"No, how could there be nuclear bombs in the hands of rebels from such a third-rate country?"
"I didn't die?! Where am I?"
In a daze, the silver-haired teenager opened his purple eyes, and the scene in front of him gradually became clear. He felt disoriented. Although he didn't know where he was, he was certain it wasn't a hospital. The pale purple walls were slightly worn, and the windows with their peculiar design swayed gently in the breeze. The purple curtains fluttered, giving the room a desolate appearance.
The silver-haired teenager realized he was lying on a table surrounded by bottles and jars. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the air.
"My head hurts," he murmured.
For a moment, Viserys felt as if a wire had been shoved into his head and twisted. Judging from his limited experience of partying, this was a hangover. But even for a hangover, this pain was unbearable.
Suddenly, a flood of memories began to wash over his brain, making his already pale face look even more frail.
"Let her go!"
"Ah! Brother, don't hit me, I'm wrong! I'm wrong!"
"Dany! Buy me some more wine."
"Haha, what Viserys III, why not call you The Beggar King!"
"How much is this crown worth?"
"Brother, where should we go?"
"Dany! Get up! There's an assassin!"
"Prince, you must... protect yourself..."
"Prince Rhaegar is dead."
"Mother..."
"The Targaryens have no dragons."
Memories played out in reverse order before Viserys' eyes, like a revolving door.
"I... I am Viserys Targaryen!?"
The two sets of memories overlapped, allowing Viserys to quickly determine his identity. He had gone from being a wandering mercenary to becoming the character in a TV series. He became the third Viserys, obsessed with restoring his country, but rejected everywhere, and finally trying to beg the Horselord for troops by betraying his sister. But the Horselord had used molten gold to finish him off!
The process of memory fusion made his temples throb, and he accidentally knocked over the wine glasses and bottles on the table.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling—
The clinking of copper and iron bottles and jars on the ground was jarring. Several earthenware jars shattered into pieces. Viserys frowned, propping himself up with his hands as he surveyed the mess around him. Before he could react, a figure in a pale blue dress appeared, frantically picking up the pieces.
The material of the dress was good but stained and water-marked, barely covering the girl's calves. The top was tight and clearly no longer fit her properly. She couldn't be called a little beggar, but she was definitely a child who had been neglected.
The little girl had the same silver hair and purple eyes as Viserys. Her small arms, bare and covered with bruises, looked as fragile as young onions, stirring a deep sadness in him. This was his sister, Dany, who had been with him since childhood.
He recalled her many names: Khaleesi of the Grass Sea, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Shatterer of Chains, Liberator, Queen of the Andals and the First Men... But now, she was just a little girl, timid and broken from long-term abuse.
Viserys' personality had become twisted with each failed attempt to restore their kingdom, and being rejected everywhere they went. He spent his days drinking and taking out his frustrations on Dany. Now, he despised his own behavior—the weak lashing out at the even weaker.
Determined to change, he got up and moved to help Dany clean up. But as soon as he reached out, she quickly held her head in her hands and fell to the ground, trembling.
"Brother, I'll clean it up right away. Don't hit me!" she pleaded.
Looking at the small, trembling figure, Viserys, with his renewed sense of self, took a deep breath. 'You're not a brother, you're not a thing at all. What a lovely little sister you have, and you've made her so miserable!' he thought to himself.
He gently helped Dany up, her small face buried in his chest, her body shaking as if expecting the worst. A term from his old world, "white-haired loli," popped into his head. He quickly dismissed the thought and cupped her dirty little face in his hands.
Dany thought her brother was going to hit her again, so she frowned and closed her eyes tightly. Her delicate features twisted together, and her dirty little face wrinkled like a bun. Her small fists were clenched tightly, and she couldn't stop shaking.
"You go play by yourself. I'll clean up," came a gentle, comforting voice instead of the terrifying "Sleeping Dragon's Wrath."
Viserys rubbed Dany's head and then began tidying up the room himself. Dany, who had been sent away, watched in disbelief as her brother actually cleaned up. She couldn't recall the brother who used to tell her stories every night and teach her both the common tongue and Valyrian. Since leaving the Red Keep, they had led a life of wandering. Even after settling down, her brother's kind shadow seemed to disappear, replaced by an abusive stranger.
A year ago, Viserys had sold their mother's crown to throw a lavish party. Since then, he had been a completely different person, drinking and beating her all day long. Now, as she watched him clean, Dany couldn't believe her eyes.
Viserys, unaware of Dany's thoughts, knew only that their situation was dire. Ser Willem Darry, their caretaker, had long since passed away. The money they brought from Westeros had been squandered, and even the house they were living in was about to expire. On top of that, Robert Baratheon had been sending assassins to kill them. Fortunately, Viserys had been vigilant and managed to escape with Dany time and again.
It took Viserys about ten minutes to tidy up the room. Cleaning was a basic skill for him, and he quickly organized the messy space. However, this new body was not as strong as his old one. Even after this light chore, a fine layer of sweat had appeared on his back.
In theory, the original owner's physical condition should have been good. The Targaryen genes were there, and he had learned swordplay from a young age. Even in exile, he had no shortage of nutrition. But a year of self-indulgence had left his body depleted.
Viserys, now calmer, tried to think of a way to break the stalemate. Judging by his and Dany's ages, the story of A Song of Ice and Fire wouldn't begin for another four or five years. He needed to find a way to survive until then. But this was not easy for a prince who had lost his country and was living in exile. If he could, he would have preferred not to have this identity, avoiding constant assassination attempts.
His first thought was to return to his old profession, but his current body was too weak for war. So, the first task was to improve his physical fitness, which required a good diet. The problem was, he had no money.
As Viserys pondered how to make money, a blue light screen appeared in front of him.
"Oh, there's also that!"