Simba had lost too much blood.
Daenerys was worried that if he relied solely on food to slowly regain his health, the injury, combined with his young age, might permanently damage his constitution.
Even when Aegon was stabbed, she had secretly considered giving him a transfusion. For Simba, Daenerys would not hesitate to offer the same care.
After sending the slain horsemen to the Nightlands, it was close to eleven at night. The remaining horsemen did not return to their original camp; instead, they set up tents by the river, preparing to rest there for the night.
The moment Daenerys confirmed Simba's severe blood loss, she used her connection with Little Green in Meereen, asking the dragon to discreetly tell Aemon to pack the magic lens and transfusion equipment from her study.
Only Aemon knew that the Dragon Queen had "invented" blood transfusion technology, and only he knew where those instruments were kept.
By the time the crude hide tents were set up, Little Green arrived at the riverbank carrying the items Daenerys had requested.
Inside the ten-square-meter tent, the "dummy" Grise was fast asleep, her cheeks rosy with warmth. Jogo guarded the entrance while Daenerys performed the blood test under a flickering candle flame.
Hmm, Simba truly was her son. His bloodline was pure—dozens of times purer than Tyrion's.
In fact, if one were to judge by bloodline alone, people like Rhaegar and Aerys were practically of an entirely different species from Daenerys.
Tyrion carried Aerys's direct royal blood and already possessed an exceptionally pure dragon lineage.
But Simba…He almost seemed like a child of the gods.
To put it more directly, Simba was the one most likely—after Daenerys—to inherit the legacy of the great Valyrian magi.
Daenerys even suspected he possessed the gift of Dragon Spirit.
But since there were no longer any "unbonded" dragons in the world, no one could tell whether he truly had that potential.
When Daenerys hatched her dragons, each of them had already bonded with her before they were even born.
Unless she died, those five dragons would never bond with anyone else, nor would there ever be a second dragonrider chosen by the dragons themselves.
Simba, it seemed, had simply been born in the wrong era.
Of course, Daenerys's five dragons might one day lay eggs. By then, hatching dragons would no longer require the "Dragon Mother's gift"—living dragon eggs could mature and hatch naturally.
If Simba truly had the Dragon Spirit, and lived long enough, he might one day bond with a new generation of dragons.
Who knows—perhaps he or his descendants might even develop a civilization of dragons and magic centered on Targaryen blood.
The only question was, would Daenerys's five dragons ever lay eggs?Only time would tell.
After determining Simba's blood type, Daenerys was both surprised and unsurprised to find that it was exactly the same as her own.
She had even planned to pick a donor from among the two thousand Dothraki warriors!
Of course, in the real world of science, direct transfusions between close relatives are highly inadvisable because of the severe risk of transfusion-related immune reactions.
Yes, that cliché TV plotline—"Who's the child's parent? We need a blood test so you can donate!"—is completely wrong.
Those shows only use transfusion as a setup for "the neighbor is the real father" or "the babies were switched at birth" drama. No real doctor with an actual degree would ever say such a thing.
Daenerys didn't earn her Master's in medicine through favoritism. She had known this from the beginning and had even studied potential host-rejection effects using her magic lens.
But, as it turned out, she needn't have worried.
In this world, social status determined one's worth, and bloodlines carried true power.
That wasn't just noble propaganda.
The strength within their blood was indeed greater than that of commoners. Royal blood, in particular, was immensely potent.
Blood transfusion could still cause rejection, but it had nothing to do with lymphocytes or immune cells. The key lay in the nature and energy level of the magic contained in the blood.
It was unscientific—but perfectly magical.
Daenerys's blood carried immense magical energy of the highest order, which no ordinary person could possibly endure.
But Simba, being her direct kin, experienced no rejection whatsoever—unscientifically, yet miraculously.
There was even an added benefit.
Within just two or three minutes, the pallor of his round face began to fade, replaced by a healthy, rosy glow.
He awoke from his faint, weak stupor, wide-eyed, curiously staring at the tube connected to his wrist. "Khaleesi, what's happening?" he asked.
Daenerys raised her own right hand—also pierced with a metal needle—gave it a little wave, and asked with a smile, "What do you think?"
The tube between them wasn't directly connected; there was a pressure converter in between.
Simba frowned, thinking hard, and said uncertainly, "Khaleesi is a witch—are you using blood magic on me?"
"Well, you're not exactly wrong," Daenerys said with a curious smile. "You don't seem afraid?"
Simba blinked his almond-shaped eyes, watching the dark red blood flow through the pale tube. "It feels good," he murmured. "Warm, strong. Not scary."
Daenerys's eyes glimmered as she quietly invoked the fire-gathering spell within herself.
In short, she used magic flames to heat her own body.
She took out a thermometer and placed it under her arm, stopping only when her temperature rose to forty degrees Dragonean.
"How do you feel now? Hot?"
"Warm. Not hot."
Then Daenerys switched to an outdoor thermometer, raised her internal temperature another five degrees, and asked again, "Now? Hot?"
"Still not."
She kept increasing it—three degrees at a time—until she reached eighty degrees. Only then did Simba's round face flush bright red, sweat pouring down as he gasped from the heat.
Dragon-blooded beings were naturally heat-resistant. That wasn't surprising.
But the fact that Simba could only withstand up to eighty degrees disappointed Daenerys a little.
Then again, she felt a flicker of curiosity—eighty degrees was still beyond human limits. Had Jhaqo and the others really never noticed anything strange?Impossible.
"Has anyone else noticed anything unusual about your body?" Daenerys asked.
Simba looked puzzled, not quite understanding her question.
"When you bathe or drink soup—have you ever been burned?" she clarified.
"Yes," he said.
So he had been burned before. That meant his heat tolerance hadn't been this high until now.
Daenerys glanced at the blood tube connecting them, thoughtful. Perhaps… her blood had awakened her son's latent resistance to fire.
Simba stared at her, wide-eyed and bewildered.
Her guess was quickly confirmed.
After Simba finished receiving the transfusion, Danni tested him with hot water and found that he could now tolerate a high temperature of ninety Long degrees.
Then Danni did something very reckless.
She drew blood from Simba's left hand into her right, then drew blood from her left hand and put it into Simba's right.
She was going to "exchange" their blood.
Scientifically speaking, this was almost suicidal. It was easy to mix the two people's immune cells, and rejection could kill them both.
But this world was strange. Rejection wasn't limited to immune cells; it was mainly determined by the magical energy level and properties in the blood.
"How do you feel?"
"Very comfortable, warm all over." Simba's cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright.
After about two rounds of exchanges—the amount exchanged equaled twice Simba's total blood volume—Danni's face went pale and she grew weak.
She had lost too much blood.
The "mundane blood" she took from Simba did not have the noncombustible property; it could not withstand fire and quickly broke down into amino acids, proteins and other basic nutrients under high heat.
It was like she had eaten a big bowl of duck-blood soup but then had to draw out the same volume in human blood.
Clearly, eating duck blood could not replenish an equivalent amount of human blood; she'd taken a huge loss.
With the mundane blood removed, nearly all of Simba's blood became Danni's noncombustible blood. In effect, Danni had given up an amount of fresh blood equal to Simba's entire blood volume tonight.
She couldn't hold on.
But the effect was gratifying: Simba's fire resistance almost underwent a qualitative change, leaping from ninety degrees up to—well, the thermometer Danni used to measure Asta's afternoon outdoor temperature only went to one hundred degrees.
Anyway, Simba could now eat hotpot without worrying about burning his lips.
Danni wasn't sure how long this state would last; after all, away from her body, noncombustible blood would gradually lose its magic.
Jogo would stay on the plains and lead the newly subdued Roaring Warriors back to Merin with the plainsmen; after helping Simba exchange blood, Danni rode Big Black and left alone.
Simba remained with the group, among many plainsmen children.
Danni didn't want him to look too different, so as not to attract the suspicion of clever but ill-intentioned people.
Of course, the situation on the great plains was chaotic and full of danger right now—there was the Borash blood plague and many KALS across the plains who had defected to the Allied Army.
Danni didn't think so highly of Jogo's two thousand-odd men that nothing could possibly go wrong.
When she treated Simba's wounds, Danni left a soul-mark on his chest.
Little Green, who had delivered the sorcerer's lens and the transfusion tools, stayed behind as well.
Little Green would hide in the clouds and keep an eye on the troop as they entered Merin's territory.
When the eastern sky showed a strip of pale dawn, Danni landed on top of Merin's great golden pyramid.
Exhausted from the night and having given so much blood to Simba, she slept until two in the afternoon.
At mealtime, a plainswoman maid even brought the spear-maiden Morona over.
"Your Majesty, did you not find the Bloodsworn guard Mago? Shall Haug and I continue searching?" The spear-maiden asked with concern as soon as she arrived.
"No need. He's been found."
"Then, Your Majesty, did you summon me for some orders?" Morona asked, puzzled.
"Don't worry about the Jade Sea mercenaries to the east of the Lazza River for now. Concentrate your forces on investigating and monitoring Borash. I need to know how much damage the blood plague is doing to the Allied Army and to the Dothrak KALS, and we must prevent those scoundrels from secretly sending infected people our way."
Originally Danni had only three shapeshifters—Boro District, Gisela, and Morona. Later she borrowed four more from the Queen's retinue, making seven shapeshifters in total.
But the Slave Bay's three-city air defense zone was vast and also had the task of watching the allied city-states, so troops were strained, and they hadn't discovered Jako of Borash earlier.
Now that the blood plague had appeared, until an antidote was developed, Danni had to strengthen quarantine measures and guard against infected people being dropped into their midst.
Danni was sure that unscrupulous slaveowners would be capable of such vile acts.
After arranging official business, Danni beckoned Morona over and lowered her voice. "About finding Mago, don't tell anyone."
"Your Majesty, I don't know many people in Merin—who would I even tell?" Morona replied.
"Better to tell no one," Danni said.
Morona nodded in agreement, then curiously asked, "Why can't I tell anyone?"
"Ah, traveling thousands of miles to hunt down a petty lackey would make me seem petty and small-minded."
The wildwoman's face twisted.
If she thought that, her expression said Danni guessed her thoughts. Danni retorted, "Tell me, should one keep a sacred oath?"
"Of course."
"Four years ago, Mago raped and murdered my maid Elroyet. I swore to avenge her. Last night, I used the King's Sword to cut off his lower half. How does that sound?"
(End of chapter)
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