The roar of the trebuchets tore through the silence of dawn.
The first millstone-sized rock arced through the air, smashing into the red stone wall of the West Gate with a screeching whistle, sending splinters flying like a bloody rain.
Daenerys steadied Silver Wind's reins on the city wall, and Drogon suddenly soared higher, the air currents from his black wings ruffling her golden hair.
"Have the Unsullied retreat to the second line of defense!" she shouted to Grey Worm, her voice cutting through the continuous impacts.
Illyrio clutched his telescope—a modern item he had brought with him when he transmigrated, now used to observe the allied army's formation.
Fifty trebuchets were arrayed in a fan shape, each pulled by eight oxen, with slave drivers cracking long whips to urge on the laborers turning the winches.
"They're testing the wall's strength!" he roared to Kohol beside him, "Tell the archers in the arrow towers to aim for the drivers, disrupt their rhythm first!"
The moment the bowstrings twanged in unison, Rhaegal suddenly swooped down from the clouds, his ice-blue dragonflame sweeping across the leftmost trebuchet formation.
The wooden frames crackled and exploded in the flames, and the slaves scattered and fled, only to be impaled by the long spears of the allied soldiers behind them.
Viserys followed closely, his spewed crimson tongues of fire igniting the oil barrels next to the trebuchets, sending up thick smoke that temporarily obscured the allied army's vision.
"The moat! They're filling the river!" Missandei's cry came from below the city wall.
Illyrio looked down; hundreds of allied infantrymen carrying bundled branches rushed towards the moat, with the front-rank soldiers holding giant wooden shields to block the arrows raining down from the city wall.
The iron spikes at the bottom of the river were already shrouded in the morning mist, their cold gleam faintly visible beneath the water's surface.
"Send the Dothraki Riders out the North Gate!" he quickly turned to the messenger, "According to plan, circle around to the East to create a diversion, don't let them get close to the riverbank!"
Kohol personally led two thousand Dothraki Riders out the North Gate, their scimitars glinting silver in the sunlight.
The Dothraki let out a wild war cry, their hooves trampling the morning dew, crashing into the allied army's flank like a tide.
But the Yunkai allied army was prepared; a line of spearmen quickly formed a shield wall, and the cavalry charge was abruptly halted.
Several riders accidentally fell from their horses and were instantly pierced by a flurry of spears.
"Damn it, they came prepared!" Illyrio slammed his fist on the city wall's crenellation.
Through his telescope, the allied commander Rhaezalin stood on a gilded war chariot, directing the battle.
His elite guard, clad in gem-encrusted armor, stood beside him, their curved swords half a foot longer than those of ordinary soldiers.
Even more troublesome, ten mobile shield carts were slowly being pushed towards the moat, their surfaces covered with soaked animal hides, on which arrows left only shallow marks.
Rocks struck again, this time accurately hitting a breach in the West Gate.
A section of the city wall collapsed with a roar, revealing the terrified figures of several Unsullied in the dust.
Grey Worm immediately raised his spear: "First phalanx, shields up!"
Two thousand Unsullied quickly assembled, their long shields interlocking like an iron wall, their spears protruding from the gaps, forming an impenetrable defensive formation.
Just then, Drogon let out a deafening roar.
He spread his wings, several yards wide, and swooped down from high altitude, his dragonflame sweeping across the trebuchet positions like a red whip.
Three trebuchets instantly became fireballs, and Rhaezalin's chariot retreated several yards in the chaos.
Daenerys seized the opportunity to raise the dragon-emblazoned banner: "For freedom!"
"For freedom!" the Unsullied on the city wall shouted in unison, their voices overpowering the din of the battlefield.
They stepped on the rubble of the city wall, pushing rolling logs and boulders towards the breach.
A young Unsullied was struck on the shoulder by a falling rock, but he merely gritted his teeth, straightened his back, and pierced the first allied soldier to climb the wall with his spear.
Illyrio suddenly noticed something unusual about the allied army—the infantry on the East side were quietly moving towards the North of the city, while Rhaezalin's banner pointed in the opposite direction.
"It's a feint!" he immediately grabbed Daenerys' arm, "They want to lure us away; their real target is the breach in the North City Wall!"
No sooner had he spoken than an urgent alarm sounded from the North City Wall.
The allied army's elite guard, under the cover of the Dothraki Riders, was battering the unrepaired breach in the city wall with a battering ram.
Only five hundred Unsullied were stationed there, and it looked like they were about to be breached.
"I'll take the Blood Riders to reinforce!" Kohol said, reaching for his sword.
"No, if your Dothraki Riders leave, the East defense line will collapse," Illyrio quickly thought, his gaze falling on Viserys perched on the city wall, "Daenerys, send Viserys to the North City Wall, use his dragonflame to seal the breach! I'll go inform Rakharo, have the Red Robe Tribe launch their surprise attack early!"
Daenerys immediately blew a sharp whistle, and Viserys understood, flapping his wings and rushing towards the North of the city.
Illyrio, meanwhile, mounted his horse and galloped along the inner horse path of the city wall.
The five thousand Dothraki Riders of the Red Robe Tribe were hidden behind the dunes to the West of the city.
Khal Rakharo was anxiously wiping his battle-axe, and upon seeing the dragon-emblazoned ring on Illyrio's hand, he immediately stood up.
"The main allied force is on the East, their rear is empty!" Illyrio threw down a map, "Charge now, directly for Rhaezalin's chariot!"
Rakharo grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth: "The Targaryen never disappoints me!"
He mounted his horse, drew his battle-axe, and pointed it at the sky, "For wealth! For Khaleesi!"
Five thousand Red Robe Tribe Dothraki Riders charged out of the dunes like a red torrent, the dust kicked up by their horses' hooves obscuring the sky.
At the West Gate battlefield, Grey Worm's phalanx had been compressed to the inner side of the city wall by the allied army.
An allied officer, brandishing a scimitar, cleaved open a shield and was about to strike Grey Worm when he was shot through the throat by a sudden arrow.
Missandei stood on the arrow tower, her short bow still trembling—this was her first kill, but her eyes were exceptionally firm.
"Protect the translator!" Grey Worm roared, his spear piercing an approaching enemy, the splattered blood staining his dark gray lamellar armor.
Seeing this, the Unsullied's morale soared; their previously orderly phalanx suddenly spread out, cutting through the allied army's formation like a sharp pair of scissors.
They were no longer mere machines that only carried out orders; every spear thrust carried the fury of fighting for freedom.
At the breach in the North of the city, Viserys' dragonflame formed a wall of fire, forcing the allied army's elite guard to retreat.
But the young dragon's strength was clearly waning, and the flames gradually weakened.
Just then, the Red Robe Tribe Dothraki Riders launched a surprise attack from the rear of the allied army.
Rakharo was at the forefront, his battle-axe cleaving through the banner of Rhaezalin's guard.
"The commander is in danger!" allied soldiers exclaimed, turning around, their formation instantly in disarray.
Rhaezalin tried to order a retreat but was knocked off his chariot by the charging Red Robe Tribe Dothraki Riders, and in the confusion, his leg was trampled by his own men's horses.
When Illyrio galloped back to the West Gate, the tide of the battle had completely turned.
The Unsullied's phalanx had reformed, the Dothraki Riders had outflanked from the East, and the Red Robe Tribe was wantonly cutting down the fleeing allied forces from the rear.
Drogon circled in the air, his dragonflame occasionally falling, reducing enemies who tried to resist to ashes.
By noon, the allied army's banner finally fell.
The surviving soldiers dropped their weapons and surrendered, kneeling on the ground to beg for mercy.
Daenerys rode Silver Wind to the center of the battlefield, Drogon landing beside her, still clutching half a burning spear in his mouth.
She looked at the bodies and wounded scattered across the ground, her eyes devoid of the joy of victory, only filled with a heavy solemnity.
"Treat all the wounded, regardless of friend or foe," Daenerys commanded, "Confiscate the allied army's food and weapons and distribute them to the slaves in the city."
Missandei walked over, supporting her injured younger brother, whose arm was bandaged, yet he excitedly held up a captured short sword: "Khaleesi, I killed a slaver!"
Daenerys knelt down and gently stroked the boy's head: "You are not a killer, you are a warrior of freedom."
She stood up and looked at Illyrio, "This victory belongs to everyone."
Illyrio stepped forward and handed her a sun-patterned wooden plaque covered in dust—it had been found on Rhaezalin's chariot and was inscribed with "Order of Slaver's Bay."
"The order they wanted to maintain has collapsed," he threw the wooden plaque to the ground, "But Astapor's new beginning has just started."
That night, Astapor's bonfires burned brighter than the night before.
Slaves sang and danced, warriors shared captured wine, and the young dragons lay on the city walls, quietly licking their wounds.
Illyrio was tallying the spoils in his tent when Daenerys walked in, holding a new letter.
"It's from Jhaqo," Daenerys' voice was somewhat grave, "Yunkai's 'Wise Masters' have fled to Meereen, where they have gathered more troops and hired the Second Sons."
Illyrio took the letter, his brow furrowing.
The Second Sons were the most famous mercenary company in the Eastern Continent, their combat strength far exceeding that of ordinary slaver armies.
"It seems we must advance on Yunkai as quickly as possible," he circled Yunkai's location on the map with a pen, "Before they are ready."
Daenerys nodded, her gaze firm: "Tomorrow, we will hold a freedom assembly, let the people of Astapor choose their own leaders.
Then, we depart." She walked to the tent entrance, looking at the celebrating crowd outside, "I will not let them lose their freedom again."
Illyrio watched her retreating figure and suddenly realized that this war was far from over.
Astapor's victory was just the beginning; Yunkai, Meereen, and even distant Westeros awaited them.
But at this moment, looking at the smiles on the faces of the people by the bonfires, his heart was filled with strength—just as Daenerys had said, once the flame of freedom is ignited, it will never be extinguished.
When the sky began to lighten with the first hint of dawn, Illyrio was awakened by a slight commotion.
He walked out of his tent and saw Grey Worm leading the Unsullied in training, their chants louder than ever: "For freedom! For Khaleesi!"
Daenerys stood at the harbor, gazing at the distant sea, Drogon circling above her, his dragon roar echoing through the sky.