Chapter 193: Tyrion’s Mouth

A silk-robed merchant beside them solemnly said, "This has already become an open secret. The Black Wall nobles even went to consult the High Priest of the Red God, Benerro. He admitted that the Lord of Light, R'hllor, has two aspects: one governs the light, while the other rules over the dark world of death.

Red priests resurrecting the dead is nothing new. If they can pull souls back from the dark world, why wouldn't they be able to let dragon souls be reborn in fire?"

Benerro?

The High Priest of the Red Temple in Volantis—equivalent to the Pope in the Vatican. But it seemed even this grand expert had fallen into the same trap.

Dany touched her nose, feeling a bit awkward.

"That woman lost her brother, husband, and son in exchange for three miraculous dragons. So, to hatch a dragon, aside from needing a dragon egg, one must also sacrifice a loved one to R'hllor, the master of the dark world," summarized Greybeard Terry.

"But do you know about the tragedy at Summerhall?" Tyrion's ugly face scrunched up. "In Dorne's Summerhall, a king died, a crown prince perished, countless fire mages, septons of the Seven, and soldiers all burned… and yet, not even a single dragon scale was hatched."

"Hatching dragons with the Seven? Hahaha!" The people around burst into laughter. "The whole world knows the Seven don't even exist. Their septons are no different from ordinary men.

Dwarf, go to the Red Temple Square and see for yourself. Once you meet High Priest Benerro, you'll realize that the gods you've worshiped for thousands of years are nothing but seven wooden idols."

Tyrion's face turned red, yet he had no way to refute them. Three days ago, when he arrived in Volantis, he had passed through the Red Temple Square.

He had always thought that red priests were no different from the High Septon in the Great Sept of Baelor—just deceiving the faithful with petty tricks. But now…

"But Daenerys also believes in the Seven, doesn't she?" he argued at last.

"No one denies her uniqueness! It's like some beautiful but wicked women—countless men chase them, yet they barely acknowledge them. Meanwhile, some good women throw themselves at men and still get ignored. That's just fate!

Without such a destiny, would that woman be called 'Mother of Dragons'? Could she have gotten a dragon just by losing a single handmaiden? Could she have crushed tens of thousands of Ghiscari warriors like fallen leaves in the wind?" Captain Terry lamented.

Tyrion remained silent, feeling as though his entire worldview was being overturned.

"Or maybe she just got lucky," someone beside him suggested.

"There's another theory," another said. "The Great Master of Yunkai performed a blood sacrifice on his entire family and ultimately sacrificed himself to R'hllor… but the dragon egg was stolen by that woman, and she got a dragon for free."

An old sailor nodded in agreement. "I just came back from New Ghis. People there say it was actually the Dragon Crone who hatched the golden dragon."

"The Dragon Crone?" Dany couldn't help but interject.

The people around had already noticed her. Even Tyrion had glanced at her several times. Since everyone was discussing the topic, remaining silent would have only made her seem out of place.

"The Haelkor sorceress who helped the Great Master Mourinho hatch dragons. Because she successfully hatched one, she proclaimed herself the 'Dragon Crone.' According to her, even that woman acknowledged the title."

Dragon Crone?

What the hell?!

"That's impossible, right? Even if the Mother of Dragons were a fool, she wouldn't let someone else take credit for nothing," Dany muttered, her lips twitching.

"But the Dragon Crone holds a stack of Quarthian property deeds—all gifted by the Mother of Dragons."

Dany was speechless.

"So, the rumors that the Allied Forces are trying to hatch dragons aren't false after all?" Tyrion stroked his scruffy beard and asked.

"It's not just a plan; it has already begun. I heard two noble families in New Ghis have already been wiped out."

Dany turned her head and saw a medium-built, dark-skinned man in gray robes—a fire mage?

Hmm… not only did his gray robe bear twisted flame runes, but when Dany looked into his blue eyes, she saw two flickering flames dancing within.

She thought it was an illusion. She rubbed her eyes and looked again—still, in that sea of blue, a small yellow flame flickered.

What is this?

Could it be…

Dany suddenly recalled the nine-colored vortex patterns she had once seen in her vision.

—Did I just pierce through his mental defenses and see the core meditation technique of this fire mage?

The Valyrian bloodline's inheritance was too damn overpowered!

Encountering fire mages in the Merchant's House was nothing unusual. Standing on her toes, she glanced around and spotted seven or eight mysterious individuals in the corners—fire mages, pyromancers, shadowbinders, and even necromancers.

As for the more "righteous" professions—moon singers, priestesses, and red priests—they were even more numerous. Especially the red-robed monks; there were more than ten of them. Many of the Tiger Cloaks who entered to drink would respectfully salute them.

"Wiped out? To hatch dragons?" Tyrion was horrified.

"Yes. The Dragon Crone burned them all as sacrifices to the shadow demon," the fire mage nodded.

"The Dragon Queen got a dragon just by losing a handmaiden, but they turned their entire family into an inferno and didn't even get a single scale," the Imp sneered.

The fire mage said, "I've corresponded with the Dragon Crone. She insists that the golden dragon was hatched by her, and the 'handmaiden sacrifice' story is a lie by the Mother of Dragons—because she fears that if everyone has dragons, she will no longer be unique as the 'Dragon Queen.'"

"But the Dragon Crone burned two noble families and still failed to hatch a dragon. How does she explain that?" Dany asked.

"It's simple—the quality and quantity of the sacrifices weren't enough. Everyone knows R'hllor is no benevolent deity. His greed is so immense that even we dare not delve too deeply into the sorcery of the dead," the fire mage said, appearing quite serious.

"I doubt those two noble families were willing participants," Tyrion sneered.

"The Dragon Crone also said that since the family heads didn't offer themselves willingly, the results were likely to be worse."

Tyrion's eyes gleamed sharply as he coldly said, "You're all wrong. The Dragon Queen's theory of dragon hatching is actually a paradox.

"Only by sacrificing the one they love most can they please R'hllor. But if someone deliberately tries to hatch a dragon, it means their love for the dragon surpasses all else. Clearly, the key element of the sacrifice—'the one they love most'—can never be fulfilled."

"Exactly! Dwarf, your brain is quite sharp. Hatching a dragon is nothing but a scam." Dany's eyes lit up as she praised him.

However, upon hearing the word 'dwarf,' Tyrion was displeased. He puffed out his small belly and retorted, "Well, something else of mine is even more flexible. Care to give it a try?"

"Hmph!" Dany pulled a dagger from her waist. Just like she used to twirl a pencil in class, the small, thin blade danced nimbly between her fingers. Under the flickering candlelight, specks of red light flashed dazzlingly, yet her fingers remained unscathed throughout.

"Hmm." The fire mage nodded, pulling out a black sausage, about the length of two fingers, from a pouch at his waist. "A talisman from Matarys. It helps me quickly restore my magic during meditation."

"Seven hells!" Seeing the shriveled sausage hanging from a red silk cord, Tyrion's eyes bulged. He bent forward, clutching his groin, and cursed loudly, "You damn savages—"

"Boom!"

In Dany's vision, yellow flames in the fire mage's eyes suddenly shot up three feet high. Then, a tiny fire the size of a bean sprouted from Tyrion's golden-brown, tangled beard.

"Oh no, oh no! Fire! The chandelier wick fell down!" Tyrion slapped at his chin, shouting in alarm.

"Huff... huff..." The fire mage's forehead was sweating, his breathing slightly labored.

Dany was startled to notice that the flames in his blue eyes suddenly extinguished, leaving only a faintly flickering ember.

"Hmph, this was just a small lesson to teach you the proper respect for those who wield mystical power," the fire mage said arrogantly, raising his chin.

The mercenaries, merchants, and sailors gathered nearby looked on in shock and took a step back, leaving an open space around the fire mage.

"You..." Tyrion caught the scent of singed hair near his lips and glared at the fire mage in astonishment. "You did this?"

The fire mage crossed his arms behind his back and nodded proudly.

"Hahaha!" Tyrion burst into laughter, slapping the table. "This little flame? I could put it out with the last drop of my piss!"

He had clearly noticed the fire mage's unnatural expression.

Dany seemed deep in thought.

"Hugo Hishan, apologize to the mage," a square-faced middle-aged man beside him sternly ordered.

Tyrion shrugged, stood up from his chair, pressed his palms together, and bowed. "Forgive me, mighty mage. I drank too much, and we wandered so far off topic—"

"Ah!" He suddenly smacked his forehead and exclaimed, "Damn! We were discussing the allied forces' campaign against the Dragon Queen!"

"Why bother? Why struggle?" he continued. "She has not only four dragons but also an army of fifty to a hundred thousand men, and she's a brilliant strategist herself. Why oppose her head-on?

"If she wants to free the slaves, let her! She will still need officials and nobles to help maintain order, right?

"If I were a Volantene, the moment she rode her dragon into the city, I'd kneel and kiss her feet.

"I'd keep my title and wealth, and even if the slaves were freed, I could still employ them as hired laborers and continue exploiting them!"

The Imp appeared truly drunk. He abandoned his chess game, stood on a stool, spread his arms wide, and shouted with a flushed face, "This is a twisted world! A world full of suffering, injustice, and blood-soaked tyranny where the strong devour the weak!

"Slavery? A joke!

"Abolishing slavery won't magically create a just world!

"Impossible!

"Masters feed on slaves, lords feast on peasants, the Dragon Queen crushes the petty lords, grand mages devour little dwarfs—strength rules all! Nothing will ever change!

"Give up your status as a slave master? Turn yourself into a Duke or Count of Volantis? You'll still feast on the blood and sweat of the people!

"At most, at most, the Dragon Queen doesn't like the sight of fresh blood—so just cook your rare steak a little longer!"

"Hahaha!"

Tyrion laughed hoarsely, panting heavily. The room fell into silence. Those who didn't understand his words saw only a drunken fool putting on a show, while those who did understand frowned, their expressions dark and serious.

"Hugo Hishan, is it?"

An elderly scholar with gray-white hair and a long gray robe pushed through the crowd. He studied Tyrion meaningfully before smiling. "You've clearly never read the Codex."

"The Codex?" Tyrion was confused.

"The Queen Daenerys' Codex—a legal tome that strictly defines the relationship between vassals and lords, lords and free citizens, kings and officials, and officials and commoners."

"And? So what?" Tyrion asked, puzzled. "Westeros has legal codes too. The law says farmers are free men, yet in many places, the lord's droit du seigneur still exists in practice!"

"Heh. Think carefully. Why do the Ghiscari rush to form an alliance? Why do the allied forces seek to contact the Westerosi and the Braavosi?"

(End of Chapter)

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