The sky was vast and pale, the wilderness stretching endlessly. The northern wind swept across the land as the bronze-colored grasslands rippled like obedient waves.
Creak, creak. The wheels rolled forward. Brittle stalks of grass snapped beneath them, pressed into the dark soil and leaving a shallow trail behind.
It was an enormous convoy—more than twenty thousand people. There were mercenaries holding banners, black-clad slavers with scattered formations and careless laughter still thick with the stench of blood, and even more slaves whose faces were numb and tattooed.
The mercenaries and slavers rode on horseback. The slaves led oxen and horses, driving over a thousand wagons. The wagons carried barley, turnips, cheese, butter, smoked meat, tents, dragon-slaying crossbows, swords, and other equipment. There were even carriages draped in luxurious curtains trailing a sweet scent of cosmetics and the delicate laughter of women.
The procession stretched out into a long black line; viewed from the sky, it looked like a serpent winding across the bronze sea.
Suddenly, the grass blades swaying in the wind trembled lightly. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the plains.
A scout patrolling two hundred meters northeast of the convoy squinted toward the horizon. Something like a black flood seemed to spill down from the edge of the sky. His eyes widened in terror as he let out a scream filled with pure panic:
"Ah—! The horsemen are coming!"
Without another thought, he spurred his horse in the opposite direction, fleeing desperately. He didn't even heed his superior's shouts, barging straight through the slowly moving wagon line amid cries of alarm and angry curses.
His face twisted, he lowered his head and charged blindly.
The mercenaries and slavers were confused at first. But soon the ground began to shake, and the thunderous rumbling approached rapidly. A mass of black-clad cavalry swept toward them like a flood.
"Ooo—Ula ula ula—!"Countless Dothraki horsemen raced forward, howling wildly. Some swung whips lined with bone spikes, some raised massive scimitars that gleamed coldly, and others let go of the reins entirely, crouching on their saddles as they drew their bows.
"The horsemen! They're coming—run, run!"
The mercenaries guarding the convoy dropped their banners and fled in panic.
The slavers' formation collapsed even more quickly; they trampled their own slaves and crashed into heavily loaded wagons, creating total chaos.
"Kill! Kill all who carry weapons! Kill everyone standing on the ground and everyone on horseback!"Dany, the Horse-Empress, raised her smoke-black magic sword. Enhanced by the Song of Wind, her voice thundered across the plains.
Even though she shouted and led the charge personally, sword raised high at the very front, a quick glance still made her difficult to find.
She wore her full set of Valyrian-steel magic armor, yet she had draped a brown cloth over it, making her look little different from the other Dothraki riders.
At the very least, the color matched—perfect camouflage.
"Kill!"The Horse-Empress, riding her great silver stallion, claimed the first head of the battle, slicing a mercenary almost in half.
Whhhr—Only then did the horsemen loose their arrows.
The clear blue sky dimmed in an instant as volleys of arrows descended like a thin veil of silk meant to ward off flies, covering the world beneath.
Screams echoed everywhere—slaves, mercenaries, slavers, even the women hiding inside the wagons—none were spared.
After the first wave of arrows, Dany burst into the convoy, her roaring warriors charging behind her. They spread across the land like a fast-growing mold, smothering everything in their path.
Riding. Slashing. Blood. Grass stained red. Dark soil soaked through. Severed heads rolling, their eyes frozen wide in eternal despair.
This was what it meant to ride the world's finest steeds.
Behind her, the khalasar blanketed the land, and the magic sword in her hand was as sharp as razors.
She struck like a storm.
Her enemies trembled before her. Their wives wept tears of blood in grief and despair.
The bells in her hair sang of her arrival, and the "milkmen" who dwelled in stone tents shuddered at her name.
She was the King of Khals upon the Great Grass Sea.
This was far from the first allied convoy she had hunted down.
After half a month of forced marching, Jogo brought the first ten-thousand-man division near Lhazar. Dany, as the Khal-King, led ten thousand cavalry into battle for the first time.
Their assault burned like fire; they cut through their enemies as though harvesting grass.
The raw brutality of mounted combat—charging and cutting—did not discomfort her in the slightest. Instead, it exhilarated her, filling her with a fierce, intoxicating joy. Later, she even wondered whether she had been overtaken by the Targaryen bloodline's instinct for violence. Had she become a monster?
But when she thought again of her determination to reform the Old World, she concluded that if she was a monster, then so be it. There was nothing wrong with being one; at least her will and swordsmanship were being sharpened in battle.
Sharp. Fearless. Unmatched.
Achieving such a mental state before a decisive war was not a bad thing at all.
Dany's force of two hundred thousand horsemen moved in twenty separate divisions, like a rake with twenty steel claws combing through the Grass Sea.
Whenever they encountered an enemy force, Big Black carried Dany swiftly across the plains, bringing her to her silver stallion. Then the Horse-Empress would lead her warriors in a devastating charge.
Over the past half month, the Eastern Army of the coalition was completely crushed. Before the final battle even began, the Eastern Army's commander, Grazdan, had already lost again and was nearly reduced to a commander with no troops left.
To be honest, this had nothing to do with Wykai the God of War's strategy. There was a traitor in the ranks, and his plan to "shift the Eastern Army westward" was leaked to the Dragon Queen in advance.
The mountain passes and waterways between Lhazar and Meereen were all blocked. If the Eastern Army wished to head west and successfully rendezvous with the Western Army beneath Meereen's walls, they had only one option: detour through the Dothraki Sea.
Then, just as now, their forces were slaughtered like livestock by the horsemen led by the Khal.
No one could escape. The entire grass sea was filled with Daenerys's people. Where could they run?In barely ten days, Daenerys had already executed fifty thousand and captured eight thousand. Her cruelty was extreme.
Among the fifty thousand dead, half were slaves from the Jade Sea.
At first, Daenerys still felt compassion and planned to treat them differently, but the slave hunters were far more brutal than she imagined. Once they realized escape was impossible, they used the slaves as human shields, forming walls of flesh to block Daenerys's charge.
The slaves used as shields were also unimaginably numb. Daenerys even summoned Drogon to speak to them, urging them to rise up and attack. She promised she would rush over with the horsemen immediately.
But the slaves stood there with sorrow written across their faces. Some were bewildered, some wailed and begged, yet none listened, none moved, none cooperated. Some enemies even disguised themselves as slaves, shouting for Daenerys to leave. The Dragon Queen would never admit that the ones telling her to leave were real slaves.
This was why the scene at the beginning occurred. The Khal charged at the front, while the horsemen behind him first unleashed a wave of arrows without distinction, making everyone understand her determination.
Then they stowed their bows and used curved blades to deal with enemies wearing leather armor and holding weapons, as well as any slave who was not kneeling with their face to the ground.
The coalition did fight back. At first, they even tried to bait her deliberately.
For example, a cavalry squad would move across the grassland while a troop of wyvern riders carrying fire-oil bombs hid nearby. When the Dragon Queen swooped down on the cavalry, the wyverns would ambush her.
But the Bay of Slaves now had a wyvern legion equal in strength to the coalition's, which meant Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion were no longer forced to "sit miserably inside a besieged city."
Rhaegal and Viserion had patrol duties, while Drogon was completely free, becoming an independent aerial force.
With Drogon circling above Daenerys at all times, combined with the skinchangers' animal companions watching all directions, who could possibly ambush her?After losing four wyverns, the coalition became entirely obedient. They no longer dared hope to ambush the Horse Empire.
One day, as Daenerys led two ten-thousand-strong cavalry hosts toward the City of the Great Serpent, she suddenly received a thought—a mental imprint she had placed in Dr. Vograve's mind-sea.
It could only mean one thing: a great literary master had passed away!
There had not been the slightest warning. The writer cherished and respected by the world was simply gone.
What was the cause of death?
It certainly was not illness or old age. Both require a process. Just yesterday afternoon, before going to sleep, Daenerys had still followed her habit of letting that thought write for her—using the great author's pseudonym—to draft a medium-length fantasy novel titled The Dark Princess Kania.
It told the story of Princess Kania losing her kingdom and family, wandering the streets in exile, accidentally saving a Faceless Man, receiving an iron coin, and traveling to the House of Black and White in Braavos to learn their skills.
The story wasn't even finished. After one night's sleep, the great author never woke up again.
He had been assassinated.Who did it?
Daenerys soon learned the answer: the Faceless Men.
Dr. Vograve had once been only modestly known in Westeros. Besides the maesters, only knowledge-lovers like Tyrion and Littlefinger had heard of him.
But in the past six months, after a period of dementia and recovery, it was as if his mind had been illuminated. His creativity flowed like a spring, and he produced one masterpiece after another.
He had now become the "greatest writer in the world" in the eyes of certain playwrights.
With the death of the greatest writer, how could the world not be stirred?The next day, the Citadel issued an official statement: because his works repeatedly exposed the darkness of the Faceless Men and criticized the ugliness of the Braavosi, the Faceless Men struck at the revered Dr. Vograve. They sent an agent to assassinate him.
The maesters and the people of the Seven Kingdoms believed it immediately.
When Marwyn passed the news to Daenerys, she also accepted the Citadel's conclusion at once.
The theater-lovers across the Narrow Sea had no doubts either.
Even the Braavosi—and the House of Black and White itself—openly cursed the Citadel for slander, yet secretly rejoiced that the assassination had succeeded.
Only Arya felt something was off.
After failing her assassination attempt in the Sept, she stayed in King's Landing for a time. Once she recovered, she headed south toward Oldtown.
Cersei had to die, but after her shapeshifter companion failed the attempt, Arya had only one option left: face-changing.
However, her Bible of the God of Death was not yet perfected. She was not one hundred percent confident she could avoid the dozens of hounds roaming the Red Keep.
The Citadel's guards, on the other hand, were surely less strict than those at the Red Keep. Even if discovered, she could retreat safely.
She thought it over and decided: why not practice on the maesters first to build her experience, then go back and kill Cersei?But as soon as she entered Oldtown, she found the people furious, cursing the Faceless Men in the streets together with bards and poets.
A newly risen literary master had been murdered at his peak; this was a Long Night in the history of human literature.
"Dr. Vograve died at the hands of the Faceless Men several days ago?" Arya was stunned.
The House of Black and White sometimes sent several Faceless Men after the same target, but they always notified one another first.
Otherwise, there was always the possibility of one Faceless Man killing another who had already taken on a different identity.
Who killed Vograve?
The mission had been completed without warning, and Arya did not leave Oldtown immediately.
While gathering information in taverns, she heard many operas based on Vograve's works. Even the cold-hearted killer felt ripples when listening to Rosie's Dream.
The main villain in that story was none other than her beloved Uncle Jaqen.
She had to see what Rosie looked like.
(End of Chapter)
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