Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

"How many managed to escape?" Dany asked Barristan.

"Six of the Great Masters and Wise Masters fled, including the supreme commander of the coalition, Grazdan. Ninety percent of the yellow-cloaked Ghiscari soldiers also escaped. As for the merchants and prostitutes, they initially tried to flee in a panic, but I assured them that you would not harm the innocent, so they stayed."

At this, he frowned slightly, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Though, truthfully, they wouldn't have gotten far even if they had tried. The slavers and Ghiscari soldiers had swift horses, but the merchants were burdened with heavy bags of coin, and the prostitutes had neither horses nor the skills to ride."

"As long as the slave warriors remain, that's enough," Dany nodded.

"Not just the slave warriors. There are also several times as many laborers, all of whom are slaves," Barristan added.

"Even better."

Turning to Grey Worm, she asked, "What are the casualties among the Unsullied and Free Legion?"

"The Unsullied and archers were fortunate—no deaths or injuries, full combat strength remains intact. However, eight laborers were killed while clearing the battlefield, seventeen were injured, and three were whipped ten times each by the Unsullied enforcers for attempting to force themselves on prostitutes."

After a moment of contemplation, Dany sighed. "Grey Worm, arrange for each cavalryman to receive a reward of ten gold honors. The archers and Unsullied shall receive forty silver honors each, and every laborer will get two silver coins. Then..."

Gritting her teeth slightly, she continued, "Tell those merchants to bring all the prostitutes here—but they are not to be allowed inside the poplar slope camp."

"As you command."

"Afanti, were all the warhorses rounded up?" Dany turned to the old horseman.

Afanti was one of the horsefolk laborers. Along with a group of elder horsemen and women, he had set up a barrier behind the poplar slope to contain the stampeding animals.

"Khaleesi, we have gathered 20,000 warhorses, 30,000 packhorses, 20,000 cattle, 35,000 sheep, and 900 large pigs. Horses tend to stay with the herd, so not many strayed, but pigs love to run into the woods—who knows how many thousands have turned wild by now," Afanti reported.

"Can the laborers properly butcher and preserve the meat from the fallen livestock?" Dany asked the militia captain.

"Your Grace, you had already arranged for it in advance. We have been butchering and curing meat while clearing the battlefield, so there should be little waste. However..."

The middle-aged black man from the Summer Isles hesitated.

"Captain Tarko, however what?" Dany frowned.

"Your Grace, some of the bodies were trampled beyond recognition. We can't always tell if the meat belongs to a human or a pig," Tarko admitted awkwardly.

"Human hair is soft, pig bristles are coarse—how hard is that to tell apart?" Red-haired Lyla scoffed.

"Some men… have certain parts where the hair is quite coarse," Tarko retorted indignantly.

"Ahem—"

Dany waved her hand dismissively. "Throw it all away. If there's any doubt, discard it."

"Weren't the bodies supposed to be burned?" Tarko asked, confused.

"Yes, burn them all," Dany confirmed. Then she inquired, "How many cattle and horses were seized from the northern camp?"

"Eight thousand warhorses, fifteen thousand packhorses, and countless oxen, pigs, and sheep used for cart-pulling and provisions. However, many of these belong to merchants. Should we confiscate them?"

"Our 'Code of Laws' states that property acquired through legitimate means is sacred and inviolable—even the king cannot seize it," Dany said coldly. "Leave the prostitutes' wagons, oxen, and food animals alone. But any merchant who provided supplies to the slavers must forfeit half their assets.

Then, we will use the confiscated gold and silver to buy the remaining half of their livestock."

After a pause, she added, "Oh, and tell them not to inflate their prices… actually, forget it. Just impose the standard market prices from Astapor."

Dany continued giving orders regarding the distribution of captured goods and disease prevention. Once the officers left to carry out her commands, she mused, "Our losses were minimal in this battle. We can keep fighting. This time, we take the slavers' cities."

"Your Grace, are you planning to take Yunkai?"

The newly knighted Ser Jon immediately recalled her earlier statement—ensuring the slavers never had another chance to hire mercenary companies.

"How many troops would it take to seize Yunkai?" she asked.

Jon answered promptly, "Yunkai's main trade revolves around the training and sale of sex slaves—it was never a military power. With the Ghiscari coalition completely destroyed by your army, Yunkai is practically defenseless.

Given the morale of your forces and the power of your dragons, a mere two thousand cavalry should be enough to swiftly take the city."

"The real issue is that securing Yunkai will tie up a significant portion of our troops. We won't have the strength to advance on Meereen, and if we remain stagnant, the 600-kilometer coastline between Astapor and Yunkai will become a massive burden for us," Barristan said with a furrowed brow.

"Hmph, the next step is to build a navy. I will make Slaver's Bay my personal bath!" Dany declared confidently.

"A navy is a highly specialized force. It would be difficult to establish one quickly—unless Your Grace's dragons can patrol the bay regularly," the old knight cautioned.

"If they grow for another year or so, we could give it a try," Dany considered.

"Either way, the sooner we take Yunkai and Meereen, the better. At the very least, we can wipe out the slavers and strip the cities of their wealth," Scarback Simon growled.

"Then we rest for the night and set out for Yunkai tomorrow?" Dany glanced at Barristan, seeking his counsel.

She could set the strategic objectives, but actual battle command was best left to experienced generals.

"I'll make the arrangements," the white-bearded knight said slowly.

"You haven't slept all night. Go get some rest," Dany said gently.

"And what about you, Your Grace?"

"I'm young—I can handle a late night."

"Very well," the old man replied with a weary smile.

He couldn't help but think of himself forty years ago, staying up late with his comrades to discuss tactics when facing the "ferocious" Maris in the Battle of the Stepstones.

After the meeting, Daenerys, accompanied by Belwas, the Bloodriders, and others, attended the funeral of fallen soldiers in the field.

The climate in Slaver's Bay was hot, making it impossible to preserve bodies for long.

Over two hundred funeral pyres were neatly arranged, each with an armored cavalryman standing before it, holding a flag with a black-winged emblem on a blue background.

This was the Free Wings banner of the Queen's Guard—black wings soaring freely in the blue sky, just like Daenerys' black dragon.

As for why it wasn't the green or white dragon… well, they were smaller and far less imposing than the black one, which was not only larger but also far more intelligent.

Black dragons simply had the aura of a final boss.

Under the watchful eyes of over ten thousand idle soldiers, Daenerys rode her golden mare past each funeral pyre, gazing at the faces of the fallen warriors.

The soldiers had been cleaned and mended, their armor removed, and their leather vests replaced with loose shirts bearing the image of a black dragon on the chest.

Yes, before Daenerys arrived, the people of Slaver's Bay already wore short tunics—she merely modernized the style a little.

After completing her round, she called out to the pyres, "Send off our warriors!"

The knights holding the Free Wings banners stepped forward, planting their flagpoles beside the arms of the fallen, which were grasped by the soldiers' right hands.

"Even in death, you remain free warriors, my soldiers, heroes who brought freedom and a brighter future to countless slaves!" Daenerys declared, her voice carrying across the field as she swept her gaze over the gathered soldiers.

The noonday sun poured down, bathing the field in light and heat. The assembled warriors watched solemnly as their queen personally set each pyre ablaze with a torch.

Daenerys did not stay to watch the flames burn out. The heat would not subside before evening, and the cremation ceremony was complete—what remained was the work of laborers.

They would collect the ashes of the fallen into urns, and upon returning to Astapor, these urns—labeled with names and numbers—would be delivered to their respective families along with compensation.

For those without family, the urns would be stored in the lower levels of Daenerys' great pyramid.

Then came the part Daenerys was most familiar with—liberating slaves!

She had done this countless times before, perfecting how to inspire the masses with slogans, how to make them revere her like a goddess while also seeing her as a savior.

At this rate, she could probably become a top pyramid scheme leader in America—or rather, a "presidential candidate."

With each cry of "I want freedom! Long live the Mother of Dragons!" shackles and slave collars were unlocked and cast to the ground. One by one, slaves vanished, replaced by newly freed men and women.

Seventy thousand new freefolk raised their arms toward Daenerys, their faces wild with fervor as they chanted "Mhysa! Mhysa!" She galloped through the sea of outstretched arms, skillfully weaving her horse between them.

Spreading her arms, she leaned over her horse's back, her hands skimming over countless arms of white, brown, black, and amber skin, creating ripples through the human tide.

Above, under the blue sky and white clouds, three brilliantly colored dragons circled and roared, their cries echoing alongside the crashing wave of "Mhysa."

In truth, Daenerys had long entered her dragon-sight state. Her black dragon watched over her, scrutinizing every movement within a ten-meter radius. If there were an assassin…

Well, even if one disguised themselves as a freed slave, she wouldn't be worried—her thick armor left almost no vulnerabilities.

And if something truly unpredictable happened, the black dragon could swoop down in a second or two, snatching her away with its claws.

Daenerys had pushed the fervor of the newly freed people to its peak. When she finally shouted, "I need warriors—to fight for me, to fight for freedom, to fight to overthrow the slavers!"

Countless voices roared in response: "To the death for the Mother of Dragons!"

Watching the many battle-hardened fighters line up at the recruitment points, Daenerys proudly turned to Jon Bolton and said, "Now you understand where my soldiers come from, don't you?

As long as there are slavers, there will always be slaves. And no slave does not yearn for freedom.

And I… am the embodiment of freedom!"

"Your Majesty, you are the Statue of Liberty of Slaver's Bay!" a knight exclaimed.

"Hmm, I like the sound of that," Daenerys mused, tilting her head in thought. "As the High Priestess of Slaver's Bay, I must make some minor adjustments to the doctrine of the Faith of the Seven.

The 'Maiden' stands for innocence and purity, which is a noble idea, but a little too narrow.

I've decided—the 'Maiden' among the Seven of Slaver's Bay will represent purity and freedom.

The Smith wields a hammer, the Warrior holds a sword, the Father carries scales of justice… The Maiden should bear a torch, illuminating the path to freedom for all who step into Slaver's Bay!"

"Oh, yes, yes!" Red-haired Lyla clapped her hands and laughed. "The old meaning of the 'Maiden' was too simplistic. Now, with Your Majesty's revision, it's more profound, more sacred, and perfectly aligned with Slaver's Bay's current social reality."

"Yes! We should carve statues of the 'Maiden' in Your Majesty's likeness—you are her incarnation!" added bearded Bruth.

"Hahaha!" Daenerys waved her hand, grinning. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Our immediate goal is taking Kayqen."

But "not yet" did not mean "never." That shameless woman...

"Waaaaaah—"

As they spoke, a sudden, pig-like wail rang out from nearby.

Daenerys turned her head and saw, at the edge of the long recruitment line, her armored guards shoving a lavishly dressed, overweight man. He stumbled and landed on his rear in the mud.

Scrambling to his feet, he wailed, "I must see the Dragon Queen! I am not a slaver! I must see the Dragon Queen—"

(End of chapter)

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