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The Bronze Harpy of Astapor crashed to the ground, shattering into a field of cold, jagged shards.
The deafening boom sounded like the overture to a new age.
The entire city descended into a frenzy of celebration. Slaves used their hoarse throats to chant a single name in unison—"Dragonlord."
Daenerys was shaken by the tsunami of sound. She instinctively tightened her grip on Lynn's arm. Her violet eyes reflected the fires soaring in the distance and the countless celebrating silhouettes.
"They..."
"I gave them a new life, Dany."
Lynn looked at the chaotic yet vibrant tableau before him.
"From today on, we are their liberators. Every commoner in Astapor will fight for us."
Daenerys's heart pounded against her ribs.
An unprecedented sense of responsibility and purpose welled up inside her.
However, liberating a city was far more difficult than destroying one.
As the fires of vengeance gradually died down and the roar of the carnival faded into silence, a grimmer problem presented itself to everyone.
Food, order, and the future.
The pyramids of the Good Masters had been torched, and the grain in the storehouses had been looted in the chaos. Astapor had become a massive, isolated island. Hundreds of thousands of freed slaves stood upon the ruins, unsure of where to go when the sun rose tomorrow.
Although Lynn had freed them, there was no foundation of trust yet.
But Lynn was clearly prepared.
The next day, when the first rays of dawn illuminated the scarred city, eight thousand Unsullied had already taken control of every street.
They were no longer numb soldiers of slaughter; they were the guardians of order.
Grey Worm had been promoted by Lynn to Commander of the Unsullied.
Under the direction of Grey Worm and Jorah Mormont, they quickly cleared the corpses from the streets and set up temporary food distribution points, boiling great cauldrons of barley porridge using the seized grain.
For the slaves, knowing that their lives were better under the new rulers than before was enough.
Lynn, meanwhile, turned his attention to the newly freed craftsmen.
---
The Plaza of Punishment.
The scent of blood was gone, replaced by the scorching heat radiating from hundreds of makeshift furnaces.
Thousands of smiths, who had once crafted luxurious ornaments and torture devices for the Good Masters, were gathered here. They looked with awe and curiosity at the man standing on the high platform.
Lynn didn't waste words. He ordered the Unsullied to bring up several massive wooden boards.
When the black cloth covering the boards was pulled away, the smiths gasped in collective disbelief.
Drawn in charcoal on the wood were armor designs they had never seen before.
It was a suit of full plate armor that encased the body entirely.
From the menacing helm to the articulated gauntlets covering every finger, down to the fluid lines of the breastplate and greaves, every inch was designed for ultimate protection.
Its complexity and structural ingenuity far exceeded the knightly armor found in any lord's armory in Westeros.
Lynn had replicated the design of the finest Gothic plate armor from the late medieval period of Earth, relying on his memory.
And it was an upgraded, reinforced version.
Though heavy, the defensive capability was in a league of its own.
"The Unsullied are the finest infantry in the world, but they lack sufficient protection," Lynn's voice was translated by an Unsullied soldier, ringing clearly in the ears of every smith.
"The Dothraki charges, the heavy crossbows of the Volantene Iron Guard—these are enough to easily tear through their current lines."
"I need you to forge new armor for them."
"Armor that will allow the Unsullied to withstand cavalry, armor that will turn blades."
The smiths buzzed with discussion. They were captivated by the perfect creation on the blueprints, yet intimidated by the staggering difficulty of the craftsmanship required.
An old smith with a white beard and arms as thick as a normal man's thighs stepped forward. He was the most prestigious artisan among them.
"My Lord," he asked in broken Common Tongue.
"We are willing to serve you."
"But... to forge such a suit of armor... the steel and man-hours required will be astronomical. We..."
He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
They had no money and no materials.
"I will have materials shipped from Volantis and Qarth. You need not worry about that," Lynn interrupted him.
"As for payment..."
Lynn looked at Daenerys beside him.
Taking the cue, Daenerys signaled the Unsullied behind her to bring forward a heavy wooden chest.
The lid was thrown open. A chest full of glittering gold dragons dazzled the eyes in the sunlight.
"For every suit of qualified armor, five gold dragons."
The entire square fell into a deathly silence.
Five gold dragons!
In Astapor, a top-tier craftsman working himself to the bone for a Good Master for a year might not even receive a single gold dragon as a reward!
And now, they only needed to forge one suit of armor!
After the brief silence came a cheer like a landslide or a tsunami.
"For Mhysa!"
"For the Dragonlord!"
The smiths raised their thick arms high. Their faces, blackened by soot, radiated an enthusiasm never seen before.
They weren't just cheering for the money; they were cheering for the respect.
Everyone was willing to work for Lynn. It was Lynn who had saved them from misery.
---
Inside the Manor.
Jorah Mormont looked at the massive budget, his brow furrowed deep.
"My Lord, eight thousand Unsullied, plus the subsequent recruits... we will need at least ten thousand suits of armor."
"Fifty thousand gold dragons..."
"The wealth we seized from the Good Masters is mostly spices and silk. The slave contracts are void. Converting goods to gold takes time, and..."
"And it's far from enough, correct?"
Lynn finished the sentence for him.
Jorah nodded.
Lynn smiled. He walked to the window, looking at the raging furnace fires re-ignited in the distance.
"Money is not the problem."
With that, he walked into the deepest quiet room of the manor, ordering that no one disturb him.
Inside the quiet room, Lynn sat cross-legged.
He closed his eyes. His presence seemed to vanish instantly, merging with the surrounding air.
A formless spiritual power, with him at the center, expanded outward in an instant.
It crossed the scorching red wasteland, flew over the vast azure waves of the Narrow Sea, and followed a mysterious trajectory unseen by mortals, spanning the entire world.
King's Landing, the Red Keep.
Sansa Stark sat at her desk, handling matters regarding the soap business.
She had changed a great deal.
She had shed the green naivety of a maiden. Her brows now carried the calm and authority of someone in power.
Since Lynn left King's Landing, with the help of Varys and Tyrion, she had quietly taken control of the city's trade arteries.
Now, the soap she produced was being sold throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
But today, she felt an inexplicable restlessness.
A familiar presence surged into her mind.
A voice rang directly in the depths of her soul.
Sansa.
Sansa.
Sansa...
It was Lynn!
Sansa's body trembled violently, and her blue eyes filled with instant surprise and joy.
I need money. A large sum.
Issue a bearer draft through the Iron Bank and send it to Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos.
Amount: Fifty thousand gold dragons.
The voice came quickly and left quickly.
When Sansa came back to her senses, the scene before her was the familiar room.
But she knew it wasn't a hallucination.
She stood up without hesitation, turned, and walked toward the Tower of the Hand.
---
When Lynn walked out of the quiet room, it was already dusk.
He had solved the money problem, yet his mood was not light.
Because there was a bigger trouble locked inside the manor.
Viserys.
Since the public slap in the plaza that day, Viserys had been under house arrest in his own room.
As Lynn walked through the corridor, he could clearly hear the roaring and smashing coming from within.
He pushed the door open.
The room was a wreck.
Exquisite Meereenese carpets were slashed to ribbons, and shards of Valyrian glass littered the floor.
Viserys's hair was a mess, his expensive robes torn to shreds by his own hands.
He looked like a beast trapped in a cage, his pale violet eyes full of bloodshot madness.
Seeing Lynn, instead of fear, he lunged as if seeing a mortal enemy!
"You thief!"
He shrieked.
"You stole my army! You stole my throne! You even stole my sister!"
"You ruined everything I had!"
His gaudy, gilded sword had been thrown somewhere long ago, so now he clawed at Lynn's face with his fingernails.
Lynn didn't even bother to dodge.
He simply raised his hand and easily caught Viserys by the wrist.
Snap.
A crisp sound of breaking bone.
"Ah——!"
Viserys let out a miserable scream. His wrist twisted at a grotesque angle, the jagged white bone piercing the skin.
Lynn let go, allowing him to curl up on the floor like a dead dog, howling in pain.
"I kept you only because your Targaryen name can still garner some support from the old dynasty loyalists for your sister."
Lynn looked down at him from above.
"I thought a smart beggar, after receiving a promise, would know how to play his part."
"But I was wrong."
"You aren't a beggar. You are just a mad dog."
Lynn crouched down, gripping Viserys's chin and forcing him to look up into his eyes.
"Did you think I really needed your laughable alliance?"
"Did you think your so-called blood of the dragon really has any value?"
"Let me tell you a secret, Viserys."
"The only use for your blood is to awaken something far more valuable."
Viserys's pupils constricted violently.
In Lynn's eyes, he saw a killing intent colder than the Land of Always Winter.
He finally realized that this man had never intended to let him sit on the Iron Throne alive.
He was just a sacrifice.
"No... you can't kill me..."
Fear completely overwhelmed his madness. He began to beg incoherently.
"I am the King! I am your wife's brother! Dany... Dany won't agree to this!"