By the Moon Pool, silver-haired Viserys sheathed his sword, Flash Silver. The blood and spilled entrails of the "Titan's Bastard," Mero, were scattered across the ground.
Mero lay dead with his eyes wide open, his pale green irises staring sightlessly. His thick, red-gold beard, which had reached his waist, was now matted with blood.
This crude minor character, destined in another timeline to become the commander of the Second Sons, had met an untimely end.
"Don't be arrogant. It does you no good."
Viserys looked down at Mero's corpse. If Mero could have become the commander of the Second Sons, his strength must have been at least first-rate, but Viserys was stronger.
The stench of death and blood permeated the air, making some onlookers retch.
Viserys gazed at Mero lying on the ground, slowly wiping Flash Silver clean until the steel blade shone once more.
Avenging Moro brought him a sense of inner satisfaction.
Not only had he won the battle, but he had also won a considerable amount of gold from the bets placed on the duel.
Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him. Viserys noticed his interface updating again; he had gained a new talent.
[Fate-Reverser Viserys Targaryen. You have completed an execution of a "Villain." The thread of fate fluctuates. Reward: One Random Talent.]
Mero wasn't the first person Viserys had killed, but none of his previous opponents had triggered the system. This suggested that Moro's killer was more notorious and morally bankrupt than the others.
Most people weren't purely evil, so this talent only activated against those of extreme wickedness.
Someone like Mero, much like the Mountain, was completely devoid of morals.
[Talent: Justiciar's Judgment (Heart of Adjudication, Sin Must Be Punished. When executing villains reaches a certain threshold, personal attributes permanently increase.)]
With Mero's death and the arrival of the new talent, Viserys saw his attributes rise slightly again.
He received a new Talent Card. The image depicted a greatsword thrust into a rock by a blue seaside.
The greatsword flowed with clear azure light, emitting a strange luster as if it were alive.
The pommel and grip were fashioned in the shape of a beautiful lady with outstretched arms, the hilt forming the flared skirt of the maiden.
Small runes were inscribed on the blade, and a blue gemstone was set in the pommel.
"This is Lady Forlorn... no, Just Maid." Viserys looked at the sword, reading the text and recalling an ancient legend.
Since he had the "Justiciar's Judgment" talent, it seemed this ancient sword was real too.
Ser Galladon of Morne was a valiant warrior who even won the heart of the Maiden herself. She gave him a magic sword as a token of her love.
According to legend, Ser Galladon, the "Perfect Knight," wore it proudly all his life but only drew it three times.
He refused to use it against mortals because it was too powerful and would make the fight unfair.
"This talent is going to make me fly," Viserys thought.
Whether in Westeros or Essos, there were plenty of scumbags. As long as Viserys could use the "Judgment" talent to kill, his stats would skyrocket.
Thinking of this, Viserys was in a great mood.
"Vengeance. Vengeance." Roland looked at Viserys's shadow. Only brave knights had the possibility of victory.
"How is this possible?" Old Prestayn's face grew increasingly ugly, a stark contrast to Viserys.
Although Mero was crude, Prestayn had trusted his ability.
Moreover, for this duel, the Prestayn family had spent money to hire famous swordsmen to train Mero.
Now, having lost the duel, they had lost both their man and their face.
"It's not that Mero was too weak, but that kid is too freakish," said the Sixth Sword of Braavos, whom Prestayn had hired.
"How is that possible?" Old Prestayn's tone was full of disbelief. "It takes at least five or six years for a novice Water Dancer to become a veteran. Even if Syrio is a brilliant master, he can't transform someone completely in such a short time."
" Theoretically, it's impossible unless we've encountered a true genius," the Sixth Sword whispered.
Old Prestayn's face was grim. Not only had they lost the duel, but it also meant they had provoked a dangerous killer.
"So I have no chance of winning this round?" Old Prestayn gritted his teeth.
"Not necessarily," the Sixth Sword whispered sinisterly. "Sometimes the path to victory lies outside the board."
Old Prestayn's thoughts spun. Why limit himself to Braavos?
The ones who hated these Targaryen remnants the most were someone else entirely. He already had a suitable contact in mind.
"The winner of the duel is Viserys!" Sealord Ferrego stood up and announced, looking over the bloody battlefield.
It was an undeniable victory; Mero hadn't even scratched Viserys.
"Viserys the Bloodthirsty!"
"Viserys the Bloodthirsty!"
"The Violet Swordsman!"
"The Violet Swordsman!"
Rhaenys and Daenerys, who had been tense, breathed sighs of relief. Although they knew Viserys would win, the wait had been agonizing.
The onlookers chanted Viserys's name, thanking him for the spectacular performance.
"You won. You've earned the name of victor. I praise your bravery, but I ask you to stop here, Viserys," Sealord Ferrego said.
Viserys sheathed Flash Silver and nodded politely.
In reality, everyone understood that the enmity between Viserys and Prestayn was cemented. How could they let it go?
"Old Prestayn, as the loser, it is clear the gods did not favor you. Your cause lacked justice. I demand you reflect on your actions," the Sealord said to Old Prestayn.
"The Prestayn family understands. We express our apologies to Viserys and will pay a substantial sum," Old Prestayn said very sincerely.
"Alright, this farce is over. Disperse," Sealord Ferrego concluded with finality.
"Viserys!"
"Viserys!" The crowd continued to chant the victor's name, wanting more.
For Viserys's side, it was a complete victory, but for the Prestayn family, it was a defeat. They left quickly, looking dejected.
Syrio was very proud; Viserys clearly had a talent for the way of insight.
"For this victory, it seems we must prepare a feast. Old Prestayn's face looks terrible!" Ringo laughed heartily.
"It seems my bet on you wasn't a loss," the Black Pearl said to Viserys.
"Just bet on me to win," Viserys replied confidently.
"I am Kasporio, the paymaster of the Second Sons," a mercenary approached to join the excitement.
Kasporio was slender and elegant, with a pointed beard. He wielded a Braavosi blade with a gem-encrusted hilt.
"The Second Sons," Viserys noted the name.
"Exactly. We need warriors like you. The Second Sons is one of the oldest free companies," Kasporio said. "Our roster has included many famous names, some from your Seven Kingdoms. Aegor Rivers served for a year before leaving to found the Golden Company—people called him 'Bittersteel.' Prince Aerion 'Brightflame' Targaryen was a Second Son, as was the wild wolf Rodrik Stark. More recently, the Red Viper of Dorne..."
"I'll remember your name," Viserys said to the man from the Second Sons.
Instead of recruiting Mero, they had discovered him.
"The Sealord wishes to see you," First Sword Qarro said.
"Oh." Viserys was curious, but it seemed reasonable.
"Viserys will return shortly," Qarro said.
Inside the beautiful pleasure barge adorned with smiling faces, the Sealord sat on a rattan chair, looking at Viserys as he was brought in by the First Sword.
"Viserys Targaryen," Sealord Ferrego said to him. "You have caused enough trouble. I no longer welcome you."
"You haven't been here long, yet you've killed many people and caused numerous problems. I like to see smiling faces everywhere, not the sounds of fighting and killing. This isn't your Westeros; I am not that barbaric."
"Then where should I go?" Viserys had a premonition.
"Go to Andalos, or the Disputed Lands, but not Braavos."