R'hllor's power had already exceeded anything Viserys had imagined.
A being capable of manipulating fate was terrifying enough on its own.
Yet this god could also absorb the power of other deities and make it his own.
Because of his cheat-like ability, Viserys sometimes viewed this world as little more than a single-player game.
But R'hllor's abilities made it feel far more like a multiplayer one.
Fortunately, the River Elder added that absorbing the power of other gods came with severe drawbacks.
One such consequence was "consciousness fragmentation," roughly equivalent to a human suffering from multiple personalities. In severe cases, it could even cause a decline in divine power.
It was entirely different from Viserys's own ability to absorb essence without any side effects.
"You've already visited Vaes Dothrak, haven't you?" the River Elder asked.
"Yes."
Viserys nodded.
Clinton had already transported one of the Valyrian steel statues back for him. Soon it would be melted down into ingots and stored within his treasury.
"The statues along the Vaes Dothrak were all plundered by the Horse God Bargo on R'hllor's behalf.
In those days, many gods were willing to serve as R'hllor's agents. The reason R'hllor chose Bargo was because he valued the raiding nature of the horse people."
As the River Elder spoke, Viserys gradually gained a deeper understanding of the world.
Gods and their followers existed in a mutually beneficial relationship.
Mortals chose their gods, but gods also had to choose their followers carefully.
The Dothraki of this world were essentially the equivalent of the nomadic peoples from the world Viserys had known before his transmigration.
The Free Cities remained divided, however, and therefore could never organize military campaigns on the scale of the Mother's Mountain Crusade.
As a result, they posed little threat to the horse lords.
With the Dothraki of the Great Grass Sea behind him, Bargo had destroyed countless faiths.
The weakened gods became prey for both him and R'hllor.
The situation was much like the Iron Islands of Westeros.
The Ironborn worshipped the Drowned God.
Before Aegon the Conqueror's wars of conquest, they had even occupied the Riverlands and expanded toward the Crownlands and the Reach.
The rise of the Drowned God had similarly depended on the endless wars between the Seven Kingdoms, which prevented them from uniting and driving away the raiders.
Returning to the subject of R'hllor and Bargo, the River Elder explained that they did not necessarily consume every defeated god immediately.
Instead, they could preserve divine sparks and divine authorities as emergency reserves.
A food supply for harder times.
Such as now.
The reason the River Elder's estimate ranged anywhere from months to a century was simple:
he had no idea how much reserve stock R'hllor still possessed.
"Have you sent troops to Volantis to destroy R'hllor's temple?"
"Yes."
Viserys answered without hesitation.
"I advise against it."
The River Elder's expression grew serious.
"In the short term, it won't weaken R'hllor. Instead, it may only enrage him further. He might even sacrifice more divine power just to retaliate against you."
"But the moment I refused to die according to his plans, we became mortal enemies."
Viserys shrugged.
"And destroying his temples will at least allow me to arm more soldiers."
Hearing that, the old turtle offered no further objections.
He had lived far longer than Viserys. He had shared the world with R'hllor for much longer as well.
And because of that, he feared him more.
If Viserys could somehow eliminate R'hllor, it would benefit the River Elder greatly.
"Very well."
The old turtle nodded slowly.
He had no intention of stopping him.
If this suspected reincarnated god truly succeeded in the end, it would only strengthen his own position.
"By the way, why did you come to see me personally this time?" Viserys asked.
"My temple is built in Gohor. This place benefits me. In the future, I intend to bring my descendants here to live.
If you wish, you may rebuild Nasar at any time."
Viserys did not pay much attention to the suggestion.
The reason he had set the invasion of Robert for six months in the future was to accumulate equipment, weapons, supplies, and food.
He had no plans to carry out large-scale migration to Nasar.
The Dothraki had always roamed east of the Rhoyne.
Now that he had defeated them, the lands east of the river were effectively open for development.
As for Nasar and the surrounding Golden Plains, his current plans were limited to constructing docks and horse ranches.
Once Robert had been defeated, there would be plenty of time for further development.
...
Volantis.
Temple of the Lord of Light.
Benerro followed his usual routine.
Before preaching, he bathed, changed his robes, and then walked barefoot across glowing coals.
Standing atop the temple's high tower, he gazed toward the Long Bridge in the distance.
For some reason, the waters of the Rhoyne were unusually turbulent today. Waves repeatedly crashed against the bridge supports.
An odd feeling settled in his heart.
The bridge looked as though it might collapse.
"Your Holiness, the bridge is already packed with people waiting for you." His dark-skinned assistant, Moqorro, spoke respectfully.
"It won't collapse."
Benerro reassured himself internally.
"The bridge has stood for centuries. It's sturdy enough."
"Very well. Let's go."
Descending from the tower, he found dozens of red priests waiting outside.
In addition to the priests, the temple's armed force—the Hands of Holy Fire—stood ready as an escort.
Opposite Moqorro stood the commander of the Hands of Holy Fire, an albino named Modro.
Benerro had rescued him from the ruins of a collapsed house many years ago.
At the time, Modro had been only a boy of ten. His albinism had made him the target of constant ridicule.
But Benerro had given him dignity.
He had given him purpose.
To Modro, Benerro was his Lord of Light.
The deep crimson robes of the priests blended with the orange cloaks of the Hands of Holy Fire, forming what looked like a moving river of flame.
At Moqorro's command, the Hands of Holy Fire moved ahead to clear the way while the priests surrounded Benerro.
They traveled on foot rather than by carriage or horseback.
As they advanced, more and more commoners joined the procession.
Merchants and peddlers.
Fishermen and farmers.
Widows and the elderly.
Even soldiers from within the Black Walls—the famed Tiger Cloaks—fell in behind the procession like moths drawn to a flame.
Benerro greeted them all with the same calm smile he always wore.
"Your Holiness, there seem to be far more Tiger Cloaks than usual today."
Moqorro glanced behind them.
"It seems even they are eager to hear about the return of dragons and Viserys's resurrection."
Benerro nodded.
His expression turned somewhat complicated.
"It's a pity."
"Viserys is not the savior chosen by the Lord of Light."
___________
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