Roar—"
Feeling the provocation from the giant beast beneath him, Yangyan roared furiously in the sky.
"Stop, Yangyan!"
Viserys Targaryen sharply reined in his dragon, shouting loudly in Old Valyria language.
He knew that dragons were not invincible!
Even in the Conqueror's War, the adult dragon Meraxes met its end at Hellholt in Dorne.
Facing an enemy that was prepared, Viserys Targaryen naturally wouldn't be foolish enough to directly confront their giant crossbows.
"Turn, Yangyan!"
Viserys Targaryen roared, completely altering Yangyan's diving trajectory.
Watching Viserys Targaryen ride the giant dragon away, the Meereenese nobles hiding in the city walls finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"What True Dragon King? He's nothing special!"
Suddenly, Akharz zo Azarak grinned triumphantly.
In front of him were the Golden Company, known as the "Strongest Land Army," and the most ruthless Second Sons protecting him.
"The Stormcrows are on their way!"
Daario Naharis said leisurely, holding a girl with one hand and a wine glass with the other.
His relaxed demeanor made it seem as if he didn't take the retreating enemy seriously at all.
"Hahaha, waiting for reinforcements isn't the Second Sons' custom. Let's give this young king a welcoming gift!"
Before he finished speaking, Mero reached out and pulled out a slender piece of straw.
This was the Second Sons' rule!
Whoever drew the shortest straw had to infiltrate the enemy's army and take the head of their general.
Compared to the cost of a full-scale battle, assassination was clearly the cheapest option.
"Indeed, if we can avoid fighting, it's best not to!"
Akharz zo Azarak nodded in agreement.
Their city of Qohor had no direct conflict with Viserys Targaryen.
Ultimately, they were trying to take advantage of the Sea King's prestige to raid Pentos and gain some benefits.
They never expected this to cause them such big trouble!
"With gold, beauties, and warships as gifts, I believe Viserys Targaryen will prefer his homeland across the Narrow Sea!"
Though he said this, he still looked coldly at the mercenary leader guarding him and said, "If he doesn't know what's good for him, you can also sneak into the negotiating team…"
Akharz zo Azarak made a chopping motion with his hand, pulling the straw from Mero's hand.
Upon hearing this, Daario Naharis and Mero's eyes showed solemn expressions… Thump, thump, thump!
Under the twilight, the climate of Qohor was hot and humid.
In the heart of the Unsullied camp, the envoy from the slave city-states, Akharz zo Azarak, was covering his nose and mouth tightly with a silk handkerchief, fearing that his noble status would be defiled by these filthy slaves.
His golden-threaded robe was incomparably luxurious, completely out of place with the simplicity of the Unsullied camp.
King Viserys Targaryen did not appear; representing him at the head of the table was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Brienne of Tarth.
The simple throne appeared exceptionally small beneath her broad figure, but her back remained perfectly straight.
"Where is Viserys Targaryen?"
Kraznys mo Nakloz asked with a grim face.
However, Brienne of Tarth was not in a hurry to answer the Great Master of Astapor's question.
She retorted coldly, "You are not worthy to know His Majesty's whereabouts!"
Seeing that Brienne of Tarth was even more arrogant than him, Yazhaz's tone softened considerably.
"We are not here to beg,"
"Let Viserys come out and talk to me!"
His voice, though muffled by the silk, still carried a hint of arrogance, "We bring an opportunity for everyone to conclude with dignity. Your Majesty and his dragons can leave 'with dignity'."
His words were cold, every word like a stone falling on ice, clear and distinct.
Seeing the slaver still openly challenging Viserys Targaryen's authority, Grey Worm stepped forward, his voice like iron scraping against a shield: "The King's word requires no negotiation; the slave cities will have no more slaves."
Just then, the door to the council hall was pushed open, and rows of Unsullied soldiers entered with spears and shields, without a word.
Viserys Targaryen's meaning was clear: the negotiations were about to end, and they should leave.
The meeting ended abruptly in a stalemate.
There was no clamor of soldiers, no drunken singing, not even whispered conversations.
As they left, only countless eyes watched them silently from the darkness.
The Unsullied stood like bronze statues, motionless at their posts, only the cold glint of their spear tips flickering with the dancing torchlight.
Yazhaz and his companions, their faces dark, passed through the camp in silence under the "escort" of the Unsullied, an invisible pressure weighing on the slavers' hearts.
This young king seemed to have no intention of compromising or negotiating!
Yazhaz could feel the contemptuous glances from Viserys Targaryen's subordinates, an absolute, condescending scrutiny.
It was as if they were not noble lords, but meat on a chopping block.
Yazhaz tried to straighten his back, maintaining his noble dignity.
Suddenly, a giant dragon roared, startling him so much that his golden silk handkerchief fell into the muddy water on the ground.
Looking around, three children, less than a Half-man tall, were playing a game of roasting whole lambs with the dragons.
"Dragonflame!"
A little girl with silver hair and purple eyes clapped her hands and shouted loudly.
The next moment, Dragonflame shot out, instantly roasting the sturdy wild ox in front of them to a perfect crisp outside and tender inside.
"My turn, my turn!"
A little girl with black curly hair pulled a little boy with brown eyes and shouted, "Burn them, Dragonflame!"
Instantly, the surrounding wild dragons opened their giant mouths, and multicolored Dragonflame spewed forth.
Immediately after, without waiting for their command, several wild dragons eagerly devoured the flock of sheep in front of them.
A noble from Meereen cursed under his breath, his voice trembling slightly with fear: "Gods above, these are not real… they are monsters."
Akharz zo Azarak stiffly bent down to pick up the soiled handkerchief, the wet, cold touch making him shiver.
He was facing not a bloodthirsty Dragon King, but a rising Dragon King family!
At this moment, all his arrogance, pretense, and dignity were insignificant before these wild dragons fighting over food.
Akharz zo Azarak did not look back.
He knew that Daario Naharis and Mero had already infiltrated the camp during the negotiations, awaiting a deadly strike against Viserys Targaryen.
Looking at the man-eating dragon's lair, Akharz zo Azarak anxiously wiped away cold sweat and quickly left.