Game of Thrones: The Wrath of the Sleeping Dragon

Illyrio spoke decisively.

“Hatred must be remembered, but a wise ruler will not let emotions dictate his decisions.”

Chapter 228 The Faceless Ones

And not long after, in the dungeon beneath the palace.

The tavern's waitresses were imprisoned here, their hands and feet bound by heavy chains. The cell door was also very sturdy, making it almost impossible to force open without a key.

Call ~

The firelight in the corridor flickered, and the surroundings were completely silent.

Just then, a slight noise came from the tavern. The waitress raised her head slightly and saw a faint figure walking towards her in the distance.

"grown ups."

A soldier stepped forward and whispered something, but was suddenly stabbed in the throat by a short knife.

puff.

Blood splattered on the wall, and the body was gently placed on the ground by the newcomer without making much noise.

The red-haired woman's eyes narrowed slightly upon seeing this; she knew her companion had come to rescue her.

However, for some reason, she felt no joy; instead, a sense of unease was brewing within her.

While the tavern waitress was troubled, the dark figure reflected in the firelight disappeared from her sight, leaving only a corpse lying quietly on the cold ground.

But the next second.

A series of key-flipping sounds suddenly rang out above the tavern waitress's head.

The woman, who had been somewhat distracted, suddenly heard the sound so close to her. Startled, she looked up to see a dark figure blocking the firelight on the corridor wall, shrouding her in its shadow.

The newcomer had already torn off the scarred face, revealing the face of Miguel, a mercenary from Tyros. His pale blue eyes held an undeniable weariness.

"You've arrived."

Just as he was taking out his keys to unlock the door, a calm voice rang out from behind him.

"Ah."

Miguel nodded slightly, almost unconsciously.

But then he realized that the words did not come from his companion, who stared in shock at him behind him.

"Who?"

Miguel felt a slight chill run through his body in an instant, and then quickly turned around to look behind him.

A familiar figure stood not far from him, quietly watching him. The figure's long, silver-gold hair was tied up with a ribbon, and his own reflection was seen in the figure's eyes.

The newcomer was none other than Viserys, whom he had assassinated during the day. At his feet lay the body of a soldier. Viserys looked down at the corpse and let out a soft breath.

This was a familiar face. I followed him to Pentos, but I never expected to die here.

"His name is Judd."

"It has been by my side for many years."

Then, Viserys raised his head again and spoke.

On the other side, Miguel's eyes also showed undisguised shock, and he involuntarily took a step back, glancing at his companion.

The two exchanged a glance, both feeling as if they had seen a ghost.

"You shouldn't still be alive."

Then 'Miguel' turned his head and stared intently at Viserys, one hand on the cold iron window, and spoke in a hoarse voice.

He hadn't expected to see Viserys again, and before this assassination attempt, he had coated his dagger with potent scorpion venom.

This poison is fatal once it enters the heart; before that, it causes necrosis of the muscles throughout the body, pus discharge from wounds, and even maggots are reluctant to approach the wounds.

Now that most of the day has passed, Viserys should have died from the poison in his blood by now, and there's no way he could be standing in front of him.

However...seeing is believing, and Viserys was indeed standing right in front of them, walking towards them.

"Yes, perhaps I shouldn't still be alive."

"But perhaps your God of a Thousand Faces wants me to still be alive?"

Viserys spoke calmly as he slowly walked over.

tread.

tread.

Viserys' footsteps were clearly audible in the silent cell.

step.

Another step.

"The Black Goat God of Corhol? The Night Lion of the Barbarian Lands? Or the Stranger of Westeros?"

The God of a Thousand Faces is the God of Death. Believers in the God of a Thousand Faces believe that all the gods in the world are just different faces of the same god. Therefore, almost all the gods in the world are enshrined in the House of Black and White.

As 'Miguel' watched Viserys continue to approach, he involuntarily took another step back.

Clang.

He then drew a gleaming rapier from his waist.

He held a sword in his right hand, his broken left hand behind his back, assuming a water dancer's fighting stance, the tip of his sword pointing directly at the silver-haired boy who was gradually approaching.

The Faceless One's rapier was less than a foot away from Viserys's chest.

Viserys finally stopped at this moment, his pale purple eyes quietly scrutinizing the other's face.

For some reason, the Faceless One suddenly felt a lack of confidence in his right hand holding the sword, and even his palm was slightly sweaty.

Under normal circumstances, Miguel would be confident that he could pierce the opponent's heart at this distance.

But now...

Time seemed to freeze for a second.

Then, without any warning, the Faceless One suddenly attacked, just like the previous assassination attempt disguised as the ragged prince.

However, Viserys was caught off guard last time, but this time the world's top assassin is facing Viserys head-on.

The gleaming rapier tore through the air and thrust out, aiming to pierce Viserys' heart, but the silver-haired boy dodged it with an incredible reaction speed.

Miguel had witnessed Viserys's battle with the Mountain and knew that Viserys was very quick to react.

However, now that the roles have reversed, and he is now in the Mountain's position facing Viserys head-on, he realizes just how much pressure it is to face such an enemy.

In the Faceless One's perception, it was almost as if his wrist had just twitched slightly as he prepared to thrust his sword out, but Viserys had already anticipated where his sword was going to strike and dodged it almost in sync with Viserys's movement.

The Mountain felt the same way back then, experiencing extreme frustration during the fight.

brush!

At such close range, the Faceless One's sword missed its mark.

next second.

Viserys drew his longsword, and the sound of metal clashing rang out as the two exchanged blows.

Ding ding ding—

The final blow was even louder.

clang!

The narrow rapier in the Faceless One's hand snapped in two during the next clash with Dusk, its tip severed and flying away.

At the same time, a flash of blood appeared, and half an arm fell to the ground, spurting out blood.

The Faceless One let out a painful groan and then rolled backward.

Chapter 229 Rangers

The Faceless One, already severely injured and not yet healed, suffered a significant reduction in agility.

'A great assassin never faces his enemy head-on.'

This was what his guide had told him when he joined the ranks of the Faceless Men through the 'gift'.

The Faceless Ones, lurking in the shadows, are enemies feared by all kings, governors, and even khals.

However, their threat level is greatly reduced when facing a knight from Westeros in full armor.

As the most valiant warrior among the Dothraki in a khalasar, Khal had also been immersed in real combat for many years. The Faceless Ones did not have an extra head, so they did not have any advantage in the battle.

However, now the Faceless Ones are forced to face Viserys head-on, and the Water Dancer's swordsmanship, though exquisite and flashy, is still no match for him.

As his weapon was broken, Viserys' sword came crashing down as well.

In desperation, Miguel raised his left arm to try and block, but half of his arm was easily cut off by a divine weapon comparable to Valyrian steel.

"Run away!"

The tavern waitress inside the prison saw this and immediately shouted anxiously.

But she didn't need to say it; the Faceless One already knew it perfectly well.

Half an arm was severed, and the burning pain from the longsword, as if inflicted by magic, caused even a highly trained assassin like the Faceless One to grimace.

However, he didn't scream, only let out a muffled groan of pain.

He then covered his severed arm with one hand, enduring the pain, and fled out the window without looking back.

He wanted to open the window, jump out, and escape.

However, Viserys stood still, holding his blood-stained sword, and did not pursue the enemy. Blood dripped onto the ground.

"Great."

The tavern waitress, who was wearing heavy shackles, saw this scene and immediately breathed a slight sigh of relief, sitting back down on the ground.

But in the next second.