Chapter 106: Assassination

"About a thousand years ago, the ancient Rhoynar city-states and the Valyrian Freeholds waged war against each other, taking about two hundred and fifty years from the onset of the conflict to total collapse."

Archmaester Gunthor held a book in his hands, walking and talking with Viserys.

In theory, the archmaester should serve the lord of Westeros, and the young archmaester had been sent to Dragonstone by the Citadel. If Dragonstone changed hands, he would serve the next lord.

However, there are always exceptions.

There are instances in history where archmaesters followed nobles away from their lands, like the maester of Storm's End, who went with Stannis.

It was up to the archmaesters themselves to decide; they were nominally archmaesters of the Citadel but had, in fact, become vassals of the nobility. The notion of archmaesters being apolitical is sometimes merely an ideal.

In the eastern side of the Rhoyne, the small town of Vallo had recently been conquered by Andal forces.

"During the Second Spice War, the conflict reached its peak. Prince Garin of the Rhoynar led 250,000 Rhoynar warriors in fierce resistance, repelling the Valyrian invaders at one point. In the process, two dragons fell, and a Dragonlord fled in panic."

"But then more powerful demons and dragons flew in from the Freeholds, unlike the three dragons that had been defeated before. They..."

The archmaester paused for a moment, looking at the records in the book before continuing.

"They were several times larger than the previous dragons and numbered as many as 300. Prince Garin's 250,000 Rhoynar army was annihilated."

"Prince Garin was locked in a golden cage, hung from the city walls to witness the destruction of his city-state and his people enslaved."

"However, the following stories are legends, Your Grace, and you can choose to listen or not."

The archmaester glanced at the records behind him and continued as the two walked and talked. Viserys nodded slightly.

The archmaester continued.

"According to the legend, before his death, Prince Garin wept tears of blood, cursing the Valyrians and calling on Mother Rhoyne to avenge her people. That night, the Rhoyne suddenly surged with unprecedented power, and an evil fog enveloped Chroyane forever. Countless restless Valyrian invaders received Garin's curse... Greyscale, and died there."

"The story goes that Prince Garin eventually emerged from his watery tomb, ruling the sorrowful lands as the Shrouded Lord."

This lengthy history spanned from the glory to the destruction of the Rhoynar city-states a thousand years ago. Viserys and Oberyn were familiar with the subsequent stories.

Oberyn's ancestors carried the ancient Rhoynar bloodline. The legendary Rhoynar warrior queen, Nymeria, led the Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea to Dorne and married Oberyn's ancestor, Mors Martell.

Although the ancient city-states had long vanished, many Rhoynar villages still thrived along the banks of the Rhoyne, their Mother River.

Viserys had set out on this military campaign to bring these villages under his rule. After a series of initial conquests, the Rhoynar in the upper reaches of the Rhoyne had organized resistance, only to be crushed by Viserys' army.

"Your Grace, as the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, you must never rely solely on one race."

"You should have made such a decision long ago..."

The archmaester said, fully supporting Viserys' idea. It was unwise to obsess over the Iron Throne and fall into its curse, instead of focusing on the development of his own forces in the vast continent of Essos.

If Viserys insisted on participating in the Iron Islands' rebellion, he might not only fail to gain anything, but also suffer losses and slow down his own development.

"Yes, you're right," Viserys nodded in agreement.

The two of them walked across the muddy ground, where the traces of last night's battle had not yet been completely cleaned up. The town still bore the signs of destruction, with burnt and broken houses and blood splattered on the walls.

They eventually arrived at a relatively intact courtyard, which served as Viserys' temporary residence.

The Andals of the Andalos Plain and the Rhoynar along the banks of the Rhoyne River had similar situations. Both races had lost their former glory.

This large triangular region, wedged between the city-states of Norvos, Braavos, and Pentos, was actually a power vacuum.

The Free Cities' trade system ensured that they lacked the intense territorial ambitions of empires. Viserys had seized this opportunity to gradually develop his power in this area, where no other significant forces were present.

"So... what should we do next?"

Viserys and the archmaester stopped outside the courtyard to converse.

Surrounding them, the crowd consisted mostly of captured prisoners. One Rhoynar slave seemed to have overheard Viserys and the archmaester's conversation, raising his head slightly and flashing a glance, although it was uncertain if he understood the Common Tongue of Westeros.

The Common Tongue, brought to Westeros by the Andals and the Rhoynar, had evolved over time to the point where it sounded like two different languages.

"Die!"

As the slave passed by Viserys, he suddenly lunged at him with a hoarse roar, attempting to strangle Viserys with the iron chains that bound his hands.

"Hmm?"

"Damn it!"

However, his sudden movement was caught by Viserys in the corner of his eye, who swiftly dodged.

With a quick reaction, Viserys avoided the slave's attack while gripping the attacker's wrist tightly.

In the meantime, he drew a dagger from the belt of a nearby guard, placing it against the Rhoynar slave's throat and then cutting it with a gentle stroke.

Blood spurted out, and the slave's face was filled with disbelief. Holding his throat with his chained hands, he fell to the ground, lifeless.

He had intended to take Viserys hostage and escape, but he hadn't expected Viserys to react so quickly.

"Your Grace!"

Viserys' guards hadn't even had time to react before the slave was already dead, their faces a mix of shock and anger.

The other passing Rhoynar slaves knelt down in fear, terrified that the young king would punish them as well, even though they weren't accomplices.

The archmaester, who had witnessed the entire scene, watched as Viserys took a deep breath, then wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief handed to him by a guard.

"Your Grace, are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Viserys shook his head gently, then glanced at the corpse on the ground, his eyes reflecting a hint of darkness.

He had already experienced too many assassination attempts of this level and had even begun to grow numb to them.