Training

The maids quietly helped Viserys wash and dress in the traditional white silk garments of House Targaryen.

Looking at the young face in the mirror, still childish yet already showing the distinctive Targaryen features, Viserys took a deep breath and set aside the grand plans churning in his mind.

For now, he needed to play the part of "Prince Viserys," an ordinary royal child who might be spoiled and a little headstrong.

Still, credit where it was due: life in this wretched feudal society was certainly comfortable when you had maids to wait on you.

After breakfast, he pestered an official responsible for the royal household to let him visit the vault where the dragon bones were kept, claiming that he wanted to see the glory of his ancestors.

Such childish curiosity aroused no suspicion. He was a prince, after all. What was wrong with being a little willful?

Accompanied by several Red Keep guards, Viserys finally entered the chamber deep within the castle where the dragon bones were stored.

An air laden with dust, mildew, and a hint of ancient majesty washed over him. His steps slowed involuntarily as his gaze swept through the dim chamber.

Though he had prepared himself, seeing these legendary dragon bones in person still made his heart tremble.

In the faint light, the enormous skeletons resembled prehistoric beasts lurking in the shadows.

He approached the nearest skull. This had to be the skull of Balerion the Black Dread.

It should have stood in the throne room, proclaiming the power and glorious history of House Targaryen. Instead, Viserys I had ordered it moved here for a ridiculous reason: he feared it would frighten visiting lords and nobles.

Honestly, what could he even say to that? And his own name was Viserys, too. Perhaps this was fate of a sort-he would bring the fear of dragons back to Westeros.

Just look at this skull. It was larger than he could have imagined. Its eye socket alone towered over him, and a carriage could have passed through its mouth.

Viserys tilted his head back to study the pale colossus. He reached out and rested his hand on the dragon bone, feeling warmth seep through his fingertips. Even in death, it was warm. The dragons of this world really were magical creatures.

Before long, however, he recovered from his initial awe.

As someone who had transmigrated into this world and knew the plot, he understood perfectly well that these dragon bones had lost all life. They were merely the glory of the past.

His real hope lay in the dragon eggs that might still exist somewhere in the world. Yet although these bones could not be brought back to life, their value remained immeasurable.

Across the Narrow Sea in Essos, plenty of people would still pay vast sums for dragon bones.

"A dead dragon is still a dragon." The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

Standing among the many dragon skeletons, he was already calculating which parts would be easiest to transport, which were most valuable, and how he could smuggle them out of the Red Keep without anyone noticing.

The remains of these dead dragons would become part of the capital he needed to rise in this world.

"What is there to see in these blackened bones, Your Highness?" the accompanying official asked when he saw Viserys linger.

Viserys tried to make his voice sound like the innocent ramblings of a child. "They look so... powerful. They used to be our dragons. If only we still had dragons..."

He displayed just the right amount of longing and disappointment for his age. The act successfully fooled the official, who dismissed it as a child's passing fancy.

That afternoon, following his "plan," he asked his newfound father, Aerys the "Mad King," for permission to begin formal sword training.

Unexpectedly, the Mad King offered no objection. Indeed, he seemed to consider a prince's interest in martial pursuits a good thing.

With a grand wave of his hand, he appointed Barristan Selmy "the Bold," a member of the Kingsguard, to teach Viserys the fundamentals of swordsmanship.

On the Red Keep's training grounds, Barristan proved a meticulous and patient teacher.

He first gave Viserys a small wooden sword and taught him how to hold it, then stressed footwork, balance, and basic blocking stances.

The initial training was far more grueling than Viserys had imagined.

Still, young as he was, his strength and stamina far exceeded those of an ordinary child. Perhaps this was the "cheat" he had received when he transmigrated?

After all, he had already silently called for a system and an old mentor spirit many times, but neither had appeared.

Apparently, he was not the sort of protagonist who had everything handed to him. Still, an extraordinary physique was a perfectly acceptable gift. He was not picky.

Even so, the prolonged exertion began to wear him down. Gradually, the wooden sword grew heavier in his hand, and every swing left the muscles in his arms and shoulders aching.

Barristan's standards were exceptionally strict. Viserys often had to repeat a simple lunging slash dozens of times, until his form was correct and he applied precisely the right amount of force.

"A sword is not a stick, Your Highness. It is an extension of your arm, an expression of your will."

Barristan often corrected the smallest flaws in his movements himself as he spoke. "Keep your wrist steady, and follow the point of your sword with your eyes. On the battlefield, even a tiny mistake can cost you your life."

Sweat soaked the hair over his forehead, slid down his cheeks, and dripped onto the sand of the training grounds.

Viserys gritted his teeth and persevered. He knew that these basic drills would lay the foundation for mastering more advanced swordsmanship in the future, and eventually learning to fight with a two-handed sword.

He was not merely learning how to swing a sword. He was also tempering his endurance and resolve.

During breaks in training, he asked Barristan about the other members of the Kingsguard, especially Ser Arthur Dayne, the man known as the "Sword of the Morning."

"Is Ser Dayne really as good with a sword as the stories say? Can he defeat anyone?" Viserys looked up at him, trying to fill his eyes with admiration.

Barristan answered with a solemn expression. "Ser Arthur is one of the finest swordsmen I have ever seen, Your Highness. His skill with a two-handed sword is unmatched in our time."

At the same time, Barristan was privately astonished by Viserys's talent and physical abilities. He had been quietly watching how well Viserys handled the training; the boy was a prince, after all, and he could hardly allow him to get hurt.

Only after he increased the workload to that of an ordinary Red Keep soldier did Viserys begin to struggle.

And the current Red Keep guards were still elite soldiers, not the unqualified men who would fill their ranks a dozen or so years later.

After finishing the day's training, Viserys rested for a while. It was not until evening that he met Arthur Dayne, the knight renowned throughout Westeros.

He had a quiet, reserved bearing, quite unlike Barristan's stern dignity.

Using his status as a prince, Viserys approached him and struck up a conversation, expressing his curiosity about Starfall and Dorne-particularly his "fondness" for House Martell, since House Dayne of Starfall were their vassals-and his admiration for the legendary knight.

He hoped this would make it safer for him to go to Summerhall in the future, since it lay on the Dornish border.

Arthur Dayne offered only a courteous greeting, showing little warmth. Viserys knew that a relationship could not be built overnight. He needed to draw closer to him gradually.

He then mentioned his concern for Princess Elia Martell, the niece of Arthur's friend Lewyn Martell. This seemed to soften Arthur's attitude a little.

After all, both he and Lewyn Martell were currently assigned to protect Rhaegar and his family.

Besides these efforts, Viserys also used his princely status to carefully build his own channels of information.

That morning, he had deliberately befriended several slightly older attendants of middling birth, as well as stable boys and even kitchen helpers.

By rewarding them with a few silver stags, he heard plenty of disreputable gossip circulating within the Red Keep-which noble had fallen into debt again, which captain of the guard had a peculiar vice.