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The Moon Pool was no longer a place of quiet reflection; it was a cauldron of noise and heat. Hundreds of Braavosi—from the silk-clad elite to the soot-stained sailors—had gathered to witness a clash between the fading glory of a dragon and the brutal reality of the Titan's Bastard.
Steps were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, and the Sea Lord's guards struggled to maintain the open circle. In the front row, the power players of the city watched with bated breath. On one side stood the Black Pearl, Syrio, Ringo, and the Courtesans of the Moon Singer temple. On the other, Old Preston stood with the Insurance Association and the Mermaid Queen, his face a mask of anxious calculation.
"Who takes the day?" Sea Lord Ferrego asked.
"Both are killers," Quilo replied, his hand resting on his own hilt. "Preston has spent a fortune training Mero this week. But Viserys... I have never seen a boy master the Water Dance so quickly. He doesn't just learn the moves; he understands the water."
The crowd's roar reached a crescendo as the duelists stepped into the light. Viserys wore his half-black, half-red tunic, his silver hair shimmering like a blade. Mull's was unsheathed, its tip steady.
"The Titan's Bastard is going to butcher you, little king," Mero sneered. He held a heavy rapier, longer and thicker than the standard Braavosi blade—a weapon designed to break through finesse with raw power.
"I don't speak to dead men," Viserys replied.
The duel began not with a dance, but with an explosion. To the surprise of Quilo and the other masters, Viserys did not lure or wait. He launched a furious, offensive storm, his blade echoing with the speed of wind and thunder.
Mero was bewildered. He had expected a slippery mouse; he found a charging lion. The ring of steel on steel was incessant. Mero tried to use his larger build to overpower the boy, but every time their blades met, he felt a shocking, inhuman strength vibrating through Viserys's arm.
"Die, little king! Your family is ash!" Mero shrieked, his face turning purple with effort.
Viserys moved like a spirit cat. Insight allowed him to see the trajectory of Mero's heavy blade before it was even fully swung. He danced around the butcher, his steel darting in like a needle. One, two, three—red gashes appeared on Mero's thighs and chest.
"Die!" Mero finally abandoned form. He let out a deafening roar and unleashed a magical blur of steel, a killing move designed to end the fight in a single breath.
Viserys didn't retreat. He parried the heavy blow with a violent clang, absorbed the momentum, and spun. He was the wave stacking upon the wave. As Mero's strength flagged from the sheer exertion of his heavy swings, Viserys's speed only increased.
"How does he still have breath?" Quilo whispered, stunned.
Viserys saw the opening. He feinted left, drawing Mero's desperate guard, then lunged low. Mull's tore through Mero's right thigh, severing the muscle. The Titan's Bastard stumbled, the agony finally breaking his composure.
"Duel me!" Mero screamed, flailing blindly.
Viserys decided to end the game. He sidestepped a clumsy thrust and drove his blade deep into Mero's abdomen, twisting the steel with a cold, clinical ruthlessness. Mero let out a harrowing howl as he collapsed to the stones, his life spilling out in a mess of red.
Viserys stood over him, drenched in the spray of his enemy's blood. He watched Mero's strength fade, then delivered the final mercy: a plunge through the heart.
"Bloodthirsty!" the crowd chanted, their voices a rhythmic thunder. "Bloodthirsty! Violet Swordsman!"
Viserys stood in the center of the cheering masses, a terrifying, crimson figure. He had avenged Moro. He had broken the Prestons. But as Sea Lord Ferrego watched the young dragon, he knew Braavos could no longer hold him.
"Andath," Ferrego murmured, turning to his First Sword. He had found a destination for this storm.
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