Severed Fish Head [Seeking Continued Reading, Seeking Monthly Votes]

Rain fell beneath Braavos's skies, and the gloomy weather mirrored the human mood.

"Moro is dead." Roland Lake, clad in armor, spoke anxiously.

Moro had been a friend of Ser Roland's as well. Learning this news left him deeply troubled.

"Moro is dead?" Viserys's heart sank further. This was truly dark news.

Viserys had already killed several people—those servants, and some Water Dancers who had failed to recognize their place.

But hearing of a friend's death still brought pain. It was the same stunned torment he had felt when he witnessed Ser Willem Darry's death.

Though Xisa the city watch commander and the "socialite" Female Swordswoman could be considered Viserys's friends, neither had spent much time by his side.

Moro, however, had been Viserys's second instructor, both teacher and friend.

Viserys had once urged Moro to stay here, but a Water Dancer was not Viserys's servant. He needed to go out and live his own life from time to time.

Unexpectedly, that small act of freedom had brought about his death.

Willing or not, once he stepped into the struggle for power, Viserys had entered this battlefield of slaughter and bloodshed.

"The man who delivered Moro's body is outside," Roland said.

"What happened?" Syrio asked in surprise.

Roland shook his head, indicating that he did not know many of the details.

"It seems to be House Prestayn again."

"You two stay here. Don't go outside for now," Viserys told Rhaenys and Daenerys.

Daenerys blinked, still unaware of what had happened. For a child, she was quite mature.

But by age, she was still only a child.

"Should you put on your armor, Your Grace?" Ser Roland asked.

Viserys shook his head. "No need. It seems they only mean to intimidate us."

Viserys opened the door. Cold raindrops lashed against his face, and his sword was already at his side.

Rain plastered Viserys's silver hair to his head, and a chill filled his violet eyes.

Outside, Viserys saw several waiting figures again. The large man was Titan's Bastard Mero, while the others were servants of House Prestayn.

The Water Dancer Moro's body lay on a wooden board, covered with a tattered cloth.

This was considered a district for Braavos's highborn and wealthy. With such a spectacle unfolding, many people had gathered around.

Before long, the matter would cause a stir throughout the area around Braavos's Sealord's Palace.

Yet assassinations were nothing unusual in Braavos. Among assassins, there were differences in skill—and in whether one lived or died.

With pale green eyes and a thick red-gold beard that nearly hung to his waist, Titan's Bastard Mero was easy to recognize.

Mero bore several bandaged wounds. This battle had not been entirely one-sided.

"I'm sorry. I only intended to leave him a few honorable scars, but I never expected him not to surrender. My hand slipped," Mero said.

Viserys felt rage ignite in his chest.

"This has gone too far, even for a man of House Prestayn," Syrio said.

Though Moro had not been his formal disciple, there was still affection between them.

From the look of it, Moro had clearly been ambushed.

"I respect you, but you've already retired. Why involve yourself in these matters?" Mero replied.

Put plainly, the First Sword was merely an ornament of the Sealord.

The Sealord was gone. A former swordsman was no longer the current First Sword.

"You." Syrio glared at Mero in fury, turning sideways. "Perhaps these old bones of mine can still dance with you once more."

Viserys stopped Syrio. Since this matter had begun because of him, it should end with him.

The towering Braavosi Mero looked at Viserys again, then grinned. "Your friend's swordsmanship was not very impressive, Your Grace. We happened to meet on the road, so we exchanged a few moves. This would not have become so complicated if only you had accepted House Prestayn's goodwill."

Anyone with the intent to investigate would soon uncover Viserys behind the aliases "Silver Traveler" and "Violet Swordsman."

But even knowing Viserys's identity, House Prestayn had not taken him particularly seriously. They believed he was still a ruined exile with no one to rely on.

The fate of such proud, fallen young noblemen was usually to beg in the Free Trade Cities. The only difference was that Viserys seemed more talented than most.

"Your status is most honorable, and young Master Yoko meant well," Mero said mockingly.

He called it goodwill, but there was little respect in his tone.

No great intelligence was needed. One only had to look at his build and appearance.

"I will never forget Plestan's goodwill."

"So long as you acknowledge it." Mero sneered. "What a pretty face. A pity you're a man, Your Grace. I've seen women with skin like yours before—mostly bed slaves from Lys. No woman has ever forgotten me, Titan's Bastard."

"I think you'd better cherish your last chance, because you won't live much longer."

"Oh, come now. This duel was hardly close. If you want to live well in Braavos, why not accept Plestan's goodwill?" Mero snorted. "Are you declaring war?"

"If war comes, I'll kill you first," Viserys said. "Or you can kneel, then run away."

"Foolish boy, if you had seen the Titan of Braavos, you would know he would never run away with his tail between his legs." Mero tugged at his thick red beard.

"Our task is finished. This is really very simple. Being friends is much easier than being enemies, and Plestan is generous." Mero shrugged, then turned and led the servants away.

Viserys walked to the board, and together with Syrio and Ser Roland, carried the body into the courtyard.

"He died because of me." Viserys looked at Moro's corpse. It was drenched in blood, covered in wounds of varying depth. It was clear they had all been made by the same steel sword.

The most fatal wound was the one that had pierced his chest.

"Revenge." Viserys looked at the dead man's face, tears falling together with the rain.

Blood and fire were one. This was the path he had chosen.

Viserys had chosen the path of power, a path destined to be filled with blood and fire.

"Though Titan's Bastard isn't especially agile, he is quite strong," Syrio assessed.

Titan's Bastard was crude and lustful, but he was also an exceedingly dangerous warrior, likely among the first rank.

Besides, Mero had calculated against an unprepared opponent. It was entirely normal for Moro to lose in such a hurried battle.

"Plestan." Syrio frowned. "No wonder their reputation has been getting worse and worse."

Viserys looked at Moro's body. After today's grudge, it seemed his relationship with Plestan would deteriorate to an entirely new level.

House Prestayn had pressured him, but he would not let the matter rest.

After some time, the people familiar to Viserys also arrived.

Xisa the city watch commander, the socialite Female Swordswoman, Nightingale, Black Pearl, and Lingo, the "Crab-Catching Magnate."

"Steady yourself," Black Pearl said. "I know Moro was someone very important to you."

In such disputes, Braavosi would usually choose mediators to keep reconciling the two sides, though direct violence was not unheard of.

"He was my instructor. I saw him as family." Viserys's voice was hoarse. His tears had already been shed. Now, he wanted to see blood.

Seeing him like this, Black Pearl knew there was no persuading him any further.

"Chairman Lingo," Viserys said. "I wish to send House Prestayn a gift. I hope you can help me."

"No problem." Lingo nodded heartily. "They really are scum."

The sailors would not go to war with Plestan, but they could still wave flags, shout support, and disgust the Insurance Guild.

"Black Pearl." Viserys asked her for help as well. "When I seek revenge tomorrow, please protect my sister and niece."

Black Pearl nodded. He could not be persuaded otherwise.

This arrangement also spared Black Pearl from being drawn into the trouble, since Viserys would settle the matter himself.

Black Pearl understood that a man's spirit could be encouraged but not deflated. Viserys had survived until now on a breath of heroic resolve, hot-blooded pride, and the spirit of the streets.

House Targaryen was known for its fiery temper, and Viserys now looked more like a true dragon.

The next morning, Viserys approached House Prestayn's Square Tower Courtyard at dawn.

Viserys carried a silver tray draped in black cloth as he walked toward Plestan's residence.

"Halt!" Plestan's guards shouted, only to find rough sailors reeking of alcohol appearing throughout the streets and alleys.

"They're the crab catchers. Why are they here too?"

The sailors had already caused trouble once before because of the Insurance Guild.

Seeing them glaring menacingly, the guards did not dare stop him too forcefully.

"I have come to present House Prestayn with a gift they cannot refuse."

Viserys lifted the cloth, revealing an entire fish head, bloody and viscous.

The fish was fresh, and the blood was fresh as well.

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