The merchant ships crossed the Summer Sea—air growing scorching and humid.
Westeros's cold winds felt like past-life memories.
Now, crimson sun baked the deck, every pore oozing sticky sweat.
Daenerys leaned in Lynn's embrace, sea wind whipping her silver-gold hair.
She pointed at a name circled in red ink on the sea chart, voice carrying confusion.
"Astapor?"
"The Dothraki are undisciplined wild horses, Dany." Lynn's voice was calm.
He held Daenerys's hand, feeling that delicate warmth.
"They can break through walls, but will kill each other the next second over a woman."
"They can only be conquered."
Lynn's gaze turned toward the distant southeast.
There, a reddish-brown coastline was slowly emerging.
Astapor.
Slaver's Bay's jewel.
A city built from blood and brick finally appeared in everyone's view.
Massive red brick walls gleamed blindingly under scorching sun, as if soaked in blood.
Atop the highest wall, an enormous bronze harpy statue—raising chains and whips—contemptuously overlooked every ship entering the harbor.
An indescribable stench rushed forth with hot wind.
Sweat, spices, dust, and mummified corpses mixed together.
Daenerys instinctively frowned, burying her face deeper in Lynn's embrace.
"This is Astapor."
Viserys's voice came from nearby, carrying sick excitement.
He stood at the ship's rail, greedily watching this city reeking of wealth and sin.
"Slave city!"
"They say slaves here outnumber free men!"
"Look at those fools—that fat Illyrio actually fears them!"
"They should be trampled underfoot!"
The merchant ship slowly entered harbor.
On the docks, countless bare-chested slaves—iron collars on their necks—hauled heavy cargo like beasts under overseers' whips.
Their eyes were hollow, numb.
As if souls had long been extracted.
Lynn's party descended the gangplank. Several men in tokar robes with high-bridged noses immediately surrounded them.
Slave traders.
Those shrewd eyes swept over Daenerys and accompanying slave girls, appraising merchandise quality.
"Get lost."
Lynn didn't even glance at them, just uttered two words flatly.
Those slave traders wanted to say more.
But when they met Lynn's night-black eyes, remaining words stuck in their throats.
They unconsciously retreated several steps, clearing a path.
Passing through the filthy, crowded docks, the party entered Astapor's city district.
Unlike dock chaos, city streets were spacious and clean, flanked by tall pyramid-shaped red brick buildings.
The Good Masters' residences.
Yet beneath this cleanliness hid deeper evil.
Along the streets, at regular intervals, slaves were nailed to stakes.
Most were already dead, bodies sun-dried into mummies.
Vultures circled overhead, occasionally descending to peck rotting flesh.
This was Astapor's "Pride Walk."
Used to intimidate all slaves with rebellious thoughts.
Daenerys's face grew increasingly pale.
She gripped Lynn's arm tightly, body trembling slightly.
Just then, commotion came from a nearby plaza ahead.
A massive square called "Punishment Plaza."
At the plaza's center, a lavishly dressed Good Master was pointing with an ivory-inlaid whip at a row of bare-chested young boys, chests branded with harpy marks.
"Behold! Lord from Qarth!"
The Good Master's voice was shrill and smug.
"See my newest stock! The purest Unsullied!"
"Their bodies contain not a shred of fear or weakness! They are perfect killing machines!"
To prove his words, he snapped his fingers.
An overseer dragged a ragged slave woman from the crowd.
In her arms—an infant in swaddling.
"This is the final procedure."
The Good Master's smile turned cruel.
"Sever their last emotional bond to this world."
He casually pointed at one boy in the group, commanding:
"You. Come here."
A boy appearing no more than ten walked out, eyes hollow as a walking corpse.
"Kill that bastard."
The Good Master pointed his whip at the infant in the slave woman's arms, tone casual.
The slave woman's body shuddered violently.
She looked at the Good Master in terror, then at the boy approaching her, throat making choking sounds, unable to utter a single plea.
The boy walked before her, drawing a short spear from his waist.
His eyes flashed with reluctance, yet were replaced by coldness.
SQUELCH—
A soft sound of flesh tearing.
The infant's crying abruptly ceased.
Blood splattered on the slave woman's despairing, numb face.
The boy expressionlessly withdrew his spear.
Wiped the blood on the woman's filthy hem, then turned, returning to formation.
From start to finish, his facial expression didn't change one bit.
As if what he'd just killed wasn't a living being, but an insignificant insect.
"AHH—!"
A piercing scream cut through the plaza's noise.
Not the slave woman who'd lost her child.
Daenerys.
She could no longer suppress her horror and rage.
Those violet eyes filled with tears.
"Quiet."
Lynn's arm clamped around Daenerys's waist like an iron vice, pressing her firmly in his embrace.
Lynn's voice was low, sounding in her ear.
"Watch, Dany. Watch clearly."
"Remember this face. Remember these people's true nature."
"Remember what their so-called pride is built upon."
Daenerys's body trembled violently.
She buried her face in Lynn's chest, suppressed sobs nearly suffocating her.
Lynn said nothing more, just raised his head.
He calmly watched that Good Master boasting about his merchandise's "quality."
That gaze held no anger, no pity.
Only bottomless coldness.
Like looking at a dead man.
Viserys was briefly shocked by the plaza scene.
But quickly, that shock transformed into twisted longing.
Absolute obedience, absolute control!
This is the power a king should have!
He watched those Unsullied standing motionless as statues, greed nearly overflowing from his eyes.
If he could possess such an army...
Led by a slave guide, Lynn's party arrived at a magnificent estate on the city's heights.
One of Astapor's most luxurious manors, belonging to a wealthy merchant often abroad.
Lynn merely had the guide deliver an emblem carved with a three-headed ice dragon to the estate's steward.
Half an hour later, they became this estate's new owners.
The estate was filled with slaves wearing clean white linen.
They kept heads down, cautiously moving through corridors and gardens, not daring to make any sound.
Lynn placed Viserys under house arrest. He'd inevitably cause trouble.
When Daenerys could no longer tolerate Viserys—that would be his end.
Lynn wouldn't let one Viserys damage his relationship with Daenerys.
In the room—
Daenerys still hadn't recovered from the day's shock.
She sat on soft silk bedding, arms hugging her knees, that exquisite face bloodless.
"Those people... they're no longer human."
Her voice was bitter.
"They're monsters watered with children's blood by those demons."
Lynn walked to her side, sitting down.
He offered no comforting words, just held a cup of warm honeyed wine to her lips.
Daenerys obediently took a sip, body's trembling slightly subsiding.
"They are this world's most elite warriors."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"And they will soon belong to us."
"Please!"
Daenerys suddenly raised her head, those tear-filled purple eyes full of resistance and disgust.
"Can we not take these monsters?"
"I don't want to be a slaver! I won't become demons like them!"
Lynn quietly watched her.
Watched that purity and kindness refusing to compromise before evil.
Lynn suddenly smiled.
He extended his hand, gently stroking her cheek.
"Who said you'd be a slaver?"
He stood, walking to the massive open window.
Outside—Astapor's lights.
That bronze harpy symbolizing slavery and oppression looked increasingly vicious in the night.
"You think I brought you here to buy slaves?"
Lynn turned, looking at Daenerys, those dark eyes gleaming with something she couldn't understand.
"I told you, Dany."
"I came to break things."
"Like... those slaves' chains."
Just then, a slave entered to report.
"My lord, a knight calling himself Jorah Mormont requests an audience."
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