Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

"Manpower losses: Hadare of the Nachian family was killed in action, 285 Unsullied were lost, 192 slave soldiers were lost, about 10 yards of the city wall collapsed and repairs are being organized. Our defensive equipment losses: two catapults, three scorpion crossbows, six oil nozzles and four oil cauldrons... A total of 352 enemies were eliminated." The subordinate officer reported the losses.

"In addition to the collapsed city walls, we also need to organize slaves to build street forts inside the city walls."

"I'll get on it right away!"

"The Unsullied Hundreds of Hadarei have been split up, as have the heavily damaged Unsullied Hundreds, to supplement the less damaged Hundreds. Don't worry about ownership; I'll talk to the Council of the Great Lords."

"I've got it!" The subordinate officer hurriedly took out a whiteboard and wrote down the commander's orders.

"Of the enemies we eliminated, how many were killed by arrows and javelins? How many were killed in close combat? Also, I noticed that some people on the city walls used catapults and scorpion crossbows to fight back today. How effective were they? Were there any differences between them and the enemy's siege equipment? Where exactly were they manifested?" Sizdala asked.

"This, this... please give me some time, I'll go and do the statistics right away!" the subordinate officer said in a flustered manner.

"Ginas, relax. You've done well, much better than many of the outstanding peers from the Great Lord families I've met. I just want to use the numbers to assess the enemy's combat strength," Sizdala said, looking at his subordinate officer who was only four years younger than him.

"Thank you so much for your feedback! I'll go and recalculate the statistics right away!"

The characteristic of young newcomers is that they get incredibly excited after just a few words, and a single encouraging word can motivate them to complete a great deal of work. Thinking about this, Sizdala suddenly snapped back to reality; he himself was only in his early thirties…

"This damned war!" Sizidala cursed fiercely. He walked to the city wall, looking at the enemy's encampment in the distance, silently calculating his next course of action.

……

The same thing was being done in Reed's camp.

"Even though the city walls are damaged, the city still has a complete defense. There are archers on the roofs of the buildings on the streets, as well as many holes and tunnels. There is a place to hide almost every few dozen yards. The Unsullied did not form a familiar square formation, but instead engaged in a melee that they were not good at. They threw spears first, then used shields and swords to get close and fight each other, as if they wanted to..." The chainhammer soldier commander had a blood-soaked bandage on his arm and tried to organize his words.

"The Uller family bastards shared their experience of dodging dragonfire with the Meereenians," Damon concluded.

"Not surprising. Dorn has been burned for so many years, they're quite experienced. Tell me about the siege equipment," Reed said.

Damon glanced at Reid with surprise; this foreign dragon king seemed to know a great deal about the history of the Targaryen family.

"The counterweight boxes of Earthquake Daughter, War Wolf, and Bad Neighbor are damaged, but they can be repaired tonight. The support frame of City Raider was damaged by the counter-attack stone projectiles; the rocker arm of Fury broke due to excessive firing; these two will take two days to repair," the chief engineer reported.

"It seems we've suffered significant losses with our siege equipment. But the Meereen casualties must be even greater, right?"

"I've never been good at counting, sir," the chain hammer captain grinned, "but I can say that in hand-to-hand combat, each of us has killed at least one person! When the chain hammer is swung, almost no weapon can stop it!"

Damon frowned; his tone reminded him of a certain annoying guy.

"Shall we ride dragons and burn a bunch of people tomorrow?" Damon suggested.

"No, fortify the camp!"

"?"

Reid's eyes sharpened, and he slowly said, "I roughly understand the Meereenians' intentions. The city's defenses are well-prepared for a long-term resistance; they're very tenacious. They're trying to tie us down and prevent us from escaping. This is a tactic to create an opportunity for another force."

"You mean the Meereenians have reinforcements?"

"No one wants to participate in a battle that seems hopeless and has little chance of winning. Although Meereen's defenses are actually insufficient to guarantee victory, they still choose to hold on. Clearly, they see some hope, which I reckon is external reinforcements from outside our sight."

"This is just speculation!"

Reed nodded: "But it's also a situation we have to consider. If we only focus on the battles within the city and ignore the external threats, we could very well find ourselves in a passive position."

"Are we going to have to deal with enemies on two fronts at the same time?"

"Compared to the previous state of confusion, I now feel much more relaxed. After all, a hidden enemy is more unsettling."

Reid leaned back in his chair with a relaxed air, even having the leisure to pour himself a beer, before slowly saying, "Warfare, in the end, is about meeting force with force and responding to challenges. Today's probing attack shows a good exchange ratio. With the strategic initiative and superior troop quality, what do I have to fear from any tricks or schemes? We'll fortify our positions and fight a war of attrition, responding to all changes with unchanging tactics, without resorting to any surprises or schemes. We'll attack the city methodically and defend in an orderly fashion. As long as our supplies and camps are intact, I have plenty of troops to wear them down!"

Damon stopped arguing. It was just a way to extort some aid; it wasn't something he would benefit from, so he didn't care.

······

As night deepened, the camp of Reid was brightly lit. On the other side of the city wall, the city of Meereen was similarly dimly lit. Sizdala stood on the city wall, gazing at the distant enemy camp, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

"Still no scouts or messengers returning?" Sizdala asked.

"Yes, sir. The enemy cavalry is very formidable; they can draw their bows and shoot arrows from galloping horses, accurately hitting targets 40 yards away. All the men we send out have been intercepted and killed. Except for the waterways, all land routes have been blocked," Genus replied respectfully.

This is the helplessness of the defending side: the battlefield is obscured, information is blocked, and many decisions can only be made by guessing.

Sizdala nodded, turned and looked into the city, where lights flickered, like the intertwining of hope and fear in the hearts of countless people.

"Arrange the sentry posts for shifts. In addition, organize officers to patrol every 15 minutes. If any slave soldiers are found dozing off, execute them immediately as a warning to others."

"My lord, why not send the Unsullied to stand guard on the city walls? Wouldn't you sleep more soundly that way?"

"Elite troops should not be displayed in the open as expendable supplies. They should be like a sword hidden in its sheath, not revealing their sharpness, but playing their greatest role when the enemy exposes their weaknesses."

"Your subordinate is dull-witted."

"You did the right thing. If you don't understand something, ask. Don't let doubts and hesitation affect your execution. Sometimes, thinking more can help us win battles."

"Yes, General." Genus straightened his chest a little more.

After giving instructions on the defense, Xizidala walked down the city wall looking tired.

"Pick it up now! You stupid pig!" the slave overseer yelled, brandishing his whip and lashing it at the exhausted slave.

The thin slave had just scattered the bricks used to repair the city wall onto the ground.

The slave winced in pain, curling up and clutching his head tightly with both hands, trying to avoid the overseer's whipping. The surrounding slaves, however, dared not stop their work, continuing their hauling timidly, afraid to make a sound, lest they incur the overseer's wrath at any moment.

Sizidala descended the city wall and, upon seeing this scene, stopped, silently observing the overseers and slaves, a hint of displeasure in his eyes.

"Stop," Sizidala finally spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable authority.

The overseer paused, stopped whipping, and turned to look at Sizidala.

"My light, this slave is too lazy and always makes mistakes. He has to be punished!" the overseer argued.

Ignoring the overseer's words, Sizidala walked over to the thin slave and glanced at his injuries. The slave's body trembled slightly, his eyes filled with fear and gratitude.

"Didn't you eat enough?" Sizdala asked softly.

"Only gruel, my light. It can fill me up halfway, but I get hungry again very quickly..."

How long have you been working continuously?

The slave hesitated, his voice weak: "Except for the fighting this afternoon, I've been working these past two days, my light."

Sizdala stood up and said to the overseer, "Let them rest!"

"But sir, the task of repairing the city walls..."

"If your master questions you, just say it was me who ordered it."

The slave overseer bowed humbly to show his obedience.

Sizdala walked past the overseers and kneeling slaves with a blank expression.

Mounting on horseback, my gaze swept over the slaves still toiling away, and a wave of emotion washed over me. These slaves, their eyes devoid of light, only showing numbness and exhaustion, as if their souls had been worn away by endless labor.

He reined in his horse and said to one of his attendants, "Go and tell them that from today onwards, the slaves will be guaranteed at least two hours of rest, allowing them time to eat and sleep."

The attendant paused for a moment, then nodded in agreement and turned to run off to relay the order.

The order was quickly relayed, and the slaves were initially taken aback, then erupted in a low cheer. Although the sound was not loud, it was exceptionally clear in the somber atmosphere.

Sizidala, however, paid no heed and remained lost in thought on horseback.

The wise men of his family had taught him that the greatness of Meereen was forged by a great Lord, and also by countless slaves. Slaves were the great Lord's most valuable asset, and the great Lord was the key to the slaves' ability to generate value.

In its early days, Giscali had no slaves. The city-state's output was only enough to feed itself and could not cope with famine, disasters, and wars. The city-state was weak and in danger of collapsing.

Until the birth of the "great man" Graztan.

"Those who have done good for Giscali should be given a full meal; those who are close to Giscali should be treated normally; and those who are distant from Giscali should be treated with double the amount of food they receive."

Perhaps it was unfair, yet it was also fair. All of this allowed the wise to focus on devising strategies; the warriors to have ample weaponry and training; the citizens loyal to the city-state to work diligently; and those who were lazy, disaffected, or even turned their backs on the city-state were driven to undertake the most arduous labor, supporting the most useful and valuable group to the city-state with minimal consumption and relatively abundant output. This enabled the wise men and warriors of the Giskali to focus on higher pursuits, those of their original masters, whom the books describe as benevolent, wise, and great.

Such a system is inherently cruel and ruthless, but it did indeed drive the prosperity of Gugiskali. Slavery, like a double-edged sword, represents both exploitation and oppression on one hand, and order and progress on the other.

A single slave's labor in a workshop or field could generate enough surplus to support one or two people. The surplus of millions of slaves, however, fueled commercial exchange, sustained a large and elite army, became storable wealth, and transformed into magnificent architecture…

As the light of Giskali spread, countless criminals, prisoners of war, barbarians, uncivilized people, and citizens of rival city-states were transformed into slaves, contributing their value to Giskali. Thus, city-states became kingdoms, kingdoms became empires, and the first hegemony of Essos—the glorious achievements of ancient Giskali—were born.

Until, he encountered someone riding a dragon...

History always seems to repeat itself, and today Meereen is facing off against the Dragon King once again...

Hizdala also heeded the wise man's advice: slaves are not lifeless tools; they too possess flesh and blood, emotions, and thoughts. Excessive exploitation will only breed resentment, which will not only reduce work efficiency but may even incite rebellion. Slave owners, in addition to using slaves for labor, should also bear the responsibility of caring for their lives, encompassing all aspects of birth, aging, sickness, and death.

They should be provided with necessary food, helped to form families, given suitable work for the elderly, women, and children, and ensured that slaves unable to work receive proper care and support. In this way, able-bodied slaves can maintain their efficient working capacity and create greater value for the city.

Now, slaves are the ones charging ahead, repairing city walls, producing weapons and tools, growing crops, and never getting rest. Some of their actions don't even qualify as exploitation; they are purely extravagance and amusement.

Among the various powerful families who live in a drunken stupor, how many people still play the roles of managers and protectors? How many can be called warriors and sages? How many can be called wise, benevolent, and great?

Too many responsibilities that should have been borne by the masters fell upon the slaves. An occasional act of kindness or a meager reward was enough to fill them with gratitude and tears of appreciation. These slaves participated in brutal battles and endured arduous labor, yet ultimately they only protected the whips that lashed above their heads…

"I am one of those whips too..." Sizidala's smile was complicated.