251 AC.
Lys.
Irat Rexarion.
The city of vice and sin.
A city full of lies and poison, lust and depravity.
Visitors call it the city of love and pleasure.
I’ve never heard anything more foolish in my life.
Lys, specifically one of its countless brothels, became my new home.
The place where I entered this world.
A pathetic orphan, doomed to forever fight for survival and a place under the sun.
But this time, everything was different.
I had someone who brought me here, mother.
From the moment I took my first breath to this very day, when I am forced to leave the brothel, leaving behind the body of the woman who gave birth to me, I felt a mother’s love.
I wasn’t abandoned in the first days after my birth; I was raised, as best she could, given her circumstances.
It’s a shame that most of it went to that “weakling,” but it couldn’t have been any other way.
From birth, I was forced to take a backseat and practically fall into hibernation to avoid overwhelming a fragile child’s mind with a flood of memories.
For long years, I became a silent observer.
But even without that, the “weakling’s” memories would remain a part of me.
For five long years, I watched impassively, occasionally sending the “weakling” dreams about one of our past lives, at least what remained in my memory after all this time.
It was during that period that my first awakening occurred.
Strong and so familiar, anger, like a gentle beast, woke me from slumber so I could help the body in a difficult situation.
From that point on, I transitioned from being a spectator to a commentator.
Watching the “weakling’s” actions, I often corrected his decisions.
I helped him control our power, suggesting better ways to use it.
I shaped his goals.
But even with my help, he remained weak.
Too soft, too kind.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t eradicate that from him.
The moment some drunk bastard took the life of our mother, the “weakling’s” personality had its spine ripped out, robbing him of the will to exist.
He gave up on revenge, ambition, life itself.
He surrendered, yielding his place to me, completely dissolving into my consciousness.
For the second time, I was fated to be born, this time definitively, in this accursed pleasure house.
My anger spilled into the world in the form of the power that had always been with me, and it pressed that filth to the floor.
I had only one goal, to avenge my mother’s death and make him regret what he had done.
I dare to hope I succeeded.
What pleasure it was to look into those terror-filled eyes as I slit the bastard’s throat like a pig at the slaughterhouse.
After his death, a pleasant, refreshing wave passed through my body, but I didn’t focus on it, reasoning that this was neither the time nor the place for that.
I needed to get out of this establishment as quickly as possible, but fleeing headlong would draw the attention of the city guard.
And although murder in the city was not uncommon and a fairly ordinary occurrence, the guard might take an interest in what happened.
Standing in the doorway, taking one last look at the room my mother and I had shared, I kept returning to her lifeless body, which I had hastily covered with sheets.
Leaving my mother’s body in such a state was also something I couldn’t bear, knowing full well how they treated dead slaves.
“It’s time this world learned my wrath,” I said, leaving the room with a cruel smile on my face.
*”I’ll give her a proper burial,”* I thought, glancing back at the closed door of the room that had become the final resting place of the only person close to me.
*”A burial worthy of a proud daughter of House Rexarion.”* But first, I needed to settle accounts with another person who had constantly prevented the “weakling” from buying our mother’s freedom, the owner of the brothel.
This man was already far from young by this world’s standards, and gray hair had firmly settled in his hair, which was almost always styled and perfumed.
His dissolute life had made him a portly man, almost always dressed in loose, colorful outfits that concealed his figure.
He sat, as always, in his study, which also doubled as his living quarters.
Fortunately for me, this time he was alone in the room, with no prostitutes around to pleasure their master.
A rare occurrence, catching him alone.
As rare as seeing him dressed.
“Ah, young Irat,” the man exclaimed in a falsely cheerful voice.
“What brings you here?” I had no desire to answer, so I silently surveyed the room.
Semi-darkness reigned inside, usually dispelled by light from the wide windows, which were now closed.
The only sources of light were a few torches, one of which hung near the entrance so the master of the study could see his visitor.
The owner himself was reclining on his bed, wearing only a loose robe that, thankfully, covered everything.
Looking at this filth’s genitals was the last thing I wanted right now.
Next to his bed stood a small table, like a coffee table.
On it were some papers, a pitcher of wine, and a candle providing illumination.
“Still want to buy your mother out?” he asked with a disgusting grin on his face, baring his yellow teeth.
It’s a mystery how such a bastard agreed to let me live or not make me a slave.
What did Mother promise him?
Or was he simply kinder back then?
“You are correct, Master Miras,” I replied with an openly fake smile, pulling out a pouch of coins and jingling it.
“Good, very good,” he beamed, even half-rising from his seat.
“Come closer.
We need to count the coins.” The smile never left his face, and it was beginning to irritate me.
A wave of anger washed over me again.
I wanted to punch that smile right down his throat and make the bastard choke on his own teeth.
I had to control myself.
Stopping at arm’s length, I tossed the pouch of coins at his feet, eliciting a grumble from him.
He sat up more comfortably to reach the money, thereby exposing his neck.
The semi-darkness that reigned here, combined with the owner’s natural inattentiveness and his drunkenness, played into my hands and dealt the man a cruel trick.
He didn’t notice either the sword at my belt or the dagger I was holding in my free hand, hidden in my bosom.
A short swing of the blade, and the number of my victims for today increased.
Another slit throat, familiar now, gushed a rich stream of blood everywhere.
The owner of the brothel, effectively dead but not yet aware of it, tried to cover the wound with his hand and stared at me in shock.
In return, he received only a fake smile and a look full of contempt.
His slit throat prevented him from making any sound except the gurgle of blood pulsing from the wound.
Finally, his body collapsed sideways, right into the puddle of blood forming beneath him.
Another pleasant wave passed through my body, washing away accumulated fatigue and tension.
This was unusual, and I thought I would definitely need to investigate this phenomenon.
But first, I needed to find a quiet place where I could figure everything out at my leisure.
Taking my pouch of coins, I began searching the study for anything I could loot.
I hoped this greedy bastard kept some reserve of coins on hand.
As it turned out, my hopes were justified.
Under his bed, in the wall masonry, one stone was loose.
Trying to pull it out with my bare hands yielded no result.
So I took the dagger, which I had previously wiped clean of blood on the victim’s robe, and tried to pry the stone loose with it.
A few minutes of struggle, and the stone finally gave way enough to be pulled out by hand.
A bout of greed cost me a few shallow cuts, but it was rewarded with a bag of coins twice as heavy as my own.
“Now let’s arrange a grand funeral pyre,” I said, crawling out from under the bed and grabbing the nearest torch.
“In the best traditions of Ancient Valyria.” Finding everything I needed to start a fire in the brothel was easier than I had imagined.
The large amount of alcohol the deceased owner had stored, along with numerous oils, from essential to massage oils, all helped the fire spread throughout the room.
Combined with that, I also used the papers I found in the room, along with wooden furniture and fabrics.
The fire spread quickly throughout the dead man’s living quarters and gradually began to spread to the front door.
This seemed insufficient to me; I wanted to accelerate the process.
But first, I needed to get out of the building, and the only available exit was the window.
Looking outside, I saw that the window led into a narrow alley between buildings, which worked in my favor.
I didn’t want to jump straight onto the main street.
The height didn’t concern me; it was only the second floor anyway.
Checking my belongings one last time, I leaped out the window.
As I fell, I began to reduce the effect of gravity on my body, turning my fall into more of a slow glide.
Landing softly on the ground, I looked around to make sure no one was watching.
The hardest part lay ahead, and I didn’t want to be caught off guard.
Placing my hand on the wall of my former home, I began to gradually increase the gravitational effect on the building.
It was incredibly difficult to pull off such a feat, as I had never attempted such a large-scale manipulation before.
Slowly building up the force, I mentally visualized the points where I needed to concentrate the effect.
The tension grew in direct proportion to the effort I exerted.
In one moment, I realized I had crossed a line and felt the vibration through my hand.
The building was shaking, ready to collapse like a house of cards.
It was time to leave before I ended up buried under the rubble.
Pulling my hand away, I noticed it was trembling from exertion.
I had almost no strength left, but I had to keep moving.
At the exit of the alley, I cast one last glance at the burning, collapsing brothel.
It was symbolic.
Burning bridges, taking one last look at my past.
As I walked away, I felt something warm running down my face.
Dipping my fingers in it and looking at them, I saw my own blood.
“I need to get stronger,” I muttered, wiping the remaining red liquid away with my sleeve.
— For several days now, I had been staying in a different part of the city, holed up in another…
pleasure house.
Escaping one to lie low in another.
It was a spontaneous decision, and as it turned out, quite successful.
Who better than whores to share the latest gossip?
Panic had erupted in the city unlike anything seen in centuries.
For the first time in hundreds of years, something so unusual and terrifying had occurred.
A fire that led to the collapse of a building and claimed the lives of almost everyone inside at the time.
Call it luck that the city watch didn’t bother looking for suspects.
But to avoid suspicion, I kept myself busy in another brothel, bedding one “priestess of love” after another.
The only exception was that I refused prostitutes with Valyrian features.
The local owner turned a blind eye to the quirks of his wealthy client and simply smiled ingratiatingly at every request.
This couldn’t last, and neither could I afford to spend all my money.
I needed to figure out my next steps, though everything ultimately pointed to leaving the city.
Complicating matters was the fact that Lys, unlike the other Free Cities, was located on an island, not the mainland.
On the other hand, there were still plenty of ways to leave.
Usually, one could hire a ship to ferry passengers to the mainland, but that was expensive, and I wasn’t sure my funds would suffice.
Another option was to sign on as a sailor, guard, or stevedore on some vessel.
But that was riskier.
There was no telling how trustworthy the captain and crew might be; they could easily tie up a sleeping newcomer and sell him in the Slaver’s Bay.
I wanted to avoid that place for the time being.
It could also happen that the crew was decent, but the ship was attacked by pirates along the route.
If we couldn’t fight them off, the outcome was the same, Slaver’s Bay.
Or, if we did repel the pirates but lost too many sailors, we wouldn’t be able to handle the ship properly.
The result would be a slow and agonizing death.
That left only one viable option: the mercenaries.
One word, and much is said.
Sellswords, ready to cut down whoever you point at for a handful of coins.
Everyone has different reasons for becoming a mercenary.
But it all usually comes down to one thing, gold.
And the amount of that metal determines how faithfully the sellswords will serve.
I understood that sooner or later, my life would lead me down this path.
That I wouldn’t avoid the moment when I’d have to raise a sword for money.
And I can’t say I’m averse to the idea.
On the contrary, it would be a good experience.
But you can’t make a fortune as a sellsword.
And my ambitions go far beyond becoming a hired blade.
In truth, joining a mercenary company isn’t that difficult, even that “weakling” was offered a spot in a unit.
All you have to do is win in the fights organized by the mercenaries.
The real challenge in taking up a path frowned upon by many lords and knights is choosing the right company.
I have no desire to spend the rest of my life scrubbing my reputation if my initial choice is wrong.
There aren’t many well-regarded companies I know of, and the chances of them being in Lys are even smaller.
Ideally, an ancient company with a long history, like the Second Sons or the Golden Company, would be perfect.
I spent the next few days gathering information about which companies were in the city and what was known about them.
The news was disappointing.
They were either small-time outfits whose greatest skill was killing a homeless man in an alley, or outright mad bastards who would stoop to anything: robbery, rape, and worse.
Despairing of finding a decent company, I abandoned the idea of becoming a sellsword and returned to other ways of leaving the city.
Reasoning that I might need money, I decided to take the risk and sign on with a ship.
On the day I planned to head to the docks to find a vessel that might need my services, I decided to take one last walk through the city that had become my home.
Lys, though the smallest of the Free Cities, remained a center of trade.
Merchants flocked here from everywhere, some to buy Lys’s famous spices, others to sell specially trained prostitutes.
Where else but in this accursed city would women be such a hot commodity?
“Luzat, did you hear the news?” I overheard a deep voice and looked toward its source.
The voice belonged to a brutish-looking man dressed in a fur vest.
His skin was tanned, his head shaved bald.
A curved sword, more like a falchion, hung at his belt.
This warrior gave off a mixed impression.
“What news?” his companion asked with a smile on his face.
He was a plump, short man in the traditional colorful attire of Lys.
He blended in with the other merchants, except for a sharp, calculating look hidden behind his chubby cheeks when he smiled.
The pair looked like a typical trader and his bodyguard.
“The Golden Company is arriving in the city,” the warrior said, his voice filled with excitement.
“Calm down, Novokh,” the trader said, his cold eyes slightly narrowing.
“Just another bunch of mercenaries.” His tone shifted from friendly to contemptuous in an instant, provoking an indignant reaction from the bald man.
“You don’t understand,” Novokh exclaimed.
“It’s…” I stopped listening to the pair’s squabble.
My plans had changed drastically.
My path now led in the opposite direction from the docks, toward the place where mercenary companies usually set up camp.
“The Golden Company,” I muttered, a grin spreading across my face.
“Interesting.” —