"Gifts?" Krazni asked, confused. Then, he pointed at the old man in astonishment. "How do you know Valyrian?"
The old man ignored him and opened a leather trunk as large as a cello. Its interior was lined with thick, exquisite Yidu silk. Resting on the soft fabric were eight black scepters, each nearly two meters long. They were as lustrous and translucent as obsidian, yet exuded an indescribable nobility and majesty.
The tops of five of the scepters were inlaid with large pieces of gold, carved into the likeness of a harpy. Her eyes were set with brilliant golden hair crystals, and her teeth were carved from ivory as white as jade.
Along the shafts, where one would grip the scepters, were golden bands with fine engravings to prevent sweat from making them slippery.
Krazni's eyes widened as he noticed the golden bands were inlaid with tiny pink diamonds forming Valyrian letters. One of them read "Krazni mo Naqros"—his own name.
Another two scepters had silver tops, designed in the same style as the others.
The slave trader's heart stirred. He looked at the silver bands and saw the names of Good Masters who were only permitted to wear robes with silver tassels.
The final staff was exceptionally magnificent. Though it also featured a gold body, it was inlaid with at least eighty pearls, each the size of a fava bean.
The name of Grazdan, who wore pearl tassels, was inscribed upon it.
"Are these really for us?" Krazni, ever the miser, widened his bulging, piggy eyes in disbelief. "If I'm not mistaken, these are Dragonbone Staves, aren't they?"
Dragonbone was a unique material, possessing a metallic quality yet being far lighter than Black Iron—after all, dragons couldn't fly if they were too heavy.
At first, Krazni had assumed the gifts were Black Iron scepters, but after turning one over in his hands for a moment, he was certain. They were all made of dragonbone.
"They are indeed dragonbone," Whitebeard said, placing the box before the Slave Master. "I hope you, the Good Masters, will enjoy them. I shall take my leave now."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaning on his own hardwood cane.
"Wait," Krazni called out to the old man, his face filled with confusion. "Why? Why give these to us? Eight exquisitely crafted Dragonbone Scepters are worth at least several thousand, perhaps even ten thousand, Gold Dragons."
"The Queen asked me to deliver these gifts today, as we are departing Astapor," Whitebeard replied calmly.
In truth, he himself was somewhat puzzled, not even knowing when Daenerys had prepared these gifts.
It was only as they were departing that morning that she had sent a horseman, a former blacksmith, to deliver a large box. She instructed him to present the gift to the Good Master personally, after she and the Unsullied had already left.
"Hey," Krazni called out to Whitebeard, his eyes fixed on the ornate dragonbone scepter. He felt it was only fair to offer something in return. "Go tell your whore queen of Westeros..." He paused, his tone turning sincere. "It would be best for her to let her slaves gain some combat experience first.
On their journey west, they will pass many small cities—perfect for plundering. She can keep all the spoils they seize, for the Unsullied have no desire for gold or jewels.
As for the prisoners they capture, a single squad of guards can escort them back to Astapor. Meereen and Yunkai will not interfere.
Ah, and the skilled warriors she sells to Meereen, the young women and delicate men to Yunkai... we will buy the healthy boys, and we will offer a generous price.
Perhaps before she even reaches the Sunset Sea, she will have earned back the money she spent on the slaves. And perhaps ten years from now, the boys she sends us will become the next generation of Unsullied. It would create a virtuous cycle, benefiting everyone."
"Hmph!" The old man's face turned ashen with rage. He glared at the slave master, then spurred his horse and rode away without a word.
Leaving the city gates, he saw the vast army arrayed across the Worm River Plains.
Whitebeard spurred his horse forward several hundred meters. Beside the dusty Guzgari Great Road, he found Daenerys.
She sat astride her mount, speaking with several Ghiscari men in *tokar* robes. Nearby, nearly a thousand Horsemen stood on the open ground, bronze slave collars fastened around their necks.
"Every Horseman slave in all of Astapor is here, Your Grace—nine hundred thirty-six in total," the old slave trader said with a beaming smile, his red-and-black hair standing straight up. "Since you are purchasing in such quantity, I will grant you a twenty percent discount: five for a single silver-shilling."
"Ago, give this Good Master two hundred silver coins," Daenerys commanded the Blood Guard behind her.
"Heh heh, too much, too much!" the slave trader chuckled, rubbing his hands together in delight. "I am but a small merchant, hardly worthy of being called a Good Master."
"It was no small feat to gather every Horseman in the city," Daenerys said, her smile turning meaningful as she spoke the word 'gift.' "The extra silver is my gift to you. One day, you shall enjoy the same status as a Good Master."
"Heh heh, I thank you for your kind words, Your Grace," the slave trader replied, his delight all the more evident.
After the Ghiscari departed with the large bag of coins, Whitebeard approached her. "The guest gift has been delivered, and the slave trader was very pleased."
"Mhm." Daenerys nodded, instructing the Blood Guard to lead the Horsemen slaves to join the main army.
In the Red Wasteland, though the Horsemen had their share of old and weak, every single one of them had a horse. Their small numbers made them easy to manage, allowing them to cover over a hundred kilometers a day.
Now, the environment was better—water was plentiful, and there was no shortage of grass for the horses to graze on. However, the army was large and composed entirely of infantry, making it difficult to cover even thirty kilometers a day.
"The slave trader also asked you to..." The old man hesitated for a long time. Loyalty ultimately triumphed over his conscience as he haltingly relayed Krazni's words, "He said the Unsullied could sack the towns along the way. This would both replenish military supplies and... ah!"
In the end, he still couldn't bring himself to urge her to sell slaves.
"Heh heh, and then we sell the townspeople as slaves to the cities of Slave Bay, creating a virtuous cycle?" Daenerys smiled and finished his sentence for him.
"Uh..." The old man froze, then pleaded, "Her Highness the Princess, you cannot sell slaves. Setting aside how the people of the Seven Kingdoms would react, you saw for yourself how miserably the slaves live."
"If we don't raid small cities, how will we ever make the journey of tens of thousands of miles back to the Seven Kingdoms?" Daenerys asked deliberately.
When the slave master sold the Unsullied, he only provided a sleeveless leather cuirass, a short sword, a spear, a wood-and-iron shield, a sleeping bag, and three days' rations.
The Unsullied who had completed their training also had bronze-spiked helmets, but the Unsullied recruits didn't even have helmets.
If they didn't rob, Daenerys wouldn't even be able to feed these ten thousand-plus people after a month.
*Well, she still had the wealth she brought from Qarth.*
Whitebeard pondered for a long time before tentatively saying, "Perhaps, we could borrow."
"Borrow from whom?" Daenerys asked, interested.
"The merchant bankers of the Free Cities, the Iron Bank of Braavos." The old man glanced at Ser Jorah, who remained silent. "Even the Lord of Bear Island can get a loan of several tens of thousands of Gold Dragons from the Iron Bank. For the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to borrow a few million would be no problem at all."
"What do you know?" Jorah's face flushed. "My family's Longclaw is a Valyrian steel sword. I didn't even sell it to Duke Tywin for 800,000 Gold Dragons. The Iron Bank is cunning!"
"And to pay off the interest, I've been selling my life to them for years, walking the line between life and death dozens of times."
The old man stroked his chin, taking in the knight's magnificent, gold-inlaid black armor. He nodded. "Her Highness the Princess, the money from selling that armor would be enough for all ten thousand of us to circle the world twice."
"You can't—" Jorah's face flushed crimson as he looked imploringly at Daenerys.
"Enough, it was only a joke," Daenerys waved a hand, smiling. "I already have a plan."
"What plan?" the two asked in unison.
She paused, then asked, "Do you know why I want to send a gift to the Slave Masters?"
The two men exchanged a bewildered glance. After a moment, Jorah's mind raced back to a topic they had discussed several times. He ventured a guess: "A guest gift?"
"Exactly," Daenerys nodded with a smile.
"But we have no guest relationship with the Slave Masters," the old man said, puzzled. "They sell slaves, we buy Unsullied. It's a completely normal trade transaction."
"Even that could be considered a form of guest relationship," Jorah said, gently tugging his horse's reins, lost in thought. "The Free Cities are different from the Seven Kingdoms. In Westeros, the prerequisite for establishing a guest relationship is simply for a stranger to pass by a master's estate. Once the master shelters the guest, the rights of hospitality automatically take effect."
"By Her Highness the Princess's theory, this is essentially a form of credit, a 'covenant' of mutual non-aggression," Ser Jorah explained. "In the Free Cities, a successful credit transaction counts as such. We came to this city, and its master did not rob us. He even hosted us for lunch and the fighting pits yesterday. Does this not constitute a guest relationship?"
Whitebeard, convinced by Jorah's argument, gradually accepted the point. He nodded and sighed, "True enough. In Westeros, once you eat the salt provided by your host, guest right—"
He stopped abruptly, his head snapping up as he stared at Daenerys in horror. "Your Highness," he stammered, "the... the gift you gave the Good Master... was it a guest gift?!!!"
Jorah was initially confused. *Isn't that obvious? Why make such a fuss?*
But the next moment, as the true meaning of a "guest gift" dawned on him, his face paled. He asked, his voice trembling, "A guest presents a gift to their host primarily to express gratitude for their hospitality. But at the same time, it also signifies the end of the guest relationship. We and the Good Master no longer enjoy guest right. You intend to—"
Daenerys turned back, her expression calm. She interrupted him, "You despise and hate slavery, yet you only think of avoiding it. I am different. I will change all of this. After tomorrow, I want to see who still dares to sell slave soldiers."
Her words confirmed their suspicions. For a moment, they stood there, stunned, not knowing what to say.
"Will the Unsullied... will they follow your... plan?" Whitebeard asked hoarsely after a long pause.
Daenerys smiled faintly. "I'm not sure. That's why we need to leave Apostta and test it."
If the Unsullied obeyed, she would execute Plan A and create a major incident. If things went south—since she lacked the "queenly aura" of the original Daenerys and couldn't make the Unsullied submit unconditionally—she would immediately flee with her Horseman underlings.
After all, they were already several kilometers from the city. Even if the slave masters learned she was targeting them, they wouldn't be able to catch up.
They were now traveling along the Guzgari Great Road, which hugged the coast. Grolai's four ships were sailing right beside her, following the shoreline.
However, based on the prophecy Qyburn had revealed yesterday, Daenerys guessed she had a ninety-nine percent chance of success.
With this thought, she turned and waved to Missandei, who was lagging about a dozen meters behind. "Missandei, come here."
Jhiqui, her handmaiden, had prepared a small red-maned mare for her—a gentle, docile creature, just the right size for her to ride.
"My Lady, what is your command?" Missandei asked respectfully as she rode over.
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