章 221: Chapter 220: The Night of Blood
"Yes, Your Grace."
"I am Jon Connington."
The knight, now clad in bright armor, had become considerably gaunt compared to his youth, but his eyes still glowed with vitality.
Then, the former Hand of the King to the Targaryen dynasty began to recount his story of how he was stripped of his titles and rank, then exiled from King's Landing.
After leaving King's Landing, Jon Connington boarded a ship and crossed the sea to another continent, arriving in the disputed lands and eventually joining the Golden Company.
He served the Golden Company for five years, and with his capabilities, he eventually rose to the position of right hand to the Captain-General of the Golden Company, Mys Toyn.
However, he later left the Golden Company.
"Left the Golden Company?"
While the soldiers cleaned the battlefield and extinguished the lingering flames within the hall, Viserys tilted his head.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"That was two years ago."
Jon Connington slightly nodded, confirming his decision to leave the Golden Company.
Even then, he had grown into a distinguished commander within the Golden Company, and if he hadn't left, he might have been the next Captain-General.
"Why?"
Viserys asked.
This time, Jon Connington took a long time to respond, finally taking a deep breath.
"Of course, it was because of you, Your Grace."
Viserys' eyebrows raised slightly.
"I've heard news of you in recent years, but at that time..."
Jon Connington paused, his hand on the hilt of his sword, the other open.
"I beg your pardon."
Viserys nodded.
"Speak your mind."
He gestured towards a relatively quiet spot not far away.
"Let's talk there."
This half-collapsed hall was at risk of complete collapse at any moment. Now, the soldiers of House Targaryan had taken complete control of the entire palace. The soldiers of Pentos were being saved where possible, and those beyond help were granted a quick death.
The body of the Prince of Pentos had been accounted for. All the Magisters of Pentos, except for Illyrio, had perished in this upheaval. Illyrio himself had been carried off for treatment due to a sword wound in his leg.
Now, only Viserys and Jon Connington remained.
The two men then left the crumbling palace and went to the gardens outside, where several torches were still burning.
"Your Grace."
A servant came forward with a heavy cloak and draped it over Viserys.
Viserys nodded, and the servant bowed and retreated.
The winter night in Pentos was piercingly cold, especially after a heavy snowfall a few days ago.
Standing there, looking into the distance, his black cloak fluttering in the wind, Viserys turned to look at Jon.
"Continue. What did you want to say?"
After the interruption, Jon Connington seemed to have organized his thoughts and nodded slightly before he spoke.
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace, I believe you've heard about your father."
"I was somewhat indecisive when I first heard news about you..."
"Afraid I'd be the next 'Mad King'?"
Viserys didn't get angry at Jon Connington's words, just shook his head slightly.
Then, as if something had occurred to him, he turned to Jon and asked,
"Jon, are you alone now?"
Jon Connington was clearly taken aback, not understanding why Viserys would ask such a question, but after a moment's hesitation, he replied.
"No, Your Grace."
"I have a son."
."
...
The dawn of the next day.
Brilliant sunlight pierced through the clouds, bathing the bustling, prosperous city-state.
The Red Temple stood as resolute as ever, its glazed tiles reflecting a faint golden light.
After a night of turmoil.
Pentos finally returned to calm as the sun rose.
When the dragon soared in the sky, spewing a pillar of red fire, all the city guard soldiers of Pentos understood what had happened.
Upon hearing that all the magisters had been burnt to death, these Pentos soldiers all surrendered.
Everything that followed became much simpler.
The Targaryen soldiers, the Windblown, and the city guard of Pentos, the three forces jointly suppressed the chaos in the city, killing the opportunistic mercenaries, and hung their severed heads high on the city walls of Pentos.
However, for the ordinary Pentoshi, they did not know what had happened last night, only closing their doors and windows, afraid to show their heads.
Trembling until the dawn of the next day, hearing that the outside was quiet, they finally mustered up the courage to open the door and step out.
They then saw the heads hanging high on the city walls, almost a thousand in dense clusters.
But for this bloody night, far more people died than just these.
The streets were still filled with uncleared bodies and bloodstains, soldiers still patrolling the streets and alleys to maintain order.
"Harrumph——"
At this moment.
A deep, hoarse roar came from the sky, the civilians on the ground looked up in panic and then scattered in fear.
Whoosh~
Subsequently, a gust of wind blew on the ground as the dragon took off, casting a huge shadow.
The Prince's Palace had already been burnt down by Balerion, and Viserys appeared in a palace at the top of a cluster of nine towers near the bay.
Viserys was playing with a string of icy cool prayer beads, each one a priceless gem, wealth scavenged from the Prince's Palace.
"Khal Drogo."
For some reason, Viserys suddenly remembered this man who had died a long time ago and felt a sense of nostalgia.
Standing at the top level of the palace tower, from here he could take in the whole of Pentos at a glance, and by turning his head, he could also see the bustling ocean port and the Narrow Sea, whose waves never ceased, constantly beating against the shore.
Whoosh——
The piercing sea breeze roared, stirring the silver-golden hair of the young king.
Viserys, dressed in a loose, soft robe, stood at the top of the tower, playing with the prayer beads as he quietly gazed into the distance, then suddenly broke the silence.
"I remember you once said, Illyrio."
"Your greatest wish is to become the Master of Coin for the Iron Throne?"
Viserys, with his hand on the cold battlement, with the sea wind stirring his hair, asked in a calm voice.
And Illyrio, whose thigh was tightly bandaged, was sitting on a chair in the room, a cane by his side. He gave a bitter smile at Viserys's words.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Viserys nodded slightly.
"From today, you are the Master of Coin, if you don't mind the absence of that chair."
Illyrio's face suddenly showed a look of surprise, and he quickly nodded.
"Of course! Of course! That chair will be yours eventually."
"Thank you for your trust, Your Grace."
At this moment.
Thud thud thud...
The heavy footsteps echoed from the spiral staircase.
The Ragged Prince, still in his ragged clothes, bloodstains on his body not even cleaned off, hurried over to meet Viserys.
He had directed his butcher's knife towards all the noble families of Pentos. Except for a few who had received early warnings and had managed to hide or escape the city, the rest had been exterminated.
From the old to the infants, none were spared.
He had severed himself from the power circles of Pentos, and his reputation among the commoners was tarnished.
Now, the Ragged Prince could only cling to Viserys, his only option was to submit, otherwise, the city, filled with deep-seated hatred from the bloody night, would erupt in a blazing fury that would consume him.
"Your Grace."
The gray-haired old man, covered in blood, entered the room and knelt on one knee, looking at the back of Viserys.
...
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