Plans and Recruitment

Oberon Martell spread a thick sheepskin map before Yulon, tapping the marker for Braavos with his finger.

Yulon had originally asked him to finalize the plan in a month, but the Red Viper's efficiency was indeed high; he had the entire plan ready in half a month. Perhaps, as he himself said, he already had plans to travel through Essos and had just not acted on them yet.

"We'll start from here, first the Nine Free Cities," his tone was crisp, like a sellsword captain assigning a mission. "We'll head southeast along the coastline, stopping in each city, and finally reach the Serpent Isles."

His finger traced the route as he calmly explained, "We'll set sail from the port of Braavos and head east. Our first stop will be Pentos."

"After leaving Pentos, we first need to find a large Khalasar. We'll present a gift, and they'll allow us to travel with them as 'guests' to their holy city. We'll cross the Dothraki Grass Sea. The gift, of course, will be provided by you, but I'll give you some ideas, because if the gift isn't suitable, hehe, those Dothraki scimitars won't show any mercy."

"Turning southeast, we'll enter Norvos by mountain road. Here, the monastic order holds power. Their food is crude, with hard, smoked salted meat and tough black bread at every meal, accompanied by cloudy beer, which is almost all they have. What's truly unmissable in Norvos is their runic ironware, especially the daggers—each one is hand-forged by a mountain craftsman, with ancient warding runes carved into the blade. They're sharp enough to cut through shadow and never rust."

"After leaving Norvos, we'll turn directly east into the territory of the Qohor Forest. There are many bandits there, but one day isn't enough to get out of the forest. We'll definitely spend a night in the forest and be prepared to fight bandits," he continued. "Passing through the forest, we'll reach Qohor City. The entire city is a giant forge, and the air is always filled with the smell of burning metal and sulfur. The craftsmen here master forging secrets passed down for millennia, while the red priests study Blood Magic at the cost of blood and fire."

"Continuing south, the road will gradually narrow, winding into the rolling grey mountains of Lorath. Far from trade routes, silence is the only language. The locals, like the mountains they depend on for survival, are silent and tough, accustomed to exchanging information with glances rather than greetings. Lorath is rich in silvery white stone with beautiful grain and silver-rich ore veins. Stone carving workshops are everywhere. The skills passed down through generations of craftsmen transform cold stone into works of art where soft curves and sharp angles coexist, making it worth a visit."

"Turning southwest, we can then enter Rhys. A decadent city where lust is an open transaction and the very fabric of life. Along the long streets, houses of pleasure outnumber taverns. Men and women in sheer veils lean from carved balconies, their laughter dripping like thick honey. The air is always mixed with the fragrance of sweet wine, the warm scent of expensive spices, and something more intimate, a stirring musk."

Oberon Martell smiled brightly, "This is Rhys, my favorite city."

Yulon listened quietly to Oberon's plan, only raising questions and making changes on a few routes. The rest was largely based on Oberon's arrangements. In fact, before Oberon presented the plan, Yulon had already thought of dozens of feasible routes; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to make a decision so quickly.

In addition to finalizing the plan, they needed to recruit some additional personnel. Not just warriors; this dangerous journey required all sorts of people.

The first was named Vittorio Grey, once a fearsome Khal of the Dothraki Sea. His roar could make the wildest warhorses bow, and wherever his scimitar pointed, the grass sea would make way. However, fate played a cruel trick on him—during a battle, a brutal fall not only broke his leg bones but also shattered the spine of his warrior's spirit.

He cut off his once-proud braids, shaved his head, and now, he walked with a limp, his left leg no longer able to bear the force required for riding. In a nation that lived by the horse, a Dothraki who could no longer ride into battle was like an eagle with broken wings. He lost his status as Khal, and more importantly, his reason for living. He could only leave the grasslands where he was born and raised with a heavy heart, wandering between cities, becoming an empty shell carrying the glory of the past.

It was his former prestige as Khal and his strategic vision that led Maleo to decide to keep him by his side. Although Vittorio could no longer charge into battle himself, he had been a Khal after all, and when dealing with the Dothraki, he was the most suitable candidate.

The second and third were both bearded men, Alio Hota and Bastian Fernandez.

Alio Hota, the current captain of the guard for House Martell, was sent by the Prince of Dorne to "protect" Prince Oberon Martell. This wording greatly annoyed the unruly Red Viper—when had he ever needed protection? But despite his displeasure, he couldn't outright refuse. This was not just an order, but an undeniable concern from his family.

Alio Hota was steady in build, silent as a mountain. In his early years, he underwent rigorous training under the bearded monks of Norvos, possessing exquisite martial arts skills, especially adept at wielding his formidable poleaxe. His gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, constantly vigilant; he was less a guard and more a mobile defensive fortification.

Accompanying him was his close friend, Sebastian Fernandez. Both were from the same school, having undergone the discipline of iron and blood in the monastery, and they shared an unspoken understanding. Sebastian was also skilled and loyal. When they stood together, they were like the scorching sun and the desert wind of Dorne—one as still as a rock, the other as fierce as a blade. These two "great axe monks" who emerged from Norvos were not only formidable in combat but, more importantly, possessed unwavering loyalty like stone. Their presence was both a safeguard and a silent deterrent.

The third was named "Longshanks" Lomas, a name derived from his unusually tall stature and ceaseless pace. As a scholar and writer, his combat ability was almost negligible, yet his value far surpassed that of swords.

His footsteps had traversed every corner of the known world, even venturing into many secret realms inaccessible to ordinary people. Desolate ruins, isolated cities, forgotten ancient sites—all had witnessed his exploration. He recorded these extraordinary experiences and observations, compiling them into his famous work, Miracles. This book not only became a treasure trove for understanding the wonders of the world but also showcased his profound observational skills and unquenchable curiosity. Although he was physically weak, his mind was the most powerful weapon, and his experiences were his most solid armor.

Yulon remembered that the Imp was a loyal reader of his, having practically worn out his copy of Miracles.

The fourth was named "Regretful Guest" Castor Daniels, from the great eastern city of Qarth, affiliated with an ancient and mysterious cult-like assassin organization. The members of this organization acted with elegance and lethality, renowned worldwide for their unique "farewell ritual"—before delivering the final blow to their target, they would lean in and whisper in an almost gentle tone, "I regret." They differed from the Faceless Men because they had no faith like the Faceless Men, otherwise, they wouldn't have come for a high reward.

The Red Viper had dealings with Castor Daniels before. How the two met, what business dealings or grudges they had, were outside Yulon's scope of consideration.

Yulon only asked one question: "I'm very interested in your martial arts. Could you offer some guidance during the journey?" "Regretful Guest" Castor Daniels: Silence. Yulon continued, "I'll double the commission." "Regretful Guest" Castor Daniels: "I am honored to serve you."

The fifth came from the mysterious continent of Sothoryos, a wildling from the depths of the wilderness, Samur. He was exceptionally burly, with bones as thick as mountain rocks, and his body was covered in muscles as solid as armor. Particularly striking were his long arms, which seemed to belong to some ancient and dangerous jungle creature.

His current identity was a sellsword in a small mercenary group. His face resembled a primal totem: his forehead sloped steeply, his heavy jaw seemed capable of crushing stubborn stones, and his huge, square teeth were faintly visible even when he was silent. A mane of coarse black hair cascaded like thorns, adding to his wildness.

Samur arrived wearing a heavy cloak, completely concealing himself, not out of shyness, but because he had just finished a massacre in a dimly lit tavern. The Sea King's guards and his lover lay in pools of blood, reportedly in gruesome states—limbs twisted, as if subjected to inhumanly violent blows.

Oberon Martell's subordinates recruited him because his combat prowess was truly formidable. However, Yulon Greyjoy watched him with a cold, discerning gaze and said, "Our journey will be long and dangerous. The primary quality of everyone I recruit is loyalty." His tone was calm but undeniable, "How can I be sure you won't stab me in the back on some dark and stormy night?"

Samur met Yulon's gaze, his eyes devoid of fear, only a primal and open tranquility. He replied in a low voice, "My previous mercenary group—the Stone Crow Company—can vouch for me. I have never betrayed my companions."

Oberon Martell nodded; he had investigated Samur's reputation before bringing him here. After receiving confirmation from Oberon Martell, Yulon smiled and nodded, "Welcome aboard!"

The sixth was named Edwin Ramirez, from the Serpent Isles, a former pirate captain with a complex demeanor. His meticulously trimmed mustache always curled upwards, like his unyielding pride, while his deep black eyes hid an imperceptible tremor and obsession. Beneath his disheveled brown hair, weathered by wind and waves, was a face full of stories.

Months ago, a brutal betrayal changed his life. His most trusted crew members stabbed him twice in the back, throwing him into the icy, biting sea. He drifted alone on the endless ocean for ten days, relying on his will to survive and a bit of luck to finally be rescued by a passing merchant ship. This experience left an indelible mark on him—he often unconsciously touched his back, his gaze swinging violently between trust and suspicion.

At this moment, he habitually rubbed his signature curled mustache between his thumb and forefinger, his voice low and filled with obsession, "I need money, a substantial amount of money. Your commission is quite good." His gaze swept past everyone, as if he could already see the shadowy docks of the Serpent Isles, "The Serpent Isles are your final destination, but it's my starting point. I'll find those traitors one by one, slit their throats, and then reclaim my ship and return to the sea that truly belongs to me."

"The Summer Sea of Sothoryos is a deadly fog to others, but to me, I can swim three laps with my eyes closed. And the Serpent Isles are my home; I am definitely the best guide."

Yulon needed someone familiar with Sothoryos. If Edwin Ramirez wasn't lying, then he was a crucial talent.

The seventh was Gwendoline, from Asshai, the city of shadows and secrets, a red priestess serving the Lord of Light, R'hllor. Flames flickered subtly in her eyes, as if she could glimpse the threads of fate inaccessible to mortals.

Yulon Greyjoy recruited her onto the ship not out of faith, but out of a cold curiosity.

He had read the original work and knew the terrifying power displayed by the famous priestess Melisandre—foretelling the future, shadow manipulation, even stealing life with Blood Magic. He held no reverence for these powers themselves, but he knew deeply that in this game of power, ignoring any form of power was a fatal foolishness.

He did not aspire to learn these arcane arts, but he firmly believed that someone must understand the rules by which they operated.

Gwendoline's presence was a firewall he placed by his side. Through her eyes, he intended to perceive the mysteries of light and shadow, and to guard against the possibility that one day, he himself might be targeted by the same dark tricks.

Knowledge, especially knowledge about the enemy, was itself a weapon.

The last one was Evelyn, a Shadowbinder from the legendary Shadow Lands.

She always wore a mask, her entire body shrouded in impenetrable dark fabric. The only visible part was her pair of deep emerald green eyes—eyes that seemed to hold centuries of secrets and whispers, and which regarded people with an inhuman calmness and penetration.

Yulon Greyjoy became intensely interested in her. He had always harbored an almost greedy curiosity for all rare and dangerous magical powers in the world. Whether it was the fiery prophecies of the Lord of Light or the shadow magic manipulated by Shadowbinders, to him, they were merely different forms of power, worthy of being understood, analyzed, and even mastered.

Oberon Martell, standing nearby, could only shrug and shake his head.

Although this Prince of Dorne was also knowledgeable, he couldn't comprehend Yulon's obsession with such esoteric arts. But he didn't say much, only a helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips—after all, Yulon was the one paying; he was the boss. And the boss's will was the direction of the voyage.