Along the bay outside the city of Pentos, there was a row of residences separated by considerable distances, much like a beach villa district.
These residences were prepared by the Pentoshi for great figures traveling to the Free Cities or for the Dothraki Khals.
Years ago, when the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen went into exile, he and his wife Laena also lived in Pentos for a long time.
Viserys's new residence was also located here, a palace rising with seven high towers, its towering brick walls covered in pale ivy.
However, although these residences were maintained by eunuch Unsullied and servants, the occupancy rate was extremely low; the Khals only came here occasionally for short stays.
Recently, because of the bloodbath stirred up by Khal Drogo's rise to power in the Great Grass Sea, even fewer Dothraki had ventured out of Dothraki territory.
The Pentoshi valued Viserys's strength and had gifted him one of these residences.
"This residence is a gift offered by many Magisters," Magister Illyrio said. "It is a fine tale indeed—the true dragon returns to Pentos."
"That is truly kind of you," Viserys said without any hint of politeness.
The Pentoshi always preferred the stick to the carrot; if he didn't handle them firmly, they would instead feel lost.
Viserys arranged for his soldiers to be stationed nearby the residence.
"Recently, Khal Drogo's name has caused quite a stir in the dothraki Great Grass Sea, and it is in a state of chaos. You will find much more peace in this residence, with no noisy neighbors." Magister Illyrio personally escorted Viserys to the entrance.
"That is good; I do not like those foul-smelling Dothraki," Viserys replied arrogantly. His power base of Andals and rhoynar shared a blood feud with the dothraki, and a bloody battle between the two sides was inevitable.
"In truth, we are not truly afraid of these barbarians," Illyrio explained to Viserys with a smile. "The Red Robe Priests assure us that with the protection of the Lord of Light, even if a million dothraki were to attack, we would have no need to fear—but since their friendship is so cheap, why not indulge them?"
Viserys almost laughed out loud. These Magisters of the Free Cities certainly knew how to flatter themselves, but he didn't bother to expose them.
"This way," Illyrio led the way.
Viserys followed behind him, with Unsullied guards standing watch at the entrance.
The guards wore bronze helmets with a spike on top and carried spears in their hands.
Magister Illyrio's words were as sweet as honey: "The city of Pentos had originally arranged a lavish banquet for you within the city, but it seems we shall have to arrange it in this courtyard now. Many great figures are already impatient to catch a glimpse of the true dragon's grace."
Viserys remained noncommittal. "The descendant of the true dragon is right here; they had better take a good look."
"Your Majesty truly has a sense of humor," Illyrio laughed.
The Unsullied opened the doors, and Viserys and Illyrio entered the courtyard.
Inside the courtyard, expensive spices had already begun to be burned—fire pepper, cinnamon, sweet lemon, and the like—each item costing a small fortune.
Viserys and Illyrio first walked into the reception hall, where stained glass depicted scenes of the Doom of Valyria.
Hugo and Gaelin followed behind Viserys, while Argos was responsible for arranging the other stationed knights.
"You may wait here for a moment. I ensure there will be a grand banquet tonight," Illyrio promised.
"Who will be coming?" Viserys inquired.
"They are all the high officials and nobles of this great city, various Magisters, and the Prince himself," Illyrio introduced briefly. "To avoid idle gossip, we have not invited other dignitaries."
"It seems past banquets were much more enthusiastic," Viserys said curiously.
"If we were hosting a Dothraki Khal, naturally there would be all sorts of people. But you are a true dragon, so the standards are naturally higher. At tonight's banquet, there will be no one untrustworthy. The Magisters have ensured that no others will be present—those assassins and mercenaries from Pentos, Myr, and Tyrosh, Red Robe Priests even fatter than I, hairy weirdos from Ibben, Summer Isles lords with skin as black as dark ebony, and the brother of the Archon of Tyrosh... those people cannot keep their mouths shut."
"Very well, then I also thank the Magister for allowing me to meet with the elite of this great city." Viserys's purple eyes held a strange beauty.
"It is only right," Illyrio said, feigning to be flattered.
Night soon arrived, and with it, the grand feast.
The Unsullied eunuchs began to announce the arrival of the guests in high-pitched voices. "The Prince of the Free City of Pentos, Luca Klaus, the first man of Pentos who oversees trade, war, and law."
Prince Luca's steps were light and unsteady, looking as though he had been worn down by wine and women.
Three heralds cleared the way for him, respectively holding a golden scale symbolizing trade, a steel sword symbolizing war, and a silver whip symbolizing law.
The Prince walked into the courtyard filled with stone pillars and creeping pale ivy, the shadows of the leaves dyed a bone-like silver by the moonlight.
The Prince of Pentos was chosen from forty noble families and was the nominal head of Pentos, responsible for presiding over ceremonies and sitting high above at balls and banquets.
In reality, the Prince of Pentos was a pitiful mascot, though nominally everyone still gave him a modicum of respect.
But this Prince was quite clear about his own fate: to eat, drink, act as a playboy, and then pray for good weather.
In all these years, only one candidate for Prince had escaped his fate, fleeing to become a mercenary.
"Noble King Viserys, welcome to Pentos," the Prince of Pentos said with a laugh.
"It is an honor to be a guest of this great city," Viserys returned the gesture politely.
At tonight's banquet, Viserys would sit at the high table alongside the Prince of Pentos.
Next were several Magisters.
"Magister of the Free City of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis." Illyrio was evidently attending as a senior Magister.
According to Viserys's observations, tasks like pimping and hosting these difficult noble guests, Dothraki Khals, and adventurers seemed to be what Illyrio did regularly.
As a once-obscure assassin, Illyrio's rise to this level could be considered a success.
However, the dream land Illyrio desired was even larger than the city-state of Pentos.
"Magister of the Free City of Pentos, Ordello Larissus."
An arrogant middle-aged Magister stepped forward and bowed to Viserys.
Whether these Magisters were old, young, or middle-aged, almost all of them maintained a friendly attitude toward Viserys.
After all, ever since being beaten into submission by Braavos, the doves had made up the vast majority in Pentos.
The Magisters saw a dazzling young silver knight; his silver-scaled armor shone brightly before their eyes, like a sun in the dark night.
...
Over his silver armor, Viserys also wore a black-and-red three-headed dragon robe. Paired with his handsome, blade-like features, silver hair, and purple eyes, he looked even more in the prime of his youth.
Especially that kingly aura—a sense of relaxation that comes from being at the peak of power—he no longer needed to be affected; without saying a word, he had already outshone the flabby-muscled Prince.
The Magisters' last bit of pride vanished. Judging by his appearance and aura, King Viserys was undoubtedly a king and military leader not to be underestimated.
"May the God of Light protect our path ahead, may Pentos prosper, and may King Viserys feel at home." The Prince of Pentos took the lead in offering a toast from the high platform.
"Prosperity!"
"Prosperity!"
All glasses were raised, symbolizing the official start of the luxurious banquet.
Magister Illyrio clapped his hands, and the servants brought out the dishes.
First came crab and flat-shark soup and a cold egg and lime soup, followed by honeyed quail, roasted lamb chops, foie gras soaked in red wine, buttered turnips, and suckling pig.
The lavish offerings were dazzling, accompanied by various fine wines.
Viserys saw the time had come and began to eat heartily, crunching away.
From his physique, this tall warrior seemed to eat more than even his size would suggest, as if the Mountain were feeding.
Viserys's core attributes were very high, and he ate more than an ordinary knight.
"His Majesty Viserys truly has a prodigious capacity," the Prince of Pentos complimented enviously.
Handsome, able to eat, and still able to feel the joys of life.
Speaking of which, although the Prince held a high position, he was also a mere front, liable to be dragged out and killed at any moment.
This magnificent palace and these beautiful women were but his shackles.
"I wonder, Your Majesty Viserys, how many men do you currently command?" Magister Ordello asked the key question.
"About twenty or thirty thousand?" Viserys said casually.
This was typical bragging, but these Pentoshi had no way of knowing the truth.
Only if Viserys were to call up all his regular troops, auxiliary soldiers, and peasant levies together might he reach such a scale.
There was no other way; gathering a fragmented, village-based realm together required a great deal of effort.
At their peak, the rhoynar could field 250,000 troops against Valyria. The Andals who previously invaded Westeros might have been fewer, but not by too many.
This illustrated the war potential and vast resources of these two regions.
But now, most Andals had migrated, and the rhoynar civilization had declined.
Viserys used all his strength to scrape together the remaining population, and with the addition of runaway slaves joining him, he could only slowly increase his military strength.
Gathering a fragmented realm was itself a process of revival; the population base could not reach that of the past, otherwise, instantly fielding five hundred thousand troops would be too heaven-defying.
Even so, managing a military force in the tens of thousands seemed to provide the foundation of a great power.
"Whew, that is already more people than the Golden Company." The Magisters whispered among themselves.
The Viserys guards they saw outside and inside the mansion, with their bright armor and murderous aura, were likewise a formidable army.
If all of Viserys's troops were like this, then Pentos would be a mere trifle.
The Golden Company lived on commissions and, as a century-old establishment, had many deposits.
Viserys was so young yet possessed such a grand army; his value rose considerably.
"Let us celebrate Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, King of the Andalos, the rhoynar, and the first men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, King of Andalos and the Rhoyne. Let us be glad we have such a new friend." The Prince of Pentos raised his wine glass and spoke extravagantly.
The deep red wine was like blood; every sip of this century-old vintage from Arbor tasted of money.
"To His Majesty Viserys!"
"To His Majesty Viserys!"
"If it weren't for us being oppressed so miserably, we could have given His Majesty Viserys even more gifts."
A Magister emphasized this intentionally or unintentionally, as if he had drunk too much.
Viserys feigned surprise. "What do you mean by that?"
"It is the unequal treaty the Braavosi forced upon us; we paid war reparations and became an undefended city," Magister Ordello said with a sour expression.
"You must also be careful, Your Majesty. As the land of Andalos develops again, it will touch upon the sphere of Braavos."
Viserys just listened; this was blatant provocation.
Want me to go fight Braavos? As if I don't have enough trouble right now.
"Speaking of which, the Sealord of Braavos is my patron; his kindness is too great," Viserys said with emotion.
"That was the old Sealord. We all know the new Sealord strictly forbids the Iron Bank from lending to you, Your Majesty. If someone restricts your actions, how can they be considered a friend?"
"But my current people of Andalos are weary; I need a large amount of armor and a large amount of weapons, my wealthy Magisters," Viserys said without any politeness.
To deal with my dear friends, you'll have to pay more.
"That is no problem," Magister Ordello smiled. "As long as we can have a good friendship."
The Magisters were also willing to give money and equipment; a well-equipped young king might just take a bite out of Braavos.
They knew this kind of young man all too well—arrogant, fearless, outwardly grateful, but inwardly characters like scorpions and vipers.
This kind of young man was the easiest to incite.
Viserys didn't bother to address the hint, just continuing to eat and drink.
The Magisters were secretly pleased; as long as the seeds of rebellion could be planted in the young king's heart, he would eventually go to war with Braavos.
Viserys looked at these mediocre, useless Magisters who had no stomach for revenge but plenty for stoking fires.
Viserys had a bold and crazy idea: since Pentos was always giving away so much money, why not give it all to him?
If he could wipe out the Dothraki Khals, wouldn't all that money belong to him?
A crowd coming to beg would surely get less, but if only Viserys himself came for the money, he would certainly gain much more.