At dawn, before the sun had risen, Astapor entered the coolest part of the day, with temperatures hovering around 15 degrees Celsius.
Five kilometers west of the city on the Astapor Peninsula, near the coast, stood a brick and tile factory.
Encouraged by the Dragon Queen, the skinny man Bogba pushed out a flatbed cart from the factory, the kind typically used by workers to transport mud bricks.
The cart carried a thick layer of dry, yellow rice straw. Hidden among the straw were eight pineapple-sized jars—four brown ceramic ones and four transparent glass jars.
Of the glass jars, two were half-filled with green liquid. The other two were completely full, without a single air bubble.
Wildfire!
Bogba slowly pushed the cart out of the factory and approached a red-brick platform used for drying mud bricks.
Making red bricks is a rather intricate process.
First, sticky clay must be dug up and mixed with coal ash. The clay is then pressed into molds and shaped into bricks, but it can't go straight into the kiln.
The clay bricks must be dried in a well-ventilated open area, shielded from direct sunlight. A layer of waterproof felt is laid over them, followed by a sunshade made of straw mats.
The bricks can't just be left on the ground either. They must be placed on raised platforms made of red bricks, at least a palm's width above the ground, to prevent the bottom layers from getting soaked during rain.
As a result, outside the factory lay rows upon rows of red-brick platforms, each about a meter wide and over a hundred meters long.
Once the bricks dried and hardened, they would be moved into the kiln, stacked together, dusted with coal, sealed in, and ignited from a coal inlet at the top.
At present, some of the mud bricks had already been moved, leaving a long stretch of empty red-brick platforms outside the factory.
Well, not completely empty. Seven walls made of clay bricks, each one meter wide and two meters long, divided the platforms into "rooms" spaced ten meters apart.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Bogba—with the solemn expression of a bomb disposal expert—carefully yet quickly unloaded the jars from the cart and arranged them on the red-brick platforms.
Perhaps thanks to frequent practice with the Pathguard technique "Walking the Fire Pit", Bogba moved swiftly. In just thirty seconds, he had arranged all eight jars on the designated platforms.
But he wasn't done yet. His expression grew even more serious, as if he had reached the critical moment of cutting the red wire or the blue one.
He retrieved a 30-centimeter-high bronze tripod from the cart, with a net hanging beneath it.
At the factory entrance, under the eaves, Archmaester Wood looked up at the sky. A red sun had begun to peek over the eastern horizon, and he shouted in urgency, "Hurry up! The sun is coming out!"
Bogba also glanced toward the east, and sweat instantly beaded on his forehead.
He quickened his pace further, though with even greater caution.
He gently placed each jar into a net and hung the nets beneath the tripods.
In total, four tripods were set up, each holding one jar—two glass and two ceramic.
Then he tied a long rope to each jar and extended the ropes two meters over to a nearby clay brick wall.
The drying platforms for mud bricks were spaced two meters apart to allow room for carts to pass through.
Beside the platform with the jars stood a 1.3-meter-high clay brick wall that had yet to be moved.
The flammable felt and straw mats originally covering the bricks had been pulled back and now lay to the side.
Behind the wall stood four firemages, faces smeared with brown grease, clad in scale armor and iron helmets. They looked determined to die, each accepting a rope from Master Bogba's hands.
"Whew—" Bogba let out a long breath, his tense expression finally relaxing.
"Your Grace, it's done!" he ran back under the eaves and cheerfully reported to the Dragon Queen, who was seated on a grand master's chair.
"Then let's begin!"
At Daenerys's wave, the firemages hiding behind the clay wall began pulling the ropes in a steady rhythm. On the red-brick platform across the mud path, the four jars suspended under the tripods began to sway gently.
Standing on either side of the queen's seat were many spectators—not only fifty firemages but also a dozen scholars. White Knight, Old Aemon, Laretha, Tyrion, Young Aegon, and Clinton all watched eagerly.
The red sun climbed higher, turning the rosy dawn into golden morning light. The temperature slowly rose.
Sweat appeared on the tip of Tyrion's nose as he said anxiously, "Isn't this a bit much? One jar holds four or five pounds of wildfire!"
"Too much? These small jars are already the lowest-yield 'fire-oil bombs' used by our dragon bombers," Dany replied casually. "You should've seen the massive bombs I used to take Dragonstone—about the size of a water urn. You could bathe in one."
"Wildfire isn't fire oil. It's dozens of times more powerful," Tyrion emphasized.
"If it weren't more powerful than fire oil, why would I go through all this trouble?" Dany countered. "If I had to dilute wildfire just to match fire oil's effect, I might as well stick with fire oil—at least that's safer."
Tyrion was left speechless.
At that moment, the Imp had changed clothes. His T-shirt, trimmed with gold, bore a black dragon across the chest.
Though she hadn't participated in Cleon's trial in recent days, the Dragon Queen hadn't been idle.
She had formed the Royal Dragonmages Corps, established wildfire refining bases in both Astapor and Meereen, and participated in several "Great Leaps Forward" in agricultural production across Meereen, Kaechin, and Astapor. She had reformed the Dothraki combat tactics and upgraded the livestock breeds. She also made sweeping adjustments to the government structure of Slaver's Bay.
She had been so busy that she hadn't even had time to bond with her dear nephew.
While reforming government responsibilities, Daenerys also restructured official ranks, establishing a seven-grade hierarchy and standardizing government attire.
The black dragon on Tyrion's T-shirt was actually his official rank badge.
Much like the "robe and beast" system in ancient China—where civil officials wore bird emblems to symbolize virtue, and military officers wore fierce beasts to show martial power—the new uniform reflected one's role and authority.
One had to admit, compared to the chaotic, casually-dressed assemblies in the West that resembled retirees playing mahjong in a street corner shack, the grand ceremonial halls of the Celestial Empire had a much higher level of decorum.
Some western kings didn't even have a formal "dragon robe" of their own.
One day in the future, when she ascended as Empress of the World, Daenerys planned to gather a gold coin from every city-state, a bronze kettle, and an iron sword, melt them all down, and forge a throne.
When she sat upon that throne, she wanted to look down—not at a chaotic marketplace—but at solemn and dignified ministers, dressed in orderly, ceremonial garb.
And so, she began by unifying their attire.
A seventh-rank official bore the Red Dragon, sixth-rank the Golden Dragon, fifth-rank the Green Dragon, fourth-rank the White Dragon, third-rank the Black Dragon, second-rank officials bore the dark red Three-Headed Dragon (the Targaryens' former sigil), and first-rank officials bore a Five-Colored Dragon, its head and tail connected in a circle.
Originally, the Green and White dragons were evenly matched. But after Daenerys made a journey to Westeros—full of danger, but ultimately rewarding—the White Dragon became a magical dragon.
And thus, the Green Dragon was relegated to third place.
The Golden Dragon took fourth, and the Red Dragon fifth. No dispute there.
Of course, the Dragon Queen never banned civilians from wearing dragon-patterned clothing. She only prohibited them from fully imitating government officials—at the very least, they were not allowed to embroider a golden border of seven-pointed stars around the dragon motif.
The Imp wore a T-shirt embroidered with a black dragon, symbolizing that he had become a subordinate of the Dragon Queen.
On the day he recommended himself to the queen, he said he had once served as the Hand of the King, and that Slaver's Bay currently lacked a prime minister. So, why not make do?
In response, the Dragon Queen mocked him mercilessly, leaving him with a thoroughly bruised ego.
Although he failed to win the position of Hand, the Dragon Queen still valued his talents. The Imp had once made extensive use of wildfire, turning the tide at the Battle of Blackwater Bay and defeating Stannis Baratheon—the second greatest general in the Seven Kingdoms—despite overwhelming odds.
It could be said that Tyrion was the only person alive who had successfully used wildfire on a large scale in warfare.
After the dragons went extinct, the Targaryens had even funded the Alchemists' Guild to construct steel dragons that could shoot wildfire, intending to use them against the Dornish.
But midway through transport, one of these fire-laden iron dragons exploded on its own.
In short, when it came to wildfire, Tyrion was a rare genius.
Recognizing talent and using it well, Emperor Daenerys created a special position for him—"General of Wildfire," responsible for overseeing its production, storage, and transport.
Today, General of Wildfire Tyrion accompanied the Dragon Queen to begin testing the stability of wildfire.
"Ah! Look! The wildfire in the bottle is boiling!" Suddenly, Young Aegon pointed to a half-full bottle shaking in the distance and shouted in alarm.
"Careful! It's about to blow!" Tyrion's pupils shrank as he shouted toward the fire mage behind the mudbrick wall.
Gurgle-gurgle...
Under the sunlight, the glass bottle swaying from a rope began to emit green bubbles. Visibly, the bubbles swelled from the size of rice grains to broad beans, then rapidly expanded to the size of eggs.
BOOOOM!
The sound was like a hand grenade exploding. In the bright daylight, green flames suddenly shot four or five meters high. Green fire spread across the ground and up the brick walls nearby.
The effect was like several hundred pounds of oil igniting in a blast.
The flamboyant green flames were clearly scorching hot, sending waves of heat rolling out, but to those watching, they brought no warmth—only a chill deep in the heart.
"This is demonic fire!" Young Aegon's face went pale.
"A Targaryen, afraid of fire?" Daenerys glanced sideways at him and said coolly.
Young Aegon froze for a moment, then straightened up, puffed out his chest, and declared firmly, "I'm not afraid!"
Seeing the fear in his eyes, and the deeply hidden excitement in Tyrion's, Daenerys wore an odd expression.
"A Targaryen may not fear fire, but wildfire should still be treated with caution," said Old Aemon, with fairness.
His gaze was complex. The sight of wildfire inevitably reminded him of his older brother "the Demon" Aeryon, who drank it.
"What's the temperature?" Daenerys asked the armored fire mage who had run back.
The shockwave from the exploding wildfire bottle had been strong enough to make the thick mudbrick wall two meters away tremble—but not collapse.
The fire mage who had pulled the rope returned after completing his task.
"Twenty-five degrees Dragarian!" he cried, visibly shaken. "Your Majesty, it's terrifying—it exploded at just twenty-five degrees Dragarian! Astapor's peak temperatures reach forty-five!"
"Forty-five is the ground temperature. The air temperature peaks at around thirty-two," a scholar noted.
"Record this: vigorous shaking, direct sunlight, and twenty-five degrees as the critical threshold," Daenerys ordered.
At once, a scholar began scribbling furiously on a document.
Thermometers weren't hard to make.
As early as the Ming Dynasty, Galileo had invented the first thermometer.
It was a very crude device—a glass tube with a bulb at the bottom, open at the top, and prone to large errors.
Soon after, a more precise thermometer capable of measuring human body temperature was invented.
Simply put, inventing a thermometer required a flash of insight more than advanced technology.
As long as one could forge a glass tube, the technology was sufficient.
(End of Chapter)
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