Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen
Chapter 75: Simping Until the End

Chapter 75: Simping Until the End

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In the Garden of a Hundred Birds, Tormo bent his bow and shot arrows at the delicate birdcages, venting his anger. Some birdcages were small, and the arrow stuck in them, causing the cages to swing like pendulums. Others were larger, and the arrows went straight through. His three sons stood behind him, silent and wary.

After shooting more than twenty arrows, Tormo finally calmed down. He turned to his personal swordsman, seeking advice. The swordsman explained that when facing a powerful sweeping attack, one should avoid it unless extremely confident in their own strength. Blocking such an attack was a tactic used by experienced swordsmen to bully novices. Even Qarro wouldn't have avoided the hidden weapon Tormo had given his swordsman. But Viserys had not only avoided it but had also exposed them publicly.

Despite the House Fregar's influence, their reputation was at stake, and the long-term consequences were uncertain. Peace was impossible. Viserys was not yet sixteen, but once he grew up, their conflict would reach a dead end. One side would have to fall.

"Do you still have any of the medicine you bought from Lys?" Tormo asked.

"Yes, Father," Andersen replied.

"Then give it to the swordsman."

"Yes."

Lys was rich in poisons, such as the "Tears of Lys" that killed Jon Arryn and the "Strangler" that killed King Joffrey. They also had other strange potions, including ones that could block human perception, making them unaware of pain and fatigue. These were precious and used only when absolutely necessary. But Viserys's strength was impeccable, with no weaknesses in his swordsmanship or physical fitness. The only choice was to exhaust him.

The potion Andersen bought could make a person attack relentlessly for about thirty minutes. In a normal swordsmanship competition, the winner would be decided within ten minutes. Thirty minutes was more than enough.

"A medicine?"

The father and son didn't say it explicitly, so Viserys's Seagull in the shadows had no way of knowing the effects of the medicine. But since it was for their swordsman, it must be some kind of stimulant. According to his memories from his previous life, stimulants lasted about half an hour to an hour. He could probably handle it with his own physical strength...

...

At this moment, Jorah had just lost 100 gold dragons and was left with barely enough money for food. If he used the summons, he would have only a dozen silver moons remaining.

"How much for the bread?" he asked.

"Two silver moons for a pound," the shopkeeper replied.

"That's expensive!" Jorah protested, recalling that just two days ago, he had paid only a silver moon for the same amount. Was the bread now made of gold, or perhaps the crumbs were?

The shopkeeper shrugged. "You think it's expensive? So do I! This flour comes all the way from Westeros."

"Fine, half a pound," Jorah conceded.

As he chewed the slightly cold bread, Jorah marveled at Viserys's prowess. In the arena, Viserys had not only dodged hidden weapons but also exposed his opponent on the spot. His skill reminded Jorah of Arthur Dayne. Though Jorah had never faced the "Sword of the Morning" himself, he was well aware of his legendary reputation. Viserys's performance evoked memories of Dayne's unmatched skill.

After the initial surprise, Jorah turned his thoughts to his future. Assassination seemed futile. Perhaps revealing himself and pledging loyalty to Viserys would be a wiser move. This would allow him to gather intelligence for King's Landing while giving him a chance to strike when the moment was right. Most importantly, it would alleviate his financial woes.

...

The direct victims of Viserys' victory, aside from House Fregar and gamblers like Jorah, included Lady Nightingale. On her ship, she could now hear the songs that Viserys "created" everywhere, underscoring his inevitable victory. Falia was already ahead in the beauty contest with her soap, but if Viserys won the championship, Lady Nightingale's fate would be sealed. Losing her greatest asset, she feared how House Fregar would "recycle" her. At seventeen, she couldn't wait for the next Ten Days' Festival.

Sitting on her boat, she felt the world crumble around her, sapping her motivation. Suddenly, she heard Kethmo's voice outside the window.

"Ave, I can take you away!" Kethmo called, his voice gentle yet firm. He had witnessed Viserys publicly accusing Leon of using hidden weapons, understanding the significance as a first-class swordsman. With Viserys's victory almost certain, Kethmo decided to escape with Gortave, even if it cost him his life.

Gortave smiled wryly, her face full of helplessness. "You can't escape. Fregar's power is more terrifying than you think."

"No! I have friends. If you decide to escape, I'll make the arrangements. Tomorrow's the final of the Swordsmanship Competition—our last chance!" Kethmo insisted.

Gortave remained silent, weighing her options.

"Ave, we can go to Lys, Pentos, Hall, the Great Grass Sea, even Westeros. I'll protect you until the ends of the earth!" Seeing her indecision, Kethmo continued to persuade her.

Gortave closed her eyes, her long eyelashes trembling as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Let me think about it. Let me think about it..."

Her future was shrouded in confusion and fear.

In contrast, the atmosphere on Falia's side was more relaxed. However, news of hidden weapons in the competition shocked them.

"Lady Falia, I'm so worried about him," Asha said absentmindedly, gazing toward the theater as if she could see through it.

Falia wanted to voice the same concern but restrained herself, a habit instilled since childhood. She could only pray for Viserys's safety. The comfort was knowing they could attend the final tomorrow and cheer him on.

Falia was already confident she had won the beauty pageant and began contemplating her future. As a courtesan "sponsored" by House Zalyne, she would prioritize their interests. Though likely to be the ultimate winner, Falia also felt a lack of control over her own fate.