Chapter 192: The Whole World Knows Now

Thick tallow candles were inserted into the corridor's pillar slots, their bright red glow adding a trace of stifling heat to the air. Dany hesitated for a moment but chose not to wear her hood, revealing the silver hair coiled atop her head.

However, her demeanor had shifted dramatically—even Barristan felt as though she had become an entirely different person in an instant.

"I'm suppressing my presence to make myself look more like an ordinary person," the seemingly ordinary girl, Dany, explained.

"Indeed, your exceptional aura is gone—you seem like a regular Valyrian girl," Whitebeard muttered, his expression uncertain.

Her dazzling violet eyes appeared as if covered in a layer of gray dust. Her once smooth and radiant skin, reflecting a healthy glow under candlelight, had now dulled, turning waxy and coarse.

Most notably, her presence had changed—it was as if some mystical essence had been extracted from her soul. Or rather, as if Dany had been possessed by a frail, sickly coward.

Her face remained the same, yet her beauty had diminished by half, and her charisma by even more.

"How did you do it?" Barristan couldn't help but ask.

"Suppressing my spiritual fluctuations and applying a layer of whale oil-infused cream on my face."

Making oneself unattractive was actually quite simple. Even Whitebeard had applied an unflattering disguise. The real challenge was in suppressing one's energy and spirit.

Mmm... she had transferred ninety percent of her soul's power into Drogon's consciousness, instantly stripping herself of most of her radiance.

After a quick dinner, the two went to their second-floor bedroom to put away their luggage. Only after adjusting their appearances again did they head back downstairs.

They wanted to figure out Tyrion's situation.

Barristan knew nothing about Tyrion's patricide, nor that he had been smuggled to Illyrio by Varys, only to be sent off toward Slaver's Bay.

Hmm, according to the Game of Thrones storyline, Varys and Tyrion had fled King's Landing together, intending to go to Slaver's Bay and rally behind the Dragon Queen.

Jorah Mormont was still in Astapor as the Queen's Hand, too busy to have kidnapped Tyrion, meaning he had never been separated from Varys.

Dany "knew" the plot, but she wanted to observe Varys.

She had to admit—she felt some apprehension toward the spymaster.

To be in King's Landing yet have spies planted all the way in Qarth—what kind of absurdity was that?

After coming downstairs, Dany casually strolled through the west hall corridor, pretending to pass by. She spotted the dwarf finishing his dinner, engaged in a game of cyvasse with a gray-bearded middle-aged sailor.

Cyvasse originated from Volantis and was popular among the Free Cities of Essos. It was also a fashionable game in Westerosi cities engaged in maritime trade.

The original Daenerys Targaryen had known how to play as well.

The game featured ten different pieces, each with unique attributes and strengths: armed rabble, spearmen, crossbowmen, light cavalry, heavy cavalry, trebuchets, siege wagons, elephants, dragons, and the king.

Its rules resembled a mix between Stratego and chess.

Seven or eight spectators gathered around the game, and Dany naturally stopped to watch, while Barristan, hooded, sat in the shadows, sipping wine.

The closer she got, the more she felt that Tyrion truly lived up to his reputation.

So ugly he barely looked human—a demon in the flesh.

A deformed little monkey-demon? A pig-eared imp?

In any case, based on appearance alone, he was somewhat unworthy of the great name "Tyrion."

Yes, much like "Brandon" among the Starks or "Grazdan" among the Ghiscari, "Tyrion" had once belonged to a great King of the Rock.

"When will the allied forces begin their campaign?" Tyrion asked.

"Why do you care?"

"To avoid the war, of course. By the Seven, with hundreds of thousands of soldiers clashing, only a fool wouldn't try to get out of the way."

"Fair enough, but I can't give you an answer," the scar-faced graybeard shook his head.

"Isn't Captain Tery's Tuna included in the expedition fleet?" The Imp asked casually.

"You know about that?"

"Heh, take a look around—the Merchant's House leaks from all four walls," Tyrion chuckled.

"I did sign a contract with the Volantenes to transport their war elephants, but the allied forces have yet to finalize their strategy, or even determine how many troops they'll send."

As the graybeard grumbled in frustration, Tyrion captured his black elephant with a red dragon and sneered, "In this situation, why not go all in?

Last time, the Dragon Queen crushed an army of a hundred thousand—twice! In the span of a single month, she wiped out the Ghiscari forces and took both Yunkai and Meereen.

No wonder in Volantene plays, she's portrayed as a sea-devil—so fearsome, so massive, so brutal. How else could the men constantly losing to her justify their failures?"

"You, an Andal from the Sunset Sea, know nothing about the current situation," a merchant in silk robes interjected. "The art of war lies in knowing your enemy as well as yourself. The Ghiscari lost last time without even understanding how—so the allied forces must first analyze that woman's tactics and personality."

"Half a year's passed, and they still haven't figured out how they lost?" Tyrion raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Heh, heh—your dragon just flew into my trebuchet's range! Stay focused, or you'll lose before you know it," Captain Tery grinned as he captured Tyrion's red dragon with his trebuchet.

Then he explained, "That woman isn't just well-equipped—she's a tactical genius.

For example, how did she sneak thousands of soldiers right up to Meereen's walls? How did she convince the Meereenese that she had fifty thousand troops, forcing the Ghiscari to cower in their pyramids and miss their last chance to turn the tide?

Or take the battle outside Yunkai's rear camp—where did she hide her ambush forces? How did she turn Yunkai's own soldiers against them?"

As the men pieced together the battle from the Ghiscari perspective, recounting the details one after another, Tyrion furrowed his brow and turned to a stern-faced man beside him.

"What do you think, Haldon?"

"Dragons are the source of miracles."

"Hahahaha, well said!" Tyrion burst into laughter.

"Heh, can a dragon conjure an army of fifty thousand out of thin air? Can a dragon turn loyal Ghis generals against their own? Can a dragon hide forty thousand ambushers?"

A brown-haired middle-aged mercenary sneered sarcastically. "Ah, those primitive Westerosi, always prattling on about dragons. Aegon conquered the Andals with just three dragons, and now you think dragons are gods? That they can do anything?"

"To claim the Rhoyne Riverlands—a region with half the land and population of the Seven Kingdoms—the Valyrians lost at least thirty dragons, a hundred dragonlords, a hundred thousand pure-blooded Volantenes, and a million slaves."

He lifted his chin and declared proudly, "In this land, dragons are merely legendary creatures that can fly and breathe fire. They die just the same when struck by an arrow."

"Heh, I can't even argue with that," Tyrion chuckled foolishly.

"Checkmate!" He placed a chess piece down, rubbing his hands gleefully. "Captain Tri, admit defeat, admit defeat—I've won again."

"Sigh!" The gray-bearded man pulled a handful of copper coins from his pouch and placed them on the table, unwilling to accept defeat. "Here, take it. Let's play again."

"Sure." As they reset the board, Tyrion casually asked, "By the way, why do the Volantenes hate the Dragon Queen so much? Slaver's Bay is three thousand miles away from here."

"Only someone who has never engaged in maritime trade would ask such a question."

Tyrion patted his round belly. "Look at me—this body would drown in a bathtub. Why would I go out to sea? Unless the entire ocean was made of wine."

"Hahaha!" The people around them burst into laughter.

"Slave trade isn't just the livelihood of Slaver's Bay; it's the foundation of the entire world's maritime commerce. Simply put, slaves reduce the cost of sea trade by ninety percent."

"Oh, so it's about money." Tyrion nodded in realization.

Tri shook his head and sighed. "Maritime trade yields tens, even hundreds of times the profit. If slaves were replaced with contract workers and slightly exploited, they would adapt within a few years. It wouldn't be a catastrophic blow to sea trade. But—"

"But look at the Merchant's House—slaves warm our beds, cook our meals, wipe our tables, serve our dishes, feed our horses, and clean our chamber pots.

Now look at Volantis—slaves produce their food, clean their streets, educate their children, guard their walls, man their warships, and charge into battle.

So do you understand now?

This city cannot function without slaves!"

And yet, at this very moment, all the slaves in the city have turned their eyes eastward, longing for the radiant savior—the Dragon Queen, Mhysa, the Liberator.

Within the Black Walls, the noble houses of ancient bloodlines can no longer eat or sleep in peace. Even the sound of a kitchen slave sharpening a knife in the dead of night is enough to make them wet themselves in terror.

It's not just the nobles who refuse to tolerate this situation—the city's poor also hate the Dragon Queen.

By law, even the lowest beggar in the countryside holds a higher status than a slave. But now that woman is trying to take away their last shred of dignity—how could they not be furious?"

"Reasonable, but foolish," Tyrion said, shaking his head.

"How so?"

"Do you think Westerosi lords live more comfortably than your trade princes and city-state governors?" the imp countered.

"I've only been to Oldtown, but I've never seen its lord."

Gray-bearded Tri shrugged and moved his heavy cavalry piece toward Tyrion's catapult.

Tyrion quickly placed his dragon beside the catapult and nodded. "The Earl of Hightower has spent the past few years holed up in the Hightower studying magic. Even his youngest daughter's affair with a commoner didn't stir him."

Dany couldn't help but mourn for Jorah for a moment—seems like all of Westeros knew about the green adornment on his head.

"Let me put it this way—everything the Volantene nobility can do to slaves—rape, whip, cut off hands and feet, force unpaid labor—Westerosi lords can do to their freefolk subjects.

In name, Westeros forbids slavery, but most commoners are no different from slaves."

Tyrion spoke sincerely. In his view, aside from the facial tattoos, a serving maid in Casterly Rock was no different from a Volantene noble's slave.

"If I were the Triarch of Volantis, and I found out that woman not only has three dragons—"

"Four. She just hatched a golden one," Tri interrupted.

"Uh, another dragon? Where did that come from?" Tyrion was stunned.

"There are currently two popular theories," a sea merchant chimed in. "Slaver's Bay claims that the Queen's handmaiden was brutally murdered by assassins, and the gods compensated her with a golden dragon. She even named it 'Golden Dorea.'"

Clang.

The chess piece in Tyrion's hand fell onto the board. His mismatched eyes widened in disbelief. "Say that again—her maid died, so the gods compensated her with a dragon? And she actually had the audacity to spread that nonsense? And you fools actually believe it?"

Tri swiftly captured Tyrion's piece with his dragon, sneering. "You're the fool. You understand nothing.

Dragon eggs have long become inert fossils. To hatch a dragon now, one must trade with the dark world for an undead dragon's soul, then bathe it in fire to be reborn."

(End of Chapter)

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