Viserys brandished the Valyrian steel sword in his hand, flaunting it as a madam might boast about her best girls.
"This is the real deal. Don’t believe ? Ask around. What was the prize for the Braavos Swordsmanship Competition this year?"
He scanned the crowd, noticing no one was willing to step forward. Sensing an opportunity to provoke further, he continued, "Who’s brave enough?"
"I’ll do it."
A strange voice cut through the tension. All eyes turned to see the towering figure of Caggo striding forward. Standing over 1.9 ters tall, he was instantly recognized by everyone.
"Caggo!"
"It’s Caggo! He’s going to fight!"
Excitent rippled through the crowd. Caggo, known as the "Corpsekiller," was a legend among rcenaries. When they weren't fighting or talking about won, the rcenaries often debated who was the strongest in their ranks. To them, Caggo wasn’t just the mightiest in the Windblown group—he was the strongest in the entire rcenary company!
Once, people might have compared him to the Tattered Prince, but as the prince aged, his undefeated reputation began to wane. Now, Caggo stood unchallenged.
Caggo approached Viserys, his massive fra blocking the sun, casting an imposing shadow over the rcenaries behind him. Those closest to him instinctively took a step back, feeling the weight of his presence.
Even Dick, who was usually unflappable, began to worry. Regis, always confident in Viserys, felt a twinge of fear.
Caggo unsheathed his curved blade and declared, "If you win, you can take my blade too!"
"Then let’s do this," Viserys replied with a grin.
The two squared off, their weapons drawn. The air grew thick with tension, a palpable sense of impending violence that caused the onlookers to retreat further.
Caggo lunged first, his curved steel blade slicing downward with imnse power. This was a move that had felled countless foes, the sharpness of the blade making flesh seem like butter. The Dothraki, who rarely wore armor on the Great Grass Sea, were especially vulnerable to such attacks. Caggo was nearly unstoppable—until he t his match.
When the sound of steel eting steel rang out, it was a crisp, resonant note, like the lingering tone of a string instrunt. Caggo was taken aback. He hadn’t expected the boy before him to block his full-force strike so effortlessly. And yet, Viserys didn’t even appear to be struggling.
The mory of a previous battle flashed through Caggo’s mind, but he refused to believe a boy under seventeen could possess such strength.
What followed was a display of raw power, as Viserys and Caggo abandoned technique in favor of sheer force. They t each other head-on, blow for blow.
The relentless clash of steel echoed like a fierce musical composition.
"My gods! They’re fighting with pure strength!"
"This Viserys can actually match Caggo!"
"This... is incredible!"
The rcenaries of the 7th Battalion, who had initially been skeptical of Viserys, now found their attitudes shifting from doubt to admiration. Especially Webber. He now realized just how much Viserys had held back when they fought. On the battlefield, Viserys could have killed him with a single blow. 'I’m no match for him,' Webber thought to himself, though he remained doubtful that even soone with such extraordinary martial prowess could turn the tide for the 7th Battalion. What they needed most now was to rebuild their morale.
As ti passed, Caggo, who had been relying on brute strength to overpower Viserys, began to sense sothing was amiss. His energy was waning; he found himself needing to retreat and maneuver just to catch his breath.
anwhile, Viserys, who had already fought three rounds, remained composed and steady. When Caggo deliberately slowed the pace to regain his strength, Viserys didn’t press the attack. Instead, he allowed Caggo to recover, clearly aiming to break his spirit completely.
After nearly five minutes of intense combat, it was evident to anyone watching that Caggo was running out of steam, while Viserys continued to breathe easily. Caggo felt like a gust of wind against Viserys, who was as immovable as the earth. No matter how fierce the storm, the earth remained unchanged. Caggo saw no path to victory.
‘Is this guy a monster?’ he thought, his confidence crumbling.
Sensing the mont was right, Viserys launched a fierce assault. Exhausted and off-balance, Caggo couldn’t keep up. With a swift move, Viserys kicked Caggo’s scimitar out of his grasp, leaving the mighty warrior defeated.
For a brief mont, the air seed to freeze. The only sound was the tallic clatter of Caggo’s scimitar hitting the ground. Everyone stared in stunned silence, their eyes wide as they tried to etch this mont into their mories. So swallowed nervously, struggling to process what they had just witnessed.
Three rounds of battle, three consecutive victories. Viserys had not only defeated the last sergeant of the 7th Battalion but also bested two Gerrolds and now, Caggo, the undisputed strongest warrior in the Windblown.
Caggo stood frozen, staring blankly at the scimitar on the ground, as if he had lost his soul. Finally, Regis broke the silence, shouting Viserys’ na: "Viserys! Viserys! Viserys!"
At first, Regis was the only one chanting, but soon Jorah joined in, albeit reluctantly. He hadn’t realized that when soone is strong enough, old grudges cease to matter. One by one, others followed: Dick, Webber, and then more rcenaries from the 7th Battalion, until the entire crowd was chanting Viserys’ na.
"Viserys! Viserys! Viserys!"
Seeing that the ti was right, Viserys raised his hand to silence the crowd. He picked up Caggo’s curved blade from the ground and, to everyone’s shock, handed it back to him.
"Your curved blade," Viserys said.
Caggo reached for the blade instinctively, but then hesitated and shook his head. "No, that’s your blade now."
‘There’s nothing free in this world, is there?’ Viserys thought to himself before replying, "Then I’ll lend it to you." He turned to the others and declared, "This curved blade is now on loan to Caggo—for a thousand years!"
Lending a weapon for a thousand years was no different from giving it away. Dick realized that Viserys was deliberately extending a hand of friendship to Caggo, a gesture that did not go unnoticed.
Caggo reached out to take hold of the familiar blade, but after a mont’s struggle, he let go. He wasn’t one to accept a favor without offering sothing in return, and he knew Viserys still intended to reclaim the scimitar eventually.
Seeing Caggo’s hesitation, Viserys added, "Of course, I’m not lending you this scimitar for free. In the future, you must promise to do a favor when I ask."
In the end, Caggo couldn’t bear to part with his scimitar. He took it from Viserys’ hand and, without hesitation, cut a three-to-four-inch wound across his own face.
"By the horse god, I will help you with whatever you ask of !" Caggo swore.
Viserys glanced at the dense scars covering Caggo’s face, knowing each one marked a debt. Now, there was no doubt left about Viserys’ strength.
Within just two hours, the rcenaries of the 7th Battalion began to accept their new sergeant. Not long after Caggo and the others had left, the mouthwatering aroma of roasting at filled the air—it was ti for dinner.
The rcenaries were astonished. Their recent defeats had left them with significant equipnt losses, forcing them to save every coin to replace weapons and gear. This frugality had extended to their als, with many going without proper food for weeks, a harsh reality for soldiers who trained daily.
Now, as large barrels of lamb and venison were brought in, their mouths watered at the unexpected feast. After asserting his authority, Viserys knew he needed to reward the n. He planned to retrain the rcenaries, and to do so, their morale and strength had to be restored—starting with better food.
'Incentives and discipline,' Viserys thought, 'that’s how you win loyalty.'
As the rcenaries gathered around, Viserys addressed them with a firm promise. "From now on, you’ll have at every three days," he declared, "but understand this—I’m going to train you hard for the next three months. If you want to leave, do so now and join another camp. But if you desert during my training, you’ll be treated as deserters!"
The ntion of desertion sent a shiver through the ranks. In the Windblown, deserters were handed over to ris, the infamous interrogator, who was known to torture n for a month before they finally died. But still, the n reasoned, this was just training. How hard could it be? And besides, the promise of regular als was sothing most camps couldn’t offer.
As the rcenaries lined up for their als, Viserys decided to convene a eting later that night. He picked up a lamb chop and pondered what he would say.
Viserys watched as the n devoured their food, so nearly choking in their haste. Despite their hunger, they didn’t forget to whisper about his identity, speculating as they ate.
After about half an hour, once the n had nearly finished their als, Viserys stood and walked to the front of the group. He turned to Webber first.
"Lord Webber, you’re from Coldmoat, aren’t you? What brings you to the Free Cities?"
Webber replied with a flat tone, "Expelled by my House."
Viserys then addressed a red-haired Westerosi rcenary. "And you?"
"I committed a cri. I stole from my Lord," the man admitted.
Viserys pointed to another Westerosi rcenary with yellow hair. "What about you?"
"My father doesn’t like ," the man replied.
Viserys continued to question the group. Many had not co to the Free Cities by choice, and even those who had, confessed that they missed their holand dearly.
"Do you know why I ca to Westeros?" Viserys asked.
"Because of the usurper!" shouted a rcenary who had the look of soone from Dorne.
"Yes, because of the usurper," Viserys confird. "I hope to return to Westeros one day."
But as soon as Viserys spoke those words, many of the rcenaries exchanged uneasy glances. The idea seed far-fetched, almost laughable—if not for the display of strength Viserys had shown earlier, so might have mocked him openly.
"I know you don’t believe I can reclaim the throne," Viserys continued, his tone firm. "But understand this: for most of you, the only way you'll ever return to Westeros is if I retake the Iron Throne! If you have no land, I can grant you land. If you lack titles, I can bestow them upon you."
Viserys began to paint a vivid picture of the future, a vision where each of them could return ho adorned in finery. A few rcenaries allowed themselves to dream, their faces reflecting a flicker of hope. But most remained skeptical, aware of the imnse challenges that lay ahead.
"Listen," Viserys said, his voice commanding their attention, "I know many of you doubt , and I won’t repeat myself." He glanced at Jorah, who nodded and motioned for three covered carts to be brought forward.
When the canvas was pulled back, the rcenaries gasped as cold, gleaming swords and spears were revealed, their brilliance montarily blinding the crowd.
"These weapons are for you to use," Viserys announced. "And soon, I will acquire armor, which will be distributed based on your training. From now on, every mber of the 7th Battalion will have armor to wear!"
At the ntion of armor, every rcenary’s eyes lit up. The difference in pay between those with armor and those without could be as much as fivefold. Heavy cavalry rcenaries earned ten tis more than their unarmored counterparts.
It dawned on them that they had finally found a sergeant major who would take care of their needs—from weapons to food to a brighter future.
But then Viserys offered an even greater incentive. "From now on, for every period you serve in the 7th Battalion, I will deposit a sum of money in the Iron Bank for you. This money will be there to support you if you're injured or when you're old. If you die in battle, it will go to your family. If you have no family, I will ensure you receive a grand funeral!"
For rcenaries, who lived for the mont and rarely thought of the future, this was a ga-changer. Typically, they squandered their earnings in brothels and gambling dens, believing they had nothing to save for. But Viserys had just offered them sothing they never expected—a sense of security, a reason to stay loyal to the 7th Battalion.
Where once they had thought about leaving the 7th Battalion for better opportunities, now they found themselves wondering how they could ensure they stayed.
Webber, the forr sergeant, was particularly impressed. ‘Viserys not only has strength but also financial power. I can’t compete with that.’
"Long live Viserys!" a red-haired rcenary suddenly shouted, breaking the silence. Regis, taken aback by soone else taking the lead, quickly joined in, unwilling to be outdone.
"Long live Viserys!" Regis echoed.
"Long live Viserys!" Webber shouted.
Soon, the entire camp was chanting, "Long live Viserys! Long live Viserys!" The sound grew louder, spilling out into the neighboring battalions, turning heads in curiosity.
But three months later...
"Viserys, that son of a bitch!"
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