The Harpy of Astapor collapsed with a crash, shattering into cold bronze fragments.
The deafening sound was like the prelude to a new era.
The entire city was plunged into a frenzied carnival, as the slaves, with their hoarse throats, shouted a common name—"dragon lord."
Daenerys was shaken by the overwhelming roar and instinctively clutched Lynn's arm.
Her violet eyes reflected the towering flames in the distance and countless celebrating figures.
"They..."
"I gave them new life, Dany."
Lynn looked at the chaotic yet vibrant scene before him.
"From today on, we are their liberators; all the common people of Astapor will fight for us."
Daenerys's heart pounded.
An unprecedented sense of responsibility and mission arose within her.
However, liberating a city is far more difficult than destroying it.
As the flames of revenge gradually died down and the sounds of revelry subsided, a more severe problem lay before everyone.
Food, order, and the future.
The pyramids of the good masters were burned to ashes, and the grain in the granaries was looted in the chaos.
Astapor became a huge isolated island, with hundreds of thousands of newly freed slaves standing bewildered amidst the ruins, unsure where to go tomorrow.
Although Lynn had liberated them, there was no foundation of trust between the two sides.
But Lynn was clearly prepared.
The next day, as the first ray of dawn illuminated the ravaged city, eight thousand Unsullied had already taken over all the streets.
They were no longer numb killing machines; they were guardians of order.
Grey Worm had been promoted by Lynn to be the Unsullied's commander.
Under the command of Grey Worm and Jorah Mormont, they quickly cleared the bodies from the streets, set up temporary food distribution points, and boiled large pots of gruel with the confiscated grain.
These slaves only knew that their lives were better after the change in rulers, and that was enough.
Lynn, meanwhile, turned his attention to the newly freed artisans.
Astapor, Punishment Square.
The smell of blood was no longer here; instead, there was the scorching heat emanating from hundreds of temporarily erected furnaces.
Thousands of blacksmiths, who once crafted luxurious ornaments and instruments of torture for the good masters, were now gathered here, looking with awe and curiosity at the man standing on the high platform.
Lynn said nothing superfluous; he had the Unsullied bring up several large wooden boards.
When the black cloth on the boards was removed, all the blacksmiths gasped in disbelief.
Drawn on the boards with charcoal were armor styles they had never seen before.
It was a full plate armor that completely encased the human body.
From the menacing helmet to the metal gauntlets covering every finger, and then to the smoothly contoured breastplate and greaves, every design detail maximized protection.
Its complex and exquisite structure far surpassed any knight's armor from any lord in Westeros.
This was Lynn, based on memory, replicating the most advanced Gothic plate armor from the late European Middle Ages on Earth.
And it was an upgraded and reinforced version.
Although heavy, its protective performance was improved by more than one level.
"The Unsullied are the best infantry in the world, but they lack sufficient protection."
Lynn's voice, relayed by an Unsullied translator, clearly reached every blacksmith's ear.
"The charge of the Dothraki, the heavy crossbows of the Volantene iron legion, are enough to easily tear through their defenses."
"I need you to forge new armor for them."
"Armor that can withstand cavalry and blunt swords for the Unsullied."
The blacksmiths discussed animatedly; they were drawn by the perfect creations in the blueprints, yet intimidated by the astonishing difficulty of the craftsmanship.
An old blacksmith with a grizzled beard and arms as thick as a normal person's thigh stepped forward; he was the most respected craftsman here.
"My lord."
He asked in broken Common Tongue.
"We are willing to serve you."
"It's just... forging such a set of armor will require an astronomical amount of steel and labor, we..."
He didn't finish, but his meaning was clear.
They had no money, nor materials.
"Materials, I will have people transport them from Volantis and Qarth; you don't need to worry."
Lynn interrupted him.
"As for payment..."
Lynn looked at Daenerys beside him.
Daenerys understood and had the Unsullied behind her bring up a heavy wooden chest.
The lid opened, revealing a chest full of gleaming gold dragons, so bright in the sunlight they made people squint.
"For each qualified set of armor forged, five gold dragons."
The entire square instantly fell into a deathly silence.
Five gold dragons!
In Astapor, even a top-tier craftsman, toiling for the good masters for a year, might not receive a single gold dragon as a reward!
And now, they only needed to forge one set of armor!
After a brief silence, there was a roar of cheers like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami!
"For the Mother!"
"For the dragon lord!"
The blacksmiths raised their brawny arms, and their faces, blackened by the furnace fires, erupted with unprecedented enthusiasm.
They were not cheering for money, but for respect.
Everyone was willing to work for Lynn; it was Lynn who had saved them from their suffering.
Inside the mansion.
Jorah Mormont looked at the massive budget, his brows tightly furrowed.
"My lord, eight thousand Unsullied, plus subsequent reinforcements, will require at least ten thousand sets of armor."
"Fifty thousand gold dragons..."
"Most of the wealth we confiscated from the good masters is spices and silk, and the slave contracts have been nullified. Converting them into gold coins will take time, and..."
"And it's far from enough, right?"
Lynn finished the latter half of his sentence for him.
Jorah Mormont nodded.
Lynn smiled, walked to the window, and looked at the roaring furnaces rekindled in the distance.
"Money is not an issue."
After he finished speaking, he walked into the deepest quiet room of the mansion, instructing no one to disturb him.
In the quiet room, Lynn sat cross-legged.
He closed his eyes, and his presence seemed to vanish instantly, merging with the surrounding air.
An invisible mental power, centered on him, instantly spread out.
It passed through the scorching red earth wilderness, crossed the vast blue waves of the Narrow Sea, and, following a mysterious trajectory unseen by mortals, traversed the entire world.
King's Landing, the Red Keep.
Sansa Stark was sitting at her desk, handling soap matters.
She had changed a lot.
Having shed her girlish naivety, there was a calm and dignified air of a superior person in her brows.
Ever since Lynn left King's Landing, she had, with the help of Varys and Tyrion, quietly taken control of the city's main trade routes.
Now, the soap she produced was sold throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
And today, she felt an inexplicable unease.
A familiar aura surged into her mind.
A voice echoed directly in the depths of her soul.
"Sansa."
"Sansa."
"Sansa..."
It was Lynn!
Sansa's body trembled violently, and her blue eyes instantly filled with surprise.
"I need a sum of money, a very large sum."
"Through the Iron Bank, issue a bearer bill of exchange and send it to Magister Illyrio's mansion in Pentos."
"The amount: fifty thousand gold dragons."
The voice came and went quickly.
When Sansa recovered, the familiar scene was still before her.
But she knew it wasn't an illusion.
She stood up, without any hesitation, and turned to walk towards the Hand's Tower... When Lynn re-emerged from the quiet room, it was already dusk.
He had solved the money problem, but his mood was not light.
Because there was a bigger problem still confined in the mansion.
Viserys.
Ever since he was publicly slapped in the square that day, Viserys had been confined to his own room.
As Lynn walked through the corridor, he could clearly hear roars and smashing sounds coming from the room.
He pushed the door open.
The room was a mess.
The exquisite Meereenese carpets were torn to shreds, and fragments of Valyrian glass vessels were scattered across the floor.
Viserys, disheveled, his luxurious robes long since ripped to pieces by himself.
He was like a wild beast trapped in a cage, his pale purple eyes bloodshot and filled with madness.
Seeing Lynn, he showed no fear; instead, he pounced like he had seen a mortal enemy!
"You thief!"
He shrieked.
"You stole my army! You stole my throne! You even stole my sister!"
"You ruined everything for me!"
His ornate but impractical gilded longsword was thrown somewhere unknown; he could only use his fingernails to scratch Lynn's face.
Lynn didn't even bother to dodge.
He simply raised his hand and easily gripped Viserys's wrist.
Crack.
A crisp sound of bone breaking.
"Ah—!"
Viserys let out a piercing scream; his wrist was twisted at an unnatural angle, and the stark white bone shard even pierced through his skin.
Lynn released his hand, letting him curl up on the ground like a dead dog, howling in pain.
"I'm keeping you alive only because your Targaryen surname can still help your sister gain some support from old dynasty loyalists."
Lynn looked down at him.
"I thought a clever beggar, after receiving a promise, would know how to play his role well."
"But I was wrong."
"You're not a beggar; you're just a mad dog."
Lynn squatted down, pinched Viserys's chin, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes.
"Do you think I truly need your ridiculous alliance?"
"Do you think your so-called true dragon bloodline really has any value?"
"I'll tell you a secret, Viserys."
"Your blood, its only purpose, is to awaken something more valuable."
Viserys's pupils suddenly constricted.
He saw in Lynn's eyes a killing intent colder than the Land of Always Winter.
He finally realized that this man, from the very beginning, had no intention of letting him live to sit on the Iron Throne.
He was just a sacrifice.
"No... you can't kill me..."
Fear completely overwhelmed madness, and he began to stammer pleas.
"I am the king! I am your wife's brother! Dany... Dany won't agree!"