"Over a hundred tons of Valyrian steel? Where?" Dany looked at the imp with a suspicious gaze.
"What, you don't believe me?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow, looking pleased with himself.
"There are only about three thousand Valyrian steel weapons in the world, and all together they weigh less than thirty tons. Now you're telling me there's a place with over a hundred tons of it? Do you really expect me to believe that?" Dany said calmly.
"No, no, no," Tyrion wagged a finger, smiling. "Not hidden—it's standing right out in the open on both sides of the road. Hundreds or even thousands of people pass by it every day. At least a million people know it exists."
This time, Dany was genuinely shocked. The little imp didn't seem to be boasting.
"Ah, I know what he's talking about!" Clinton and Aegon exclaimed at the same time. "It really could be over a hundred tons. That Valyrian steel statue is massive."
"A statue? Where?" Dany asked urgently.
"In Goh Dhorhor," Clinton answered.
Leave Pentos, head east along the Valyrian Road for about 500 kilometers, and you'll reach the banks of the Little Rhoyne River. There lies the ruins of an ancient Rhoynar city—
The ruins of what was once Goh Dhorhor.
"You've both seen the Valyrian steel statue?" Dany asked again.
"We lived in seclusion upstream of the Little Rhoyne for ten years! Every time we rowed past Goh Dhorhor, we could see the sphinx statue standing beside the Valyrian Road."
"Ah, I remember now," Jorah clapped his hands and said with sudden realization, "When I worked as a sellsword for the Myrish and the Braavosi, I passed that statue several times.
A dragon's body with a woman's head—the sphinx statue lay crouched on the ground. Its base was as wide as half a double bed and stood three to four meters high. Even if it wasn't a hundred tons, it had to be at least seventy.
I always thought it was odd that there was only one statue—it seemed unbalanced.
Then one of my sellsword friends told me that over two hundred years ago, the horselords of Qarth came and hauled the king's statue away."
As he spoke, the Old Bear became visibly excited, his cheeks flushed. "Your Grace, we'll definitely find the male sphinx—the one with a man's head and a dragon's body—on the Avenue of the Gods in the Horse King's city.
Seven above, two Valyrian steel statues. Together, they'd weigh over a hundred tons. If we melted them down into Valyrian steel swords and armor, what would we have to fear from the White Walkers?"
"Exactly. There used to be a pair of sphinxes standing on either side of the road. One of them was fitted with giant wooden wheels and dragged all the way to the Horse King's city," Clinton added, nodding.
Hearing all this, Dany began to feel skeptical. "Are you sure it's Valyrian steel and not just regular iron?"
Tyrion replied with absolute certainty, "After thousands of years exposed to wind and rain, not a speck of rust—what else could it be but Valyrian steel? And considering the extravagance of the Valyrians, would they really use common steel to forge a triumphal arch?"
"A triumphal arch? That's a triumphal arch?" Aegon asked, puzzled.
Tyrion slowly nodded. "Look at a map of western Essos and you'll see. Goh Dhorhor was the northernmost Rhoynar city-state.
Two thousand years ago, the war between the Rhoynar and the Valyrians raged from Valyria all the way to the Festival Capital—what is now the Lands of Grief.
At the Festival Capital, the Rhoyne River suddenly flooded at night and drowned all of the Valyrian cavalry and infantry—over a hundred thousand dead.
Yes, the Valyrians had cavalry—heavy cavalry—whose job was to clear the battlefield of ballista formations, and then the dragons would swoop in and set everything ablaze."
Dany absentmindedly rubbed her chin, musing aloud, "I didn't expect you to know so much about Valyrian tactics."
That seemed to tickle Tyrion just right. He looked smug. "I told you, I'm a dragon expert.
Dragons aren't invincible.
Do you know why the Valyrians always deployed them in swarms?
Each battle saw three hundred dragons—at least a hundred. Enough to scare people to death."
"Exactly! It was psychological warfare!" Tyrion said proudly. "That was the Valyrian tactic—hundreds of dragons blotting out the sky, terrifying the soldiers below. Ballista crews would panic and forget how to operate their weapons.
In the days before maesters invented the anti-dragon scorpion bolts, even a standard ballista could kill a dragon. The Dornish killing the century-old Meraxes is proof of that."
"That was just luck," Old Aemon frowned. "They happened to hit her in the eye. Once a dragon matures, ordinary arrows and even ballistae can't pierce its scales.
In the Battle of the Field of Fire, do you think your ancestors didn't prepare ballistae? They just couldn't even scratch the dragons' scale armor."
Ah yes, the Battle of the Field of Fire—Targaryens versus Lannisters from the West and the Gardeners of Highgarden.
That was the battle after which the Lannisters bent the knee to the Targaryens and became loyal vassals for the next three hundred years.
Tyrion sighed. "Look at Blackfyre now—his eye is already as big as a soup bowl. As he grows, his eyes will only get bigger.
A target bigger than a window—how is that not a fatal weakness?
Any decent archer could hit a window from 200 meters with a ballista, right?
When a dragon breathes fire, his head is lowered, his mouth is down, and his eyes are locked on the target, right?
If he's staring at you, that means his eyes are fully exposed.
As long as you're not afraid to die and your aim is steady, you can hit him. Whether that kills him is another matter.
After all, dragonfire can't reach as far as an arrow can fly. You'd get off at least one last shot before you're engulfed in flames."
Old Aemon was speechless. Dany turned to glance at Blackfyre and Greenwing's massive, glistening eyes, lost in thought.
Tyrion continued, "Dragons are powerful, but not invincible. The Valyrians understood that, which is why they formed heavy armored cavalry second only to the Rhoynar.
The might of the dragons would suppress the enemy's cavalry, while our heavy cavalry would clear out archers and ballista formations for the dragons. This mutual support was the true reason Valyria was unmatched across the world."
"How do you know all this?" Aegon asked in astonishment.
"Books. Cyvasse," Tyrion replied.
"Uh… Cyvasse?" Aegon looked at him strangely.
"Heh." A glint flashed through Tyrion's mismatched black and blue eyes as he chuckled. "Do you know who invented Cyvasse?"
"Someone from Volantis," Aegon replied.
"No, back then they were still Valyrians!" Tyrion emphasized.
"The Valyrians created the rules of the game themselves: the dragon eats the elephant, the elephant defeats the heavy cavalry, the heavy cavalry destroys catapults, archers, and siege towers, and then the catapult and siege tower take down the dragon.
The fact that the Valyrians set these rules proves that in the many wars they fought to conquer the world, they must have faced situations where catapult stones smashed a dragon's skull, or steel bolts pierced a dragon's vital organs."
Looking at the silent and attentive crowd, Tyrion smiled smugly, then turned to Aegon and said, "So, do you know why I can always beat you at Cyvasse so easily?
Because I understand the rules—never let the dragon stray too far from the heavy cavalry.
Once you grasp that, your win rate in Cyvasse will skyrocket.
And if you still lose, it's only because your opponent knows the same rule and uses it better than you do."
Even Daenerys couldn't help but regard the dwarf with newfound respect.
This man was truly clever—able to see straight to the heart of a problem!
Tyrion caught the look in the Dragon Queen's eyes, and it pleased him immensely.
Unable to help himself, he winked and grinned at her.
Daenerys remained expressionless and doused him with a bucket of cold water: "So what? You're about to die, and this is what you're showing off?"
"Sigh." The smug look on Tyrion's face froze, cracked, and fell away, revealing a bitter expression of utter despair.
He sighed heavily and said, "I know, it's too late to say anything now. I just wanted to complain, Your Grace—you shouldn't have made me the Wildfire General. I was meant to be the Dragon General."
"Enough. Stop rambling and explain the Arch of Triumph to me," Daenerys said, waving her hand impatiently.
Tyrion spoke wearily, "The flood that submerged the Festival Capital and drowned a hundred thousand Valyrians was the revenge of Mother Rhoyne.
After that, the Valyrians retaliated against the Rhoynar.
Hundreds of dragonlords rode their dread dragons upriver from south to north, burning every village and city in their path. Groyohar was the final castle on the Little Rhoyne.
Burning Groyohar to ruins marked the official end of the war between Valyria and the Rhoynar—Valyria's total victory.
That's why they built the Sphinx statues outside Groyohar.
It was the Valyrians' Arch of Triumph—a monument to the destruction of a great civilization."
"Sounds reasonable." The Dragon Queen's eyes sparkled. "The statue might really be forged of Valyrian steel. Two hundred tons!"
"The Valyrians were extravagantly wasteful," old Aemon exclaimed.
"I think they weren't extravagant enough!" Daenerys said excitedly.
"Heh heh…" Tyrion chuckled darkly. "Your Grace, have you ever thought—if the statue could be melted down, why would nearby Qohor have left it untouched?
Even the horsemen could haul the statue to Vaes Dothrak using massive wooden wheels. Are you telling me Qohor, the City of Smiths, couldn't manage it?"
"What, you know the reason?" Daenerys asked calmly.
"I don't know the exact reason," Tyrion replied confidently, "but I'm sure of one thing—none of the smiths in Qohor could melt it down!"
Thud, thud, thud—as they spoke, Hattar ascended the stairs with heavy steps.
After a respectful salute, he reported, "Your Grace, I did not fail you. The old man confessed."
"That fast?" Tyrion was surprised.
"Sigh, I only hit him once with 'Dragonfly Skims the Water' and he gave in."
A hint of melancholy appeared on Hattar's squash-like face. He sighed, "At this moment, I find myself yearning to face another Faceless Man. Possessing dragon-slaying skills but facing only rats and worms… it's so lonely."
Tyrion was momentarily stunned. For a brief instant, the hulking brute seemed to transform into a towering, robed swordsman with flowing hair and beard—a solitary and unmatched warrior.
On a moonlit night, he stood proudly atop a lonely peak, his hair and robes fluttering in the wind, cradling his sword as he gazed down at the mountains below.
"Enough. Bring the blacksmith over. I have questions for him," Daenerys snapped impatiently, pulling Tyrion back to reality.
Looking again, the brute was still a brute—coarse, ugly, and with that butcherly aura he shared with the other "Terror of Slaver's Bay."
Ten minutes later, two Unsullied brought back the blacksmith, Tobho.
Aside from a pale complexion and dazed look in his eyes, the old smith hadn't changed much. His checkered silk robe bore no bloodstains or whip marks.
Daenerys greeted him with a radiant smile and graciously ordered, "Bring a chair for Master Tobho! He's our honored guest—how can we let him stand? Qiqi, brew him a pot of Yi tea."
Seeing the Queen's sweet smile, the muscles on the smith's long, thin face twitched slightly. Forcing a maid-like, humble smile, he said, "Your Grace, whatever you wish to know, I shall speak without reservation."
(End of Chapter)
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