For Mathos, the entire situation had been instigated by Xaro of the Thirteen. Viserys's decision to target the Thirteen Merchant Guild seemed not only inevitable but also strategically advantageous for Mathos. After all, the Thirteen had long been a counterforce to the Pureborn, and getting rid of them would consolidate power in favor of the city's old bloodlines.
The annual tribute of 500,000 golden dragons, though burdensome, was a price Mathos was willing to pay if it meant sparing his life and maintaining stability. Besides, the gifts they had already lavished on Viserys in the past weeks likely amounted to more than that sum. But the decree of death for the guilds? That felt unnecessarily harsh.
"Ser Connington, don't you think this 'death decree' is a bit... excessive?" Mathos asked, his tone betraying his unease. Young Connington, standing tall and resolute, did not waver.
"Do you mean to say His Grace's life is worth less than theirs?" Connington's voice was cold, filled with disdain for Mathos's hesitation. The young knight was fiercely loyal to Viserys, not only as his king but as his benefactor—someone who had saved him and given him purpose.
"I don't..." Mathos stammered, realizing he had overstepped.
"Lord Mathos," Connington continued with a sharp edge in his voice, "His Grace's sole focus is reclaiming the Iron Throne. He has little interest in your internal squabbles. If Qarth doesn't quickly appease him now, in the future the Targaryens will have even more dragons. And when that day comes, your city will not have a chance to make amends."
While Young Connington was issuing this thinly veiled threat to Mathos, Viserys was engaged in a far different conversation—one happening within his own consciousness. He was speaking to the spirits of the Undying Ones, whose souls he had absorbed.
"So, you're telling me that part of your souls is still fighting for control of this heart?" Viserys asked, studying the heart in his hand. It pulsed faintly, as though clinging to life, a grotesque remnant of the Warlocks' power.
Inside his mind, the eight spirits—men and women, once formidable warlocks—whispered their frustrations. After Viserys had absorbed their souls, they had attempted to overpower him and seize control of his body, hoping to manipulate him as they had countless others. But they had not anticipated the sheer strength of Viserys's spirit.
Despite the fact that their eight souls were still present, lingering within him, Viserys maintained full control of his body. His spirit was far stronger than they had expected, bolstered by a vast reservoir of strength that the Undying Ones had never encountered before.
The strength of his Spirit Value appeared to have a direct effect on the power of his soul. With his Spirit surpassing 800 points, he was far beyond the reach of their influence. The Undying Ones, once masters of manipulation, now found themselves trapped within him—unable to win, unable to escape.
"Yes, Your Grace, the survival of our souls is bound to that heart. As long as it remains intact, we will serve you in any way you desire," one of the Undying Ones replied, their voice full of desperation.
In Viserys's mind, the souls of the once-powerful Warlocks appeared as they had in their youth—handsome men and beautiful women, now reduced to groveling at his feet. Their expressions were a mixture of fear and reverence, eager to please their new master.
"Is immortality truly that precious to you?" Viserys asked, eyeing them with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "You're willing to be bound to me forever, even if it means losing your freedom?"
"Yes, Your Grace," said a tall man who looked to be in his thirties, his voice trembling with suppressed madness. "We are willing to pay any price—anything, even our dignity."
Viserys gazed at the man's crazed expression, feeling a flicker of disgust. 'Is this what I really want?' he wondered. 'To live forever, like them, reduced to this?' He entertained the thought for a moment but then brushed it aside.
"Very well," Viserys finally said. "I won't destroy you for now. I'll find you new bodies... eventually." He smirked, already formulating a plan. He would experiment, perhaps placing their souls into the bodies of White Walkers, allowing them to infiltrate the Night King's ranks and gather intelligence. If everything went well, they could even become close advisers to the Night King himself, all under Viserys's control.
...
Time passed swiftly.
Meanwhile, Regis and Jorah arrived in Qarth at the helm of a 20,000-strong fleet. The city, already tense under Viserys's demands, could no longer stall or bargain. Mathos, the representative of the Pureborn, finally relented. Qarth's ruling class, known for its arrogance, had been forced into submission.
Of the 842 Pureborn members in Qarth, they offered up 99 as scapegoats to appease Viserys's wrath. Many of those sacrificed were stand-ins, temporary replacements drawn from less powerful branches of the Pureborn. It didn't matter to Viserys. As long as they were Pureborn when they died, their heads would serve his purpose.
The true intent behind these executions wasn't the killing itself—it was to instill fear in the living. The message was clear: no one in Qarth was untouchable.
All assets belonging to the Thirteen were seized.
The twelve heads of the Houses, excluding Xaro, met their fiery end under dragonfire. The Tourmaline Brotherhood and the Spicers Guild weren't spared either, stripped of nearly a third of their wealth and members.
The heads of those executed were used to build grim memorials at the ports, visible to every ship arriving in Qarth. After a series of conversions and liquidations, the total value of the confiscated assets amounted to nearly 15 million golden dragons.
In addition to the initial terms, the Pureborn, along with the Brotherhood of the Tourmaline and the Spicers Guild, presented Viserys with an additional one-time gift of nearly 5 million golden dragons as compensation.
To further bolster his forces, they added 800 brand-new warships to his growing fleet. These vessels required immediate staffing, so Viserys recruited sailors on the spot and brought along a substantial number of skilled slaves to assist in manning them.
The annual tribute of 500,000 golden dragons remained an essential part of the agreement, further solidifying Qarth's subservience.
Viserys's campaign in Slaver's Bay had come to a triumphant close. When he first arrived, he commanded only fifty ships and fewer than two thousand men. Now, as he prepared to depart, he would leave with a fleet of 1,550 ships and nearly 70,000 men. It was as if he had taken half of Qarth with him.
Loading all the supplies and provisions onto the ships took nearly half a month. Once the preparations were complete, the massive fleet began its journey back to Slaver's Bay.
Since they preferred the freedom of the skies, neither Viserys nor Dany wanted to remain on the ships for the journey. Instead, they flew side by side on the yellow and silver dragons, soaring above the vast armada that stretched across the sea. The fleet was so immense that it took them several minutes to fly from one end to the other.
Private merchant ships in the area gave the massive fleet a wide berth, and Viserys even spotted a few Westerosi ships in the distance.
"Brother, do you think we've conquered the world?" Dany asked, her voice brimming with excitement as she surveyed the fleet below.
Viserys smiled at her enthusiasm but shook his head thoughtfully. "Conquest is more than just taking cities and ships," he mused, recalling games he had played in a past life. "There's conquest through victory, through culture, through faith."
While they were far from conquering the entire world, Viserys wasn't overly focused on world domination. His primary goal was to eliminate the White Walkers, guide the world through the impending Long Night, and then live a life of peace and enjoyment. That was all he truly desired.
As the two of them descended to the flagship—formerly belonging to the Pureborn of Qarth and a massive 120-meter-long vessel that could even accommodate dragons—Shiera awaited their return, holding the decayed heart Viserys had taken from the House of the Undying.
"I've thought of a way to strip away the memories from those who no longer wish to survive," Shiera said, handing the heart to Viserys with a faint smile. "Thank you for entrusting this to me."
Some of the memories, especially those tied to the souls Viserys had absorbed, had lingered longer than expected. For those memories, Shiera had a plan, but for the part of the memories that still clung to survival, she hinted that the old methods—connecting spiritually and physically—might be the only way to continue them.
Her gaze lingered on Viserys, her meaning clear.
The tension in the air was palpable, and Dany's discomfort was evident. She could accept that Viserys had many women in his life—such was the way of power—but Shiera's dark allure made her uneasy. There was something undeniably sinister about the woman, and Dany couldn't shake the feeling that she was dangerous.
Viserys, ever the pragmatic ruler, had explained to Dany what had transpired between him and Shiera before. He compared Shiera to the infamous Bittersteel, one of the more cunning and ruthless Targaryen loyalists. But while Dany could accept the necessity of certain alliances, she struggled with the presence of someone so steeped in darkness.