[Chapter Size: 3500 Words.]

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Thrid Person POV

Essos, 297 AC.

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‘The Shogun had offered his daughter, seeing how Hiyori was enchanted by the hero,’ wrote Takeshi. “I also said that this was the best the Shogun could do. Even if his only daughter went to the other side of the world to marry the Arctic King, it was the least he could offer, and I assured him she would be fine. After all, they were prosperous and powerful. Even though she would not be the first wife, her lineage would still blend with a lineage extremely rare in the world.”

‘I was surprised when I delved deeper into Jon Artica’s lineage. I was astonished to find that he carried the blood of the First Men, as they were called in those lands, and the dragonlords of ancient Valyria. This was a marriage that didn’t even require winning a war to happen… Besides, Yi-Ti had much to gain from the trade between the two nations, now that the Arctic King had established a direct route to them, crossing all the moons to supply products that would come straight from Artica.’

‘The food Jon Artica brought greatly mitigated the damage caused by the war, but Yi-Ti was not in a position to rest easy. Most of the farms along the eastern border were largely destroyed and urgently needed to secure food supplies. The Articans agreed to send a fleet of ships as soon as possible, but Yi-Ti would still need to seek other alternatives until the country returned to normality, which could take between three and five years.’

‘Even so, things were much better in Yi-Ti now. Without the pressure of war and conquest, they could finally breathe, and things were quickly returning to where they had been before all this chaos began.’

‘The name Jon Artica would still be spoken of for generations after these events. I personally believe it will be remembered forever, and many will regard him as a legend. This reputation even led many to seek him out in the capital in recent days, particularly hoping he would train samurai children of all classes—even those who managed the country—to become his apprentices and protégés, taking them to Artica to train in his unique swordsmanship. However, Jon Artica declined, and I can understand why… After all, he has his kingdom to manage, and as he himself said, it’s time for him to take care of his own family—something he hasn’t been able to do yet.’

‘I hope he can care for Princess Hiyori. I recall Prince Momonosuke calling Jon Artica for a conversation, during which I had to be present. The prince asked Jon to take care of his sister, and Jon nodded in agreement. At the banquet, the engagement was announced, and it was revealed that the princess would be taken to Artica. This surprised many, though others had already expected such an outcome.’

‘In the end, Jon Artica left the capital, and things calmed significantly, although the mention of his name still stirs emotions among the people of Yi-Ti. Will we see him again? Will he visit Yi-Ti once more? I wonder… But regardless of what the future holds, the legend of Okuchi no Makami and Jon Artica as its real-life embodiment will endure in Yi-Ti until the last heartbeat of this people.’

Takeshi finally stopped writing, satisfied with his work in his journal. He had recounted all the details, from Jon Artica’s arrival to his departure, and how he influenced Yi-Ti’s war. This record would serve as the foundation for creating documents and books chronicling this part of Yi-Ti’s history.

He nodded in satisfaction as he closed the book, his work finished for now. Rising to his feet, he prepared to speak with the emperor, who was in a state of near mourning after his daughter’s departure—a natural reaction, as Hiyori had been an enormous emotional support for the family, playing a motherly role in helping her father and brother ever since Kozuki Toki’s passing.

And so, Takeshi left the room, leaving his journal behind, closed and waiting for the moment when Jon Artica’s story would be officially recorded in the annals of Yi-Ti.

Meanwhile, outside the Jade Sea, two moons had passed since Jon Artica had left Yi-Ti. Things seemed calm in the region of Slaver’s Bay at that moment. The masters enjoyed their fortunes, trading and tending to their possessions, whether human or material resources. Here and there, they indulged in their lives as best they could across all the cities of Slaver’s Bay.

But in Meereen, the largest city of the region, characterized by its great pyramid and an imposing harpy statue perched atop its peak, things were slightly different. The statue marked the central point where a council of slavers gathered, composed of Meereen’s most prominent lords. The city itself was sustained almost entirely by slaves who toiled endlessly to keep it running, while their masters handled the city’s administration through a council made up of the principal merchants.

The council meeting was focused on reports received several moons ago, particularly about Arctic ships spotted near Lys.

“So, six moons ago, a group of Arctic ships was seen heading north. Why are we only hearing about this now…” one of the masters said.

“This came from some merchants traveling through the Summer Isles. There were twenty ships, and the condition of the vessels appeared good, so it’s not as if they were fleeing from something. Most of the fleet seems to have remained in the East. We don’t know what they’re doing there, and news takes a long time to reach us, but we could still hear from the cities at the entrance of Slaver’s Bay if they show up here,” another added.

“Do you really think they would attack us because of what happened in Volantis? I know we failed to capture members of their family, but even so, it would be an enormous effort for them to confront us. Besides, our cities are well-fortified. Meereen has never fallen in its history, and it never will, no matter who the enemy is. They could even be riding dragons!” a third said confidently.

The meeting continued, though some slavers deemed the fears absurd. Nonetheless, the concerns were shared by many of Meereen’s great masters. In the end, the meeting concluded with divided opinions—some driven by genuine worry, others by paranoid delusions.

Among those present was Razdal mo Eraz, one of the city’s most important merchant masters. After the meeting, he returned to his mansion, escorted by his many guards.

Upon entering his home, he went straight to his bath chamber, where a slave girl was finishing cleaning the space. As soon as he entered, the girl made a motion to leave.

“No, you stay,” he ordered, gesturing for her to approach and help him bathe instead of summoning another slave. He wanted the process to take its time.

“Is something the matter, my master? You seem troubled,” she murmured in the broken Valyrian of Meereen, as she wrapped his body in clean cloths, washing him.

“Nothing much… it’s just my colleagues… those fools are worried about something that won’t happen to us, frightened of a group of savages from the western kingdoms…” he replied, but without going into detail. The woman merely nodded.

Everything seemed calm until he began to hear the sound of screams coming from outside the chamber. He tried to ignore it, assuming it was a minor inconvenience, and closed his eyes, but the noise began to irritate him.

“What are they doing? Tell them to be quiet! Don’t they see I need to rest?” Razdal mo Eraz shouted angrily.

The woman quickly nodded and left to check. However, after five minutes of waiting, she did not return, and the screams only grew louder. Irritated and curious, the master grumbled, “What is it now,” as he stood up and stepped out of the bath. Wrapping a towel around his body, he left the room and headed to an open area on the second floor of his mansion.

When he stepped outside, he was met with a strange scene. The screams were louder than ever, with people shouting at one another as guards and slaves scrambled about in a frenzy.

“Hey! What’s going on?” he called to a guard. The man turned, visibly terrified.

“Master, the city is under attack! A fleet is advancing on the city!” the guard exclaimed, pointing toward the harbor visible from the open area.

Razdal mo Eraz said nothing more and walked closer, approaching the open window, still skeptical about the situation. He gazed out toward the bay. His expression quickly changed as he saw the white sails with the blue snowflake emblem at their center, adorning each of the ships.

“They’re the Articans,” he murmured, realizing that everyone was a bit shaken by this attack. After all, over 200 ships were approaching the city.

Quickly, bells began ringing throughout the city, signaling the approach of an enemy. Guards from all over Meereen started marching toward the harbor, preparing to defend the walls that separated the city from the port and the kennels.

The harbor itself was in chaos as people scrambled to get inside the city, while some ships began fleeing the port, praying that the Articans would not pursue them.

“They can’t defeat us!” Razdal mo Eraz said to himself, still stunned by the Articans’ actual attack but confident that the city would hold. “They’ll tire themselves out. Meereen will not fall! Not a chance!” He muttered to himself as he returned to his mansion, trying to bring order amidst the chaos while gathering his family and summoning some guards.

“Come on… let’s find my colleagues,” he said as he got dressed, preparing to attend a meeting with the other great slaver lords to decide how to respond to the Articans.

Razdal mo Eraz was still surprised that the attack had actually happened because of the Volantis incident. Yet, he found it strange that none of the other slaver cities along the bay had sent any warnings about this fleet’s approach. Why would Meereen be the direct target and not other, larger cities in Slaver’s Bay? Razdal mo Eraz couldn’t understand what was happening, and it left him uneasy.

He moved through the chaotic streets, where signs of fear were already evident among the people, worried about what might happen. Still, he thought their panic was overblown and continued on his way, determined.

Meanwhile, on the waters, the Artican ships kept advancing. Jon was aboard one of them. Though his flagship was not present—this was a war assault, and he preferred to lead operations directly. He was at the forefront, his ship leading the rest of the battle fleet. He watched the movements in the harbor and on the walls, both with his own eyes and through the vision of a hundred birds in the sky, unnoticed by anyone.

More and more people ran in panic, while soldiers filled the walls, trying to organize a defense. The slaver masters deployed armed men throughout the city to control the chaos within the walls.

“Well, I think we’re in a good position. It’s time to begin,” Jon said calmly. He would not waste time; there would be no initial negotiations here, just as there had been with every city they encountered before reaching Meereen.

Everyone around him nodded quickly upon hearing his words and began preparing their weapons. The 200 ships were loaded with wildfire, and the Articans were ready to teach these slavers why they should never have meddled with the Northern Kingdom.

Once everything was prepared, Jon didn’t even need to give verbal orders. He simply raised his hand in front of the fleet, signaling for all weapons to aim at the wall. After a few seconds, the gates had already been sealed, and the people were retreating from the area, leaving only soldiers behind.

Without saying a word, Jon lowered his hand in a signal to launch the initial attack. In the next moment, the giants released their harpoons from every ship. The projectiles soared through the sky with an explosive sound that caught the attention of the entire city.

Even the calmest people, those who believed Meereen would never fall, turned to the bay in fear, startled by the thunderous noise, like dozens of storms erupting at once.

The harpoons rose high into the air, visible to all as tiny specks from a distance, and then began their descent, heading toward the walls. With an earth-shaking explosion, they struck, embedding themselves into the harbor’s fortifications.

The soldiers of Meereen, frightened, felt the walls tremble as hundreds of harpoons embedded themselves along their length. They rushed to examine them, seeing the cylinders burning at the tips and dripping a mysterious liquid. Though they couldn’t understand what it was, their unease grew, knowing it couldn’t be accidental. Unfamiliar with wildfire, they began asking questions, but it was already too late—their end was near.

When the flames reached the blue liquid within the cylinders, a chain reaction of explosions ignited, one after the other, along the wall facing the harbor.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

The side wall around the harbor, along with the harbor itself, was obliterated in seconds, shaking the entire city. The brilliance and deafening roar of the explosions reverberated through Meereen as sections of the walls collapsed, killing everyone nearby. Soldiers and slaves alike stared at the inferno and chaos in terror, as the flames spread rapidly. Screams, already loud, reached their peak.

Razdal mo Eraz was climbing the pyramid when the tremor caused him to stumble and nearly fall. He saw the flash from the harbor, destroying everything in its path, and heard the increasingly desperate cries of the population. For the first time, fear appeared on his face as he began to doubt his earlier assertion that Meereen would never fall. He froze, staring at the rising smoke where the wall once stood. Swallowing hard, he murmured in disbelief:

“What is this? How can this be happening…?” He couldn’t believe the Articans would be so brutal and launch an attack of this magnitude.

“Well done,” Jon said calmly, observing the destruction. Even the ships trembled from the impact, though they were far enough to avoid being struck by debris.

He showed no emotion as he watched. His gaze remained indifferent. Jon knew his actions were cruel, but he didn’t care. He was a king, and it was his duty to ensure his enemies feared him and his kingdom. Meereen would be made into an example, just as Astapor and Yunkai had been.

The destruction of Meereen wasn’t the first of his campaigns in Slaver’s Bay. Jon had already invaded and razed two other major cities, always sparing as many slaves as possible but ensuring the leaders of the great families met less fortunate fates. By cutting off their communications by air and sea and deploying ships faster than any horse could traverse the desert, he consistently caught cities off guard, employing the same strategy here.

“So this is the famous pyramid of Meereen. It’s quite large…” Jon commented, glancing toward the city center. He admitted it was an impressive piece of architecture, though it had almost certainly been built by slaves. Deciding it was time to put an end to this, he turned back.

“Hey, can you hit it?” he asked the giant directly.

“I can,” the giant replied curtly, speaking in the Old Tongue.

“Then bring down that golden statue at the top,” Jon ordered, pointing to the target.

The giant nodded and began preparing a new harpoon in the launcher. Adjusting the tension, he pulled the thick cord taut, so tight it seemed it might snap at any moment. An expert in launching, the giant calculated the precise trajectory to hit the distant target exactly where Jon wanted.

Raising the launcher, the giant aimed carefully and fired. Jon had enchanted the harpoon with his magic, ensuring it wouldn’t be affected by the wind.

In the next moment, the harpoon shot through the air, its body oscillating slightly but remaining unaffected by the wind. It traveled across the city, descending toward the pyramid. The harpoon struck the golden statue at the top squarely in its chest. The impact was tremendous, startling those nearby—many already dazed by the destruction of the walls. The sound of the statue exploding echoed through the city as the cylinder’s fuse activated the wildfire.

Razdal mo Eraz, nearly at the top of the stairs, froze in shock at the sight. His first instinct was to flee into the pyramid, a sinking feeling warning him that something even worse was about to happen.

In the next moment, a powerful explosion erupted at the top of the pyramid, glowing emerald green and shattering the golden statue. Fragments and golden debris rained down, smashing rooftops and crashing into the streets below. The city was in utter chaos. As Jon had intended, there would be no negotiations here; he made it clear that the slaver masters would pay dearly, just as they had in Volantis.

“My king, what should we do? The troops are ready, but the flames haven’t died down yet,” reported a royal guard who approached Jon for orders.

“Pour sand on the flames where the harbor used to be. We’ll breach through there,” Jon replied, his gaze fixed on the destruction.

The guard nodded quickly and began shouting orders to the men.

The ships pressed forward, launching sacks of sand through the Artican Scorpions, smothering the flames as tons of sand rained down over the smoldering ruins. The ground was strewn with charred stones from the shattered wall, mixed with dust hanging thick in the air. Every ship in the harbor had been destroyed, leaving only debris in their wake. Even near the city walls, people—both slaves and freemen—were fleeing the area, running to the opposite side of the city.

“They say this city has never fallen,” Jon remarked as he surveyed the destruction. “It seems we must show the world why they should fear our people when the tales of this day spread to all four corners of the earth.”

Jon turned to the prow of the ship, speaking to his men and Arya, of course. Perhaps his deeds in Yi-Ti would never truly be recognized by the world, but attacking Slaver’s Bay was different. Soon, everyone would know who the Articans were and what they were capable of.

The ships began anchoring at the ruined harbor, and Jon disembarked, clad in a medieval-style suit of Valyrian steel armor, forged during his first stay in Yi-Ti. He had left behind his samurai-style armor, reverting to the more familiar armaments of this part of the world.

Jon’s men disembarked swiftly, his direwolf Ghost accompanying him. They marched in formation as the sound of screams echoed from the city. The destruction of the walls had cleared the path, and now 10,000 Artican soldiers were ready to conquer Meereen. With the city’s main defense—the walls—reduced to rubble, victory seemed inevitable.

“Articans!” Jon shouted, standing before the destroyed wall, his voice carrying above the din of chaos and destruction. His men, positioned as best they could amid the debris, prepared to storm the city.

“We are here today to deliver justice! We will answer for the attack these men made against Artica. Today, we will show them why we, the Articans, are so dangerous and why we must be feared. And we will send a message to the entire world when news of this day spreads!” Jon’s voice was firm and commanding, resonating with his troops before he continued.

“But listen well—I will not tolerate any war crimes, such as rape or the plundering of common folk and slaves. However, anyone who raises a weapon against you must be eliminated. Protect your lives. What I want is for every noble family in this city to be detained. We will hold trials once we have full control. Is that understood?” He concluded, his piercing gaze sweeping over his troops.

The speech was brief but direct, reminding everyone of the mission’s goal: total control of the city and the subjugation of the slaver masters. Jon’s leadership was unmistakable, and his men responded with a resounding clash of weapons against shields in unison.

Giants stood out among the ranks, wielding massive spears and shields. Jon nodded, satisfied with his warriors’ response, and turned toward the city. Unsheathing his twin katanas, which he still carried, he issued the order:

“With me!”

Jon advanced on foot, with Ghost by his side, knowing this would be a fight within the confines of the city rather than an open battlefield.

Leading the charge, he stepped over the rubble of the destroyed wall as his men followed, running behind but maintaining their formation. Together, they invaded Meereen.

The battle for the city had begun.

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