Chapter 202: The Campaign Event

"Enough, Hugo, you've already lost 70 silver coins. We're almost out of money," the middle-aged man, dressed like an ascetic monk, scolded in a low voice.

"Huh? No money left? I lost 70 Silver Glimmer coins that fast?" Tyrion, standing on a round stool, seemed dumbfounded.

"Dwarf, your life is valuable. I'll pay 10 Gold Glimmer coins for it," Lisbon teased Tyrion smugly while sweeping the small pile of silver coins from the table into his leather pouch.

Dany noticed that the young fire mage had three leather pouches hanging on each side of his belt. Aside from the one he was filling with money, another was already bulging, and a third was half-full, seemingly containing gold coins.

"You like me that much? One silver coin at a time—slightly pricier than the courtesans in the Flower Garden next door. But a hideous dwarf like me is quite a rare find," Tyrion said venomously.

"Hahaha!" The crude sailors around them burst into loud laughter. Their booming voices carried through the window, drawing curious glances from passersby on the street.

The young fire mage cast a cold glance at the little imp, then swept his gaze over the gathered wealthy merchants and mercenaries. He announced loudly, "Anyone else want to try? A ten-to-one payout. Minimum bet: one Silver Glimmer coin. No upper limit. Guess correctly, and your winnings multiply tenfold."

"I'm in." A man from the Summer Isles, draped in a peacock-feather cloak, stepped forward and tossed a Gold Glimmer coin bearing a skull crown onto the table. "Everyone knows fire mages are frauds. I don't believe you can transfer objects through thin air."

Dany didn't stay to watch. She pushed through the crowd and went straight to the front counter, where she declined the innkeeper's offer to hire an elephant cart. Instead, she had him bring out a trained horse from the stable.

As she descended the stone steps of the main entrance, she happened to hear the Summer Islander lose his composure, nearly shrieking in hysteria. "Three?! That's impossible! I was watching the whole time! Another Gold Glimmer coin—let's go again!"

By midday, the Fishmongers' Square was packed with people. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fish and cumin-grilled meat. Riding high on horseback, Dany could clearly take in the bustling grandeur of Volantis.

Volantis boasted the largest population, the busiest port, the most expansive city, and the richest, most fertile colony along the Rhoyne River.

Once, this "First Daughter of Valyria" was the leading city of the Nine Free Cities. Even now, its economic and military strength was second only to Braavos.

Under the bright sunlight, with a clear view before her, Dany could observe the city more distinctly than she had the night before.

Heading east toward the riverside streets, she found the waterfront district even livelier. No building facing the street was less than two stories tall. The lower levels housed clothing shops, Cyvasse parlors, inns, grill stalls, pleasure houses, warehouses, and more. The streets teemed with sailors, merchants, and slaves scurrying about like cockroaches.

Dany suddenly realized that she had been deceived by that old hag, Kelley, in the eastern suburbs. While many people rode elephant carts, riding a horse was far from unusual. It certainly didn't make her stand out.

A cart filled with golden oranges caught her eye. She bought 15 fist-sized oranges for five copper coins and gave five to the White Knight. As she rode leisurely down the street, she peeled an orange, savoring its sweet and tangy flavor.

The streets were full of slaves with spade or fly tattoos on their faces. They moved about like unnoticed shadows, hunching down as they shoveled fresh, warm piles of elephant, horse, and ox dung into dustpans.

Thanks to them, the riverside market didn't smell unpleasant. Instead, the occasional waft of fresh flowers and sweet fruit fragrance drifted through the air.

"Vote for Elios! Vote for Elios Qhoredar!" A woman's sharp voice suddenly rang out ahead.

"Which brothel do you belong to, whore? I'll come visit you tonight."

"Please cast your vote for Elios!"

A massive three-meter-tall elephant rumbled past, its every step sending faint tremors through the ground. On its back was a massive howdah, likely over ten square meters in size. Nine scantily clad, veiled women clung to its delicate railing, swaying seductively at passersby.

Mercenaries and sailors on the street stared in a daze, completely enthralled, unable to move.

Dany noticed that the girls had teardrop tattoos on their brows—they were all slaves.

Finally, someone couldn't hold back. A plump, white-haired man in his fifties with streaks of platinum-blond rushed out from a nearby rice shop, waving at the elephant. "I am Berwyn Kandahar. I have voting rights. I swear I'll vote for Elios Qhoredar. Give me a whore!"

"Of course, sir." The elephant stopped, and a young man in luxurious silver robes rode forward on a small ivory-white dwarf elephant. "Thank you, Mr. Kandahar, for supporting my father. Do you have a preference? Or would you like more than one?"

The rice merchant leered at the girls on the howdah. "That silver-haired one—too bad she doesn't have violet eyes, or she'd look even more like that woman. And that golden-haired one—she looks like the Queen Regent of Westeros. That little imp with the curly chestnut hair… gods, she's to die for."

"Berwyn, don't forget when voting day comes!" someone nearby jeered.

"Forget three—I could handle thirty. Unlike you, I'm not useless," Berwyn retorted.

"HAHAHAHA!" Laughter rippled through the street.

The three girls climbed down a rope ladder hanging from the elephant's back. At the same time, three more girls descended from a carriage behind and removed their pale-yellow cloaks, revealing sheer silk garments before ascending the howdah.

The plump rice merchant grabbed the three young women and hurried into his shop's backroom while the elephant continued forward.

"Vote for Elios! Vote for Elios!"

Since only a small number of people in District XC had voting rights, they didn't encounter any more campaigners on their way to the Long Bridge.

"It was too dark last night to see clearly. Now I realize how strange this bridge is," Dany remarked to the old knight as they passed beneath the massive black stone arch of the Long Bridge.

The bridge had no separate lanes for pedestrians and vehicles. Horse-drawn carts, elephant carts, and people all crowded together. The road was barely five meters wide, but that didn't mean the bridge itself was only five meters thick—it was actually over twelve meters wide.

There were no guardrails along the sides. Instead, rows of buildings lined the edges, housing shops, temples, goldsmiths, spice merchants, inns, dog meat restaurants, taverns, Cyvasse parlors, and brothels.

The slave market had clearly marked prices for weavers, lace makers, glassworkers, and candle makers. Meanwhile, fisherwomen selling eels and oysters gathered together, loudly peddling their catch to passersby.

Dany handed over a silver coin to a silver-haired middle-aged woman and bought thirty fresh oysters.

Standing beside a wooden cart, she dipped them in the vinegar sauce and fresh lemon provided by the woman and ate twenty in one go—they were fresh, tender, and delicious.

The buildings on both sides of the street stood three to four stories tall, with each floor extending slightly inward above the one below it, so that the rooftops on both sides nearly touched.

Crossing the bridge felt like passing through a tunnel in a mountain, with only a narrow slit at the top letting in streaks of golden sunlight.

Last night, all she had seen were dazzling lights, preventing her from fully observing the architectural structure.

Now, walking through it, a strange thought crossed Dany's mind: If Drogon were to breathe fire from one end of the bridge to the other, wouldn't the people inside have nowhere to escape?

A foul stench suddenly hit her. They had reached the center of the long bridge, where a four-to-five-meter stretch of road had no buildings on either side. Instead, numerous iron poles were planted into the ground, each adorned with severed hands in various stages of decay and three rotting heads crawling with white maggots.

For some reason, Dany was reminded of the long strings of chicken feet and pig faces left to dry under the sun during the New Year.

Last night, she had noticed the stench but hadn't seen what lay on either side. Now, with a clear view, she nearly vomited the oysters she had just eaten.

Below the iron poles hung four wooden plaques, with hastily scrawled explanations of the origins of the dismembered remains. The severed hands belonged to thieves and pickpockets.

The three heads—one was a female slave who had resisted her mistress, another was an old bard accused of being a spy for the Dragon Queen because he had sung The Tale of Xir by the docks, and the last was a young man who had killed his own father.

A pair of Tiger Cloaks stood nearby, occasionally waving their spears to drive away carrion falcons, seagulls, and scavenger crows pecking at the corpses.

The old bard had died unjustly—Dany was certain he was innocent.

She had spies in New Ghis and Qohor, but Volantis was too far away and not yet one of her targets.

Emerging from the "tunnel" of the long bridge, Dany noticed many people hurrying north along the riverside road, most of them bearing the tattooed marks of slaves.

"Where are they going?" She grabbed a tomato vendor and asked.

"They're taking their midday break to pray at the Red Temple."

"Is the Red Temple far from here?" she asked again.

The Black Wall was also to the north—if the temple wasn't far, she could head there first and observe quietly.

"It's very close, right at the base of the Black Wall."

After walking less than two hundred meters along the riverbank, the view suddenly opened up. The square was less than a hectare in size, but the temple across from it was immense.

Facing west with its back against the Black Wall, the temple was a sprawling complex of buildings crowded together, consisting of dozens of halls and over a hundred towers.

Staircases, bridges, and stone arches connected the different structures, making it appear as though the entire complex had been carved from a single massive rock.

The walls bore hundreds of overlapping lines in red, yellow, gold, and orange, forming a massive tapestry of colors that shimmered in the sunlight like an enormous banner.

"Seven save me, I thought the Great Sept of Baelor was the grandest temple in the world, but the Red Temple of Volantis is nearly three times its size," Barristan Selmy murmured, awestruck.

"It's obvious this wasn't built all at once—it must have been expanded countless times over the centuries."

To avoid standing out among the devout followers of R'hllor, Dany dismounted from her horse.

"Ah! The High Priest!"

"What luck! Today's midday prayer is being led by the High Priest himself!"

A commotion erupted in the crowd ahead, and within moments, four to five thousand people in the square burst into a thunderous cheer. "High Priest! High Priest!"

In the center of the Red Temple's square stood a massive stone pillar, thick enough for a person to wrap their arms around, rising nearly twenty meters high. A narrow stone bridge, no wider than a footstep, connected it to a platform at the temple's front.

Under the noon sun, a procession of monks slowly ascended to the platform.

At the front walked a red-robed priest with milky white skin, followed by a dozen male and female priests in similar red robes. Behind them came lower-ranking acolytes dressed in pale yellow or bright orange robes.

On the steps stood a row of soldiers clad in ornate armor and draped in orange cloaks. They gripped long spears, guarding the temple's entrances, with the spearheads shaped like burning flames.

"They are the Hands of the Flame, warriors of the Lord of Light's holy order, and protectors of the Red Temple," Barristan whispered.

"I know. I heard Volantis has a thousand Hands of the Flame," Dany nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on Benerro.

She wanted to see his eyes, to gauge his strength, but the distance was too great—though she could make out his eye color, she couldn't sense the fundamental sigils within his consciousness.

Not only was the square beneath the pillar packed with people, but even the sixty-meter-high Black Wall behind the temple was lined with hundreds, if not thousands, of guards peering down at the ceremony.

Soon, the other monks took their places on the platform according to their ranks, while Benerro walked steadily forward, his eyes fixed on the blazing sun. He crossed the narrow stone bridge as if walking on solid ground and finally stepped onto the top of the stone pillar.

Below, the slaves raised their arms and chanted in unison, calling him The Fire of Truth, The Light of Wisdom, The First Servant of My Lord, and The High Priest, but none spoke his name directly.

The scene, the fervor—it was almost as intense as the devotion the freed slaves had shown Dany after her Declaration of Liberation.

(End of Chapter)

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