Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

"You are..." The customs inspector scrutinized the old Black man pulling him. The man looked elderly, with graying and thinning hair—an ordinary-looking old man. However, on the cuff of his sky-blue silk robe, there was an embroidered flame symbol, about the size of a thumbnail.

"You're a fire mage?" A warm and friendly smile bloomed on the inspector's face. His tone and demeanor turned gentle, like a spring breeze.

"I am Fire Mage Wood, the strongest fire mage in Valantis' supernatural world."

The old Black man sounded like he was bragging, but he was simply stating a big truth.

After Lisbon, the top young talent of the Western Continent, died tragically at the hands of mercenaries, old Wood didn't take his place as the new number one—he was too old, and his inheritance wasn't strong enough.

But among fire mages, he became the undisputed top figure.

At least, the top in Valantis.

The customs inspector trembled all over, his expression changed drastically. He quickly handed the documents and ink pen in his hand to the Unsullied behind him.

Stepping forward, he asked respectfully and eagerly, "Is that true? Can the grandmaster concoct wildfire?"

Wood saw his expression and knew the situation. He flung his robe sleeve, raised his chin, and snorted coldly. "In the streets and alleys of Valantis, countless people know the name of Grandmaster Wood. Would I dare fake it?As for wildfire, that's beginner-level stuff. I stopped playing with that after I turned eighteen."

That was another honest statement. Grandmaster Wood had made a living in Valantis' docks and neighborhoods for decades—those who had seen him perform fire magic numbered in the tens of thousands.

"Grandmaster, would you like to join Her Majesty the Dragon Queen's Royal Dragon Mage Order? My name is Donde, I can escort you to the Great Pyramid."

The customs inspector's smile stretched so wide it almost formed a giant banner reading "Welcome, Welcome."

Royal Dragon Mage Order?That name sounded prestigious and impressive!

Old Wood was pleased in his heart, but his face remained composed. He nodded modestly and asked, "Is the Queen currently in Astapor?"

"She returned just yesterday," the customs inspector said warmly. "For true grandmasters like you, Her Majesty has always been eager to recruit talent. She'll certainly meet with you personally."

"I'm also a fire mage," said another man in a gray robe who walked up, rubbing his hands excitedly. "My name is Pogba. In the Valantis fire mage circle, I rank top three, just below Lisbon and Grandmaster Wood."

"Really?" The customs inspector looked deeply skeptical.

Pogba was thin and short, with a sharp face like a monkey. A gust of sea wind blew his robe tight, clearly revealing seven or eight ribs across his chest.

"Master Pogba is too humble," Wood said seriously. "Now that Grandmaster Lisbon has passed, Pogba and I are nearly equals. It's no exaggeration to call us the 'Twin Flames of Valantis.'"

"My apologies, I didn't recognize your profound mastery. I truly beg your forgiveness," Donde bowed sincerely, clearly full of genuine respect, not sarcasm or mockery.

"And me too," a short, fat man who looked like a beer keg squeezed in, thumb pointing at his greasy double chin. "I'm Hancock the 'Grease Lump' from Qohor, master of fire sorcery and blood alchemy—the number one fire mage in Central Essos."

Before Donde could even compliment him, another man—tall as a lamppost—shouted, "Count me in too! I'm Jeep the 'Fiery Cloud' from Myr—the top fire mage of the Narrow Sea!"

"You're all here... to join the Royal Dragon Mage Order?"

Donde was shocked and suspicious. Usually, not a single real fire mage would show up. Today, four came at once?

And each from different corners of the world, all calling themselves grandmasters.

"Hey now, no need to doubt us. If we dare give our names and places of origin, there's no room for lying. With the Dragon Queen's mobility—morning in Slaver's Bay, evening in Pentos—she can verify our identities easily.

People can lie, but magic power cannot. We'll prove to the Queen that we're the real deal," said Fiery Cloud Jeep wisely.

Donde had to admit, the lanky one had a point.

Could it be that he had just recruited four grandmasters all at once?

While Donde was still reeling with excitement, a massive crowd—forty or fifty people in total—suddenly surged forward, shouting:

"I'm a fire mage too!""I'm the top fire mage in Myr!""We're the Four Heroes of Tyrosh!""We're the Top Ten Young Talents in Valantis' Fire Mage Community!"

Even Donde was stunned, and so were Tyrion and the others on the deck.

"Weren't they just street performers?" asked the dwarf woman holding a large dog. "We even sparred with them on the ship during the voyage. They told us they were coming to Astapor to be acrobats."

To hide their identities, Tyrion had taken on the alias Hugo Hill and teamed up with Fenny to form a comedy troupe.

Yes, the one where Tyrion rode a pig and Fenny rode a dog, pretending to be famous characters like Robert, the Young Wolf, and Renly for mock duels.

"This is utter chaos."

Tyrion frowned as he watched the crowd of fire magicians bickering and boasting. "What is the Dragon Queen thinking? Is she, like her father Aerys, obsessed with wildfire?"

"Hmph. Have you forgotten how the Ghiscari fleet was destroyed? If instead of fire oil and pitch, it had been wildfire falling from the sky...

Just a single jar could ignite an 800-ton warship," said an old, weathered man with wrinkles around his eyes, sneering coldly.

Tyrion tugged at his unbuttoned shirt and sighed. "Look at this heat. Just bringing wildfire out from the cellar—it'll explode without even needing direct sunlight."

Sister Lemore suggested, "How about we join that group of fire mages and go to the Great Pyramid to see the Dragon Queen?"

She was Young Griff's governess, as well as his spiritual mentor in the teachings of the Faith of the Seven.

With long, deep brown hair and gentle violet eyes, she was an elegant woman in her late thirties who still possessed considerable charm and grace.

Yes, the Imp was quite lustful for her body.

"Halden, what do you think?" the weathered man turned to the ascetic-looking Halden.

"Maester Halden," the same gray-robed maester who had once accompanied Tyrion in Volantis.

"If the Dragon Queen is really in Astapor, there's no need for us to hide our identities. We can go directly to the Great Pyramid and present your name, my lord.

Whether it's Jorah Mormont or Ser Barristan, they'll understand the significance of the name 'Jon Connington.'" Halden spoke methodically.

"I originally planned to evaluate her first, observe her up close to see how she handles matters," Connington said hesitantly.

"We're already here—what's left to evaluate?" Halden let slip a faint bitter smile on his normally stern face.

"Sigh, the rumors the allied forces spread about her are too exaggerated. I'm worried she might be harmful to Griff," Connington lowered his voice, glancing at the boy standing among the onlooking fire mages. "The other rumors might be false, but Viserys's death is absolutely true. A woman who could watch her own brother get burned alive by her husband—how terrifying is that?"

Halden hesitated as well. "Then... perhaps Young Griff should continue hiding his identity, and you could pledge allegiance to her as a former courtier?"

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"Oh, please," Tyrion, who had been listening from the side for some time, could no longer stay silent upon hearing such a lousy plan from his old companion.

"You want her people, her army, and even her dragons—yet you think you can keep Young Griff hidden forever?

With a strong queen like her, it's best to be honest from the beginning. If she's truly as suspicious, greedy, and ruthless as the rumors say, then any deceit will only make things worse."

"Ah, you're right." The lines on Connington's brow deepened. "A perfect king like Prince Rhaegar is rare indeed. I sincerely pray to the Seven that she possesses even a tenth of her brother's mercy and wisdom."

Tyrion's noseless face twisted into a pig-like snout. "Lord Connington, whatever you do, don't let Robert hear you say that, or he'll be so thrilled he'll come bursting out of his coffin."

"Uh, what are you saying?" Connington looked puzzled.

"The Dragon Queen, who crushed over a hundred thousand Ghiscari troops and forced all the world's slavers into an alliance, in your eyes, still isn't one-tenth as good as Rhaegar. So just how heroic and extraordinary must Robert be, since he beat Rhaegar?" the Imp chuckled.

"You'd better pray with me that she has even a tenth of Rhaegar's mercy. Otherwise, when your quips finally enrage her and she orders your grotesque little head chopped off to vent her anger, none of us will defy her over something so trivial." Connington said coldly.

The Imp cupped his large head in both hands and grinned, "Trivial? No, it's at least good for a few jokes."

Connington gave him a deep look, then walked over to Daunt.

At this moment, the Orange Wine had already docked at pier S-13, and Inspector Daunt was recording the names, origins, and aliases of all the fire mages.

"Captain Neville, come with me too," the customs officer said to the mustached captain watching the scene unfold.

"What did I do?" Neville was so shocked, even the hairs of his little mustache stood up.

"Nothing at all," Daunt said warmly, grabbing his hand and leading him up the gangplank. He smiled and explained, "Captain Neville, bringing so many highly skilled talents to Astapor—the Queen will surely reward you with a 'Green Card.'"

Hearing he was to be rewarded, Neville's alarmed expression turned instantly to delight. He quickly asked, "What kind of card is that?"

"A tax exemption card. No matter how much you trade in Astapor, you pay no tax," Daunt explained.

"If I bring another caravan next time…" Neville said, shivering with excitement.

Daunt waved grandly, "As long as it's under a hundred ships—no tax!"

Neville was so ecstatic he nearly fainted. He turned back and glanced again at the oddball troupe of acrobats, as if he now saw golden halos glowing above their bizarre heads.

So this was the Dragon Queen's idea of talent.

Next time, no matter what, he'd scour the docks for another batch like them.

"Inspector, please wait," Connington struggled to squeeze past the group of fire mages excitedly discussing their 'ten-million-gold project' and approached the customs officer in the green dragon T-shirt. In a low voice, he said, "I'm an old acquaintance of Ser Barristan Selmy. Might I trouble you to pass on a message?"

Daunt was startled and warned solemnly, "Ser Barristan is the Captain of Her Majesty's Queensguard. Don't go around claiming connections."

Connington replied firmly, "Just tell him the name 'Jon Connington'—he'll"

"Aaah! Iron Judge! The Just and Stern Cleon!"

Suddenly, thunderous cheers erupted from the neighboring S-12 pier.

"What's going on?"

Connington turned his head and saw a butcher-like man walking down the gangplank with resolute determination, his expression firm, as the crowd cheered around him.

(End of Chapter)

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