[Check Out My P4treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!! And get chapters before publishing them here for free on my p4treon][https://p4treon.com/ThePlotHoleRefuge]
===
Under the cold silver moonlight, Viserys's silver-gold hair and purple eyes sparkled with a predatory light, vanishing only when he fastened his ferocious dragon-wing helmet. He sat atop his black steed, concealed on the reverse slope of the Viserys Hills, watching the Tyroshi encampment below.
The air was heavy with the sounds of the enemy—coarse Tyroshi laughter mixed with the heartbreaking wails of local Andal women and the terrified prayers of stolen children. It was a profound humiliation, and many of the Andal soldiers in Viserys's company were seething, their hands white-knuckled on their spear-shafts.
"Those who move without order will be severely punished," Viserys commanded, his voice a low, steel-edged rasp that instantly silenced the ranks. Mercy had no place in the hunt.
When the Hour of the Wolf arrived—the darkest moment, when even the sentries on the Tyroshi watchtowers were nodding off—Viserys knew the time had come. He felt his blood burning with a chaotic, thrumming desire for slaughter.
"KILL!" Viserys roared, brandishing Ser Willem's longsword.
The night ignited. First, the crossbowmen from his veteran hundred-man company stealthily approached the watchtowers. The twang of bows was followed by the wet thud of bolts, and the Tyroshi sentries tumbled silently into the dark.
Then, the infantry rushed forward, putting their shoulders to the wooden palisades of the camp. The fence collapsed with a heavy crash, opening a path for the hammer-blow.
"KILL THE SLAVERS!"
From two sides, the infantry poured into the gap, while Viserys led his thirty heavy cavalrymen in a devastating charge right through the center. Viserys truly seemed the Warrior incarnate, a demon-dragon given human form.
The Tyroshi were boisterous, flamboyant, and easy to recognize, with their hair and beards dyed in grotesque, vibrant hues of blue, green, scarlet, and vermilion.
"Enemy attack!" "A dragon! A demon-dragon!" the panicked mercenaries shrieked, paralyzed by the sight of Viserys's winged helmet and his unstoppable brutality.
Tyroshi mercenaries were seasoned fighters, but they were slow to react, never expecting a counter-raid in these hills. As they scrambled for weapons, Viserys's cavalry plowed through their ranks.
Viserys was a force of nature. His longsword spun and chopped, cutting down a blue-haired mercenary who hadn't even found his armor. He then found himself facing a red-haired giant wielding a heavy flail. Viserys parried and dodged, letting the iron ball whistle past his helmet. The flail struck his breastplate, leaving a heavy dent, but Viserys ignored the pain. As the mercenary swung again, Viserys backhanded the flail's chain, instantly closing the distance. The mercenary reached for a sidearm, but Viserys was faster. He drew his dragonbone Valyrian dagger, and the dull, smoky blade plunged into the gap of the Tyroshi's gorget, severing the jugular in a flash of lightning.
THUD. The giant collapsed, the flail hitting the earth with a dull thud.
"WARRIOR! WARRIOR WESTEROS!" the soldiers cheered, their momentum unstoppable. Ser Roland's cavalry pulverized the main resistance, while the half-moon spear formations of the Andal infantry methodically mopped up the remaining mercenaries, aided by the "demonic" precision of the crossbowmen.
The liberated Andals did not remain passive. Children were protected by the soldiers, but adult men and women, fueled by generations of fury, picked up discarded weapons and joined the retaliation. The camp became a slaughterhouse, the scent of gore drowning out the smell of smoke.
When the battle was finally won, the three surviving Tyroshi slavers—their oiled, gem-studded hair and beards matted with mud, their fingers covered in agates and gold—were dragged before Viserys. They were terrified quails, their arrogance evaporated.
"Mercy! Ransom! We can pay, Dragon King, we have much gold!" they wailed, gripping the muddy ground.
Viserys removed his dragon-wing helm, a handsome but cold young man drenched in the blood of his enemies. "This problem cannot be solved with money," he said, shaking his head. "Andals shall not be slaves."
"Mercy!" the slavers begged.
"Kill them, my lord! They killed my husband! They burned our village!" an Andal woman shrieked from the newly opened pens.
"They killed my father!" the children added, their tears cutting trails through the soot on their faces.
"For freedom, Andals shall not be slaves," Viserys repeated.
He strode forward, and his longsword flashed in three quick, violent arcs. The slavers' heads flew through the air, sending a spray of blood onto the soil.
[Fate Defier] Viserys Targaryen
[Just Judgment] Awakening: You have executed multiple "Scum."
Attributes Increase: Strength ↑, Agility ↑.
Viserys felt his powers surge and knew his judgment was correct. These men were trash, and their death made him stronger while securing the fanatical loyalty of the river Andals.
"You have incurred the hatred of the Tyroshi Slaver Guild!" the last slaver had threatened before his end.
"I'd be glad of it," Viserys had retorted. "Let them come, and I will demand this blood debt from every one of them."
The bloody execution struck awe into the surrounding warriors and residents, but moments later, the silence was shattered by a greater passion.
"VISERYS!" "WARRIOR WESTEROS!" "FOR FREEDOM, FIGHT FOR VISERYS!"
Hundreds, then thousands, of arms were outstretched toward the fourteen-year-old King, their voices a single, fanatical roar. Viserys looked at the liberated Andals—they were now his people. The war for Andalusia had truly begun.
===
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 80 on my patreon, go check it out
exclusive 18+ character images, and early chapters, please visit my Patreon. Thanks for your support!
p4treon.com/ThePlotHoleRefuge
if you want more updates == supports with power stones
Every 20 Power Stones == Bonus Chapter
every three 5-star reviews == Bonus Chapter