The Red Viper

When the Hao Yin's distinctive black sails finally pierced the perpetual mist of Braavos harbor and slowly docked at the bustling pier, a well-dressed man, his sharp gaze tinged with awe, had already been waiting at the designated spot for a long time.

Maleo Romis, one of Yulon's deepest pawns in this water city, was now greeting his master with a solemnity far exceeding that of an ordinary merchant. Behind him followed several men who appeared to be servants but had sharp eyes; they quickly and effectively separated the curious onlookers, clearing a space for Yulon.

Almost simultaneously, another group arrived at the pier in a grand procession.

Their numbers were greater, their equipment mixed but exuding the fierce spirit of seasoned warriors. Embroidered on their armor and banners was a deadly viper, its head raised and tongue flicking—it was the Red Viper Mercenary Group, recently gaining renown in the disputed lands.

The mercenaries' rough laughter and the clang of their weapons instantly drowned out the pier's clamor.

Yulon's gaze swept over his loyal agent, then was firmly drawn to the figure at the head of the mercenary group. The man stood tall, clad in a luxurious Dornish velvet coat and scale armor, his skin dark, his black eyes burning with restless vitality and a dangerous glint.

Balf had seen this Dornishman before and was deeply impressed because of his noble status and his unique, unconventional personality and style of conduct. He immediately reminded Yulon, "That's Oberyn Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne, nicknamed the Red Viper. I've met him, no doubt about it!"

Yulon's mismatched pupils contracted slightly, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing his mind—Oberyn Nymeros Martell?

The Prince of Dorne, the Red Viper, why was he here? And dressed as a sellsword?

Yulon's consciousness rapidly replayed, all the intelligence fragments about this prince instantly piecing together: Oberyn Martell (258 AC - 300 AC), who ultimately met his end in King's Landing.

In his youth, the ruler of Dorne had intended to ally with Casterly Rock through marriage, allowing him to witness the golden twins and the dwarf sibling of the Lannister family. But what truly earned him the moniker "Red Viper" was the famous duel at the age of sixteen with Count Edgar Yronwood. The Count died of a festering wound, and everyone was convinced Oberyn had poisoned his sword, thus the nickname "Red Viper" stuck like a shadow.

In the original text, he had indeed served as a sellsword in the disputed lands across the Narrow Sea for five years, first with the Second Sons, and later forming his own company.

His thoughts raced, but Yulon maintained his usual detached smile.

One was among the highest princes of Dorne, the other the Son of the Drowned God from the Iron Islands, and they met now at a dock in Braavos.

Oberyn's talent and danger were equally astonishing; his poisons were as deadly as his spear, and his loyalty... was as unpredictable as a summer storm. His "reputation" was not without cause—passionate, intelligent, vengeful, and utterly reckless.

"Truly unexpected traveling companions," Yulon sneered inwardly, his gaze lingering briefly on Oberyn before retracting. "A beautiful and deadly desert viper has swum to the other side of the Narrow Sea... should I see it as a handy blade, or a cup of poisoned wine that might backfire at any moment?"

Trust, in this situation, was the most luxurious and unwise notion.

As the Hao Yin's massive black hull ghosted slowly towards Braavos's busy docks, before the mooring lines were even secured, a figure stepped forward with just the right amount of warmth and deference. Maleo Romis, Yulon's deepest embedded spy in this city of secrets, was now perfectly playing the role of a shrewd and moderately influential local contact.

"Your Excellency! Welcome to Braavos!" Maleo's voice was loud yet polite. He bowed slightly, his movements fluid and natural, expressing respect without drawing undue attention from the surrounding dockworkers and merchants.

His eyes quickly scanned Yulon and the Ironborn elites behind him, confirming their identities before his smile became more genuine. "The voyage must have been incredibly arduous. Maleo has arranged everything for you: hot water, hot food, and a place of absolute quiet to rest."

His words flowed like a well-rehearsed script, flawless. Then, as if just noticing the well-equipped, formidable-looking group nearby, he turned to them with a merchant's characteristic appreciation for potential partners.

"Ah, I presume you've already witnessed the prowess of this renowned company during your voyage?" Maleo gestured elegantly towards the Red Viper Mercenary Group, "Allow me to have the honor of introducing them to you, my lord. These valiant warriors are the Red Viper Mercenary Group; recently, their name alone has been enough to strike fear into the hearts of the most stubborn enemies in the disputed lands. Their leader..."

His gaze settled on Oberyn Martell, who was observing the meeting with an expression of keen interest.

Maleo's voice injected a precisely measured tone of admiration: "Is a truly exceptional leader, Commander Oberyn. His martial skill and wisdom are widely sung of throughout the sellsword circles on the western coast of Essos. That you and they should arrive at the same time and meet in Braavos is undoubtedly a clever twist of fate, perhaps foreshadowing a successful collaboration."

Maleo's words were like smooth silk, attempting to package a chance encounter into some positive omen, flattering the mercenary group while subtly showcasing his own well-informed value as a connector to Yulon. The entire scene, under his manipulation, appeared to be a meticulously arranged, mutually pleasing victory rally, rather than a volatile, chance meeting of two dangerous forces.

"Maleo, thank you for your hospitality!" Yulon then offered the leader of the mercenary group a standard Westerosi noble's bow and smiled, "Oberyn Martell, I have long heard of your name. I didn't expect to meet you on the other side of the Narrow Sea, nor did I expect a prince to form a mercenary company."

"You've seen me?"

"Never had the chance, but those accompanying me who have met the Prince were deeply impressed."

Oberyn blinked and chuckled, "Do you feel meeting me is not as good as hearing about me?"

"Far better than hearing about you! That's why having a Prince as my bodyguard makes me uneasy."

Upon hearing Yulon's words, Oberyn Martell let out a short, low laugh, a sound mixed with self-deprecation and undeniable pride. He tilted his head slightly, his famous black-flame eyes meeting Yulon's mismatched gaze without flinching.

"Bodyguard?" he repeated, his tone light, as if hearing an amusing joke. "Lord Greyjoy, you perhaps overestimate the weight of titles east of the Narrow Sea, and underestimate the caution with which a viper chooses its hunting ground."

He took a step forward, his movements as elegant as a leopard surveying its territory, completely disregarding the salty sea breeze and the rough sellswords around them. "In Dorne, the sun scorches the red earth, and the water gardens are filled with sweet intrigue. I am a prince, and every word and action concerns the lion and spear banner of House Martell. But here," he gestured casually towards the vast and chaotic eastern continent, the copper bracelets on his wrist jingling, "in the dust kicked up in the disputed lands, in the glint of gold coins in Pentos and Slaver's Bay, a prince's status means nothing. Only two things are recognized here: the sharpness of your blade, and the reliability of your contract fulfillment."

"I am here not as anyone's prince," his gaze sharpened, but the signature dangerous smile still played on his lips, "but as the leader of the Red Viper Mercenary Group, an expert who gets paid for results. My reputation—whether good or bad as you've heard—is built on my ability to complete tasks, not on my bloodline. Your unease is an unnecessary worry and an insult to my professionalism. What you need to worry about is whether you can pay enough commission, not who my father is."

His final words carried a hint of icy mockery, acknowledging the complexity of his identity with frankness while forcefully drawing a line—here, he only followed the rules of a sellsword.

"Then, for the rest of the journey, I will rely on your good care, Commander!"

Accepting the situation, Yulon was not afraid, but he did not want this "Red Viper" to discover his secrets on the other side of the Narrow Sea. With him around, his future actions would require even greater caution.