"What is this Westerosi bitch waiting for, just standing there?" a curse rang out from the distance.
The speaker was bald with a short beard, wearing a fringed robe of fine imitation silk, holding a short whip in his right hand, with an arrogant expression.
"Ang!"
A low dragon roar came from high above, and the words Kraznys was about to curse were choked back into his mouth.
"It really is a dragon!" Looking up at the sky, Kraznys's expression changed slightly.
"Master, look at her shoulder." The slave girl beside Kraznys saw Drogon.
"This is also a dragon! Why is it so small?" Kraznys looked at Drogon in confusion.
Drogon understood his words as well, standing on Daenerys's shoulder and baring his teeth in a show of defiance.
Although Drogon was currently the size of a newborn hatchling, his draconic majesty remained, making Kraznys feel a slight chill in his heart.
"Master Kraznys, how is their combat effectiveness?" Daenerys asked in the Common Tongue, looking at the Unsullied standing straight in their spiked helmets.
"The Westerosi woman asks you how the Unsullied fight," the Little Slave translated in Old Valyrian Language.
"Tell this bitch..."
"Hiss!"
He was only halfway through when he saw the small dragon on Daenerys's shoulder hiss at him again. Wisps of smoke and sparks nearly sprayed onto his face, and it sounded as if lava were churning in its tiny throat.
[What a foul mouth!] If he uttered another profanity, Drogon wouldn't mind giving him a taste of Dragonfire.
"Tell her the Unsullied undergo rigorous training from the age of five. Only one in three survives. They are primarily proficient with shields, spears, and shortswords. If a Dothraki warrior is not mounted, he may not be a match for an Unsullied in single combat. If the Unsullied form a battle array, they can withstand the charge of several times their number in Dothraki cavalry. Even if they fight to the last man, they will not retreat a single step."
Threatened by Drogon, Kraznys's tone softened. After speaking, he looked provocatively at Rakharo and the other two.
Rakharo couldn't understand what he was saying, but he knew it wasn't anything good. He gripped his Arakh and glared fiercely at Kraznys.
The Little Slave looked at Kraznys, wondering why he was speaking so civilly today.
"What are you looking at! You little ewe, hurry up and translate for her. I'm nearly dying of heat."
Realizing the meaning behind the Little Slave's gaze, Kraznys cursed in embarrassed rage.
Seeing Kraznys's flustered state, Daenerys glanced at Drogon with a faint smile on her lips.
The Little Slave seemed long accustomed to Kraznys's curses. Her expression remained unchanged as she translated the words to Daenerys.
Seeing the Little Slave so calm under Kraznys's tyranny, Daenerys couldn't help but take another look at her.
The Little Slave was even younger than her, with a round face and dark skin. She wore a black leather slave collar around her neck and a revealing, pale yellow linen dress that perfectly accentuated her precocious figure.
"They haven't experienced real war yet. Facing Dothraki cavalry with only shields and spears won't be enough to stop them."
Barristan showed a look of disbelief after hearing the Little Slave's translation.
"What did this filthy old man say?" Kraznys asked the Little Slave fiercely.
After hearing her translation, Kraznys said nothing. He walked over to an Unsullied, pulled a dagger from the man's waist, slit open his leather armor, and cut a deep gash across his chest. Blood gushed out, but the Unsullied didn't even blink.
"Do they not feel pain?" Daenerys asked, feeling a bit distressed.
"You tell her," Kraznys said to the Little Slave.
"Because they start drinking the Wine of Courage from a young age. It is a drink prepared by the Masters. After drinking it, the body gradually becomes numb, unable to feel pain, yet it does not affect their fighting."
"May I see them?" Daenerys inquired.
"Do you want to see their faces or what's below? Hahaha..." Kraznys laughed lewdly.
"Remove their helmets," Daenerys said, pretending not to hear.
"You should take a look. My Unsullied are thoroughly gelded, not like those in Yunkai and Meereen who leave the pissing bits behind—that only brings trouble sooner or later." Kraznys continued to boast about the Unsullied.
Daenerys still ignored him, looking at the Unsullied who had removed their spiked helmets. They came from all over the world, with all sorts of skin colors. Although they varied in height, they were all exceptionally lean without exception.
She actually saw a Dothraki with black hair, bronze skin, and almond-shaped eyes. In her experience, they were all warriors with curved blades and swift horses reaping lives; she truly couldn't imagine them fighting with a shield in the left hand and a spear in the right.
She also saw dark-skinned men from Asshai, milk-pale men from Qarth, and other races she had never seen before.
"Can they obey orders absolutely?" Daenerys asked the Unsullied to put their helmets back on.
"You've asked the right person. From the moment they are castrated, I emphasize absolute obedience. To that end, we go through several rounds of rigorous and even cruel training. If you tell them to kill an infant, they won't hesitate. Unsullied who do not obey orders have long since become withered bones." Kraznys was very proud of this.
Daenerys's small hands trembled as she listened. She asked, "After I purchase them, how do I command them without fearing they will listen to your orders again?"
"As long as I hand the whip over to you in front of them, you will be their master from then on, and I will no longer have the right to command them," Kraznys promised solemnly.
"You cannot rely on castrated slaves to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Slavery has long been abolished there. If they see you relying on foreign slaves to fight them, you will not only fail to gain allies but might also provoke a united front against you," Barristan whispered to Daenerys, seeing her interest in the Unsullied.
"Then what shall I use to fight for the iron throne?" Daenerys looked at Barristan.
"You have dragons. Once we go to Pentos, Magister Illyrio will surely be able to use his connections to help you raise an army. We can also send people to Westeros to win over allies."
"Magister Illyrio only cares about money. My ships and gold might not satisfy his desires. As for sending people to Westeros, will it be you or Jorah?" After speaking, Daenerys saw that Barristan did not reply, so she said to Kraznys, "Allow me to consider it before giving you an answer."
"They are in high demand. I just sold over fifteen hundred the day before yesterday, and there's a lord from Asshai planning to buy a thousand Unsullied," Kraznys urged.
"Master, weren't only two hundred sold the day before yesterday?" the Little Slave asked honestly.
"You little sow, only then will they buy. Hurry up and tell her that." Kraznys poked the Little Slave with his whip.
After the Little Slave finished translating, Daenerys and the others left Pride Plaza.
"Do you really intend to purchase them?" As soon as they stepped out of Pride Plaza, Barristan asked impatiently.
"Don't you think they are very pitiful?"
Daenerys considered her own life as a Targaryen princess to have been tragic enough, but compared to the Unsullied, she was very fortunate. Although she had been on the run, she at least had food and clothing guaranteed, hadn't completely lost herself, and had met Drogo.
But the Unsullied were not only physically incomplete, they had also lost the most important essence of being human; they could hardly even be called human anymore.
Having just passed Punishment Plaza and seeing slaves nailed to crosses undergoing extreme torture, she lamented the tragic fate of slaves even more.