Chapter 128: Leave No Survivors

"Which mercenary groups are still resisting?" Dany looked up at Grey Worm, noticing a few bloodstains on his leather armor. However, he was far cleaner compared to her, suggesting that the Unsullied had an easier task.

"Seven small outposts remain."

In this operation, 2,600 cavalry were tasked with cutting through the enemy camp, driving a herd of horses from north to south to wreak havoc.

Meanwhile, 5,000 Unsullied, supported by 2,000 longbowmen, blocked the enemy's escape route at Poplar Slope. After all, the Ghiscari coalition wasn't foolish—upon seeing the thundering herd from afar, they instinctively tried to avoid it.

Once the horses bypassed Poplar Slope and moved on, the Unsullied advanced from the slope, pressing toward the shattered Ghiscari encampment to form a pincer movement with 2,000 cavalry.

After dealing with stragglers, 20,000 laborers carried sandbags to set up barricades at the gates of the enemy's smaller camps.

Yes, to prevent their escape. The Unsullied had no horses and couldn't give chase.

"The Rose Company on the outskirts remains mostly intact. The Second Sons' camp was overrun by the stampede, suffering heavy casualties—only about 200 survived, now hiding in the Wise Master's camp.

"The Black Ravens fared even worse. Despite their formidable strength with 500 elite heavy cavalry, their camp was connected to their stables. Nearly 2,000 horses panicked with the herd, trampling their camp into ruin. Hardly anyone survived."

Even the stoic eunuch warrior couldn't help but sigh. "The mightiest mercenary company met such an ignoble end. They should have sworn allegiance to Her Majesty sooner."

Hmm, Dany's "old flame" met an unexpected, tragic fate.

"It was their choice," she replied coolly, lowering her visor. She stood and called out to the circle of mounted Dothraki guarding her, "Aggo, have Ser Barristan proceed as planned. Coordinate with the Unsullied to clear 10 kilometers northward."

"Yes, Khaleesi."

"Let's go. Once we finish this, we can finally rest," Dany said to Grey Worm.

As she approached, a tall, yellow-coated steed was led to her. Her silver mare had stumbled earlier, sustaining an injury.

The remaining cavalry, fewer than 500, quickly regrouped around Dany.

Little White spat out a bone, flapped its wings, and circled above Dany, following the troop's slow march.

"Qhono, how many brothers did we lose?" Dany asked one of her armored guards.

Unlike Aggo and the other three bloodriders, Qhono had adapted to wearing heavy armor since joining the Queen's guard.

"Twenty dead, forty wounded. Khaleesi, how are your injuries?" the young Dothraki asked with concern. He had witnessed her fall firsthand.

"I'm fine. The inner armor absorbed most of the impact."

Donning full plate armor was a complex process. It wasn't just about wearing iron over clothes. It started with padded garments, followed by flexible leather armor, cushioned layers for shock absorption, silk or linen tunics, and finally the iron plates. For aesthetic purposes, some even wore cloaks over the armor.

Ordinary soldiers couldn't afford such complete gear. Poor-quality inner armor often hindered their combat abilities. Most would simply wear leather under their plate.

The difference between noble knights and common cavalry was stark: if both fell from their horses, the noble could get up and fight again with little issue. The common soldier might suffer internal bleeding or worse, rendering them incapable of continuing.

Moreover, well-padded armor could partially withstand blunt force. Regular armor offered little protection against heavy maces—a single hit could be fatal.

In cavalry battles, war hammers were the deadliest, followed by steel lances, two-handed greatswords, and finally, curved sabers.

"What about the Unsullied and archers?" Dany asked Grey Worm.

"Not a single death among them, only a dozen lightly wounded by stray arrows."

Grey Worm then added respectfully, "Your Majesty, this battle will be sung of for millennia!"

It wasn't mere flattery. The Ghiscari slave soldiers were negligible, the Yellow Cloaks were poor fighters, but the 5,000 mercenaries were formidable.

Mercenaries had a bad reputation, but their combat prowess was unmatched. Both in individual skill and unit tactics, they often outperformed the regular armies of any nation in this world.

To put it simply, if 5,000 mercenaries fought 5,000 Unsullied head-on, the Unsullied could very well lose.

Unlike the raw ferocity of Dothraki screamers, mercenaries possessed high-level combat techniques and versatility. Many could fight as cavalry, archers, or heavily armored knights.

Take Jorah Mormont, for example. He had served as a mercenary, signing contracts with obscure companies. Despite his skills, he never rose above the rank of a small unit captain—usually just another soldier among many.

Moreover, mercenary companies were wealthier and better equipped than the Unsullied.

The Black Ravens, annihilated in the stampede, had 500 cavalry, 1,500 warhorses, 500 packhorses, and countless supplies.

"Khaleesi, you can add another bell to your braid! I dare say, no Khal on the Great Grass Sea has achieved such glory."

Qhono was ecstatic, proud to serve such a magnificent Khaleesi.

"Khal Drogo will cheer for you in the Night Lands."

If you hadn't said that last part, your flattery would've been perfect. Minus forty points for that. Still a passing grade, keep it up.

Dany inwardly rolled her eyes but outwardly spoke with solemn compassion, "Our victory is thanks to the bravery of all our warriors. For the great cause of freeing the enslaved, we've lost many brothers today, and we will lose more tomorrow."

"Dying in battle for Khaleesi is my honor!" Qholo immediately declared.

"We are willing to lay down our lives for Her Majesty!" Over four hundred knights shouted in unison.

Good, their morale is strong and their loyalty unwavering!

Perhaps it's time to reconsider the strategy.

The original plan was simply to repel this wave of attacks, then wait another year for the dragons to grow while farming for another season, and finally sweep through Slaver's Bay with overwhelming force.

But the slavers hiring mercenary companies in large numbers was a wake-up call.

Slavers were filthy rich—those damned bastards were using her own money to hire soldiers and attack her city.

Dany fumed at the thought.

"Don't kill me! No—argh—"

A sudden scream snapped Daenerys out of her thoughts.

"What's going on?" She nudged her horse forward, quickening her pace to the front of the formation.

Not far ahead, a man wearing coarse linen with a massive dragon emblem on his chest was crouched over a corpse, desperately yanking a chain from the dead man's neck.

The midday sun reflected golden glimmers off the chain—thick as a finger, solid gold?

Daenerys hadn't yet "invented" printing or papermaking, but she had already developed block-printing equipment using large carved oak blocks.

Her obsessive nature couldn't tolerate the chaotic battle gear of this era. Under her command, even laborers wore standardized uniforms—two linen shirts with black dragon emblems on the chest.

Just like the man looting the corpse.

Daenerys scanned the battlefield, her eyes sharp. The earth was torn apart by thousands of galloping hooves, wildflowers and grass trampled into the mud, corpses of men and horses strewn everywhere, smoke rising from wooden stakes and collapsed tents. The scent of soil mingled with the acrid stench of blood and fire.

Scattered laborers moved through this land, plowed anew by swords. Baskets in hand, curved knives at the ready, they harvested the lives of the wounded as if gathering crops. They stripped the dead and dying of boots, armor, helmets, iron arrowheads, swords—any valuables, even purses and jewelry.

Blades slid across throats, bringing sharp but brief cries of agony.

Daenerys opened her mouth several times, but in the end, she said nothing. She spurred her horse forward in silence.

Perhaps she could save a few of them with her own hands.

But what would be the point?

She couldn't even save all her own people—why waste energy and scarce medicine on enemies?

This is war.

She soon passed through the battlefield, arriving at the frontmost camp, where only seven fortifications remained standing.

They had survived the cavalry onslaught mainly because they were positioned further west, nestled in a rocky coastal recess.

At this moment, each of these small camps was surrounded by a low barricade made of stacked sandbags, only about 1.2 meters high. A swift cavalry charge might be able to leap over it—if they ignored the Unsullied spear formation waiting just behind.

"Where is the Second Sons' camp?" Daenerys asked.

Before Grey Worm could answer, a familiar booming voice rang out from the top of a wooden watchtower 40 meters away.

"Your Majesty, I surrender! I am willing to lead my men in pledging loyalty to you!"

That camp was backed against a stretch of massive grayish-green rocks, some as tall as four or five meters, the shortest at least a meter high. The remaining three sides were enclosed by a barrier of wagons and wooden stakes.

It looked hastily constructed, but the wagons were linked by thick iron chains, making it seem fairly sturdy.

Behind the wagon barricade, two rows of warriors stood ready—shields in their left hands, short swords in their right. Behind them, over a hundred archers waited, with three to four loaded crossbows at their feet.

Further back, near the rock face, were wooden barracks stripped of their roofs—similar to Daenerys' wooden palace, with wooden walls and canvas roofs.

At this moment, a four-meter-high wooden watchtower had been built inside, with two men standing on top.

One of them, waving and calling out, was the bearded "Titan's Bastard" Mero.

Beside him stood a slaver Daenerys had met the previous night—one of the Great Masters of Meereen, though she couldn't quite recall his full name. Something like Grazdan.

"Drop your weapons and come out to surrender," Daenerys called from behind the sandbag barricade.

"The Second Sons are willing to serve Your Majesty," Mero replied.

"Drop your weapons first."

"We are warriors! We can fight for you!"

Daenerys had had enough. She pointed at the towering Braavosi and addressed the mercenaries and Ghiscari soldiers inside.

"Behead this man who dares disrespect me. Drop your weapons and kneel, or be slaughtered to the last!"

"You—!" The Titan's Bastard was both furious and shocked, his long golden beard trembling.

He never imagined Daenerys would be so ruthless. His Second Sons still had over two hundred men!

Two hundred elite mercenaries were the equivalent of two hundred seasoned knights—back in Westeros, that meant two hundred lords and noble warriors.

"My men are sworn to follow me to the death, Mother of Dragons. I apologize for any offense last night, but you must understand—if you accept our service, you gain hundreds of brave fighters. If you choose to fight, my brothers and I will take a thousand of your Unsullied with us!"

Mero tried to suppress his rage, using both threats and persuasion.

At the same time, he swore to himself that if he made it out of this alive, he would find a way to exact brutal revenge on this silver-haired bitch.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The Second Sons' sword-and-shield men immediately pounded their shields with their short swords—both a show of support for their captain and a demonstration of their unity and defiance.

"Titan's Bastard! Titan's Bastard!"

They roared in unison.

The towering Braavosi straightened his back, looking down at Daenerys from behind the sandbag wall, a smug smile on his face.

As the chants of the Second Sons echoed, Daenerys slowly stepped back behind the Unsullied formation and spoke calmly.

"Use fire oil. Leave no survivors."

(End of Chapter)

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