Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

The Night Fury's wings tore through the leaden sky of Slaver's Bay, the salt frost clinging to its scales being swept away by the fierce winds high above. Reed lay prone on the dragon saddle, looking down at the trade route that snaked like a giant python.

In the distance, the outline of Meereen was already faintly visible—the city-state standing on the bay.

Black dust rose from the end of the trade route, mixed with mournful cries and bursts of fire, and entered his field of vision.

"Woo~!" The mournful sound of the horn made Reed frown.

He patted Night Fury on the neck: "Go take a look."

Night Fury let out a deep roar and quickened the flapping of its wings. Soon Reed spotted a small group of people fighting in the distance.

This was a grain transport caravan from Meereen. The canvas of twenty wagons had been ignited by rockets, and orange flames licked at the wheat in the sacks, the smell of burning filling the air. Dozens of figures in tattered black robes were hidden behind the sand dunes on both sides, their short bows constantly firing arrows wrapped in flaming material. The eerie bronze masks immediately reminded Reed of a familiar name—the Son of the Invisible Banshee.

"Throw the pitch cans! Burn their wagons!" A hoarse shout came from behind the dunes. Several dark figures used thick hemp ropes to pull on burning ceramic pitch cans, swung them around several times, and then suddenly let go. The pitchers, trailing smoke and fire, flew through the air towards the soldiers escorting the convoy.

The Meereen soldiers guarding the wagons, shields raised in a sparse formation, fiercely protected the grain carts. Most were strong men recently liberated from slave camps, armed only with makeshift wooden shields, spears, and scimitars captured from the city's garrison and slave soldiers; they couldn't even muster a decent longbow. A pitch can shattered against the shields, scalding pitch splattering everywhere and igniting a fire billowing thick black smoke. Several soldiers, unable to dodge in time, were instantly engulfed in flames, their piercing screams shattering the dust-filled air.

The black-robed figures behind the dunes seized the opportunity, raining arrows down on the exposed soldiers. A young soldier, struck in the chest, staggered and fell to his knees, his spear clattering to the ground. He struggled to his feet, but another arrow struck him in the neck; blood gushed out, and he quickly fell silent. The remaining soldiers gritted their teeth, pressing their shields against each other, trying to regain their footing, but the thick smoke from the burning asphalt blurred their vision and made breathing difficult.

"Hold the wagons! The grain can't be lost! Our families are waiting for help!" The captain's hoarse roar was drowned out by the whooshing sound of rockets piercing the air. He swung his sword, felling a banshee's son who lunged at him, but a rocket pierced his own shoulder blade, blood instantly soaking through his coarse armor. He staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his face, his gaze sweeping over the falling soldiers, and he gritted his teeth, shattering a single morsel: "Hold on! The cavalry will be here soon after the warning!"

Many soldiers were pale-faced, their hands trembling as they held their weapons, yet they still mustered the courage to hold their shields firmly against their bodies.

Rockets and asphalt canisters continued to rain down, gradually creating gaps in the defenses. Several banshee children seized the opportunity to slip in, slashing the reins with their swords, startling the packhorses into rearing up and neighing. The wagons overturned with a crash, scattering golden wheat grains across the ground, which were quickly engulfed in flames. The soldiers, their eyes bloodshot, charged forward like madmen to engage the enemy in fierce combat.

Just then, a voice rang out from mid-air: "Dragon Flame!"

"Hiss~!" A blazing dragon flame cascaded down like a dark blue waterfall, precisely engulfing the banshee's son behind the sand dune.

Those figures hidden in the shadows were engulfed by the dragon flames and struggled in vain in the sea of ​​fire. After a short while, their screams stopped abruptly, and the bronze masks turned into molten copper in the flames. A few lucky ones who were not affected by the dragon flames scrambled and fled into the depths of the desert.

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from afar. Amidst billowing dust, dozens of horse archers galloped in, their longbows drawn to their fullest extent, arrows piercing the hearts of the fleeing men. The horse archers spurred their horses forward, dismounted, and saluted Reid on the dragon's back.

Reid leaped off the dragon's back, his cloak sweeping over the still-burning embers, and walked towards the captain, covered in dust and with arrows lodged in his shoulder. Upon seeing him, the captain immediately knelt on one knee, his voice filled with joy and fear: "Your Majesty the Dragon King! You've returned! The gods have blessed you, you've finally returned!"

"Get up and speak." Reid's gaze swept over the burned carriage and the corpses scattered on the ground, his brow furrowed. "What happened?"

The captain stood up, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and said with a bitter expression, "Your Highness, we had no choice. The food reserves in Meereen will only last for half a month. If we don't requisition more food, the people in the city will have to eat tree bark. This food was transferred from our Caliph's warehouse, but we never expected that the son of the harpy would still target it."

"The son of the harpy?" Reid asked again, confirming.

"Yes, that's what they call themselves. Their members are slave owners from Astapor and Yunkai, as well as some former great lords of Meereen who held a grudge after being pardoned by you..." The captain glanced at Reid cautiously.

Reed didn't seem to care: "The food shortage has reached this point?"

"Your Highness, you are unaware of this," the captain sighed, "Meereen's land is inherently barren, severely salinized, with very little arable land. Since you conquered this place and liberated us slaves, the slave owners of Astapor and Yunkai have been seething with hatred. They have joined forces to block all trade routes, preventing a single grain of food from entering and a single piece of our goods from leaving. In addition, many granaries were burned down during the previous slave owners' rebellion, and now the people in the city are even struggling to get enough to eat, even black bread mixed with bran."

"Bandage it up and then get back to what you were doing."

Reed was silent for a moment, then looked up at the city-state standing on the shores of Slaver's Bay in the distance. He mounted the dragon's back, patted the Nightshade's neck, and said, "Let's go back to Meereen."

Night Fury took flight, its massive wings whipping up clouds of dust as it flew toward the pyramids.

The closer one gets to Meereen, the clearer the city's outline becomes. The pyramids where the former slave owners lived still stand majestically, the marble-paved streets are clean and tidy, and the columns are carved with ancient Giskari totems; in stark contrast, the slave quarters in the south of the city are crowded with low mud houses, sewage flows freely in the alleys, and the air is filled with a sour, rotten smell.

The guards at the city gate, clad in iron armor, their halberds gleaming coldly in the twilight, gazed at the dragon descending from the sky, their faces filled with awe and excitement.

Inside the council chamber of the Great Pyramid, candlelight shone brightly. The towering dome was painted with a star chart of Giscali, and faded tapestries hung on the walls, depicting the naval battles and conquests of Slaver's Bay. Saladin, the Caliph, and Wolf, the three vassals, were already waiting there. Upon seeing Reed enter, the three bowed in unison.

"Your Highness."

Reed gestured for them to rise, then walked straight to the throne and sat down. It was a chair made of ebony and bronze, with winged dragons carved on the armrests in the image of the Night Fury. It was unclear who had arranged it.

He glanced at the three men: "How has Meereen been during the month I was gone? Saladin, you go first."

Saladin stepped forward and said in a deep voice, "Your Highness, the lives of ordinary people in the city are generally stable. The freed slaves have been allocated houses and land. The young and strong are either involved in various production activities or have joined the garrison, while the elderly, women, and children are weaving and making pottery in workshops. Overall, things are relatively stable. However…" He paused, his tone becoming increasingly grave, "some slaves have grown up in the homes of slave owners since childhood and have not worked for a long time. They are simply unable to adapt to the life of free people. Even worse, some have gone to the city hall to petition, crying and shouting that they would rather be sold back to slave owners, saying that they can gain respect, recognition, and realize their value with slave owners."

"Who are these people?"

"Scholars, painters, musicians, sculptors, and some skilled craftsmen. Most of them served as clerks, teachers, advisors, managers, or sycophants in the homes of slave owners. Now, although they are free, they lack basic skills to make a living and can hardly earn even their daily bread. City officials tried to arrange for them to copy documents or teach children to read, but they felt that such work was "below their dignity" and preferred to stay in empty houses and starve rather than give up their so-called "respectability."

"Foolish!" Reed tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest. "Hundreds of years of shackles have softened their bones. Tell them that freedom is not a comfortable life that comes from doing nothing, but dignity earned with one's own hands. Those who can't even earn a loaf of bread have no right to talk about status."

"Effective immediately, the city hall's food relief for these petitioners will be suspended, forcing them to work. In addition, the jobs assigned to them will be adjusted to match their knowledge and abilities, allowing them to contribute value, and their compensation can also be increased."

"Your Highness, what if they still refuse?" Saladin asked hesitantly.

"Then let them go hungry." Reed's voice turned colder. "If they still refuse to cooperate or even harbor ill intentions, prepare a list and give it to the Caliph."

"May I ask, sir, is that what you mean?" the Caliph's sinister voice cut in.

"You'd better forget what I'm about to say once you leave this door: that's what I mean!" Reed said with a grim face. In this era of widespread illiteracy and rampant ignorance, knowledge and skilled individuals were far more lethal than swords, and he had no intention of aiding the enemy.

The Caliph smiled, bowed, and replied, "Yes, sir."

Saladin then reported: "The second issue is the food shortage in Meereen. The city itself has a weakness in agricultural production. Apart from the meager arable land along the Skazardan River, the only food crops are olives on the hillsides, which are far from enough to feed the nearly 1.2 million people."

"Meereen used to maintain its trade balance by relying on trade hubs and slave exports, using trade to fill the food gap. But now, the surrounding slave-owning city-states are blockading us. You should have noticed our practice of diverting food from Caesar. Although Caesar's food supply can barely keep people from starving, it is not a long-term solution. A city with ruling value should be self-sufficient and productive."

"The specific countermeasures are in the second document, which includes land reclamation and improvement plans, agricultural technology transformation, and related decrees to encourage public participation in agricultural production. I need you to review them in detail and give specific instructions. In addition, this is only what can be done in terms of domestic affairs. It requires a huge amount of manpower, material resources, and financial resources. The investment is large and the results are slow. In the best-case scenario, it can only fill 20% to 30% of the food shortage. At present, the most important thing is to achieve a military victory to break the current blockade against us and restore trade."

"I will keep an eye on it. Also, in less than ten days, ships from the Valerian will dock, carrying the supplies and provisions we need. We will need to send five thousand soldiers to accept the Sea Serpents' employment. In addition, I need you to prepare a batch of goods that can be used for trade with the Valerian, such as spices, jewelry, copperware, furs, olive oil, etc. You will be in charge of the liaison, and Wolf will assist you."

"Yes, sir." Saladin said, "Then the third matter, more troublesome than the shortage of food and the advance of the allied forces, is the religious unrest in the city."

"Ever since the harpy statues of the slave owners were smashed, Meereen has become an arena for all kinds of gods. Those freed slaves, clutching their freedom, felt like they were holding a handful of sand with nowhere to put it, and could only turn to the embrace of religion."

"For generations they were chained, and their physical suffering had long made them yearn for salvation in the afterlife; now that the chains are broken, their empty hearts need an anchor. The warmth of fellow believers in the same faith allows them to find a sense of security in unfamiliar freedom; not to mention the 'equality' and 'gifts' in the doctrines, which perfectly fill the gap in their identity from 'talking tools' to 'human beings.'"

"The followers of the Three-Headed God slaughter goats as sacrifices in the alleyways of the slums; the priests of the Black Goat search far and wide for willing sacrifices, claiming they can bless the livestock with abundant fatness; the followers of the Night Lion God, wielding scepters made of animal bones, shout 'The Lion's Roar cleanses sins' in the square, repeatedly clashing with the monks of the Seven Gods; the priests of the Old Gods guard the only sacred tree outside the city that resembles a weirwood tree, beating the displaced people who cut it down until they were bloodied; the priests of the Lord of Light go even further, waving burning torches through the streets, shouting 'Other gods are all illusions, only fire can purify the city,' and last night they even set fire to an altar of the Three-Headed God. In addition, there is the hedonism of the Goddess of Lust, the reclusiveism of the Moon Singers, and three days ago, the garrison even reported that someone was carving a thousand-faced statue..."

"If things continue like this, we'll lose our composure even before the Astapor coalition attacks," Saladin said with an undeniable urgency. "My suggestion is to establish a dominant faith to hold the people's hearts together and serve as an effective supplement to our ruling power. We cannot allow these religious groups to siphon off our hard-won secular power and the manpower and resources we have accumulated."