Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Even though the Dragon Queen returned to camp at dusk with a large bounty of prey, the three envoys from the Windblown did not get to meet her immediately.

However, Meris and Denzo were not anxious, as the silver-haired queen had already stated the night before that she would make time during the evening to meet with the Windblown envoys.

Disguised as an envoy from the Windblown, Zidane, the leader of the "New Second Sons," was also in no hurry. He casually observed his surroundings while muttering to himself.

"Ha! She boasts of a 200,000-strong army, but in reality, it's only 52,000. That woman sure knows how to exaggerate." He sipped his carrot and barley porridge, smirking as he spoke to his two companions.

Their guards had not starved them. There was an ample supply of porridge, and each of them had been given half a pound of roasted wild boar hind leg.

"Hmph, you don't need to count the campfires' smoke columns. The Mother of Dragons never intended to hide her numbers. The merchants in Astapor have already reported her military strength to the slave masters," Denzo sneered.

"You don't understand," Zidane shook his head with a sly grin. "Of course, I know her troop count. But think about it—her army has marched 600 miles in ten days with no significant losses. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"Tell me what? No matter how many losses she suffers, just her three dragons alone make it impossible for us to sally forth from the city. Have you already forgotten yesterday's lesson?" Denzo shook his head.

"Heh, who are we?" Zidane sneered.

Denzo was stunned, unsure of what he meant.

"We are mercenaries, not Ghiscari, and certainly not Wise Masters or Great Masters. Do you really think the Windblown will die defending Yunkai?"

"Are you suggesting we join the Mother of Dragons?" Meris, who had remained silent, was now visibly shocked.

"Of course..." Zidane deliberately drew out his words, then smirked. "No! No matter how many times the Mother of Dragons wins, she will eventually lose.

"But seeing how her 50,000-strong army remains disciplined and spirited after such a long march, I doubt Yunkai will be her last battle.

"Since that's the case, we need to have a contingency plan."

"Let's cooperate between our two companies, secretly secure a few large ships, and if things turn sour—heh heh heh..."

This time, the two Windblown officers did not refute Zidane's words. Instead, they fell into deep thought.

—Running away when the battle is lost was practically a mercenary tradition; stating it outright was hardly shameful.

Around ten in the evening, the entire camp was quiet. The ground, illuminated by flickering campfires, looked like a reflection of a starry night sky.

Led by the Unsullied, Meris and Denzo entered a wooden palace, where they saw the silver-haired queen reclining on a wooden chair, resting her chin on her hand.

She was still clad in her gray-black full-body armor, though she had removed her helmet, revealing a delicate, youthful face beneath her silken silver hair. The flickering torchlight cast faint red glimmers over her strands.

The Mother of Dragons was indeed young, as beautiful as the rumors said. Her gaze was clear and calm, without fanaticism, though there was unmistakable fatigue in her eyes.

The moment Denzo stepped into the wooden palace, he scrutinized the queen.

Since Lyra was familiar with the Windblown, the Braavosi could not pose as one of their officers—only officers were allowed to meet with Daenerys.

Thus, he waited outside the tent.

Noticing the flute at Denzo's waist and the wooden lute on his back, Daenerys sat up in surprise. "Oh? So the old swordsman is also a bard?"

Denzo bowed politely and replied warmly, "Your Grace, I am Denzo D'han, vice commander of the Windblown, here to negotiate on behalf of the Rags Prince. As you can see, I am indeed a poet—a warrior poet."

Despite his rough appearance and worn armor, the old man exuded a refined charm that made Daenerys feel at ease.

"A flute in one hand, a sword in the other—a true warrior poet!" Daenerys chuckled and patted the armrest of her chair. "I've been learning the harp from a musician recently. We should exchange notes sometime."

She wasn't lying. Since becoming queen, Daenerys had arranged not only swordsmanship training but also cultural and etiquette lessons for herself—essential noble education.

As a traveler from another world, she indeed lacked fundamental social graces of this one.

As she often said, etiquette wasn't about imposing rules on others, but about regulating one's own conduct.

She couldn't just act like some deluded fool, shouting, "I am crude, I am proud, you all must follow me!"

"If the Windblown is willing to serve Her Grace, there will be no shortage of opportunities," red-haired Lyra said with a smile.

"That is not entirely out of the question." Denzo's response took Daenerys and the others by complete surprise.

Even Daenerys was shocked. Had Zidane been present, he would have likely been left speechless—this old man, who had previously carried himself with an air of unyielding defiance, was now...

Under normal circumstances, mercenary companies almost never betrayed their employers. Otherwise, who would hire them in the future?

For example, the Second Sons, despite their long history and formidable strength, had been struggling to secure contracts for years due to the infamous reputation of their leader, "The Bastard of Titan."

So when the Ghiscari extended an invitation, they had traveled across the world from Braavos to Meereen without hesitation.

Daenerys had shown great interest in recruiting the Windblown, not only to drive a wedge between them and the Wise Masters but primarily to subtly send a few "Trojan horses" into the enemy camp.

"The Rags Prince is truly willing to abandon the darkness and embrace the light?" Daenerys asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Abandon the darkness and embrace the light?

This Dragon Queen really knew how to phrase things.

Denzo scoffed internally but maintained a gentle smile as he nodded. "The Rags Prince has admired Your Grace for a long time. He asks only for one minor favor in return, and in exchange, he will lead two thousand brothers to swear loyalty to you."

"What does he want?" Daenerys asked curiously.

"Pentos," Danzō replied seriously.

"What?" Daenerys thought she had misheard.

"If Your Grace promises to grant Pentos to our commander in the future, the Windblown will be yours," Danzō stated clearly.

"I recall that the Ragged Prince once refused the position of Prince of Pentos. Why has he changed his mind now?" Daenerys asked, puzzled.

The commander of the Windblown earned the title "Ragged Prince" for two reasons: First, he was born into a noble family of Pentos and was even elected as the city's prince thirty years ago. Second, he always wore a tattered cloak that looked like an old bedsheet, and his men affectionately called him "King of Rags."

"Does Your Grace not know about the customs of Pentos?" Danzō frowned.

"Old sir, I spent quite some time in Pentos, but I was too young back then. The most I remember is that Black Jack's on Bear Street had the cheapest grilled herring—you could fill your stomach for just a copper penny," Daenerys said with a chuckle.

Danzō's expression turned peculiar, but he nodded. "I've been to Black Jack's as well. For one more copper, you could get two cups of sour wine."

"Are you familiar with the status of the royal family in Qohor?" he asked next.

Daenerys immediately caught on and said in disbelief, "I often saw the Prince of Pentos patrolling the streets—a long procession, three grand chamberlains in splendid robes leading the way, each carrying a golden balance scale, an iron sword, and a silver whip.

I was told these three items symbolize the prince's authority over trade, war, and justice in Pentos. Every New Year's Day, the prince even…"

She hesitated, blushing slightly.

Every New Year's Day, Pentos would offer two virgins—one to the god of the land, the other to the god of the sea—and the prince, acting as the gods' representative, would be the first to take them.

When Viserys told his sister about this, his face was full of envy, jealousy, and resentment. He even said, If Westeros had such customs, Rhaegar taking Lyanna Stark wouldn't have caused such an uproar.

Clearing her throat, Daenerys asked, "But Pentos doesn't seem like a place where the prince has lost power?"

"It's all for show." Danzō sighed before explaining, "Pentos, like Dragonstone, was originally a Valyrian trading outpost ruled by Valyrian nobles. The prince was chosen from forty noble families and was nominally the king of Pentos.

But after Valyria fell, the city's power structure shifted. Absolute might—the Valyrian dragons—was replaced by pure wealth.

And when it comes to wealth, how could the prince compete with the great merchant lords? Over the centuries, the prince became a mere figurehead… even a sacrificial offering."

"A sacrifice?" Daenerys was stunned.

"Whenever Pentos loses a war or suffers a bad harvest, its people slit the prince's throat and offer him to the gods to appease their wrath."

What the—?!

What kind of insane tradition was this?!

The seasons in this world were unpredictable. Everything was fine during the summer, but winter always came eventually.

And if winter lasted several years, how could they expect a good harvest?

Did that mean every time winter came, the prince had to lose his head?

Danzō continued, "Back then, when the previous prince was executed, our commander was chosen as his replacement. But that wasn't the kind of rule he wanted."

"I haven't even taken Yunkai yet—who knows if I'll ever have a chance to reach Pentos in this lifetime?" Daenerys refused outright.

Did the Ragged Prince have a screw loose? Why would she march thousands of miles to seize a trade city just for him?

"You wouldn't need to lead an army to Pentos," Danzō seemed to anticipate her thoughts and explained, "Pentos is in a very unique situation.

A hundred years ago, during the Slave Wars, Pentos sacrificed four princes in a single year, yet they still couldn't defeat Braavos.

In the end, the magistrates of Pentos had no choice but to negotiate peace. In addition to abolishing slavery, they were forced to sign a treaty limiting their military strength.

First, Pentos cannot have more than twenty warships.

Second, Pentos cannot hire mercenaries or sign city defense contracts with free companies.

Third, aside from a small city guard, Pentos cannot maintain a standing army.

So, Pentos is as fragile as a delicate maiden. Your Grace would only need to send three dragons with us, and the Windblown could easily take the city."

Seeing the eager look in Danzō's eyes, Daenerys stroked her chin and brought up an unrelated topic.

"Did Braavos really go to war just to end slavery? I recall that Illyrio's mansion had plenty of servants wearing slave collars."

"Your Grace is truly perceptive. The Ragged Prince once said that abolishing slavery was merely an excuse for Braavos to expand its influence.

Officially, there are no slaves in Pentos, but they simply go by another name: 'debt slaves.' No matter how hard they work, they can never earn enough to cover their basic needs—housing, marriage, food, raising children.

So, these so-called free people are forced to borrow money from the wealthy merchants. And to repay their debts, they have no choice but to work for the rich, endlessly toiling to pay off loans that can never be repaid."

Danzō's gaze toward Daenerys shifted, now filled with reverence and admiration.

"Your Grace is nothing like the Braavosi.

You provide every freedman with enough resources to live, land that will always belong to them, and long-term, interest-free royal loans.

The freed slaves may not fully understand, but the Code you created offers immense protection for the common people.

A well-structured legal system ensures that every new freedman can live a truly free and prosperous life.

You are the true liberator of slaves!"

(End of Chapter)

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