The naked threat carried the arrogance and certainty characteristic of a Local Tyrant.
The alley was dead silent.
There was only the faint clamor from the distant port and the heavy, uneven sounds of breathing nearby.
Aegon silently and slowly turned around, looking at the group of Mercenaries behind him.
Luke, pinned to the ground, heard Barry's words and saw Aegon's turning back. The small flame of hope that had just ignited in his eyes flickered violently like a candle in the wind, then suddenly went out.
He lowered his head resignedly, his body no longer struggling, only trembling slightly.
Barry's thick lips curled into a scornful arc, and the thugs behind him let out sounds of ridicule.
Karl and the Mercenaries behind him gripped their weapons, their eyes focused on Aegon.
They were waiting, and they were observing.
How would this "Prince," who had just announced he would lead them to glory, choose when faced with the threat of a Local Tyrant? Would he weigh the pros and cons and temporarily back down, or... Aegon glanced at the Mercenaries, whose expressions varied.
Weighing the pros and cons? Calculating gains and losses? Assessing the cost of conflicting with a port Local Tyrant?
No.
Those belonged to the Mercenary "Lotte Haine," who lived in humble submission, constantly looking over his shoulder.
But the one standing here now was Aegon Targaryen.
A leader who needed to prove to his followers that he was worthy of their lives and loyalty.
Some things, he could not retreat from.
Some lines, he had to draw.
A cold killing intent flashed in his violet eyes.
At the moment when everyone, including Barry, thought he was struggling to weigh his options or perhaps preparing to back down—
Aegon suddenly spun around!
His movement was as fast as lightning, his silver hair cutting a cold arc in the dim light.
The ordinary longsword at his waist suddenly sprang from its sheath as he turned!
"Zheng—!"
A clear, sharp sword cry echoed in the narrow alley, drowning out all other noise.
The sword tip rose, drawing a cold gleam through the air, and finally pointed steadily and directly at Barry, the fat and arrogant leader of the Iron Jaw Gang, who was a few meters away.
Aegon's face was hard as stone, and his violet eyes held unquestionable resolve.
His voice was not loud, yet every word was clear, ringing out forcefully, carrying a declarative resonance that echoed throughout the Mud Eel Alley:
"Now, you listen to my rules."
"Release the person, hand over the girl and the IOU you seized, immediately!"
"Otherwise—"
His wrist gave a slight tremor, but the sword tip remained perfectly still, locked onto Barry's throat.
"All of you will stay here today."
The instant his voice dropped, it was as if a fuse had been lit.
After a brief silence—
"ROAR—!!!"
Behind Aegon, the previously silent Mercenaries, including Karl, suddenly erupted in long-suppressed roars of fury!
Their eyes were instantly ignited by fervent fighting spirit and the rage of having been insulted!
The frustration of long-term struggle in the lower ranks, the terror of life and death recently experienced in Valyria combined with the excitement of survival, and the shock and thrill that their "Boss" had actually drawn his sword for them.
All these emotions mixed together, transforming into a primal roar!
"Screw them!"
"Did you hear that? Release the person!"
"Iron Jaw Gang scum! Come on!"
More footsteps came from the alley entrance.
The Mercenaries previously sent to gather reinforcements surged in, bringing over twenty comrades who had been resting nearby and rushed over immediately upon hearing the news!
Although their clothes were slightly disheveled, and some even held half-eaten bread or wine skins, every face bore the ferocity and cold indifference of those who had just returned from hell.
Their eyes were sharp as knives, and they automatically fanned out behind Aegon, blocking the alley entrance.
Weapons were drawn one after another, the gleam of blades chilling.
In just a few breaths, the situation was reversed!
The members of the Iron Jaw Gang, who had originally enjoyed a numerical advantage and arrogant demeanor, were now trapped from both sides in the narrow Mud Eel Alley.
The killing aura emanating from the "Foreign Mercenaries" opposite them—who had just seemed easy to manipulate—an aura forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, mixed with the solidarity of standing up for a comrade, struck the hearts of every Iron Jaw Gang thug like a tangible icy tide.
The fat on Barry's face trembled violently, and his small eyes were filled with shock, anger, and a hint of imperceptible panic.
He hadn't expected the other party to actually dare to draw a sword, nor had he expected this group of seemingly down-and-out Mercenaries to possess such cohesion and momentum!
Barry's face turned pale in the gloom, and the thugs behind him also felt the palpable killing intent, cold sweat seeping from their weapon-gripping hands.
Just as the tension was at its peak, threatening bloodshed at any moment—
"Wait! Hold on, everyone! Gentlemen, let's talk this out!" A slightly hoarse voice suddenly interjected, breaking the tense standoff.
Scorpion Tail Kurk, leading a few subordinates, slowly stepped out from the shadows at the other end of the alley.
The scorpion tattoo on his bald head looked particularly vicious in the dim light, but his face wore a complex smile, somewhere between smooth-talking and warning, as his gaze swept over the two sides poised for battle.
"Oh dear, Boss Barry, and this... silver-haired friend, why take things this far?" Kurk's voice carried the distinct husky accent of the port district.
He first waved his hand toward Barry, signaling him to calm down, then turned his gaze to Aegon, his eyes holding a hint of scrutiny and an imperceptible warning.
He walked between the two, neatly separating their clashing gazes. First, he leaned toward Barry and lowered his voice, his tone containing a familiar complaint: "Barry, my good brother, look at this situation! For a small-time debtor, do you really want your dozens of elite men to fight to the death with this bunch of desperadoes who just crawled out of a pile of corpses? Is it worth it?"
"Listen to me, the Tiger Cloaks patrol will be changing shifts here soon. If this escalates, the Governor won't be pleased, right?"
The flabby flesh on Barry's face twitched. Kurk's words had hit a sore spot.
Fighting to the death with this group of Mercenaries who had nothing to lose would result in heavy losses even if they won, not to mention alarming the official authorities.
Next, Kurk turned to Aegon, his tone becoming relatively calm, but his words carried significant weight: "This friend, one look tells me you're a man meant for great things. The saying 'A Strong Dragon does not suppress a Local Tyrant' holds true."
"Boss Barry has been operating in this port for many years, and his connections are deeply entrenched."
"You've just arrived; all you want is wealth and passage. Why start a deadly feud the moment you step ashore? Give Kurk some face, take a step back, and the world is vast. What do you say?" As he spoke, his finger casually rubbed a seemingly ordinary gemstone ring on his waist.
Aegon listened expressionlessly, the coldness in his violet eyes not dissipating because of the persuasion.
Barry let out a heavy snort, using the opportunity to back down, and roared with feigned ferocity: "Fine! I'll give Boss Kurk face today! Kid, consider yourself and your men lucky!"
He waved his hand and shouted to his subordinates: "Release that pauper!"
Luke was released and stumbled toward Aegon, where he was supported by a Mercenary.
Barry glared fiercely at Aegon, pointing a finger vaguely at him: "Kid, I remember you! In Volantis, even a dragon has to coil! We'll... see about this!"
Having said that, he quickly left the alley with his subordinates, muttering curses, their backs showing a hint of panic.
Only then did Kurk turn around, facing Aegon. The businessman's smile returned to his face, but his eyes were sharp: "Young Man, although Barry likes to boast, his sister is, after all, the Mistress of a certain Governor. There's always some connection there."
"You still need to anchor and resupply here. There's no need to completely burn your bridges." His words sounded like advice, but they also highlighted the underlying stakes.
Aegon withdrew his gaze from the alley entrance and focused on Kurk, speaking calmly: "I accept Boss Kurk's favor." His voice betrayed no emotion.
Kurk smiled, about to say a few more words to lighten the atmosphere, but when he met Aegon's violet eyes, his smile slightly froze.
There was no gratitude, no compromise, only a bottomless, icy coldness. The previous killing intent had not dissipated; it had been forcibly suppressed, like a fierce beast temporarily retracting its claws.
Kurk's heart sank. He realized that his mediation had only postponed the storm, not quelled it.
Aegon ignored Kurk, turning instead toward the still-shaken Luke.
Luke struggled, wanting to kneel and beg: "Prince! My sister..."
Aegon raised a hand, stopping his subsequent words.
"Say no more." His voice carried an unquestionable decisiveness.
He glanced at the sky, which had completely darkened. The lights of the port district twinkled in the distance, illuminating his stern profile.
He spoke quietly to Karl, his voice low but clearly audible: "Take two quick-witted, fast-footed comrades and follow them."
"Find out the exact location of their lair, their manpower, and their entrances and exits. Be back before it's completely dark."
A sharp glint flashed in Karl's eyes. He immediately acknowledged the order, selected two men, and they silently melted into the night.
Next, Aegon turned toward the Mercenaries behind him—silent yet restless, their eyes burning with fire and excitement.
His gaze swept over every face, and then he raised his voice. Every word struck the silent night sky like a cold iron hammer:
"Go back."
"Change into the armor we brought back, take up your most suitable blades, and check your bows and crossbows."
He paused, a nearly imperceptible, cold curve hooking his lips.
"Tonight..."
"Is a night for murder."
The command was given. There was no cheering, only a suppressed and synchronized sound of weapons being drawn or gripped tightly.
Bloodthirsty light erupted in the Mercenaries' eyes. They silently and swiftly dispersed, like a wolf pack receiving instructions from the Alpha Wolf, heading toward the docks to prepare.
Kurk stood rooted to the spot, watching Aegon's composed, commanding back, then looked at the group of murderous, swiftly moving Mercenaries, instinctively touching his bald head.
He understood that a certain corner of Volantis was destined to run red with blood tonight.
This Young Man with silver hair and violet eyes was definitely no ordinary person.
However, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing for him. Perhaps he could take the opportunity to expand his territory?
Shaking his head, he also quietly retreated into the shadows with his subordinates.
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