It was raining under the Braavos sky, and the gloomy weather mirrored the mood.
"Moro is dead," Roland Lake, clad in armor, said anxiously.
Moro was also Ser Roland's friend, and hearing this news, he felt a pang of sorrow.
"Moro is dead?" Viserys's heart grew heavier and heavier; this was truly dark news.
Viserys had already killed a few people—servants and some unobservant Water Dancers.
But hearing the bad news about a friend was still painful, a pain like witnessing the death of Ser Willem Darry, a torment of shock.
Constable Syrio and The Swordswoman, while also Viserys's friends, had not accompanied him for a significant period.
Moro, however, was Viserys's second instructor, a relationship that was both teacher and friend.
Viserys had once advised Moro to stay here, but a Water Dancer was not Viserys's retainer, and occasionally had to go out and live his own life.
He hadn't expected Moro's pursuit of freedom to lead to his demise.
Whether he liked it or not, once he stepped into power, Viserys was already in this bloody and violent battlefield of Asura.
"The person who delivered Moro's body is outside," Roland said.
"What happened?" Syrio asked, surprised.
Roland shook his head, indicating he didn't know many details.
"It seems it's still the Pleystein Family's doing."
"You two stay here and don't go out yet," Viserys said to Rhaenys and Daenerys.
Daenerys blinked, not yet understanding what had happened; for a child, she was relatively mature.
But by age, she was still a child.
"Do you want to put on your armor, Your Majesty?" Ser Roland asked.
Viserys shook his head. "No need. They seem only to be trying to intimidate us."
Viserys opened the door, and cold raindrops lashed at his face; his sword was already at his side.
Viserys's silver hair was matted by the rain, and there was a chill in his purple eyes.
Viserys saw several people waiting outside the door: the big man was Titan's Bastard Mero, and there were a few servants of the Pleystein Family.
The body of Moro, the Water Dancer, was laid on a plank, covered with a tattered cloth.
This was considered a noble area of Braavos, and such a commotion had gathered many people.
Before long, the matter would cause a stir in the Hall of the Sea King area of Braavos.
However, such assassination incidents were quite common in Braavos; assassins competed for superiority, and also for life and death.
With his pale green eyes and thick red-gold beard almost reaching his waist, Titan's Bastard Mero was very easy to recognize.
Mero had some bandaged wounds on his body, indicating that this battle was not a one-sided affair.
"I am very sorry. I only intended to leave him with some honorable scars, but I didn't expect him not to surrender. It was my mistake," Mero said.
Viserys felt a surge of anger ignite in his chest.
"This is too much, even if you are from the Pleystein Family," Syrio said.
Although Moro wasn't his direct disciple, there was still a bond between them.
From the looks of it, he had clearly been ambushed.
"I respect you greatly, but you have already retired, so why meddle in these affairs?" Mero retorted.
To put it bluntly, the First Sword was merely a figurehead for the Sea King.
With no Sea King, a former swordsman was, after all, not the current First Sword.
"You..." Syrio looked at Mero angrily, turning his body sideways. "Perhaps these old bones of mine can still dance with you again."
Viserys stopped Syrio; since the matter arose because of him, it should end with him.
The tall Braavosi, Mero, looked at Viserys again, then grinned: "Your friend's swordsmanship isn't very good, Your Majesty. We happened to meet on the road and had a sparring match. Things wouldn't have been so complicated if you hadn't accepted the Pleystein Family's goodwill."
If someone was observant, they would quickly discover Viserys behind the aliases "Silver Traveler" and "Violet Swordsman."
However, even knowing Viserys's identity, the Pleystein Family didn't take it particularly seriously, believing Viserys was still in a state of destitution.
Such high-spirited but down-and-out young masters usually ended up begging in the Free Cities; the difference was that Viserys seemed more talented.
"Your status is very noble, and Young Master Yorco also had good intentions," Mero said mockingly.
He spoke of good intentions, but his tone lacked much respect.
Without much information, just from his physique and appearance.
"The goodwill of Preston, I will never forget."
"It's good that you acknowledge it," Mero said mockingly. "Look at that pretty face, it's a pity you're a man, Your Majesty. Perhaps I've seen women with such skin, mostly bed slaves from Lys. No woman will ever forget me, Titan's Bastard."
"I think you'd better cherish your last chance, because you won't live much longer."
"Come on, this duel is a huge mismatch. If you want to live well in Braavos, why not accept Preston's goodwill?" Mero snorted. "Do you want to go to war?"
"If we go to war, I'll kill you first," Viserys said. "Or, you can kneel and flee."
"Foolish boy, if you were to see the titan of Braavos, you would understand that he would never run away with his tail between his legs," Mero said, tugging at his thick red beard.
"Our mission is over. Actually, this matter is very simple; becoming friends is much easier than being enemies, and Preston is very generous." Mero shrugged, then turned and left with his servants.
Viserys walked to the plank, and with Syrio and Ser Roland, moved the body into the courtyard.
"He died because of me." Viserys looked at Moro's body, blood-stained, with wounds of varying depths, clearly made by the same steel sword.
The most fatal injury was a penetrating wound to the chest.
"Revenge." Viserys looked at the deceased's face, tears and rain falling together.
Blood and fire are of the same origin; this was the path he had chosen.
Viserys had chosen the path of power, destined to be filled with blood and fire.
"While Titan's Bastard isn't exceptionally agile, he is quite strong," Syrio commented.
Although Titan's Bastard was crude and lecherous, he was also a rather dangerous warrior, probably a first-rate one.
Moreover, with deliberate planning against an unprepared opponent, it was quite normal for Moro to fail in a hasty battle.
"Preston." Syrio frowned. "No wonder their reputation is getting worse and worse."
Viserys looked at Moro's body. Today's grudge, it seemed, would worsen his relationship with Preston to a new stage.
The Pleystein Family put pressure on him, but he would not let it go.
After some time, those familiar to Viserys also arrived.
Constable Xisa, The Swordswoman, Nightingale, Black Pearl, and "Crabfeeder Tycoon" Lingo.
"Hold your ground," Black Pearl said. "I know Moro was very important to you."
In such conflicts, Braavosi might typically choose intermediaries for continuous mediation, but direct confrontation was not unheard of.
"He was my instructor, I considered him family," Viserys said hoarsely. His tears had already flowed; now he wanted to see blood.
Seeing him like this, Black Pearl knew there was no way to persuade him further.
"President Lingo," Viserys requested. "I want to send a gift to the Pleystein Family, and I hope you can help me."
"No problem," Lingo nodded heartily. "They truly are despicable."
The sailors wouldn't go to war with Preston, but cheering them on and irritating the insurance guild was certainly possible.
"Black Pearl," Viserys asked Black Pearl for help too. "Tomorrow, when I seek revenge, please help me protect my sister and niece."
Black Pearl nodded; she knew persuasion was futile.
This arrangement also removed Black Pearl from trouble, as Viserys would resolve the matter himself.
Black Pearl understood that a scholar could be encouraged but not disheartened. Viserys, at this point, was living by a spirit of "heroism"—a spirit of courage, a spirit of the Jianghu .
House Targaryen was known for their fiery temper, and now Viserys resembled a true dragon even more.
The next day, Viserys approached the Pleystein Family's square tower courtyard in the early morning.
Viserys walked towards the Pleystein residence, carrying a silver tray covered with a black cloth.
"Halt!" the Pleystein guards shouted, only to find some crude, drunken sailors appearing in the streets and alleys.
"It's the Crabfeeders, how did they get here?"
These sailors had already caused a disturbance once before because of the insurance guild.
Seeing these people glaring menacingly, the guards dared not obstruct them too forcefully.
"I have come to present the Pleystein Family with a gift they cannot refuse."
Viserys lifted the curtain, revealing a bloody, whole head of a codfish.
A fresh fish, and the blood was freshly applied.
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