The alarm sounded at dawn.
It wasn't a soft bell. It was a clang of metal against metal that instantly jolted every person in Astoria awake with a racing heart.
Marcos jumped out of bed, already dressed (he had started sleeping in clothes just in case), and ran towards the walls.
Garrett was already there, looking towards the horizon with a telescope that Marcos had created using Minecraft glass .
" What do we have?" Marcos asked, panting from the run.
"Riders. Many." Garrett handed him the telescope. "From the west. They're still far away, but they're coming straight this way."
Marcos looked through the telescope.
His stomach sank.
There were easily a hundred horsemen. Maybe more. Riding in orderly formation, raising dust on the road.
They were not Dothraki (they did not have the characteristic savage appearance).
They were mercenaries. Professionals.
And they carried the banner of Pentos .
—Holy shit —Marcos muttered—. Illyrio didn't waste any time.
—How long before they arrive?
"An hour. Maybe less if they speed up." Marcos lowered the telescope. "Are we ready?"
"As ready as we can be." Garrett gestured downwards. "Civilians are being evacuated to the inner area. Soldiers are arming themselves. The towers are manned."
"Good. Perfect." Marcos tried to sound calm, but his heart was racing. "I'm going to talk to the people. Keep watch."
"Chief," Garrett stopped him. "This is real now. No more games."
-I know.
—Are you ready to kill if necessary?
Marcos remained silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
—If it's between them or us, I choose us. Always.
In Astoria's central square, seventy people were gathered. Families holding hands. Frightened children. Adults with tense expressions.
Marcos stood on a raised platform so that everyone could see him.
"Listen to me." His voice echoed in the silence. "There's a force of approximately one hundred mercenaries approaching. They've come to claim Daenerys and likely to destroy Astoria as punishment for defying Pentos ."
There were murmurs of fear.
"We're not going to let them in," Marcos said firmly. "We built these defenses precisely for this moment. We have walls that can withstand battering rams. Towers from which we can fire. And we have something they don't: we're fighting for our home."
" But there are a hundred of them!" someone shouted . "We're thirty soldiers against a hundred professional mercenaries!"
"Thirty soldiers behind fortified walls are worth more than a hundred in open terrain." Marcos gestured to the defenses. "Besides, we have advantages they can't even imagine. Trust me."
" What if we lose?" asked a woman holding a baby.
"If we lose, the escape tunnels are ready. Women, children, and the elderly evacuate first. Soldiers cover the retreat. No one is left behind." Marcos looked directly at them all. "But we're not going to lose. I give you my word."
" Why should we trust you?" a man asked . "Two weeks ago we didn't even know this place existed. And now we're at war over a girl who isn't even from here."
Marcos felt frustration growing, but before he could respond, Daenerys spoke first.
She had been standing to the side, listening. But now she walked over to Marcos and turned to face the crowd.
"You're right," she said clearly, louder than Marcos had expected. "This is my fault. I came here seeking refuge and brought war upon ourselves." She paused. "If you want to hand me over to save Astoria, I understand. I won't fight that decision."
The silence was absolute.
Then Lysor , the farmer who had been the first to arrive, stood up.
"I came here with nothing. No land, no future. Marcos gave me a chance. He gave me a home." She looked at Daenerys . "And if he says you deserve protection, that's enough for me. We're not going to hand you over."
Others began to nod.
"Astoria was founded on the idea that people have value beyond their usefulness," Elia added. "If we start giving people away because it's easier, then this place means nothing."
One by one, the residents expressed their support.
Not everyone. Some still had doubts. But most agreed.
Marcos felt immense pride.
"Then it's decided." He raised his voice. "We will defend ourselves. Together. Now everyone to your positions. Civilians to the safe zone. Soldiers to the walls. Let them know that Astoria will not surrender!"
There was a shout of support.
And then, the work began.
Half an hour later, the mercenaries arrived.
They stopped one hundred meters from the walls, formed in perfect lines.
They were professionals, that much was obvious. Uniform armor, well-maintained weapons, military discipline.
A rider rode ahead. He was a large man in heavy armor and a helmet with red feathers.
" To whom it may concern!" he shouted in a booming voice. "I am Mero, Captain of the Second Sons! We come by order of Magister Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos!"
Mark climbed onto the wall so that they could see him.
—I AM MARCOS VIDAL, FOUNDER AND RULER OF ASTORIA! DECLARE YOUR PURPOSE!
—OUR PURPOSE IS SIMPLE! HAND OVER DAENERYS TARGARYEN AND PAY COMPENSATION FOR THE INSULT TO PENTOS! IF YOU COOPERATE, WE WILL SPARE YOUR LIVES!
—AND WHAT IF I DON'T COOPERATE?
" Then we'll take the fortress by force, kill your soldiers, and take the girl anyway!" Mero grinned. "I chose wisely, stranger!"
Marcos looked back. Daenerys stood on the wall beside him, her expression tense but determined. Garrett was ready with the archers. The soldiers were in position.
Then he looked towards Mero.
" I HAVE A COUNTEROFFER!" he shouted.
—Oh , really?
—GO TO HELL, AND SO CAN YOUR TEACHER!
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then Mero started laughing. It was a loud, genuine laugh.
" I LIKE YOU, STRANGER! IT'S A SHAME I HAVE TO KILL YOU!" Mero drew his sword. "SECOND SONS! PREPARE FOR THE ASSAULT!"
The mercenaries began to move, forming up for the attack.
Marcos turned to Garrett.
—It's now or never.
"Understood." Garrett raised his hand. "ARCHERS! READY!"
Twenty archers took up positions on the walls, drawing their bows.
The mercenaries charged.
" FIRE!" Garrett shouted.
A hail of arrows rained down on the mercenaries.
Several fell. But most had shields, deflecting the projectiles.
They kept moving forward.
—SECOND WAVE! FIRE!
More arrows. Lower arrows. But not enough.
The mercenaries reached the pit.
They stopped, confused. The three-meter ditch was an unexpected obstacle .
" BRING THE BOARDS!" shouted Mero.
Some mercenaries began placing wooden planks to cross the moat.
Marcos waited until half of them were on the boards.
Then he activated his magic.
With a gesture, the boards turned to dust.
The mercenaries fell into the pit screaming.
— WHAT THE HELL?! —Mero stared in disbelief.
Marcos smiled.
—I FORGOT TO MENTION! I HAVE MAGIC! SURPRISE!
He raised both hands.
The ground around the mercenaries began to shake.
Stone pillars emerged, surrounding them, not attacking but clearly threatening.
" LAST CHANCE!" Marcos shouted . "RETREAT NOW OR THINGS WILL GET BAD!"
The mercenaries stared at the pillars in terror.
Mero, however, was not easily intimidated.
" SECOND SONS DON'T RETREAT!" He looked directly at Marcos. "BUT I RESPECT POWER WHEN I SEE IT! I PROPOSE A TEMPORARY TRUCE! ONE-ON-ONE FIGHT! YOU AGAINST ME! IF YOU WIN, WE RETREAT! IF I WIN, YOU HAND OVER THE GIRL!"
Marcos blinked.
—Seriously ? Are we doing this? An honorable duel in the middle of a war?
" It's tradition!" Mero replied . "Unless you're a coward!"
Garrett whispered to Marcos:
—Boss, this is a trap. He's going to try something.
"Probably." Marcos smiled. "But it's also an opportunity. If I defeat him publicly, the other mercenaries might lose morale."
—What if he kills you?
"He's not going to kill me. I have godlike powers." Marcos shrugged. "Although it would be incredibly humiliating to die in a duel after surviving a plaster Napoleon."
- That?
—It's a long story. Wait here.
Marcos descended from the wall using magic (basically floating down, which caused several mercenaries to murmur nervously).
The iron gates opened.
Marcos walked towards the field between the two forces.
Mero dismounted and walked towards him, sword in hand.
They met downtown.
Up close, Mero was enormous. Easily two meters tall, pure muscle, with scars that indicated years of combat.
Marcos, by comparison, looked... normal. A 28-year-old guy in makeshift battle gear.
"You can still surrender," Mero offered.
Minecraft diamond sword appeared out of nowhere.
Mero looked at the sword with fascination.
—That's... that's not normal.
—Nothing about me is normal. Shall we begin?
Mero smiled.
And he attacked.
It was fast. Brutally fast.
Mero's sword cut through the air where Marcos had been a second before.
But Marcos was no longer there.
He had moved with superhuman speed, dodging the attack as if he were watching it in slow motion.
—Interesting— Marcos commented. —You're fast for being so big.
"And you 're quick for a sorcerer." Mero attacked again.
This time Marcos blocked.
The impact should have shattered his arms. Mero was pure power.
But Marcos had magical reinforcement. It was as if his muscles were made of steel.
The swords clashed.
Mero pushed.
Marcos pushed back.
And Mero took three steps back, with enormous eyes.
- That...?
"Magic. It's useful." Marcos smiled. "Shall we continue, or do you admit you're overwhelmed?"
Mero roared and attacked furiously.
It was a sequence of perfectly executed blows. Years of training, impeccable technique, brutal strength.
Marcos blocked them all.
Not because he was a better swordsman (technically Mero was superior).
But because he had powers that turned physical combat into a joke.
After twenty exchanges, Mero was panting.
Marcos wasn't even tired.
" Are you finished yet?" he asked.
— You're a monster...
"No. I'm someone with unfair advantages. There's a difference." Marcos lowered his sword. "Mero, you're a good soldier. I respect that. But you're on the wrong side of this fight. Magister Illyrio hired you to recover a girl who was being sold into slavery. Do you really want to die for that?"
Mero looked at him, processing.
—I... Second Sons don't break contracts.
"But they can renegotiate terms." Marcos approached, lowering his voice. "How much did Illyrio pay you ?"
—Five thousand golden dragons.
"I'm offering you ten thousand." The figure was ridiculous, but Marcos could literally create gold. "And not just for retiring. For joining me. The Second Sons under a new contract: protect Astoria."
Mero blinked.
—Are you... are you serious?
"Absolutely." Marcos extended his hand. " Illyrio used you as a disposable tool. I offer you a true alliance. Think about it ."
Mero looked at the outstretched hand.
Then to his men.
Then back to Marcos.
—Second sons... would have to vote. That's our method.
"Then vote . I'll wait." Marcos crossed his arms. "But decide quickly. Because if they decide to attack anyway, I'll have to kill them all, and I'd rather avoid that."
It wasn't an empty threat. Marcos said it with absolute seriousness.
Mero saw it in his eyes.
—Give me ten minutes.
Ten minutes later, Mero returned.
—The Second Sons accept your offer. Ten thousand gold dragons, half now, half after six months of service. And if you betray us ...
"I'll kill them all with magic. Yes, yes." Marcos smiled. "Deal."
They walked back towards the walls.
Garrett looked on in utter confusion.
— Boss, what did you just do?
"I bought a mercenary company." Marcos gestured to the Second Sons. "Oh, and I need ten thousand gold dragons. Anyone got any change?"
Garrett's face was priceless.
An hour later, the Second Sons were camped OUTSIDE Astoria (Mark wasn't confident enough to let them in immediately), with five thousand gold dragons paid and a promise of more.
Mero was in Marcos' office, signing a contract (Marcos had written it quickly, because it turns out he needed to formalize these things).
—So, to clarify: you now work for me. You protect Astoria. You help with defense. And eventually, when I expand, you'll help with conquest.
"Correct." Mero read the contract. "But if Illyrio sends more forces..."
"We'll face them together." Marcos leaned back. "Besides, I have a feeling this isn't over. Illyrio probably has a plan B."
—Plan B?
As if summoned, the alarm bell rang again.
Garrett burst into the office.
—BOSS ! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!
— Now what?
—DOTHRAKI ! From the east! MANY!
Marcos felt his stomach drop.
— How many is "many"?
"Not one hundred. Not two hundred." Garrett swallowed. "At least five hundred. And in the center, there's someone big. Very big. Wearing armor that looks like it's made of gold."
Marcos closed his eyes.
— Khal Drogo.
—It seems so.
"Fucking shit." Marcos stood up. " Okay . OKAY. Plan B then."
Mero looked at him.
—Do you have a plan B?
"No. But I'll invent one in the next five minutes." Marcos ran towards the walls.
From above, he could see them.
Five hundred Dothraki horsemen. Maybe more. A tide of horses and war cries.
And at the front, unmistakable, was Khal Drogo.
Even from a distance, he was imposing. Over two meters tall, pure muscle mass, with a braid that reached the ground (indicating that he had never lost a fight), riding a huge black horse.
And it was coming straight towards Astoria.
Marcos looked towards Daenerys , who was on the wall, pale.
"That's Drogo," she whispered.
"Yes. It's definitely him." Marcos took a deep breath. " Okay . New plan. We need to negotiate."
" NEGOTIATE?" Garrett looked at him as if he were crazy. "THEY'RE DOTHRAKI! THEY DON'T NEGOTIATE! THEY KILL!"
"Then I'll be the first to make them negotiate." Marcos turned to Daenerys . "I need you to come with me."
" WHAT?" Daenerys stepped back. "No! If he sees me, he'll...!"
"He's going to listen. Because I'm going to make him listen." Marcos placed his hands on her shoulders. "Trust me. Please."
Daenerys looked him in the eyes.
He saw determination. Confidence. And something more: absolute protection.
" Okay," she whispered. "I trust you."
Marcos nodded.
—Garrett, if this goes wrong, evacuate everyone. Use the tunnels. Don't fight.
-Boss...
—That's an order.
Daenerys ' hand .
The doors opened.
And together, they walked towards five hundred Dothraki warriors.
And towards the Khal who had never lost a battle.
This was going to turn out either very well or very, very badly.
There was no middle ground.
[END OF CHAPTER 11]