"The Violet Swordsman!"
"The Violet Swordsman!" The young courtesans and the spectators chanted the name in unison.
"I bet he has a beautiful face. Just look at those captivating eyes," one onlooker swooned, calling out his name.
"Keep dreaming. He's probably hiding a face full of boils or scars," another courtesan retorted with a pout.
A masked figure wasn't out of place in Braavos. After all, this was the Secret City.
All eyes turned to the young swordsman who had appeared at the Moon Pool. Lately, the name of the Violet Swordsman had been ringing loud and clear.
Rumor had it his swordsmanship was exquisite, and his unusually colored eyes were the subject of wild exaggeration.
However, the swordsman was elusive, and not everyone was lucky enough to witness him in action.
Viserys gripped the hilt of Flash Silver. Few remembered his self-proclaimed title, the "Silver Swordsman," but the nickname "The Violet Swordsman" was spreading like wildfire.
"The Violet Swordsman?" Scarface glared viciously at the young man who had suddenly appeared.
"That's me," Viserys replied elegantly. He wore a smiling mask that couldn't hide his violet eyes or silver-gold hair.
"Since you're out here with a sword, that means anyone can challenge you," Scarface growled.
"I know the rules," Viserys nodded.
"Drop your sword, and you might still sleep in a woman's arms tonight," Scarface warned.
"You're afraid," Viserys observed calmly.
Scarface wasn't actually soft-hearted. Viserys had watched him fight; the man was brutal, his sword always thirsty for blood. This warning suggested Scarface was somewhat wary of Viserys.
The duel began with a test of courage. Whoever dropped their weapon would lose their honor as a Water Dancer.
"Fight!"
"Fight!" The surrounding Water Dancers voluntarily cleared a space for the two killers. The crowd, always hungry for drama, cheered them on.
"Blow me a kiss, hurry!" a young courtesan shouted, enjoying the spectacle.
Braavos was a city of assassins. Every night, they paraded through the streets in flamboyant colors, carrying slender swords, desperate to prove themselves.
Some would fight for any reason; others needed no reason at all.
Seeing a clash between skilled swordsmen was the best entertainment around.
"Scarface." The scarred swordsman had heard of the Violet Swordsman's skill, so he maintained a certain level of caution.
But on the other hand, killing such an opponent was the fastest way to gain greater fame.
To become a top-tier Water Dancer, one had to take risks.
"The Silver Swordsman," Viserys announced his own code name.
Viserys and Scarface moved simultaneously. Both instinctively turned sideways to face the enemy, minimizing their target profile.
This was the signature style of the Free Cities' assassins. Water Dancers fought practically naked in terms of armor; the danger level was extreme.
Scarface lunged forward, his rapier gleaming with a sharp, cold light as he thrust toward Viserys's upper body.
A killing blow right from the start.
Viserys dodged nimbly. With a shift of his footwork, he became as fluid and unpredictable as a gushing spring.
Be soft. Be flexible.
"True seeing is the way." In the blink of an eye, Viserys was tracking the landing point of Scarface's attack.
Scarface was fast, and his strikes carried weight, but Viserys was a dangerous assassin with stats pumped to the limit.
Viserys observed Scarface's attack rhythm before launching his counter. First, master the tempo.
The two Water Dancers exerted themselves at the same time, their bodies moving rapidly, waiting for an opening or a flaw in the enemy's defense.
Viserys and Scarface's movements looked like a deadly waltz—agile, swift, elegant, and lethal.
Water Dancing wasn't about wide, hacking swings; it was about precise assassination, stealthy lunges, and rapid punctures.
Clang.
Clang.
The glint of rapiers flickered in the air as steel met steel, ringing out with a cold, sharp sound.
The swords seemed to grow from the assassins' hands, becoming one with their bodies.
The human body is full of water; one pierce is all it takes to drain it.
As the two blades crossed and clashed, Scarface's expression grew increasingly grim.
Although no blood had been drawn yet, the fight was intensely fierce.
Even though Water Dancers emphasized speed, Scarface was confident in his strength—he never neglected power training.
He just hadn't expected the Violet Swordsman's attributes to be terrifyingly high across the board.
"You're not a normal Water Dancer," Scarface rasped.
"I am a Water Dancer. Just an extraordinary one," Viserys replied.
In a direct contest of speed, Scarface had no advantage.
In terms of strength and stamina, Viserys far surpassed the average Water Dancer.
Viserys advanced and retreated, using feints, dodges, and ghostly attacks to constantly drain Scarface's stamina.
Small puncture wounds began to appear on Scarface's body. Viserys was playing with his prey like a cat with a mouse.
"Peh." Scarface spat a mouthful of bloody saliva. He had never encountered such a troublesome young man.
Scarface's rhythm felt like he was punching cotton; he couldn't find anywhere to land his force, and his movements became increasingly frantic.
Lure the enemy, exhaust the enemy, then deliver the killing blow.
Viserys's tactics were becoming masterful. Whether it was overpowering force, sheer speed, varying tempos, or defensive counters, his stats ensured he was a lethal killer.
Viserys danced the Water Dance, becoming a fluid current.
Scarface began to feel a sense of suffocation. Harassed and pierced by his opponent, he felt like an invisible hand was slowly tightening around his throat.
His rapier felt heavier. His muscles ached and his movements stiffened—signs that his kinetic energy was failing.
Meanwhile, his opponent, Viserys, was still bouncing around, fighting more vigorously with every passing second.
"Scarface lost," a sharp-eyed Water Dancer whispered, already seeing the outcome.
"I haven't lost! Scarface doesn't lose! Die, you masked brat!" Scarface used the last of his strength to launch a desperate flurry. His rapier seemed to thrust at Viserys's throat, chest, and lower abdomen all at once—every strike vicious.
"Looking is not seeing. Seeing is the truth."
Viserys's Flash Silver streaked across the sky. He side-stepped to the left, dodging Scarface's thrust, and with a backhand strike, drew his blade across the enemy's throat.
A spray of hot blood erupted. The sharp edge severed Scarface's windpipe. Viserys gave the blade a twist before withdrawing Flash Silver.
Scarface clutched his throat. Clatter. Then came the sound of the sword and body hitting the ground.
Falling, falling, and falling. Scarface sank into eternal darkness as his blood slowly seeped into the earth.
Viserys had given Scarface a chance, but the assassin's pride had led him to choose self-destruction.
"The Violet Swordsman!"
"The Violet Swordsman!"
The crowd chanted the victor's name as Viserys bowed elegantly, turned, and disappeared once more into the dark alleyways.
Only the corpse on the ground and the metallic scent of blood in the air remained to tell the people that the Violet Swordsman had truly been there.
Viserys walked the earth, smelling the blood in the air, leaving the noise gradually behind him.
He wiped the blood from Flash Silver.
His sword had drunk its fill, and soon, he would eat his fill as well.
The Black Pearl had given him an invitation. The Sealord was hosting a masquerade banquet for many dignitaries.
---
Sealord's Palace, Banquet Hall.
A magnificent mural was painted on the massive dome overhead.
The scenes were varied, but the central image depicted a group of slaves fleeing the enslavement of the Dragonlords, guided by the holy Moonsingers to their promised land.
Viserys sat in a private booth on the upper level, hidden from prying eyes.