Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 113 Red Dragon Rice Cake
"Go get something to eat yourself!"

"Gah..."

With a mournful howl, the red dragon turned around a meter away from the lamb, and the black dragon Haron suddenly turned around and let out a sharp threat.

The red dragon was startled and immediately did a somersault, running back wildly, wobbling like a wronged penguin, and hugging Rahalo's leg tightly.

“Poor little thing,” Daenerys’ eyes crinkled into crescent moons as she smiled, “you need to give it a name too.”

“Migo,” Rahalo looked at the red dragon, remembering someone, and said in a deep voice, “her name is Migo. Mili saved my life, and I will save the lives of her people.”

“Migo,” Daenerys repeated, nodding in agreement, “is perfect for it.”

"Haron! If you dare bully Migo, I'll bully your mother!" Rahalo kicked Migo away, yelled, and pounced back onto the bed.

Migo watched as Rahalo and Daenerys were busy and paid no attention to it. It let out a helpless whimper, then suddenly spread its wings, its transparent, delicate skin shimmering with a ruby-like light.

With a powerful push from its thin legs, it actually flew up, flapped a few times, and landed steadily on Laharo's forehead!
The panting in the room stopped.

The two of them widened their eyes instantly.

"By the gods!" Daenerys exclaimed, "It can fly!"

Lahalo was also stunned. The most cowardly red dragon was actually the first one to be able to fly!

Migo spread its wings and flapped them a few times, with an arrogant face, as if to say: Isn't it time to give this great master some meat?
"Migo will definitely become the strongest one," Dani exclaimed sincerely.

...

Elizabeth and Doria used hot towels to wash and dress Rahalo and Daenerys, while Vera draped Valyrian armor over Rahalo and tied a scimitar around his waist.

"Kao, Jorah is waiting for you outside."

"Okay. Go buy me some oysters." Three times the physical exertion, three times the work, I'm a bit weak, I need to replenish my energy.

"it is good."

Rahalo strode through the corridor, with the red dragon Migo perched on his shoulder, looking around curiously.

The floor is paved with pure white marble, and the walls are lined with intricately carved stone pillars, with mosaic murals in the center of the pillars.

There is a fountain in the courtyard, with an elegant female diva statue holding a seashell, from which water flows out. A ray of sunlight shines down, making the water droplets crystal clear.

The reception hall is a semi-circular hall with a dome supported by twelve stone pillars. The dome is decorated with blue mosaic patterns depicting the sea god.

Jorah Mormont stood there waiting, his thick, wispy bangs gleaming, and knelt on one knee to greet Rahalo as he arrived.

Looking up, he saw the red dragon on Rahalo's shoulder and was momentarily stunned. He unconsciously took a half step back, his face showing both fear and awe.

Migo noticed Jorah's gaze, shrank back into Laharo's hair. "You can't see me, you can't see me."

“This is…” Jorah swallowed hard.

"Her name is Migo."

Dragons have been good friends of humans since ancient times, so it's reasonable and logical for them to be kind to humans, even if they are a little socially awkward.

Yes, it is like that.

Everyone thinks that way; anyone who doesn't, just kill them!
Thinking of this, Rahalo couldn't help but reveal a kind smile.

Jorah slowly knelt down, this time not as a courtesy, but as submission.

"Kao, people still alive have never seen the age of dragons. I never thought I would have the honor of witnessing the resurrection of a legendary creature."

“Get up, Ser Jorah,” Rahalo gestured for him to rise, then found a chair and sat down, while Migo flew onto the back of the chair. “What do you need?”

Jorah stood up, his gaze fixed on the red dragon. "Illyrio, Simon, and Eklis are dead, and the dock explosion killed three more. The seats haven't been filled yet, and with me, the council only has thirty-five people."

Has the parliament set a quorum requirement?

Jorah thought for a moment, "No, not at all."

“That’s settled then.” “Understood.” Jorah agreed, then asked, “What about the assets of the three governors?”

"How do you want to handle this?"

“No one dares to make a move for now; they are all waiting for your decision,” Jorah said. “Those three men come from large families with many wives and children and substantial wealth.”

Rahalo paused for a moment, then tapped his fingers on the armrest. Dividing family property and causing families to break apart—it's easy to do but hard to talk about.

He's past the early stages; it's not the time to just grab money anymore. Power and reputation are more important than money.

No emperor would rob his ministers of their money. Even if he were to rob them, he would have to be tactful and discreet. He couldn't be too blatant in his pursuit of favors.

The governor's refusal to use the knife and fork first was a deliberate attempt to make him the bad guy.

Since that's the case, let's drag it out and see who can't hold back first. Even if they make the first move, the biggest piece of the pie will definitely be left to them.
Jorah nodded, then added, "Khao, in the last war, Karasa was too far from Pentos to be able to send reinforcements in time. Shouldn't we conscript soldiers?"

Recruiting soldiers requires training, but Lahaluo doesn't know how to train them.

He understood the steps taken to the right and the turning right, but that was only the form, not the spirit. Behind the iron will was a belief in the ideology and loyalty to the people.

The French army during Napoleon's era was indeed devout enough, but they would often scatter and break up in the middle of a march, without even knowing why.

Feudal armies would only become more incompetent, and Lahalo had no intention of marching triumphantly across the Narrow Sea, only to find his soldiers mutinied when he turned around and saw his troops had mutinied.

The Unblemished are different; mutiny is unthinkable for them, and they are well-trained and will fight to the last man.

Lahalo now has 500,000 ransom. There are priorities; the city can be built slowly, but the army must be deployed immediately.

With the Shield of Pentos and the Unsullied, totaling seven thousand men, no one can defeat him, so he can turn his attention back to the Grasslands of Dothraki.

“Just buy the Unsullied,” he said.

"Kao knows about the Unsullied?" Jorah asked in surprise.

"Of course. That's the commodity that Astapor's slave traders are most proud of."

They buy boys around five years old, cut off their genitals, and leave nothing behind, not even the bag. One-third of the children die in the process.

They were given only one bowl a day of a paste made from earthworms, dog meat, and other meats.

They were whipped until they felt no pain, they were burned until they were no longer afraid of the fire.

The Unsullied must kill an infant to obtain the pointed bronze helmet.

There was also a trial of loyalty: each boy was given a puppy to keep him company day and night for a year. One day, the master would order them to kill their dog. Those who refused would be put to death, rather than becoming Unsullied.

A look of shock flashed in Jorah's eyes: "I really didn't know that the training of the Unsullied was so brutal..."

“They have no names; a new name is drawn each day to destroy their self-identity. The trained Immaculate are perfect machines, incapable of fear or pain, and absolutely obedient to every command. Even if ordered to commit suicide, they will do so without hesitation.”

Lahalo continued, "I'll give you 500,000 gold dragons to go to Astapor and buy 5,000 Unsullied. Jorg will accompany you. It's a long journey, so be careful."

"Yes, sir."

Jorah knelt down again and, as he left the hall, couldn't help but glance at the red dragon one last time.

After Jorah left, Migo flew off the back of the chair and landed on Rahalo's shoulder, nuzzling his cheek.

“Come here, Migo,” he said, taking a piece of jerky from his pocket and feeding it to Migo. “Long live freedom.”

He stared at the candle on the wall ten meters away, pondered for a long time, and then made a grabbing motion in the air.

The tip of the flame, as if pulled by a thread, immediately burst into flames in his direction, like a regular lighter turning into a windproof lighter, but that was all it could do.

He felt that this ability was his greatest gain.

Looking back, it might be related to Euron's magic book. He didn't understand the principles or how to enhance it. He was just a novice transmigrator who hadn't experienced anything like this before, so he was a bit confused.

However, if the Red God Priest can live for hundreds of years, it shouldn't be too difficult for him if he tries hard enough, right?
(End of this chapter)