Chapter 70: The Three Spectators

"Haha, no rush. Is Viserys the first or the last? Let's see what happens first."

With that, the discussion ended for the time being, and the tournament officially began.

After bidding farewell to Dany and the others, Viserys made his way to the arena. His arrival immediately drew the attention of the audience.

"That's Viserys! What a beautiful boy~"

"His eyes are really purple!"

"Hmph, the Beggar King is nothing."

"Look at his hair!"

The various whispers and comments blended together like a murky river, making it difficult to distinguish individual voices. Most people focused on his appearance, but some of the more discerning onlookers noticed something in his posture.

"Is that Viserys?" Daario asked.

"Yes, look at him. His sister can't be that bad. Fortunately, Bloodbeard didn't get his hands on her, or she would have been ruined."

Daario ignored his men. He could tell from Viserys's sword grip, stride, and eyes that he was no ordinary man.

"Let's see how he performs. If he's good, we'll raise his pay and invite him again."

Meanwhile, Jon Connington was also contemplating how to persuade Viserys to join the Golden Company. He wasn't afraid to spend money; the Golden Company had plenty of it, if little else. According to Illyrio, Viserys had invented a kind of soap, which must have earned him a considerable fortune, judging by his alliance with House Zalyne.

'Maybe I need to reveal my identity?' Jon Connington mused. If he could bring up Rhaegar, perhaps Viserys would agree to join the Golden Company. Not many knew that Viserys had been crowned by his mother, and Jon Connington, long expelled from Westeros, believed the heir to the Iron Throne could only be the bloodline of the Silver Prince in his heart.

Meris's eyes lit up when she saw him. She had nearly exhausted her gold coins just to buy the ticket, but she thought it was worth it. If she could recruit him, the leader would have to reimburse her!

Benro, who stepped onto the stage with Viserys, did not receive the same attention. He appeared to be around 34 or 35, with a brown beard covering half his face and a shallow scar on his forehead from a stray arrow.

"You shouldn't go against Lord Tormo," he said.

"Cut the crap. Do you chat with people before a fight?"

"Hmph!"

Seeing that Viserys had no intention of arguing, Benro fell silent.

"The competition begins..."

With a short blast of the horn, Benro made a tentative stab. Viserys easily dodged and taunted, "Is that all?"

"You'll regret this!" Benro retorted.

"Regret?" Viserys snorted. "It seems that nowadays, you have to fight sellswords with your mouth first."

His expression turned serious, and he stopped provoking Benro, focusing instead on fighting back.

"Up! Left! Down! Front!" Viserys called out his attacks, warning his opponent where to defend. Not only was he fast, but he also possessed significant strength.

The crowd watched in astonishment. They had never seen a match like this before; it was more like a lesson. The silver-haired boy was demonstrating his prowess in an extraordinary manner. Meris, Daario, and others secretly raised their bids in their minds.

Benro soon realized he couldn't keep up. What kind of monster is this? Viserys could attack, talk, and maintain his breath effortlessly, while Benro, after less than ten moves, was already flustered.

Benro's defense began to crumble. Finally, his sword slipped from his hand, and Viserys's blade grazed his beard, the cold metal pressing against his neck. Two breaths later, the referee declared, "Viserys Targaryen wins..."

Sealord Ferrego glanced at his personal bodyguard, Qarro, who showed a rare glimmer of admiration in his eyes. Ferrego knew that Viserys's swordsmanship had earned his approval. Beside him, Tormo frowned. None of his men seemed capable of defeating Viserys. In that case, he might not win any of the three championships.

Roth, however, was elated. Although he knew Viserys was strong based on his performance the previous days, he had never imagined this level of skill. He could already envision Viserys shining among the sellswords.

Meris's blue eyes were shining, but her confidence wavered when she noticed the Golden Company not far away. The Golden Company's strength was renowned across the Free Cities, and it had a long-standing partnership with the Iron Bank. If a creditor tried to default on a debt, the Golden Company was the first mercenary group the Iron Bank would turn to, and they always delivered.

If these guys wanted to recruit Viserys, Meris feared their chances of success were slim. She had to remember that Viserys was a Targaryen, and the founder of the Golden Company was a Targaryen bastard. This 'family connection' made her even more uncertain.

Meris's insecurity stemmed from her ignorance of noble affairs; the Targaryens and the Blackfyres despised each other with passion.

"How do you think we can get him to join us?" Meris asked the gray-haired man beside her.

"Mer, are you worried that we can't afford Viserys' price?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"In fact, I don't think money is the most important factor. The key is to find out what he cares about most."

"What he cares about the most..." Meris pondered for a while but came up empty.

As Viserys walked down from the arena, he smiled, but halfway there, he saw several white shadows flying toward him. Instinctively, he tried to dodge, but they turned out to be handkerchiefs in various colors—pink, white, and blue—each carrying the unique scent of a maiden. He had no choice but to catch them as he walked. By the time he returned to the room, his arms were full.

Dany, who had been overjoyed to see him, now wore a sad expression. Viserys noticed her change in demeanor and called out, "Regis!"

Regis quickly approached to take the handkerchiefs. "Get rid of these," Viserys instructed.

"Get rid of them?" Regis asked, puzzled.

"You decide."

Viserys glanced at Dany, then picked her up and spun her around, bringing a smile back to her face.

Just a few minutes earlier, outside the theater.

"The competition has begun!" someone announced, and everyone outside looked toward the theater as if they had X-ray vision. After a few minutes of tense waiting, a cheer erupted from inside.

"There's a result! So soon!" Jorah exclaimed, feeling uneasy. Despite having witnessed Viserys's strength, this was the final match, and he had bet half of his current wealth. If he lost, it would be a significant problem.

In contrast to Jorah's anxiety, Helbo appeared very relaxed. Although he didn't know much about swordsmanship, he recognized that Viserys's martial arts were extraordinary. His confidence was quickly rewarded as the bet of one hundred gold dragons was doubled.

Many people didn't understand swordsmanship; they simply liked Viserys and chose him, much like those who bet on the World Cup by picking the team from the country whose name they liked. However, for every winner, there were naturally losers. Most of the losers were the foot soldiers and thugs of House Fregar.

"Next time, we'll bet on the swordsman from House Fregar," said a man with long, narrow eyes, who looked like a small business owner.

"But this Viserys seems very strong. It seems he defeated his opponent in no time," another man noted.

The small business owner smiled contemptuously and replied, "Don't worry, he'll lose next time!"