Five days after the fall of New Ghis, a major city overhaul began. Slavery was abolished, and all the shackles were collected and melted into iron ingots. A temporary parliamentary system consisting of a priest, a healer, and a slave representative was established. The remnants of the original "Iron Legion" garrison were completely disbanded, and slave soldiers and young men were enlisted to create a unified force between the common people and the slave class. Thus, the new system passed its embryonic stage.
New Ghis harbor:
"Hurry! Load the goods onto the ship!" The slaves loaded the slave owners' wealth onto the Dragon Lord's ship, their faces beaming. They were now called "Fairmen," meaning equal citizens who were free and not oppressed.
"Look at how motivated they are," said Aemon, standing on the wall with his hands behind his back.
"This is all thanks to Your Majesty," said Grey Worm, his expression serious.
Aemon glanced at him and chuckled. "It's not just me. A large part of this success is due to the dedicated implementation of the Unsullied."
Grey Worm was startled by this. After a long pause, a voice whispered, "We are carrying out your orders." Actually, today his name wasn't Grey Worm. He hadn't drawn lots and was accompanying the Dragon Lord to maintain order in New Ghis. However, since the Dragon Lord hadn't asked, he didn't consider revealing his new name. That would have prevented the Dragon Lord from pronouncing it.
"We should leave," Aemon said, and he set off.
Grey Worm followed behind and hesitantly asked, "Your Majesty, what will happen to New Ghis after we leave?" He was torn about asking on his own initiative. According to the custom of the Good Lords, he would have received between ten and fifty lashes.
Aemon was not a Good Lord, though.
"New Ghis is the city-state of the Ghis, not mine." Aemon's thoughts were clear, and his answer was unequivocal. "I will help them regain their freedom. They will earn the rest of their wealth, justice, and happiness themselves."
Grey Worm frowned slightly, trying to grasp the wisdom in Aemon's words.
"Are you worried about the emergence of a new wave of slave owners?" Aemon tilted his head, sensing his concern.
A flicker of panic crossed Grey Worm's face, and he quickly lowered his head.
Aemon saw this and smiled indifferently. A common trait among the Unsullied is the fear of self-expression. To create the world's strongest slave soldiers, the Good Lords subjected the young Unsullied to brutal obedience training, wearing down their willpower and leaving only obedience. The recent abolitionist movement deeply moved Grey Worm, yet he envied the freed slaves. He spoke a little more. Still, he didn't dare express his feelings directly.
Fortunately, Aemon knew how to help them accept themselves.
"You can't kill all the slave owners," Aemon said.
Grey Worm's heart sank, and his softened features tightened again.
Then, a gentle voice said, "Similarly, the warriors who yearn for freedom can't be killed."
Grey Worm shuddered.
Aemon's eyes were serious as he offered his personal opinion: "Slavery can be broken once, and even if it rises again, it will be broken a second time by those who oppose it. Happiness is reserved for those who have the courage to pursue it."
Grey Worm raised his head and stared at the young Dragon Lord in amazement.
"Are you a man of courage?" Aemon paused, then asked, "Should I call you Grey Worm or by your original name?"
"Grey Worm!" Grey Worm held his head high and stood with his back straight.
"You don't want to revert to your original name?" Aemon reminded him. "When you return to Astapor, you will become soldiers under my command."
"No need," Grey Worm said, refusing for the first time. "I want to keep this name forever because it brought me to you. It's a blessing."
"Very good," Aemon smiled.
Knowing how to say no is good luck. This is the awakening of one's will. The seeds have been planted and are waiting for the moment to blossom and bear fruit.
"Come on. We should leave," Aemon said with a satisfied look.
Grey Worm stayed close by, longing to be bought by the Dragon Lord and live a life of freedom and equality.
That evening, the fleet returned to the Skahazadhan. The Good Lords had been waiting a long time and invited Aemon and Laenor to row a boat together and admire the myriad lights at night.
The ship sailed into Astapor, where slaves carried the seized money. A whip-wielding slave master commanded the five thousand Unsullied who had disembarked, "Follow me!"
The Unsullied formed a square, a black iron plate against the setting sun. Following the whip-bearer's orders, they camped on the banks of the Skahazadhan. The Unsullied's motto was to obey only the whip-bearer. This whip was usually held only by the lord who owned the Unsullied and was occasionally passed on to trusted subordinates to exercise power on his behalf.
Elsewhere, Aemon boarded the rowboat and was warmly welcomed. Beaming, Ullhor flattered him repeatedly: "Great Dragon Lord, you defeated the cunning New Ghis with a single blow. Indeed, let them feel the wrath of a true dragon."
"Hahaha..." Having dealt with a major threat, the lords laughed wildly.
Aemon watched coldly, unmoved.
"Please come. Let us entertain you with the utmost respect," Ullhor called hurriedly.
Aemon and Laenor sat on the side of the rowboat. Behind them was a bright red gauze curtain, and the roof was hung with colorful silk lanterns.
"By the way, prepare enough goats for the Dragon Lord's dragons," Ullhor said as he disembarked, a sudden realization slapping his forehead.
"Yes," Diana replied to the Good Master, who gave her the order to disembark.
In the night sky, Seasmoke swirled around the Skahazadhan, resembling a pale silver cloud. Vermithor landed on the banks of the Skahazadhan and curled up lazily to doze.
After Diana disembarked, the celebration banquet officially began.
Ullhor toasted repeatedly, praising the Dragon Lord's greatness. He even quoted the classics, referencing the tale of Aegon the Conqueror from the Age of Blood, who helped the fledgling Triarchy fend off an invasion from Volantis.
Aemon scoffed.
"Come, come. Fill the Dragon Lord's cup with the finest wine," Ullhor said, unfazed by Aemon's disdain.
Scantily clad slave girls knelt beside Aemon and the other man, picking up the wine bottle and pouring wine. Laenor glanced at it. It was Dorne's Summer Red, a famous and expensive liquor. Ignoring the dancing slave girls in the boat, he picked up the wine glass to take a sip.
Aemon put his hand on Laenor's wrist and held it down.
"Cousin?" Laenor was stunned.
Aemon shook his head.
As the saying goes, when the birds are gone, the bows are put away. He couldn't guarantee that the benefactors hadn't tampered with the food or drinks.
Laenor's eyes widened, and he quickly understood. He obediently put down the wine glass and looked at the benefactors on the boat warily. There weren't many of them, only five.
"Sir Aemon, I guarantee with my life that I bear you no ill will." Ullhor swore solemnly.
"No need. It's your turn to fulfill your promise." Aemon stared at him.
The atmosphere suddenly became cold.
Ullhor's face darkened. "Tomorrow morning, you can take five thousand Unsullied."
"I'll command the Unsullied now," Aemon demanded.
"I don't have it yet," Ullhor argued. "When it's back, I'll give it to you in public."
"You can unload the cargo," Aemon said, his eyes growing increasingly dangerous.
"This..." Ullhor was speechless.
Bang!
A small sailboat approached, and Diana boarded with two slave soldiers.
"What's going on?!" Ullhor shouted.
"The Dragon Lord's dragons have been fed by the shepherds," Diana reported in a low voice.
"Is everything settled?" Ullhor asked, worried.
Diana gave him a subtle wink and promised, "Yes."
Ullhor's expression relaxed and his whole body softened.
"Come here and pour wine for the Dragon Lord." He waved his hand, commanding Diana as if she were a fly. Everything was ready. There was no need for a slave girl who had been shared with others.
Diana silently knelt at Aemon's table.
"Is the dragon fed?" Aemon asked.
Diana nodded and picked up the wine glass to pour wine. With a flick of her wrist, she spilled the wine on the table. She quickly reached out to wipe it up.
Aemon looked down and saw a small message written on her palm. [Go quickly; the good man will regret it.]
Aemon laughed out loud.
At that moment, Ullhor saw how clumsy Diana was and scolded her. "Useless bitch! You can't even keep the wine steady! You should really be sold to the brothel in Lys for proper training."
Diana's face paled slightly. She glanced sideways, her eyes full of intimidation. She knew the Good Lord's character well. In contrast, the Dragon Lord refrained from killing slaves and civilians. He freed the slaves of New Ghis and established a new order. In every sense, he was a good man. Just now, she had learned of the Good Lord's plot. While the dragons were feeding, they would take the Dragon Lord out of the Skahazadhan by boat and poison or ambush him. Five thousand Unsullied would be stationed along the river, constantly on guard against a dragon counterattack. It was a deadly tactic.
"Don't be nervous. Relax," a reassuring voice whispered as she fretted.
Diana looked up in surprise.
Aemon looked at the Good Lord and said bluntly, "Diana is quite good. The Unsullied we've purchased need an interpreter, so I'm taking her with me."
Ullhor was unusually generous. "Here you go. I'll train a new interpreter."
"Key."
Aemon held out his hand again.
Ullhor rummaged through his pocket and tossed a brass key out to him.
Aemon caught it and unlocked the shackles from Diana's neck. A crisp sound echoed—the sound of release. Before Diana could react, the key fell into the river.
She had just gained the freedom she had always dreamed of.
Ullhor's face was filled with disdain. His hypocrisy was unbearable. A slave was still a slave, even without chains.
"You must be drunk. Let me help you rest," Diana said, regaining her composure as she took the Dragon Lord's hand.
"A slave girl has no business speaking here!" Ullhor's face darkened, and he scolded her harshly.
Diana remained unfazed. "A dragon misses its master when it's full. We should go and check." She was trying to lead the Dragon Lord away from the boat.
Aemon smiled. He had already observed the surroundings earlier. The rowboat drifted farther and farther away, nearing the mouth of the Skahazadhan. Another boat approached nearby, and through the gauze curtains, figures could be seen—slave soldiers armed with bows and crossbows. This was no friendly encounter. It was an ambush.
Aemon was not afraid. The Good Masters were short-sighted. They had no idea how deep the bond between a dragon and its rider ran. They foolishly believed that if they separated the dragon and its rider, killing the rider would prevent the dragon from responding. Perhaps they also thought the rider couldn't control the dragon from a distance.
Unfortunately for them, they had picked the wrong target. Aemon and Vermithor were one in mind—summoning each other took but a thought. Aemon had allowed this opportunity not as a gamble, but with purpose. He needed to secure the whip that controlled the Unsullied. The Unsullied obeyed the commands of the whip. Without it, they were like machines disconnected from their network. Although he had planted many ideas in the minds of the Unsullied, he had always planned for the worst.
But now...
"Dragon!"
"The dragon is flying!"
Suddenly, shouts erupted from the far side of the Skahazadhan. Ullhor stood up abruptly, annoyed. "What's going on? What's all that shouting?"
The Good Masters parted the curtains and peeked outside.
"Can you swim?" Aemon asked suddenly.
"Of course!" Laenor patted his chest. "What, a Velaryon can't swim?"
"I know a little," Diana added quickly.
"Very good!" Aemon grinned.
The next moment, he grabbed them both and pushed them into the river.
Plop! Plop!
Two loud splashes broke the surface, and shadows flickered in the water.
Only then did the Good Lords look up and see a massive bronze dragon soaring above the river.
"Dragon!"
Ullhor's mind went blank.
He turned and stared at Aemon, his eyes wide with disbelief.
But Aemon only smiled, his lips parting.
"Dragonfire."
Vermithor's cold, bronze eyes locked onto the target. Hovering in midair, he exhaled a torrent of fire.
"No, no, wait—"
Ullhor froze, never imagining that Aemon would actually kill him.
Hiss!
A thunderous roar burst through the night, and dragonfire poured down.
"Goodbye," Aemon said with a smile. Then he fell backward into the river.
Boom!
A column of dragonfire, as bright as copper foil, slammed into the boat. The seven-meter vessel shattered instantly, scattering flaming debris in all directions. The Good Masters screamed, but their cries were swallowed by fire and water. Their bodies were reduced to ash, which melted into the current.
With a splash, Aemon surfaced far from the wreckage. His long, silver-gold hair swirled in the boiling water. Steam rose in clouds. Bubbles churned.
Aemon wiped his face casually, as if enjoying a hot bath.
"Cousin!" Laenor called, dragging Diana to safety.
"Be patient," Aemon said calmly.
Dark clouds drifted across the night sky, veiling the crescent moon.
Shh!
Vermithor flew low, bathing the rowboats in fire along the Skahazadhan. In less than fifteen minutes, every ambushing slave soldier had perished with the Good Lords.
"Let's go," Aemon said, grabbing a floating plank and swimming to shore. Vermithor landed nearby and lowered one wing.
Hiss!
Seasmoke arrived quickly, drawn by the sound. Laenor tried to rush over, but Aemon waved him off. The two of them mounted their dragons, picked up the stunned Diana, and flew to the far side of the Skahazadhan.
At that moment, five thousand Unsullied stood in formation. Grey Worm stood at the head of the square column, his gaze fixed anxiously on the river mouth. Ever since the so-called benevolent masters invited the Dragon King out for a "night cruise," he had sensed trouble. The whip-bearing slave master's orders had been to watch the dragon closely and intervene if needed. It was an ambush, plain and simple.
Grey Worm wanted to warn the Dragon Lord and help him escape. However, years of brutal training had conditioned him not to act on his own. He was torn between duty and fear.
Then he saw it—Vermithor, who had been resting by the riverbank, was now taking flight. Soon after, flames lit the sky.
Grey Worm clenched his spear tightly. What was happening?
Boom!
A strong gust of wind swept through, and the massive bronze dragon returned, descending like a mountain.
Vermithor landed.
A familiar, silver-haired figure stepped down from his back.
"Why are you here?! Where are the Good Lords?!" the whip-bearing slave master cried.
Swish!
A cold flash of light. A head flew into the air. The body dropped with a thud.
Aemon twirled his sword, then bent down and picked up the bloodstained whip. It was lined with barbs, and the handle was shaped like a harpy.
"Hurry!"
..."
The surrounding slave soldiers panicked and rushed forward.
Aemon glanced sideways, then cracked the whip once in front of the Unsullied.
Silence.
An eerie silence.
Five thousand Unsullied stared coldly at the instrument that had once controlled them.
Plop.
Aemon let go.
The whip fell.
With a faint smile, he said, "Unsullied, this whip is history. You are free now."
He stomped on the golden handle.
The harpy-shaped head was crushed flat.
"Unsullied, kill him!" someone shouted joyfully among the slave soldiers.
Swoosh!
A spear flew and impaled the man in the face. Grey Worm stepped forward, still holding his round shield.
Aemon mounted his dragon again and shouted, "Unsullied! Who among you will obey my command, fight for freedom, and break the chains of Astapor?!"
There was a long pause.
Then, Grey Worm stepped forward again and pulled the spear from the corpse.
Thump. Thump. Thump!
More Unsullied followed, banging their spears against their shields. They all looked up, their eyes locked on the silver-haired figure atop the bronze dragon.
The clouds slowly parted, revealing the pale moonlight. Aemon's face was clearly illuminated, etching itself forever into their hearts.
"Unsullied!" Aemon roared, raising the Lady of the Empty. "The Good Lords used power to bring you to your knees—but the Targaryens call you to rise!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The sound of five thousand shields clashing echoed across the banks of the Skahazadhan.
With fiery resolve, Aemon cried, "Unsullied! Follow me! Break the slave chains of Astapor!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
All five thousand turned and began to march toward the city with red walls.
"Hyr—"
Vermithor roared and shot into the night sky.
A pillar of gleaming copper-colored flame rained down from the heavens and smashed the towering bronze harpy statues atop the city walls. Molten bronze rained down. Slave soldiers screamed in terror as they were engulfed.
The Unsullied surged forward, iron and fire clearing the way.
It was a clash of bronze and fire!
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