41: Chapter 41 Missandei's Notes

Missandei had been following behind Grey Worm ever since the battle began, responsible for translating battlefield commands.

But her true task—the one she had set for herself—was observation.

She witnessed the entire process. From Drogon being ambushed, to Daenerys throwing herself toward the dragon's head, to the explosion of golden light, to Drogon crushing the demon general, to the blood bond ceremony on the city wall, to the marks appearing on both of their chests. She recorded it all in her mind.

Every frame of the scene. Every single detail. She sat hunched in a corner, clutching her notebook. Her large, amber eyes shimmered with academic fervor. She muttered to herself, speaking at a rapid pace, while her hand scribbled furiously on the paper. The handwriting was so messy that only she could decipher it.

"So, the Dragon race's spouse contract requires the blood of the reverse scale as a catalyst—the reverse scale is the most fragile yet most precious scale on a dragon—after dragon blood and human blood merge, it will leave corresponding marks on both of their chests."

"The one marked is the subordinate party. But the shape on Khaleesi's chest is also a dragon claw, which suggests this is a bidirectional, equal covenant."

"No, that's not right. The dragon said there is a lethal damage transfer—this is a skewed protection covenant. The direction of the skew is the dragon protecting Khaleesi. That makes sense. But the problem is—"

She turned the page, her finger tapping rhythmically on the paper.

"In Yunkai, when Lord Drogon bit White Mane's nape, a mark also appeared. But just now, when he bit Khaleesi's wrist, the mark formed on her chest. The two locations are different. This indicates the nature of the contracts is different."

"White Mane's is a subordinate contract—the nape. Khaleesi's is a spouse contract—the chest."

"Then, does Lord Drogon's mark also produce different feedback depending on the subject? A silver mark appeared on his chest, corresponding to the shape of Khaleesi's wound."

"And White Mane's nape bears a dark golden dragon claw print, corresponding to Drogon's bite mark. The silver wound shape—represents that he has assumed the responsibility of damage transfer. The golden bite mark—represents that he has imposed a mark of conquest. The contract directions are different. The causal chains are opposite. This subject is worthy of in-depth research—"

The tip of a tail reached out from behind her and tapped on her notebook. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Missandei froze.

"Missandei. If you write those analyses in your head onto paper, I will burn it."

Drogon, in human form, had recovered at some unknown moment and was standing behind her. He had donned a black trench coat at some point.

His hair was still wet—it had been covered in frost during his breakthrough earlier, and now that it had melted, it was dripping water. Droplets fell from the tips of his hair onto the notebook, blurring a small patch of ink. His tail swayed leisurely behind him.

Missandei almost threw the notebook away. Her face flushed red. She stepped back three paces, her spine hitting the battlement. She clutched the notebook to her chest like a shield.

"I, I am tallying the battle damage report!"

A corner of Drogon's mouth curled up, meaningful.

"Is that so? Then was that bit about 'the difference between a subordinate contract and a spouse contract'—also part of the battle damage report?"

Missandei: "..."

"Forget it. Keep writing. Later, give me a complete compilation of known information regarding the Abyss Demon Realm. In exchange—the details of my blood bond ceremony, and I won't burn your notebook."

Her eyes lit up instantly. She nodded like a pecking chick and scurried away, clutching her notebook.

After running a dozen steps, she looked back at the silver mark on his chest. Her eyes shimmered with the glow of "this sample data is too precious." Then she continued running. The sound of her footsteps clattered all the way down the stone stairs.

Noon. The Great Pyramid of Meereen.

The tallest building in Slavers Bay. From the top of the tower, one could overlook the entire city and the distant sea.

The tower was in the style of the Ghiscari Empire—inlaid with obsidian and gold. Cold. Majestic.

The Targaryen three-headed dragon banner was planted on the spire. The flag snapped loudly in the sea breeze. The fabric was pulled taut by the wind, and the three-headed dragon bared its fangs and brandished its claws under the noon sun.

In the throne room, Daenerys sat on the throne. Obsidian base. Golden armrests. The cushion was deep red silk.

She held the Unsullied's golden whip in her hand. A black silk scarf was wrapped around her wrist—it was something Drogon had torn from his trench coat. It covered the wound from the blood bond.

The edges of the silk scarf were a bit frayed, as he had torn it directly with his claws. The golden dragon claw print on her chest peeked out from beneath the collar of her military attire. It was mostly covered by the scarf, but a small sliver of dark golden pattern was still visible at the edge. The pattern glowed faintly whenever she breathed.

She looked very exhausted. Her eyes were slightly shadowed. Her hair was a bit disheveled—the high ponytail had loosened, and a few stray strands hung beside her ears. But her gaze was sharper than ever. Her violet eyes swept over the remaining Meereenese nobles and representatives of the Great Masters kneeling in the hall. No one dared to look up.

Her voice was cold and hard.

"From this moment on, Meereen is no longer a slave city-state. All slaves are to be released immediately. All Great Masters must hand over their property inventories and slave registries. If even one person is left out—"

She paused for a moment.

A slight warmth came from her chest. It wasn't a heartbeat. It was the resonance of the blood bond. Drogon was gently touching her with the power of the contract.

The meaning was simple—I am right here. She could feel that he was on top of the tower. Standing at the highest point, overlooking the entire city. Very safe. Very satisfied. He had just been stuffing a gemstone into his mouth a moment ago.

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. The movement was very small. The people kneeling could not see it.

"—my dragon will come to speak with you personally."

The nobles prostrated themselves in unison. Their foreheads pressed against the cold floor. One noble's wig fell off, but he dared not pick it up. Their voices trembled like leaves in the autumn wind.

"As you command! Mother of Dragons!"