Chapter 94

The Picnic Band operates under a triumvirate system, consisting of the leader, the chief financial officer, and the chief military officer.

Translation: "The Picnic Corps operates under a triple-head system, namely the Corps Leader, the Chief Financial Officer, and the Chief Military Officer."

Check: we need to keep numbers etc. No numbers.

We must not add extra words. The translation above seems fine.

The guy that Tyrion called ugly is the mercenary band's chief financial officer; in fact, he is the most handsome of the triumvirate, with brown hair and a beard, neatly groomed, and beneath his plain robe he wears polished grey steel armor. His name is Tuo le mi, and the mercenaries like to call him "Handsome Tuo le mi". He is said to come from a banker's family in Myr, exiled over a "small mistake", and eventually joined the Picnic Band.

Let's break: "That guy whom Tyrion called ugly is the mercenary corps' Chief Financial Officer; actually he is the best-looking among the three heads, with brown hair and a beard, neatly groomed, hiding steel-gray heavy armor under his plain robe. His name is Ptolemy; mercenaries like to call him 'Handsome Ptolemy'. It is said he comes from a banker family in Myr, exiled for a small 'mistake', and eventually joined the Picnic Corps."

We need to keep quotation marks around the nickname; the Chinese nickname is 'Yingjun Tuolemi', so we will keep English quotation marks: "Handsome Tuo le mi", using pinyin for the name.

We need to keep quotation marks around the term "small mistake"; the Chinese term is 'xiao cuo', so we will keep quotation marks: "small mistake".

Now produce single line.

Most of the time, he is courteous and kind, with eloquent speech; therefore, during the journey's ten-odd days, Tyrion stayed by his side, learning and understanding how a mercenary company operates. After these days, he became more proficient in Wa lei li ya yu profanity.

Translation: "Most of the time, he is courteous and kind, with elegant speech; therefore, over the past ten or so days, Tyrion has constantly stayed by his side, learning and understanding how a mercenary corps operates; after these days, he has become more proficient in Valyrian profanity."

We need to keep the term that means 'Valyrian profanity' in Chinese; we will translate it as "Valyrian profanity", but using pinyin for the language we will keep "Wa lei li ya yu profanity".

Thus line: "Most of the time, he is courteous and kind, with elegant speech; therefore, over the past ten or so days, Tyrion has constantly stayed by his side, learning and understanding how a mercenary corps operates; after these days, he has become more proficient in Wa lei li ya yu profanity."

Check we didn't add extra.

These Wa lei li ya yu phrases work better in a brothel; using them in the Dragon Queen's palace would be somewhat inappropriate—he originally studied them with the latter purpose in mind.

Translation: "These Valyrian phrases work better in brothels; using them in the Dragon Queen's palace would be somewhat inappropriate—he originally studied them for that latter purpose."

Thus: "Wa lei li ya yu phrases work better in brothels; using them in the Dragon Queen's palace would be somewhat inappropriate—he originally studied them for that latter purpose."

The leader's personal name is Taj; the mercenaries call him Leader Taj, and he is also a Mi er person. He is usually quiet and reserved, sharing the same demeanor as his troop.

Translation: "The Corps Leader's personal name is Ta ji; the mercenaries call him Ta ji Corps Leader; he is also a Myr person, and he is usually silent and reserved, matching the temperament of his corps."

Thus: "The Corps Leader's personal name is Ta ji; the mercenaries call him Ta ji Corps Leader; he is also a Mi er person, and he is usually silent and reserved, matching the temperament of his corps."

Compared to other mercenary companies, the Picnic Band is low-key everywhere except for its banner: the mercenaries walk the road or stay in camp without shouting loudly like the neighboring units, and no one flaunts their spoils by wearing them, making them look like a showy peacock.

Translation: "Compared to other mercenary corps, the Picnic Corps is low-key everywhere except for its banner: mercenaries walking on the road or staying at camp do not shout loudly like other corps, nor do anyone flaunt their spoils by wearing them, making them look like peacocks showing off their tails."

We need to retain the translation "banner" for the term meaning 'team flag'.

Tyrion feels that such a troop is perfect for someone like Qiao la Mo er meng.

Translation: "Tyrion felt that such a troop was perfectly suited for someone like Jorah Mormont."

We need to keep names as pinyin: "Qiao la" and "Mo er meng". So: "Tyrion felt that such a troop was perfectly suited for someone like Qiao la Mo er meng."

But the name consists of two parts; we should separate them with a space, so we will output "Qiao la Mo er meng".

"These people are all enemies of the Dragon Queen, huh," Tyrion said quietly while riding, leaning over to whisper to Ser Jorah, "Hehe, I think, Ser, instead of sending useless heads to the Dragon Queen, you'd better send her a regiment. You think the same, right? Perhaps when she sees you bringing troops to support her, she'll happily tear up, take your arm, and thank you! Then you'll be a hero in the Queen's eyes, and who knows, you might even get a kiss, my lord! After all, girls love heroes!" The bald-headed hero probably won't do.

"Watch your mouth!" Big Bear warned him.

After saying that, he spurred his horse and increased speed, shaking him off.

"You think it's impossible?" Tyrion spurred his horse to catch up, "Ser Jorah, if I help you achieve this, how will you thank me?"

That remark drew a sideways glance from him; Tyrion knew he could keep talking.

"How about it? I'm confident I can persuade the captain to defect mid-battle," Tyrion said with a smile, "It just depends on whether Ser Jorah you're interested or not!" After saying that, he spurred his horse, followed his lead, went ahead, and ignored him.

The Picnic Troop is a tiny mercenary company, only about 150 men, yet they have several hundred warhorses, making them a pure cavalry unit. After a few days, they had passed most of the Valyrian infantry and were marching at the very front of the whole column.

"Captain!" Tyrion laughed as he said to Tago, "I've heard that before the Ruins' Stop, this road has no bandits and no danger, but we've already passed the Ruins' Stop—shouldn't we send out scouts ahead of time?"

Hope it's not just him being paranoid.

"The Valyrian cavalry themselves are already scouting ahead; if there's any trouble, we'll get word!" He rode comfortably on his horse, gazing forward, relaxed and content, as if traveling this road were a pleasure. "What? Hugo, are you already interested in marching?"

"I'm interested in everything." He said with a smile, speaking clumsy Valyrian, "Especially girls' hearts." But I never understand.

"You can be interested in many things, but for this, let me tell you, it's completely unnecessary!" He smirked, "In fact, having a good sword beats everything." He looked at Tyrion, gave a mysterious smile, "I've seen all kinds of hearts—white, black, yellow, blue, red, every sort—and the more you're interested in them, the farther they get from you."

"Eh, that's fine, my sword is the sharpest thing about me!" He chuckled, but inside he was uneasy.

If the Demon Road were just smoothly traversed by them like this, what would make it deserve the name Demon Road?

This road really does look good—wide enough for three wagons to travel abreast, the surface hard and flat; there is no better walking condition in the world.

The Great Road runs straight, stretching for hundreds of li; it's said that in good weather, standing on the plain stretch you can see the road continue to the horizon, and some call that part the Heavenly Road, while the segment that enters the mountains is called the Demon Road. They are now on the Demon Road.

Tyrion had long examined the construction of the Great Road. He wasn't sure whether it was a magically forged road, but one thing is certain: with today's capabilities, it would be utterly impossible to lay, for it looks as if the stone were melted and then re‑formed on the ground. Even if it were real stone, after hundreds of years of use, wind, rain, scorching sun and freezing cold would damage it, yet it appears here miraculously intact, having endured a century.

Valyria is an eternal miracle of the world.

He returned to Ser Jorah's side, who seemed utterly uninterested in his earlier proposal. Tyrion thought anyone keeping company with such a person would feel bored.

No wonder your wife ran off with someone else.

"Well, Ser, how's your consideration going?" Tyrion had to speak, smiling, "If the terms are right, I'm not unable to help you, you know? You must understand that a head is useless to her, but these several hundred horsemen are different, and if you command this cavalry, your weight in the Dragon Queen's heart would be different too!"

Mormont glanced at him, having no intention to respond.

"Well, Ser, you really won't consider it at all?" Tyrion felt he had completely figured out his thoughts.

Tyrion was very anxious.

"If I were you, I'd consider wearing decent armor, even if it's old." He said in a low voice, as if announcing some danger, "This great road can be dangerous at any moment."

"People?" What danger could be more frightening than people?

Mormont seemed to have rediscovered something, and gave him a curious look.

"Of course it's people—what else could it be, a dragon?" He added in his distinctive tone, "But they're more terrifying than any dragon."

"You can't scare me," Tyrion said, quickly pulling the damaged armor issued to him from the horse's rear pouch. "I've been through Sorrow Hill, I've seen people whose bodies grew stone—damn, what in this world could be scarier than that?"

"Of course there is," Mormont said. "Here there are wild beasts, just as there are harsh conditions, but the most dangerous thing is still that bunch of people."

The broken armor was actually just a strange piece made of half mail and half plate, not only a size too large, the ragged edges not properly trimmed, several curved spikes jutting out from the rim, who knows how many times it's been repaired. But even poor protection is better than his flesh and blood. He endured the armor's rust stains and scars, carefully slipped his head through the mail's hole, hung the armor on his neck, and took care not to let the spikes pierce his nose.

"How strange—why would a Northman from Westeros know all this, while the old mercenaries beside him understand nothing? Don't they know their own lives matter most?" Tyrion sneered.

"Perhaps they think having a little demon monkey in the party keeps danger away?" Jorah still gazed ahead at the endless black hills, "But they don't know the little demon monkey is just a kinslayer, and you promised they could die only by being crushed by gold or..."

"Killed by a woman, I remember." Tyrion feigned mockery, "I knew that back in King's Landing—some people habitually exaggerate danger, damn it, just to squeeze out a bit more! Hey, if I had to say it, your father is exactly that sort." He felt he had to provoke the big bear's emotions.

"Watch your mouth!" He warned again.

Or else you'll hit me? Attacking a team member brings punishment, don't you remember?

"Lord Mormont goes on every day saying the Wall is dangerous, but damn it, the Wall's been standing there for thousands of years. Still I want to support him, and to do so I even sent him the master of coin from King's Landing, Janos Slynt—result: he wasn't satisfied, sent that disagreeable Ser Alliser Thorne, who brought me a melted hand, claiming it was a White Walker. Look at this weather, hot as an endless summer..."

He felt he couldn't go on, recalling how cold he got at night; and now the road's flanks are pitch black, the temperature noticeably dropped—he actually felt a bit uneasy.

"You should take it seriously." He said solemnly, "My father never lies."

"That's good, just like my father." He said, where can a whore go? He knew that was his common-law wife.

"And, I'm no longer the King's Hand; I hope your father can hold out, or when I return to King's Landing to resume the King's Hand I'll help him again, hoping by then he hasn't lost the Wall."

"You shouldn't joke about the Wall," Jorah said. "I don't know what's beyond the Wall, but since he sent you things and spoke, it must be true."

Tyrion wished he could trust his own father as much as he does.

"Perhaps, well, let's not talk about faraway things for now," Tyrion finally put on the battered armor. "Ser, you really won't consider my earlier proposal? My head's still good."

"What do you plan to do?" He withdrew his gaze from the dark, dark mountains, reluctant, as if the place held the cannibals he spoke of.

"I'll convince them." Tyrion smiled. "As long as I'm interested, that's fine—I'll just use this mouth of mine. But telling you exactly what words to say would be useless; they have to come out of my mouth to work."

"Stop messing with your mouth." He said disdainfully.

"Oh, my ancestor 'the Clever' Lannister didn't get Casterly Rock just by smooth talk? I'll follow his example—maybe I can rustle up a mercenary company for you." Tyrion thought the big bear before him was the most unreasonable person, just like that griffon lord.

Damn, two fellows who resent the world and are silent as the grave! Hey, the griffon at least saved his life once, but this guy has repeatedly come close to killing him.

Damn, if you don't want a mercenary company, then forget it!

When we get to Meereen, I'll properly tell your Dragon Queen how her loyal Hand of the Spider was murdered by her traitors! Damn, he even personally delivered the head to her face as a provocation!

He remained silent for a long time.

"What do you want?" He spoke.

Tyrion was pleased with his softening, but this question left him stumped.

What do I want?

"When you see your good queen, Sir, you should praise my brains," it would also be good to mention that he killed the queen's enemy Tywin for her, "I'm fit to be prime minister—even Varys says so."

Being the Queen's Hand isn't bad; with such a mind, it should be put to good use. Though if she wants my sword, I'll reluctantly part with it, but I'm willing to offer it.

As long as she doesn't take it off and hang it around her neck, that's fine.

"Prime Minister, just you?" he said contemptuously.

"I can't, could you?" Jorah fell silent again, and Tyrion suddenly realized, "You're not serious, are you? I don't think she'd let you join the Iron Guard and make you the Queen's Hand! Well, anyway, how to choose is the queen's business; as for me, just tell me the truth."

Mormont remained silent, and Tyrion took it as his agreement to the deal.

"My plan won't work with just my talk," he leaned close to Jorah, lowered his voice, "we also need your sword, Sir—damn it, we at least have to take out the Chief Military Officer first."