"The truth is, those two thousand farmers were actually elite archers. My real force wasn't three thousand—it was five."
Viserys knew the truth would be discovered eventually. Better to reveal it himself.
"I once read in a Targaryen ancestor's journal: 'Deception is not illegal in war.' So I made those arrangements back on Dragonstone."
Corren responded with a look of impressed understanding, "'Deception is not illegal in war'—a wise and thought-provoking strategy.
May I ask which Targaryen ancestor said it?"
Viserys chuckled and brushed the question aside, saying he couldn't quite recall.
Corren didn't push further. Instead, he moved on to ask about Viserys's next plans.
"Does Your Grace intend to press the advantage and fully secure the Upper Rhoyne region, or launch a campaign against the Rhoynar?"
According to intelligence from Braavos, there were roughly a hundred thousand Andals in Gohor, while the Rhoynar population hovered around one hundred and fifty thousand.
More importantly, the Rhoynar were far more organized. In Gohor, their power was centralized in a ruling council known as the Elders' Circle.
It was precisely because of the Elders that Freygo could not fully control the Rhoynar.
Bringing Viserys into Gohor served not only to weaken the Pentoshi-controlled Andals, but also to undermine Rhoynar influence—thus increasing their dependence on Braavos and giving Braavos more leverage over Gohor.
Yet Viserys didn't directly answer Corren's question. Instead, he asked about the Rhoynar themselves.
Given the current situation, it seemed likely the Rhoynar were backed by Braavos.
What Viserys couldn't understand was why Freygo had never spoken to him about the Rhoynar at all. If they were allies, he should have at least brought it up in conversation.
"There is indeed some interaction between Braavos and the Rhoynar," Corren explained smoothly, following a well-rehearsed script. "But it's strictly trade-related."
"That said, the Rhoynar do possess… certain abilities."
"Please, elaborate." Viserys leaned forward, wearing the look of a curious student.
.....
Braavos.
The Sea Lord's Palace.
"He plans to build a city?"
Freygo had already been shocked to hear of Viserys's victory. But what truly stunned him was that Viserys had begun laying the groundwork for it long before leaving Dragonstone.
He had disguised two thousand trained archers as peasants and fooled everyone.
Freygo had even sent men to confirm their identities. Those men reported that the supposed archers were as genuine as farmers could be.
Typically, seasoned archers have thick calluses on the inside of their index and middle fingers—formed from years of drawing bowstrings. These men had none.
Had they scraped the calluses off beforehand?
Yet their bodies showed clear signs of years spent toiling in the fields. And there's a visible difference between the build of a farmer and that of an archer.
Farmers often have stooped postures from years of bending over crops. Archers, on the other hand, develop prominent back and arm muscles that are hard to hide.
Freygo couldn't believe his agents would miss such an obvious difference.
And now Viserys was planning to build a city—another surprise. Constructing a city was no small feat. Even a modest one could take months, a large one, years.
And judging by Viserys's words, this wouldn't be a small undertaking.
"Your Grace, Viserys told me he plans to build a rammed-earth city. The kind where the soil is compacted, then layered with brick. It'll be large, but the defenses won't be particularly strong."
Corren clarified.
"Oh?"
Freygo hadn't seen a rammed-earth city before, but from the name, it was clear the construction material wasn't expensive stone—it was ordinary earth.
And Viserys had just captured a large number of prisoners.
Under those circumstances, it made sense. Gohor didn't have any major powers, and a ring of earthen walls would provide a strong sense of security.
"What about the provisions we prepared?" Freygo asked.
"Sell them to him at a low price. If things continue like this, he might end up wiping out Pentos's influence in Gohor."
If Targaryen forces purged the Pentoshi, Gohor would be split between the Targaryens and the Rhoynar.
The Targaryens would remain friendly thanks to Braavos's early support.
The Rhoynar, already under Braavosi influence, would now face additional pressure from the Targaryens—making them more dependent on Braavos.
Freygo believed it was a win-win situation.
Viserys's triumph didn't worry him; it pleased him. He didn't believe the young Targaryen could defeat the Rhoynar so easily anyway.
"Did you inform Viserys about the Rhoynar's water magic?"
"I did, Your Grace."
Freygo nodded.
Within the Rhoynar's Elders' Circle was a true magic-wielder—a Grand Elder named Lodan.
Freygo had given this intelligence to Viserys not to stir alarm, but to caution him—encouraging the prince to focus on wiping out the remnants of the Andal forces and expelling Pentos's influence from Gohor.
His hopes for the Targaryens had changed. He no longer wished to see Viserys take too many losses.
The Rhoynar's mastery of thick fog and mist was the cornerstone of their power in the Upper Rhoyne.
With his instructions complete, Freygo leaned back into his chair. Lately, he'd felt oddly lethargic, as if something were draining his strength.
His mind drifted to his first meeting with Viserys.
He had expected a mere Kingsguard to arrive, not one of the only two heirs to House Targaryen.
So young—at an age when most were still nestled in their mother's arms—yet bold enough to brave the seas and arrive in Braavos. Freygo had admired him from that moment.
He thought to himself, If only Viserys and Rhaegar had been switched… maybe the Targaryens would still hold the Iron Throne.
Of course, those who believed the Targaryens lost the throne over a woman were fools.
If the dragons had still lived, Rhaegar could have kissed Lyanna in front of Robert Baratheon and no one would've dared say a word.
Braavos's reaction to Viserys's victory had been mild—if anything, they welcomed it.
In their eyes, the Targaryens might win a little, but Braavos would never lose.
Such was the confidence of true power.
Pentos, on the other hand—was bleeding.
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