"Dragon eggs!!" Orm's eyes widened, his voice trembling.
"Hahaha," Barbarod laughed triumphantly, his words brimming with pride. "Indeed, they are said to come from the dangerous ruins of old Valyria, a rare treasure in the world."
The Harpy knew how much effort he had put into coaxing the dragon eggs. Damn those Tyroshi mercenaries.
Cunning and despicable, like a nest of colorful insects.
"They've turned to stone."
Orm's initial shock quickly passed; he had weathered many storms. His fingers brushed the stone-covered dragon eggs.
As soon as he spoke, the bloodriders beside him reacted instantly.
Their faces changed dramatically, and they drew their flexible whips from their belts. They shouted at Barbarod, "How dare you give a khal a fake thing!"
With a swipe of the whip, they nearly struck him in the face.
"What is he trying to do!?"
Barbarod jumped in shock. Unable to understand Dothraki, he didn't know what was happening.
"Stop!"
Orm's whip lashed out, stopping the bloodriders at the crucial moment.
The old translator knelt beside the box, pointing at the petrified dragon eggs inside, hurriedly explaining the reason.
"Bullshit! All the dragon eggs I have are like this!"
Barbarod was about to explode with rage. He explained to the bumpkin from the Great Grass Sea, "Even if they can't hatch for a long time, their value is still beyond imagination."
Orm's lips moved slightly, and he said something.
The old translator's face changed slightly, then translated in a Dothraki tone: "The khal is very pleased. Your friendship is witnessed."
"Hmph!" Barbarod snorted with slight satisfaction.
This made him feel more respectable.
As a wealthy lord, he could have whatever he wanted in Meereen.
But no one can ever be satisfied.
A few months ago, a young Dragon Lord wandered into Slaver's Bay and liberated New Ghis and Astapor.
New Ghis was a small matter.
Located on an island outside Slaver's Bay, even though it had developed rapidly in recent years by exploiting the civilian population, it still couldn't challenge the three major cities of Slaver's Bay.
But Astapor was different.
Astapor, trained in the ways of the Unsullied, had always been the strongest force in Slaver's Bay.
How powerful were the Unsullied?
Long ago, Qohor, with only 3,000 Unsullied, repelled a hundred thousand invading Dothraki and slew the khal of the khalasar.
Even if the rumor was exaggerated, it indirectly demonstrated the Unsullied's strength.
Therefore, the Great Lords of Meereen never proactively provoked the Good Masters of Astapor.
But just a few months ago, all of Astapor's Good Masters were publicly executed.
Astapor was unexpectedly liberated.
This undoubtedly shook the foundations of Slaver's Bay and shattered the ancient, rigid peace.
The liberated slaves launched a frenzied counterattack against other slave cities.
Despite their reckless fighting, they actually achieved some success.
With the situation as it was, the Great Lords of Meereen could no longer remain silent.
Barbarod willingly gifted Orm's khal three priceless dragon eggs, hoping to establish a rapprochement with him.
Those three dragon eggs, dug out of the pit, were already dead.
Showing them to outsiders was better than keeping them hidden and being coveted.
Another important reason:
Khal Orm wasn't very powerful, just a small khalasar.
The Great Grass Sea was vast and boundless, home to nomadic khalasars of all sizes.
Small ones could number 10,000 or 20,000, while larger ones could number 50,000 or 60,000. In certain periods, exceptionally powerful khals emerged, assembling khalasars exceeding 100,000.
Compared to these unruly warriors, Khal Orm was undoubtedly less dangerous.
Win him over and employ his khalasars to fight.
If that wandering young Dragon Lord got carried away and wandered off to Meereen to free the slaves, the Dothraki could take over.
With their bravery, perhaps they could teach the young Dragon Lord a lesson.
Decisions that went against one's ancestors would be punished.
A Valyrian Dragon Lord, why become a Breaker of Shackles?
Truly misguided!
"Put it away."
Ormkao, after admiring the dragon egg, solemnly handed it to the blood guard for safekeeping.
The blood guard, knowing what was going on, clutched the box tightly in his arms.
This was something the Dragon Lord wanted; it couldn't be lost or damaged.
Barbarod watched patiently.
He noticed the blood guard's tight grip on the box, his own expression regaining composure, a slight smile rising at the corners of his mouth.
Orm glanced at him and said something else.
"What did the khal say?"
Barbarod was eager to hear surprise and admiration.
The old translator lowered his head and said dryly, "The khal admires your wealth and wants to know the origins of the dragon egg."
"Why would he ask that?"
Barbarod was surprised.
The old translator's throat tightened before he added, "The khal has heard of the power of dragons and is very interested in the dragon eggs."
"Don't even think about it. Dragon eggs aren't something anyone can find."
Barbarod raised his chin proudly. "These dragon eggs are all my treasures. I'll just satisfy the khal's curiosity."
"Yes," the old translator replied briefly.
After recounting the story to Orm, his eyelids drooped, his gaze deep as a pool.
The Great Lord not only broke the rules, but also lied without shame.
After collecting a box of dragon eggs, Orm and his men departed with great fanfare.
Before leaving, Barbarod extended an invitation.
Tomorrow, a grand tournament would be held in Meereen's Grand Arena.
He hoped Orm would attend.
Slave fights had long been a Meereenese tradition, beloved by everyone from slaveholders to commoners.
Most slave-owning city-states shared this tradition, but Meereen held it most highly.
A tournament had to be held regularly, or the commoners would riot.
Orm's eyes gleamed, and he readily agreed.
Barbarod beamed.
But he didn't know it.
As soon as Orm left Meereen's gates, he immediately ordered the old translator to write a letter to Aemon, who lived nearby.
He was now free to travel in and out of Meereen.
He mentioned the receipt of a crate of dragon eggs.
Aemon's Plan and The Grand Arena
. . .
That night.
Aemon received the envelope and smiled after reading it.
Slaveholders, indeed, were a bunch of fools who only knew how to oppress their slaves.
A small miscommunication was enough to manipulate them.
Just wait! Tomorrow, he'd ride his dragon to deal with them.
"Good news?"
Rhaenyra appeared, sniffing the air.
"You can't hide anything."
Aemon shook his head and laughed.
After she finished reading the letter, she said happily, "The dragon eggs have fallen into the hands of the Great Lords. There's no need to worry about them being secretly bought."
Losing something wasn't a big deal if someone found it, but it was a big deal if no one knew who had taken it. The three dragon eggs Dreamfyre lost had been secretly bought by the then-Sea Lord of Braavos.
Publicly, the only rumor was that they had fallen into the hands of a Braavosi merchant.
One reason his great-grandfather lost the eggs during his reign was that he couldn't find a reason to claim them.
Furthermore, Braavos's strategic location made it extremely defensive.
The Seven Kingdoms had just recognized the Targaryens and lacked the strength to fight for the three eggs. The matter was left unresolved.
"If a dragon egg falls into the hands of Meereenese, it's as good as falling into a basket," Aemon said happily.
Braavos was indeed a difficult place to deal with.
Its scattered islands and Titan could withstand a vast army, and the Iron Bank controlled half the world's money.
If the dragon eggs had fallen into Braavos, the most he could do was ride his dragon and plow the land with dragonfire.
Finding the dragon egg would still have been extremely difficult.
Fortunately, the worst didn't happen.
Little Meereen, gently handled.
"Pretentious."
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in amusement.
His smile was so beautiful, she almost wanted to ride it.
. . .
The next day.
At dawn, Meereen was bustling again as everyone prepared for the games.
Ormkaor led a group of Dothraki cavalry into the city again.
Just like yesterday, they were warmly received by the Great Lords.
"I promise, this will be the best show you've ever seen," Barbarod patted his chest, his boastful nature resurfacing.
"Child's play," Ormkaor remained silent, while the bloodriders beside him sneered and mocked.
"What did he say?"
Barbarod couldn't understand, only seeing the other man's unfriendly expression.
The old translator stammered, "He said the khal had seen better deaths, that his khalasar had seen battles great and small."
"Oh, I see," Barbarod said politely with a smile. "Of course, the show won't be as good as the clash of scimitars and warhorses, but it will still be a feast for your eyes," the old translator repeated.
The bloodriders scoffed. If it weren't for the khal, they would have stripped him of his pants.
That look gave Barbarod a shudder, and he tensed. He'd heard that when the Dothraki got ruthless, they'd even kill horses.
Due to the language barrier, both sides stayed amicable.
After the pleasantries, the group arrived at the Grand Arena, a vast, magnificent circular structure.
Time passed, and soon it was morning.
The games officially began.
"You can also nominate a warrior from your immediate area to participate."
Barbarod sat next to Orm, glancing at the bloodrider who had spoken so arrogantly to him.
Just now, he'd found a reliable translator.
Orm glanced at him and said calmly, "He'll fight today."
Barbarod turned to look at the trembling slave translator behind him.
The translator was young, with black curly hair and tanned skin, a clear sign of New Ghis descent.
She looked like a Diana.
The translator lowered his head and relayed the story truthfully.
Hearing this, Barbarod was satisfied: "I believe the Bloodriders' competition will be even more exciting."
He thought Orm was being kind.
"You'll see."
Orm glanced up at the sky, his voice chilled to the bone.
Barbarod was still laughing.
Snap!
The next second, Orm suddenly leapt up, grabbed his neck, and with a force of his five fingers, broke it instantly.
Barbarod had no time to react.
When he realized what had happened, his eyes widened in disbelief.
Orm let go, and the body slid off the chair, falling to the ground with a thud.
The action stunned everyone.
Immediately, the female translator let out the most terrifying scream of her life.
"Go!"
Orm struck her with his palm, knocking her unconscious. He pulled out two daggers from his waist and shouted at the Dothraki in the arena.
The bloodriders reacted fastest, whipping out their whips and lashing out, tightening the reins on the Great Lord who was about to flee.
"Hurry, help! The Dothraki have turned!"
Before the whip could snap the Great Lord's neck, he cried for help from the slave soldiers around him.
With a clatter, the slave soldiers, spears raised, rushed in.
But numbers didn't guarantee strength.
The Dothraki cavalry were fierce, drawing their hidden weapons and attacking those around them.
Some, unarmed, simply dispatched the slave soldiers who rushed them, snatching their spears and wrestling them away.
In moments, the great arena was in chaos.
"Charge!"
Soon, seeing the slave soldiers increasing in number, Orm gave another command.
Their goal was to open the city gates and let their people in.
The action in the arena served two purposes: the Dragon Lord had not yet arrived, and they were confident in their strength.
After a fierce battle, the Dothraki truly fought their way through.
Just as they were about to break out, the gates of the great arena slammed shut.
"They killed Great Lord Barbarod! Avenge him!" the Great Lords cried.
Slave soldiers closed in, surrounding the Dothraki.
The tide of battle turned.
Orm's expression grew grim. He had just killed a few slave soldiers, only to see more of his people cut down.
Several of the initially brave Roaring Warriors were tackled and stabbed.
It was a perfect example of the saying "a swarm of ants can kill an elephant."
Swish, swish, swish!
The slave soldiers fought with increasing ferocity, using their spears as javelins, picking off Dothraki lives one by one.
"Prepare," Orm's voice boomed.
In this situation, the only option was to fight hard.
The Great Lords shouted, urging the slave soldiers to kill quickly.
Only the civilians in the audience, unaware of what was truly happening, hid in fear.
In a flash, the Dothraki were decimated.
Ka'oum was struck by a hidden arrow. Pain shot through him as he pulled it out, blood gushing.
He was still in good health, full of vitality.
The blood-stained Blood Guard beside him stood before Kahl'o, eyes filled with desperate determination.
Boom—
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the sky.
As if enveloped by a dark cloud, the entire arena lost its light.
"Dracarys, Vermithor!"
A magnetic voice descended from the heavens, echoing through the surroundings.
A faint scent of sulfur mixed with copper rust permeated the air, chilling and oppressive.
Everyone's heart skipped a beat, and they looked up in astonishment.
"Hiss!"
In the sky, an immense bronze dragon, pupils icy, maw open wide, fire glinting deep in its throat.
The next moment, a volcanic eruption of dragonfire poured forth, engulfing the slave soldiers in molten copper.
Sizzling, stinking white smoke rose.
The dragonfire shaped shattered gray-black clay figurines, which exploded, splattering even more of the surroundings.
A single burst of dragonfire killed and wounded most of the slave soldiers.
"Dragon!"
Orm's eyes widened, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his lips.
Throwing away the dagger and taking up a scimitar, the remaining tribesmen charged even more fiercely.
Boom—
In full view of the crowd, the huge bronze dragon landed with a heavy thud in the arena.
Its massive body, over a hundred meters long, filled all the open space as soon as it touched down.
It was like a huge bronze mountain, blocking all escape routes for the Great Lords.
"Roar—"
Vermithor roared, the majestic dragon head stretching forward toward the gathered Great Lords.
At this moment, the slave soldiers protecting them seemed so weak.
All resistance was as futile as a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
Then Vermithor paused, lowering his massive head slightly to reveal his back.
Everyone could see clearly.
Aemon sat on the dragon saddle, a kind smile on his face, greeting politely: "Hello!"
---------------
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