Inside the Sealord's Palace, Freygo was listening to reports from his subordinates.
"Our shipyards have had many orders canceled recently. This year's tax revenue may decline."
"Understood. What about the printing press? How far has development progressed?"
With its advanced banking and commercial trade systems, Braavos had long mastered concepts like "market confidence" and "market expectations."
Once the allied forces broke through the Mother of Mountains and eliminated the last remnants of the horselords, the trade routes across the Dothraki Sea would become completely open.
Compared to maritime trade, land trade was undoubtedly safer. And wealthy people always preferred placing their money somewhere stable.
That was the direct reason shipyard orders had sharply declined.
But what Freygo cared about more now was the development of the printing press.
He could not understand it.
Viserys had created the printing press in at most two or three years.
The cost probably had not even exceeded twenty thousand gold dragons.
Yet Braavos had already spent over six years trying to replicate it, and they still had many technical difficulties they could not solve.
As for the money spent, it had long exceeded one hundred thousand gold dragons.
The manpower and resources consumed were even greater.
"Your Majesty, the printed text is now sufficiently clear. The only remaining issue is the ink."
The subordinate presented a sample.
There were many blurred stains across the page that severely affected readability.
Freygo irritably flung the prototype aside.
He knew that anything presented before him was already considered a "successful product."
"A bunch of useless fools! If you still can't figure it out, then all of you can go plant trees instead!"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
At that moment, an attendant approached Freygo and informed him that Tormo had sent a battle report from the front lines.
For Braavos, the possibility of suffering a horselord invasion was basically nonexistent.
As a result, they had little enthusiasm for the expedition.
Before the campaign began, Freygo had specifically instructed Torlmo that battle achievements were optional, but losses absolutely had to remain low.
Freygo opened the report and began reading.
The further he read, the wider his eyes became.
The Targaryen army's overnight withdrawal had greatly puzzled Tormo and the others.
But very quickly, it also strengthened their speculation that "Viserys and Drogo had perished together."
Both sides accelerated their information networks to deliver the news back home.
"Viserys and Drogo died together? Could something this wonderful actually happen in the world?"
Freygo suddenly slammed the letter onto the table.
Then he read it again.
After confirming his eyes were not deceiving him, his entire body suddenly felt light.
"If Viserys truly died in battle, then Gohor must receive the news before we do.
Immediately notify our agents in Gohor and have them verify it for me! One week! I want confirmation within one week at most! Go!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
After receiving this news, Freygo paced excitedly around the room.
His thoughts drifted back several years.
At first, the wandering Targaryens had looked like nothing more than stray dogs to him.
He had only intended to use them later as bargaining chips against Robert... But afterward, events developed completely beyond his control.
Thinking about it now was somewhat embarrassing.
Back then, he had even lectured Quairo confidently about strategy. And yet he had completely overturned his own expectations.
He had watched helplessly as Viserys built a powerful city-state from the ruins.
One capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with Braavos and Volantis as a first-rate Free Cities power.
"As expected, the gods will never allow overly intelligent people to live too long."
Freygo looked toward the distant windbreak forest and thought of those words.
How old was Viserys this year?
Sixteen? Seventeen?
If he had not insisted on personally leading the campaign to wipe out the remaining horselords, then after gaining control over the Golden Fields, the Little Rhoyne, and the Upper Rhoyne territories, House Targaryen's strength would have exploded again over the next twenty or thirty years.
By then, how powerful would Viserys have become? Even Freygo did not dare imagine it.
But now things were different.
If Viserys had truly died alongside Drogo, and he himself had no children, with only a nephew to inherit the throne—
Would Viserys's fierce veteran commanders, who had all risen through military merit, really obey little Aegon?
At the very least, there would be no need to worry about further Targaryen expansion for the next ten years.
They might even consider allying with forces in Westeros to attack Gohor.
Freygo planned that once Viserys's death was confirmed, he would also send the news to King's Landing so the Baratheons could enjoy the celebration as well.
A black steel tide marched across the great grass sea toward the Rhoyne River.
One large carriage radiated cold air.
The surrounding soldiers stayed close beside it. No one disliked this moving source cooling.
For the first time ever, Arthur did not ride horseback during the journey.
Instead, he sat inside Viserys's carriage.
Every so often, he would lift the lid of the box holding Viserys's body to ensure the corpse had not decayed.
Thankfully, Lothan's magic truly worked.
A layer of frost covered Viserys's face inside the box, and his appearance remained exactly as it had been in life.
But compared to him, Arthur had changed drastically.
In barely more than ten days, the famously handsome Kingsguard knight had become gaunt and haggard, with an unkempt beard.
He blamed himself deeply.
He believed that if he had arrived at Viserys's side just a little earlier, he might have saved his king.
Arthur still could not understand it.
At the time, he had only needed to follow the mountain road to find Viserys.
So why had he never managed to reach him?
It was as though some strange force had deliberately guided him in the wrong direction.
Now both brothers, Rhaegar and Viserys, had died because he was absent.
For the first time, Arthur felt that the talent granted to him by heaven was not a blessing, but a punishment and mockery.
If he had merely been mediocre, perhaps he would never have suffered such things.
"Ser Arthur, you haven't eaten in several days. Please have something."
Mathos's voice came from outside the carriage.
After traveling this far, he too had already learned of Viserys's death.
"I... cough... I'm not hungry."
Because he had not spoken for so long, Arthur's throat had become hoarse.
"Ser Arthur, I heard from the Kingsguard soldiers that you were the last person His Majesty saw.
You were also the last person he spoke with. His Majesty must have entrusted something important to you.
If you refuse to eat, how will you have the strength to fulfill His Majesty's final wishes?"
Outside the carriage, Mathos patiently tried to persuade him. Inside, Arthur was already crying silently.
Even at the end of his life, Viserys had still been forgiving people.
Arthur understood that Viserys's final order had not only been asking him to spare the Kingsguard soldiers who failed to protect him.
He had also wanted Arthur to forgive himself.
Hearing Mathos's words, Arthur finally seemed to regain some spirit. He absolutely had to fulfill Viserys's final wishes.
And most importantly, he had to discover exactly what had harmed his king.
"I understand. Bring me an entire roasted horse leg!"
Hearing Arthur finally agree to eat, Mathos let out a sigh of relief.
Looking toward the distant Rhoyne River, he felt as though the rushing waters themselves were calling Viserys's name.
Coincidentally, because it was already growing late, Connington ordered the army to camp on the eastern bank of the Rhoyne and cross the river the following day.
Soon afterward, the perfectly roasted horse leg was delivered into Viserys's carriage.
Arthur took another look at Viserys before closing the lid again and biting fiercely into the meat.
"Viserys... Viserys, you're still alive, aren't you?"
Inside the box, Viserys suddenly felt someone calling his name.
The voice belonged to the Old Man of the River.
"I... why can't I move?"
At that moment, Viserys realized he had no control over his body at all. Or rather, he could not even feel his body anymore.
It was as though he floated within a void.
He could not distinguish up from down, north from south. He felt weightless and directionless, like a drifting cloud of air.
"Excellent. I knew you weren't dead."
The Old Man of the River's voice sounded again beside him, clearly filled with delight.
"What happened to me?" Viserys asked.
"Don't be afraid. You just obtained a godhead. This is normal. Your subjects merely think you are dead," the Old Man comforted him.
"Then I need to wake up quickly! Targaryens practice cremation. What if they burn me?"
"You don't need to worry about that. The godhead will reconstruct your body. You Valyrians underwent deep magical modification. Fire might actually help you obtain a new body more efficiently."
Sensing that Viserys had obtained a godhead, the Old Man seemed even more excited.
Perhaps he believed this was all part of Viserys's "reincarnation plan."
And he likely believed Viserys's promise to help him become a true god was finally close to fulfillment.
"I truly didn't expect your enemy to be R'hllor. You'll need to be very careful from now on."
"Neither did I."
Thinking back to the so-called "Three Losses" that R'hllor described for the savior, Viserys still felt shaken.
"Wait!" Viserys suddenly noticed something strange. "How come you suddenly dare to say his name directly now?"
"R'hllor is worshipped by his followers as the Lord of Light. They believe he represents life and flame.
But in truth, those are authorities he stole from other gods. His true identity is the God of Fate.
He forcibly altered your destiny and suffered significant losses to his divine power as a result.
He will probably need to rest for a while. That also reduces some of the restrictions placed upon me."
"So that's how it is."
Viserys thought to himself.
Living long really was useful.
Someone like the old turtle had truly seen everything.
"How long exactly?"
"I'm not sure. But right now, you don't need to worry about yourself.
When your body is cremated, the godhead will reconstruct it completely. That will represent your full absorption of the godhead.
And I suspect there may even be a large amount of leftover divine power."
[Residual divine power... cremation... reconstructing the body...]
A chain of thoughts suddenly formed in Viserys's mind.
Wasn't this exactly what happened when Daenerys hatched the dragons? At that time, Daenerys had already experienced the "Three Losses."
She should already have carried R'hllor's divine power within her. That was why she managed to hatch three dragons.
If she could do it, then there was no reason he couldn't.
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