Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen
Chapter 169: Well Played

Chapter 169: Well Played

As the sun set, the sky deepened into a blood-red crimson. The major ports of Tyrosh were under martial law, and the Blood Tower, once used for transferring slaves, had been fortified into a stronghold. Overhead, Viserys’s great eagle circled the seas around Tyrosh, surveying the scene below.

In the northern part of the Stepstones, nearly 300 warships from Pentos and Myr patrolled the waters. The warships of Pentos were particularly distinctive—not for their numbers, but for their unique sails. Unlike the typical monochrome designs, the sails of Pentos’s ships were divided: blue on the upper half, symbolizing the sea, and yellow on the lower half, representing the land. This design reflected the symbolism of the Prince of Pentos, who had two wives representing the sea and the land. Every New Year’s Day, he deflowered two virgins in a ritual meant to symbolize the opening of the land and the exploration of the sea—a tradition that Viserys found disturbingly devilish.

As Viserys observed the Pentosian soldiers on the sailboats, he noticed their lack of fighting spirit. He recalled that Illyrio had once explained how the nobles of Pentos used debt as a means of controlling their army. These soldiers were not fighting out of loyalty or patriotism—they were simply paying off their debts. During their service, their debts continued to accumulate. It was no surprise that Pentos had the weakest military of the nine Free Cities. While other cities at least fed and rewarded their soldiers, these men faced a bleak future: no rewards if they won, and punishment if they lost. It was little wonder they were so ineffective.

As Viserys continued his watch, he spotted two familiar faces—Dotnere and Lightnere, the brothers who had traveled with him to Myr—on the flagship of the Pentos fleet. He suspected that they were there not just to reap the spoils of war, but more likely to gain prestige and solidify their position in Pentos.

Suddenly, something else caught his eye: a familiar golden eagle perched on the flagship. It was Connington’s. This unexpected sight made Viserys pause, puzzled by why he was present.

At this point, Illyrio didn’t believe he had been "exposed," so he saw no need to go to extreme lengths to kill Viserys. Perhaps he had other plans in mind, and for now, it was a matter of waiting to see how things unfolded.

Viserys continued his observations. The fleet closest to Pentos belonged to Myr, its white-sailed warships numbering about twice as many as those of Pentos. Myr was no small power; it was one of the most formidable of the Free Cities. Steering the Golden Eagle westward, Viserys soon spotted the fleet from Sunspear.

In terms of sheer numbers, Sunspear had mobilized nearly 400 warships. Their distinctive yellow hulls and the spear-piercing-the-sun emblem on the sails were both bold and imposing. The fleet also included ships from other noble houses, each bearing their own crests—some with a green serpent, others with a large red rooster.

'Sunspear is indeed powerful,' Viserys mused. 'It seems they've sent an army of nearly 10,000.' But despite their strength, Viserys didn’t expect Sunspear to shed much blood in this conflict. If Tyrosh was to be taken, it would largely be his doing. Westeros might not have the wealth of the Free Cities, but its strict feudal system allowed it to mobilize far greater military forces.

As he continued to observe, Viserys quickly spotted the Red Viper on the flagship, standing on the deck and speaking with nobles of various ranks. Behind him were a few short "soldiers"—undoubtedly Arianne and her companions.

“We’ll launch the first attack in the evening,” Oberyn announced. “But we’ll only send 3,000 men ashore and withdraw before we lose more than 10% of our forces.”

The Dornish nobles didn’t fully understand the reasoning behind such an arrangement, but it was their duty to obey their lord. Avoiding a full-scale battle with Tyrosh was certainly welcome news for most. Of course, some of the more astute nobles likely guessed the true purpose, but no one questioned the orders.

Watching the Red Viper’s careful planning, Viserys couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness. This alliance, which appeared so threatening, was really just a bluff. Once challenged, it would crumble. But Viserys had never expected them to succeed on their own; his goal was simply to create external pressure on Tyrosh.

The real victory would come from within, with the uprising he was about to ignite. At the moment, the greatest force holding Tyrosh in check was Lys. In other words, Tyrosh was at its most vulnerable, and tonight would be the perfect time to decide the outcome. If they could seize the palace, they could seize Tyrosh itself.

Returning to the mine, Viserys decided to inspect the equipment he had prepared in advance—such as the battering ram for breaching the palace gate and the wildfire for launching fire attacks. However, it was clear that Kambron was also aware that tonight posed the greatest danger to Tyrosh. If he could survive the night, there would be room for negotiation.

As Viserys arrived at the mine, he was greeted by the sight of a bureaucrat in a red robe, his beard and hair dyed purple. The man was flamboyant and somewhat ostentatious, but he bowed with respect as Viserys approached.

“Lord Viserys,” the bureaucrat greeted, bowing slightly. As a government official in Tyrosh, he was well aware of Viserys’s reputation and knew that this particular mine was controlled by the Windblown. However, being within Tyrosh’s borders, it was still subject to the Archon’s authority.

“What brings you here, my lord?” Viserys asked.

“Well, Tyrosh is currently caught in a conspiracy, and I’ve been ordered by the Archon to requisition half of the slaves from this mine to defend the city.”

Compensation? In times of peace, slaves were treated as beasts of burden; in times of war, as cannon fodder.

“What are the Archon’s terms of compensation?” Viserys inquired, his tone sharp.

The bureaucrat gave a dismissive chuckle. “You must be joking, Lord Viserys. If Tyrosh falls, there will be no compensation.”

“And weapons?” Viserys sneered.

“Don’t they have pickaxes?”

Viserys stared at him for a moment before replying, “Fine. When do they need to report?”

“Listen for the bells. If they haven’t assembled after five rings, they’ll be charged with treason,” the red-robed official warned.

“Understood.”

The purple-haired bureaucrat hadn’t expected the conversation to go so smoothly. He had assumed that Viserys would be a more difficult character to handle. As he left, he cast a contemptuous glance over the mine, clearly unimpressed.

Similar scenes were unfolding in other mines around Tyrosh. However, unlike Viserys, the slave owners in those places responded to the tension with brutal crackdowns. Even minor infractions that might have been overlooked on a normal day were now met with severe punishment. In many cases, slaves were beaten for no reason at all, simply as a warning to the others.

Not long after the recruitment officer departed, several slaves were publicly hanged as a grim example. Those who had tried to steal food from Viserys’s mine were singled out for especially harsh beatings.

Soon, word spread among the slaves about their impending fate on the battlefield.

“Milen, we’re going to the battlefield tomorrow. Are you scared?” Old York asked, his voice steady.

“A little,” the young slave admitted, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Listen to me,” the old man said, his tone firm. “When you go to war, you can’t afford to be afraid. The more fear you show, the quicker you’ll die. Just stick close to me.”

It was obvious that Old York had seen battle before—likely more than once. His words were not just advice, but a survival strategy born from hard-earned experience.

"Okay... okay, Uncle York," Milen replied, though his voice trembled with nerves. Despite his words, the fear was evident in his eyes.

Another slave, his flaxen hair dull and lifeless, chimed in, "What are you so afraid of? We ate such a big piece of meat today, it’s almost worth dying for. It’s just a shame the Unsullied made us eat all of it right away. Would’ve been nice to save a bit for later.”

He clenched his teeth, savoring the memory of the meat’s taste.

“Right! We’ve had our meat, might as well die now,” another slave agreed, and soon more voices joined in.

“Hey, what’s this about eating meat? You still got some?”

“I hid it in my teeth, heh..."

The night had fallen, and the mine was illuminated by the flickering light of braziers. Viserys had gathered all the slaves together—more than 1,200 in total. Among them were over 200 elite Windblown soldiers that Hoyt had discreetly stationed there over a month ago. Though they wore ragged robes like the other slaves, underneath they were clad in fine iron armor.

The slaves, unaware of the full scope of Viserys’s plan, knew only that they were about to be sent to the battlefield. They had no idea why they had been summoned in the middle of the night. The whispers in the crowd grew until someone spotted Viserys’s silver hair and hushed those around them.

Viserys stood before them, looking down at the gathering of dark, thin, and weary souls who were like straw in the wind. His voice rang out clearly:

“I have some bad news for you. Tomorrow you will go to war, and you will not return.”

A stunned silence fell over the slaves. They couldn’t comprehend why Viserys would tell them this. Even Jorah, who knew Viserys’s plan, was taken aback. It seemed insane—if the goal was to inspire the slaves to fight, shouldn’t he be trying to boost their morale? But with Viserys standing firm beside him, Jorah held his tongue and continued to observe.

“You may not realize it,” Viserys continued, “but outside Tyrosh, there are armies from Lys, Myr, Pentos, and even Sunspear! They are heavily armed, in full armor, and their numbers are so vast that their ships darken the sea! So, I must tell you the unfortunate truth: everyone will die—including me!”

The slaves were silent, their fear palpable. Even Old York was too stunned to notice Milen’s anxious gaze. Life as a slave had always been hard, but the thought of certain death brought a new level of terror.

At that moment, a tall, scarred slave rose to his feet and declared, "Lord, I'm not afraid. I can protect you!" He turned to the others and added, “We all ate meat today—so let’s make it count!”