Chapter 321: Unexpected Encounter

Three days later, the fleet arrived in Astapor, a city on the eastern coast of Slaver's Bay at the mouth of the Worm River.

By the time Samwell and his companions disembarked, the sun had already set, and night enveloped the land.

The docks remained lively, illuminated by colorful parchment lanterns casting a kaleidoscope of hues. Sharp flutes and deep drumbeats played somewhere in the background, adding an exotic ambiance. People bustled about, speaking Valyrian with peculiar accents, their voices blending into a vibrant cacophony.

Samwell had learned Valyrian from Melisandre for a time. While not yet fluent, he could manage everyday conversations.

Sailors were drunk beyond reason, vendors hawked their wares, and scantily clad courtesans solicited customers along the streets.

When they saw Samwell's group, their attention quickly shifted. All eyes turned to the dragons.

Astapor was once a colony of the Ghiscari Empire, but when the dragons of Valyria destroyed Ghiscari civilization, Astapor wisely bent the knee to the dragonlords.

Though the Valyrian Freehold had since perished in the Doom, its influence still lingered in Astapor.

The people of this city, descendants of the Ghiscari, had forgotten their original tongue and now spoke Valyrian. They maintained the old Ghiscari religion, worshiping the ancient gods of Ghis, as Valyria never forced them to change their faith.

Yet the memory of Valyria's ultimate weapon—the dragons—remained deeply ingrained.

It was dragons that descended from the heavens, bringing fire and death, reducing the once-mighty Ghiscari Empire to ash.

When Daenerys Targaryen arrived with her three young dragons, she awakened a long-dormant fear in the hearts of the Astapori.

Fortunately, her dragons were still small, sparing the city from outright panic. Samwell had also prudently left Cleopatra on the ship—her enormous size would have caused far more commotion.

"They fear us," Daenerys murmured.

She wore a light silk dress, baring her delicate shoulders. Viserion and Rhaegal tried climbing onto her as they did when they were smaller, but she gently removed them, no longer able to support their weight.

"They fear the dragons," Samwell replied, grabbing Viserion by the neck to keep it from pestering. For some reason, all three of Daenerys's dragons showed a peculiar deference to Samwell, perhaps influenced by Cleopatra.

"In Qarth, they didn't look at me like this."

"Qarth was never conquered by Valyria. Astapor, on the other hand, remembers the terror of dragons well." Samwell smiled faintly. "And for that very reason, the people of Astapor yearn to possess dragons themselves."

Amidst wary gazes and hushed murmurs, the group approached the city gates.

A contingent of Unsullied guarded the entrance. They wore leather armor, spiked helmets, and maintained an unnerving calm, showing no reaction even to the sight of the dragons.

The captain of the guards was a stout, dark-skinned man with fiery red hair and stained yellow teeth. He grinned and said,

"Welcome to Astapor, most esteemed Mother of Dragons. The entry tax is one silver coin per person—or, if you let me touch one of your dragons, I'll waive the fee."

Daenerys had never heard of such an exorbitant entry tax. Realizing she was being extorted, she smiled and lifted Rhaegal toward him.

"Of course. But be careful—they bite."

Rhaegal let out a low roar, spewing flames that streaked through the air like a fiery whip.

The guard hesitated, clearly intimidated, and eventually forced an awkward smile.

"I was only joking, noble Mother of Dragons. You are exempt from any tax. Please, enter freely."

Daenerys gave a soft laugh and strode through the gates.

Samwell followed, pausing briefly beside the guard to say,

"Notify the Good Masters that the Mother of Dragons wishes to purchase Unsullied."

"Yes, I'll pass the message along."

Inside the gates lay the famed Plaza of Pride, bustling even at this late hour. The square was alive with voices, bathed in light from countless lanterns.

In the center stood a massive fountain, and atop it, a twenty-foot-tall bronze statue of a harpy.

The harpy had a woman's face, bat-like wings, eagle-like talons, and a scorpion's tail. Yet Samwell noticed something unusual—chains dangled from her talons instead of the lightning bolts traditionally seen in Ghiscari depictions.

Beneath the harpy statue stood a woman in a green robe, her hair as white as snow. Her emerald eyes mirrored her robe's color, exuding a mesmerizing allure. A veil covered most of her face, and her voice was soft and reverent.

"Is she the Green Grace from the Temple of Graces?" Daenerys asked quietly.

"She is," Samwell replied, his gaze fixed on her striking green eyes. "Translate her words for me."

The Green Grace's sermon was laced with high Valyrian vocabulary that exceeded Samwell's proficiency, so he could only understand fragments.

"She's calling for a holy war," Daenerys explained. "She claims the ancient Ghiscari gods are awakening from their slumber to free themselves from their enemy... Could she mean the Valyrian gods?"

"Did she specify the enemy?"

"No, she didn't," Daenerys said, continuing to listen. "She says we must join the righteous cause. She also prophesies that the yellow harpy will rise from ancient ruins, bringing thunder and lightning to reshape the world. Those who shed their blood for her will gain blessings and eternal life."

Samwell recalled the vision he'd seen in Melisandre's flames: a harpy towering over a burning city.

Daenerys continued translating, but like many sermons, it was grandiose and vague, offering little actionable information.

Samwell quickly lost interest. "Let's find an inn to rest for the night."

"Alright."

As they turned to leave the plaza, Samwell glanced back and saw the Green Grace staring directly at him.

Whether her gaze was fixed on the dragons or him, he couldn't tell.

"What's wrong, Samwell?" Daenerys asked.

"Nothing." Samwell shook his head and continued walking.

They navigated quieter streets until they reached an inn with an iron lantern hanging by the door. A few scantily clad women lounged outside, enticing patrons.

Drunken travelers stumbled in the doorway, while a mule-drawn cart trundled past.

Jorah Mormont went inside to inquire about vacancies and soon returned, confirming they had rooms available.

Just as Daenerys was about to enter, she noticed Samwell had stopped again, his eyes fixed on a distant firelight.

"Samwell?"

"I saw someone familiar." His eyes narrowed. "You go inside. I'll join you shortly."

"Alright."

Samwell parted ways with the group and walked toward the flickering fire ahead.

A patrol of Unsullied passed by, their stoic presence scattering a group of drunkards to the roadside.

The streets grew darker, and only the firelight remained to guide him.

A small group had gathered around the flames, listening to a figure in a black robe speak.

As Samwell approached, the speaker abruptly fell silent and turned to leave.

Certain now of who he'd seen, Samwell quickened his pace.

The robed figure sensed pursuit and began to run, darting into a narrow alley.

Samwell unsheathed his greatsword, running his hand along its milky-white blade. Flames erupted from the blade with a hiss, illuminating the dark alley.

The black-robed figure stopped ahead, as if waiting.

Under the hood was a dark-skinned face, tangled white hair, and fiery red tattoos covering his cheeks and forehead.

"Moqorro?" Samwell ventured.

"You know me?" The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"I've heard of you from Melisandre. She called you one of R'hllor's most loyal servants."

"That's impossible," Moqorro said sharply. "Melisandre has never met me."

Samwell grinned. "She saw you in the flames."

Moqorro did not refute this time, but from the look in his eyes, it was obvious that he did not believe what Samwell said.

However, he did not dwell on how the other party recognized him, and said:

"Caesar, you betrayed the Lord of Light."

R'hllor was the first to have evil intentions towards me," Samwell said.

Moqorro's expression darkened, but he didn't argue further. Instead, he asked,

"Why have you followed me?"

"I should ask you the same. What are you doing in Astapor?"

"The gods naturally have their own arrangements." Moqorro said cryptically.

"Let me guess," Samwell said coldly. "You've chosen Daenerys Targaryen as your new Azor Ahai."

Moqorro's silence was answer enough.

"She's under my protection," Samwell said firmly. "Stay away from her."

Seeing this, Maqiluo no longer concealed it and said:

"Her rise is in accordance with the prophecy of the Lord of Light, and the dragon will lead her on the path of glory."

"Bullshit prophecy!" Samwell said coldly, "She is under my protection now, stay away from her!"

"A mortal cannot defy the will of a god—

Before he finished speaking, his pupils shrank rapidly, because Samwell was already rushing towards him with a flaming sword in hand!

Samwell lunged, his flaming sword slashing through the dark alley. The orange-red light surged, as if to tear the space apart.

The fire illuminated the narrow space, and Moqorro raised his hands, chanting in an ancient tongue.

Samwell was dazed for a moment, but immediately regained his consciousness.

Black flames erupted around him, clashing with Samwell's blade in a blinding explosion.

Around Moqorro, fierce black flames erupted, enveloping him completely.

With a single swing of the sword, sparks flew, but the expected scene of blood splattering did not occur.

Moqorro's entire being seemed to turn into a mass of fire, slowly dissipating into the air.

Seeing this, Samwell let out a cold laugh, his left hand suddenly reaching out, piercing through the flames.

In an instant, the flames that Moqorro had transformed into suddenly froze, as if he had become an insect trapped in solidified amber. For the first time, a look of astonishment flashed across his indifferent face.

Boom—

The next moment, as if a volcano had erupted, magma surged, and a terrifying force slammed into the ground, sending flames and meteors flying in all directions.

"Ah!!!!"

Moqorro let out a scream, his eyes flashing with a reddish-golden light.

When the light faded, Moqorro had vanished, leaving only a burning cloak and a severed arm behind.

Samwell sheathed his sword and snorted.

"You ran pretty fast"

(End of Chapter)