Rain fell over Braavos, the gloomy weather mirroring the mood of the people below.
"Moro is dead," Ser Roland Lake said anxiously, clad in his armor.
Moro had been a friend to Ser Roland as well; bearing this news weighed heavily on his heart.
"Moro is dead?" Viserys's heart sank deeper and deeper. This was truly dark news.
Viserys had killed a few people already—assassins disguised as servants, some reckless Water Dancers.
But hearing of a friend's death brought a sharp, agonizing pain. It was reminiscent of witnessing Ser Willem Darry's death—a jarring torment.
Although the Justiciar Sypha and the courtesan "Lady Blade" were also Viserys's friends, they hadn't spent as much time with him.
Moro was Viserys's second instructor, a man who was both teacher and friend.
Viserys had once tried to persuade Moro to stay put, but a Water Dancer was not Viserys's servant; he had his own life to live.
He hadn't expected that Moro's freedom would invite a fatal disaster.
Willing or not, once he stepped into the game of power, Viserys found himself on a battlefield of slaughter and blood.
"The men who brought Moro's body are outside," Roland said.
"What is happening?" Syrio asked in surprise.
Roland shook his head, indicating he didn't know the details.
"It seems to be the work of House Prestayn."
"You two stay here. Do not go out yet," Viserys told Rhaenys and Daenerys.
Daenerys blinked, unaware of what had happened. She was mature for a child, but she was still just a child.
"Will you wear your armor, Your Grace?" Ser Roland asked.
Viserys shook his head. "No need. They appear to be here only to intimidate us."
Viserys opened the door, the cold rain whistling against his face. His sword was already at his hip.
His silver hair was plastered down by the rain, and a chilling coldness resided in his violet eyes.
Viserys saw the group waiting outside the gate. The large man was the Titan's Bastard, Mero, accompanied by several servants of House Prestayn.
Moro's body lay on a plank, covered by a tattered cloth.
This was a wealthy district of Braavos. The commotion had drawn a crowd.
It wouldn't be long before the incident caused a sensation around the Sealord's Palace.
However, assassinations were not uncommon in Braavos. Assassins competed for rank, and sometimes for life and death.
With his pale green eyes and thick red-gold beard reaching almost to his waist, the "Titan's Bastard" was easily recognizable.
Mero had bandages over several wounds; the fight clearly hadn't been one-sided.
"I apologize. I only intended to leave him with some honorable scars, but he wouldn't surrender. My hand slipped," Mero said casually.
Viserys felt a fire ignite in his chest.
"This is too much, even for House Prestayn," Syrio said.
Although Moro wasn't his direct disciple, there was a bond of camaraderie between them.
From the looks of it, Moro had clearly been ambushed.
"I respect you, but you are retired. Why involve yourself in these matters?" Mero retorted.
Put simply, the First Sword was just an accessory to the Sealord. With the old Sealord gone, a former First Sword was ultimately not the current First Sword.
"You..." Syrio glared at Mero, turning his body sideways. "Perhaps these old bones can still dance with you."
Viserys stopped Syrio. Since this trouble had come for him, it should end with him.
The towering Braavosi, Mero, looked at Viserys and grinned. "Your friend's swordsmanship wasn't very impressive, Your Grace. We just happened to meet on the road and had a spar. Things wouldn't have been so complicated if you had just accepted the goodwill of the Prestayn family."
Anyone determined enough would have quickly linked "The Silver Traveler" and "The Violet Swordsman" to Viserys.
However, even knowing Viserys's identity, the Prestayn family didn't attach much importance to it. They saw Viserys as a destitute exile with no support.
The fate of such proud, fallen nobles in the Free Cities was usually begging in the streets. The only difference was that Viserys seemed more talented.
"Your status is noble, and Young Master Yoro only had good intentions," Mero mocked.
He spoke of good intentions, but his tone held little respect.
"I will never forget the goodwill of House Prestayn."
"As long as you acknowledge it," Mero sneered. "Look at that pretty face. A pity you're a man, Your Grace. I may have seen women with skin like that, mostly bed-slaves from Lys. No woman ever forgets me, the Titan's Bastard."
"I suggest you cherish your last opportunities, because you won't live much longer."
"Save it. The gap between us is immense. If you want to live well in Braavos, why not accept Prestayn's goodwill?" Mero snorted. "Do you want to start a war?"
"If we go to war, I will kill you first," Viserys said. "Or, you can bend the knee and run."
"Foolish boy. If you see the Titan of Braavos, you will understand that he never runs with his tail between his legs," Mero tugged at his thick red beard.
"Our task is finished. It's actually quite simple: being friends is always easier than being enemies, especially since Prestayn is very generous." Mero shrugged, then turned and left with the servants.
Viserys walked to the plank. Together with Syrio and Ser Roland, they carried the body into the courtyard.
"He died because of me." Viserys looked at Moro's body. It was stained with blood, covered in wounds of varying depths, all clearly made by the same steel sword.
The fatal wound was a thrust through the chest.
"Vengeance." Viserys looked at the dead man's face, tears mingling with the rain falling from his cheeks.
Blood and fire share the same source. This was the path he had chosen.
Viserys had chosen the path of power, and it was destined to be filled with blood and fire.
"The Titan's Bastard isn't particularly agile, but he is strong," Syrio evaluated.
Although crude and lecherous, the Titan's Bastard was a dangerous warrior, likely first-rate.
Moreover, with the element of surprise on his side, it was normal for Moro to lose in a hasty encounter.
"Prestayn." Syrio frowned. "No wonder their reputation is getting worse."
Viserys looked at Moro's body. The enmity forged today meant his relationship with Prestayn would deteriorate to a new level.
The Prestayn family had pressured him, but he would not let this go.
Some time later, Viserys's acquaintances arrived.
Justiciar Sypha, the courtesan "Lady Blade," the Nightingale, the Black Pearl, and "Crab Tycoon" Ringo.
"Hold your ground," the Black Pearl advised. "I know Moro was important to you."
Usually, in such conflicts, Braavosi would choose a mediator to negotiate endlessly, but direct conflict wasn't unheard of.
"He was my instructor. I considered him family," Viserys said hoarsely. His tears had already fallen; now he wanted blood.
Seeing his state, the Black Pearl knew further persuasion was useless.
"Chairman Ringo," Viserys requested. "I want to send a gift to the Prestayn family. I hope you can help me."
"No problem," Ringo nodded heartily. "They are indeed bastards."
The sailors wouldn't go to war with Prestayn directly, but cheering from the sidelines and disgusting the insurance guild was well within their capabilities.
"Black Pearl," Viserys asked for her help as well. "When I seek my revenge tomorrow, please help me guard my sister and niece."
The Black Pearl nodded. There was no stopping him.
This arrangement also kept the Black Pearl out of direct trouble, as Viserys would be handling the matter personally.
The Black Pearl understood that morale should be boosted, not dampened. Viserys was now living on a breath of "heroism"—a spirit of blood and defiance.
The Targaryens were known for their fiery tempers, and the current Viserys truly resembled a dragon.
The next day, Viserys approached the square tower residence of the Prestayn family in the early morning light.
He walked toward the Prestayn mansion carrying a silver tray covered with a black cloth.
"Halt!" Prestayn's guards shouted, only to discover rude, liquor-smelling sailors appearing in the streets and alleys.
"It's the crabbers. Why are they here?"
Due to the insurance guild dispute, these sailors had caused trouble before.
Seeing these men eyeing them hungrily, the guards didn't dare block the way too forcefully.
"I come to present the Prestayn family with a gift they cannot refuse."
Viserys lifted the cloth, revealing a bloody, severed tuna head.
A fresh fish. The blood smeared on it was fresh too.