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Dawn broke the next day.
A thousand newly logged-in players, each issued a shield, excitedly rowed small boats toward the outlying islands of Braavos. With a starter sword in one hand and a wooden shield in the other, they howled like wolves as they launched another charge.
Meanwhile, Viserys had ordered the Pentos City Watch and the Windblown Legion to row boats requisitioned from surrounding villages to flank the enemy from the rear.
To transport such a large army through the winding waterways, the players had even constructed a massive number of rafts, barely enough to carry the two legions.
Ahead of the two legions, the guild leaders Storm-Cloud-Split and Storm-Overlord each led hundreds of players as the vanguard. In the dead of night, they rowed their small boats around to the back of "Island No. 1," the first obstacle blocking the Grand Army's path.
The newly logged-in players, with their fearless, suicidal momentum, thoroughly shook the hundreds of mercenaries defending the island.
The defenders were already physically and mentally exhausted from a whole night of non-stop harassment attacks. Although they inflicted heavy casualties on the unarmored newbie players, they couldn't stop the wave of enemies from crashing onto the shore.
The moment the first group of players set foot on land, the defenders, unable to push them back into the sea, received their summons from the Stranger.
"Charge!"
"Grab the loot! There's too many monks and not enough gruel!"
With green greed in their eyes, the players scattered the counter-attacking formation of a hundred mercenaries in a single clash, slaughtering them like chickens and dogs.
At the same time, the flanking force—over a thousand players and nearly four thousand legion soldiers—swarmed onto the island from the rear. Attacked from both sides, the defenders quickly surrendered.
By the time Viserys stepped onto the island under heavy guard, his army had already tirelessly pushed on to "Island No. 2" and was currently fighting for control against several hundred caught-off-guard mercenaries.
The two or three hundred surrendered mercenaries were currently squatting together, hands on their heads. Players in groups of two or three, holding spears, would occasionally grab one and pat them down, trying to see if any more loot would drop.
"Tell them: those who fight for the True Dragon may live. Organize them all into a battalion. As for the name... call it the Penal Battalion. Next time we attack an island, let them charge in the first wave."
Looking at the prisoners, Viserys gave the order with his hands behind his back.
"Yes, Your Grace." Ser Jorah, standing behind him, committed the order to memory.
---
Inside the city of Braavos, chaos reigned. The relaxed atmosphere of yesterday was gone. The ruler of the city-state, Sealord Ferrego, had been captured alive by Targaryen agents in his own territory, inside his own palace.
This was a humiliation for all Braavosi, but it also forced them to ask themselves a terrifying question: If even the Sealord could be kidnapped, what about them? Would they wake up with a knife at their throats tonight?
For a moment, panic spread among everyone, from commoners and peddlers to nobles and wealthy merchants.
The Iron Bank constantly pressured the Stag King across the Narrow Sea to send troops to Pentos. They increased their offers to the mercenary companies in the city, ordering them to attack, and called for mercenaries from other Free Cities to come to their aid.
But none of this would help in the short term. It would take time for the Usurper to assemble his army and fleet.
Meanwhile, the mercenaries in the city, seeing the Iron Bank's rewards getting higher and higher, began to think about holding out for a better price. They made a lot of noise, but the subtext was clear: If you don't feed us enough, we'll open the gates for King Viserys.
Inside the Sealord's Palace, a temporary Council of Five was formed by representatives of the freeholders, citizens, the Fleet Admiral, the merchant guilds, and the Moon Singers. Faced with the extortionist mercenaries, they tried to appease them while helplessly announcing the formation of a temporary army composed entirely of Braavosi citizens to resist the enemy.
The City Watch of Braavos was entrusted with a heavy responsibility; they would form the backbone of this temporary legion.
The representatives at the table, except for the Moon Singers, all looked miserable.
They had been too busy making money to ever think about building a standing army. Any spare funds they had were poured into the fleet.
As for land forces, relying on their natural defenses, Braavos usually only maintained a City Watch of about a thousand men for policing, plus the eight hundred guards of the Sealord's Palace.
In past wars, they had always used their wealth to hire large numbers of mercenaries to achieve their political goals.
But now, the mercenaries were ready to sell out the city at any moment. Aside from the Stormcrows, who were clamoring to lead the charge, the rest were planning to sit on the fence and watch the two lions fight.
"I propose that in this time of crisis, we deploy sailors from the fleet into the city to help with the defense!"
The merchant representative spoke up.
"Absolutely not! Our sailors are warriors of the sea. How can we send them to die on land for nothing? Only the most foolish Admiral would order his sailors ashore to fight infantry!"
The Fleet Admiral immediately shot down the idea. The fleet was the foundation of his power.
If the day came when Braavos fell, he could sell the fleet to the Targaryens for a good price, declare himself a Pirate King at sea, or defect to the Usurper with his ships. Either way, he could continue living a life of luxury.
And now they wanted him to bring his sailors ashore to fight a land war?
Hmph. The fleet is mine. Braavos is yours. Why should I gamble my entire capital for your city?
---
Across the Narrow Sea, King's Landing.
King Robert enthusiastically issued orders for war preparations. He began calling his banners and ordered his brother Stannis to prepare the Royal Fleet, ready to cross the sea at his command.
After issuing these commands, King Robert acted as if his revenge was already complete. He dove back into the arms of women, drinking and dancing as before.
All the tedious work was left to his Hand, Eddard Stark.
But unbeknownst to him, his good Hand, Eddard, was also in trouble.
The Kingslayer, a member of the Kingsguard for two kings, Jaime Lannister, was currently "hosting" the Duke of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, with a group of Red Cloaks.
"Your wife has taken my brother. I believe you know him. People call him the Imp. Tyrion Lannister."
The Kingslayer sat on his white horse, looking down arrogantly at the grim-faced Hand, Eddard.
It was as if Jaime were the Duke and Eddard merely a servant from the North.
"Standing before you is the Hand of the King, Warden of the North, and Lord of Winterfell. Show some respect, Ser Jaime."
Eddard's captain of the guard, Jory Cassel, rested his hand on his sword hilt and stepped forward to shield Lord Eddard, glaring righteously at the white-cloaked knight on the horse.
At the same time, the dozen or so Winterfell guards drew their swords, ready for a standoff.
Ever since the Targaryens across the sea became increasingly brazen, the Hand never went anywhere without a heavy guard.
"Aha, look at that. So many wolves." Jaime's tone was frivolous, but his eyes grew colder.