Kraznys collapsed on the ground, fat flesh rippling like waves.
He looked up at three enormous dragon heads casting death's shadow, foul liquid rapidly spreading beneath him.
Fear finally crushed his last shred of reason.
"No... NO!"
He screamed inhuman sounds, crawling backward on hands and knees, trying to escape that demon-like Lynn.
"Guards! City guards!"
He used all his strength, shrieking toward the plaza's edge.
"Kill him! Kill these damned Westerosi!"
This was his final card—the Good Masters' last reliance.
Following his shrill command, chaotic footsteps and metal clanging echoed from surrounding streets.
Six hundred Astapor city guards poured from dark corners.
They wore chainmail, wielding spears and curved swords, faces showing the cruelty of those accustomed to oppressing slaves.
However, when they saw that three-headed dragon existing only in myth—that cruelty instantly became pure terror.
"Don't be afraid! There's only a few of them!"
A captain-like man roared with false bravado, trying to steady morale.
"Kill him! Master Kraznys will reward each of us with ten slaves!"
Under heavy reward, greed reignited in that rabble's eyes.
They howled, raising weapons, surging toward Lynn's party in the plaza center.
Viserys trembled with fear, instinctively retreating two steps behind Daenerys.
Daenerys's body tensed, gripping Lynn's sleeve tightly, that exquisite face bloodless.
Lynn didn't even lift an eyelid.
He just raised his head, looking at that circling behemoth in the sky, issuing a soft whistle.
"ROAR—!"
Responding—three roars tearing the sky apart!
Winter received Lynn's command.
Its massive body plummeted like an iceberg falling from heaven, carrying endless destructive might, crashing toward those charging city guards!
BOOM!
The instant the dragon landed, hard stone slabs shattered inch by inch.
Wings whipped up gales, flinging dozens of front-rank guards airborne—bones breaking mid-flight!
Chaos began.
Winter's middle, largest head lunged forward.
Bloody maw opened, biting two panicked guards in one gulp.
"CRUNCH—!"
The sound of bones and armor crushed together—teeth-achingly visceral.
Blood gushed like waterfalls from the dragon's teeth gaps, staining its ice-blue jaw shocking dark red.
It casually shook its head—those guards already turned to pulp were flung like garbage, smashing distant buildings, leaving blood stains.
The left head reared high, inhaling deeply.
Surrounding air seemed sucked empty, temperature plummeting.
Next second—white airflow mixed with countless ice crystals surged from its giant maw!
Not flames—but more terrifying extreme cold dragon's breath!
Where dragon's breath passed, time seemed frozen.
Dozens of guards' terrified expressions permanently fixed on faces.
Their bodies instantly covered in thick frost—becoming lifelike human ice sculptures.
Winter's massive wing swept casually—those ice sculptures shattered like fragile glass into sky-filling ice shards and blood mist.
[You killed Astapor City Guard, EXP +3]
[You killed Astapor City Guard, EXP +2]
[You killed...]
Lynn's mind—a continuous stream of system notifications frantically scrolling, those cold numbers now the most beautiful music.
One guard mustered final courage, hurling his spear at Winter.
However, that spear capable of piercing iron armor—meeting Winter's ice-crystal-clear blue scales—only produced a crisp "CLANG," bouncing off powerlessly, falling to ground.
Despair began spreading in all surviving guards' hearts.
They faced not a defeatable enemy—but the highest-tier magical creature!
The slaughter continued.
Winter was like a butcher entering a sheep pen.
Using the most primitive, most brutal methods, enjoying this killing feast.
Its claws—each swipe easily tearing human bodies and armor.
Its tail—each sweep flinging rows of guards like garbage.
The plaza—in mere minutes—became a flesh grinder.
Severed limbs, scattered organs, covering the entire ground.
Rich blood scent mixed with frost's chill—forming a hellish odor.
Daenerys watched, body trembling, stomach churning.
Though she loathed this sinful city, such bloody cruel scenes still nearly stopped her heart.
She buried her face deep in Lynn's embrace, not daring another glance.
Viserys watched dumbstruck, that handsome face mixing ultimate fear with pathological ecstasy.
"Burn them! Yes! Just like that!"
"Burn them all to ash!"
He roared excitedly.
As if that dragon massacring was his own to command.
But seeing Lynn's terrifyingly calm profile—that ecstasy instantly became bone-chilling jealousy.
This should be his power!
This dragon should obey his commands!
Lynn ignored that fool beside him.
His gaze fell on those Unsullied still kneeling on one knee, awaiting orders.
He raised the golden whip, again using that ancient, majestic High Valyrian, issuing new commands.
"Dovaogēdys!" (Unsullied!)
"Geltī aōhe qrī donnon!" (Take up your spears!)
Eight thousand Unsullied uniformly stood, re-gripping their weapons.
"Skoroso jemē lesyt zentys sy, skoroso syt gaomā?" (Do you want to become free men, or continue fighting?)
"Zentys sy!" (Free men!)
Eight thousand roars merged into earth-shaking sound waves—even overwhelming the dragon's roar!
"Vaore znuni jemē legīda, yn gaomā, yn zentys sy!" (Then prove it with your actions—fight for freedom!)
Lynn's spear pointed at those Good Masters already scared witless, trying to flee the plaza.
"Sōvētēs! Kessa!" (Fly! Kill!)
"Kessa!"
Grey Worm first responded to Lynn's command.
He turned—spear like black lightning—unhesitatingly stabbing the nearest Good Master.
SQUELCH—!
Spear tip easily pierced luxurious silk and fat belly, bringing out a handful of hot blood pearls.
That Good Master didn't even manage a scream—eyes wide—collapsing in a blood pool.
The killing floodgate, once opened, could never close.
Eight thousand Unsullied—these slaves suppressed for countless years—in this moment, finally aimed their spears at their true enemies!
They didn't charge chaotically like city guards.
They maintained perfect formation—squads forming phalanxes—efficiently harvesting those lives that once viewed them as livestock.
One Good Master ran a few steps—pinned to ground by three spears from different directions.
Another hid behind slaves—Unsullied directly dragged him out, spear piercing his chest.
No mercy, no hesitation.
This was their instinct trained for countless years.
Only this time—they fought for themselves!
For freedom!
Those slaves who received coins and hope last night—after brief terror—also erupted.
A thin cook grabbed his meat cleaver, viciously hacking the overseer who'd whipped him.
Several ragged stable hands used pitchforks to nail a fleeing minor Good Master to stable doors.
Hatred suppressed too long—erupting like volcanoes in this moment!
All of Astapor became a chaotic slaughterhouse!
Lynn stood in the plaza center—the storm's eye—calmly watching everything before him.
Winter had finished its battle. Six hundred city guards—no survivors.
It was using giant heads to tear a relatively intact corpse, making satisfied gurgling sounds.
[You killed 600 Astapor City Guards]
[EXP +1368]
Lynn didn't immediately allocate points.
His gaze passed over the corpse mountain and blood sea before him, looking toward that tallest, most magnificent Good Master pyramid in the distance.
He knew—this feast had just begun.
"Jorah."
Lynn's voice sounded.
"Yes, my lord."
Jorah Mormont quickly walked before Lynn.
His entire body covered in bloodstains, those gray eyes burning with unprecedented light.
"Take Grey Worm and one thousand Unsullied."
Lynn tossed that golden whip to Jorah.
"Go liberate all slaves in this city."
"Tell them—from today, Astapor has no slaves."
"Only free men."
Jorah Mormont caught that golden whip.
The handle cold and heavy, embedded harpy statue seeming to mock everything with hollow eyes.
He glanced at that Unsullied called Grey Worm beside him.
Grey Worm's eyes no longer dead water—but burning lava!
Without words, they reached understanding in this moment.
Jorah raised the golden whip high.
"For freedom!"
He roared with all his strength.
"Kessa!"
One thousand Unsullied formed a phalanx—like an iron plow—viciously plunging into Astapor's chaotic flesh.
Their footsteps uniform—each step making earth tremble.
They were no longer slaves—they were vengeance's flood.
Astapor went mad.
A fat Good Master panicked, running toward his estate.
His luxurious tokar robe—now soaked with sweat—clung to fat, appearing pathetic.
"Close the gate! Quickly!"
He shrieked at several house slaves at the entrance.
However, those house slaves who yesterday still cowered before him—just looked at him coldly.
One still gripped a gold dragon coin received last night.
The estate gates slowly opened from inside.
Greeting the Good Master—not a safe harbor—but his "loyal" slaves.
These slaves raised candlesticks, roasting forks, decorative longswords torn from walls.
The Good Master's face instantly lost all color.
"You... what are you doing?"
Answering him—a silver wine pitcher smashing hard into his face.
Just then, a small Unsullied squad escorted an extremely luxuriously dressed Good Master before Lynn.
That Good Master—about fifty—extremely well-maintained.
Unlike other terrified companions, his face actually maintained a trace of superior composure.
"I'm called Pree Pree."
He looked at Lynn, speaking Common Tongue with strange accent.
"I'm president of the Spice Merchants' Guild. I'm very wealthy, my noble lord."
"I can give you money. Lots and lots of money."
"Gold beyond counting."
Viserys's eyes instantly lit up.
"Hear that, Lynn! Gold! He has lots of gold!"
He rubbed his hands excitedly.
"Accept! Quickly accept!"
Lynn looked at this spice merchant called Pree with interest.
"You're brave."
"No, my lord. I'm just a merchant."
Pree's face showed a smile.
"Merchants best understand weighing pros and cons."
"Kill us—you only get an empty city and useless poor wretches."
"But keep us—you get endless wealth."
"You make a good point." Lynn nodded.
Viserys's face showed more joy.
Lynn turned to the Unsullied escorting Pree. "Where was he captured from?"
That Unsullied answered in broken Common Tongue.
"His estate, my lord. He was preparing to escape through a secret passage."
"What else in the estate?"
"Many spices, gold and silver, and... fifty children locked in iron chains. Their tongues were all cut out."
Lynn's gaze returned to Pree, that trace of amusement vanishing.
"A merchant who cuts out children's tongues—"
Lynn's voice was soft.
"Do you think your gold can buy back your life?"
Pree's smile froze.
Lynn waved his hand.
That Unsullied understood—spear unhesitatingly piercing Pree's chest.
"NO—!"
Viserys screamed—not for Pree—but for that imagined gold.
"You're mad! You madman!"
He rushed before Lynn, spittle spraying Lynn's face.
"That was gold! Gold to arm our army! You actually just..."
SLAP—!
A crisp slap.
The entire world went quiet.
Viserys clutched his rapidly swelling cheek, looking at Lynn incredulously.
"You... you dare hit me?"
His voice trembled.
"I'm a king! I'm a dragon!"
"A king who can't even stand steady?"
Lynn withdrew his hand, not even bothering to wipe it.
He looked at Viserys's face twisted with humiliation.
"I warned you. Control your mouth."
"Daenerys."
Lynn didn't look at him again, turning to his wife.
"Do you think I did right?"
Daenerys looked at her still-dazed brother, then at that dead-eyed spice merchant on the ground.
She took a deep breath, stepped forward, taking Lynn's arm.
"You're always right."
In this moment, her last trace of familial affection for Viserys completely vanished.
Viserys stood thunderstruck.
He watched that embracing pair, watched Daenerys's face showing determination and worship.
A humiliation stronger than being publicly slapped instantly consumed him.
Lynn said to the collapsed Kraznys on the ground.
"See, he did another foolish thing."
"Actually inciting those Unsullied to openly rebel against Good Masters."
"How can we do business here after this?"
"Right, Kraznys?"
Kraznys—scared witless—seeing the threat in Lynn's eyes, nodded frantically.
"Yes, it was this brat!"
"Inciting slaves has nothing to do with you, my lord!"
Rebellion always needed someone to take the fall.
Everyone understood, including Daenerys.
But she didn't speak to stop it.
She already understood Lynn's attitude toward Viserys.
Just a simple scapegoat tool.
"Take my dear king back for strict supervision. He's so tired he's talking nonsense."
"Kraznys, you'll stay with me for now."
"Remember—what to say publicly, what not to say. You should be very clear."
Just then, distant mountain-and-sea-like cheering came.
Thousands upon thousands of slaves gathered beneath Astapor's highest wall.
They looked up at that giant bronze harpy statue symbolizing slavery and oppression, eyes burning with flames.
Dozens of thick ropes were thrown up, looping around the harpy's neck and wings.
"PULL—!"
A former stonemason, now free man, stood high, hoarsely commanding.
Countless hands gripped ropes.
"One! Two! Three!"
With uniform chants, the bronze statue groaned under unbearable weight.
It began tilting, pedestal cracking.
Finally, with a tremendous crash—that harpy overlooking Astapor for hundreds of years—thunderously fell.
Shattering to pieces on hard stone slabs.
That instant—the entire city erupted in deafening cheers.
The sound of freedom.
Lynn stood in the plaza center, watching sky-filling dust and fragments, finally showing a smile.
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