The buyers of the Unsullied typically merge them with their existing armies, incorporating them into their previously established military structures and regulations, assigning their own officers to oversee them. However, in most cases, the management systems of the buyers' armies are far inferior to that of the Unsullied.
Kohor was no exception. Had it not been for the several officers who came along with the Unsullied, the garrison would have struggled to maintain cohesion.
"Bug, bug, what color are you today?"
"After the Dothraki savages outside the city leave, I will buy all the virgins in the best brothel in Kohor for you, ha ha."
"The first night will be yours, Bug, the second night will be ours."
"Oh, Black Goat, the smell of Dothraki is so unbearable it makes it impossible to continue drinking. I feel like I'm going to vomit."
For nine days, the Dothraki had surrounded the city without making a move to assault it, causing the noble-born officers of Kohor to fall back into old habits.
Perhaps the psychological pressure of war had exacerbated their vices.
Whenever Garrison Commander Salo Cort attended meetings or banquets organized by the high nobility, he would indulge in an entire night of drinking and revelry. Drunk, they would mock one of the Unsullied officers, who wore a spiked helmet with three sharp points.
The Unsullied's attire was devoid of any ornamentation—only a waistcoat, a short sword, three long spears, a shield, and the spiked helmet. The more spikes on the helmet, the higher the rank of the wearer. Three spikes indicated a high-ranking officer.
Seeing that the Unsullied officer remained steadfast and unresponsive to their mockery, the noble officers of Kohor grew increasingly irritated.
Commander Salo Cort trusted the "bugs" deeply, and upon taking office, he immediately transferred the command of the garrison to the silent, stoic officer with the triple-spiked helmet.
A drunken noble officer staggered to his feet, his face contorted in fury, slurring as he shouted:
"Bug, Bug, do you know? It was my father who bought you. Answer my ancestor's question—what color are you today? Gray, yellow, or white?"
From the moment the Unsullied were purchased as slaves, they lost their names. Every day, they drew their name from a bucket—a random combination of a color and a bug.
The noble officer staggered forward, attempting to grab the "bug," but the alcohol had dulled his senses.
Perhaps it was the chilling aura emanating from the "bug" that struck fear into him, and he clumsily continued to mock:
"When they castrated you, was it done cleanly? Did you feel regret when they burned your manhood to ashes? I heard that when a boy is castrated, he is given a puppy to raise. At the end of his first year, he must strangle the puppy to death. If he can't do it, the boy is killed. Bug, you received the Unsullied's spiked helmet but didn't become dog food. How cruel you are."
The Unsullied officer ignored the incompetent ranting, and his comrades, realizing that the defense of the city still depended on the Unsullied, stepped forward to restrain the frantic noble officer.
But this was not enough to calm him. His father was one of the most powerful nobles in Kohor, and this lowly "bug" had stolen his position and robbed him of his achievements. He leaned closer to the Unsullied officer, his teeth clenched as he hissed:
"Tell me, what did it feel like when you came to the slave market, wearing a silver mask, bought a newborn, and killed him in front of his mother? It must have felt satisfying to compensate the slave owner, ha ha."
As the noble officer laughed manically, he found a moment of twisted amusement.
The Unsullied officer glanced out at the pitch-black city beyond the walls and, with perfect military posture, descended from the ramparts, still remaining silent.
Having been trained since the age of five, he had long since lost his emotions and sense of self.
However, if he were to use his military knowledge to advise, he would note the glaring inexperience in the defense of the city.
For instance, there should have been scheduled torch-throws to illuminate the area, preventing the enemy from attempting a night raid. But he was just a "white worm" with no personality or emotions, who would only obey the orders of the one who held the command.
Inside the courtyard of the highborn nobles.
The entire estate was guarded by the Unsullied, with a twelve-foot-high brick wall surrounding the compound.
The garden was filled with ivy and flowering trees, with a marble pool at the center, around which stood sculptures of handsome, graceful boys made from painted marble. Occasional dog barks revealed the presence of a kennel in the back.
The evening banquet hall.
Long white candles illuminated the hall, making it seem as bright as day. A magnificent tapestry depicting the bravery of Kohor's three thousand warriors hung on the wall, woven from wool, silk, and gold and silver threads, treasured as a family heirloom by the nobles.
Young girls and noblewomen, in silken skirts, laughed and chatted as the heavy scent of perfume filled the air.
"Let us raise our glasses to Commander Salo Cort! It is thanks to his wisdom and bravery that the Dothraki barbarians dare not approach the walls," said the owner of the courtyard. Short and stout, with a bald head and a heavy scent of perfume, he wore yellow silk with gold tassels and lifted his cup, boosting the atmosphere loudly.
Commander Salo Cort, however, was not pleased. The silence before the storm was the most terrifying thing—if the Dothraki were not attacking like mad bulls, something much worse was surely coming.
But he, too, was a highborn nobleman and could not refuse to participate in these charades. The defense of the city still relied on these parasites, as the Unsullied had been bought by the nobles.
"Let us raise our glasses again, in celebration that the Black Goat's followers have crushed the heretical schemes of the Lahrlo cultists," he continued, trying to raise the spirits of the gathering.
Salo Cort's face grew pale and weary. This was the reason he had willingly attended the banquet.
He wanted to warn the highborn that the followers of the Light King Lahrlo were still hiding within the city, silently gathering strength. The disturbances in the evening were likely a diversion, and they surely had ulterior motives.
"My noble lords, please lower your cups and let us pray to the Black Goat for the safe return of Kohor's fleet, for a successful landing, and for a crushing blow to the Dothraki. The Black Goat is still protecting our city," the host continued.
At that moment, Salo Cort wanted nothing more than to throw his cup at the bloated, foolish face of the bald man.
How dare he casually divulge military secrets about the fleet's landing at such a public gathering?
Moreover, the city had lost contact with the fleet three days ago.
Yet these parasites simply assumed that the fleet was struggling to push northward and had no time to spare.
After all, Kohor was besieged by the Dothraki, so it was only natural that news would not get through.
But the Dothraki had no capability to blockade the water gate near the Chinen River.
The highborn nobility, however, countered that the Dothraki had no fleet, thus presenting no real threat.
A sense of helplessness surged through Salo Cort's chest. He could not help but raise the jug and drink deeply, trying to drown his frustration.
Kohor, a city that had not seen war in four hundred years! What could save you now?