,” a horse so fierce it would dare to bite a wolf, suddenly found its forelegs turning to noodles. The world spun around Grazdan. Light vanished from his vision, and the clamorous shouts and the nightmare roars of the dragon both faded from his ears. In a daze, he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Grazdan felt someone touching his thigh. He was about to shout, Which slave dares to be so bold?

But in an instant, his senses returned.

I’m not dead? Captured? No, someone is taking off my armor.

Grazdan stealthily opened his eyes a crack and saw two men in linen shirts with dragon head emblems pulling at his iron boots. Beside him was a pile of naked corpses as high as a stack of firewood. The thick stench of blood filled his nostrils.

Why wasn’t I taken prisoner?

Then he understood why. As he opened his eyes that sliver, the dried blood stuck them together. His face felt numb and tingly, as if covered in a thick scab. Some unlucky wretch’s blood had drenched his head and face, and the militia searching the battlefield thought he was dead.

Excellent! No, wait. They’re taking off my boots. Once the iron armor is off, they’ll undo my leather armor and my underlayers. They’ll soon discover I still have a pulse, that I’m still warm…

At this thought, he focused his mind completely. The moment the two militiamen pulled off his iron boots like plucking radishes from the ground, he snapped his legs back. In the militiamen’s instant of shock, his two large feet shot into their faces like rockets.

Then, Grazdan pushed himself up from the ground with his hands. Once on his feet, without a second glance at the two militiamen dazed from the kicks to their heads, he broke into a run toward a large yellow horse grazing leisurely nearby.

“An enemy is playing dead!” a nearby militiaman yelled.

Grazdan had already seen that there were more than two militiamen cleaning the battlefield, so the thought of silencing those two had never even crossed his mind.

It was sheer luck. A dozen horse men scouts behind him loosed arrows like shooting stars, but not a single one hit a vital spot.

Well, he was lying flat on the horse’s back. His buttocks and thighs took three or four arrows, and the horse beneath him was hit seven or eight times, but instead of collapsing, it only seemed to run faster.

After galloping for only two or three kilometers, he caught sight of the city walls, but he didn’t dare raise his head to call out.

Dusk had just passed, and the sky was dim. The soldiers on the walls most likely wouldn’t recognize him; he even glimpsed the cold glint of iron arrowheads in the torchlight on the battlements. In this moment of crisis, inspiration struck. He flipped his body over and hid under the horse’s belly.

The next moment, swoosh swoosh swoosh—a volley of arrows flew from the walls. The horse shrieked and collapsed heavily to the ground. The horse men scouts pursuing him pulled on their reins, cursed a few times, and rode away.

I’m saved! Pinned beneath the horse, Grazdan breathed a sigh of relief.

That night.

In a wooden palace on a low hill five kilometers north of Kayuan.

“What? Grazdan was in that cavalry troop, and he escaped?” Daenerys was furious upon hearing the horse man’s report.

The operation this afternoon was meant to vent some anger and intimidate the slavers of Kayuan. What could have been more effective than taking the head of the Ghiscari allied army’s commander?

“Grazdan is so conspicuous. Are you all blind?”

“Khaleesi, you can’t blame us for this,” a horse man named Chike protested loudly. “If I hadn’t questioned the prisoners, I wouldn’t have even known that bastard had left the city.”

Yes, Chike was the same horse man who had challenged Jorah outside Drogo’s tent that day.

Back then, Daenerys had gone against tradition. Instead of letting him lie on the ground to die, she had saved him.

And so, this fellow had joined her khas. Chike had originally been one of Pono Ko’s people.

Besides her Bloodriders, capable horse men in her Khalasar were also given important positions, one by one. Chike was one of the militia Captains.

“The Wise Masters have such long, black hair and tall helmets. How could he not be conspicuous?” Daenerys retorted.

“He wasn’t wearing a tall helmet!” Chike shouted.

Yes, in these times, only the straightforward horse men dared to shout at Daenerys.

Daenerys waved her hand. “Bring in the highest-ranking prisoner.”

A moment later, the two Unsullied guarding the entrance to the great tent pulled back the leather flap, and the red-haired Layla entered, personally escorting a golden-haired prisoner with another member of the Queensguard.

In the bright torchlight, Daenerys could see the prisoner was a white person with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Their armor had been removed, and they were wearing a white shirt and black trousers.

It was hard to tell if they were male or female. They had a powerful build, standing over 1.8 meters tall. The curves of their chest and hips were somewhat feminine, and shoulder-length golden hair was messily splayed across their face, but their face was large and square, not completely hidden by the hair.

Their nose looked as if it had been chewed by a dog; torn flesh revealed two dark nostrils. A deep, cross-shaped scar marked both cheeks, and their blue eyes held a coldness that would never thaw.

And were their ears missing, too?

“And this is?” Daenerys asked, looking at Layla.

“The Windblown’s torturer, ‘Beauty’ Meris,” the red-haired knight replied, her expression complicated.

Daenerys frowned, which brought ‘Brienne the Beauty’ to mind. It seemed that the word women cherished most, ‘beauty,’ had become a sharp sword used to wound the unattractive.

“A friend of yours?” she asked.

“Not exactly a friend. She’s from Westeros, too. We’ve met a few times, just a nodding acquaintance. This one’s hard to talk to,” Layla roasted.

“Oh, so you’re from the same homeland,” Daenerys said with a nod and a smile. “Unchain Meris.”

Glancing at the Queen, who was clad in iron armor with only her helmet removed, Layla and the Queensguard member released Meris’s hands and feet from their chains.

“What’s the story with Grazdan?”

Meris rubbed her wrists, looking at Daenerys with indifference. “He’s the commander of the cavalry legion. When he fled back from Astapor, he cut off his long, stiff hair and took off his tokar gown to avoid attention. Because he was wearing the same iron armor as us, your people couldn’t recognize him.”

Meris’s voice was hoarse, but not as rough as her face.

Perhaps because she was a torturer, she knew exactly what Daenerys wanted to know and explained everything in detail.

“I see.” Now understanding Grazdan’s situation, Daenerys asked another question. “Is there any possibility that your commander, the Tattered Prince, will come over to my side?”

She was very direct.

“The Prince only sides with the victor. He doesn’t believe you have a chance of winning.”

After speaking, Meris turned her head toward Layla and asked strangely, “What was your Company of the Rose thinking?”

“There is no Company of the Rose anymore. Jon and I and the others have all become knights under the Queen—proper knights, you know!” Layla said proudly.

“I mean, have you considered the consequences? When the Mother of Dragons falls, the Company of the Rose will truly be finished,” Meris sneered.

“Fall?” Layla smiled faintly. “We are laying siege to Kayuan. You don’t even dare to leave the city gates. Who do you think is going to fall?”

“The outcome of this war won’t be decided in Kayuan, or even in Slaver’s Bay. The Mother of Dragons is making an enemy of the whole world,” Meris sighed.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Daenerys said, raising a hand to end the conversation.

The carefree Layla might not have noticed, but Daenerys could see the coldness in the Windblown torturer’s eyes. She was clearly using this opportunity to probe for Daenerys’s trump cards.

“Meris, why don’t you tell me how I should deal with you prisoners?” At this, she turned to Layla. “What are our casualties?”

“We lost thirty soldiers. They have three hundred dead and seven hundred captured—about three hundred mercenaries and four hundred Yellow Cloaks. Factoring out the dead and maimed, we also captured over nine hundred fine horses,” the red-haired knight replied.

Daenerys nodded and looked at ‘Beauty’ Meris. “Made up your mind?”

“I imagine the Prince will pay you a hefty ransom.”

Clearly, the homely Meris had no intention of defecting.

An idea came to her. Daenerys’s expression remained neutral as she said, “Very well. Have the Windblown send an envoy to negotiate with me tomorrow afternoon. If the price is right, I will release you after the war.”

Chapter 147: The Dragon Queen Prepares for a Siege

At noon the next day, under the watchful eyes of soldiers armed with powerful crossbows, a basket at the corner of the wall creaked its way up the ramparts.

The Tattered Prince took a few quick steps to the basket and said to the woman crouching inside, “Meris, why did they let you return?”

After yesterday’s pursuit, the people of Kayuan were terrified, and the city gates had been blocked with sandbags and stones.

Meris had arrived alone at the city gates and had to dismount to ride the bamboo basket “elevator.”

The ‘beautiful’ torturer glanced at the disguised Wise Masters behind her captain. As she climbed out of the large bamboo basket, she said flatly, “The Mother of Dragons sent me back with a message. After I deliver it, I have to go back to being a prisoner.”

“What message?” Grazdan asked hurriedly.

He and several other Wise Masters had shed their tokar gowns and changed into the yellow silk cloaks of common Ghiscari soldiers, studded with gleaming bronze discs. It was a disguise, meant to avoid being singled out for elimination by the dragons in the sky.

Indeed, that morning, the Black Dragon had flown over and used a 15-kilogram barrel of lamp oil to smash the Wise Master’s three sons to death.

The Wise Master’s pyramid was the largest. At around five in the morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon, the three princes had gone to the top-floor garden as was their custom, to bathe in the dawn light and practice their martial skills.

A ‘fire bomb’ fell from the sky, and the three princes became human torches. It was a miserable sight.

Meris didn’t look at Grazdan, addressing her captain instead. “The Mother of Dragons wants you to lead the Windblown to her side. She will give you double your current pay, or any other terms you propose.”

“Ah—” gasped the nearby Ghiscari soldiers and Wise Masters.

The Tattered Prince seemed not to notice the wary gazes of the Ghiscari and said calmly, “Meris, you should understand her intentions.”

“Yes, the Mother of Dragons is trying to drive a wedge between the Windblown and the Wise Masters of Kayuan,” the torturer said with a nod.

“Yes, that cunning woman wants to sow discord among us,” Grazdan ground out, his right hand unconsciously drifting to his backside as he spoke.

He had taken four arrows there the previous night and should have been at home recuperating. But with the War God’s army annihilated once again, he was wracked with guilt. He couldn’t sit still or sleep soundly, anxious and worried that if he didn’t immediately rise from his bed and contribute to Kayuan’s “anti-Mother of Dragons” cause… alright, he wanted to atone for his failure. He wanted to use his unflagging efforts to make up for the blunder caused by “non-personal factors.”

“If the Windblown are unwilling to defect, then you must pay a ransom to the Mother of Dragons in exchange for the one hundred and twenty-four company members,” Meris said with a composed expression.

“How much?” The Tattered Prince’s eyes glinted. “Can we negotiate? It can’t be that we must pay whatever she demands, can it?”

“At least three times the usual rate. However, the Mother of Dragons also said that she won’t violate tradition. She will allow the Windblown to send someone to negotiate tonight,” said Meris.

“Tonight?” Grazdan’s mind raced. He took a few steps forward and asked, “Why not this afternoon? Do you know the situation in that woman’s camp? Have those wretched slaves gone to Emerald Lake for water? When will they attack?”

Meris looked to her captain.

“Tell him,” the Tattered Prince said softly, nodding.

“The Mother of Dragons did not make camp at Emerald Lake. The place has a foul odor, and she probably guessed that the Wise Masters have already polluted the water with feces.

“Her encampment is divided into three parts—front, middle, and rear—located five kilometers northeast of Kayuan and stretching eastward for more than five kilometers. The closest point is still about three or four kilometers from Emerald Lake.

“I don’t know the specific details within the camp. Before I left, I only saw a large number of soldiers digging wells. The Mother of Dragons herself was outside the camp, supervising the militia as they built stockades. She seems very busy, which is why she scheduled the negotiations for the evening.”

“That can’t be right…” Grazdan stroked his chin, puzzled. “Emerald Lake and the nearby woods were the ‘perfect’ camping spot we prepared especially for the slaves.

“Tossing feces into the lake was just to lower that woman’s guard.

“Water polluted by feces might cause illness if drunk directly, but it isn’t fatal. In truth, you can just filter it through gauze and then boil it.

“Only when she thinks we’ve already tampered with the lake will she overlook our true killing blow.”

“You poisoned it as well?” the Tattered Prince asked with a frown.

“Do you take us for fools? If we had used poison, wouldn’t all the fish be dead?” Grazdan shot the Windblown captain a disdainful glance and said coldly, “We sank ten thousand slave corpses in the lake!”

“Hiss—” The torturer, who had remained stone-faced through everything, grew pale, as did her captain. She drew a sharp breath.

“If a large-scale epidemic breaks out, can Kayuan nearby truly escape it?” the Tattered Prince said in disbelief.

“Slaves die generation after generation, but the immortal Wise Masters still stand proudly atop their pyramids.” Grazdan’s expression was seven parts pride and three parts ruthless cruelty. “We have the resolve. We are willing for Kayuan to perish along with the Mother of Dragons.”

“Hmph, if word of a blood plague outbreak ever reaches us, I’m afraid you Wise Masters would immediately seal your pyramids and cut off all contact with the outside world, wouldn’t you?” the Tattered Prince said coldly.

“Tattered Prince, the Wise Masters are very generous. We will pay the ransom for the captured sellswords and the compensation for the fallen,” Grazdan said to the Windblown’s captain with a meaningful smile.

The gray-haired old captain understood his meaning instantly: We have money, and we’re willing to pay it. And aren’t sellswords just people who sell their lives for coin?

“Meris, you have another task. Help us find out the situation in the slave camp,” Grazdan ordered the torturer directly.

Before leaving, he turned back and added, “Oh, and during the negotiations tonight, help me ask that woman if our Ghiscari warriors can be ransomed. The price is negotiable.”

The Tattered Prince watched the Wise Masters depart, his gaze cold and grim.

“Meris, come with me.”

That afternoon, Meris and two other company members were lowered in the basket outside the walls of Kayuan. Two strong horses were sent down with them.

Besides Meris, there was a tall young man from Braavos and a sturdy, white-bearded old man with a world-weary face.

Curiously, the old man had a two-handed greatsword hanging from his left hip and a recorder tucked into his right. A wooden guitar was strapped to his slightly stooped back.

The horse men scouts who had been徘徊ing five hundred meters from the city gate were immediately on alert. After Meris approached alone and explained their purpose, the commander, Chike, reluctantly waved his hand, allowing the riders to clear a path.

“You’re too early,” he grumbled.

“Perhaps, but others may wait for the Queen; no one makes the Queen wait. Wouldn’t you agree?” the Braavosi man beside Meris said with a smile.

“Hmph, you’ll have a long wait. The Queen is hunting in the woods to the east. She won’t be back until dusk,” Chike sneered.

The Braavosi man’s eyes flickered. He opened his mouth, about to ask, “How many people went?” but after catching the ugly woman’s icy glare, he quickly changed his tune. “It is an honor to wait for the Queen. We shall do so gladly.”

A ten-man squad of horse men cavalry flanked the three sellswords, heading toward the camp five kilometers away.

Along the way, the Braavosi man’s eyes darted left and right, not missing a single militiaman who walked past his field of vision.

Three kilometers from Kayuan, a clamor suddenly reached their ears, and their vision filled with a dense crowd of people and timber. Tens of thousands of short-sleeved soldiers were doing woodwork under the command of the Unsullied.

“They’re building siege engines and catapults!”

Upon arriving at the camp entrance, the Braavosi man was stunned again: What a tall and sturdy stockade!

The palisade of thigh-thick wooden stakes stood five meters high. It had two layers, with a two-meter-wide earthen rampart packed between them. Outside the outermost wooden fence, bare-chested laborers were even laying a brick wall.

The manors outside Kayuan had all been burned. The slaves’ wooden huts could be destroyed completely, but the masters’ splendid brick and tile villas left behind ruined walls.

Now, a group of laborers was prying yellow bricks from the scorched brick walls, pushing them to the stockade in peculiar wheelbarrows, and then bricklayers began to build a wall along the wooden palisade.

Such a strong stockade. It seems the Mother of Dragons isn’t a fool. She’s resolved to fight a long siege against Kayuan.

The young Braavosi man grew thoughtful.

“Wait right here. You’re not allowed to go anywhere else in the camp.”

The squad leader took the three of them to the stables just inside the gate, assigned two Unsullied on patrol to guard them, and then left with his horse men scouts.

“What an enormous amount of work to build such a solid stockade. They probably won’t be able to launch an attack on Kayuan anytime soon,” the Braavosi man said quietly to his two companions.

“Zidane, behave yourself! Your willingness to be a spy for the Ghiscari is a matter for your New Second Sons, but don’t cause trouble and implicate my hundred-plus brothers,” the old man said, his gaze as sharp as a blade.

“Don’t worry, I’m just a guard. I won’t even come face-to-face with that little queen.” The Braavosi man gave a strange smile. “Hehehe, I’m just doing a job for money, only concerned with the true strength of the Mother of Dragons’ army. Even if your Windblown are secretly negotiating to defect to her, I won’t interfere.”

“You—” the old man began, enraged.

Meris stopped him and said calmly, “Denzo, why do you bother with such a contemptible person?”

“Hmph, you’re right!” Denzo snorted coldly and said mockingly, “To do something like changing your company’s name just for fame… aren’t you afraid of catching the ‘Second Sons’’ bad luck of being wiped out?”

“It’s the ‘New Second Sons,’ not the ‘Second Sons,’” Zidane corrected, then added with a grin, “What bad luck? It’s been good fortune for power and wealth. As soon as we changed the name, our little 20-man sellsword company, which wasn’t even qualified to join the Ghiscari allied army, suddenly swelled to 500 men.”

“All those roaming soldiers and stragglers heard I was the bastard son of the ‘Titan’s Bastard’ and came flocking to me! Now even the Wise Masters know my name. Hehehe, two hundred thousand gold radiants. How does that compare to your Windblown?”

“You’d better pray the Mother of Dragons doesn’t find out about your connection to Mero. That big Braavosi suffered a horrible fate—burned to a crisp by Dragonflame, then torn into several pieces as two dragons fought over him.”

At this, Denzo deliberately looked the uncomfortable Braavosi man up and down, clucking his tongue. “You’re not small yourself. You’d probably be quite chewy when roasted. The dragons would like that.”

“You know I’m just borrowing Mero’s name. I’m twenty-nine this year. How could he have a son my age?” Zidane forced a laugh.

“The Dragon Queen is back!” Meris said suddenly.

The sky had already turned a dusky yellow. The stockade was situated on a hill, offering a view of the surroundings. To the east, a great dragon of dust had appeared.

Hoofbeats thundered as thousands of cavalrymen, led by a knight in a red cloak, snaked across the twilight landscape like a long dragon.

Behind the red-cloaked knight, a standard-bearer held two flags aloft: the Wings of Freedom and a black dragon on a red field.

“It’s the Queensguard and the Mother of Dragons’ Guard. That red cloak must be the Dragon Queen!” Zidane’s eyes shone with a sharp light.

Chapter 148: The Tattered Prince and Pentos

Even though the Dragon Queen returned to camp at dusk with a large haul from her hunt, the three envoys representing the Windblown were not able to see her immediately.

However, Meris and Denzo were not anxious, because the silver-haired queen had said last night that she would take the time to receive the Windblown envoys during her evening rest.

Zidane, the commander of the “New Second Sons” disguised as a Windblown envoy, was not in a hurry either. He was looking around, pretending to be nonchalant, and muttering to himself.

“Heh, she claims to have an army of two hundred thousand, but she actually only has fifty-two thousand. That woman sure knows how to boast,” he said smugly to his two companions while drinking carrot and barley porridge.

Well, the guards didn’t starve them. There was plenty of carrot and barley porridge, and they even each received 250 grams of fire-roasted wild boar haunch.

“Hmph, no need for you to count campfire plumes. The Mother of Dragons never intended to hide her true strength. The merchants in Astapor already told the slave masters her numbers,” Denzo scoffed.

“You don’t get it,” Zidane shook his head, smiling slyly. “Of course I know her numbers, but a three-hundred-kilometer forced march in ten days, and her troops haven’t suffered major losses. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Tell me what? No matter how great her army’s losses are, her three dragons alone have eliminated any chance of us launching a surprise attack from the city. Have you forgotten yesterday’s lesson?” Denzo said, shaking his head.

“Heh, who are we?” Zidane sneered.

Denzo was taken aback, not understanding what he was trying to say.

“We are mercenaries, not Ghiscari, and certainly not Wise Masters or Great Masters. Does the Windblown really intend to die defending Kayuan?”

“Are you planning to defect to the Mother of Dragons?” Meris, who had been silent all this time, was shocked as well.

“Of course,” Zidane drew out the word, then finished with a grin, “…not! No matter how many times the Mother of Dragons wins, she will ultimately fail.

It’s just that seeing how her fifty-two-thousand-strong army is still in such good order and high spirits after a long forced march, I’m afraid Kayuan won’t be her final battle.

Since that’s the case, we need to prepare a fallback plan.”

“Let’s have our two companies cooperate. We’ll secretly secure a few large ships, and if things go south, hehehe…”

This time, the two Windblown officers did not rebut Zidane’s words. Instead, they both showed thoughtful expressions.

—Fleeing when you can’t win was practically a tradition among mercenary companies, so saying it outright wasn’t shameful.

Around ten o’clock at night, the entire camp had fallen silent. The land, dotted with flickering campfires, was like an inverted night sky glittering with stars.

Led by the Unsullied, Meris and Denzo saw the silver-haired queen, chin propped on her right hand, leaning back in her wooden chair.

She was still wearing her grey-black full plate armor, with only her helmet removed. Beneath a head of silky hair was a delicate, small face, the silver strands glittering with hints of red in the torchlight.

The Mother of Dragons was truly young, and as beautiful as the rumors claimed. Her eyes were clear and bright, not fanatical, but held an obvious weariness.

The moment Denzo entered the wooden hall, he began to size up the queen opposite him.

Considering Layla knew the general situation of the Windblown, the Braavosi couldn’t pretend to be one of the company’s officers, and anyone less than an officer wouldn’t be qualified to meet with Dany.

He remained outside the tent.

Seeing the old man’s flute at his waist and the wooden guitar on his back, Dany sat up straight and said in surprise, “Oh? This old swordsman is also a bard?”

Denzo bowed respectfully and said gently, “Your Majesty, I am Denzo d’Haan, second-in-command of the Windblown, here to negotiate with you on behalf of the Tattered Prince. As you can see, I am indeed a poet—a warrior-poet!”

The old man had a coarse appearance and his armor was worn, yet he gave Dany a sense of cultured elegance, like a gentle spring breeze.

“A flute in your left hand, a sword in your right. What a warrior-poet!” Dany smiled and patted the armrest of her chair. “I’ve recently started learning the harp from a musician myself. We should exchange pointers when we have the chance.”

This wasn’t a lie. After becoming a queen, besides practicing her swordsmanship, Dany had also arranged for herself noble lessons like cultural studies and etiquette.

As someone who had transmigrated from another world, she truly lacked a proper education in the basic etiquette of this one.

As she often said to herself, etiquette was never about demanding how others should act, but about regulating one’s own behavior.

She couldn’t just act like some cringey teenager, shouting, “I’m crude and I’m proud of it! You all have to listen to me and learn from me!”, could she?

“If the Windblown are willing to pledge allegiance to Your Majesty, won’t there be plenty of opportunities?” Layla said with a smile.

“That is not out of the question,” Denzo said, a statement that stunned Dany and the others.

Never mind Dany; if Zidane had been present, his jaw would have likely dropped. Just a moment ago, this old fellow had a proud and unyielding look on his face, but now…

Under normal circumstances, almost no mercenary company would betray their employer, otherwise who would ever hire them again?

Take Mero’s Second Sons, for example. Despite their long history and formidable strength, “The Titan’s Bastard” had such a foul reputation that they hadn’t received a contract in years.

Thus, the moment they received the Ghiscari’s invitation, they immediately traveled thousands of miles from Braavos to Meereen.

The reason Dany had put on an act of desperately seeking talent from the Windblown was primarily to sow discord between them and the Wise Masters; her main goal was still to subtly send a few agents into the enemy camp.

“The Tattered Prince is truly willing to forsake the darkness for the light?” Dany’s eyes widened.

Forsake the darkness for the light?

This Dragon Queen really knows how to talk.

Denzo roasted her inwardly, but his face remained wreathed in a warm smile as he nodded. “The Tattered Prince has long admired Your Majesty. He will lead his two thousand brothers in pledging loyalty to you, provided you grant him one insignificant little request.”

“What does he want?” Dany asked, curious.

“Pentos,” Denzo said gravely.

“What?” Dany suspected she had misheard.

“If Your Majesty promises to give Pentos to our commander in the future, the Windblown are yours,” Denzo stated his condition with perfect clarity.

“I remember the Tattered Prince once refused the position of Prince of Pentos. Why the change of heart?” Dany asked, puzzled.

There were two reasons why the commander of the Windblown was known as the “Tattered Prince.” First, he was born into a noble Pentoshi family and had even been elected Prince of Pentos thirty years ago. Second, he wore a ragged cloak that looked like a tattered bedsheet, and the men of the Windblown affectionately called him the “King of Rags.”

“Does Your Majesty not know the customs of Pentos?” Denzo frowned.

“Old Sir, I stayed in Pentos for quite some time, but I was too young then. At most, I knew that the grilled herring at Blackjack’s on Bear Street was the cheapest, and one copper penny could fill your belly,” Dany said with a chuckle.

Denzo’s expression turned peculiar as he nodded. “I’ve been to Blackjack’s grill house as well. For another copper penny, you could get two horns of sour wine.”

“Does Your Majesty know of the situation with the Pureborn of Qarth?” he asked again.

Dany immediately understood and said in disbelief, “When I was in Pentos, I often saw the Prince touring the streets in a long procession, led by three magnificently attired Masters of Ceremony, carrying a golden scale, an iron sword, and a silver whip, respectively.

They say those three items symbolized the Prince’s control over Pentos’s trade, war, and justice. And on New Year’s Day every year, the Prince would even…”

At this, Dany’s cheeks flushed. Every New Year’s Day, Pentos would offer a beautiful virgin to each of the two gods who ruled the land and the sea, and then the Prince would represent the gods in deflowering the two virgins.

Viserys had been full of envy and jealousy when he told his sister about it, even saying, “If only Westeros had such a custom, then Rhaegar taking Lyanna Stark wouldn’t have caused such a stir.”

Clearing her throat a few times, Dany asked uncertainly, “It doesn’t seem like the Prince’s power has been usurped in Pentos?”

“It is all a facade!” Sighing, Denzo slowly explained, “Pentos, like your birthplace of Dragonstone, was a trading outpost established by the Valyrians and ruled by Valyrian nobility. The Prince was chosen from among forty noble families and was nominally equivalent to the King of Pentos.

But after the Doom of Valyria, the city’s foundation of power shifted from absolute might—the Valyrian dragons—to simple wealth.

And in terms of wealth alone, how could the Prince compare to the great merchant sea-lords? After several hundred years, the Prince gradually became a mere symbol, and even a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” Dany was stunned.

“Whenever Pentos loses a war, or the year is bad and the harvest fails, the Pentoshi slit the Prince’s throat and offer him as a sacrifice to the gods to appease their wrath.”

What the hell!

What kind of bizarre custom was this?

The seasons in this world were not fixed. Everything was fine during Summer, but Winter was always coming.

During a winter that could last for years, what kind of harvest could you possibly have?

Didn’t that mean the Prince would lose his head every time winter arrived?

Denzo continued, “Back then, just after the previous Prince was beheaded, our commander was elected as the new Prince. But what he wanted was not that kind of prince.”

“I haven’t even taken Kayuan yet. Who knows if I’ll ever have the chance to go to Pentos in this lifetime?” Dany refused.

Was the Tattered Prince out of his mind? Why would she race across a vast distance to conquer a trade city-state for him, all for the Windblown?

“You would not need to lead an army to attack Pentos,” Denzo said, seeming to guess her thoughts. He explained, “The situation in Pentos is very special.

During the slaving wars a century ago, Pentos sacrificed four princes in a single year, yet they were still no match for Braavos.

The Magisters of Pentos had no choice but to negotiate for peace. While promising to abolish slavery, they were also forced to sign a treaty to reduce their military strength.

First, Pentos is not allowed to have more than twenty warships. Second, Pentos may not hire mercenaries or enter into contracts with free companies for the city’s defense. Third, apart from a limited city watch, Pentos is forbidden from having an army.

Therefore, Pentos is as vulnerable as a delicate maiden. Your Majesty would only need to send your three dragons to accompany us, and the Windblown could easily take Pentos.”

Looking at Denzo’s eager eyes, Dany stroked her chin and said something off-topic.

“Did Braavos really go to war just for the sake of slaves? I remember there were many servants wearing slave collars in Magister Illyrio’s manse.”

“Your Majesty is truly brilliant. The Tattered Prince once said that abolishing slavery was merely an excuse for the Braavosi to expand their influence.

Nominally, there isn’t a single slave in Pentos. In reality, they simply changed the name. Slaves became ‘debt slaves’—no matter how hard they work, the money they earn is never enough for their daily lives, to buy a house, get married, eat, or raise children.

Thus, these ‘free’ slaves can only borrow from wealthy merchants. To repay their loans, they are forced to do the work arranged by the rich, working even harder to earn money to pay off a debt that can never be cleared.”

At this, the way Denzo looked at Dany changed, now filled with awe and admiration. “Your Majesty is completely different from the Braavosi.

You provide every new Freeman with enough resources to live, land that will be theirs forever, and interest-free, long-term Queen’s loans…

The slaves themselves may not understand how much protection the Code of Laws you established offers to the common people.

With a sound system and laws, every new Freeman can live a truly free and prosperous life. You, Your Majesty, are the true Liberator!”

Chapter 149: Deception and Trickery

It was precisely because Daenerys was serious—not just spouting empty slogans, but executing her plans with exceptional skill—that others hated her so deeply.

It was a hatred born of profound fear.

Braavos had been flying the banner of “slave liberation” for centuries, yet the other city-states that relied on the slave trade barely reacted.

When Braavos attacked Pentos under the pretext of “abolishing slavery,” city-states like Myr, Volantis, and Tyrosh simply watched from the sidelines, showing no intention of intervening.

But Daenerys had never shouted to the world, “I will abolish slavery.” She had merely been quietly ramping up production in a corner of the world, yet the Ghiscari Alliance had come to attack her, and both Qarth and Volantis were sharpening their blades, preparing to declare war.

Even Braavos, the long-time opponent of slavery, had sent a Faceless Man to assassinate her.

In a mere six months, the low-key, development-focused Daenerys had become an enemy of the world. Any mercenary with a shred of foresight was pessimistic about her chances, even with her three dragons.

That was why Denzo truly respected her, and why the Tattered Prince wanted to borrow the power of her dragons, but neither wanted to truly join her.

They had no desire to become martyrs.

“Since Pentos has little in the way of a defense force, shouldn’t the Windblown’s two thousand elite infantry and cavalry be enough?” Daenerys asked, puzzled.

“Your Majesty, you’ve been to Pentos. You should know how high and thick its walls are,” Denzo said with a wry smile. “It is precisely because their military is restricted that the Pentoshi have been frantically building up their walls.”

“Moreover, the stance of Braavos is uncertain. The Mother of Dragons’ reputation is enough to make them hesitate to intervene directly.”

Daenerys’s brows furrowed. The Windblown were being far too clever. Two thousand infantry and cavalry were indeed a powerful force, but they were offering to use it just once in Kayuan, not pledge their eternal allegiance to her.

And it was clear that the Tattered Prince had no intention of swearing fealty to her after taking Pentos.

Using her dragons to help besiege the city would be simple, but could she withstand the pressure from Braavos?

Never mind that Braavos possessed the world’s largest navy, its greatest shipbuilding capacity, its most powerful industrial production, and its strongest guild of assassins—the Faceless Men.

The Iron Bank alone could take half her life.

The Iron Bank, creditor to the entire world.

All the gold coins in all the banks of the world combined did not equal what the Iron Bank held.

Could it be that the Tattered Prince already sees me as a dead woman?

A dead person, naturally, wouldn’t care how many pots of blame were dumped on her head. The worst that could happen was… death.

The more Daenerys thought about it, the more displeased she became, but she couldn’t refuse them too bluntly.

A mercenary company of two thousand elite infantry and cavalry was easily in the top five on the continent of Essos. If it came to a head-on clash, Daenerys estimated she would have to sacrifice an equal number of her own soldiers.

“I won’t mince words. At any other time or place, I would have rejected the Windblown without hesitation. But in the current situation, the Windblown’s attitude is enough to change the outcome of a major battle. In that light, the Tattered Prince’s conditions aren’t too excessive,” Daenerys said, choosing her words carefully.

Denzo nodded inwardly. Exactly!

It was because they saw that the Mother of Dragons was caught in a dilemma that they had proposed such harsh terms.

He and the Tattered Prince both understood just how large and heavy that pot of blame from Braavos was—heavy enough to crush the Mother of Dragons once more.

Er, “once more.”

The Mother of Dragons had no shortage of burdens to bear.

She had already shouldered the world-sized burden of “abolishing slavery,” so what was one more from Braavos?

Tap, tap, tap.

Daenerys tapped lightly on the armrest of her chair and asked softly, “Do you know of Illyrio Mopatis?”

A glint appeared in Denzo’s eyes. He nodded. “A Magister of trade in Pentos. He deals mainly in spices, gems, and dragonbone. I heard that your three dragon eggs were purchased by him from the Shadow Lands.”

“That’s right. Illyrio gave me three dragon eggs. He also sheltered me and Viserys from assassins many times. I lived in his manse for half a year in the luxury befitting a princess.

Later, when I was adrift in Qarth, he sent three ships to bring me back to retake my throne. My naval commander, Ser Groleo, and half his sailors were his men as well.”

Daenerys looked at him and said, “For any other city, I might have agreed to the Tattered Prince’s terms. But I will absolutely not invade the city-state of a friend. In fact…”

“If Illyrio were to ask, I would take Pentos and give it to him without hesitation, and I would not ask for a single copper penny in return.”

Finally, she declared forcefully, “A Targaryen always pays their debts!”

At that moment, the faces of the red-haired Layla, the beautiful Meris, and the warrior-poet Denzo were all twisted.

If Duke Tywin, the man who shits gold, were here, he’d probably have a fit, they all thought sarcastically.

Well, the official motto of House Lannister was “Hear Me Roar,” so Daenerys wasn’t technically breaking any rules.

“I’m afraid Magister Illyrio cannot become the Prince of Pentos. He is of low birth and does not have the blood of the Forty Families,” Denzo said hesitantly.

“Heh, the Tattered Prince surely has no desire to remain a puppet. Once he takes the throne, what do you think will happen to a Magister who holds real power? I can’t possibly push my own benefactor into a pit of fire, can I?” Daenerys said with a smile, deftly placing the heavy pot of blame on the head of her “benefactor,” Illyrio.

“Let’s do this. I won’t ask the Windblown to defect. You need only slack off during the battle for Kayuan. If I can take the city, and you then secure Illyrio’s approval… yes, once I receive a letter from Illyrio, I will send my dragons to help you take Pentos.”

“This…”

It was, at least, better than an outright rejection.

“I cannot make this decision myself. I must return and discuss it with the Tattered Prince,” Denzo said after a moment.

“Very well. We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow night at this time. You can tell the Wise Masters that my price was too high and that I refused to back down, so you had to return to consult your commander,” Daenerys nodded.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Denzo bowed respectfully, then found Zidane outside the tent, and they returned to Kayuan under the cover of night.

Meris, meanwhile, dutifully returned to the prisoner-of-war camp.

Under the light of the moon and stars, the two knights rode back in silence, listening to the clatter of hooves.

Suddenly, the Braavosi glanced around and asked quietly, “Did you reach a deal?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The Dragon Queen is insisting on four times the normal ransom,” Denzo said, also lowering his voice.

“The Wise Masters are paying anyway. And given the current situation, she’s not being completely unreasonable,” Zidane said, confused.

“Heh, I did it on purpose. I’ll go back tonight to ‘consult the commander’ and continue the negotiations tomorrow,” Denzo said mysteriously.

Understanding dawned on Zidane. He slapped the old poet on the shoulder and chuckled. “Old and cunning! You’ve bought Kayuan another day. The Wise Masters ought to reward you handsomely.”

“It’s not just for delay. You saw for yourself, the Mother of Dragons needs time to build her siege weapons,” Denzo said, shaking his head.

After he reported this back in the city, the Wise Masters truly did reward Denzo with five hundred gold radiants.

Upon hearing the news Zidane had gathered, the group of Wise Masters and mercenary commanders were so pleased that they threw a wild, all-night party in the Great Pyramid.

Returning to the Tattered Prince’s chambers at dawn, Denzo relayed the entire affair exactly as it had happened.

“So Illyrio’s relationship with that woman runs that deep.” The Tattered Prince stroked the graying whiskers on his chin, pondering for a moment before asking, “Do you know how many days of food their army has left?”

Denzo replied, “More than we initially thought. The dinner the Unsullied gave us included half a catty of wild boar meat. I observed carefully, and it seemed nearly every soldier received a cutlet of meat.”

“Hmph. The nearby forest is only so large. How long can they last by hunting?”

“Then, Commander, what is your meaning?” Denzo asked.

The Tattered Prince gave a cold smile. “Tomorrow, you tell that woman that I agree to her ‘Plan B.’ We will go through the motions in the coming days; the Windblown will do their best not to shed the blood of the slave army.

But when she can no longer hold out and reconsiders my ‘Plan A,’ she can use the pretense of discussing the Ghiscari prisoners’ ransom to send back a Yellow Cloak as a signal.

At that point, we will have a new, automatic agreement: Illyrio can take his fortune and get lost, and she will help me take Pentos.”

Denzo looked at the gray-haired old commander with admiration and gave him a thumbs-up. “Brilliant, truly brilliant!”

“Hehehe…”

“Hehehe…” Daenerys smirked, looking at the blood contract in her hand.

The next day, Denzo and Zidane once again left Kayuan early and stayed for dinner at Daenerys’s camp.

Though their objectives were different, they were both pleasantly surprised: today’s meat cutlets were a quarter thinner than yesterday’s, the oat porridge seemed less thick, and the Dragon Queen returned to her tent even later.

During the negotiations that night, Denzo noticed that the Dragon Queen also seemed more fatigued than the previous evening, as if something was weighing on her mind.

Are they out of food?

The negotiation proceeded very smoothly, even as the Queen repeatedly declared: “I, Daenerys, would rather face defeat, see my entire army annihilated, and die in battle than do anything to wrong a friend.”

Yet in the end, she decisively signed her name on the contract.

At noon on the third day, inside the “Gra Giant” Gladiator Arena in Kayuan.

With the arrival of the Mother of Dragons, Kayuan had entered a state of emergency, and all entertainment activities like gladitorial games and courtesan parades had naturally been suspended.

The Gra Giant Gladiator Arena, which belonged to the Wise Masters, was no exception. Its four sides of stands and the fighting pit were all empty. Only from a nearby stone hall, where gladiators trained, came a clamor of noise.

“No, Uncle, don’t kill me! I don’t want to die! Uncle! Wise Master! Uncle Muliniao, no—”

A youth of about eighteen or nineteen was weeping, his face streaked with tears and snot as he struggled and wailed.

The Gra Giant Gladiator Arena had been built by excavating the ground, so the adjacent training hall was a full ten meters below ground level.

The ceiling of the spacious, stone-paved training hall was dotted with skylights the size of washbasins, which provided excellent lighting. Golden shafts of sunlight beamed down to the floor, and within each column of light, black dust motes—soot from burning firewood—were visible to the naked eye.

In the center of the roughly five-hundred-square-meter circular training hall stood a white jade pillar, two meters tall and as thick as a man’s embrace. Atop the pillar rested a stone egg that shone like gold.

The surface of the stone egg was covered in fine scales, like the skin of a hatchling dragon.

It was a golden dragon egg!

Around the base of the pillar, a pattern of burning flames had been painted on the floor with fire-red paint.

It was the holy symbol of R’hllor, the Lord of Light, similar to the seven-pointed star of the Faith of the Seven.

Each flaming sigil was about the size of a baby’s palm, and an uncountable number of them formed a massive, counter-clockwise spiral vortex around the pillar.

Two iron chains extended from the top and bottom of the pillar, and the wailing youth was shackled by his hands and feet.

The youth’s long, straight black hair was plastered wetly to his shoulders. His tokar gown and silk trousers were also dripping with a pale green liquid.

A rich, fresh scent of olives filled the air.

Piles of firewood were stacked all around him.

UNTITLED

Chapter 1: My God, I’ve Become a Heavily Pregnant Mother of Dragons

Chapter 2: The White Goose
Chapter 3: Wild Dogs
Chapter 4: No Chance for Even a Lost Cause
Chapter 5: Have You Ever Roasted Yourselves?
Chapter 6: The Mother of Dragons
Chapter 7: The Dothraki Migration
Chapter 8: Fire and Blood Are of One Kin
Chapter 9: Bronn and the True Sun
Chapter 10: The Vow
Chapter 11: Everyone Knows
Chapter 12: Silver Lady
Chapter 13: Eugenics in Another World
Chapter 14: Drogo’s Funeral
Chapter 15: The Priestess and the Blood Witch
Chapter 16: The Birth of the Young Dragons
Chapter 17: My Khalasar
Chapter 18: My Great Qing
Chapter 19: The Purgatorial Waste
Chapter 20: A Shave
Chapter 21: An Old Tale of the Horsemen

Chapter 22: The Bleeding Star and the Child of Prophecy

Chapter 23: The Dying Old Man Bestows a Secret Manual!

Chapter 24: Skinchangers and Wargs
Chapter 25: The White City
Chapter 26: The Lady of White Cloud City
Chapter 27: The Farming Begins
Chapter 28: Jorah Mormont’s Story
Chapter 29: The Tourney

Chapter 30: Who Dares Be More Miserable Than Me?

Chapter 31: Dragon Among Dragons
Chapter 32: Daenerys’s Sweet Dream
Chapter 33: The Demon’s Corpse
Chapter 34: A Lesson for the Dragons
Chapter 35: The Dragon Seekers
Chapter 36: The Invitation
Chapter 37: The Second General Assembly
Chapter 38: Mysterious Powers
Chapter 39: Qarth
Chapter 40: Guest Right
Chapter 41: Back Doors and Dragon Zoos

Chapter 42: Daenerys, Host to a Deluge of Guests

Chapter 43: Horse Men and Zebra Men
Chapter 44: Dany’s Role Model
Chapter 45: The Magic Bird
Chapter 46: Meeting the Pureborn
Chapter 47: I Am So Sorry
Chapter 48: The Return of Magic
Chapter 49: Elathun the Night-walker
Chapter 50: The Glass Candle
Chapter 51: Phantom Turtle
Chapter 52: The House of the Undying
Chapter 53: Prophecy
Chapter 54: The Dragon Has Three Heads
Chapter 55: Meeting the Undying
Chapter 56: The Fourteen Flames
Chapter 57: Deicide

Chapter 58: Visitors from the Other Side of the World

Chapter 59: Whitebeard
Chapter 60: Jenny of Oldstones
Chapter 61: Dragon Eggs from the Shadow Lands
Chapter 62: Qarth, the World’s Pier
Chapter 63: The Drooling Soul of Huaxia
Chapter 64: A Visitor from the “Homeland”
Chapter 65: I Want to Be a Mystic
Chapter 66: Xaro’s Request
Chapter 67: The Great Voyage in Another World

Chapter 68: The Jilting Men of the World of Ice and Fire

Chapter 69: Sea Monsters and Grilled Squid

Chapter 70: Those Peculiar Relatives: Saint Baelor

Chapter 71: The Expensive Valyrian Steel Sword

Chapter 72: First Exploration of the Valyrian Ruins

Chapter 73: These Courtiers Are So Obtuse

Chapter 74: An Old Acquaintance in a Foreign Land

Chapter 75: Euron Crow’s Eye
Chapter 76: Sudden Change
Chapter 77: The Dragonbinder
Chapter 78: The Fourth Egg

Chapter 79: The Otherworldly Guan Yu Becomes a Servant of Three Masters

Chapter 80: The Taboo
Chapter 81: A True Dragon Cannot Be Bound
Chapter 82: Arrival in Slaver’s Bay
Chapter 83: The Unsullied

Chapter 84: The Good Master and the Little Translator

Chapter 85: The Kind Good Master
Chapter 86: Slaves and the Iron Throne
Chapter 87: Do You Want a Wife?
Chapter 88: The Horselord Codex

Chapter 89: How to Evolve from a Despised Old Bachelor into the People’s Husband

Chapter 90: The Knight Queen
Chapter 91: The Price of the Unsullied
Chapter 92: The Deal is Struck
Chapter 93: Plaza of Punishment

Chapter 94: Acquiring a Little Dark-skinned Girl

Chapter 95: Beasts in the Arena
Chapter 96: Worthless Bitch
Chapter 97: Quaithe Once More
Chapter 98: Departure
Chapter 99: Guest Gift
Chapter 100: Daenerys’s Entrance Music
Chapter 101: The Oath
Chapter 102: The Army at the Gates
Chapter 103: The Queen of Astapor
Chapter 104: The Butcher

Chapter 105: How Can a Good Queen Not Keep a Vicious Dog?

Chapter 106: Dany and Daenys

Chapter 107: The Grace of Astapor

Chapter 108: The Seventh-Rank County Magistrate and the King

Chapter 109: The Underdeveloped Scholar-Gentry

Chapter 110: The Code of Daenerys
Chapter 111: Robb, Take Notes
Chapter 112: Barristan the Bold
Chapter 113: Sorry, I’m a Cop
Chapter 114: An Endless Hell

Chapter 115: King, County Magistrate, Neighborhood Committee Director

Chapter 116: The Spider

Chapter 117: The Messy Affairs of Westeros

Chapter 118: Huo Qubing, Cao Cao, Zhou Yu, and Guan Yu

Chapter 119: The Anti-Mother of Dragons Alliance Has Come

Chapter 120: The Realms of Swordsmanship
Chapter 121: The Great General, Daenerys
Chapter 122: Daenerys’s “Old Lover”
Chapter 123: The Mercenary Companies
Chapter 124: The Slavers’ Strategy
Chapter 125: Dawn
Chapter 126: Sweeping Through the Army
Chapter 127: Baptism of Blood and Fire
Chapter 128: Leave No Survivors
Chapter 129: A Prairie Fire of Fury

Chapter 130: Recruiting Jon Snow as a Follower

Chapter 131: Daenerys, the Knight-Queen
Chapter 132: The Maiden with the Torch
Chapter 133: Daenerys’s Commercial Policy
Chapter 134: The Coastal Defense Battle
Chapter 135: Strategic Bomber

Chapter 136: A Bright Mirror Hangs High (Seeking Subscriptions, Seeking Recommendation Tickets)

Chapter 137: An Otherworldly Mission: Impossible

Chapter 138: Dany’s Face-Smashing Stomp
Dany’s Character Attributes
Chapter 139: Goodbye, Khaleesi
Chapter 140: All Men Must Die
Chapter 141: The Anxious Wise Masters
Chapter 142: Scorched-Earth Policy
Chapter 143: The Nth Use for a Dragon

Chapter 144: The Wise Master’s Wisdom and Magnanimity

Chapter 145: Sweetheart and the Tattered Prince

Chapter 146: Grazdan the War God

Chapter 147: The Dragon Queen Prepares for a Siege

Chapter 148: The Tattered Prince and Pentos

Chapter 149: Deception and Trickery