Chapter 203: Provocation and Counterattack

"Listen to my arrangements, and I assure you, you'll be safe," the wealthy Magister continued whispering to Viserys.

"Alright," Viserys nodded slightly without saying much.

He did not know what Illyrio's specific arrangements were, but the Magister had not shown any signs of betrayal thus far, so there was still room for cooperation and utilization.

After all, even with Viserys' various measures in place, he was still deep within the heart of Pentos, surrounded by countless soldiers, and danger could strike if he wasn't careful.

Subsequently, the Prince of Pentos, seated on the ivory and gold throne, recited the names of the Magisters aloud.

"Turner, Hall, Scott, Cecil... Mopatis."

The Prince of Pentos read the surnames of the Magisters in turn.

Each Magister whose name was called slightly nodded their head while seated, at least showing respect on the surface.

The Prince of Pentos then expressed gratitude to these Magisters for their tireless efforts for the city-state.

In response, the Magisters stood up, placed their clenched fists over their hearts, and thanked the prince, expressing their loyalty and willingness to work towards the prosperity and strength of Pentos.

The Magisters then sat back down in their original seats.

This was the standard etiquette in Pentos, an ancient city-state with a unique political system.

Although the Prince of Pentos was a puppet, he was still theoretically the elected head of the city-state and deserved respect.

Viserys, however, remained seated in his place next to the prince, leaning back against the soft cushion and tapping the armrest lightly with his fingers, calmly watching the ceremony in the palace hall.

Behind Prince Dynilos, still stood three ritual officers holding their respective ceremonial items: a balance, a whip, and a sword.

As for the prince himself, his demeanor had changed considerably in the past two years. Although he still appeared dull in his daily life, Viserys had seen a different look in his eyes when presiding over holiday celebrations and inspecting the city-state.

Viserys even suddenly wondered if the prince who had been scared to the point of wetting himself on the throne back then had been faking it.

There had been no better reason to leave that hot seat at the time.

Upon careful thought, Viserys realized that actively standing up as a fleeing prince might have been worse than being dragged off as a fool.

Just then, the distant sound of the bells rang from the red temple, signifying midnight and the arrival of the new year.

"The new year is here."

"Let us toast to the gods above, may they bless Pentos with favorable weather in the coming year."

The Magisters of Pentos raised their glasses once again.

"At the same time, we would like to thank our distinguished guest, whose presence has added even more color to Pentos," the Prince of Pentos spoke.

The guards standing beside Viserys had already checked the wine in his cup and whispered a few words in his ear.

"Thank you for the Prince's warm hospitality…"

.

Viserys raised his own cup of wine as well, taking a delicate sip before setting it down.

However, at that moment, someone suddenly interrupted Viserys' words.

"Are you not fond of wine, Your Grace, the King of the Seven Kingdoms?"

Viserys had only taken a small sip in response to the toast from the Prince of Pentos.

A Magister, whose name Viserys did not know, suddenly spoke up.

He was seated in the fifth position to the right of the Prince of Pentos, wearing a black fur cloak. His hair was also graying, but his eyes were bright and alert.

Most of the Magisters in the Prince's palace were white-haired old men; Illyrio could even be considered young among them.

"Oh, my apologies."

The Magister then shook his head to himself.

"I forgot that you just came of age after your nameday this year, and now—"

"Perhaps you still can't drink."

The Magister's provocative remark was not unexpected to many.

Only the Prince sitting on the golden and ivory throne seemed a bit pale, while some other Magisters whispered among themselves, even letting out quiet chuckles, curious to see how Viserys, a green boy, would respond.

Viserys caught the provocation in the other's words, furrowed his brow slightly as he held his cup, and looked at the Magister across the hall.

"You're right."

"From childhood, my royal education has taught me that those who rely on alcohol are either fools or weaklings."

Viserys' words seemed to question whether the Magister was an idiot.

"And..."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

Viserys had been a bit distracted while talking to Baelorion and had not remembered the Magister's name.

However, he did remember that the man's primary business was in the wine industry.

Laughter filled the hall once more as Viserys' words fell, but this time it was not aimed at him.

These Magisters also had their own disputes and were not a united front, so they didn't hesitate to laugh at the man's embarrassment.

The white-haired wine merchant Magister's face visibly stiffened, and his eyes flickered with cold anger.

As a powerful Magister in the city-state, his estate was filled with wealth.

He employed numerous servants and workers, paying them only enough to eat, and they filled an entire street.

Still, countless poor people came to his mansion daily, begging for the opportunity to work for him.

The Magisters of Pentos monopolized various industries, leaving the poor with no choice but to work for them, or else starve in the streets.

Bloodstained capital never slept, amassing wealth that made the Magister somewhat arrogant, feeling as though he had become an omnipotent 'god.'

Even if facing the Dothraki Khal, they still managed to manipulate him with their combined efforts.

So, he was also one of the Magisters who coveted Viserys' dragons.

If Pentos could acquire a dragon, then they could hire mercenary armies with their gold, conquering other city-states, expanding markets, accumulating capital, and then using that capital to hire even more powerful armies.

This was the ambitious dream of the more aggressive faction.

However, this young man, not much older than his own grandson, seemed to barely acknowledge his existence.

"Beron Lupert, Magister."

"A conceited red wine merchant who thinks all the people of Pentos will drink his red wine."

As the atmosphere in the hall grew tense, another Magister, who did not get along with Lupert, sneered and spoke up.

"However, his wine is nowhere near as good as that from the Arbor."

The feast had only just begun, but the atmosphere had already taken an eerie turn.

The feast had only just begun, but the atmosphere had already taken an eerie turn.