CHAPTER 174: THE UNSULLIED SCEPTER

The uprising miners had split into two groups: one surrounded by several hundred Unsullied, while the other was scattered throughout the palace. History has shown time and again how a few hundred well-armed regular troops could easily crush tens of thousands of poorly organized peasant soldiers at the start of an uprising. This was no different.

Jorah, leading fewer than two thousand miners, found himself locked in a brutal struggle against the Unsullied. When he spotted reinforcements from Tyrosh arriving in the distance, a cold dread settled in his heart. This meant that Viserys was in grave danger.

There was no escape—he didn’t even need to look back to know that.

“Hold on!” Jorah shouted, his eyes bloodshot and wild with desperation. He fought like a man possessed, slipping and falling on the blood-soaked stone floor. The palace’s hard surface couldn’t absorb the blood, which pooled and mingled with the severed limbs, making it nearly impossible for anyone to keep their footing.

Gasping for breath, Jorah felt the thick stench of blood filling his lungs. He had never been in such a ferocious battle in his life. The Unsullied advanced steadily, their spears dripping with dark red blood, like the claws of demons. Jorah had never faced an enemy like this before; most mercenary groups avoided direct confrontation with the Unsullied for good reason.

As he contemplated retreat, he realized with a sinking heart that his path was blocked. Behind him lay the bodies of fallen miners, and beyond them, the impenetrable palace walls. Despair began to creep in.

Suddenly, a golden rod-like object fell from the sky, narrowly missing him. Instinctively, Jorah dodged, and the object hit the ground with a dull thud, splattered with blood. He looked up and saw Viserys’s golden eagle circling above. Realizing what had fallen, Jorah snatched up the object—it was the Unsullied’s scepter.

"Charge! Kill them! Kill them all!" the commander of the Tyrosh reinforcements bellowed, his eyes wild with bloodlust, the overpowering scent of blood driving him to the brink of madness.

But in the next moment, Jorah raised the scepter high, shouting, “Dovaogēdyr!”—the command for the Unsullied. The soldiers halted, their attention drawn to the scepter in his hand.

“In the name of the scepter, attack!” Jorah commanded, his voice hoarse, as he pointed the scepter toward the reinforcements.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. The Unsullied, who had been fiercely fighting the rebel miners just moments before, suddenly turned their spears and charged the Tyrosh reinforcements. The commander of the reinforcements stared in disbelief, knowing all too well the deadly efficiency of the Unsullied. The sight of their spears now turned against him sent a shiver down his spine.

With the Unsullied leading the way, the miners rallied and charged at the reinforcements. The tide of battle was shifting rapidly. Rovi's son, who led the reinforcements, thought frantically, 'If Kambron is safe, we can still salvage this.' Losing the palace seemed an acceptable risk if it meant regrouping for another fight.