Making a Name in Secret City (Please Follow)

Braavos was a stone labyrinth of islands and canals, with no grass, no trees, and people speaking Low Valyrian.

Clean water came from elevated aqueducts. These great brick channels were supported by bridge arches, and the Braavosi called them the Sweetwater Canal.

The wealthy piped water into their homes, while the poor fetched it from public fountains with buckets.

Braavos had few horses. Like Venice, a city of pools, people were accustomed to taking swift skiffs along the canals to admire palaces and temples.

Night was the most dangerous time in Braavos.

Every evening, assassins who looked utterly unconventional strutted through the streets in brightly colored clothes.

They carried slender swords, eager to prove themselves.

Some people could start a fight over any reason, while others needed no reason at all.

Assassins were often irritable, hot-tempered, and fond of fighting, casually settling matters through duels.

At midnight, Moro, the bald, bearded Water Dancer, strode across the Moon Pool. He was tall and burly, and no longer young.

Hooded Viserys followed behind him. He had been in Braavos for a long time, but this was his first time watching assassins duel up close.

That was Moro's task as well: to let him witness a real Water Dancing battle.

Viserys carried no sword, which spared him from being challenged.

Water Dancers assumed that anyone carrying a weapon could be challenged.

Just in case, Viserys still had a dagger hidden at his waist.

The assassins did not like opponents such as middle-aged Moro or unarmed Viserys. They preferred soft targets or young swordsmen.

Two young assassins were preparing to duel beside the Moon Pool, with quite a few people watching. Braavosi were used to duels.

They were flamboyantly dressed, with purple- or gold-dyed hair and unusual clothes, assassin's rapiers in their hands.

"Who is the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"Nightingale," the purple-haired assassin said with certainty.

"No. I think it's the Female Swordswoman who sings 'Five Hundred Miles.' Now I challenge you." The blond swordsman snorted. "Will you change your mind?"

"A swordsman never retreats."

"Then let us settle it."

"Gladly."

The two assassins immediately drew their rapiers, and the crowd automatically made a circle for them.

Then the assassins turned sideways to face one another. This was true Water Dancing.

Viserys nearly lost his composure, but this was everyday life for assassins. They could start brawling over a mere What are you looking at?

"Five Hundred Miles from Home" really had become popular, and far faster than Viserys had expected.

After all, it was a classic folk song. In a harbor city like Braavos, it was bound to become wildly popular.

"It is perfectly normal for two men to fight over a courtesan. What does it have to do with me?" Viserys watched the battlefield intently.

The assassins' silver blades clashed in the air. Their swords were thin and narrow, their movements ornate and graceful.

Though they looked frivolous, such duels were extremely dangerous. Neither side wore armor or helmets; it was an unrestricted exchange of thrusts.

The assassins moved with great speed, swift and sharp.

The two Water Dancers strode forward, probing for openings with their pointed blades.

Yet these assassins seemed to have some sense of honor. They did not immediately stab for each other's eyes. Even thieves had their code.

Viserys followed their movements. It was like a dangerous waltz, searching for the vulnerable points of the human body.

Given the Water Dancers' training, their use of rapiers, and their lack of armor, they truly were more capable of flashy attacks.

Still, they were not the most famous Water Dancers. The renowned swordsmen had long since become honored guests of nobles.

"Find the weaknesses in the human body and make blood spill like water. Find your enemy's flaws and stab them with the pointy end. Try to get hit less and attack more," Moro said softly.

Viserys nodded. Water Dancing and Iron Dance were completely different. One was the dance of killers; the other, the dance of knights.

Water Dancing placed greater emphasis on swiftness, agility, speed, and balance. Its skill points leaned toward speed and agility—quick movements and surprise attacks.

A knight's Iron Dance was more well-rounded and valued strength more highly. Broad, powerful swings, chopping and slashing.

The battle was decided quickly. The blond swordsman's blade cut across the purple-haired assassin's body.

The assassins thrust, flicked upward, or turned aside to strike back. The Water Dancers' swordplay grew increasingly dangerous.

Because their weapons were long, slender swords, their attacks mainly consisted of point thrusts, much like modern fencing matches.

Water Dancer duels were unlike the brute-force contests of Westeros.

Both men were covered in puncture wounds and slashes, wounds large and small, blood streaming from them.

Without armor in a duel, these assassins truly had a high casualty rate.

"Careful!"

Someone covered their eyes. A bloody killing stroke was about to land.

The blond assassin's most lethal thrust pierced the purple-haired assassin's heart.

A great splash of blood dyed his fine clothes red, and the assassin's corpse collapsed.

"The Female Swordswoman is the finest courtesan, and Five Hundred Miles from Home is the finest song. Remember my name, everyone: Quick Sword Rod." The blond swordsman raised his bloodstained sword.

"Female Swordswoman! Quick Sword!"

"Quick Sword!"

"Female Swordswoman!"

Everyone cheered, because anyone who did not might receive a second challenge.

Quick Sword Rod crouched down and carefully searched the dead purple-haired assassin. He took the dead man's gold coins and valuables directly from him.

The purple-haired assassin's corpse lay quietly on the ground, ignored by all.

"Leave it." Moro said. "By tomorrow morning, it will be gone. The Moon Pool's guards will clear away the corpse."

Quick Sword left the Moon Pool swaggering despite his wounds, intending to find somewhere to treat them and then eat a hearty meal.

He had no choice but to leave. If he really ran into a fiercer Nightingale supporter, he would surely die in his current state.

"This is allowed?" Viserys asked in a low voice. Was this not murder followed by looting?

"The guards do not permit it, but privately, a bet is a bet. The victor has the right to take the defeated person's belongings..." Moro replied. "Do your knights in Westeros not have the same custom?"

"They do. Victorious knights win the defeated knight's armor and horse, often driving poor knights straight into bankruptcy. But it is not this bloody." Viserys nodded. No wonder Braavos had such terrible customs.

Before entering a duel, one truly needed to be cautious.

Unrestricted thrusting without armor or defenses could easily get someone killed. At least knights had equipment when they hacked at each other.

Here, a duel determined not only superiority, but life and death. Win, and you hit the jackpot. Lose, and you lost everything.

"What song do you like best?" The spectators, still not satisfied, continued discussing it.

"The Gull and the Titan."

"Damn, that went out of style ages ago. Now even dockside sailors and whores can sing Five Hundred Miles from Home. That courtesan, the 'Female Swordswoman,' who sings it has become hugely famous overnight."

"She is incredibly lucky. The lyrics are catchy, and it is the sort of song that will stay popular for a long time. Foreign sailors and merchants love it most."

"Nightingale is in trouble. The Female Swordswoman is challenging her," an assassin said gleefully.

Every courtesan had her own niche and selling point beyond beauty.

The Poetess was learned, Black Pearl was a legendary inheritance, Mermaid Queen was dignified, Masked Lady was mysterious, and Lady of Darkness was cold and alluring.

Nightingale's niche was being the best-singing courtesan. With the Female Swordswoman coming on so fiercely, Nightingale would surely be under the greatest pressure.

"But the singer who wrote that song is truly mysterious. He is unlike Braavos's most famous singers."

"The famous ones have long been tied to Nightingale, Black Pearl, and the others. This newcomer is the one becoming famous this time. Silver Traveler—what a strange name."

Viserys ignored their discussion. They were looking for Silver Traveler. What did that have to do with Viserys?

Moro looked at his apprentice with approval. Fourteen-year-old Viserys had already made a name for himself in Braavos in his own way.

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