Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 547: Valyrian Steel Sword – Scarlet Forger

Chapter 547: Valyrian Steel Sword – Scarlet Forger

The next morning arrived early.

Swish!

The Unsullied legion of 5,000 marched out of Astapor, kicking up clouds of dust as they went. Behind them, the city smoldered with a few wisps of smoke drifting in the air.

"One, two, three..."

Thousands of slaves broke free from their shackles and worked together to bring down the huge bronze statue of the Harpy on the city wall.

Crashing—

The statue of the Harpy collapsed, its bronze pieces shattering into the sky.

“Roar!”

The black dragon roared past amidst the slaves' joyous shouts of celebration.

Rhaegar looked down, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. Thousands of Good Masters, along with their blood relatives, had been hanged on the execution platform. They had sold slaves and enjoyed immense wealth, only to face the slaves' vengeful backlash when the city fell.

“Astapor is a thing of the past,” Rhaegar whispered.

The Good Masters were all dead, and the slaves had been liberated. When the war ended, they would take the craftsmen, scholars, and other talents with them, leaving behind a ruined and decaying Free City. He wouldn’t rule here. Slaver's Bay was beyond the jurisdiction of the Iron Throne. For this reason, Slaver's Bay would be erased from history.

“Roar!”

“Roar...”

Syrax and Sunfyre flew out one after the other, escorting the Second Sons and the naval fleet. The three Free Cities of Slaver's Bay were evenly spaced in a line from south to north. With Astapor fallen, the army headed north to join Daemon at Yunkai.

Rhaegar glanced at a necklace, then took out a colorless glass bottle of potion. It was warm to the touch, like a bottle of transparent mucus. He sniffed lightly, and his blood boiled involuntarily.

“A dangerous scent.”

Rhaegar’s eyes flashed, and he said cautiously, “Another wizard’s work.”

The potion was found on the Good Masters, exuding a strange familiarity. Slaver's Bay was really going all out to take on the Iron Throne.

...

Yunkai

The city walls crumbled as fire spread unchecked.

“Run! The dragon is coming!”

“How dare you! No one is allowed to flee!”

Chaos reigned. Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, and slave soldiers scattered, fleeing for their lives.

“Roar...” The scarlet dragon’s shadow pierced the smoke, accompanied by a shrill, sonic-like roar, as its massive body crashed down.

“Attack, Caraxes!” Daemon’s voice was cold and indifferent, like a god looking down on the scurrying ants below.

“Dragon! Run!”

“No, no, no...”

Caraxes’ pupils flashed with cruelty. Its snake-like body slithered over the ruins, spewing out scarlet Dragonfire freely.

“Shoot! Shoot!”

The mercenaries in the city, emboldened by desperation, hid behind buildings and shot arrows.

Crackling...

Thousands of arrows rained down. Daemon tilted his head slightly, calmly facing the tide of sharp arrows.

Bang!

Caraxes, in sync with Daemon’s thoughts, opened its scarlet dragon wings, shielding its rider. The arrows clanged against the membrane harmlessly.

“Leave no one alive, Caraxes!” Daemon smiled, his eyes full of unruliness. How dare a slave Free City resist a Dragon!

Whoo-hoo-hoo!

A mournful horn sounded, marking the siege battle’s peak intensity. The army, bearing the flags of the three red dragons and the blue seahorses, rushed into the inner city, slaying any slave soldiers who dared to stand in their way.

“Retreat!”

Realizing their arrows were useless against the dragon, the mercenaries' eyes filled with bloodshot desperation. They dropped their bows and fled in panic.

“...”

The battle raged for several days.

In the end, Yunkai lay in ruins, and the Blood Wyrm, Caraxes, slept soundly on the ashes.

...

The sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly over Yunkai’s Glory Square.

“Roar...”

Caraxes, with narrowed eyes, crouched atop a pile of corpses and let out a piercing roar.

Clatter...

Thousands of Wise Masters fell to their knees, their eyes glazed over as if struck in the spine.

“You once enslaved people and deprived them of their freedom.”

Daemon, seated on the dragon's back, listed their crimes with a calm expression. His black steel armor bore scars, and his long silver-blonde hair hung messily over his shoulders. It was clear he had been through a bloody battle.

At the sound of his voice, the Wise Masters buried their heads even lower, some even sobbing in fear.

Among the three Free Cities in Slaver's Bay, Yunkai was the weakest. Meereen was the largest, with extensive trade and a population larger than the other two combined. Astapor was famous for its Unsullied legions, with a history of 3,000 Unsullied repelling an attack by over 50,000 Dothraki, even beheading the Khal of the Dothraki cavalry. Yunkai, in contrast, relied on slave soldiers and mercenaries, making it unimpressive on paper.

For half a month, it faced high-intensity attacks from the scarlet dragon. Unable to withstand the pressure, the city finally burned to the ground.

Daemon placed his hands on the dragon's saddle and said calmly, “I am a merciful man and can forgive the sins you have committed.”

Suddenly, the Wise Masters' eyes lit up, fearing they had misheard.

Daemon's face remained expressionless, but his voice took on a seductive tone: “Whoever wants to live, pay with your money. Everyone needs to contribute a part.”

Crack...

A soldier with the three red dragon emblems on his breastplate brought a box.

“Put your money in there.”

Daemon's lips curled up.

The Wise Masters looked at each other, not expecting to have to pay to save their lives. But in the face of death thousands of gold coins meant little.

They hurriedly took out their money and paid the price of their lives. The cost was steep, and many of the Wise Masters emptied their pockets, yet still didn't have enough.

Daemon sighed lightly, feigning understanding. “If you don't have enough money, you can use your slaves as collateral.” He added that craftsmen, healers, and scholars were valued higher, while bed slaves, laborers, the elderly, the infirm, and children were cheaper.

The Wise Masters, desperate and without time to think, handed over all the slaves they owned. Daemon profited immensely without lifting a finger. Gathering wealth and absorbing skilled individuals were the true benefits of war. Tyrosh, lagging behind, needed both the money and talent.

Once stripped of these resources, Yunkai would quickly decline and no longer pose a threat. After a prolonged exchange, the best slaves were almost all taken. In the end, more than 60% of the Wise Masters paid the head tax and retreated to the pyramid with their remaining slaves.

Daemon glanced at the few hundred Wise Masters who failed to buy their lives. Without mercy, he commanded, “Dracarys, Caraxes!”

Roar!

The Wise Masters had no time to escape. The Blood Wyrm pounced on them, raining down scarlet Dragonfire.

“No! I curse you!”

“It's hot, it's burning...”

The Wise Masters wailed in agony. Those who tried to flee were killed by the surrounding soldiers, while the rest perished in the Dragonfire. Daemon, with calm eyes, looked at a silver-haired, dark-skinned sailor and ordered, “Use House Velaryon's ship to send this money and slaves back to Tyrosh.”

Addam frowned and said nervously, “Prince, this is a time of war...”

The fleet could not be withdrawn for private use during wartime.

“Don't make me repeat myself, bastard!” Daemon's tone was sharp and warning. “Send the goods back, or I will send a message to the Sea Snake to get up from his bed and come to Slaver's Bay.”

He then shook his blood-stained cloak. Caraxes, nibbling on a charred corpse, slowly left with the rider.

Addam's eyes were dull as he ordered his companions to follow Daemon's instructions. As he turned, he glanced at the back of the scarlet dragon, concealing a hint of envy.

The remaining slaves of Yunkai were in tears, worried about how they would survive the days ahead.

...

On the other side, in the Dothraki Great Grass Sea, the sun hung high in the sky, and a light breeze dispersed the lingering stench of horse manure. The vast grasslands stretched endlessly, like a thick green blanket. Horses walked on it, blending seamlessly into the blue sky and verdant expanse.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

A Dothraki tribe moved across the grass, leaving a winding, muddy trail in their wake. This nomadic tribe of over 10,000 people looked pale and hungry, clearly not in a prosperous state. At the head of the group rode their stern-looking Khal, Rao Khal, a man with a waist-length braid adorned with bells.

“Khal, the wagon wheels have sunk into the mud again.” A scar-faced Bloodrider rode up, impatience evident in his tone.

Rao Khal glanced back, observing the tribal warriors dismounting to push the cart. He said in a low voice, “The Mother of Mountains is right in front of us. I will ask the priestess to divine the weather.”

The Great Grass Sea, a vast and fertile region in central Essos, had a warm climate but often unpredictable rainy seasons.

The scar-faced Bloodrider scowled and gruffly responded, “We should have gone straight to Slaver's Bay. Going to Qohor was a waste of time.” The lack of sheep villages along the way meant they couldn't gather enough supplies, leaving many in the tribe starving.

Rao Khal 's expression remained stoic as his hand moved towards the curved knife at his waist, his gaze deadly.

The Bloodrider continued to complain but fell silent under the Khal's threatening stare. In Dothraki tradition, the authority of the Khal was inviolable. Offending him left only one option: a fight to the death.

“Push the cart out of the mud and find a place with water to rest.” Rao Khal commanded in a low voice.

“Yes, Khal.” The scar-faced Bloodrider dared not disobey and retreated reluctantly to carry out the order.

...

Before long, it was noon. The Dothraki tribe found a water source and dismounted from their horses, their spirits lifting.

Hoo- A shadow swept over the stream, carrying the stench of sheep offal away. Rao Khal suddenly looked up, his pupils constricting.

“Roar!”

A huge dragon with a hideous appearance and muddy scales flew overhead.

“Dragon!” Rao Khal stammered.

A silver-haired figure on the back of the dragon tilted its head. Rao Khal's sharp eyesight caught the glint of silver hair reflecting the sunlight.

“Go away, Sheepstealer.”

Aemond looked down and gave a small smile.

“Roar!”

Sheepstealer, drawn to the scent of sheep, hesitated to leave.

“Hmm?” Aemond's single eye narrowed.

After a moment, Sheepstealer reluctantly obeyed and flew away. Aemond snorted, casting a final, covetous glance at the Dothraki horde.

Swish! With a flick of his wrist, a one-handed sword was unsheathed. The blade was slender, covered in the rippling patterns unique to Valyrian steel, and featured a long, narrow blood groove down the center. The hilt, a full foot long, resembled a dragon's tail, adorned with black scales and feathers that seemed almost alive. The blade was shaped like a ferocious dragon's head, modeled after the withered head of Sheepstealer. The entire sword symbolized a dragon snatching food from its mouth.

Celine huddled in his arms, looking very pale, especially when she saw the sword.

Aemond paid no attention to her, instead examining the sword carefully with his one eye, muttering to himself, “The craftsmen of Qohor are truly worthy of their reputation.”

The Crab Claw of House Celtigar had vanished, replaced by a Valyrian steel sword from House Targaryen - Scarlet Forger.