Chapter 203: The High Priest Benerro

"The Lord of Light, protect us, for the Long Night is vast and filled with peril!"

Benerro's voice was a classic tenor, soaring into the sky, sharp enough to pierce through layers of space and into the eardrums of everyone in the plaza.

"By the Seven, what a voice fit for a legendary general!" Barristan muttered.

Dany's mouth twitched—this man was far more than just a general.

Benerro was likely a slave of the Qohorik people—tall and thin, with prominent facial features and milk-white skin, the very image of a "milkman."

His cheeks, chin, lips, and bald head were all covered in red flame tattoos, as if a crimson mask had been draped over his face, leaving only a pair of piercing blue eyes exposed.

He looked rather unsettling.

"We mortals are born alone and die alone, lost and helpless, wandering through the valley of shadows; but we find solace in our brethren, and we gather as one; we are blessed by the true god, who fills our cups to overflowing."

Benerro continued his prayer, and the slaves below recited after him, their expressions focused and devout.

Dany was surprised to notice that the black walls at the back of the plaza were also packed with people, the vast majority of them soldiers of the Tiger Cloaks, each clutching a tiger-helm under their arm.

"So the rumors weren't exaggerated—half the Tiger Cloaks truly worship R'hllor, the Red God."

The midday prayer didn't last long—only two or three hundred words—but when it was finished, Benerro did not leave. Instead, he raised his right arm and pointed a finger toward the blazing sun above.

"The Long Night is vast and filled with peril!" he suddenly proclaimed, clenching his hand into a fist before spreading his arms wide.

His movements were dramatic enough that Dany even worried he might fall from the narrow stone pillar he stood upon.

As the High Priest's voice reached its peak—

A sharp hiss sounded.

A tongue of fire shot from between his fingers.

"Ah!"

Not only did the crowd below cry out in alarm, but Dany herself gasped.

A powerful surge of magic rippled through the air—proof that Benerro was using true fire magic, not some trick with props.

Beneath the open sky, in broad daylight, the flames erupting from his fingertips were dark red, as vivid as blood, almost solid, as if they might drip onto the ground.

Then, Benerro moved his right hand, and the fire traced words in the sky—Valyrian script, each letter as large as a double bed.

—Darkness is coming. The folly of the ignorant shall bring blood, fire, and destruction. Only the Savior can deliver the world.

"Ahhh!"

The crowd erupted into deafening cries. Women covered their faces and wept, while men shook their fists in fury, shouting incoherently.

A sudden premonition struck Dany, and she said, expression turning strange, "He's not talking about me, is he?"

Sure enough, in the next moment, Benerro declared loudly:

"After the Long Summer, the stars shall bleed. Azor Ahai shall be reborn in the land of smoke and salt. He is the Savior! He is Daenerys Targaryen!

Her rise fulfills the prophecy of old. She was born amidst smoke and salt, and she is destined to reshape this world.

She is the reincarnation of Azor Ahai! She shall conquer the darkness and bring forth an endless summer! Even Death shall bow before her! Those who bleed and die for her cause shall be reborn…"

Brother, I truly appreciate your support, but… you got it wrong. Azor Ahai reborn is Jon Snow. My nephew.

Dany had no idea how to respond to this.

She had always been wary of R'hllor—not the Lord of Light himself, but His followers.

The doctrine of the Red God was domineering and rigid, but overall, it still urged people toward righteousness—it was by no means a cult of evil.

But the Shadow of R'hllor was different. It accepted blood sacrifices without limit, devoured souls and lifeblood, and was the very source of many blood sorceries.

That R'hllor held dominion over death was beyond doubt. Dany had always believed He was the god of death, after all—He had resurrected several people in Westeros, including the protagonist, Jon Snow.

The problem was that Benerro claimed even Death would bow before the Mother of Dragons.

Clearly, the "Death" he spoke of was not his own god, R'hllor, but most likely the "Cold God"—the god of darkness, ice, and death. The Night King. (Though, in truth, the Night King was merely a servant of the Cold God—Dany had misunderstood.)

If there is only one true ruler of the domain of death, then who is the real God of Death?

Why does R'hllor care so much about the Long Night?

Why has He, for over five thousand years, continuously spread the prophecy written in the ancient books of Asshai—that Azor Ahai shall be reborn to battle the Others when they return?

Dany's mind was a tangled mess.

Meanwhile, Benerro, her most fervent "unofficial supporter," continued to rally the crowd:

"Daenerys is in grave danger! The Eye of Darkness is upon her! The servants of the Long Night conspire to overthrow her!"

As he spoke, he pointed to the black wall behind the temple, to the heavily armed Tiger Cloak guards standing atop it, gazing downward. He raised his voice and declared:

"The Lord of Light shaped the sun and the stars and wages an eternal battle against darkness.

Naesiso and Malachio, however, have betrayed the light. Their minds have been corrupted by the Eastern Yellow Harpy, and they have formed the most despicable alliance with godless outsiders.

I call upon everyone to unite and join this righteous war—fight for the light! The prophesied child shall ride the demon dragon, wield the flaming sword that purifies the world, and lead us down the path of glory!"

"Brother, speaking so boldly—aren't you afraid of being silenced?"

Dany was deeply moved yet extremely worried.

"Spring water is good, but you have to survive long enough to turn into a 'guide' first!"

I haven't even arrived yet, and you're already rallying support for me—isn't that a bit too eager?

At the same time, she wondered—what were the Valantians doing?

How could they allow a monk to spread his rhetoric—cough cough, I mean, to proclaim the truth so publicly?

It was easy to guess that Bennero had been preaching his truth for quite some time. And yet, he had not been "404'd" out of existence.

"My lady, this is not a good sign," Barristan said, deeply troubled. "If the Red God's priests can openly oppose the Black Wall nobles today, what's stopping them from challenging your descendants' rule tomorrow in the name of their Red God?"

Old knight, you sure think far ahead—you're already worried about my future heirs.

But his words weren't without merit.

Sigh… what a difficult situation!

Dany furrowed her brows and sighed. "We'll take it one step at a time. The power of the Red Temple is already there—our stance won't change that. It's better to have them as allies than as enemies."

The entire noon prayer lasted less than half an hour. Bennero, seemingly as a matter of routine, merely shouted slogans for the Dragon Queen without actually leading a slave rebellion.

As he stepped down from the stone pillar, the fiery words in the sky quickly vanished. Dany mounted her horse again and left the square with the slaves.

The slaves returned to their work, continuing in their numb existence, while Dany and her companions rode around the Black Wall, continuing their exploration of the foreign city.

She hadn't forgotten the purpose of this outing: to observe and pinpoint the location of the Ghiscari delegation's residence.

The closer they got to the Black Wall, the wider and cleaner the streets became. The black stone roads, similar to Valyrian avenues, were lined with palm trees and cedars. Towering glass-domed buildings, pristine marble plazas, and ornate fountains adorned with exquisite statues stood in this district.

There was no doubt—this was the wealthy quarter. The number of campaign groups here far outnumbered those in the slums.

It wasn't just Malachio of the Tiger Party or Naesiso of the Elephant Party—there was also Dofas, who was seen as unlikely to be re-elected since he hadn't openly opposed the Mother of Dragons. Alongside them were candidates like Elios, Parachiro, and Berisio—some campaigning in person, others sending their children to lead the charge.

Dany saw a tall, silver-haired middle-aged man with his right arm in a sling around his neck, still standing on a high platform, passionately delivering a speech.

Above him hung a banner:

"If you oppose the Evil Dragon Mother, if you support the Allied Forces, then vote for Malachio, a proud member of the Allied Council!"

Beyond public speeches, there were silent theater performances, poets wandering the streets singing ballads, dance troupes hosting parties in noble courtyards, and street performers showcasing acrobatics in public squares.

There were even thrilling duels—yellow-robed assassins, armed with Water Dancer swords, fighting to the death in the square for their respective supporters.

Dany could tolerate these conventional campaign tactics. However, like Malachio, many candidates also resorted to using bed slaves to sway voters.

Some offered skilled courtesans, promising they were virgins. Others paraded delicate-skinned, slender boys on elephant-drawn carts, claiming they had mastered the Seven Sighs of Spring—available for both men and women.

There were also those who provided tall, muscular gladiators.

Some even carried little notebooks, going door to door asking:

"Would you like a customized selection? Black, white, zebra-patterned, horsemen, long-haired Ibbenese, Andal knights, red-haired northern wildlings, giants… If none of these satisfy you, we can offer beasts and livestock too—anything except dragons."

They weren't even whispering—many of these "services" were boldly advertised on the banners draped over their elephants.

"This is madness! Is this what the Valantians proudly call fair, democratic, and free elections?"

Faced with such a spectacle—one that completely shattered their understanding of reality—Dany and Barristan were left utterly speechless.

Valantis was in the midst of its annual Triarch election. They had been well aware of this and had even inquired about it at the Merchant House the previous night.

At the time, two merchants had been discussing the matter—a middle-aged Valantian wine seller and an Oldtown sea trader selling Arbor Gold.

The Valantian had proudly told the Westerosi:

"We Valantians have inherited the excellent political system of Old Valyria—fair, just, free, and democratic. Of course, slaves aren't considered people, and poor freefolk who can't pay much in taxes contribute nothing to the city, so they aren't considered full people either."

"There is no doubt—we are far more civilized and intelligent than you Westerosi. Don't be so quick to deny it! Our three Triarchs balance each other out. Even if a madman occasionally wins the election, his colleagues keep him in check.

And once his one-year term is up, the people will immediately vote him out—unless, of course, his campaign slaves are of such exceptional quality that they transcend the mortal realm."

"Just think—if that woman's father, the Mad King Aerys, had two other kings sharing power with him, all the bloodshed that followed would never have happened.

That woman could've just been a well-behaved little princess, and we wouldn't have to suffer because of her!"

The Oldtown sea trader's face turned red. He stammered, unable to offer a rebuttal.

In the Free Cities of Essos, Westeros was widely regarded as a land of barbarians.

The so-called "inferior" peoples who couldn't survive on the Essos continent—like the First Men, Andals, and Rhoynar—had fled across the Narrow Sea to Westeros, where, ironically, they transformed from destitute refugees into esteemed conquerors.

(End of Chapter)

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