If those greyscale-infected stone men who sank into the harbor were left alone, they might truly vanish beneath the waves forever.
But they could also become the source of a new outbreak, infecting sailors and citizens at the docks—and potentially triggering an even more terrifying plague.
So, the sunken bodies needed to be dealt with immediately.
Yes, dredge them up and burn them.
With that thought, Dany handed the document to Aemon and gave a direct order to Grey Worm: "Immediately detain all sailors aboard the Scholar. Also, seal off the waters around the Scholar's berth."
Old Aemon set the document down with a sigh. "Dany, this is serious. Stone men infected with greyscale were likely dumped in Kayenne and Meereen as well. People there might already be infected."
"They're asking for death!" A flash of icy anger passed through Dany's eyes as she said coldly, "I'm changing plans. I won't wait for the Long Night to pass or for the epidemic to subside. Slaver's Bay is entering a state of war.
First, I'll wipe out New Ghis. Then I'll take Qarth. I will blockade the Qarth Strait and the Summer Sea trade routes—cutting off maritime commerce for good!"
Aemon quickly tried to dissuade her. "Dany, don't be reckless. Right now, the priority is to stop the outbreak before it spreads. After that, stockpile food and weapons to prepare for the Long Night."
Dany shook her head firmly. "I haven't refrained from attacking because I lack the capability to farm and wage war at the same time. With five dragons at my command, I can launch low-cost, high-efficiency special operations.
The only reason I've held back is because I believed it foolish for humanity to fight amongst itself with the Long Night approaching. But now, I'm being pushed too far. If I don't strike back, wouldn't that be even more foolish?"
"Think of the bigger picture!"
Aemon sighed. "You've done very well up to now—delaying conflict and building your strength.
Once the Long Night arrives, your enemies will naturally fall back without a fight. But if you go to war in anger and something goes wrong, the loss will be too great."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I won't act recklessly."
Dany turned her gaze toward the tall and upright figure of Whip of Solitude, standing quietly to the side.
Noticing the Dragon Queen's gaze, the inquisitor inhaled deeply and stood up even straighter, chest puffed out.
"Hatar, you're ambitious and talented," the Dragon Queen praised.
From her words, Hatar vaguely sensed something and cried out excitedly, "It is my honor to serve Your Grace.
I will always remember your encouragement. One day, I'll earn the surname Tail of Solitude by merit."
Like the Butcher Earl, Hatar was born a slave and had a name but no surname—in fact, most commoners in Westeros didn't have surnames either.
If he became a noble, Hatar could design his own house sigil and surname.
Of course, under the Dragon Queen's rule in Slaver's Bay, even commoners were long allowed to choose surnames for themselves.
But since most commoners were illiterate and didn't know which surname to pick, many simply chose to remain nameless.
Some hoped to one day join the Dragon Queen's Mother of Dragons Guard, where she might grant them a surname as a reward.
"Very good!" The Dragon Queen nodded. "I've decided to launch a southern campaign, but the original defensive strategy won't change. My main focus remains repelling the allied forces coming from Mantarys.
So now, the position of Grand General of the Southern Campaign is vacant. Are you interested?"
Grand General of the Southern Campaign?
By the Seven! That was a meteoric rise—he'd instantly be on par with Cleon, the Grand General of the Western Campaign!
At the thought, Hatar's melon-shaped face flushed as red as a tomato.
With a trembling voice, he vowed, "Your Grace, I will work even harder than Cleon and surpass him in excellence."
Cleon?
Dany blinked.
Cleon had the bones of a maester and the appearance of a righteous magistrate. To surpass Cleon, one had to be truly extraordinary!
She had no idea that Hatar both envied and resented Cleon—and also secretly set his own life goals based on Cleon's achievements.
"Very well. That's a fine ambition," the Dragon Queen said with a nod. "But before you head south, I need you to eliminate those spies. I want to know even the color of their mother's dresses."
After a quick lunch, Dany once again led the Unsullied to the docks, accompanied by Tyrion and Clinton.
The two of them had visited the Lands of Sorrow and had seen many greyscale-infected stone men—they were experienced.
More importantly, both had already been infected. Contact with the stone men wouldn't worsen their condition.
At this point, aside from the dock area, the rest of Astapor had been reopened. The residents had resumed their daily lives and work, though the streets were still far less crowded than usual.
Dany had not imposed a 14-day quarantine—only posted announcements, asking the citizens to avoid holding hands or touching each other for seven days.
Greyscale, after all, was far less dangerous than the greypox. Without direct contact with lesions, it couldn't be transmitted.
That morning, tens of thousands of citizens were inspected—residents of Astapor, the Sisters of the Garden of Lust, and dock merchants alike.
So far, no ordinary citizens had shown signs of infection. Only two red-robed sisters were found to have tiny gray spots on their necks—barely noticeable unless examined closely.
Of course, checking for greyscale was never done by sight alone.
Any area of abnormal skin color had to be pricked with a blade.
If the person cried out in pain, it meant they weren't infected. But if little blood flowed, the blood was dull in color, and the person felt no pain—then it was almost certainly an infection.
Aside from the two red sisters, over twenty dock merchants had been infected.
And that was just the first round of inspections.
For the next week, citizens would be required to conduct daily self-checks.
Then, on the final day, the Unsullied would lock down the city once again and conduct a thorough inspection of every single resident.
That afternoon, the sun blazed down on the sweltering docks. The sea sparkled a bright blue, and the sunlight was blinding.
All the surrounding ships had been moved away. A middle-aged fisherman in a straw hat cast his net with great force. The silk mesh flared open in midair like a giant lotus flower, its threads shimmering silver in the golden sunlight.
Whoosh!
The flower-like fishing net fell into the wave-filled sea, landing precisely where the Learned One had originally been anchored.
The experienced fisherman knew exactly what he was trying to catch and felt a tinge of anxiety in his heart. He spat into his palm, gripped the rope tightly, and began hauling in the net slowly.
Water-soaked silk threads rose from the sea in loops, glittering in the sunlight.
Plop!
Nearby merchants, shop assistants, and sailors all nervously swallowed.
The fisherman suddenly felt a weight in his hands and cried out in surprise, "Got something!"
"Ah!"
The onlookers took a collective step back, then craned their necks forward, torn between fear and curiosity.
"Aaaah! Stone men!"
Suddenly, terrified screams erupted like a tidal wave across the pier and nearby streets.
The fishing net was gradually pulled ashore. Inside were three gray-blue figures, entangled like lobsters, sluggishly struggling—stone men!
Tyrion stood at the edge of the dock. The sight chilled him to the bone. He bared his teeth and muttered, "So this is world war? No tactic too extreme?"
"But my dear sister would probably love this approach—simple, practical, and cost-effective."
Daenerys cast him a sidelong glance and said coolly, "Those dozens of men you infected have been demanding I flay you alive."
"Dozens of men?" Tyrion's grotesque face contorted.
After a moment, he exhaled deeply and pointed at the three stone men being dragged ashore. "Does this count as earning merit through sin?"
Daenerys nodded. "I will publicly declare that General Wildfire, drawing on his personal experience with greyscale, wisely saw through the enemy's ruse and saved the lives of millions in Slaver's Bay.
You'll be rewarded with a yellow tunic and granted the title of 'Knight of Wildfire.'"
"This…"
Tyrion didn't look pleased. On the contrary, he looked worried. "Won't this provoke envy among the allied forces?
I heard about the Butcher Earl Cleon back in Volantis. He was cursed and ridiculed in plays by the allies just because he used Ghis prisoners to breach the pyramid. If I…"
"This morning, during the full city lockdown and quarantine, I already told everyone the whole story:
It was you, General Wildfire, who brought greyscale to Astapor, and it was your indecent behavior that caused the outbreak."
Daenerys looked down at his deformed head and sneered. "Over a hundred thousand people in the city are dying to skin you alive. Giving you the yellow tunic is me saving you. Understand?"
"So you're saying I have to choose between Slaver's Bay and the allied forces? But I don't want to take sides. I don't care about slavery—I'm from Westeros!" the Imp said woodenly.
"What about Westerosi? I'm from Westeros. Barristan, Jorah, Clinton, Aemon, Jon Bolton—they're all from Westeros.
Besides, you're already General Wildfire. Don't tell me you think the slave masters will enjoy a Wildfire bath?" Daenerys replied with a faint smile.
The Imp groaned, covering his face. "So I've already boarded a pirate ship, haven't I?"
"No. You've stepped onto a path of glory. Look, you're even a knight now—an honorable one, anointed by the High Septon himself. If your father in the seventh level of hell heard about this, he'd laugh with pride."
"Ugh…" Tyrion's face twisted.
"What's a yellow tunic?" he asked, changing the subject.
"A vest woven from golden threads, custom-made to honor you. And if you pair it with a special hairstyle, it will look even more glorious," said the Dragon Queen with solemn seriousness.
"Just for me?" Tyrion asked, a bit excited.
"Not exactly," the Dragon Queen thought for a moment. "I also gave one to Xaro, the wealthy merchant in Qarth who hosted me.
In the future, I'll give one to Illyrio—he's helped me a lot.
And the spider, Varys, deserves one too. But he has no hair, so he can't get the honorary haircut to match the yellow tunic.
I won't lie—I don't like that eunuch one bit. But he truly saved my dear nephew, and that's a great favor."
"Sigh. I'm a person who always keeps my word and repays kindness. Until I repay it, I can't sleep at night." She looked up and sighed.
"No! Please, no! Mercy, compassion, Your Grace, spare me!"
Wails and cries approached from a distance, from the street to the dock.
Nearly a hundred sailors, with their hands and feet bound in chains, were herded toward the shore by Unsullied armed with crossbows.
They were all crew members from the Learned One and the Osha the Smith.
With help from two companions, the fisherman finally dragged the net containing the three stone men onto land.
Grey Worm tossed down a bundle of oilcloth and said to the captured sailors, "Ten of you—wrap up the stone men in the net and carry them onto the deck."
This dangerous task, dealing with stone men, was certainly not one Daenerys would assign to her own people.
(End of Chapter)
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