None of this honored the covenant forbidding the Faceless Men from taking lives at will, nor did it show the slightest desire to serve their god. They seemed more like greedy merchants cloaked in priestly robes, recognizing only gold, not gods.
But the Faceless Man before him did not know the truth. After hearing Viserys speak, he had begun to believe his claims, and most of the little strength he had left suddenly drained away.
So, while he had believed he was serving the Many-Faced God and collecting the price his god demanded, in the end he had merely become a pawn sent to his death by the priests of the House of Black and White.
After saying his piece, Viserys had intended to wait for the Faceless Man to respond, but the study remained silent.
The Faceless Man simply lay on the floor without a word, his limbs bent at grotesquely unnatural angles, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
His eyes were still open, and the once-unruffled gaze now brimmed with anger, but his focus had already begun to drift. Flecks of bloody foam from the earlier kick still clung to the corners of his mouth.
He looked as though he wanted to say something, but only a few faint, brief breaths escaped his throat.
Viserys stood before him, looking down for a while, then could not help raising a hand to rub his chin.
The Faceless Man's injuries were somewhat worse than he had expected. When his kick had struck the man's chest, Viserys had felt his ribs shatter.
After that, he had broken all four of the man's limbs, then spent several more moments talking. Now the man's breathing had grown terribly weak, and he seemed about to draw his last breath.
Watching this,