Grey Worm's words echoed in the ears of Grazdan and the slave masters beside him.
"No... no..."
Grazdan's body shook violently.
He wanted to beg for mercy, wanted to flee.
But he found himself so terrified that he no longer even had the strength to move a finger.
On the dragon's back.
Lynn looked down at the snowfield, now turned into a one-sided slaughterhouse, and decided it was time to end this farce.
He gently raised his hand.
Then slowly lowered it.
The howling wind stopped abruptly.
The great flakes of snow swirling through the sky vanished without a trace.
The piercing cold that could freeze the soul gave way to the dry heat and salty humidity of Slaver's Bay.
The blazing sun reclaimed the gray sky.
At last, the blizzard stopped.
As light washed over the land again, everyone who had survived on the battlefield was stunned by the hellish sight before them.
Corpses.
Corpses as far as the eye could see.
A crimson carpet of severed limbs, entrails, and mangled flesh covered the entire plain.
And upon that crimson carpet stood thousands of Wights, blue flames burning in their eye sockets, utterly motionless.
Some were still chewing on the bloody limbs in their hands; others remained poised to strike.
It was as though time had been frozen.
The tens of thousands of surviving slave soldiers stared at the surreal scene before them, their minds blank.
They had just escaped from that realm of death built from their comrades' corpses.
"Run... run!"
There was no telling who came to his senses first.
He let out a desperate scream, turned, and fled toward the rear.
His movement instantly sent the stunned crowd into a frenzy!
The surviving slave soldiers forgot everything else.
They threw down their weapons and fled the