"I am very sorry, Princess Jaina Targaryen Your Highness."
"You do not meet the criteria for a loan from the Iron Bank."
"Although your sister has married Khal Drogo, the Dothraki are not partners of the Iron Bank."
"Furthermore, the amount of gold dragons required to assemble a massive naval fleet is undoubtedly a staggering figure."
"For the Targaryens, with only three of you remaining, to be honest, we are not very optimistic about your hopes of reclaiming the iron throne."
"You may try other banks."
"Of course, if you are experiencing personal hardships, I can personally lend you 1,000 gold dragons and waive the interest."
Recalling the words of the person who received her, Jaina slowly walked out of the gates of the Iron Bank.
Although she had already prepared herself for rejection, she still felt a flicker of disappointment when the reality was presented to her.
The Iron Bank did not respect the Targaryen name; as losers of the war, they had long since lost their former glory.
And the Dothraki way of life—burning, killing, and looting everywhere—clearly made the Iron Bank skeptical of their ability to repay... that was just the bank official's polite way of putting it.
To the Dothraki, money was useless; they believed in the pure natural Law of the jungle where the strong prey on the weak.
Even if they used the Iron Bank's gold dragons to buy ships and actually reached Westeros, they would just be a group of savage bandits.
When the time came to ask for the money back, the Dothraki would most likely just say:
"Repay? Why should we return money we seized through our own strength?"
Then they would use their arakhs to cut off the debt collector's head and tie it to their horse's back.
Just as Jaina was racking her brains for a way to raise the funds to buy ships, a figure suddenly appeared before her.
Jaina looked up and saw a tall, thin, bald man standing there. He had an elegant stance almost identical to Syrio's, but his brow held a bit more gloomy killing intent.
A slender, lightweight rapier hung at his waist, undoubtedly revealing his identity as a Water Dancer.
" Jaina Targaryen ."
Slowly drawing the thin sword from his waist, the man spoke cold words:
"I am Quaro Valentine, the current First Sword of Braavos."
"Please leave Braavos immediately and never appear here again."
"Otherwise, I will show you what the true 'Water Dance' is."
Threatened, Jaina looked around; it was so quiet she couldn't see a single soul. It seemed the opponent had come prepared.
Facing danger, she didn't show any expression of panic. She simply drew the sword at her waist as well, a hint of a smile appearing at the corners of her mouth:
"Truly impressive, Mr. first sword."
"To draw a sword against a thirteen-year-old Little girl, has Braavos fallen to such a state?"
Valentine seemed provoked by her sarcasm. Disregarding the fact that she was just a Little girl, he immediately took his thin sword and thrust it toward Jaina.
It had to be said that as Syrio's replacement, this fellow did have some skill. His light footwork was like dancing, and his speed was so fast that an ordinary person couldn't even see the sword's shadow.
*Clang!*
To Valentine's surprise, this incredibly swift strike was easily blocked by Jaina's sword. In terms of speed, she was actually a few degrees faster than him.
As the daughter of a Grand Admiral, one shouldn't think Jaina was just a frail mage who only knew how to hide in the back and throw Spells wildly.
Having grown up on warships since childhood, her attainments in swordsmanship might not compare to Arthas, but they were not something a mere swordsman of Braavos could rival.
Not to mention, her blade was also covered in a thin layer of water magic!
*Snap...*
As a crisp snapping sound rang out, Valentine, who had intended to regroup and attack again, was shocked to find that his thin sword had actually broken!
"first sword Your Excellency, I think you should leave."
Knowing that Valentine's attack just now hadn't aimed for her vitals, Jaina didn't intend to take his life. She simply pressed the tip of her sword against his throat, demanding his departure with the posture of a victor.
"Your strength is truly shocking, My Lady."
Although he couldn't accept that the swordsmanship he took pride in had lost to a thirteen-year-old Little girl, the facts were before him, and Valentine had to lower his proud head.
"But I advise you to leave Braavos as soon as possible."
Almost overwhelmed by the queenly Aura Jaina exuded, the current first sword threw down his broken sword and slowly turned around:
"A King's decree is not so easily withdrawn, especially after I report your strength to him."
"Although your swordsmanship has reached the pinnacle, I fear you will encounter endless pursuit."
"Perhaps... they might even deploy the servants of the many-faced god."
Leaving behind a well-intentioned warning, Valentine departed decisively.
"Come out."
After watching Valentine's figure disappear, Jaina spoke loudly to the empty air as if talking to herself.
"Your perception is truly terrifying."
As soon as the voice fell, a short figure flashed out from around the corner.
After leaving the Sealords Palace, Syrio had been tailing Valentine, attempting to stop him before he could make a move.
But he hadn't expected the young Jaina to defeat the first sword who had replaced him so easily.
Syrio understood Valentine's strength very well; he could only say that if it were him, he wouldn't have been able to win so beautifully.
"It seems I don't need to worry too much."
Looking at Jaina as she returned her sword to its scabbard, Syrio let out a heartfelt sigh:
"You certainly have the strength to survive anywhere in this world."
Facing this swordsman who bore her no ill will and even showed a hint of friendliness, Jaina showed her greatest goodwill and extended an olive branch:
"It seems you have regained your freedom. Why not swear fealty to me?"
"I promise you, on the day the Targaryens reclaim the iron throne, you shall receive the title of first sword of Westeros."
"No need, dear Princess Targaryen Your Highness."
Faced with Jaina's warm invitation, Syrio simply shook his head calmly:
"The title of first sword is not something bestowed by man."
At this point, a hint of yearning appeared on his face—yearning for the upcoming challenge:
"The title of first sword of Westeros, I shall earn it myself with the sword in my hand!"
No longer lingering in this place, Syrio turned around, his elegant voice growing more distant:
"Valentine was right, you should leave Braavos early."
"Despite your great strength, an assassination by a Faceless Man is not so easy to deal with..."
Jaina didn't stop his departure; her purple pupils just silently watched his disappearing figure as she murmured to herself:
"What a strange fellow."
...The Arsenal is the main base for defending the primary port of Braavos, located at the entrance to the Great Lagoon, capable of accommodating dozens of galleons at once.
By the shore of the magnificent coast, a massive and majestic fleet was systematically making its final preparations for departure.
This was the Invincible Fleet belonging to the Sealord of Braavos.
Beside the warships was a fleet of merchant ships entirely in purple; they were the world-renowned purple-sailed, purple-hulled merchant fleet.
The massive hulls towered like giant beasts, giving off a visual impact of being indestructible.
Crew members moved busily yet orderly across the decks, checking equipment and adjusting sails; everything appeared highly disciplined.
"Why did you choose to join the Sealord's Invincible Fleet, young man?"
The fleet commander, known as Blackbeard Barbossa, stared with interest at the petite youth with grey-white hair before him, asking loudly amidst the sound of the crashing waves.
"For the challenge, sir!"
The youth straightened his back, just like any other man who yearned for the sea, his eyes filled with heat and passion:
"I grew up on my father's ship since I was a child, and I have always longed to command a tall warship and meet the challenges of all enemies on the sea!"
"Hahaha~"
Barbossa was clearly very satisfied with this answer. His large, calloused hand clapped the boy's shoulder firmly:
"Very good."
"Our fleet needs energetic young people like you."
Then, looking at the tall warship as if looking at a lover, his words were full of absolute confidence in his fleet's combat power:
"However, you might be disappointed; the Sealord's fleet has always been Invincible!"
"No scoundrels have ever dared to challenge us."
In his proud tone, a hint of the loneliness of having no rivals was revealed.
Shaking his head to cast these irrelevant emotions aside, Barbossa asked once more:
"Tell me what you can do, passionate lad."
"No one on a warship has the leisure to teach you from scratch."
"I can do everything, sir!"
The youth replied categorically, his youthful face also carrying absolute confidence:
"Whether it's piloting a ship, reading nautical charts, observing the weather, or fighting, I am very good at it!"
"Don't talk big now!"
Although he greatly appreciated this driven young man, Barbossa still felt he was bragging given his age.
"I am not talking big, sir."
The youth's purple eyes also looked at the massive warship before him with yearning. It had been who knows how many years since he had personally stood on a deck to command a battle.
"Please watch my performance in actual operation!"
"Alright, you braggart."
Since the other party had said so, Barbossa had no reason to continue making things difficult. On the contrary, he was quite looking forward to what kind of surprises this youth, who exuded the Aura of the sea, would bring him.
"One last question."
Stepping toward the warship, Barbossa turned his head to ask:
"What is your name?"
The youth thought for a moment, a look of nostalgia appearing in his lively purple eyes. With a slightly apologetic tone, he answered loudly and firmly:
"Daelin, sir."
"Daelin Proudmoore!"
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)