The dawn sun cast long shadows through the cobbled streets of Pentos as Haerion rode through the city gates at the head of a procession that would have been impossible to imagine just twenty-four hours earlier. Mounted on a magnificent destrier that had once belonged to a Dothraki khal—a beast that moved with the sort of controlled power that suggested it understood perfectly well that its current rider was someone of genuine importance—he cut an impressive figure in his crimson and gold armor that seemed to contain captured sunlight within its flowing lines.
Behind him rode Varro and his bloodriders, their presence lending an air of barely contained danger to what might otherwise have been mistaken for a diplomatic visit rather than the arrival of a conqueror whose conquest had been achieved through moral ultimatums backed by overwhelming force. The former khal sat his horse with the relaxed confidence of someone who had spent decades ensuring that proper preparation meant the difference between glorious victory and embarrassing death, while his companions maintained the sort of alert vigilance that suggested they were prepared for whatever interesting complications might arise when revolutionary social change met entrenched economic interests on urban terrain.
Overhead, Aegerax circled with lazy precision, his golden scales catching the morning light like a second sun brought down to remind everyone present exactly why yesterday's negotiations had concluded so decisively in favor of moral progress over profitable tradition. The great dragon's presence transformed every street into a stage and every intersection into a potential demonstration of why resistance to necessary change tended to prove inadvisable when dealing with forces that measured success in terms of principles defended rather than territories conquered.
"*Impressive city,*" Varro observed as they passed through districts that displayed the sort of architectural sophistication that came from centuries of accumulated wealth and cultural development. His deep voice carried the professional assessment of someone who had made a career of evaluating urban defenses and strategic positions, though his tone suggested genuine appreciation for Pentoshi achievements in civic planning and aesthetic design. "*Well laid out, defensible positions, evidence of sophisticated engineering and genuine artistic sensibility.*"
"*Indeed,*" Haerion agreed, his enhanced vision taking in details that spoke of a civilization that had achieved remarkable heights of sophistication while maintaining economic systems that would have made Roman slave traders blush with embarrassment. "*Though I confess I'm rather curious to see how successfully they've managed to implement yesterday's rather comprehensive policy changes. Revolutionary social transformation overnight tends to create... interesting logistical challenges.*"
The evidence of those changes was visible everywhere they looked, though the implementation appeared to be proceeding with considerably more organization and considerably less chaos than might have been expected when entire economic systems were restructured in the space of a single evening by people operating under the sort of time pressure that made careful planning difficult and immediate compliance essential for continued existence.
Groups of former slaves moved through the streets with the sort of wondering confusion that came from discovering that their legal status had been fundamentally altered through forces entirely beyond their control or understanding, while their former masters engaged in heated discussions that appeared to involve considerable gesturing and what looked like attempts to calculate the precise monetary value of moral principles when weighed against personal survival and continued prosperity.
"*They're actually doing it,*" Haerion said with obvious satisfaction, watching a scene near the central market where a group of well-dressed magisters were engaged in animated conversation with people who had clearly been household servants until very recently. "*Look at that—actual negotiation about wages, working conditions, and terms of continued employment between people who were legally property yesterday morning and people who owned them as chattels.*"
"*Most of them seem to be reaching agreements rather than simply abandoning their previous arrangements entirely,*" Varro noted with the sort of tactical observation that came from understanding that successful social change required practical solutions for complex problems rather than simple elimination of existing relationships. "*Sensible approach to revolutionary transformation—maintain functional arrangements while eliminating the systematic brutality that made those arrangements morally unacceptable.*"
*The psychological dynamics are fascinating,* Aegerax observed through their mental bond, his thoughts carrying the sort of analytical curiosity that came from centuries of observing human social structures adapt to changing circumstances in ways that defied conventional wisdom about cultural transformation. *Most of these people have known each other for years, sometimes decades. The legal relationship has changed dramatically, but the personal relationships remain largely intact—they're simply negotiating new terms that acknowledge everyone's humanity rather than treating some participants as property.*
*Rather more civilized than I expected, actually,* Haerion replied mentally, his thoughts colored by genuine appreciation for the magisters' practical approach to implementing impossible changes under extraordinary time pressure. *I was fully prepared for considerably more social disruption, desperate resistance, and the sort of chaotic violence that tends to accompany rapid restructuring of fundamental economic relationships.*
*The threat of dragonfire tends to encourage remarkably rational approaches to problem-solving,* Aegerax observed with amusement. *Amazing how effectively the prospect of incineration focuses the mind on practical solutions rather than ideological resistance to necessary change.*
But it was when they reached the central district—the heart of Pentoshi commercial and political activity—that they encountered something that made even Haerion's enhanced composure falter slightly. Arranged in perfect military formation around what had clearly been the city's primary slave market until yesterday evening stood approximately three hundred of the most perfectly disciplined soldiers he had ever encountered in either of his worlds.
Each warrior was identical in height, build, and bearing—not through coincidence or careful selection, but through systematic conditioning that had shaped human beings into weapons with the same precision that master smiths applied to forging steel. They stood motionless as statues, spears held at identical angles, shields positioned with mathematical precision, their faces showing absolutely no expression whatsoever despite the fact that their entire world had been fundamentally altered through forces they had no power to influence or control.
"*Unsullied,*" Varro identified with the sort of grim recognition that came from extensive knowledge of Free Cities military practices and the various approaches different civilizations had developed for creating soldiers who could be trusted to follow orders regardless of personal cost or moral consideration. His tone carried undertones of professional respect mixed with genuine distaste for the methods required to produce such perfect military efficiency. "*Slave soldiers from the training pits of Astapor. Each one castrated in childhood, trained from age five to feel no pain, know no fear, and follow orders without question or hesitation until death.*"
Haerion felt something cold settle in his stomach as he processed the implications of what he was observing. These weren't simply soldiers who had been enslaved—these were human beings who had been systematically destroyed and rebuilt as weapons, their very capacity for independent thought and emotional response carefully eliminated through methods that made conventional slavery seem almost benevolent by comparison.
"*How long?*" he asked quietly, his voice carrying the sort of controlled intensity that suggested dangerous levels of moral outrage were being held in check through considerable effort. "*How long does the... process... take to produce results like this?*"
"*Fourteen years of training, conditioning, and systematic brutalization,*" Magister Paolys replied from where he had joined their procession as an unofficial guide and interpreter of local conditions. His voice carried the sort of matter-of-fact tone that suggested he was discussing agricultural techniques rather than describing one of the most systematically evil institutions in human history. "*They begin as children, usually around age five, and by the time the process is complete they are perfect soldiers—absolutely obedient, completely fearless, and utterly incapable of independent moral judgment or emotional response.*"
"*Perfect soldiers,*" Haerion repeated, his tone making the phrase sound like a particularly vile curse. His emerald eyes, bright with violet fire and barely contained rage, studied the motionless ranks with the sort of clinical assessment that suggested he was working through extremely unpleasant calculations about human suffering quantified as military efficiency. "*And how many die during this... training process?*"
"*Perhaps three in four,*" Paolys admitted with the sort of uncomfortable honesty that came from recognizing that attempted deception would be both futile and extremely hazardous when dealing with someone whose moral convictions were backed by adequate force to ensure appropriate consequences for profitable evil. "*The training is... comprehensive in its requirements. Only the strongest survive to complete the full course of conditioning.*"
The silence that followed this revelation was the sort that preceded earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and other expressions of natural forces that had reached the limits of their tolerance for systematic injustice. Overhead, Aegerax's circling had tightened into the sort of predatory spiral that suggested the dragon was prepared to provide immediate and comprehensive education regarding the consequences of treating children as raw materials for weapons manufacturing.
*Breathe,* Aegerax advised through their mental bond, his mental voice carrying the sort of careful control that came from understanding exactly how close his partner was to losing the sort of disciplined restraint that made selective justice possible rather than simple comprehensive destruction. *Remember our operational parameters—education rather than elimination, reform rather than revenge. These soldiers are victims, not villains.*
*I know,* Haerion replied through gritted teeth, his thoughts carrying the sort of white-hot fury that came from confronting evil so systematic and comprehensive that it challenged his ability to maintain the moral distinctions that separated justice from simple vengeance. *But the people who did this to them... the masters who designed this system, the trainers who implemented it, the buyers who created the market demand... they are definitely villains, and they definitely deserve whatever educational experiences we might provide.*
*Soon,* Aegerax promised with mental satisfaction that carried undertones of anticipatory pleasure. *Slaver's Bay will provide ample opportunity to address the source of such systematic evil directly and comprehensively. But for now, focus on the immediate situation—three hundred perfect soldiers whose legal status has changed overnight and who probably have no idea what that means for their future.*
Haerion dismounted and approached the Unsullied formation with the sort of careful precision that suggested he understood he was dealing with people whose conditioning had left them capable of responding to perceived threats with lethal efficiency regardless of personal consequences. His movements were deliberately non-threatening while maintaining the sort of commanding presence that made it clear he expected to be heard and understood.
"*Who speaks for you?*" he called in High Valyrian, his voice carrying clearly across the square with the sort of natural authority that came from expensive education, excellent breeding, and absolute confidence in his right to command attention from anyone within hearing range.
For a moment, nothing happened—three hundred perfectly disciplined soldiers maintained their positions without so much as a flicker of acknowledgment that they had heard or understood the question. Then, with movements so precisely synchronized they might have been controlled by a single mind, the formation opened to allow one individual to step forward and assume the role of spokesman.
The warrior who emerged was identical to his companions in every measurable respect—same height, same build, same expressionless face that revealed absolutely nothing about whatever thoughts or emotions might exist behind eyes that had been trained to show no weakness, no doubt, no independent reaction to anything they might witness. When he spoke, his voice carried the sort of mechanical precision that came from years of conditioning designed to eliminate any trace of personality or individual expression that might interfere with military efficiency.
"*This one speaks for all Unsullied, if it pleases the Dragonlord,*" he said, his High Valyrian flawless but completely devoid of the sort of personal inflection that made language a vehicle for individual expression rather than simple communication of factual information. "*We await orders regarding our deployment and tactical assignments under new command structure.*"
The response was everything Haerion had expected and everything he had hoped never to encounter in person—a human being so thoroughly dehumanized through systematic conditioning that he could only conceive of his existence in terms of military utility and tactical deployment, someone whose capacity for independent thought had been so completely eliminated that freedom itself was a concept beyond his ability to comprehend or process.
"*Your orders,*" Haerion said with careful precision, his voice carrying the sort of formal authority that made it clear these were not suggestions or requests but absolute declarations about fundamental changes in their legal and personal status, "*are that you are no longer slaves, no longer property, and no longer bound by any obligation to serve masters who purchased you like livestock or tools.*"
He paused, studying their faces for any sign of comprehension or emotional response to information that should have been the most significant news of their entire lives, and found nothing—three hundred perfectly trained expressions showing no more reaction to the announcement of their freedom than they might have shown to a weather report or inventory update.
"*You are free men,*" he continued, putting emphasis on each word in hope that repetition might somehow penetrate conditioning designed to eliminate their capacity for such concepts, "*free to go wherever you choose, free to make whatever lives you can build for yourselves, free to discover who you might become when you are no longer required to be weapons shaped like men.*"
The spokesman was quiet for a long moment, his expressionless features showing absolutely no indication that he was processing information that challenged every assumption about reality that had been systematically programmed into his consciousness over fourteen years of brutalization disguised as military training.
"*This one does not understand 'free,' Dragonlord,*" he said finally, his tone carrying the sort of polite confusion that came from encountering concepts so foreign to his conditioning that they might as well have been advanced mathematical theorems presented in unknown languages. "*Unsullied serve. Unsullied obey. Unsullied fight until death. These are the functions for which we were created and trained. Without orders, without masters, without purpose... what would Unsullied become?*"
The question hit Haerion like a physical blow, carrying implications about systematic dehumanization that made simple slavery seem almost benevolent by comparison. These weren't just people who had been enslaved—these were human beings whose very capacity to conceive of independence had been systematically eliminated through methods so comprehensive that freedom itself was literally incomprehensible to them.
*Easy,* Aegerax cautioned through their mental bond, sensing the dangerous levels of moral outrage building in his partner's consciousness like pressure in a volcano approaching eruption. *This is precisely the sort of systematic evil we came here to address, but it requires careful handling rather than simple destruction. These soldiers need healing, not revenge.*
*I know,* Haerion replied mentally, his thoughts carrying the sort of controlled fury that came from confronting injustice so profound it challenged his ability to respond with anything resembling proportional force. *But the people who did this... the masters who designed this system, who created human weapons and called it training... they need to understand that some forms of evil generate consequences that echo across generations.*
He looked up at the three hundred perfect soldiers, then back at their spokesman, and made a decision that would have significant implications for everything that followed.
"*What is your name?*" he asked, though he suspected the answer would provide another example of the systematic brutality that had shaped these men from childhood into weapons with the forms but not the substance of humanity.
"*This one is called Grey Worm, Dragonlord,*" came the expected response, delivered with the same mechanical precision that characterized all their interactions. The name was clearly one of the deliberately degrading appellations that formed part of the conditioning process—chosen specifically to eliminate any trace of dignity or personal identity that might interfere with perfect obedience to orders regardless of their moral content or personal cost.
"*And before you were given that name,*" Haerion pressed gently, "*what were you called? What name did your parents give you when you were born?*"
For the first time, something flickered across Grey Worm's features—not quite emotion, exactly, but perhaps the ghost of some long-suppressed memory struggling against years of conditioning designed to eliminate such personal connections as irrelevant to military efficiency.
"*This one... does not remember, Dragonlord,*" he said finally, though his tone carried the faintest suggestion that the absence of memory was not entirely natural but rather the result of systematic efforts to eliminate traces of previous identity. "*Such names belonged to the weak children we were before training made us strong. They are not relevant to what we have become.*"
"*They are the most relevant things imaginable,*" Haerion replied with intensity that made his words carry the weight of absolute moral conviction, "*because they represent who you really are beneath all the conditioning and training and systematic brutalization. Those names represent your humanity—the part of you that no amount of evil training can entirely eliminate.*"
He gestured toward the ranks of identical soldiers, his voice taking on the sort of commanding authority that brooked no argument or resistance to fundamental truths about human dignity and individual worth.
"*I want all of you to choose names for yourselves,*" he commanded, his tone making it clear this was not a request or suggestion but an absolute requirement for their continued interaction. "*Either remember the names your parents gave you, or choose new names that reflect who you want to become now that you are free to decide such things for yourselves. You are no longer weapons with the shapes of men—you are men who happen to have been trained as weapons, and men deserve names that acknowledge their individual humanity.*"
The silence that followed this command was profound, weighted with implications that seemed to ripple through the ranks as three hundred conditioned soldiers attempted to process concepts that challenged everything they had been trained to believe about their nature and purpose.
Finally, Grey Worm spoke again, though his voice carried subtle changes that suggested something fundamental was shifting in his understanding of himself and his relationship to the world around him.
"*If it pleases the Dragonlord,*" he said with careful formality, "*the Unsullied would prefer to keep the names we bear now. The names we carried as children were unlucky—they brought slavery, brought pain, brought the weakness that required us to be remade into something stronger. But these names... these names we bore when the Dragonlord came to free us. These names we bore when we learned that even Unsullied could be something more than weapons. Perhaps... perhaps they are not so unlucky after all.*"
The response was not what Haerion had expected, but as he processed the reasoning behind it, he began to understand that even this represented a form of breakthrough—the first independent choice these men had made in years, the first assertion of personal preference that wasn't directly related to military efficiency or tactical deployment.
"*Then Grey Worm you shall remain,*" he said with formal acknowledgment that carried genuine respect for the thought process that had led to this decision, "*and Grey Worm you will be—not as a degrading reminder of systematic brutalization, but as a name you chose to keep because it represents your transformation from slave to free man.*"
He paused, his emerald eyes studying the ranks of perfect soldiers with the sort of measuring assessment that came from recognizing that healing systematic conditioning would require time, patience, and approaches that went far beyond simple declarations of legal freedom.
"*But that brings us to the question of what you will do with your freedom. You say you wish to serve, to fight, to have purpose and orders that give meaning to your existence. Very well—I offer you the opportunity to serve not as slaves following orders regardless of their moral content, but as free men choosing to follow a cause they believe worthy of their sacrifice.*"
The offer hung in the morning air like a bridge between what they had been and what they might become, representing possibilities that existed beyond their previous understanding while acknowledging the reality that healing from systematic conditioning would require more than simple legal emancipation.
"*What cause would that be, Dragonlord?*" Grey Worm asked, and for the first time his voice carried something that might have been genuine curiosity rather than simple request for tactical deployment orders.
"*The systematic elimination of slavery throughout the known world,*" Haerion replied with the sort of absolute conviction that made it clear this was not merely political objective but moral crusade backed by adequate force to ensure appropriate consequences for resistance. "*Not just legal freedom for those currently enslaved, but the complete destruction of economic and social systems that treat human beings as property to be bought and sold like livestock.*"
He gestured toward the ruined slave market, its demolished auction blocks serving as monuments to the speed with which comprehensive social change could be implemented when backed by overwhelming force and clear moral vision.
"*I offer you the opportunity to become liberators instead of weapons, protectors instead of destroyers, men who use their skills to free others from the same systematic brutalization that was inflicted upon you. But I offer this as a choice, not an order—you are free to leave, to find other purposes, to discover what sort of men you might become when you are no longer required to be perfect soldiers.*"
The silence that followed this offer was different from their previous responses—not the absence of comprehension, but the presence of something approaching genuine consideration as three hundred conditioned minds attempted to process concepts that existed beyond their previous understanding while remaining within their capacity to choose and act upon.
When Grey Worm finally responded, his voice carried the first traces of individual personality that Haerion had heard from any of them—not much, certainly, but enough to suggest that beneath years of conditioning, traces of independent humanity were beginning to stir.
"*The Unsullied owe their lives to the Dragonlord,*" he said with careful formality that nonetheless carried undertones of genuine gratitude and something approaching personal loyalty rather than simple obedience to superior authority. "*We would be honored to serve such a cause, not as slaves following orders, but as free men choosing to follow a leader whose objectives align with justice rather than profit.*"
He paused, his expressionless features showing the faintest suggestion of what might have been the beginning of a smile—the first individual expression Haerion had seen from any of them.
"*Besides,*" Grey Worm continued with what was unmistakably the ghost of dry humor struggling against years of conditioning designed to eliminate personality, "*we are very good at fighting. It would be... efficient... to use such skills for purposes that create freedom rather than enforce slavery.*"
*Progress,* Aegerax observed with satisfaction that could be felt through their mental bond like warmth from a perfectly maintained fire. *Not complete healing—that will take time, patience, and experiences that allow them to rediscover their humanity gradually. But the beginning of genuine choice, personal preference, even individual expression. Remarkable recovery from systematic conditioning designed to eliminate such capabilities entirely.*
*Indeed,* Haerion agreed mentally, his thoughts carrying relief mixed with determination to ensure that their healing continued under circumstances that encouraged rather than exploited their gradual recovery of independent humanity. *Though I suspect they'll need considerable guidance and support to fully understand what freedom means and how to exercise it constructively.*
"*Very well,*" he said aloud, his voice taking on the formal authority that marked significant decisions with lasting consequences, "*Grey Worm and all who choose to follow him, I accept your service freely offered by free men choosing to serve a cause worthy of their sacrifice. But understand—you serve as soldiers, not slaves. You follow orders because you choose to trust my judgment, not because conditioning has eliminated your capacity for independent thought. And if you ever decide this cause no longer deserves your service, you are free to leave and find other purposes without shame or consequences.*"
The offer represented everything the Unsullied had never experienced—the possibility of meaningful choice, the acknowledgment of personal dignity, the recognition that their service was valuable precisely because it was freely given rather than systematically compelled through brutalization and conditioning.
"*We understand, Dragonlord,*" Grey Worm replied, and his voice carried the sort of careful certainty that suggested he was beginning to grasp concepts that had been literally trained out of his consciousness for over a decade. "*We serve by choice, not by compulsion. We follow because we believe, not because we must. And we fight for freedom rather than slavery.*"
"*Excellent,*" Haerion said with genuine satisfaction, recognizing that they had achieved the first step in what would necessarily be a long process of healing systematic conditioning while simultaneously acquiring the services of the finest infantry soldiers in the known world. "*Then let us begin planning our next moves—both immediate arrangements for establishing the new order here in Pentos, and longer-term strategy for expanding our operations throughout the Free Cities and beyond.*"
As evening fell over Pentos and the lights of the transformed city began twinkling like stars brought down to earth through moral conviction backed by overwhelming force, Haerion found himself presiding over a war council that would have been impossible to imagine just days earlier—Dothraki khalasar commanders, liberated Unsullied officers, reformed magisters, and a dragon whose presence ensured that whatever plans they developed would be implemented with the sort of comprehensive support that made resistance inadvisable.
They gathered in what had once been the magisters' private council chamber, now converted into a planning center for systematic social reform on a continental scale. Maps covered every available surface, supply calculations were organized in careful stacks, and strategic assessments detailed the challenges they would face when expanding operations to cities that had not yet experienced the educational benefits of dragonfire applied to systematic evil.
"*The fundamental challenge,*" Haerion began as they settled into discussions that would determine the pace and scope of their campaign to eliminate slavery throughout the known world, "*is time. Word of today's events is already spreading through the trade networks. Other cities will be preparing countermeasures, seeking allies, developing strategies to resist moral progress through coordinated opposition.*"
Varro nodded with the sort of professional assessment that came from decades of military experience and comprehensive understanding of how information flowed through regional political networks. "*The Free Cities maintain extensive communication systems with each other and with their trading partners. News of Pentos's... transformation... will reach Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr within days. Volantis will know within a week. And Slaver's Bay... they'll have months to prepare whatever resistance they think might prove effective.*"
"*Which means,*" Grey Worm added with the sort of tactical thinking that demonstrated why the Unsullied were considered the finest infantry in the world despite the systematic brutalization that had produced their capabilities, "*we must balance speed of expansion against thoroughness of implementation. Move too quickly, and the changes we create become superficial, easily reversed when we move on to the next target. Move too slowly, and we face increasingly sophisticated resistance from enemies who have had time to coordinate opposition.*"
The strategic calculation was complex, requiring them to balance multiple competing priorities while operating under time pressure that made careful deliberation impossible and immediate action essential. They needed to establish sustainable change in Pentos while simultaneously expanding operations fast enough to prevent coordinated resistance from other cities, all while ensuring that their approach remained focused on education rather than simple destruction.
"*I suggest,*" said Jhaqo with the sort of innovative thinking that had made him valuable as more than just a skilled warrior, "*that we use Pentos as our base of operations while sending smaller expeditions to address the other Free Cities individually. Demonstrate that resistance is futile while showing that cooperation produces beneficial results.*"
"*Agreed,*" Haerion said with obvious satisfaction at the strategic sophistication his new allies were demonstrating in their approach to systematic social reform backed by overwhelming force. "*We'll spend the next few weeks establishing the new systems here—ensuring they work, that they're sustainable, that they provide clear evidence of the benefits that come from abandoning profitable evil in favor of ethical alternatives.*"
His emerald eyes moved across the faces gathered around the table, taking in Dothraki khalasar commanders whose expertise with logistics and rapid deployment would prove invaluable, Unsullied officers whose tactical knowledge had been literally beaten into them through years of systematic training, and reformed magisters whose understanding of commercial networks would be essential for implementing economic alternatives to slavery-based commerce.
"*Meanwhile,*" he continued, "*we'll send delegations to the other Free Cities—not conquest forces, exactly, but demonstrations of our capabilities combined with offers of the same choice we gave Pentos. Abandon slavery voluntarily and receive the benefits of partnership with the new order, or resist and face the educational consequences of choosing profitable evil over moral progress.*"
*Comprehensive approach,* Aegerax observed with approval that could be felt through their mental bond like warmth from a perfectly maintained fire. *Establish success, demonstrate alternatives, offer choices that make cooperation clearly preferable to resistance. Much more sophisticated than simple conquest, much more sustainable than temporary occupation.*
*The goal is permanent change, not temporary compliance,* Haerion replied mentally, his thoughts carrying the satisfaction of long-term planning finally being implemented under optimal circumstances. *And permanent change requires people to understand that the new approaches are better for everyone involved, not just morally superior to the old ways.*
As the night deepened and their planning session continued, they began developing detailed timelines, resource allocations, and tactical approaches that would allow them to maintain momentum while ensuring thoroughness. The campaign to eliminate slavery throughout the known world was about to enter its operational phase, with Pentos serving as both headquarters and proof of concept for revolutionary social change implemented through moral conviction backed by adequate force.
Outside the windows, the transformed city continued its first full day of freedom—former slaves negotiating wages with former masters, magisters discovering that legitimate commerce could be more profitable than systematic exploitation, and Unsullied soldiers learning what it meant to serve by choice rather than compulsion.
The age of dragons had indeed returned to Essos, and with it, the possibility that moral principles could reshape civilization itself when backed by adequate force and implemented by people who understood that some victories were worth whatever effort might be required to achieve them.
"*Right then,*" Haerion said as they finalized their immediate objectives and began preparing for the challenges that lay ahead, "*tomorrow we begin the real work—proving that systematic social reform can succeed when implemented by people who refuse to accept profitable evil as an adequate excuse for systematic brutality.*"
*Should be interesting,* Aegerax observed with the sort of anticipatory satisfaction that came from understanding they were about to test their theories under conditions that would either validate their approach comprehensively or provide spectacular cautionary tales about the limitations of moral idealism when confronted by entrenched systemic evil.
*Interesting indeed,* Haerion agreed with the sort of confident certainty that had served him well through impossible challenges in two different worlds. *Though I suspect history will remember this as the beginning of something rather more significant than merely interesting.*
And with that supremely confident observation, the Dragonlord of Pentos prepared for whatever tomorrow might bring to their campaign of systematic liberation—secure in the knowledge that they had adequate force, clear moral objectives, and allies whose capabilities exceeded anything the defenders of profitable evil could possibly imagine or effectively resist.
The revolution had begun in earnest, and with it, the systematic transformation of civilization itself through the simple recognition that some principles were worth defending regardless of whatever comfortable assumptions about negotiable moral boundaries might need to be incinerated along the way.
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