[40] The Ghost of Targaryen
Chapter 40: The Ghost of Targaryen
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By the end, the Tyrells had treated me well—exceedingly well, in fact. I’d also made a sudden request for black armor with a red cape, and they delivered. It now rested within my inventory.
Even House Merryweather went out of their way to secure passage for Kinvara and me, providing a vessel they claimed was “fit for a king.” A bit too conspicuous, if you ask me. Once I realized the opulence would draw too many eyes, I decided to switch ships at the port of Longtable.
Longtable was the seat of House Merryweather, so the lord came to meet me. He insisted we’d be safe on the original ship, but I’ve learned long ago to trust my instincts, not the assurances of an overly friendly lord.
So, now we were on a nondescript vessel, the boards creaking beneath our feet, carrying rough cargo and a few unassuming passengers. Our ship cut through the waters, the mild morning sun reflecting off gentle waves. It’d bring us to King’s Landing without stirring any fanfare if everything went smoothly.
I leaned against the ship’s railing on the open deck, letting the faint air brush over my face. Kinvara stood beside me, red hair splattering against her face in the mild breeze.
“This has been a fulfilling visit,” she said, her voice quiet yet charged with interest. “The Tyrells parted ways with you on excellent terms, and they seemed quite taken with your presence, especially after the demonstration—both the duel and the… night’s session.”
I chuckled. “They’re convinced. At least for now. The next moves are crucial—winning support in King’s Landing, mustering a real coalition before the Mannis marches.”
Kinvara nodded, gazing at the horizon. Everything’s going to be alright,” she said. “We just have to be careful and cautious with our moves.”
Before I could answer, the soft glow of the morning light reflected off metal—movement at the edge of my peripheral vision. I slowly turned toward the far side of the deck. A group of five men approached, their steps uneven, their eyes scanning us. They didn’t carry themselves like typical sailors or harmless travelers. The other passengers looked weary.
The group’s tattered clothes carried a hunger that set me on edge.
The five of them stopped before us, and one of them stepped forward. He was a stocky, unshaven man with a poorly tended scar across his cheek. He feigned politeness with a smile. “Mornin’, travelers,” he greeted. “That guy who escorted you into this ship… Lord Merryweather, right? Friends of a lord. You two must be carryin’ something valuable.”
I held back a scowl. That was annoying. I told that Merryweather bastard that we’d be fine boarding a ship on our own, but he had to tag along. He was disguised so most didn’t recognize him, but this bandit clearly had. Kinvara and I had already shifted back to our disguises, but a rumor still wouldn’t help. I had to take care of these fools.
I forced a polite smile. “Just words, friend. We’re simple folk passing through, not wealthy merchants.”
He clucked his tongue, eyeing the robes on Kinvara, the subtle finery of my clothes. “Is that so?”
I caught the flicker of his comrades shifting, two of them focusing on Kinvara with a lecherous interest while the other three spread around me in a half-circle. My chest tightened with immediate annoyance. Couldn’t these fools sense the danger?
“Lads,” the scarred man muttered, “why not see what’s under those robes, hmm? The lady might have gold… or somethin’ else worth takin’.”
I clenched my jaw. One of them moved toward Kinvara, attempting to grip her arm. She stood perfectly still, peacefulness undisturbed—even as rough fingers dug into her sleeve. Two of them closed in on her, lustful glints in their eyes. The other three advanced on me, including the leader, hoping to rob me—or kill me if I resisted.
I sighed. “Stupid fuckers.”
In one fluid motion, I lunged at the closest man, sidestepping his clumsy attempt to seize my shoulder. My fist slammed into his ribs, and bones cracked as he crumpled with a guttural cry. The second attacker swung a dull blade in a wide arc, but too slow. I ducked low and delivered a sharp elbow to his sternum. Another sickening crack resonated, and he stumbled backward, falling on his back and gasping for breath.
The third man, the leader, shouted and tried to grab my arm from behind, but I whirled, kicking him in the shin. His legs buckled, and he screamed. He hit the deck with a thud, and I rewarded him with a vicious stomp to the shoulder.
An irritated exhale escaped my lips. These ruffians were amateurs; they truly were mere bandits and not assassins. But I realized abruptly that Kinvara had yet to defend herself. The two bandits were pawing at her robes. She stood there calmly as though uninterested in fighting back.
“Really?” I asked.
She shrugged, “Too much energy. Just get them off me already.”
I rushed over, grabbing the first man by the neck of his shirt and flinging him aside, letting him crash into the railing. The second man attempted a swing at my head with a short club, but I caught his wrist, twisted hard, and heard bones snap. His scream tore through the quiet air. He collapsed, howling, and Kinvara only watched with faint curiosity as if this scene were a mildly interesting performance.
“Should have just stayed put,” I said, dusting my hands off as I turned to the leader, the scarred man, who now cowered on the deck with twisted legs, courtesy of my earlier brutal assault. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and he wheezed, fear overshadowing whatever bravado he’d possessed mere minutes ago.
“N-no, please…” he croaked, tears forming in his eyes. My eyes narrowed as I reached for the sword at my waist. “No! I… I didn’t mean…! Look, I’ve a family, I swear. Five daughters, two sons. I—I only tried this because the famine is here. We had no choice…”
His words hung in the morning air as I unsheathed the sword, metal gleaming in the daylight. The man paled, tears rolling down his cheeks now. I held the sword at his neck with my previously injured hand, and it didn’t hurt at all. Even the scar had vanished by now. The sword was newish, a gift from Lord Mace. I didn’t mind it, it was better to practice more than just the spear since I had the System.
Kinvara stood behind me, silent but watchful, with no sign of pity in her expression. More than anyone, she understood the precariousness of letting threats survive in a world like this that devoured the weak. My gaze flicked to the man’s ravaged legs, then back to his tear-streaked face.
“Famine or not,” I said quietly, “you decided to risk our lives. You wanted to harm my companion—hurt me—and you threatened a future I’ve built with more than just my sweat. Is that fair? Think about it. So no, I can’t let you walk away.”
“Please, m’lord—” he begged, trembling. “They’re starvin’! Without me, they—”
The edge of my sword glinted. “There are always choices. You’ve made yours.”
His sobs turned desperate, but I steeled my heart. Compassion was a rarity in this game of kings and swords. If I let one criminal live, the next would too. Who could say how many others might come for me, emboldened by mercy or believing me soft if that continued? Plus, he didn’t have to touch Kinvara if he just wanted money.
Kinvara said nothing. Neither did I. I simply raised the blade, let the sun’s reflection dance on its surface, and brought it down in a swift strike.
[You’ve reached Level 24.]
Blood splattered.
****
I rode in subdued silence, reins wrapped in my grip, while Kinvara followed right beside me. The journey from the docks had gone smoothly enough. No more ambushes, no further attempts on our lives.
The previous night, I had temporarily released Viserion from my dimensional hold, allowing her to stretch her wings and hunt. I glimpsed her silhouette against the moonlit sky, the faint roar echoing now and then. Her presence was reassuring, and her hunts also gave me some EXP.
Everything was going smoothly. Yet my mood soured as we drew near to King’s Landing.
The roads were worn, scattered with travelers who moved too quickly or glanced over their shoulders as if fearing pursuit. Perhaps they sensed the city’s troubles just as keenly as I did. Or more likely, they’d seen what was going on. I had a bad feeling about this…
I looked at Kinvara, and she nodded. We sped up our ride, skirting past quiet hamlets and makeshift camps outside the city as people trembled in hunger. My unease turned into irritation when we finally beheld King’s Landing. Its walls loomed, dingy in the midday sun, but I noticed something immediately amiss.
No guards patrolled the main gate, no watchful eyes peered from the parapets. Only a handful of ragged figures lingered, huddled against the stone, paying us no mind.
This was not the usual clamor of the capital. As I’d expected, something was happening.
Cursing under my breath, I urged my horse forward and peered into the gate’s open maw, half-expecting a sudden throng to appear. Instead, I saw empty streets, or at least emptier than they should be. Seven hells—am I really late? The alarm in my gut spiked. I’d sped up my travel after hearing from the bandits that famine was a real issue already, but perhaps I was still late. If the riot had started, I’d miss a valuable opportunity.
I dismounted abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest, and turned to Kinvara. She halted her horse beside mine.
“Stay put,” I said, my words full of urgency. “I have to see what’s happening inside.”
“Careful,” She nodded, though her eyes shone with unspoken questions. I took a step toward the gate, then hesitated.
I ran my fingers through my coal-black hair. Kinvara had worked her magic right before we switched ships. However, I needed my Targaryen hair for this plan.
“Put my hair back to silver,” I said, turning to Kinvara once more. She tilted her head and then a faint smile of understanding formed on her lips. She raised a hand, the air shimmering with a subtle tingle of magic. Whatever illusions I’d hidden behind were about to be cast aside.
The city beckoned, haunted and uncertain, as Kinvara did her spell. I turned around, ready for the next step—confronting King’s Landing not as a disguised traveler but as some wicked Ghost of Targaryen. The Tyrell’s gift, a black armor with a red cape, covered my body.
It was time to have some fun.
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