The night was as dark as ink, and the flames cast an illusory glow on everyone's faces.
The Moon Pool was once again bustling with the duels of assassins, making the night less monotonous.
Besides the Braavosi assassins in their colorful silks, strutting proudly, there were also the guardians and magistrates in their plain, drab clothes.
Many foreign pleasure-seekers had also come to the Moon Pool to witness the customs of Braavos.
Most of these pleasure-seekers were quite wealthy, as the poor couldn't afford to live in this vicinity.
"Make way for these two warriors!"
"Make way for them."
"Fight!"
"Fight, knock off the mask of that black and red robed masked man!" the swordsmen and onlookers shouted.
The guardians and magistrates were accustomed to such sights.
Among the onlookers were people from the Summer Isles with skin like black ebony, and hairy Ibbenese.
There were Lysene with fair skin and amorous eyes, Myrish with olive skin and supple black hair, and Tyroshi with hair in a thousand shades of red and purple, and boisterous speech.
After the breaking of the Three Daughters' alliance, the superficial friendships between these city-states also ended, turning into ancient feuds.
However, all these onlookers were very knowledgeable; to avoid being implicated by the assassins, they carried no weapons.
"Swift as a deer, silent as a shadow. Quick as a snake, still as water. Strong as a bear, fierce as a wolf." Viserys pondered the motto of the water dancers, which was their truth.
Everything M'hyrro had taught him replayed quickly in Viserys's mind: be faster than the enemy, braver than the enemy, and pierce the enemy with the pointy end.
Water dancers must meet their enemies sideways. Viserys and the assassin both drew the rapier from their waists.
Viserys looked at the cold glint on the Braavosi assassin's blade; this rapier was narrower than the knightly weapons of Westeros, but equally deadly.
Because the assassin duels in the Free Cities were fought without helmets or armor, completely unrestricted, the fatality rate was extremely high.
In contrast, the jousting tournaments common in Westeros were somewhat safer.
After all, the knights were fully armored.
"Stranger from a foreign land, Baelor has won eleven duels at the Moon Pool, six gravely wounded, five dead. He drew twice and lost once. It's not too late to beg for mercy now," the Braavosi said proudly.
Viserys's Braavosi was fluent, but he still had a slight foreign accent, which was hard to change.
"I've only won one duel, and that's this one between you and me," Viserys said coldly. "The Moon Pool will remember my name."
The surrounding Braavosi burst into laughter, mocking Viserys's overestimation of himself.
In a duel, an experienced tough character like Baelor naturally had an advantage over Viserys.
"Silver-haired boy, listen well to my name, Baelor the Swift Blade. Though you may not have heard of me, I will eventually make a name for myself on Braavos's swordsman list," said Baelor, in his red robe and yellow cloak, with an arrogant air.
Braavos had a list of swordsmen, and assassins fought to the death for ranking; only the best among them could earn a place on it.
"You can also know my moniker, the Silver Swordsman," Viserys said.
"It's Baelor the Swift Blade; he's always been ruthless," M'hyrro said, somewhat anxiously.
"Calm down," Syrio waved his hand and said. "This boy has courage, but I still need to see his skill."
"How can a fierce battle be without a wager?"
"I bet on this Braavosi swordsman to win!"
"Me too!"
"I think this stranger can do it."
There was even a betting booth set up on site; gambling is a consistent human trait.
Since neither side knew each other, this might be the fairest wager, but the stakes were life and death.
The gamblers, with their professional intuition, bet on Baelor's victory, as Baelor had a better record.
Viserys, being a green newcomer and a foreigner, had very few people betting on him.
"I bet on myself to win, with all my gold coins," Viserys placed his gold coins down.
"Then I shall do the same, a toast to your confidence, and may your hot blood be my drink," Baelor said with a confident smile.
"I bet on the Silver Swordsman." Another person appeared in the crowd, a bearded man named M'hyrro, Viserys's instructor.
"If you die, I can take your robe and weapon," Baelor said.
"The same for me," Viserys looked at Baelor.
His hair was silver-white, so calling him the Silver Swordsman was fitting.
The noisy sounds around the Moon Pool quieted considerably, as assassins and spectators alike watched the tense duel.
Though Baelor's clothes were flamboyant, his rapier skill was considerable.
This was normal; assassins who swaggered around near the Moon Pool usually had some confidence.
Baelor lunged forward quickly, his sword strikes swift as the wind, his speed astonishing.
This was also related to the assassins' attire; they fought at full speed with no defense.
The assassins of the Free Cities wore no armor, drawing their swords freely, solely to achieve maximum speed.
Baelor's gleaming blade left a blur in the air, primarily targeting Viserys's vital points: throat, heart, or abdomen.
Assassins aimed for a single, fatal blow: swift, ruthless, precise, and deadly.
Without defense, the piercing wounds left by a thrust and the cutting wounds left by a slash were also terrifying.
Viserys took a deep breath, then quickly counterattacked.
Fear wounds more than a sword; in life and death, the fearful are certain to die.
Swift as a deer, quick as a snake, Baelor's blade moved as if in fast motion, vicious and insidious.
Like a venomous snake lying in wait, then suddenly striking.
This was the assassin's dance, not the broad, open movements of a knight's dance.
"Clang!" Steel blades collided in the air, emitting a sharp, forceful sound.
After each thrust, the two moved to a different position.
Water dancer swordsmanship was swift and deadly, emphasizing quick, graceful movement, stealth, and balance.
"You're very good," Baelor looked at Viserys. "You're stronger than I imagined, stranger."
Viserys, however, did not reply; he was thinking about the recent combat.
Viserys already had a complete defensive strategy; Baelor was experienced and fearless.
Water dancers relied on speed, but their strength and resilience were weaker than Viserys, who had enhanced his physical attributes.
Viserys's tactic adjusted to defensive counterattack; after all, he had ample vitality and great strength.
He would continuously wear down the enemy's stamina by luring them into attacking.
The assassins moved back and forth across the arena, like a beautiful dance.
"What a clever boy," Syrio saw through Viserys's strategy, playing to his strengths and avoiding his weaknesses.
If this continued, Baelor would surely die.
"But you are not yet a true water dancer." Baelor wiped the cold sweat from his forehead; he no longer considered getting entangled with this strange newcomer.
Generally speaking, water dancer fights were very quick; they relied on speed above all else, which also led to a lag in strength and resilience.
Baelor snorted and charged at Viserys again, his steel blade thrusting upwards.
Baelor completely ignored Viserys's attacks, instead thrusting his blade upwards, aiming for Viserys's throat.
Baelor sneered, deflecting Viserys's blade; even if he sustained a sword wound, he could secure a killing blow.
This kind of mutually destructive fighting style would usually make a novice panic.
It was only because they were too young; the assassins of Braavos showed no mercy.
"Fear wounds more than a blade." Viserys seemed to see his own neck being cut open, a bloody mess.
"But I think fate still favors me." Viserys did not rush to defend, but deliberately exposed his open guard, merely sidestepping to avoid the attack's range.
Even if he was wounded, what of it? It was just a gamble.
Viserys countered with a backhand thrust, also aimed at Baelor's vital points.
In a flash, the battle was decided.
Viserys's chest was cut open by the blade, a long but not deep wound, burning with pain.
But Viserys's backhand thrust had pierced Baelor's heart, and a pool of blood slowly seeped out, staining Baelor's clothes.
A blood-stained sword, a merciless duel.
"You..." The Braavosi assassin fell heavily, and Viserys pulled out his gleaming blade.
At first, there was dead silence, then the noise slowly grew louder.
"That idiot, didn't he call himself Swift Blade?"
"Get up, get up, keep fighting!" The gamblers cried, many unable to accept the outcome.
"Silver Swordsman!"
"Silver Swordsman!"
More and more people called out the Silver Swordsman's name.
[Profession acquired: Fate Weaver (Initiate). Reverse the threads of fate, and the future changes accordingly.]
Viserys saw before his eyes his original life trajectory: being driven out of the Red Door House, wandering with Daenerys.
Selling his crown, sleeping under bridges, being mocked by various noble governors for trying to reclaim his kingdom, and being forced to sell Daenerys.
Finally, he became a laughingstock, crowned with molten gold poured over his head.
"This is not my future." Viserys clenched his fist, and these tragic predetermined fates shattered like fragments, returning to their origin.
Since he poisoned those servants, his future had already shifted to a new axis.
Though full of mist, it was a new path, a new hope.
[Profession acquired: Water Dancer (Mastery). The Way of Insight is within it.]
Viserys found his character panel changing accordingly; he was finally no longer a blank slate, but had two new professions.
Viserys vaguely inferred the reason for his talent: because he was a Fate Weaver, the greater the change in the future's trajectory, the more random
talents he would acquire.
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