Oberyn showed little interest in Viserys's cryptic posturing.
Inside the tent, only a few of Viserys's personal guards remained—young n he had brought with him from the Claw Isle. They were now his personal protectors.
The two captives quickly realized that they were being held by children barely out of boyhood. Naturally, they couldn't help but feel a bit of contempt.
"You must be the little Targaryen king," one of them said with a patronizing smile, as though coaxing a child. "Why don't you let go and I'll beco your Kingsguard? I'll help you take back the Iron Throne."
But Viserys didn't bother replying. He circled behind the man and drove his short sword straight into his back.
The brigand stared blankly at the blood-drenched blade protruding from his chest, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.
He still had plenty of useful information to bargain with. Why wouldn't this little brat follow the rules?
As for the other captive, Viserys didn't waste any words. He gave him the sa treatnt—one clean thrust through the heart—then instructed his guards to drag both bodies out.
[Essence Acquired: Veteran (Infantry) 1
Veteran (Cavalry) 1]
Viserys absorbed their essences directly.
Their short lives, spanning just over twenty years, held little of interest. What caught Viserys's attention was their most recent mories:
...
"Redbeard! Isn't that the leader of the Cat Company? What's he doing here?"
"No idea. I heard soone hired them. Said the Targaryens lost the Iron Throne and ca to Essos looking for a foothold—chose this place to start."
"Redbeard's helping us drive the Targaryens out."
"Who hired them?"
"You'll have to ask Dirty Ben—I don't know!"
.....
After going through their mories, Viserys extracted the most valuable part for himself.
The next day, he went to Oberyn and asked about the Cat Company.
Seeing that Viserys was interested in the rcenary group, Oberyn imdiately perked up.
"The Cat Company isn't small. They've got over two thousand rcenaries. And their leader, Redbeard, is a ruthless and greedy bastard—loves torturing prisoners. With a leader like that, the rest of them are probably even worse."
"Over two thousand?" Viserys mused aloud.
Seeing Viserys lost in thought, Oberyn suddenly asked, "Wait—don't tell they're in Gohor too?"
Viserys nodded. "Yes. Seems like soone hired them to block our way."
"What? Who? Did you get that from those prisoners yesterday?" Oberyn asked urgently, clearly agitated.
"Yes, but they're dead now. Just minor officers—didn't know much."
"Could it be Robert?" Oberyn asked.
"Maybe. Doesn't matter. Whoever it is, we'll crush this obstacle first." Viserys's confident tone drew a faint sneer from Oberyn.
That rcenary company had a savage reputation—and over two thousand n! Combined with the forces already in Gohor, Viserys's odds didn't even seem to reach halfway.
"Forty-seven!"
"Heave!"
"Forty-eight!"
"Heave!"
The sounds of the peasant archers' awkward training echoed again, and Oberyn honestly didn't know what to make of it anymore.
.....
Gohor's location was strategically exceptional.
Mountains bordered the north, while the western side was flanked by the Little Rhoyne River, and the eastern side by the Upper Rhoyne. Both rivers flowed into the main Rhoyne to the south.
Yet for centuries, no single force had managed to fully control the region.
The Loenar held the east bank of the Upper Rhoyne, while the Andals controlled the west of the Little Rhoyne.
This fertile land—one that could have easily birthed a powerful realm—had beco a battleground of blood and ruin.
In a worn old earth-and-wood fortress, a group of bandit leaders had gathered for a eting. Each one commanded anywhere from a hundred to five hundred n.
The more troops they had, the louder their voices.
Especially since Pentos had recently delivered a shipnt of fine weapons and armor. So were beginning to speak with an even greater sense of entitlent.
"When we catch that Targaryen brat, I'll have him marry one of my daughters and give a whole brood of dragon-blooded grandsons!"
The speaker was an old man in his fifties, his beard and temples streaked with white.
His na was Old Punk. In his lifeti, he had never managed to father a son—only seven daughters.
As for their looks? Best left unsaid. But in terms of size, each one was larger than the last.
He had married off the eldest three by offering a dowry in copper coins equal to each daughter's weight.
But with four still left at ho, and little money to spare, the prospect of a forr royal son-in-law seed like a once-in-a-lifeti chance.
"Hahaha, Old Punk! You'd better make sure your fat girl doesn't crush the poor lad to death. I heard that little Targaryen king is barely ten. Might not even be able to use his... equipnt!"
The group of bandit chiefs burst into crude laughter, clearly not taking Viserys seriously.
Among them, the most striking figure was a burly man with a flaming red beard—Redbeard himself.
He had only beco the leader of the Cat Company two and a half years ago, but his cruelty and greed had already left a lasting impression on everyone who t him.
He had no interest in squabbling with these petty warlords.
Pentos had already filled his coffers with gold.
One fat rchant even promised an extra reward if he could capture Viserys alive.
Once everyone was gathered, a long-faced man with a thin brown mustache stood up beside Redbeard and began to speak.
"Gentlen, to block the Targaryens, we've brought in Redbeard and the Cat Company.
Together, we number five thousand—and every man is armored. The Targaryen boy only has three thousand. Even one-for-one, we'll drive him back to that ruined island of his!"
"Exactly!"
"Well said!"
"As for the battle lines... Old Punk, Dirty Ben, and the rest of you—you've got the best armor from Pentos, so your n go up front!"
Several of them didn't look too happy at being put on the front line, but they had taken Pentos's gear, and so they had little choice but to obey.
"The flanks will be held by the Cat Company."
Everyone turned to Redbeard. Under his piercing gaze, no one dared et his eyes for more than two seconds.
This was the proper way to use rcenaries. No one expected hired swords to lead the charge—they ca for coin, not for glory.
But to everyone's surprise, Redbeard stood up and declared with a cold, dismissive tone:
"My n will take the center and the left flank. I'm not leaving the main line to you worthless trash."
________________
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