The merchant ship made landfall along a desolate stretch of coastline on the eastern side of Essos.
When Ying Mo, Daenerys, and Ser Jorah Mormont set foot on this soil carrying Viserys with them, a scorching wind blew against their faces.
As far as the eye could see, there were only endless expanses of red sand and dead scrub bushes trembling in the sweltering heat.
The sky was devoid of clouds, and the sun hung like a massive white fireball, mercilessly baking the earth.
This was the Red Waste, a forbidden zone of death that even the Dothraki refused to tread upon.
“Why…
why have we come here?” Concern was written all over Ser Jorah Mormont’s face.
He glanced at the mysterious man wrapped in a black cloak beside him, his tone carrying undeniable doubt.
“My Lord, there is nothing here.
No food, no water—only death.
We should go to Qarth.
It is the center of civilization, and they would welcome a scion of House Targaryen.” Ying Mo did not answer.
He knew Jorah was a spy for Robert the Stag; in this uninhabited wasteland, the knight had no way of passing information back to King’s Landing.
He simply raised his head, taking in the familiar, dry, scorching air currents, a barely noticeable glint of satisfaction passing through his eyes.
“Let us set up camp first,” Ying Mo said flatly, as if blind to the distrust in Ser Jorah’s tone.
At night, the camp’s bonfire dispelled a bit of the chill, but it could not dispel the restlessness in their hearts.
Daenerys cradled the three cold, petrified dragon eggs, staring blankly at the flickering flames.
She did not know whether her choice had been right.
She had given up the position of Khal’s consort, following a mysterious man into a wasteland synonymous with despair all because of his dragon.
*I hope what he said is true…
that he really can help me awaken the true dragons.* Ser Jorah sat beside her, wiping his longsword, his brow deeply furrowed.
He was troubled by that strange dragon—so different from the four-limbed dragons of legend—and by how these sudden turns of events had left him unable to fulfill his king’s mission.
His vigilance against Ying Mo had reached its peak.
Viserys was tied to a nearby tree, his broken right leg crudely set; he glared venomously at everything, his mouth spitting incoherent curses.
Just then, an extremely faint rustling sound drifted from the shadows surrounding the camp.
“Hmm?” Ser Jorah snapped his head up, tightening his grip on his hilt.
Almost simultaneously, Comet, who had been dozing at Ying Mo’s feet, snapped its blood-red eyes open, letting out a low, menacing growl from its throat.
“Someone’s coming,” Ying Mo said calmly, his voice clear enough to reach everyone’s ears.
He slowly stood up, shielding Daenerys behind him.
Before his words even faded, a dozen shadowy figures sprang from the surrounding darkness like specters.
One of them shouted, “Capture the girl alive, kill the rest!” Cold steel gleamed from their weapons as they moved with lethal swiftness, their objective clear: rushing straight for Daenerys holding the dragon eggs, and the priceless silver beast beside Ying Mo!
“Mercenaries!” “Protect Her Highness!” Ser Jorah roared, drawing his sword to engage two of the mercenaries.
Battle erupted in an instant.
These mercenaries were clearly elite, displaying tacit teamwork and lethal thrusts.
Though Ser Jorah fought valiantly, under the siege of multiple foes, he could barely protect himself and had no room to guard Daenerys.
One mercenary slipped past Ser Jorah’s defense, leaping toward Daenerys like a hunting leopard!
Daenerys let out a frightened gasp, instinctively hugging the dragon eggs tighter.
Just as the mercenary’s dagger was about to strike her—*Comet, Spear-Wing Thrust.* A red afterimage crossed between them at a speed exceeding human sight!
It was Comet!
Without even drawing on Dragon Element energy, it simply tucked its wings and lunged like a heavy spear.
Its silver-armored head, shaped like a battering ram, was guarded by its wings, and the sharp wing-tips slammed squarely into the mercenary’s chest.
*Crack!* A sickening crunch of shattering bone echoed.
Without even time to scream, the mercenary flew backward like a ragged sack, his chest caving inward at a horrific angle, dying on the spot.
This bloody, hyper-efficient kill made every remaining mercenary freeze in their tracks.
Ying Mo’s voice sounded like a chilling wind from the depths of the underworld in the quiet night.
“Illyrio’s appetite is even bigger than I imagined.” He slowly drew the cloth-wrapped longsword from his back—Truth.
The moment the blade was fully exposed to the firelight, an invisible sharp aura washed out, causing everyone present to feel a prickling sensation on their skin.
“Comet, leave one alive.” The cold order was given.
In the next second, a one-sided slaughter commenced.
Comet turned into a whirlwind of silver death.
Every pounce, every tail whip carried thunderous force.
Meanwhile, Ying Mo drifted like a phantom around the periphery of the battle.
His sword struck with deadly precision—whenever he swung, an enemy’s weapon shattered, and their life ended.
His blade was far too sharp, his strength far too great; no enemy weapon could block him.
In less than a minute, the battle was over.
Except for one prisoner pinned under Comet’s claw, weeping and wetting himself in terror, the rest of the mercenaries had turned into cold corpses.
Under the harsh interrogation of Jorah the Andal, the captive quickly confessed everything.
They had indeed been sent by Magister Illyrio.
After witnessing Comet’s power, the fat merchant was overcome by greed.
He had pretended to aid them, but secretly sent mercenaries to follow and seize all the dragons.
Daenerys listened to all of this, her small face deathly pale, her body shaking slightly.
For the first time, she truly felt the viciousness of the world and the boundless greed in human hearts.
After daybreak, the atmosphere within the group became heavily suffocating.
Ser Jorah silently disposed of the bodies, a new trace of awe in his gaze whenever he looked at Ying Mo.
Ying Mo’s martial prowess completely shattered his impression of a mere scholar.
Ying Mo paid no mind to any of this.
Once again, he demonstrated his formidable survival skills.
By analyzing geological formations and the moisture content of the sand, he led Ser Jorah to dig a life-saving freshwater well beneath a dried riverbed.
Furthermore, by observing the distribution of the wasteland’s scarce flora and the remains of dead animals, he successfully steered them around a region laced with highly toxic minerals.
Every decision he made was unerringly precise.
This stood in stark contrast to Ser Jorah’s situation—a man possessing martial might but utterly helpless against the environment.
Watching all this unfold, Daenerys felt reliance and trust growing deeper in her violet eyes.
However, as time went on, the growing scarcity of food brought Ser Jorah’s anxiety to a boiling point.
He approached Ying Mo once again.
“My Lord, we cannot wait any longer!
Even the freshwater won’t last much longer.
We must leave!” This time, Ying Mo did not remain silent.
He brought Daenerys to a piece of high ground beside the camp.
“Hold these,” he said, handing the three petrified dragon eggs to Daenerys.
“Feel them.” Daenerys obediently cradled the dragon eggs in her arms.
In the blistering heat of the Red Waste, subtle, heartbeat-like warmth actually emanated from deep within the shells.
“Life is born from a land of death.
Just as light is born from darkness.” Ying Mo’s voice carried a prophetic magic.
“This waste abandoned by the world, where no living creature dares to step, is precisely the most perfect cradle—one untouched by the rules of the old world.” He pointed up at the starry night sky and spoke his long-prepared prophecy in an unquestionable tone.
“Tonight, at the darkest hour of the night, a red star shall streak across the heavens.
That will be the omen to awaken the dragons.” Daenerys was deeply captivated by his words, her eyes turning resolute.
When Ser Jorah attempted once more to persuade her to leave, she refused him clearly for the first time in a truly queenly voice.
“Ser, you teach me how to survive.
But Ying Mo is teaching me how to be a queen.
I trust him.” Late that night, while everyone else was asleep, an eerie red comet trailing a long tail streaked across the dark sky right on time, looking like a bloody tear.
Ser Jorah Mormont awoke with a start.
Gazing at the red trail, he stood dumbfounded, all his doubts utterly shattered by the miraculous sight before him.
Standing on the high ground, Ying Mo gazed at the comet on the horizon, his expression unusually solemn.
He turned around and said to Daenerys, who had also been awakened, “The omen has arrived.
But the trial of fire remains the final test.” “Tomorrow night, we shall hold a true coronation for you right here—to welcome the birth of new life.”