"That Westerosi bitch kept me waiting so long. Why is she just standing there?" a curse rang out from the distance.
The speaker was bald with a short beard, wearing a flowing robe woven from fine silk. He held a short whip in his right hand, his expression arrogant.
"ROAR!"
A deep dragon's roar echoed from the sky, cutting Kraznys's curse short.
"It's really a dragon!" Kraznys looked up at the sky, his face paling slightly.
"Great Master, look at her shoulder," the female slave beside Kraznys said, pointing to Drogon.
"It's a dragon too! Why is he so small?" Kraznys asked, looking at Drogon with confusion.
Drogon, understanding his words, stood on Daenerys's shoulder and bared his teeth at him.
Though Drogon was only the size of a newborn dragon, his draconic aura still sent a chill down Kraznys's spine.
"Kraznys Good Master, what is their combat strength?" Daenerys asked, looking at the Unsullied standing ramrod straight, their spiked helmets glinting. She spoke in the Common Tongue.
"The Westerosi woman is asking about the combat strength of the Unsullied," the young female slave translated into High Valyrian.
"Tell that bitch..."
"Hiss!"
He hadn't finished speaking when the small dragon on Daenerys's shoulder hissed at him again, thin smoke and sparks nearly spraying in his face. It looked as if magma were churning in its tiny throat.
*Such a foul-mouthed bastard!* If he uttered another curse, Drogon wouldn't hesitate to blast him with dragonfire.
"Tell her the Unsullied undergo brutal training from the age of five, with only one in three surviving. They are masters of shield, spear, and short sword. Even without their horses, Dothraki warriors would struggle to defeat an Unsullied in single combat. In formation, they can withstand charges from several times their number of Dothraki cavalry, and they will not retreat a single step, even to the last man."
Threatened by Drogon, Kraznys tempered his language somewhat. When he finished, he shot a provocative glance at Rakharo and the other two.
Rakharo didn't understand the words, but he knew they were insults. He tightened his grip on his curved blade and glared fiercely at Kraznys.
The young slave girl looked at Kraznys, puzzled by his uncharacteristic politeness.
"What are you staring at, you little ewe? Hurry up and relay my words to her! I'm dying of heat here!" Kraznys, realizing the girl's gaze held a meaning he didn't like, snapped in embarrassment and anger.
Watching Kraznys's furious display, Daenerys glanced at Drogon, a faint smile playing on her lips.
The young slave girl seemed accustomed to Kraznys's curses, her expression unchanged as she translated his words verbatim for Daenerys.
Seeing how calmly the girl stood her ground under Kraznys's blustering, Daenerys found herself looking at her with renewed interest.
The young slave girl was even younger than Daenerys, with a round face and dark skin. A black leather slave collar hung around her neck, and she wore a revealing, pale yellow linen shift that perfectly accentuated her precocious figure.
"They've never experienced true war. Facing Dothraki cavalry, their shields and spears alone won't be enough," the girl said.
Barristan, after hearing the girl's translation, looked skeptical.
"What's this filthy old man saying?" Kraznys snarled at the girl.
After she translated his words, Kraznys said nothing. He approached an Unsullied, drew the dagger from his waist, and slit the man's leather armor. He plunged the blade deep into the man's chest, and blood gushed out, yet the Unsullied didn't even blink.
"Aren't they afraid of pain?" Daenerys asked, her voice tinged with pity.
"Tell her," Kraznys said to the girl.
"Because they've been drinking the Wine of Courage since childhood. It's a brew concocted by the Great Master. After drinking it, their bodies gradually grow numb. They can't feel pain, but it doesn't hinder their fighting."
"May I see them?" Daenerys asked.
"Do you want to see their faces or their... *dicks*? Hahaha..." Kraznys roared with crude laughter.
"Remove their helmets," Daenerys said, pretending not to hear his lewd remark.
"You should take a closer look," Kraznys insisted, still determined to showcase the Unsullied. "My Unsullied are castrated far more thoroughly than those in Yunkai and Meereen. They still have their manhood left, which will inevitably cause trouble later."
Daenerys continued to ignore him, observing the Unsullied as they removed their spiked helmets. They hailed from all corners of the world, their skin tones varied, their heights uneven, yet all were uniformly lean and wiry.
Among them, she spotted a Dothraki with black hair, brown skin, and almond-shaped eyes. In her experience, they were all about curved blades and charging horses, their lives harvested in a whirlwind of motion. The sight of one holding a shield in his left hand and a spear in his right, ready for battle, was almost unimaginable.
She also saw Asshaii, Qarthii, and other peoples she had never encountered before.
"Can they obey orders absolutely?" Daenerys asked, gesturing for the Unsullied to put their helmets back on.
"You've asked the right question," Kraznys replied proudly. "From the moment I began castrating them, I emphasized absolute obedience. We subjected them to several brutal and even cruel training regimens. They wouldn't hesitate to kill an infant if ordered. Any Unsullied who disobeyed is long since reduced to dust."
Hearing this, Daenerys's hands trembled slightly. "After I purchase them, how can I command them without fear they'll continue to obey you?"
"If I hand you the whip in their presence, you will become their master, and I will no longer have any right to command them," Kraznys vowed.
"You cannot conquer the Seven Kingdoms with castrated slaves," Barristan said quietly to Daenerys, noticing her interest in the Unsullied. "Slavery has long been abolished there. If they see you relying on foreign slaves to fight them, you won't gain allies—you'll likely face a united opposition."
"Then what will I use to claim the Iron Throne?" Daenerys asked, turning to Barristan.
"You have dragons. Once we reach Pentos, Magister Illyrio can use his connections to help you raise an army. We can also send envoys to Westeros to rally allies."
"Magister Illyrio cares only for money. My ships and wealth may not satisfy his desires. As for sending envoys to Westeros, should it be you or Jorah?" Daenerys asked. Seeing Barristan's silence, she turned to Kraznys. "Allow me to consider this before I give you my answer."
"They are in high demand," Kraznys pressed. "I sold over fifteen hundred just the day before yesterday, and a lord from Asshai plans to purchase a thousand Unsullied."
"Great Master," the young slave girl interjected, "didn't you only sell two hundred the day before yesterday?"
"You little pig, that's how you make them buy. Hurry up and tell her what I said," Kraznys said, prodding the young female slave with his whip.
After the girl translated, Daenerys and her companions left the Plaza of Pride.
"Are you really going to buy them?" Barristan asked eagerly as they stepped out of the square.
"Don't you think they're utterly pitiful?"
Daenerys considered herself a princess of House Targaryen, living a miserable life. Yet compared to the Unsullied, she was fortunate. Despite constantly fleeing, she had at least been guaranteed food and shelter, hadn't lost herself entirely, and had even met Khal Drogo.
The Unsullied, however, were physically mutilated and deprived of the most essential aspect of being human—they could no longer even be called human.
Having passed through the Plaza of Punishment earlier and witnessed slaves being crucified and subjected to extreme torture, Daenerys felt even more keenly the wretched fate of the enslaved.
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(End of Chapter)