Viserys the Killer

In the reception hall, golden bronze bowls filled with rich buttered mushroom oxtail soup hit the floor almost simultaneously, ringing out with crisp clatters.

Mushroom soup on a cold night was delicious—and deadly.

The mushroom's neurotoxin did not react the instant it entered the body. Only after a person had consumed a fatal dose did the poison begin to take effect.

Though it could not compare to The Strangler or Tears of Lys, it was more than enough for these people.

The servants began coughing one after another.

The cook first gripped her throat with all her strength, but nothing came out. In the end, all that remained was a terrifying, impossibly thin shriek.

Bang! The cook's body collapsed to the floor, followed by the laundress and the gatekeeper.

The plump steward watched it all in dead silence as the servants around him fell one by one.

He pounded his chest furiously, but it did nothing. The steward felt his body turning to stone, beginning with his heart, then spreading to his throat.

He clawed at his throat, drawing bloody scratches, but it was useless.

"It was you." The steward's eyes bulged, his skin turned pale, and he raised a trembling finger toward Viserys as he stepped out of the sickroom.

"It was me. Viserys Targaryen the Third—the killer." Viserys nodded.

He understood the story, so his strike had been swift, precise, and ruthless.

The steward glared at Viserys helplessly. So in this game, they had all been fooled by this boy.

They had thought themselves the hunters, never realizing they were merely prey.

The steward hated himself for acting too slowly, and hated himself even more for failing to see through Viserys's disguise.

They had not even leaked anything yet. How could this be? This exiled king had always seemed so harmless that they had let down their guard.

The steward's body could no longer endure, and he too crashed to the floor, still clinging to resentment and greed for gold.

But the poisonous mushrooms violently assaulted his nerves and heart. The game was over.

Thus, every servant was brought down by the poisonous mushroom soup.

Viserys looked over the wreckage in the reception hall, his heart still pounding wildly.

His heartbeat quickened and his stomach churned, but he still had to pretend nothing was wrong.

Even in his previous life, after becoming the Beggar King, he had only cursed people and made lewd remarks. He had never truly killed anyone.

But in this dog-eat-dog world, he needed the courage to survive.

Even if the risk was great, Viserys had to kill these people!

If he lost the money left by Ser Willem, it would mean he and the two girls would truly be driven from the Red House to wander the streets.

But Viserys was only fourteen now, with no effective means of making a living.

Roaming from place to place, relying on his face to beg from nobles and dignitaries, was not the life Viserys wanted.

Viserys did not let Rhaenys and Daenerys come out. The scene was too bloody.

The road to kingship was paved with blood.

Viserys left the scene of the killings and returned to the sickroom.

Rhaenys and Daenerys had naturally heard the commotion from the reception hall as well. Rhaenys remained calm; she had been part of the plan.

Daenerys, meanwhile, was still confused and did not know what had happened.

Inside the sickroom, even the groggy Ser William Darry asked, "What was that sound? I heard... the horn of death."

"The servants are dead. I chose the poison..." Viserys said softly, holding Ser William's withered, dry hand.

Daenerys looked at her brother in fear, unable to understand why Viserys, who had always seemed so gentle, had suddenly acted so ruthlessly.

Though Daenerys was young, she already understood the weight of death. In the past, Viserys—before the transmigration—had told her that their mother died because of her birth.

"...Good... very good, Your Grace..." Light seemed to return in an instant to Ser William's half-blind eyes.

Ser William knew Viserys well. He had practically watched him grow up.

In his final days, Ser William had become increasingly pessimistic about the dream of restoring the kingdom, while Viserys had long been desperate to reclaim it.

But did this spoiled second son truly possess such courage and decisiveness? Rhaegar was dead. Could this child truly stand against the Usurper?

Ser William doubted it. His eyes had gone blind, and he had no time left to witness the answer.

"Take care of them... my... little princesses... I no longer wish to speak of... revenge. I only hope that you will... live well. Stay far away... flee from... the Iron Throne..." Ser William pointed toward the bedside, where money had been hidden for the children's survival.

It was this money that had caused the bloodshed.

Viserys knelt halfway beside the bed, holding Ser William's hand until it lost all warmth.

After leaving behind these final instructions, Ser William never woke again.

William Darry, master-at-arms of the Red Keep and teacher to two princes, was no more.

In this world, Viserys would be the first to bear the burden of restoring House Targaryen.

"Rest in peace, Ser William," Viserys said solemnly.

Wailing and sobbing filled the sickroom.

Daenerys cried the loudest. She had never met her parents, and in some sense, Ser William had filled the role of a father for her.

After some time, the slightly taller Rhaenys rose and opened the bedside cabinet. Inside was money—coin from Westeros and coin from Braavos.

All of it was stained with blood. To protect their wealth, Rhaenys had supported Viserys's decision to poison the servants who intended to rob them and drive them out.

Other than that, there was only a fine steel dagger in the cabinet.

Viserys did not find the agreement there either—the agreement signed by the Red Viper and Ser William.

By all reason, that agreement should have been Ser William's most treasured possession.

At the time, Ser William Darry had signed on behalf of Viserys and his sisters; Prince Oberyn Martell had signed on behalf of Dorne, with the former Sealord of Braavos as witness.

Viserys inspected the room carefully and was certain no contract remained.

It seems you were still looking out for me, old knight. Viserys thought silently. Ser William had destroyed the agreement so that Viserys could keep a lower profile.

Ser William Darry had likely believed that if Viserys learned of such a betrothal, then judging by his former behavior, he would have already crossed the sea to seek refuge in Sunspear.

There was also the matter of Sunspear and the Sealord's attitude. The former Sealord had died of illness, while the current Sealord had little interest in their venture.

The Dornish had no strength to overthrow Robert on their own, and to avoid suspicion, they had offered no support at all.

While Ser William lived with the children in Braavos, the Dornish seemed to vanish after signing the agreement.

They feared the stag's warhammer, and they feared Dorne's destruction.

Viserys looked at Ser William's aged face on the bed. "I will not flee from my war."

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