Apprentice of Water Dancing

After Xisa, Moro, and the courtesan had left, the one-eared black cat dozing nearby opened its green eyes wide.

The mess of cups and plates in the reception hall had already been cleared away by the cook and steward.

The cook, now working overtime, had no complaints at all. Under Viserys's guidance, her cooking had improved greatly, and she wished he would teach her a few more tricks.

Then perhaps she could transform herself into the cook for a governor's residence or a wealthy merchant's estate.

Everyone wanted to improve. Everyone wanted to get ahead.

A moment later, Rhaenys Targaryen, with black hair, black eyes, and olive skin, walked out of the room. She had not been asleep; she had been observing everything through the black cat's eyes.

When it came to thoughtfulness and quick wits, she was more mature than Daenerys. Besides, she had truly experienced the hatred of a fallen kingdom and a ruined family.

Daenerys had genuinely fallen asleep. She was young, and she drifted off quickly.

"Can they be trusted?" Rhaenys asked.

"They can be trusted to make money with me, eat and drink with me. But expecting them to help us reclaim the kingdom is unrealistic." Viserys commented on his new friends.

The city watchman, the courtesan, and the exiled king appeared to have a good relationship now, but that was only because they could all make money and enjoy fine food together.

The courtesan could gain greater fame, the watchman had benefits of his own, and Viserys had broadened his social circle.

These superficial brothers were not enough to form the foundation for restoring the kingdom. Restoration required blood and fire, and other hands.

But with internal connections in Braavos, Viserys was certain he could make even more money.

Money was lubricant. It could help Viserys build a force.

"But for now, we need the help of these locals. I can't enter the highest circles yet," Viserys said. "It's easier to blend into circles of lesser influence, like those of watchmen and courtesans."

Xisa came from a second-tier Braavosi noble family, while the female swordswoman was also a second-tier courtesan. By steadily building his position, Viserys was certain he would step into greater circles.

Rhaenys nodded. "That makes sense."

"Most capable people are in Robert's court now. To deal with Baratheon and House Lannister, there are very few people left for us to rely on. But those failures and the disillusioned are all the hope we have," Viserys said.

"You mean exiles and criminals?"

"Think bigger." Viserys smiled mysteriously.

Rhaenys did not understand what he meant.

"Chaos is a ladder. The vested interests in the Free Trade Cities are unlikely to cooperate with us. So we must unite the failures, the oppressed.

"For example, the fallen Silver Tongue family and House Rogare of Tyrosh, the beggar prince of Pentos, even the slaves." Ambition burned fiercely in Viserys's eyes.

Viserys did not merely intend to throw Westeros into turmoil. He also wanted to turn Essos into a powder keg ready to explode.

An alliance of restorationists—the ghosts of those failures still wandered on, from Westeros to Pentos, Lys, and Tyrosh.

"Isn't that too crazy?" Rhaenys said. "If we truly draw in those failures, and those slaves, we will offend the entire known world."

"I have no other choice, Rhaenys. The Free Trade Cities have plenty of sailors and merchants, but they are not warriors. And mercenaries only care about gold; most scatter at the first defeat. If we want to assemble a great army from the ground up, our only options are freed slaves and the savages of the Dothraki Sea."

Viserys clenched his fingers. Since he was doing this, he would take it to the bitter end.

This could not exactly be called going against the tide. It was more like striking from a higher dimension.

Viserys had already considered the plan. If he wanted to raise troops on a massive scale in the future, he could only rely on slaves and horsemen. Mercenaries were too slippery and difficult to control.

On the nearby Dothraki Grass Sea, those horsemen were one of Essos's greatest sources of soldiers.

Viserys did not know why there were so many Dothraki horsemen there. Perhaps Essos lay at a lower latitude overall and could support them. In any case, if the Creator said they existed, then they existed.

The other path—freeing slaves to raise troops—had been proven by Daenerys in the future. It was dangerous, but feasible.

Yet the slave trade was at the heart of the world's trade routes. No one was mad enough to shatter that entire order completely.

Meereen and Astapor in Slaver's Bay trained slaves. The Three Daughters, Volantis, Qarth, and others used slaves in great numbers and sold them as well. Meanwhile, the Dothraki and pirates sold the slaves they captured through raiding.

It was a tightly bound chain. The city-states and powers that lived off slaves were numerous and powerful; countless livelihoods depended on it.

Even Braavos, the most opposed to slavery, had only beaten down nearby Pentos and could not change the larger situation.

Everyone ate from the same pot. Few would smash the pot outright. It was like playing chess: winning did not necessarily mean winning on the board. Flipping the table could also win the game.

"You are either a genius or a madman, Viserys." Rhaenys looked at her uncle, her eyes full of stars. This was not the Viserys she knew, but a genius and an ambitious man.

Viserys's words had cleared away the clouds and revealed the sun. Rhaenys felt the road that had once seemed so confusing become clear. In the past, she had thought Viserys was merely a pretty good-for-nothing, though still family.

But now, everything he did made Viserys seem unfathomable once more.

"I am the true dragon," Viserys said.

With Rhaenys at Viserys's side, all beginnings were difficult, but they had already taken the first step.

The next day, Moro arrived on time. The hundred gold dragons offered by the female swordswoman would also be delivered by Moro in batches.

Viserys did not have the luxury of training for two and a half years. He needed everything done quickly.

Moro also brought Viserys's training tool: a wooden sword with a hilt, hand guard, and a round pommel ornament.

Moro tossed the wooden sword to Viserys. "Kid, catch this sword with one hand. Normally, I would not teach an apprentice like you. You're too old, and your body definitely won't be as flexible as a child's. But the courtesan gave the order, and Moro obeys. Even if you learn poorly, you still have to feed me."

Viserys caught the sword with one hand. It was filled with lead and had a certain weight to it.

Moro watched Viserys. Whether his form was correct or not, Viserys at least qualified in terms of strength. Next, Moro needed to test his flexibility.

Viserys was also fortunate. If not for the strength cheat he had received, wielding the wooden sword would certainly not have been so easy.

Viserys held the sword in one hand and maintained the stance Moro had demanded.

"Yes, like that. Based on your stance, turn your body slightly sideways. Don't face me head-on. Also, reduce the area the enemy can strike. Make yourself a smaller target. In return, seize the enemy's openings. Be flexible. Be elegant."

"Could you really be a genius?" Moro rubbed his bald head.

Viserys was much better than he had expected. His strength and flexibility were both quite good.

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