Chapter 678 The Death of the True Dragon

The Dothraki Grass Sea.

The sky is clear and white clouds are floating.

The grass leaves sway gently, rippling slightly.

In the quiet environment, the smell of burning fire gradually floats in the air.

A certain sheep village.

"Kill them all, take the women as slaves!"

"Hahaha..."

The fire ignited the houses, and the crying and wailing and the rampant laughter of Dothraki cavalry echoed throughout the village.

In front of an open-air sheepfold, all the sheep were driven away.

Dozens of fair-skinned sheep women were locked in a dirty and smelly pen, allowing the Dothraki to bully them at will.

"No, let me go."

Many women struggled hard, and screams and tears only exchanged for more cruel violence.

"Baa~~"

The sheep flocked together and cried in fear.

Aemon looked at the tragic scenes and couldn't bear it, saying, "Does it have to be like this?"

"This is the rule. The tribe needs supplies for migration."

The scarred blood guard rode beside him and answered condescendingly.

As he spoke, he glanced casually.

Aemon was standing in the flock of sheep, his silver-gold shawl hair was a little gray, and he was shaken by the panicked sheep.

Just like the abused sheep women, they were all lambs to be slaughtered in the eyes of the Dothraki.

"They are innocent. Isn't it enough to kill all the men?"

Aemon looked up and tried to persuade: "The tribe has robbed all the sheep and money. There is no need to kill them all."

Even if it was not the first time he saw the atrocities of the Dothraki, he still couldn't accept it in his heart.

There has never been such a random massacre in the Westeros continent, including the free trade city-states on the other side of the Strait.

As if the tribe could not show its strength without doing bad things.

Crack!

A whip passed by the cheek and whipped the sheep.

Aemon was startled and almost knocked down by the restless sheep.

The scarred blood guard said in a deep voice, "If we don't rob them, others will come to rob them. If we kill all the men and let the women go, the women won't be able to survive."

There is no mercy on the Great Grass Sea, only the most primitive law of the jungle.

"Every time you destroy a village, you will lose a supply point in the future."

Aemon changed his mind and began to talk about benefits.

"Hahaha."

The scarred blood guard laughed loudly, as if he heard a funny joke: "There is no end to killing people, we all know it."

"Yes, we all know it."

"Hahaha..."

A group of Dothraki people carrying sacks on their shoulders rode by, whistling unscrupulously.

Sheep people are the easiest group to bully, and they reproduce quickly like sheep.

The Great Grass Sea has abundant grass and can raise batch after batch of fat sheep.

Aemon gritted his teeth secretly, and his sneer was particularly harsh.

He intuitively felt that people had different views on good and evil.

"Now, you have to drive the sheep away."

The scarred bloodrider laughed, pointed his whip at the silver-haired boy, and said sarcastically: "A dragon without a dragon is as soft as a sheep. You have to adapt to the life of the Dothraki people."

He didn't want to train a weak egg.

Aemon slowly lowered his head and stood still.

Just a dozen meters away, the crying in the sheepfold became more and more tragic.

The Dothraki put down the looted food, walked into the sheepfold, dragged the women out, and had sex like livestock.

If they didn't go well, they would punch and kick.

Swish!

The linen dress was torn into pieces, revealing the milky white skin of the sheepman.

The Dothraki had no mercy and would even whip the newly captured female slaves with whips.

Aemon silently touched his back under the animal skin.

It was a little painful even through the leather clothes. It was the scar from the initial whipping.

Hearing screams and whipping sounds, the recovered scars seemed to be stinging slightly.

"It shouldn't be like this."

Aemon was in a trance for a moment, whispering softly.

"What did you say?"

The voice was like a mosquito's hum, and the scarred blood guard didn't hear it clearly.

Aemon raised his head suddenly, and his purple eyes became fierce.

My father said that people should have awe for life.

It is wrong for the Dothraki to do this.

He is a Targaryen, not an uneducated Dothraki or a slave of the Dothraki.

"I won't do this."

Aemon met the scarred blood guard's gaze and pronounced each word clearly.

The scarred blood guard didn't understand, but realized that the silver-haired boy was rebellious, and his face was cold in vain: "If you don't obey orders, you will walk in the mud with the slaves."

In the Dothraki tradition, those who ride horses are worthy of respect.

Those who can't ride horses are only slaves and useless people.

Aemon shrugged and said calmly: "It's up to you. I never longed for a horse."

After saying that, he took off his fur coat, revealing his scarred back, pushed the sheep away and walked towards another flock of sheep.

He had lived enough.

He had no face to go home, and he couldn't go home.

There was no chance to go to Slaver's Bay as the Golden Witch said.

He was tired of enduring these barbaric Dothraki.

Unbridled killing and inhumane looting.

"Stop, or you will be a traitor!"

The scarred blood guard shouted, turned over and dismounted to draw out his scimitar.

"I said, it's up to you."

Aemon didn't even look back and walked behind a Dothraki who was holding a woman and abusing her.

He was decisive and kicked her.

With a bang, the Dothraki was forced to dismount and rolled on the ground in embarrassment.

"Get up and go over there."

Aemon helped the disheveled woman up and put her behind him.

The woman was not young and looked at him with horror.

"I'm not a Dothraki."

Aemon shook his head and picked up a burning stick from the ground.

As soon as he turned around, the Dothraki who were enjoying the spoils of war were all attracted to this side.

Some people kept moving, shaking their waists and laughing:

"The shepherd boy has grown up and dared to compete with the warriors for women."

Specifically pointed at the Dothraki youth who got up from the ground, mocking that he was kicked over by a boy who was not as tall as a horse.

"Ah! You dare to steal my spoils!"

The Dothraki youth was so angry that he didn't even pull up his pants and picked up his scimitar to fight.

Everyone around was watching the show, expecting to see a bloody incident caused by a woman.

Aemon was very calm, holding a torch in one hand and taking out the tribe sword True Fire in the other.

The Valyrian steel sword, which was completely black at night, appeared out of thin air, and immediately attracted the greedy eyes of the Dothraki.

The Dothraki youth was the most unbearable, and said with a ferocious face: "You know blood witchcraft, damn bastard!"

He pulled up his pants and moved forward, swinging the scimitar like a willow leaf.

Kill the silver-haired boy in front of him, and the Valyrian steel sword will be his new trophy.

Clang!

Aemon swung the sword calmly, and his half-sword hand was shaking and pushed the scimitar away.

The Dothraki youth continued to attack and would not give up until he achieved his goal.

Aemon's face was tense, and he swung his sword and retreated again and again.

Finally, his feet stepped on the mud pit trampled by the sheep.

"Go to hell, bastard!"

The Dothraki youth looked fierce and chopped the scimitar head-on.

Puff!

The sharp blade pierced the flesh and blood, attracting the exclamation of ordinary people.

The Dothraki youth froze in place, his face suddenly turning pale.

Aemon took a wide step, leaned forward and stabbed the True Fire sword into the opponent's stomach.

Swish!

Aemon's face turned pale, and he took a step back to pull out the True Fire.

The Dothraki youth vomited blood and staggered to the ground.

His whole face smashed into the mud pit, and his intestines flowed out of his opened abdomen.

The man died, and died very quickly.

The Dothraki present were all shocked, and they didn't expect this result.

Then, they put away their thoughts of watching the show.

The woman who was pressed under him took the opportunity to struggle, crying and crawling to the sheepfold.

Aemon stood in front of them, staring at the Dothraki coming from all corners.

There were not many, but there were more than a dozen.

He carefully pulled up his pants and approached with a fierce look.

"Let them go, you don't need these spoils."

Aemon forced himself to calm down and made a final effort: "I can give you more precious jewels in exchange for them."

As long as he can return to Westeros or the free trade castle under the rule of the Iron Throne, he will keep his promise.

However, he was responded to by silence.

The Dothraki pressed forward step by step, and their cold expressions hid a cunning light.

Seeing this, Aemon sighed helplessly: "Then there is no room for negotiation."

Taking advantage of no one approaching, he suddenly threw out the torch.

There were haystacks and wooden houses set on fire near the sheepfold.

The torch fell on the haystack and immediately ignited the scattered hay around with the wind.

Aemon slowly retreated, and the ruby at the end of the hilt of the real fire in his hand flashed red.

The flame seemed to have life, spitting out tongues like a fire snake, and it became more and more intense under the strong wind.

Hualala!

A gust of wind blew the haystack over, and the burning hay flew all over the sky, and in a blink of an eye, it surrounded the sheepfold.

"What's going on?"

The Dothraki were stunned and retreated quickly to avoid the flames.

Someone looked at Aemon in the flames and immediately shouted.

"He is a blood wizard!"

He just conjured a Valyrian steel sword out of thin air, and now he can use the wind to set fire.

"Blood wizard?"

Aemon was blocked by the flames, and he couldn't help but smile bitterly when he heard the shouting.

If only he could be.

He lit a fire casually, but he didn't know it would really get bigger.

Looking around, the flames and the Dothraki surrounded him.

Behind him were the sheep women huddled together, sobbing and looking at him.

Small figure, big and majestic.

Aemon sighed and said frankly: "It's over."

It's finally over.

You can go to meet the trickster, and if you are a soul, you can cross the sea to see your father, mother and Benilla.

Crackling!

The fire burned through the hay and gradually ignited the wooden fence of the sheepfold, and the fire reached its maximum.

Imon stood calmly in the fire and slowly closed his eyes.

He would not help the tyrants, nor would he be content to be a little shepherd slave.

Dragons have their own way of dying, and now is just right.

"Put out the fire, don't let this kid die like this."

Suddenly, shouts came from outside the fire, and impatient footsteps came one after another.

So many female slaves and bastard boys were in the fire, and they would all be punished by the khal if they were all burned to death.

Imon opened his eyes in surprise, and the flames spread to his feet.

Isn't this completely over?

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Suddenly, cold arrows fell densely like raindrops, accompanied by the noise of horses' hooves trampling.

"Kill them all..."

Shouts and shouts of killing suddenly rang out, sweeping the entire village in an instant.

Imon was shocked and couldn't see outside through the flames.

There were fifty thousand Dothraki in their band, and they had thousands of them to plunder the village.

He was the best shepherd, and was brought by the scarred bloodriders to look after the sheep.

Why does it sound like the tribe is being attacked from the noise outside?

As it turned out, his prediction was correct.

A larger group of Dothraki rushed into the village, and without saying a word, they brandished their butcher knives at their fellow Dothraki who were looting the spoils, killing them by surprise.

For a moment, the village once again became a living hell.

Aemon's eyes widened, and he was at a loss.

"Child, come with me."

A big hand stretched out from behind to cover his mouth, and the rough calluses on his knuckles rubbed his face painfully.

Aemon whimpered, shaking his head back and forth and struggling.

A quick glance saw the sheep woman he had just rescued.

The woman was nearly middle-aged, with messy chestnut curly hair and a figure that was out of shape.

The still kind face was now covered with tears, and the deep tail wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were covered with bruises.

The middle-aged woman wrapped Aemon in a torn linen skirt and dragged him back to the sheepfold with swift movements.

A group of women were silent, consciously blocking the middle-aged woman in the corner.

"What are you doing!?"

Aemon opened his hand covering his mouth, not wanting to sit there and wait for death.

"Shh, they won't kill valuable female slaves."

The middle-aged woman made a hush gesture, pulled off a dress from a woman's body with a broken head, and put it on Aemon.

Silver-gold shawl hair, gradually whitening skin, and the slender figure of a half-grown child.

The middle-aged woman smeared feces on Aemon's face and body, hugged him in her arms and pretended to be a girl.

Aemon was stunned and let the other party fiddle with him for a while.

When he came to his senses, he was already lying on the plump bosom of the middle-aged woman.

The fire gradually went out, and the sound of fighting stopped.

Bang!

The fence of the sheepfold was kicked open, and a group of bloody Dothraki broke in.

"Take all the female slaves away, the slave traders in Slaver's Bay are waiting."

The hoarse Dothraki language sounded, deciding the fate of the sheepman woman.

This group of Dothraki acted decisively. They tied up the female slaves and left immediately, leaving only corpses with eyes wide open.

…

In a blink of an eye, half a month later.

Slave Bay, Meereen.

Squeak!

The wheels of the carriage turned on the potholes, making a harsh sound.

The slave owner rode in front of the team, looking back from time to time at the long dragon of slaves.

The strong men, the elderly and the children tied the hemp ropes together and walked behind the car with the goods.

The female slaves tied their hands and were imprisoned in the prison cart in batches.

There were also Dothraki escorts on both sides, waiting to arrive at the slave city-state to exchange "greeting gifts".

The custom of the Dothraki people is to hate and despise the act of trading.

The exchange of slaves and materials with the Slave Bay is more like a gift to each other.

In a prison cart.

The middle-aged woman hid it, took out a water bag, and whispered: "Child, drink some."

Aemon huddled in her arms, his eyes a little numb.

The necklace on the neck was lost, and the clan sword True Fire became the sword of a Dothraki khal.

The previous tribe also dispersed.

Orka Khal was killed in a one-on-one fight, and the tribe of tens of thousands of people scattered.

All were broken up and annexed by another huge tribe ruled by another khal named "Os Khal".

I don't know if Leah is dead or alive?

Aemon was ashamed and refused the water he was fed.

Originally, he wanted to be relieved by the death of a dragon, but he didn't want to get out of the wolf's den and into the tiger's den.

"But, we are really close to the Slaver's Bay."

Aemon twisted his stiff neck and saw the bronze statue of the harpy in the city of Meereen from a distance.

"Drink a little, we have to separate when we get to the city."

The middle-aged woman drank a sip herself and forced Aemon to drink a sip.

After half a month of traveling, the originally tattered linen skirt was mended.

Huddled in a corner of the prison car, resting quite contentedly.

Aemon was choked and couldn't help coughing.

He took a quick glance at the woman, and his silent heart became lively.

The other party was graceful, and her every move was not the calm and relaxed that a countryman should have, as if she was a kind of person who was respected all year round.

Hearing the address of the sheep woman in the same car, the other party seemed to be a priestess in the village.

"Don't look at me, you saved me, and I will save you too."

The middle-aged woman sighed softly, seemingly accepting reality.

But from Aemon's perspective, he could see clearly that there was a deep hatred in the other party's eyes that could not be dissolved.

The village was destroyed by the Dothraki people, the altar was burned and the statues were smashed, and he himself was also abused in turns.

How could he not hate?

Time passed bit by bit, and the slave trading team entered Meereen.

Boom!

The team stopped at the big arena, and the Dothraki drove all the slaves off the car and gathered together.

The slave owner looked around and said indifferently: "The men are locked in the arena, and the women are sent to the square for trading."

As soon as these words came out, the slave soldiers immediately took action and sorted male and female slaves like picking livestock.

In the crowd, Imon was squeezed to the point of being unable to breathe.

The middle-aged woman buried her head, hugged Imon to avoid him, and lowered her voice: "Be quiet, don't let them find out."

She took out a blunt knife from somewhere, grabbed Imon's hair and cut it off.

It was not enough to make her hair short, so she shaved it into stubble.

The ill-fitting linen skirt was torn open and turned into a tattered coat.

In Imon's puzzled eyes, the middle-aged woman sternly warned: "Female slaves have no good end. You have to be assigned to the arena, where boys can grow up safely."

After that, she stuffed Imon into the pile of male slaves.

The identity of this silver-haired boy is unusual, as can be seen from the reaction of the Dothraki people, the Valyrian steel sword, and the blood wizard.

Slaver's Bay is an evil cave, and a holy child will also fall into it.

Only by hiding yourself can you grow up slowly.

Aemon opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly squeezed away by the crowd, and the middle-aged woman could not be seen.

The slave owner is not a vegetarian, and the slaves are sorted very quickly.

Before the sun sets, they are distributed to various places for sale.

…

At night, dark clouds cover the moon.

The big arena, the underground cell.

Aemon hugged his knees and leaned against the damp and cold wall.

All around were newly bought male slaves, crowded in the cramped cell like livestock.

Tick, tick!

Water drops seeped from the wall and fell into the little hands with calluses.