Chapter 133: Viserys’s One-Man Mission

Viserys's mission for Daenerys might have seemed like a way to keep her occupied, but if executed correctly, it had the potential to significantly elevate the plan's success. While her actions could solidify the "lower limit" of their objectives, they also held the promise of pushing the "upper limit" to new heights.

For the next few days, the old captain Hoyt concealed Viserys's whereabouts, sharing the information with only a select few. Then, under the cover of night, Viserys set off on his journey to Lys.

In the council hall of Lys, the air was thick with tension as the city's princes and magistrates argued. The oppressive heat from hundreds of candles only added to the stifling atmosphere. Sweat glistened on foreheads, whether from the intensity of the debate or the sweltering temperature.

"We should immediately seek aid from Volantis! With their support, we needn't fear Tyrosh!" a young nobleman urged, his voice rising above the clamor.

"Ah, yes, and in the process, hand Lys over to Volantis on a silver platter," retorted an older nobleman with biting sarcasm.

Another voice chimed in, "Perhaps we could pay them off, buy ourselves some peace."

"Peace? You mean surrender!" Rovi snapped, clearly displeased.

"If surrender is so distasteful, why did you come back at all?" the man shot back.

For a defeated general, this cut deep. Rovi, his pride wounded, drew his sword and challenged the man to a duel.

"If you're so brave, why didn't you draw your sword on the battlefield?" the nobleman sneered in response.

"Enough!" bellowed Tregar, the most influential of the 'Prince Magisters,' silencing the room. "You've argued from dusk till dawn. Do you think this bickering will make the Tyroshi turn back?"

Relieved that someone had taken charge, the others fell silent.

"So, what's our plan?" asked a noblewoman draped in purple.

"We need more soldiers, more weapons, and yes, even assassins. It's far too early to speak of defeat."

His words shamed some of the more defeatist members of the council. None of the three Free Cities in the Disputed Lands had the power to destroy the others outright. Their recent losses had shaken them, but Tregar reminded them that as long as they held out, all was not lost.

However, every option came at a steep cost. Take assassins, for example—hiring ordinary ones would achieve little. The Faceless Men were the ideal choice, but their services were prohibitively expensive. Assassinating a figure like Kambron could drain the city's coffers entirely.

And then there was the matter of hiring mercenaries. The Golden Company was too far away, and even smaller, more capable mercenary groups would demand exorbitant fees. Hiring a group like the Bright Banners, with less than a thousand men, would be pointless—they'd likely be wiped out after just two volleys on the battlefield.

Despite the challenges, Tregar found the idea of seeking aid from Volantis not entirely unreasonable. Once Tyrosh dominated the Stepstones, the repercussions would be far-reaching. With time, diplomatic mediation might be possible. But Lys had suffered such swift defeats over the past six months that everyone was reeling. Tregar's current strategy was to "wait for change," hoping that external forces would eventually intervene.

Just as the room fell silent, Tregar's servant hurried to his side and bowed. "Who? Viserys?" Tregar thought his ears were deceiving him. He whispered to the servant for confirmation.

"My lord, that's what he said. Silver hair, purple eyes." Despite the servant's insistence, Tregar still couldn't believe it. Even considering the prevalence of silver hair and purple eyes in places like Lys and Tyrosh, the name Viserys carried a weight that was hard to accept.

Qaga, who stood close by, noticed Tregar's unease. When Tregar shared the news with him, Qaga's reaction mirrored his own—an expression of disbelief. "Is it really Viserys? But what could his purpose be?" Qaga wondered aloud.

"What do you think? Should we let him come?" Tregar asked.

"Let him come. After all, he's only one man," Qaga suggested.

"But what about the rumors of his sorcery?" Tregar hesitated.

"Now that we can't even spark a wildfire, where would there be any sorcery? Inform these people first," Qaga said, gesturing toward the gathered nobles.

Tregar stood up and clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "There is someone coming to form an alliance with us."

"Who?" "Who is he?" "Someone from Volantis?" The nobles murmured among themselves, puzzled by Tregar's vague announcement.

"Viserys Targaryen," Tregar declared. The name hit the room like a thunderclap, and disbelief rippled through the crowd.

"Viserys? The Viserys rumored to have killed pirates with witchcraft?" someone exclaimed.

'The Prince of the fallen kingdom?' 'The Beggar King?' 'The double champion of the Braavos Festival?' 'Isn't he a Windblown man?' The nobles buzzed with speculation.

Rovi suddenly stood and shouted, "Kill him! He must be here to force us into surrender. We will never surrender!" His outburst was met with scorn from some, as even in this world, the unspoken rule of not harming a messenger was respected, though not as strictly as guest rights. Yet the whispers of sorcery still troubled many.

At this point, Qaga stepped forward to calm the growing unease. "Don't worry. This Viserys doesn't know any sorcery. If he did, how could the Targaryens have been overthrown? Let him in and see what he wants." The nobles exchanged uncertain glances, hesitant to make a decision.

"Could he be seeking revenge for House Rogare?" suggested an elderly nobleman who had earlier mocked the idea of asking Volantis for aid.

'He hasn't even avenged his own family, let alone House Rogare,' Tregar thought, irritated by the old man's tendency to dredge up century-old grudges. Despite the lingering doubts, the Lysene nobles finally decided to meet with Viserys.

...

About an hour earlier, Viserys had arrived at the port of Lys. He gazed at the moonlit sky, softly singing the Moonsingers' hymns. The clarity of the moon reassured him that this endeavor was not as risky as it seemed. 'They need me more than I need them,' he mused. 'Why would these slave owners and merchants choose death over life? When Volantis ruled, they acted as obedient subjects for decades. There's no real danger here—poison is the only threat, and I'm prepared for that.' He had stocked up on enough attribute points to instantly recover even if his Health value dropped to zero. Still, his thoughts drifted to Regis.

Viserys looked at the bald head beside him, its surface glistening in the moonlight. "Are you afraid?" he asked.

"Ah, oh, I'm not... I'm not afraid," Regis stammered.

"If you're afraid, wait for me outside."

"No, I can't. I'm your attendant. How can I let you go in alone?" Regis insisted.

Viserys smiled. Fortunately, his Constitution had been weak when he first arrived in this world. Otherwise, he might have killed Regis at first. How could he have gained such a loyal servant if he did that?

Soon, the gates of Lys opened, and a luxurious carriage emerged. "Lord Viserys, the nobles wish to... wish to see you," the coachman stammered. Viserys's name had become so feared in Lys that it could be used to scare children, and the coachman was visibly wary of this rumored practitioner of witchcraft.