The sight of the Valyrian steel sword immediately sparked interest among the mercenaries. A Valyrian steel sword might not be a rare object to the powerful and wealthy, but to this group of hardened sellswords, it was an extraordinary treasure. Viserys's bold offer struck them as a sign that he didn't take them seriously.
After all, a swordsmanship competition was one thing, but a real battle was something else entirely. Even Rhaegar Targaryen had defeated the Sword of the Morning in a tournament, yet he still fell to Robert Baratheon in battle with a single blow from a warhammer.
"Viserys! You..." Dick, sitting beside him, looked at him anxiously. Viserys's actions were provocative—if he won, all would be well, but if he lost, not only would he forfeit the priceless Valyrian steel sword, but his reputation within the Windblown would be irreparably damaged. Rebuilding the Seventh Battalion, as the old captain had tasked him, would be nearly impossible for a sergeant major who had embarrassed himself on his first day.
Beans Baqq also eyed Viserys with a mix of concern and curiosity. 'I was just talking to him, and he seemed level-headed, but now he's acting like a madman.'
A sergeant major with dyed red hair laughed loudly, "Haha, typical Targaryen—joins the Windblown and starts handing out 'gifts' right away."
The rest of the group laughed along, but beneath the humor was a collective resolve. If a young newcomer like Viserys managed to beat them, it would be humiliating. They were all prepared to stake a claim on the Seventh Battalion's spoils and fighters. If they lost, not only would they miss out on the battalion's resources, but they might even see their own men defect to the Seventh Battalion.
Viserys was well aware of the stakes. Entering the Seventh Battalion quietly would only invite resentment. The only way to assert his authority and rebuild the battalion was to demonstrate his strength. He had to offer incentives but also prove he had the power to enforce discipline.
He glanced up at the Tattered Prince, who sat at the head of the table. The old commander gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable.
Meanwhile, at the Seventh Battalion's camp, the mood was one of apathy and uncertainty. Some mercenaries were tending to their companions' wounds, while others idly polished their weapons. Many were already speculating about which battalion they would be assigned to after the Seventh Battalion was inevitably disbanded.
"I want to join Denzo's battalion," said a tall, thin sellsword. "They've got the best food."
"Hmph, is that why you became a sellsword?" retorted another mercenary with a large neck tattoo. "I'm aiming for Caggo's battalion—they've got the best weapons and always get the best spoils."
"You wish! You can't just waltz into Caggo's battalion," another voice chimed in, and the camp buzzed with chatter, as if the Seventh Battalion's demise was already a foregone conclusion.
At that moment, a young mercenary, no older than twenty, rushed in. "Spider is back!" he announced, referring to Webber, nicknamed Spider for his web-like tattoo.
The mercenaries assumed it was time to be reassigned, so they began to gather. But the young man continued, "Not just Spider—sergeants from several other battalions are here too!"
"Haha, looks like they've come to pick the best of us!" quipped a lanky, shrewd-looking mercenary. The realization that it was time to clean up and make a good impression set in.
As Viserys and his entourage approached the Seventh Battalion, he noted that the hygiene in the "canvas castle" was better than expected. The Tattered Prince had designated specific areas for waste disposal and sanitation, so the air in the camp was surprisingly fresh.
It was rumored that the Tattered Prince preferred to give orders in High Valyrian, a sign of his origins as a Valyrian remnant.
It seemed that the Valyrians "remnants" had their own distinct way of organizing an army. As Viserys and his entourage arrived at the 7th Battalion's camp, he found himself surprised once again. The mercenaries of the 7th Battalion appeared remarkably composed and spirited, hardly resembling a group that had recently suffered a crushing defeat.
Webber, too, was puzzled by the sight of these seemingly energized soldiers. But after years of experience in the mercenary trade, he quickly pieced together what was happening.
"Look, it's Redback Gerrold, Black Gerrold, and even Caggo!" the mercenaries whispered among themselves, their eyes darting between the battalion leaders. They were already speculating about which battalion they might end up joining.
"Ahem," Webber cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the gathered soldiers. He pointed to Viserys. "This is Viserys Targaryen. He will be the new sergeant major of the 7th Battalion."
"Viserys?"
"Targaryen?"
"Who? Never heard of him."
The name sparked a wave of surprise among the soldiers. Many of them, especially the Westerosi in the 7th Battalion, recognized the weight that the Targaryen name carried, even if they weren't familiar with Viserys himself. The realization that a prince from a fallen royalty had joined their ranks left them bewildered.
For those unfamiliar with Viserys or indifferent to the Targaryen legacy, their concern was the young man's age. He was far younger than they expected for a sergeant major.
Doubt, suspicion, and surprise rippled through the ranks, accompanied by a cold murmur.
"He looks so young—can he really handle it?"
"Has the old fool, the Tattered Prince, lost his mind? Letting someone like this be our sergeant major?"
"Maybe I should see if another battalion will take me."
Viserys could sense the skepticism in the air. As a newcomer, he knew he hadn't yet earned their respect. But with the sergeants from other battalions willing to accept his challenge, he saw this as a perfect opportunity to prove himself.
Stepping forward, he pulled out the appointment letter given to him by the Tattered Prince and addressed the crowd. "Everyone, from today, I am responsible for the reconstruction of the 7th Battalion. How we'll go about it can be discussed later. For now, I intend to test my swordsmanship against these esteemed sergeants. Please, disperse and make room. And if anyone wants to place a bet, feel free to join in!"
The mercenaries exchanged surprised glances. They had never seen such an unorthodox way of taking command. But with little else to entertain them in the barracks, they were eager to watch the spectacle unfold. They were also curious to see just how skilled their new sergeant major truly was.
A space was quickly cleared, and Viserys took his place in the center, facing the sergeants who stood on the sidelines. He looked them over and confidently asked, "Which of you would like to go first?"