Chapter 119: Leave None Alive
Grey Worm's sudden change in demeanor immediately caught Jorah and the others' attention. Without hesitation, they drew their weapons and looked around warily.
Just as Grey Worm finished gathering the Unsullied around Daenerys to form a defensive ring, he suddenly turned and discovered that several Sons of the Harpy, wearing their distinctive golden harpy masks, had somehow appeared in the stands behind them.
The masked men leapt to their feet and began slashing at the arena guards with daggers. After killing the nearby guards and finding no immediate target, they turned their blades on the innocent spectators seated beside them.
All around the circular stands, golden masks began appearing everywhere as panic erupted among the crowd.
Daenerys felt a chill of terror. She had never expected that even after the brutal purge following the last uprising, so many Sons of the Harpy still remained in Meereen—enough to launch another attack on this scale.
As the masked assassins cut down those nearby and began advancing toward her platform, Daenerys could only feel thankful that the Unsullied had received warning several minutes earlier.
Grey Worm had already gathered a large force of Unsullied around her, forming a protective wall. Otherwise, the Sons of the Harpy might already have reached them.
"Follow me!"
At the moment when no one knew where to flee, Daario shouted loudly.
He jumped down from the tall viewing platform first and reached up to catch Daenerys and the others as Jorah helped them climb down.
Together they ran toward the tunnel used by the fighters to enter and leave the arena.
But just as they reached the entrance, a group of Sons of the Harpy burst out from the passage, blocking their way.
They had no choice but to retreat back onto the arena floor.
Watching more and more masked attackers pour down from the stands into the arena, a sense of despair crept into everyone's hearts.
For this event, Grey Worm and Jorah had stationed a thousand Unsullied guards and another thousand newly trained soldiers to protect Daenerys.
But the number of Sons of the Harpy was even greater.
After slaughtering the guards around them, they began converging toward the center of the arena.
Some even managed to break through the defensive ring formed by the Unsullied and new recruits, rushing toward Daenerys.
Fortunately, those who broke through were quickly cut down by Jorah and the others.
Even Yara Greyjoy managed to kill two attackers herself.
While protecting Daenerys, Jorah and the others also moved along the defensive line, striking down enemies wherever the line faltered.
Yet no matter how many they killed, more masked men kept appearing.
There were simply too many.
And the fighting was beginning to take its toll—several of Jorah's men had already suffered injuries.
Seeing the Sons of the Harpy gathering in ever greater numbers, Daenerys and Tyrion both found themselves remembering the last uprising—when Drogon had suddenly descended and slaughtered hundreds of Harpy assassins in an instant.
But Drogon was still recovering from his injuries.
And the other two dragons were guarding him.
Otherwise, how could the Sons of the Harpy dare act so brazenly?
The thought of Drogon led them to the same realization.
The reason the Sons of the Harpy had dared launch this attack was precisely because all three dragons were absent from Meereen.
Only then had they seized this opportunity.
Several suspicious glances slowly turned toward Hizdahr zo Loraq, the man who had issued the invitation to the games.
People began subtly shifting away from him, placing distance between him and the queen.
Hizdahr quickly noticed the strange looks directed at him.
His face paled as he hurriedly defended himself.
"Your Grace, I swear—I knew nothing about this! Please, you must believe me!"
Daenerys did not answer.
She didn't know what to say.
And at this moment, survival mattered far more than arguments.
The defensive ring was gradually being pushed inward. Jorah, Barristan, and the others capable of fighting had already formed a tight circle, standing back to back while protecting Daenerys, Tyrion, and the rest in the center. They fought desperately, cutting down any Sons of the Harpy who managed to break through the defense.
Just as despair began creeping into everyone's hearts—
ROAR!
A deafening dragon cry suddenly echoed across the skies of Meereen from the east.
A massive shadow with a wingspan of more than sixty meters swept across the arena, blocking out nearly half the sunlight as it descended toward the center.
The one who had arrived was the black dragon Drogon.
Originally, he had intended to come earlier as a precaution. But when he woke that morning and realized his injuries were almost fully healed, he lingered a little longer.
He hadn't expected a sudden sense of danger to strike him while flying toward the city. Immediately abandoning Rhaegal and Viserion behind him, he rushed ahead alone.
Even he hadn't expected the Sons of the Harpy to rise again so quickly—or to launch an attack on such a scale.
The moment Drogon landed, he unleashed a stream of black-red dragonfire toward the Harpies outside the defensive ring.
Those struck by the flames barely had time to scream before being reduced to ashes.
After his recent transformation, Drogon's fire had undergone a qualitative change. It had once burned in black and yellow tones, but now it had become black mixed with crimson, its temperature several times hotter than before.
Human bodies lasted only seconds before turning into piles of fine black ash, rather than the charred corpses his fire once produced.
Drogon's sudden arrival shocked not only the Sons of the Harpy—but also Daenerys's own followers.
His transformation was too drastic.
At first glance, none of them recognized him. They thought some unknown four-legged black dragon had suddenly appeared.
They had never heard of dragons with four legs, nor could they have imagined Drogon's current form.
He now possessed two additional limbs, and his entire body had changed. His scales and skin had taken on a deep crimson hue, with a metallic sheen glimmering between the scales, as though red light might burst from his body at any moment.
His enormous dragon head, crowned with curved horns and framed by a broad neck frill, radiated majesty. Muscles bulged at the base of his wings, giving him a perfectly streamlined form.
The entire dragon seemed to embody overwhelming strength, regal authority—and a strange metallic beauty.
After Drogon landed, the Sons of the Harpy froze in shock for a moment before recovering.
Those not already reduced to ash dared not approach him. Instead, they grabbed spears scattered on the ground and hurled them toward the dragon.
The spears struck Drogon's body with a series of metallic clang sounds before falling harmlessly to the ground.
Seeing that their strongest throws could not harm him at all, the attackers lost their nerve. Dropping their weapons, they turned and fled, terrified of being consumed by dragonfire.
After burning away the Harpies surrounding the defensive ring, Drogon heard answering dragon cries from the sky—Rhaegal and Viserion had arrived.
When the two dragons landed, Drogon signaled for them to guard Daenerys.
Then, with a soft whoosh, he shrank into his juvenile form.
In an instant, he shot toward a Harpy wearing a golden mask.
He pierced straight through the man's chest, leaving a hole the size of a fist.
Before the corpse even collapsed, Drogon had already darted toward the next target—again flying straight through his body.
This time, Drogon showed no mercy.
Unlike before, when he had merely severed tendons and crippled the Harpies to leave them alive for interrogation, he now killed without hesitation.
After the previous purge, he had never imagined the Sons of the Harpy would dare launch another attack.
And on an even larger scale than before.
Since they feared nothing, he would grant them exactly what they sought.
No one would be left alive.
If this arena tournament had been held just two days earlier—or if he hadn't known that his dragon-mother would attend—he could scarcely imagine the consequences.
The Harpies closest to Drogon had already lost all will to fight.
Facing a creature immune to weapons and capable of slaughtering them in an instant, they only wanted to escape.
But those farther away, who had not yet witnessed his power, continued chasing down fleeing spectators.
Drogon targeted those men first.
Wherever he flew, Harpies died—some with their chests pierced through, others with their heads shattered, still others with vital organs torn apart.
Not a single one survived in his path.