The dawn light painted Astapor's red stone walls a flowing ochre, and the bronze spikes at the city gates glinted coldly in the morning mist.
Illyrio nudged the captured slaver with the tip of his boot; the man cowered in the sand, the previous night's interrogation yielding only sparse information—the slave masters called themselves "Good Masters," ruled by a council of twelve led by Kraznys mo Nakloz, and the eight thousand Unsullied in the city were their most valuable "commodity."
"Bring him along; we'll meet these 'Good Masters,'" Daenerys's voice was laced with ice, and Silver Wind pawed the ground restlessly.
Drogon rubbed against her shoulder, his black scales reflecting the morning light, his wings already able to span more than ten feet wide, the heat from his fire sac subtly distorting the air.
Kohol led twenty Blood Riders to escort them to the city gates; the bronze-armored guards, seeing the dragon, nearly dropped their spears.
Illyrio deliberately made the slaver walk ahead, his hoarse cries quickly drawing attention from the city walls, and the heavy iron gate slowly opened a crack.
The scene inside the city was more jarring than imagined: barefoot slaves carried burdens far exceeding their body weight, iron chains scraping harshly on the flagstones, their necks branded with Astapor's triangular mark, their skin flaking from sun exposure.
In contrast, the slave masters rode on silk-covered elephants, their parasols adorned with gold and silver, slaves kneeling beside them to fan them, a slight delay inviting a whip.
"Mother of Dragons? Or a beggar queen?" a shrill voice came from the elephant palanquin.
Kraznys leaned back on the cushions, his jeweled rings sparkling on his fat fingers, "Does a Dothraki bastard even deserve to look at the Unsullied?"
Illyrio stepped forward, pressing Daenerys's arm, and whispered, "He's testing our limits."
Then, he turned to the slave master, raising his chin, "Khaleesi brings three ships of Pentos silk, wishing to trade for three hundred Unsullied—but we want to see the quality of these 'war machines' with our own eyes."
This was the strategy he and Daenerys had discussed last night, using bluster to conceal their true intentions.
Kraznys's sneer froze in the air; he waved his hand, and two slaves pulled back a roadside canvas: a hundred Unsullied were drilling in formation, clad only in white linen, wearing conical bronze helmets with foot-long spikes pointing skyward.
Hearing the command "Advance," they marched forward with perfectly synchronized steps, no one pausing or swerving even when sharp gravel appeared beneath their feet.
"See?" Kraznys's tone was full of arrogance, "They've been training since they were five, climbing rocks at night, walking over burning coals; the failures have long since turned to dust."
He suddenly pointed to the end of the line, "That one, he just passed the test yesterday."
Illyrio followed his gaze; a young Unsullied's arm was still bleeding, the fresh brand on his collarbone not yet healed.
According to the captive, the Unsullied's final test was to personally kill a newborn, only then earning "qualification"—this made his stomach churn.
Daenerys's fingertips dug into her palm, and Rhaegal and Viserys squirmed restlessly in her arms, emitting tiny hisses.
"They don't have names?" her voice trembled slightly.
"Names?" Kraznys scoffed, "We give them a new name every day, fleas, rats, maggots... that way they won't develop unnecessary emotions."
He suddenly pointed to a small girl in the crowd, "You, come here!"
The girl hurried forward, clutching a stack of scrolls, and knelt three paces from the elephant, the brand on her neck clearly visible.
"This is Missandei, my translator."
Kraznys kicked her back with his foot, "Let her tell you about the Unsullied's 'loyalty'—even if the front ranks all die, the last one will stand and follow orders."
Missandei's gaze swept over Drogon on Daenerys's shoulder, a flicker of light in her eyes; when she translated in fluent Valyrian, her voice was surprisingly steady.
Illyrio noticed her subtly tucking a small wooden token engraved with a tiny sun into her sleeve—a mark of the Free Cities.
"Three hundred is too few," Kraznys suddenly changed his mind, slapping his fat hand on the palanquin's armrest, "If we trade, we trade for all eight thousand Unsullied, plus your three monster whelps—I'd like to see what dragon meat tastes like."
Viserys suddenly darted from Daenerys's arms, spitting a foot-long stream of fire that grazed Kraznys's ear, singeing a lock of his curly hair.
The slave master shrieked and tumbled off the elephant; the Blood Riders immediately drew their scimitars, but the Unsullied formation remained motionless, as if the commotion before them was none of their concern.
"Impudence!" Illyrio roared, yet with a sidelong glance, he signaled Daenerys to remain calm.
"Dragons are the symbol of the Targaryen; if you speak such insolence again, Astapor's red walls will be re-burned by dragonflame!"
He deliberately mentioned "re-burned," hinting at the history of the Old Ghiscari Empire's destruction by dragonflame.
Kraznys's face was pale, still trembling as slaves helped him up.
Missandei took advantage of the chaos to whisper to Daenerys, "The Good Masters fear dragons, but they are greedier.
Their fleet is docked in the western harbor, and they only have enough food for a month."
Daenerys slowly raised her hand, recalling Viserys, and gently stroked its red scales: "Kraznys, I offer three merchant ships for eight thousand Unsullied—plus Missandei."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the expressionless Unsullied, "By this time tomorrow, I want to see all the Unsullied outside the city, without chains, without overseers."
"The merchant ships must enter the harbor first!" Kraznys shouted, his voice feigning courage, "And one dragon must be left as collateral!"
"Drogon will stay," Daenerys suddenly spoke, surprising even Illyrio.
She gently lifted the black dragon, "But if he loses a single scale, I will have Rhaegal burn down your council hall."
Drogon seemed to understand, rubbing against Daenerys's cheek, then spread his wings and landed on a nearby stone pillar, his golden eyes fixed on Kraznys.
The slave master swallowed hard, finally nodding: "Tomorrow at sunrise, the trade will happen outside the city."
On the way back, Illyrio couldn't help but ask, "Are you really leaving Drogon?"
Daenerys reined in her horse, looking at the Unsullied training in the distance, their figures appearing particularly small beneath the red walls: "Illyrio, have you ever seen a lion chained?"
She raised her hand, recalling Drogon from the air, "Dragons are never collateral; they are judges."
She paused, her voice filled with unprecedented determination, "Tomorrow during the trade, you take Kohol to control the harbor, cutting off their retreat.
These Unsullied should not be killing machines; they should be swords to free themselves."
That night, the camp was brightly lit; Illyrio was revising the battle plan when Missandei suddenly appeared at the tent entrance, holding a scroll of parchment: "Khaleesi asked me to bring this; it's Astapor's city defense map."
In the tent's shadow, Drogon let out a low purr.
Missandei did not flinch when she saw the dragon; instead, she curtsied: "Thank you for saving me today.
The Good Masters say the Unsullied have no fear, but when I saw your dragon, I knew hope had come."
Illyrio took the city defense map, on which the slave masters' residences and the Unsullied barracks were marked in cinnabar: "Why are you helping us?"
"My brother is undergoing Unsullied training," Missandei's voice choked, "They are going to make him take the 'test' tomorrow."
She took out the wooden token from her sleeve, "This was left by my father; he said the sun of the Free Cities shines on everyone."
Illyrio looked at the sun pattern on the wooden token, suddenly reminded of those figures in modern history who fought for freedom.
He returned the token to her: "Tomorrow after sunrise, the sun will shine into every prison cell in Astapor."
Late at night, Daenerys quietly came to Illyrio's tent; three small dragons were curled up sleeping on his map.
"Kraznys will not keep his promise," she said softly, "He will ambush us during the trade."
"I know," Illyrio pointed to the harbor on the map, "Kohol will take the Blood Riders to control the ships; I had the captive identify the residences of the slave masters' families.
Once the battle begins, first rescue their hostages—the Unsullied only obey their masters' orders, but if the masters become prisoners, they will fall into chaos."
Daenerys nodded, her fingertip tracing the "Unsullied Barracks" marker: "I checked the captive's confession; the Unsullied gather for training at dawn every day, which is when they are most relaxed."
She looked at Drogon; the black dragon seemed to sense something, opening his golden eyes, "Tomorrow, let them see who the true master is."
As the sky turned fish-belly white, dense ranks of Unsullied had already gathered outside Astapor.
They were arranged in neat phalanxes, their long spears standing upright like a forest, white linen fluttering in the morning breeze, yet not a single sound of conversation could be heard.
Kraznys stood at the front of the formation, followed by a hundred crossbow-wielding slave overseers.
"Where are the merchant ships? Where is the dragon?" he shouted, his eyes full of greed.
Daenerys clapped her hands, and in the distance, the sails of three merchant ships appeared on the horizon.
Drogon flew from the dune behind her, circling above the Unsullied phalanx, letting out a deafening roar.
Though the Unsullied remained unshaken, the overseers' hands had begun to tremble.
"The Unsullied are mine," Daenerys's voice, translated by Missandei, spread across the field, "But your 'loyalty,' I do not desire."
She suddenly raised her voice, shouting in Valyrian, "Look at me!
Your masters trade your blood for gold, your dignity for pleasure!
Now, I give you a choice—will you continue to be tools of murder, or masters of yourselves?"
A subtle stir appeared in the Unsullied ranks; Kraznys sharply ordered: "Shoot her!"
But before the overseers could raise their crossbows, shouts of battle suddenly erupted from the direction of the harbor.
Kohol rushed out with the Blood Riders, their scimitars slashing at the overseers' backs.
At the same time, Illyrio led another group of men into the Unsullied barracks, freeing the children awaiting their "test"—among them was Missandei's brother.
"Kill the slave masters!" Illyrio shouted, thrusting a short sword into the boy's hand.
In the chaos, Kraznys tried to escape, but Drogon swooped down, a stream of dragonflame enveloping him.
The Unsullied watched the burning slave master, then looked at Daenerys, and for the first time, an emotion called "wavering" appeared in their eyes.
Daenerys leaped onto Silver Wind, riding her horse towards the Unsullied phalanx: "I am Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons!
From today, you are free!"
She raised her hand, and Drogon sprayed a golden flame into the air, "The first to follow me will have food to eat, clothes to wear, and human dignity!"
An Unsullied in the front row of the phalanx suddenly threw down his spear, removed his bronze spiked helmet, revealing a young face.
He knelt on one knee, shouting in halting Common Tongue: "Grey Worm... wishes to serve you."
As if dominoes falling, more and more Unsullied dropped their weapons and knelt on one knee.
The morning light fell on their backs; those triangular brands shone particularly brightly in the sun, yet they could no longer shackle their souls.