NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 168: Make Tyrosh Great Again
Kambron had chosen the perfect day. Under a clear blue sky, white seagulls occasionally soared overhead as Tyrosh’s warships, fully loaded and ready, prepared to set sail for Lys. Nearly all the nobles were in attendance, confident in the belief that this campaign would be a decisive victory.
For them, defeating Lys meant monopolizing the Stepstones, allowing them to charge whatever tolls they desired and seize any appealing targets as slaves. Some nobles even fantasized about capturing a member of the royal family, much like House Rogare of Lys had done when they captured Viserys II and married one of their daughters to him, elevating their house’s status dramatically.
Ordinary merchants and commoners didn’t harbor such grand ambitions, but they looked forward to a more comfortable life in the wake of the war. The only ones indifferent to all this were the slaves. Despite being the most numerous, they were also the most overlooked and replaceable, enduring harsher treatment from their masters who would strike, scold, or injure them with impunity. Unlike the enthusiastic nobles and free people, the slaves wore expressions of numb resignation.
Soon, Archon Kambron appeared, flanked by a group of Unsullied and attendants, causing a stir among the crowd. He arrived in a procession of immaculately dressed men and women, accompanied by servants, and made his way to a wooden platform draped in a red carpet, prepared for the occasion.
On the platform stood a golden bronze statue of the Three-Headed God—though it was, of course, a replica. Kambron was about to deliver his "marching speech" before the statue. Behind him stood the captains and officers, with General Toland closest to his side.
“People of Tyrosh, in the presence of the Three, allow me to say with pride: We are going to do it! The war between Tyrosh and Lys has lasted for a hundred years, but today, at this very moment, this unhappy relationship is coming to an end...”
Viserys, watching from a distance, scoffed. “Yes, just like that,” he muttered, recalling how, in his previous life as a sellsword, the warlords of third-rate countries would deliver similarly grandiose speeches before starting a war—except Kambron was far more dramatic.
“The history of Lys will end at this moment! Let Tyrosh be great again!”
'Gods, that stinks even worse,' Viserys thought, but the people of Tyrosh seemed to love it. The crowd erupted in cheers.
“Let Tyrosh be great again!”
“Let Tyrosh be great again!”
“Let Tyrosh be great again!”
As the fervor reached its peak and Kambron was about to give the order to set sail, a black-haired messenger approached him from behind the stage. With just a single sentence, Kambron’s expression shifted. Then a second messenger arrived, followed by a third...
“What’s going on? Why hasn’t the order to set sail been given?”
“What’s happening on stage? I see two or three messengers arriving at once.”
“Is something wrong?”
The crowd buzzed with speculation as Kambron and his entourage abruptly left the platform. Confusion spread, not only among the civilians standing in the distance but also among the officers and captains stationed nearby, who exchanged uncertain glances.
“Everyone, I speak to you with anger—Tyrosh has suffered a shameful betrayal!”
“What—?”
“What’s going on?”
“What does this mean?”
The mood of triumph and anticipation quickly turned to confusion and alarm as Kambron’s declaration reverberated through the crowd. What was intended to be a rallying call for invasion had now transformed into a desperate call for city defense. Kambron demanded that every citizen take up arms to defend their homes.
A campaign of conquest had suddenly become a battle for survival.
As the instigator of all this, Viserys knew exactly why. The alliance had struck—right on schedule. The Myr-Pentos fleet had blockaded the northern seas of Tyrosh, while the Sunspear fleet had sealed off the western waters. To the south, Lys faced Tyrosh head-on.
From the vantage point of the Golden Eagle, Viserys had seen it all unfold. He knew the time was ripe for a slave uprising.
At this very moment, the slaves were laboring in the mines, working harder than ever. Word had spread that their master would reward them today with a rare treat: a generous portion of meat—half a catty for each slave. Although they hadn’t yet seen the meat, they could already catch its tantalizing aroma.
“Can you smell it, boy? Our master keeps his word!” one of the older slaves remarked.
Gulping down his excitement, Milen nodded vigorously. “Yes, I can smell it. I’ve only ever eaten scraps thrown to me by my master. I’ve never had real meat.”
The human instinct to crave protein was undeniable. The rich, mouthwatering scent of meat had the slaves nearly fainting with anticipation. News of the reward had spread beyond the mine, drawing in slaves from neighboring pits. The crowd had swelled by more than 30%, with eager newcomers pushing in to claim their share.
They worked with renewed vigor—not just out of guilt for eating Viserys’s meat for free, but also because the original slaves from the mine were closely watching them. Some had considered reporting the influx to the Unsullied overseers, worried that there wouldn’t be enough meat to go around. But the Unsullied seemed unconcerned, simply telling everyone to work hard.
“It’s time to eat!”
At the sound of the familiar drumbeat, the slave miners rushed out of the tunnels, their copper-streaked faces shining with sweat.
“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?”
“Step back!”
“Don’t push me!”
The line was especially crowded today, with everyone unconsciously pressing forward, necks craning like bean sprouts to catch a glimpse of the food. When they finally saw the fist-sized, oily chunks of meat before them, their mouths watered uncontrollably.
They bit into the meat, savoring the texture as it melted between their lips and teeth, thinking this must be what heaven was like.
Some of the younger slaves devoured their portions immediately, while older ones clung to their pieces, savoring them slowly. They didn’t chew or swallow right away but instead sucked the meat and its juices until it became dry and shriveled. Just as they were about to hide their leftovers for later, the voice of the Unsullied rang out.
“Eat it! Don’t hide it!”
Though they didn’t understand why, the slaves who had planned to save the meat for later were forced to comply, hastily finishing their portions under the watchful eyes of the Unsullied overseers.
