The sun sank in the west, its blinding light seemingly stolen by some unknown force. Fiery-red clouds lingered on the horizon, spreading an unparalleled brilliance across the sky.
In the afterglow, a column of black smoke rose continuously from Qohor City, stretching toward the clouds. A gentle breeze dispersed it into swirling mist.
"Most religions teach goodness, so why do wars caused by religious conflicts always become more extreme and violent?"
Möngke Khal, mounted on his horse, watched the black smoke rising from the city and listened to the occasional sounds of minor disturbances. He turned to the ever-knowledgeable officer Orfer and asked his question.
The old man paused, thinking deeply before replying:
"Respected Khal, forgive my ignorance. I do not know which gods of Essos guide their followers toward goodness. All I know is that mortals pray to gods not to receive lessons in morality, but to seek favor or intervention."
Möngke chuckled quietly. Indeed, any deity from this dark continent would be considered a cult by modern standards.
"It doesn't matter. The worse the religious conflict inside the city, the more it benefits us." Möngke smiled and spurred his horse, turning to see the returning Dothraki army. He added:
"Kosoro has also captured many people from villages around Qohor."
Orfer followed closely and suggested:
"Khal, the camp already holds nearly ten thousand captives. Even though they consume only a small amount of food each day, it still counts as extra expenditure for us."
Möngke didn't reply. Instead, he inspected the siege equipment camp. Seeing the ground covered with siege wooden mantlets, he nodded in approval.
A wooden mantlet was a massive, heavy shield. Soldiers could hide behind it while firing at the enemy. Strong mantlets could even withstand large bolts. Coating them with mud reduced flammability, and Qohor's forests provided abundant sturdy trees for their construction.
Then Möngke looked toward the Quen River, his expression calm:
"Tonight, we build the earthworks. The riverbank soil is moist and easy to dig. Order the elderly and weak captives to dig near the river, then use livestock to transport the soil to the camp. Assign the strong captives to carry the soil to the base of the city walls. Make them bite down on wooden blocks. Qohor's walls are over seven meters tall. Try to pile the soil as high as possible before the captives die from exhaustion."
Orfer, a seasoned officer, asked:
"Shall we have Dothraki warriors provide arrow cover?"
Möngke glanced at the dimming sky and replied without hesitation:
"The visibility is poor. If the enemy lights fires on the walls, your suggestion is worth considering."
Before Orfer could respond, Möngke continued:
"Where are the counted slaves? I want to speak to them."
Slavery existed across Essos. Slaves were considered property, bought and sold at will. The Dothraki enslaved conquered peoples, keeping them in camps like Vys Dothraki. They even enslaved defeated tribesmen from their own people. This is why, after Möngke Khal's tribe defeated a rival, the survivors submitted willingly, knowing they would not be sold as slaves.
This practice created a symbiotic relationship with the trade city-states: the Dothraki capture, the cities buy and sell. Captured citizens could be legally bought back as slaves—a closed and profitable loop.
Möngke's tribe had accounted for three thousand adult male slaves—his siege infantry. Now he intended to give them hope and freedom.
The slave camp was a place of raw energy and physical strength. There was no Spartacus here. To them, life was like a blade of grass—insignificant. Wealth, comfort, or status had no connection to them; they considered themselves as dust.
Möngke rode through the camp on his horse. He did not speak but charged through tents, trampling meager beds, rotten food, and the dust-low dignity of the slaves.
No one dared defy the Dothraki Khal. Their lives belonged entirely to him.
Yet, as he prepared to drive his horse toward the slaves crouching in prayer, a few lifted their heads. Their eyes showed grievance, sorrow, anger, and resistance. They were no longer entirely numb.
Even though Möngke intended to send them to their deaths, he felt a spark of indignation at their submission. In this dark world, who could guarantee survival tomorrow, much less living with dignity?
Möngke shouted:
"No one wants to be owned by others!"
He had not yet learned Valyrian, so Orfer translated.
At first, the words sounded weak through Orfer's voice. Möngke glared at him, and Orfer raised his voice, roaring:
"No one wants to be owned by others!"
The slaves realized Möngke had not come to vent anger over the frontlines but to speak to them. Most listened quietly, hoping he would leave soon.
"But you are unlucky. I own all of you. I have the right to buy, sell, or execute you at this moment."
The awakened slaves began thinking, fear and anxiety mixing as they carefully anticipated Möngke's next command.
"Of course, I also have the right to grant you freedom."
All the slaves lifted their heads, wondering if the Khal was mad enough to set them free.
"Freedom comes at a cost."
Most lowered their heads, realizing this was no simple gift. Only a few kept watching intently.
"The cost… alas, you are not female slaves, so you cannot be sold to Ravka or Liss. There, they train female slaves in the arts of love, teaching seven cries and sixteen positions, preparing them as concubines or bed-slaves."
Perhaps the coarse words stirred the slaves' hormones. Some listened eagerly; those who had once had families grew more fearful and unsettled.
"You are only fit for hard labor, for tasks the locals refuse. You will work in scorching mines alongside tens of thousands of other slaves. The wealth passing through your hands will never be yours. Life itself is not yours. Some will be burned, others die from exhaustion, hunger, disease, or plague. You will pray unceasingly to the gods, begging for death to release you. Occasionally, one or two lucky slaves may become a master's gladiator, dying quickly in the arena against beasts, leaving not a single bone behind."
Möngke rode over the heads of the slaves and calmly shouted:
"Who wants to hear the price for freedom?"
Silence fell.
Finally, one stood, then two, and soon most had raised their hands.
Seeing this, Möngke smiled:
"Do you see Qohor City? Prepare yourselves. When I give the command, charge the walls. Bring me three enemy heads, and you will be free."
The slaves weighed the offer. A tall, amber-skinned man approached Möngke and spoke in a language he did not understand.
Orfer explained quietly:
"This is High Valyrian, with a heavy accent. Judging by his appearance, he is a Ghiscari. Modern Ghiscari are often mixed with conquerors and live in Slave Bay. They know well the fate of slavery."
Seeing Möngke's stern expression, Orfer quickly added:
"He asks if he can use this task to gain freedom for his wife and child. He is willing to bring six extra enemy heads."
Möngke leaned down, fixing the Ghiscari with a serious gaze:
"Slave owners pay double for female slaves, triple for boys under ten. I only require you to bring me three extra enemy heads—one woman, two boys."