The Andal people favored the number "7," while the Ghiscari preferred "33."
No matter how tall the Great Pyramid of Slaver's Bay was—be it one hundred or two hundred meters—it always had thirty-three levels.
Aside from residential quarters, most areas of the pyramid were used for storing supplies.
On the ninth level of Astapor's Great Pyramid, under the flickering torchlight, gold coins clinked melodiously as iron shovels moved them, casting a mesmerizing glow.
Over a hundred Unsullied, working in pairs, waded through this sea of gold. They used shovels to load the coins into carts, and once full, wheeled them out of the vault.
Beside the stone steps on the eastern side of the pyramid was a funnel-shaped basin about seven or eight square meters in size. At its base was a pipe as thick as a water barrel, laid along the steps all the way to the bottom of the pyramid.
The pipe was open-faced, cast from bronze.
It resembled a bamboo tube split down the middle, constructed in ten-meter segments joined together end to end.
The Unsullied would push their coin-laden carts to the edge of the funnel basin and open the rear panel. With a loud crash—
A waterfall of gold would pour into the basin and continue flowing down the pipe.
Along the pipe, on each level of the steps, stood bald men wearing nothing but triangle briefs.
They held brooms in their hands and stared unblinkingly at the stream of coins inside the pipe.
If a coin of a different color appeared, they would immediately pick it out. If the flow of gold stopped and caused a blockage, they would sweep it clear.
At the base of the pyramid was another pool—made of iron—designed to collect the gold.
Beside the pool were three dragons: Little White, Little Green, and Little Gold.
With dragonflame spewing and steam rising, the gold in the pool melted into liquid. The molten gold flowed through a mesh screen into another pipe, which fed into dozens of molds.
From time to time, one could hear the sizzling sound of cold water being poured onto the molds.
Once the molds were filled with molten gold, the Unsullied would douse them with water, allowing the gold to solidify and take shape.
Afterward, men from the Iron Bank would carry the massive gold ingots to a weighing station.
"One hundred pounds. Station A, Ingot Number 1245!"
A senior manager from the Iron Bank stood by the scale. Once the weight passed inspection, he would call out and mark a tally on paper using a traditional character: "卌."
Nearby, a scholar from Slaver's Bay sat at a separate table, also keeping record.
Every hundred ingots, both sides would reconcile the account.
Then, more workers would come to carry the gold bars onto carts waiting by the roadside.
Each ingot had to weigh exactly one hundred pounds—no more, no less—or it would indicate impurities in the gold, as the molds were crafted based on a 100-pound standard.
Once twenty such ingots were loaded onto a single cart, it would be immediately driven to the docks, with the still-warm gold ready for shipment.
At the dock, another Iron Bank official would count and log the number of ingots loaded onto the ship.
This assembly-line process allowed Astapor's gold to flow rapidly into the Iron Bank's fleet.
At the docks, in a tavern named "Green Olive,"
The Dragon Queen was hosting a grand banquet.
Following the pandemic, the hospitality industry in Slaver's Bay had slumped. To stimulate recovery, the Dragon Queen not only frequented dockside inns herself but also often distributed consumption vouchers to officials and citizens at random.
Before the feast began, the Queen gestured to the silver-haired young man at her left and said to the Iron Bank representative across the table, "This young man of great promise is my beloved nephew Aegon, son of Rhaegar and Elia—a fine steed from the Targaryen line."
The Iron Bank's representative, who had led the fleet to Astapor, was named Tycho Nestoris—a tall, gaunt man with long legs.
His body was lanky, his narrow face drawn, and his goatee so long it nearly touched his waist.
"Mr. Nestoris, greetings," Aegon said politely, calm and graceful.
"Your Highness Prince Aegon, greetings to you as well." Tycho returned the bow respectfully before asking, somewhat puzzled, "But I recall Duke Tywin—"
"All thanks to Lord Varys!" Daenerys interrupted with a smile, proceeding to recount Varys' version of the Orphan of Zhao tale.
"How wonderful that Your Majesty and your nephew have been reunited!" Tycho said warmly.
A strange glint flashed in his eyes: How wonderful indeed—the Dragon Queen now had a glaring weakness.
"It truly is a blessing," Daenerys said, beaming like a proud mother whose son had just been accepted into the Imperial Academy. "My nephew is young and capable, with lofty ambitions. If not for the pandemic, I would've already sent him to Meereen to gain experience."
Aegon, too, lifted his chin with pride.
Tycho's eyes flickered again, and he was now certain—the Dragon Queen dearly cherished this nephew.
Tyrion glanced at the warm, familial scene between aunt and nephew, then turned to the Iron Bank's representative. "Mr. Nestoris, you look a bit haggard. Did you travel a long distance?"
"Indeed," Tycho nodded. "I came all the way from Braavos, changing horses constantly. I crossed the Norvos Mountains, traveled through the Rhoyne River plains, passed through Qohor, reached Mantarys, and detoured through Tolos.
The New Ghiscari had already received our raven and promptly helped the Iron Bank organize the fleet. By the time I reached Tolos, the ships were already entering the Sea of Sighs.
Eventually, we rendezvoused at the mouth of Slaver's Bay and arrived in Astapor together."
He made no attempt to hide anything, explaining both his journey and the Iron Bank's logistics in full.
"Did the New Ghiscari inform you of the Allied plan to unleash greyscale-infected stone men into Slaver's Bay?" Tyrion asked with a wry smile.
Tycho deflected, "We have our own sources. We were aware that Her Majesty acted swiftly to contain the outbreak. The disease never spread, and the Allied plan failed."
"The Iron Bank truly is formidable. While the Allies and the Queen are fighting a world war, you manage to do business with both sides," Tyrion praised, giving a thumbs-up.
"Our operations span the entire civilized world. We serve all who honor their contracts."
Tycho accepted the compliment, whether genuine or sarcastic, without hesitation.
"Have preparations for grain begun? Winter will be here in just over ten days," Daenerys asked.
"Heh," Tycho's gaunt face revealed a touch of pride. "Your wheat was planted over a month ago."
"A month ago? Did you start farming as soon as our deal was struck? That's incredibly efficient," Daenerys said, slightly skeptical.
"The faster the ravens fly, the higher our efficiency."
Tyrion's interest was piqued. He asked, "You didn't outsource the grain production, did you?"
"We're the Iron Bank. We're a bank—we can't possibly grow the grain ourselves. Of course, we outsourced the grain procurement to the major grain merchants in the city-states," Tycho replied with a nod.
"Then the big merchants subcontract to the smaller ones, and the small ones go find the landowners? That's some easy money you're making," Tyrion said with a twitch of his lips.
Tycho shot him a glare and said coolly, "You're welcome to try. I can guarantee that even if you had ten fathers who could mine gold, it still wouldn't be enough to cover the losses."
"You seem rather hostile toward me," Tyrion said, puzzled.
"No hostility. I'm just being objective."
Daenerys pointed out the window at a row of sailboats. "I see your fleet mostly consists of ocean-going vessels. There are hardly any longships. Can you guarantee safety? I'll tell you this—in Slaver's Bay, I can protect you. But once you enter the Gulf of Grief or the Summer Sea, the safety of your gold is no longer my concern."
Tycho hesitated, glancing at the Dragon Queen's expression as he slowly replied, "Once we leave Slaver's Bay, the Ghiscar Iron Fleet will escort us."
"Wow!" Tyrion let out an exaggerated cry, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he glanced back and forth between the Dragon Queen and Tycho.
Daenerys nodded with satisfaction. "In that case, I'm reassured."
"Reassured?" Tyrion looked amused. "Your Grace, surely you're not planning to launch a surprise attack on New Ghis as soon as the Iron Fleet departs?"
"Silence!" the Dragon Queen growled.
Tycho's expression shifted—dark clouds passed over his face, unsure whether to be angry or anxious.
Seeing this, old Aemon hurriedly stood up, raising his cup. "Come, let's drink! Tonight's banquet has nothing to do with war or allies. Lord Tycho has come from afar—let us toast in his honor!"
Fifty million gold dragons, plus ten million in jewelry—it sounded like a fortune, but the total weight didn't even exceed 900 tons.
It took just one night and one morning to load everything onto six swift cargo ships, each equipped with 200 oars.
Tycho seemed eager to deposit the gold into the Iron Bank. After lunch, he led the fleet away from the Astapor docks.
All in all, he hadn't even stayed in Slaver's Bay for a full day.
Watching the white sails vanish into the clear blue sky and sea, Tyrion withdrew his gaze and grinned. "Your Grace, how did I do?"
"So-so," Daenerys replied blandly.
"So-so?" Tyrion was clearly dissatisfied. "That goateed banker completely fell for it. The allied fleet is converging on New Ghis, which means Elyria and Tolos will be severely under-defended."
Indeed, at the earlier banquet welcoming Tycho, Tyrion had collaborated with the Dragon Queen in staging a performance.
They led Tycho to believe that the Dragon Queen intended to strike at New Ghis, thereby concealing her real plan.
Daenerys had indeed previously intended to march on New Ghis. For that purpose, the First Fleet of the Great Crab and the Second Fleet under Garth had already been training for a month.
In the campaign to capture Slaver's Bay, Daenerys had seized a large number of sea vessels. Later, hundreds more belonging to the Great Masters were confiscated.
Daenerys had never really lacked ships.
In fact, over the past two years, Blackbeard Grole had built or acquired over a hundred warships for the Dragon Queen.
But Grole lacked the ability to command naval operations or train sailors—skills monopolized by the nobility.
Barristan did have the ability, but he had been focused on training competent army officers for Daenerys. He lacked the time and energy for naval matters.
The arrival of the Great Crab and the second son of House Hightower changed everything.
The Great Crab was raised as the heir to a count—his family ruled an island, Crab Isle. How could he not know naval warfare?
Garth Hightower had even richer experience. In his youth, he had served as a squire under Lord Redwyne, the commander of the fleet on the Arbor. As an adult, he had managed Oldtown's naval defenses.
Daenerys frowned. "With my current strength, I don't need tricks to take Tolos. But there's one thing—I don't know what the allied forces are holding in reserve. I can only alter my plan, disrupt my own rhythm, and hope it throws them off theirs as well."
"You're overthinking it. You've got five dragons and wildfire. You're lying in wait, and the victory is yours," Tyrion said.
"The Windblown once agreed to be my spies. Now, there's been no word at all," Daenerys replied.
Even the Iron Bank knew she had brought the Slaver's Bay epidemic under control. There was no way the allied forces didn't know.
If they knew, then so did the Windblown.
What secret weapon did the allies have—something more dangerous than the stone men—that made the Windblown believe the Dragon Queen was doomed to lose?
Tyrion's eyes narrowed, and he said in a low voice, "The only thing that can deal with dragons is another dragon."
"Dragon..." Daenerys fell into deep thought.
"Aunt Daenerys!"
Aegon came running up the stairs, panting. "My cousin's greyscale has been cured. He can be released now, right?"
(End of Chapter)
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