Game of Thrones: The Black Dragon King

The Lazarin Grassland was in ruins after the great battle.

Countless warhorses lay fallen on the ground, some with arrows piercing their necks, others with their chests and bellies split open, stiff and lifeless in the mud and blood. Everywhere were charred fire marks left by the dragon's flames, charred corpses lay strewn about, their flesh curled up and carbonized, emitting a pungent, burnt smell.

Broken blades, shattered arrows, and severed braids were scattered everywhere, wisps of lingering smoke rose, and the faint groans of the wounded echoed through the deathly silent battlefield. All that could be seen was the horrific scene of burning and slaughter.

Several squads of sweeping archer cavalry dismounted and walked in the middle of the battlefield, occasionally bending down to step on the enemy's corpses to pull out arrows that were still salvageable, or offering "sympathetic quick execution" to those who were still groaning in pain but were clearly barely breathing.

The Night Fury listlessly pawed at its charred warhorse with its wings and forelimbs. Reid stood in front of it, listening to the battlefield report from the centurion of horse archers.

"Approximately four to five thousand people were killed. The fire is still burning, and some corpses are still in the fire, making it difficult to determine the exact number; more than two thousand three hundred were captured, and about three to four thousand escaped..."

"You ran so far?"

"Four-legged creatures are hard to chase, and the grass here is too dense."

"continue."

"We suffered over 500 dead, over 160 seriously wounded, and over 270 lightly wounded. We've consumed a huge amount of arrows. Even with the ones we recovered, each person can probably scrape together half a quiver..."

"We captured over five thousand warhorses, but nearly a thousand were seriously injured and had to be killed for meat. Half of these injured horses had cracked or detached hooves, and these barbarians didn't shoe them... The remaining half could continue to be used as warhorses. In addition, there were bronze and coarse iron weapons, enough to fill a dozen or so chariots, and over a thousand various horn bows and single-handed longbows..."

"Gather the troops, I'm going to take down this Dothraki's stronghold." Reed was full of fighting spirit.

"Um..." The centurion of the archer cavalry looked troubled.

"What's the problem?"

The man glanced darkly at the centaur prisoners of war who were being held separately. "Now we have more prisoners than our army. If we send men to attack the Dothraki camp, it'll take at least five days round trip. I'm afraid..."

Reid's gaze swept over the centaur prisoners of war, a dense, dark mass of heads, and he sighed. "We still didn't bring enough people..."

"Bring our men back, clean up the battlefield, and once the weapons are collected, drive these prisoners back to work." Reed's gaze swept over the fallen warhorses on the battlefield, which were now attracting flies, and a look of heartache appeared on his face: "These are all flesh and blood."

Defeated Dothraki on the battlefield fall into a state of extreme despair, and unless a new Khal rescues and leads them, they are unlikely to be recruited by other military organizations.

But getting them to work was no problem at all, and the Dothraki themselves had a tradition of eating horse meat.

On the battlefield, where weapons had been confiscated, more than two thousand Dothraki men, some with their hair cut short and others with disheveled hair, were silently harvesting horse meat.

Although the weather was hot, one night was not enough for these warhorses that had died on the battlefield to decompose to the point of being inedible.

The Dothraki prisoners used ropes to lasso the dead horse's hooves and dragged it back to their camp. Then, they skillfully used dismemberment tools such as daggers and short swords to cut open the horse's belly, take out the heart, and tear it apart. The sight of blood splattering everywhere was extremely unsettling for the horse archers guarding them.

Then these guys skillfully emptied the internal organs, skinned the horse, cut off large chunks of horse meat, squeezed out the residue from the horse intestines, and used long straws to make ropes to scrape the inner and outer walls of the horse intestines back and forth to clean them. Next, they roughly cut the horse meat into small pieces with a knife, and stuffed them into the horse intestines piece by piece, along with the fascia, blood clots, and thick fat. After stuffing out a suitable length, they tied it with straw ropes, and finally wrapped it in a winding manner around a pre-prepared crossbar, and smoked it in the thick smoke from the burning straws and horse manure.

There were no proper tools, no cleaning at all, the operators were disheveled and covered in blood, and the work environment was filled with dust and grime, with flies swarming everywhere. Everything was extremely crude.

A gentle breeze carried the pungent smell of smoke and horse meat. The steam added a slight putrid odor that mingled with the smoky aroma of oil dripping into the fire pit, making one's throat tighten.

Reed didn't approach the smoke field, but stood far away on the high slope, watching the prisoners numbly deal with the dead horses scattered all over the ground.

Red would never touch a piece of horse sausage made in such a setting.

But for the nearly 10 freed slaves of Lazarin who were about to be relocated to the Hexi region, this was an invaluable food.

It won't kill you, it can fill your stomach, and it's real meat. For the poor people who rely on various porridges made from coarse grains and beans to make a living all year round, this is already a great treasure.

"Once the work is done, take them back to Hershey to repair the city walls," Reid ordered.

"Yes, ma'am."

……

Hersey.

As soon as Reed leaped off the dragon's back, he saw a row of severed heads on spearheads in front of the city gate. At the same time, a festive commotion and noise erupted from inside the city.

Only after entering the city accompanied by Dak did he understand the reason—the first batch of three thousand freed slaves from Lazarin had already arrived.

Exclamations and cries rose and fell.

Many of them were dressed in tattered clothes, branded as slaves, and walked unsteadily, yet they could not suppress the excitement and fear in their eyes.

When organizing the immigration process, Saladin made some careful screenings and adjustments.

The first group of immigrants to arrive in Hess was mostly native to Hess and the surrounding Lazarin villages, but they were captured and sold during the Dothraki raids and city-state wars, which separated them from their families and left them destitute.

A frail, middle-aged man had just entered the city when a trembling old woman grabbed his sleeve tightly. He turned around blankly, and when he saw her wrinkled, tear-streaked face, he froze, then knelt down, embraced the old woman, and wept bitterly.

The old woman's withered hands repeatedly stroked his head, tears streaming down her deeply lined face, as she murmured Lazarin, a language Reid couldn't understand.

Not far away, a woman stared blankly at the boy who was a head taller than her, unable to recognize him. It wasn't until the boy timidly called out that she suddenly snapped out of her daze, rushed over and hugged the child tightly in her arms, crying and trembling all over.

Some people ran around the crowd frantically, shouting and asking around, only to be met with repeated shakes of the head.

The hopeful face turned deathly pale in an instant. The person leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, covering their face and sobbing silently, without even the strength to cry out loud.

Sorrow and ecstasy mingled and echoed through the city of Hershey. Some wept, some laughed, some were bewildered, and some embraced each other in silence.

But the sadness did not linger for long.

Some people took out hidden bread, cheese, and dried fruit and gave them to returning relatives and strangers; others beat simple sheepskin drums and sang ancient songs of Lazarin; children ran, jumped, and played around their long-separated relatives. The once oppressive and lifeless city gradually came back to life.

Many people pointed in Reed's direction and spoke rapidly with the local residents in a language he couldn't understand.

Immediately, some people bowed to him from a distance, their movements reverent.

Reed still couldn't understand what they were saying.

The Lazarin language of the Goat People is melodious and pastoral, quite different from the rough and violent Dothraki language. Although the two tribes are similar in appearance, they differ only slightly in height.

But if you don't understand, then you really don't understand.

Words can be more than just a means of conveying feelings.

Their eyes, expressions, and actions have said it all.

The Lazarin people, who once trembled in the shadow of the dragon, now had no fear in their eyes, but genuine gratitude and trust.

Grand narratives and epic tales belong to ambitious people.

The real joys and sorrows, the reunion of family members that we see before us are what ordinary people seek in their lives.

A clear and reassuring sense of satisfaction slowly filled Reed's heart.

He chuckled softly, then turned and asked, "Where's the leader of those three culprits who were causing trouble in the shadows?"

"They got away." Dark scratched his head, somewhat helplessly. "When they attacked, I was on guard. By the time we killed the troublemakers, these guys had already escaped through the secret passage beneath the temple. When our men chased after them, a section of the passage collapsed..."

"So should I call you stupid, or praise them for being cunning?"

"Your Majesty, I have failed in my duty."

"Bring out all the temple servants, the guards familiar with the place, and any civilians who might know the truth and ask them questions."

"...Your Majesty, I don't understand what they are saying."

Reed: →_→

Seeing Dark's helpless expression, and then looking at the Lazarin people surrounding him who couldn't understand his language, Reed sighed softly.

He took a few steps forward, stood on the slightly higher stone steps beneath the city gate, cleared his throat, and began to speak slowly in Common, his voice not loud, but clear enough to carry:

"Anyone who understands the Common Language or Valyrian, step forward."

No one answered; there was only a silent gaze.

He paused briefly, then repeated it again in Valyrian.

Even after he finished speaking, the crowd remained restless, but no one dared to step forward easily.

Reid remained calm, simply adding, "I am seeking three people—a runaway temple priest, the secular leader of Hershey, and the wife of the High Shepherd. Whoever can interpret my questions will be richly rewarded; if they provide any information, it will be an even greater achievement."

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a slight movement in the crowd.

An elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in old but clean clothes, and a child of about seven or eight years old with bright eyes slowly squeezed out from the crowd.

The old man, slightly hunched over but not fearful, walked a few steps to Reid and respectfully performed a Lazarin-style hand gesture, beginning in broken but barely understandable Common Tongue:

"Your Majesty... this old servant... traveled to free trading cities with caravans when I was young, and has some knowledge of... the common language."

The child beside him boldly looked up at Reed and babbled a string of words in Lazarin that Reed couldn't understand.

"?"

"Your Majesty, this child used to be a shepherd slave. He says he knows a place where those people might be hiding."

"!"

……

Through the old man's retelling, Red finally understood what the child was trying to convey, and couldn't help but feel moved. On the edge of this grassland, where the strong prey on the weak and the law of the jungle prevails, the fact that such a weak tribe as the Lazarin people have been able to survive to this day must be due to their unique wisdom for survival.

The Lazarin people's farmland is always cultivated in a staggered manner. While the first wheat field is already heading and flowering, the tenth field is just beginning to be sown.

This deliberate arrangement ensured a harvest every month. The harvested grain was carefully dried and sealed in earthenware jars. Half remained in the city as rations for the commoners and slaves; the other half was escorted by the priests and trusted confidants of the military leaders and hidden in caves deep in the Kaiser Mountains. This way, the risk was spread out, preventing the Dothraki from plundering the entire harvest at once.

Almost every village raised a considerable number of sheep and goats. Sheep were commodities, living wealth—their meat was delicious, and they produced cashmere, wool, and thick hides, which were used to exchange for goods and money. Goats, on the other hand, were their famine relief food.

Whenever the centaurs moved south, the old, weak, women and children would drive their sheep and flee into the vast grasslands; while young men and women, led by the priests of the supreme god of shepherd, would drive their goat herds westward and hide in the Kaiser Mountains on the side of Hessian Hill.

After the looting is over, the survivors who escaped from the grasslands and the surviving ones from the deep mountains will drive the remaining herds back to the devastated banks of the Skazadan River.

During this period, most of the rams will be eaten, the young women will become pregnant, and the ewes will also be carrying lambs. The two groups of people will converge and continue to reproduce and thrive.

The rugged and complex Kaiser Mountains were not only used by Reid to hide his army base, but also by the Sheepmen to hide the food and supplies that sustained their people.

Deep in the mountains on the side close to the Lazarin Grassland, there are dozens of caves of various sizes where supplies are hidden.

Ordinary Lazarin people only know about half of them, while the most secluded and resource-rich caves are controlled by the tribal leaders and their confidants.

The cave of the High Shepherd and his wife was the most luxurious, filled with gold, silver, wine, dried meat, grain, and dried fruit...

As for why the child knew these things, it was because his sister had participated in a fertility ceremony held by a priest. It was the kind of ceremony where, after everyone had eaten and drunk their fill and had nothing else to do, a group of young, energetic men and women would gather together…

That comfortable and secluded cave, which had helped the Lazarin people seek refuge countless times and was filled with valuables and survival supplies, was most likely the path dependency of those three guys.

When faced with the threat of death, people never calculate where is the safest place; they instinctively choose the place they are most familiar with.

Because subconsciously, the unknown equals danger, while familiarity means safety.

So fear made the choice for them.

They weren't stupid; they were just in a state of extreme panic, and could only believe in the safety they had personally witnessed and escaped.

The discovery of the secret passage leading westward to the Kaiser Mountains further corroborates this.

Although the child didn't know the exact location, he knew the general direction, which was enough information for Reed, who had thousands of immigrants on the verge of starvation under his command.

"Dark," Reed said with a smile.

"Your Majesty," Darke also revealed a greedy and dangerous smile.

"Regroup the immigrants and their escorting soldiers." Reed turned to look at the Kaiser Mountains, faintly visible to the west. "It's a famine; time to raid the rat holes."