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"I must first beg your forgiveness, His Majesty Viserys of the House Targaryen. My departure just now was too abrupt and truly a rude act. I think we can talk again." The Ragged Prince hurried over on his horse, as if he had only just taken his mount for a brief stroll.
"Talk about what? Could it be that I might see a Prince bend the knee? You are a highly respected elder, not to mention of noble birth. I hold friendship for you; I have a good feeling about Pentos," Viserys said elegantly.
"Over a hundred years ago, when the Rogue Prince Daemon traveled through Pentos, he was also hosted by the Prince and the Pentos Magisters. His two daughters were born in Pentos."
In 116 AC, Prince Daemon and his wife traveled through the Free Cities on their dragons. A Magister of Pentos hosted them, and the twins Baela and Rhaena were born in that Magister's manse.
"It's not exactly bending the knee, but rather a transaction. I've been around Essos and the Disputed Lands longer than you, but I know a thing or two about your reputation, His Majesty Viserys." The Ragged Prince was helpless; he had more seniority than Viserys, but seniority was useless here.
In the game of thrones, whoever speaks first is likely to be the loser.
The key was strength. Viserys now had roughly tens of thousands of elite soldiers, encompassing Andals and parts of the Rhoyne River region, appearing as a newly risen king.
Meanwhile, his Windblown Company had only two thousand men and had been circling the Disputed Lands; this was why he had to win over Viserys.
"No gold, and yet so dangerous. Yet the Windblown Company is willing to lend a hand; I didn't realize your love for Pentos ran so deep..."
""
"I want Pentos far too much," The Ragged Prince nodded.
Looking at The Ragged Prince, Viserys felt as if he were seeing someone who had drifted for half a lifetime without finding a worthy master.
"But most of your enemies are long dead," Viserys said. Given the build of someone like the Fat Magister Illyrio, it felt like such Magisters wouldn't live much longer anyway.
"But I must put a period on these thirty years of wandering. I want revenge on those Magisters. They made me flee like a dog; I will never forget..."
Viserys said no more; hatred was far thicker than love.
"Let me first introduce my subordinates, my right-hand men: Captain Denzo D'han the Warrior-Poet, the dangerous Kago, and Pretty Meris, my torturer," The Ragged Prince introduced them in turn.
Pretty Meris did not live up to her name, but the other two looked like veterans of a hundred battles.
"My Squires: Count Donal, Ser Argos, Ser Hugo, Ser Krell, Gaelin, Jarak..." Viserys said, gesturing with his hand.
The Red Viper needed no further introduction; they were acquaintances.
"Then let's speak plainly," Viserys prompted The Ragged Prince to speak.
The Ragged Prince thought for a moment and took a deep breath. "Tattered clothes and a rogue's ways, acting craftily and seizing loopholes—this is my protective coloring as a mercenary. In this world, people should seize every bit of grace the gods bestow. I learned this lesson at some cost. I guarantee to provide you, King, with an offer you cannot refuse."
"Very well, I look forward to it."
"If Pentos is not the condition, then we will not lend a hand when Andals suffers the first wave of attacks. My men are mercenaries, and mercenaries only stand with the victors. If Andals can gain the upper hand, I will have my men launch an attack from the flank. I think Your Majesty also knows that I have two thousand men; someone always needs our swords."
"A very good condition, I am satisfied," Viserys stared at The Ragged Prince. "But for now, I cannot give you cash, as this is an agreement of intent."
"That is of no consequence. After all, if the Dothraki put Andals to the torch, the army of Andals would be too weak. We'll act as if this never happened and won't come out to help."
"Victory or defeat is not achieved by words," Viserys smiled.
"Some promises require gold, while others require blood," Viserys replied. "As long as you are willing to take the field, I will give you reasonable compensation."
"Standard compensation will do; I only want a friendship. I've heard that Viserys repays every kindness and every grievance," The Ragged Prince stared at Viserys.
"Not gold, but my friendship," Viserys laughed. "My friendship is far more precious than several times its weight in gold. Let me see the performance of the Windblown Company and whether it earns my applause."
"I guarantee you will be satisfied; I only choose suitable allies," The Ragged Prince answered solemnly.
Beside The Ragged Prince, Kago, who carried a valyrian steel arakh, began to shout dissatisfiedly: "Since you say we're allies, yet there's no contract, why not give us some gold now? Khal Drogo is not to be trifled with, and this king looks soft-skinned."
Viserys looked at the crude dothraki; these barbarians were always so rude.
Viserys's black warhorse suddenly charged forward like a racing storm.
The distance between the two sides was not far, and these leading figures were even closer.
"Draw your blade." Viserys rode forward, looking coldly at Kago.
The dothraki's face turned red, and in his hesitation, he still hadn't drawn his blade; his movements were too slow.
Kago should have awakened the beast in his heart, but his warrior's instinct had already made him wary; a sense of crisis.
By the time he wanted to draw his sword, it was too late.
The longsword danced in Viserys's hand, the movements smooth and flowing.
"Draw."
Viserys drew his sword, the blade stirring up a purple storm.
The Ragged Prince's eyes flashed, and he was startled himself. After all, he was also near the front, and the danger was greater.
Kago was a veteran of a hundred battles in the Windblown Company, but now his movements looked too clumsy and slow.
Having spent decades on the battlefield, The Ragged Prince had to admit that Viserys's strike was like a surging, roaring wave sweeping past; he was the fastest swordsman he had ever seen in his life.
The Ragged Prince had guessed Viserys was strong, as there were battle records to support it, but he hadn't expected him to be this strong.
Looking at it this way, the guesses of many city-state Magisters that Khal Drogo held a massive advantage might not be accurate.
The Free Cities had always feared their enemies like tigers, especially the Dothraki. Moreover, they believed Khal Drogo's battle record was more magnificent.
"You don't even trust your own blade? What else can you trust?"
Before Kago could even draw his arakh, he felt the cold gleam of steel.
The purple-rippled valyrian steel sword had stopped at Kago's face, and Viserys lightly tapped Kago's cheek with the purple blade.
Viserys merely gave the blade a light flick.
Red blood began to seep from the blade's edge; it was just a cut, not a decapitation.
"Don't move; this sword is very sharp." Viserys's voice rang out like steel.
Kago felt his whole body tremble, large beads of sweat condensing on his face. Though he was a fierce butcher known for his crudeness,
This man was a pure villain who had once snatched a fleeing female slave from a companion, raped her, and then killed her.
Most mercenaries were of this sort, though the Dothraki were a more pure form of evil.
But he also feared the taste of death. He wanted to resist, but he didn't dare draw his arakh.
Kago had no doubt that in an instant, even if he had just started to draw his blade, Viserys could slit his throat.
Viserys's sword techniques were fast and lethal, completely impossible to dodge.
No one had time to react; they only saw Kago overwhelmed by a kind of fear.
Viserys didn't finish him; otherwise, if the blade had moved down just a bit, it would have been Kago's neck that was slit.
After all, there was a potential for cooperation between the two sides; it would indeed be inappropriate if the alliance began with a death.
"Put away your weapon, Kago. This is a meeting site, not your slaughterhouse," The Ragged Prince rebuked sharply.
"Prince, you need to keep a good watch on your pets. Even if they are dothraki, I hope they don't get too arrogant.
Otherwise, next time it won't be his cheek that's cut, but his throat..." Viserys elegantly sheathed his longsword.
"Understood. Meris, remember Kago's rudeness; he'll be served the whip when we return." The Ragged Prince glared fiercely at the Dothraki brute.
Kago stood there dumbfounded, not daring to speak again, the wound on his face dripping blood.
"I still prefer the arrogant way you looked at the beginning," Viserys smiled faintly, and the knights around him all began to laugh.
Kago sat on his horse, ultimately lacking the courage for a duel.
"I shall let Andals bear witness to our alliance."
"I guarantee it will be remembered." The Ragged Prince's thoughts whirled, feeling a bit heavy-hearted.
The members of the Windblown Company all turned around and returned to their camp further south of the main army.
Kago had a short wound on his face, and his companion quickly applied some Myr fire-powder to the fool.
"Why didn't you fight back?"
"It was too late to fight back; he was too ruthless. I only saw his eyes—the purple eyes of a cold god of death."
The Dothraki had not yet escaped from his fear.
"What a fast sword! If I'm not mistaken, it was a purple Valyrian sword, a rare sight," the Warrior-Poet sighed. "With this kind of strength and speed... I originally thought that for a fifteen or sixteen-year-old, his deeds were more exaggeration than truth. But looking at it now, he is a very dangerous warrior."
"Now I think your plan has a possibility, Prince. This man's strength is extraordinary," another mercenary said in a gruff voice. "If Andals truly defeats Khal Drogo, then we will have an unprecedentedly powerful ally."
The Ragged Prince, however, had a worried expression; this aid was not only strong but also ruthless.
The Ragged Prince needed an aid, but not one that was particularly overbearing.
Looking at it now, Pentos was a wolf, and Viserys was a dragon; neither side was made of saints.
But he, The Ragged Prince, truly had no other path to choose.
Waiting, waiting—he had waited long enough.
"Then we'll risk it all; Viserys is always better than the Magisters."
Having no choice now, he only wanted Pentos.
The day was ending and the road was long; at this moment, he only wanted to act recklessly and bathe those Magisters in blood.
Viserys found that he was truly entangled with Pentos.
Some time after the Windblown Company had left, the Pentos Magister Illyrio came to visit again.
.88888.
Viserys still waited in the throne room to receive this guest.
Illyrio's attitude still appeared very respectful.
"Great King Viserys, every time I see you, I feel refreshed, as if seeing a bright light."
"The Magister's words are like honey, soaking into my heart." Viserys smiled faintly. Illyrio's gifts weren't the key; the key was the intent behind them.
Viserys had someone provide a seat for the Fat Magister.
"What is that?" Illyrio asked curiously, spotting the massive Dragon Horn hanging on the stone wall.
Such a massive horn was charming and magnificent even just as a decoration.
"Just a little toy," Viserys laughed.
Illyrio took a few more looks at the 'little toy'; it was truly exquisite, and he had never seen such a grand horn.
Thinking back to certain legends he had heard, Illyrio became even more careful and cautious.
"Your Majesty, surely you are aware of Khal Drogo's impending large-scale westward advance," Illyrio began.
"Of course I know; this is our war. What insights do you have?" Viserys still wanted to hear Illyrio's 'brilliant' views.
"Andals is certainly impregnable, but the Khal's Screamers are also very fierce, numbering at least thirty thousand. Especially, I've heard that the Tyroshi might hire the Company of the Cat, the Brave Companions, the Stormcrows, and others to fight as auxiliary forces." Illyrio dropped a major piece of news right away.
The Company of the Cat's soldiers ranked roughly second, currently having three thousand infantry, with the crude and cold-blooded Bloodbeard as their commander.
The Brave Companions were even more notorious, practically a base for criminals and sadists.
"Then wouldn't I be attacked from two sides?" Viserys mused, appearing to be somewhat hesitant. "But with the frequent wars now, it's truly impossible to find more powerful aid. And my sister and niece are too young; I'm a bit worried about leaving them here."
Watching Viserys's performance, Illyrio's heart settled; next came his main act.
Illyrio felt a sense of achievement like a successful fisherman and began to pitch his plan. "If you do not object, under your holy decree, the two princesses could stay in the free land of Pentos. As for other powerful aid, I think it is far in the horizon, yet right before your eyes."
Viserys looked at Illyrio; his words were full of poison, and Illyrio's tail was finally showing.
On the surface, sending children to Pentos for protection was something that had happened during the Dance of the Dragons—sending them to a friendly Pentos Magister.
Illyrio's little schemes filled Viserys with deep disgust.
If he were willing to be honest, reveal Young Aegon's identity, and beg for forgiveness, there might still be a path to survival.
But now, Illyrio had already become too dangerous.
Perhaps this was normal; after all, an investment in a power venture that had lasted over ten years could not be easily abandoned.
"What aid?" Viserys played along with Illyrio.
"Mercenaries, an army."
"Very well, now let me hear it, Lord Magister. I don't like dealing with mercenaries; once, a group of people ate my food but didn't do my work and even mocked me. You know, a True Dragon does not like liars," Viserys said, emphasizing every word.
Viserys was speaking of something that hadn't happened yet in this timeline: he had hosted the commanders of the Golden Company, hoping they would assist him in reclaiming the throne, but after enjoying the feast and hearing his request, they had mocked him.
This belonged to a future that would not happen again, but Viserys's opinion of mercenaries was very poor.
Now, it seemed he had to deal with the Golden Company again.
"The Golden Company," Illyrio slowly spat out these words.
Beneath the gold, the bitter steel.
"You aren't mistaken, are you?" Viserys looked at Illyrio, appearing very surprised. "They have always been enemies of the Red Dragon."
The Golden Company was hailed as the most formidable among the various mercenary groups, founded a century ago by the bastard of The Unworthy King Aegon, 'Bittersteel'.
"Black or red, a dragon is a dragon. You can do for the exiles what neither Bittersteel nor Blackfyre could: take them home..." Illyrio said with a smile.
"Contact them for me, then," Viserys looked at Illyrio; this man was undoubtedly doomed.
Illyrio wanted to snatch chestnuts from the fire during the war, but it was yet unknown who the real mantis and who the oriole would be.
Viserys suddenly remembered a story from the Northern and Southern Dynasties where an emperor, before killing an enemy, suddenly told him many things that no one else knew.
It seemed he was in that same mood; dead men tell no tales.
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