Yulon's Travelogue (4)

Valantis—The Long Bridge, Once Flowers, Now Swamp

The Rhône River split Valantis in two like a muddy artery, and the Long Bridge was the fragile vessel connecting these two vastly different worlds.

I stood on the bridge, feeling the distinctly different pulses beneath my feet: to the east, the tranquil world of ancient nobles behind the Black Wall, filled with whispers of power and the haze of sandalwood; to the west, a noisy mire of sellswords, foreigners, slaves, and commoners, the air thick with the pungent scents of sweat, spices, and decay. The city's division was so naked, so brutal.

Slaves. This was the indelible background color of Valantis. Their numbers were suffocatingly large, said to be five times that of free citizens. They moved silently through the streets and docks, eyes downcast, forming the silent foundation upon which the city operated.

People said this was once the "City of Flowers and Fountains," the most powerful and prosperous pearl among the Nine Free Cities.

Now, I could only piece together its former glory from the ruins of colossal statues and ornate fountain basins.

The foolish War of Conquest a century ago had drained its lifeblood, and the resentment of defeat led the populace to smash countless statues of Tiger Party magistrates. Today's Valantis was like a patched-up, magnificent robe—still dazzling from afar, but with crude stitching and glaring flaws up close. Many fountains had long since dried up, becoming stagnant pools breeding insects; some districts had even been reclaimed by the swamp, desolate and filled only with memories.

I went to the places I had to see.

The Black Wall—it was more than just a wall; it was a declaration, coldly proclaiming the insurmountable divide of bloodline and class.

The Temple of R'hllor, where red-robed priests served their Lord of Light in dim halls, flames flickering in the shadows, promising illusory power and salvation.

Gwendoline, a priestess of the Red God, pulled me inside, preaching to me about their god.

The House of the Merchant, Valantis's finest tavern, a four-story behemoth overlooking the surrounding docks, piers, and warehouses. Its hall was larger than the halls of most Westerosi castles. The central courtyard was paved and planted with grapevines, and the surrounding pavilions and alcoves made the hall look like a maze. It was said to be the world's largest and most expensive tavern. Yet, guests filled every table, showing that there were many wealthy people in this world. If a large-scale tavern were opened in the port of King's Landing, it would surely be profitable.

Finally, the Long Bridge, spanning the mouth of the Rhône River, connected the two districts of Valantis. The entrance was an archway built of black megaliths, carved with sphinxes, lion-scorpions, dragons, and other monsters. Various buildings lined both sides of the bridge, where you could buy almost anything. In the middle of the bridge, the hands of thieves and the heads of criminals were displayed on spears.

We were lucky to arrive just in time for the city's election. In Valantis, their magistrates were elected annually by the Tiger Party and the Elephant Party. Every freeborn Valantian with land had the right to vote, and the election lasted for ten days, which were a carnival for the Valantians.

Whether tiger or elephant, I was just a passerby, so I enjoyed this sea of joy... but this electoral system made them change their policies daily, giving the country a rotten smell.

Valantis was still breathing, but each breath carried a hint of staleness and weakness. It taught me one thing: the deepest decline begins with internal decay, not with the swords of external enemies.

##DONE##

Dothraki Sea—Sea of Grass, Scimitars, and Trial Lands

We finally left so-called "civilization" behind and stepped into this boundless sea of grass called the Dothraki Sea.

The sky here became immense, like a giant bronze bowl with green rust, inverted over the edge of the world. The wind was the only eternal sound here, whistling endlessly through the waist-high grass, like thousands of lost souls sighing at once.

Here, laws were written by hooves and revised by scimitars.

We found a massive Khalasar, offered gifts, and displayed eyes that were not timid, before we were grudgingly allowed to follow as "guests." But the look in every Dothraki warrior's eyes was crystal clear: guest? captive? The distance between them was merely the outcome of a fight.

We followed their migration, chasing water and grass, under a scorching sun, with a horizon stretching to the stars at our feet. Finally, we reached the legendary land—Vaes Dothrak.

No walls, no gates; this giant city simply grew wildly from the earth's breast. Thousands upon thousands of tents filled the view, like a white ocean. The air was a mixture of the char of roasted horse meat, the sourness of yogurt, and eternal dust; the neighing of horses was more frequent and heart-pounding than thunder.

It was here that I met Khal Drogo, the Kahl whose voice was like a booming bell. And I, in a contest watched by all the warriors, used a clean, swift strike of Fish-Man Karate to knock down his son, Jorah, who was about my age. At that moment, the clamor ceased, and only the grass still whispered in the wind.

[You have defeated Jorah, son of Khal Drogo, and gained 40 points.]

Here, all language was superfluous. Strength was the only currency—the strength of muscle, the strength of will, the strength to control hearts. Humility was the virtue of the weak, weakness was the original sin, and pity was not given. Only by proving your worth would this grassland grudgingly grant you an inch of standing room.

After I defeated Jorah, son of Khal Drogo, Khal Drogo finally looked at me, a child the same size as his son, with proper eyes.

I wanted horses, yes, Dothraki horses, the best horses in the world. I would trade salt, wine, and iron for their horses. Khal Drogo agreed to the deal.

The Red Viper was somewhat confused. He didn't understand why an Ironborn from the Iron Islands would want horses. Did a lord of an island need to form some kind of cavalry regiment?

I didn't explain it to him—in the future, my domain would not only be the sea, but also the land!

##DONE##

Slaver's Bay—Humanity Priced and Three Masks

With that poetic yet venomous tone of his, Oberyn painted a picture of this coast for me—he called it the "Sister Cities," three whores born of the same mother yet hating each other enough to slit each other's throats. And now, I saw them with my own eyes.

The scent of Yunkai first assailed my nostrils—a cloying perfume mixed with the faint sound of whips, both nauseating and strangely exhilarating. The entire city was a massive, meticulously run brothel and menagerie. They claimed to export the world's most perfect sex slaves and servants, but in reality, they were systematically dismantling and refining people into docile commodities. As I walked through, I looked at the slaves with their trained smiles and felt only irony: they had turned "gentleness" into the coldest business.

Meereen was shrouded in a layer of never-ending ochre dust. The majestic pyramid pierced the sky, like the tombstone left by some giant. Dust covered everything, seeping between teeth, inhaled into lungs—it was the true ruler here, symbolizing an ancient, stubborn tradition that refused to change. Here, slaves wore copper collars and toiled silently under the shadows of their masters, even resistance felt heavy.

But it was Astapor that truly made me pause. If the other two cities still draped their "products" in a veil of illusion, Astapor tore away even that last shred of hypocrisy. This was a human modification factory; there was only one "product": the Unsullied.

I visited a training line—they called it an "assembly line." Boys were stripped of their names, emotions, fears, even their bodies, and reforged into instruments of absolute obedience and slaughter. The birth of each finished warrior was built upon the foundation of countless broken souls. There was no deception here, only efficiency and cost.

Slaver's Bay did not hide its nature: here, people could be disassembled into parts, priced openly, and sold. Oberyn was right; this was the ultimate place where humanity was priced.

I couldn't change this place, at least not yet. In the three cities of Slaver's Bay, I conducted transactions with those arrogant slave owners who looked down their noses at everyone. I needed people, all kinds of useful people: doctors, blacksmiths, carpenters, masons, scholars, poison masters, warriors, merchants, generals... I wanted them all!

The future of the Iron Islands needed countless talented individuals!