The Unsullied's formation remained almost instinctively neat, but the air had completely solidified.
Even for them, who had undergone brutal training since childhood and had most of their humanity eroded, facing power beyond their comprehension caused a momentary blank in the logical chain of obedience.
Master? Dead.
Reduced to an unrecognizable pulp of flesh under the giant beast's claws.
Orders? None.
They still stood in place, forming a silent phalanx.
But at this moment, that silence was no longer an impregnable discipline, but a bewildered suspension.
Ghidorah's pale golden wing membranes slowly folded, the last trace of lightning extinguishing at the edges of its scales.
Aegon leaped from the dragon's back, his boots treading on the mixture of crushed flagstones and flesh, making a sticky sound.
He walked to the radial dark red pulp, his gaze falling on half an arm, adorned with ornate armguards but twisted out of shape, protruding from the edge of the dragon's claw.
Its five fingers were slightly splayed, the fingertips still twitching unconsciously.
He bent down and pulled out a short whip, entirely black with a pigeon's blood ruby embedded in its hilt, from the still-warm palm.
The whip was heavy, carrying the last warmth of its former owner.
Aegon straightened up and turned to the Unsullied in the center of the street.
He raised the obsidian whip in his hand, the ruby reflecting a cold light under the brightening sky.
"Now," his voice pierced the thin chill of the morning, clear as a blade scraping against everyone's eardrums, "listen to my command."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the expressionless faces hidden beneath the spiked helmets.
"I will give you a different life."
He tilted his head slightly, glancing at Ghidorah's fearsome, bone-armored dragon head.
"Or, destruction."
The Unsullied did not move, did not whisper, did not exchange glances.
But the muscles in their spear-holding arms tightened almost imperceptibly.
A deathly silence, broken only by the crackling of distant, unextinguished flames and the mournful whine of the wind through the alleys.
Time seemed to stretch out.
Finally, the Unsullied Commander, standing at the front of the phalanx with a slightly different helmet, slowly turned his head.
He glanced at the blurry mass of flesh and then at the black whip in Aegon's hand, representing absolute control. Finally, his gaze seemed to pass over Aegon and land on the pale golden giant beast standing silently behind him.
The spiked helmet concealed his entire expression.
The silence, thick as substance, lasted for several more breaths.
Then, the Unsullied Commander stepped forward and knelt on one knee.
His armored knee struck the flagstone with a dull "thud."
He did not speak, merely bowed his head.
This was a signal.
"Clang!"
Like falling dominoes, the remaining nearly five hundred Unsullied uniformly lowered themselves, their movements still perfectly synchronized, silently kneeling en masse.
No oaths, no shouts, only the dull clatter of armor hitting the ground and bowed heads.
"Victory!"
Not far away, the Skeleton Regiment Soldiers, who had witnessed the entire process, let out suppressed roars, their faces mixed with the ecstasy of survival, fanaticism, and awe of power.
"Your Highness! Dragon King Your Highness! Victory!"
Aegon raised his left hand, making a dismissive gesture.
The roars ceased abruptly.
"Hold all city gates, blockade Lys. No one is allowed in or out without my command."
He ordered the kneeling Unsullied, his voice steady.
"Increase patrols at the port and main intersections. Anyone attempting to send messages outside will be killed without mercy."
"Yes." The Unsullied Commander rose, his voice flat and emotionless.
He turned and raised his hand, making a few concise gestures.
The kneeling Unsullied silently rose, picked up their weapons, and quickly split into several teams, jogging towards various strategic points in the city. Their footsteps were uniform and heavy, quickly blending into the lingering dimness of the streets and alleys.
Aegon glanced at their iron armor, which, though not as heavy as full plate, was still sufficiently well-made.
That Magister of Lys was certainly willing to spend money; now, it benefited him.
Previously, due to manpower shortages, no one was sent to block the city gates. Although it was a bit late to send people now and it would be impossible to completely block the news, delaying it for a while would give him more initiative.
He withdrew his gaze and turned to the Skull Squad Soldiers behind him, whose faces were still stained with blood, but whose eyes shone with astonishing brightness.
"The Governors Mansion has fallen; the Bloodsworn are clearing out the remnants."
"There's no need to guard here. According to the original plan, go and rendezvous with your brothers at other key points to clear out the scattered defenders and resistors in the city."
"Those who surrender, disarm and detain. Those who resist, kill without mercy."
"Understood, Your Highness!" The leader grinned as he took the order, calling out to his able-bodied subordinates, and fiercely rushed towards the designated area.
Aegon mounted the dragon, still holding Dorian's head, which was already cold and frozen in expression.
This was the most effective surrender charm and deterrent tonight... The sky was faintly brightening. Under the lead-gray clouds, Lys shed its deepest night, but did not welcome its usual hustle and bustle.
The air was filled with an unyielding stench of blood and char, occasionally punctuated by short screams or wails from certain street corners, which were quickly swallowed by the silence.
Bolder residents quietly pushed open a crack in their doors or windows, peering out at the world with apprehension.
People had been arrested in the city a few days ago, causing widespread panic. Last night, the ground shook, and golden lightning flashed continuously, like divine punishment, terrifying everyone.
Some truly curious individuals secretly ventured out to look, but were so horrified by the scattered corpses, broken weapons, and the charred, terrifying marks as if ploughed by heavenly fire, that they scrambled back home, cowering and trembling in a corner.
On the streets, the Lys defenders who used to be lazy and even stopped to flirt with the girls from the Pleasure Gardens were nowhere to be seen.
Instead, there were unfamiliar soldiers in plate armor, with fierce, wolf-like eyes, silently patrolling.
Their armor was stained with blood and gunpowder, exuding a murderous aura.
A prostitute cautiously peered out from a second-story window of the Pleasure Gardens. As soon as her eyes met those of a patrolling soldier below, she shrieked in fright at the undisguised malevolence, slammed the window shut, and cowered trembling in a corner of her bed.
Outside... things had truly changed.
The gale carried smoke and dust. Ghidorah's massive body landed steadily on the charred open ground of the Governors Mansion's inner courtyard, the wind pressure created by its folding wings making the nearby residual flames flicker.
Aegon dismounted, his Valyrian Steel armor covered in dust and bloodstains.
He removed his helmet, his silver hair, damp with sweat, clinging to his temples.
A trace of almost imperceptible fatigue, like a shadow beneath water, flitted across his brow, instantly suppressed and sealed away by his powerful willpower.
He did not know how many lives he had erased that night, moving through various parts of Lys, wielding lightning.
He only remembered that wherever there was organized resistance, wherever there were unwilling howls and glints of swords, the destructive golden lightning would arrive as promised, descending equally upon all.
Until, finally, all discordant sounds vanished after the roar and the silence, leaving only the wind mixed with gunpowder smoke and blood, sweeping through the desolate streets.
Now, at least overtly, Lys's armed resistance had been largely crushed.
The remaining Lys defenders and noble private soldiers, whoever was still alive, had been disarmed and detained at several temporarily designated locations in the city.
Force can conquer, but it cannot rule permanently.
Now, it was time to deal with how to govern this city-state that had just been baptized by blood and fire.
Aegon's gaze turned to the other side of the banquet hall ruins.
There, closely guarded by Bloodsworn soldiers, were the Lys nobles who survived last night, as well as the captives from the Hain and Rojar families.
Perhaps, they could be of some help.
A Bloodsworn personal guard brought a relatively intact high-backed chair found from the banquet hall ruins, intending to place it behind him.
Aegon waved slightly, refusing.
Now was not the time to sit and rest.
His left hand habitually pressed against the cool, leather-wrapped hilt of dark sisterss at his waist, his right hand casually brushed over his dark red, stained cloak.
Then, he began to walk, his boots treading over shattered crystal and charred wood chips, steadily moving towards the fearful crowd, closely guarded by the Bloodsworn soldiers..
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