Capítulo 720: Chapter 720: The Deep Diver
As Beniro's voice faded, another corner of Valantis stirred.
Located to the west of the Rhoyne River, this area was home to mercenaries, foreigners, slaves, and commoners. The roads here were in disrepair, and the houses showed signs of age. The streets bustled with people of all kinds.
In stark contrast to the upper city, as if they weren't even part of the same city, stood an unremarkable, dilapidated two-story building.
The building was painted a deep black, with patches of wear revealing its inner structure. Its doors remained shut year-round, and neighbors rarely saw its owner venture out. Even the windows were sealed tight, allowing no light to penetrate.
Rumors suggested that the owner was an exiled noble from across the Narrow Sea who hadn't returned after a voyage many years ago, perhaps having met his demise.
Yet some believed these tales. They were usually drunken men who couldn't find a place to sleep or thieves hoping to find treasures within the noble's residence.
But those who entered the eerie building never came out. Over time, people realized this and began to whisper that the place was haunted, avoiding it altogether.
However, the ones who perished were deemed insignificant, drawing little attention from the authorities. Over time, the area became a no-go zone for outsiders.
But now, within this blackened house deemed off-limits, a figure swayed.
"He's back."
"He's come for me."
The figure's voice trembled as if speaking to himself, or perhaps to another unseen presence within his mind. The raspy tone, reminiscent of scraping blades, sent chills down one's spine.
"No, he didn't come for me. It's someone else."
"Asha Greyjoy, a woman of the Greyjoy clan. She's his subordinate."
The murmuring voice recognized the Greyjoy name. The foggy recesses of his mind still held onto these names, but he had no recollection of Asha.
It wasn't due to a failing memory. When he left Westeros, Asha was but a child, and she wasn't the heir to the Greyjoy clan. There were others like Rodrik and Maron. He only heard of her after the Iron Fleet's visit.
After a long silence, the figure in the room seemed to regain some clarity, his thoughts becoming more coherent. He spoke again, this time with an eerie calmness.
"She didn't die."
Ever since his escape, he had been hiding in Valantis, constantly fearing death's approach. He was terrified of a particular individual, or more precisely, the familiar aura that person exuded.
That scent was all too familiar, becoming the source of countless nightmares.
Monstrous beings with fins, the agonizing screams of comrades, torn bodies, and spilled blood haunted his dreams.
Now, even though he hid in Valantis, he rarely ventured out. When he did, it was under the cover of night, wrapped from head to toe, fearing being seen in his current state and, more importantly, seeing himself.
Hence, the house remained sealed, devoid of any light or mirrors.
"She didn't die."
"I was so well-prepared."
His voice now deep and raspy, he touched the scaly patches on his face. His once nimble fingers had fused, forming webbed appendages.
A fin, similar to the creatures he once encountered, protruded from his back. He could breathe underwater and swim vast distances in a day.
Standing still, water pooled at his feet. Over the years, he had unknowingly transformed into the very creature he once feared. Yet, he couldn't come to terms with this reality.
Suddenly, lightning flashed outside, followed by the rumble of thunder. The lightning illuminated his grotesque face, no longer human. A downpour began.
He had heard of the Imperial Fleet's visit and felt a familiar dread. That sensation seemed to be closing in.
He feared Viserys would find him, living in constant anxiety.
So, he decided to strike first. Posing as a mysterious individual, he hired mercenaries to assassinate Asha Greyjoy, hoping to halt the Iron Throne's fleet at Tyrosh and prevent them from advancing eastward.
However, the assassination attempt failed. Asha Greyjoy was rescued, narrowly escaping death. He witnessed it all from a distance, feeling as if fate was mocking him. Terrified, he fled back to Valantis.
As for the subsequent events, he was clueless.
The prisoners in the Tyrosh prison were poisoned. The bribed jailer claimed a Valyrian with a flame tattoo on his face provided the poison. This had nothing to do with him. Someone else was trying to muddy the waters of the Free Cities, framing him in the process.
But he didn't care about being framed. He wasn't even human anymore. Why would he care about such matters?
Yet, Asha's arrival reminded him of painful memories. Bits and pieces began to resurface.
He had once killed a maester and assumed his identity to get close to Viserys.
As an inside man for the Iron Throne, he provided valuable information about the Targaryen family. However, his cover was blown a few years later.
Out of past loyalty, Viserys granted him a merciful death by poison. Accepting his fate, he drank the poison, bleeding from every orifice until death took him.
But when he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in heaven or the seven hells but in a pitch-black tomb.
Something within him, a curse or a virus, wouldn't let him die. The poison seemed to have awakened this entity, granting him a second life.
He dug himself out of his grave and fled, making it appear as if someone else had exhumed him.
And then, he disappeared.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder