The change came too quickly and too suddenly.
To sacrifice one's own king in blood to an evil god seemed unbelievable to the people of Westeros, but in Pentos, it was tradition.
The leader of the Windblown mercenary company, the Ragged Prince, why was he called the "Ragged Prince"?
Was he bragging?
No.
He truly was a prince, a Prince of Pentos. But he did not want to be sacrificed like livestock, so on the very day he was elected prince, he fled to another Free City.
Today's ritual was something novel to the missionary group, but to the nobles present, it was an old performance they had seen countless times.
Thus, they remained calm, believing today's ritual would end just like the previous ones.
But when Master Qizang shouted "Mighty Heavenly Dragon" and, in less than thirty seconds, killed the guardian god of their city-state, many of the royal family members and trade princes had yet to react.
Only when Arya began slaughtering people within the crowd and they felt the danger pressing against their skin did they panic and cry out.
"Guards, where are the guards?"
"Blood Demon Arya has gone mad!"
"Saint Matthew, save us! Your disciple has fallen into madness and is killing people!"
They screamed in terror.
"Do not be afraid, do not panic!" Surrounded by a circling Azure Dragon, Master Qizang leapt into the air, crossing a height of twenty meters and returning to the altar.
Looking at the corpses lying in pools of blood around him, he shouted sternly, "Wicked disciple, what have you done!"
"Master Qizang, they were all priests of an evil god, and they were preparing to attack you," Arya replied expressionlessly.
"Do you think I did not know their identities? With my abilities, could they harm even a single hair on my head? By slaughtering them like this, how will these lords view us and the Church?"
Westerners were just that direct.
The kind-faced Master Qizang spoke with complete frankness, leaving the nobles on the altar with twisted expressions, unsure how to respond.
"Has Tyrion been rescued?" Varys was more concerned about his companion.
Master Qizang paused, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He had actually forgotten about his senior disciple.
"My lords, it is not that my disciple and I have lost control, nor is it that the Faith of the Seven seeks to interfere in Pentos' internal affairs or beliefs.
The truth is, the one you are sacrificing to is an evil god. It is burning in the sea below; everyone can see what it looks like.
Can a bay crocodile be a good being?
Of course, that is not why we acted.
This fiend not only deceived you all, but also dragged my senior disciple into a latrine pit while he was relieving himself. I do not know where it has taken him, nor whether he is alive or dead."
After explaining the reason, Master Qizang added meaningfully, "My princes and lords, you are well aware of Tyrion's identity, are you not? If he were to die inexplicably in the palace latrine of Pentos…"
"Dragonstone is less than five hundred kilometers from Pentos," he said softly.
"This…" The faces of the Pentosi nobles turned extremely grim, their anger gradually replaced by concern.
Indeed, Master Qizang killing their god was excessive, and Blood Demon Arya's massacre of the priests was even more outrageous. But there was a premise to all this: the dwarf had died in the scheme of the god Pessis, and in such a miserable way.
Among the hundreds present, more than ninety percent did not know that the god they worshipped was real. They believed sacrificing a prince was merely a way to find a scapegoat and appease public anger.
Of the remaining ten percent, ninety percent had never seen the god they believed in.
Only a handful of nobles knew the true meaning of the blood sacrifice: using the king's blood to feed the bay crocodile god, the god of earth and sea.
Therefore, among the rulers of Pentos present, most felt only anger and fear toward Master Qizang and Arya's actions, with little hatred.
They did not even know the god existed, so naturally they had no emotional attachment. If a stranger died, how could they feel hatred?
They only felt that their authority had been offended and threatened.
But compared to the wrath of the Dragon Queen, such offense was hardly worth mentioning.
"Master, this has nothing to do with us!" said Black-skinned Jacob, representing the trade princes, with a wronged expression.
"First, hand over Tyrion. Alive or dead, I want to see him," Qizang said with a frown.
"This is the first time I've seen this crocodile god. We only learned this afternoon that your missionary group had arrived in Pentos. We had no opportunity to be involved, and we do not know where Prince Gien is now," Jacob said helplessly.
"Master Qizang, you can use divine magic to locate him," the Hound reminded.
Qizang suddenly realized and slapped his forehead. "I forgot the tracking divine art Her Majesty taught me."
The so-called tracking technique was an upgraded version of spatial positioning. What Qizang had left in the four land spirits was not fragments of soul, but divine power of faith.
Compared to soul fragments, it was easier to remove, harder to track, and less precise over long distances, but it greatly reduced side effects.
"Ah, he's not dead yet." After a moment, Qizang opened his eyes in surprise and looked toward the dark sea in the southwest. "He's in the water. It smells foul around him. He seems to be in the sea, yet also like in a cesspit."
"The latrine connects to the sea," Varys immediately said.
"Wuneng, stay here and help me calm the princes. I'll go rescue Tyrion," Qizang said softly. Then his expression turned stern as he shouted, "Brocade Sacred Robe, Mighty Heavenly Dragon, Bomi Mami Hum!"
"Roar!" Two lapis lazuli gems on the jeweled robe shattered, transforming into two smaller Azure Dragons that coiled around Qizang's legs.
Whoosh!
Then Master Qizang shot into the sky like a rocket, roaring through the wind, drawing an arc as he flew southwest.
The Pentosi nobles were stunned. Once Qizang disappeared from sight, they immediately began excited discussions.
"By Pessis, Saint Matthew can fly?"
"What kind of sorcery is this?"
"He is an angel. Having wings and being able to fly is not strange."
"Did you see any wings?"
"Perhaps they are invisible wings. In any case, he can fly, and hundreds of thousands in King's Landing have seen his angelic wings."
"By Pessis, is a mere priest of the Seven truly this powerful?" someone exclaimed in shock.
"Stop mentioning Pessis. It's in the sea, still smoking. Just smell it, it's charred," a royal said bitterly.
"This crocodile god is over twenty meters long, not inferior to a dragon. Being called the god of earth and sea is not undeserved."
"It's just a pity that the god we've worshipped for thousands of years was easily killed by a single priest of the Faith, using only one move, the 'Holy Mother's Palm.'"
"Sigh, the gap is too great."
In just a quarter of an hour, Master Qizang returned to the altar carrying the dwarf.
The dwarf was wearing Valyrian steel armor. When relieving himself, he had only removed the leather trousers beneath the skirt armor.
Now the soot-black armor had been washed clean by seawater.
His condition was very poor. The most striking thing was his belly, swollen like a ball.
His expression was dazed, his face pale, even slightly swollen.
His sheepskin trousers had slipped down to the bend of his legs, held up only by the greaves on his calves. It was nothing serious, merely exposing two hairy, pale thighs chilled by the cold.
"Is he still alive?" Varys asked softly.
"You and the Hound help him expel the water from his stomach," Qizang said, placing the dwarf on the ground.
"Guh—" The plump eunuch stepped on the dwarf's bulging belly, forcing the watching nobles to step back.
"What happened?" Varys asked while pressing on the dwarf's abdomen.
"When I arrived…" Qizang looked embarrassed, his tone unnatural.
The crowd erupted in noise.
"Could it have been three female evil gods?" Varys asked, puzzled. "I remember the claw that grabbed my backside was furry, covered in black hair, with a huge palm. It didn't seem human at all."
"Indeed, not human. I cannot even be sure of their gender. I have never seen such creatures…" Qizang's gaze flickered, his voice drifting. "I do not know what those evil gods intended.
Was it because Tyrion is good-looking?
Or did they simply wish to torture and kill him in the most humiliating way, or for some other reason?"
"Where are they now? Is the palace still safe?" Jacob asked anxiously.
"They are all dead," Master Qizang said calmly.
"What? Three gods, all dead? You were only gone for a short while!" the crowd exclaimed.
Qizang remained calm, neither proud nor modest.
"Master, why didn't you leave one alive to question the reason?" Varys cried.
"How could I have known they looked so ferocious yet were so fragile? I used only one move, the 'Holy Mother's Palm.' Together, the three evil gods seemed weaker than the crocodile demon. Their bodies were burned to ashes within a minute," Qizang said in annoyance.
Everyone fell silent.
Qizang did not know that the Holy Mother Daenerys had made special adjustments to his "Holy Mother's Palm": it always used full power upon activation, divine energy surging like a tide, aiming to kill rather than merely injure.
If one strike did not kill, a second would follow instinctively; if two were not enough, the mind would heat up, naturally leading to a third.
Each strike also carried the dual effect of spiritual empowerment and divine dragon fire, ensuring that as long as the user survived, the opponent would eventually perish.
"The Holy Mother's Palm seems too destructive to harmony. Master used only two strikes to slaughter four gods," a Pentosi royal said weakly.
Everyone felt the same and nodded, even Varys, who was visibly shaken.
"No, you are mistaken!" Master Qizang shook his head and said seriously, "The Holy Mother is merciful. The Holy Mother's Palm is founded on compassion. Only those who understand the way of compassion can use it.
Most warriors in the world wield weapons such as blades, spears, swords, and crossbows. When have you ever heard of someone fighting with bare hands?
Never, right?
Because the bare hand has the least killing power. The Holy Mother, unwilling to commit excessive slaughter, created the compassionate Holy Mother's Palm."
Hearing this, everyone found it quite reasonable. After all, throughout history, people had always relied on weapons, the sharper and more lethal, the better.
The Holy Mother's priest was the first and only warrior to fight empty-handed.
This was true compassion.
They could not help but sigh inwardly: the Holy Mother was already so compassionate that she had abandoned weapons, yet she was so powerful that a single palm strike was irresistible.
(End of Chapter)
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