297 AC
Pentos.
The air seemed to twist beneath the scorching heat, and anyone walking along the streets could faintly smell something like burning.
The vicious sunlight beat down upon the body like poisonous insects sinking their stingers into the flesh.
Pentos had no slaves, but almost everyone at the bottom of society was burdened with enormous debts.
To repay them, they had to work even harder than slaves.
They were not their employers’ property, and their employers had no reason to show them the slightest mercy.
All they cared about was squeezing out the very last drop of blood and sweat from them.
From the mills to the farms, from the ramshackle huts of the slums to the palaces of princes, the heat of the sun scorched every inch of land equally, only relenting when night finally came.
Even the stray dogs by the roadside knew enough to lie in the shade with their tongues hanging out, trying to escape the heat.
Yet the commoners forced into labor by the governors’ debts had no choice but to toil beneath the blazing sun.
Haulers dragged ropes along the roads, dockworkers carried cargo at the harbor, and from time to time, someone would collapse from exhaustion.
Their emaciated bodies were covered in dust.
Foam spilled from their mouths, and many of them never rose again.
“Shamira, do you think the world is supposed to be like this?”
On the deck, a handsome silver-haired youth gazed at the suffering below with an expression of pity.
“Young master, please be a little gentler.
You’re snagging my dress.”
The alluring blue-eyed maid pushed the young man’s hand away.
With some heartache, she smoothed down the fabric over her astonishingly curvaceous hips.
This silk dress with its lace sleeves was her favorite.
It was decorated with a subtle lily pattern, and cloth of such quality could only be produced by the craftsmen of Myr, a city renowned throughout the world for its skilled artisans.
“Autumn will come in another two years.
By then, silk will be as cheap as paper.”
The young man withdrew his hand without the slightest concern and casually rubbed his nose.
Shamira, however, clearly did not believe a word of it.
This young master spent money as if he were scattering water.
As far as he was concerned, silk and paper might as well have been the same thing even now.
Besides, there had been people making solemn declarations for years that summer was about to end.
And what had happened?
It was still unbearably hot.
If this good-for-nothing young master could really predict the changing seasons, then even the legendary dragons might as well rise from the dead.
“Where’s the old man?
Why hasn’t he come yet?”
“The master?
The master went to the old estate.”
“To see Young Griff again?”
“Yes.”
The maid hesitated before lowering her voice.
“Young master…
do you think the master might be planning to hand the family fortune and the position of governor over to…”
“He’d better not!
I’ll beat him within an inch of his life!”
Shamira had long since grown accustomed to the young master’s outrageous remarks.
She merely shrank her neck and turned her gaze aside.
She had been serving this young master for quite some time.
Although the possibility she was worried about was extremely small, there was no denying that the master’s affection for “Young Griff” was excessive.
It was almost as though Young Griff were his own flesh and blood.
In fact, Shamira had guessed correctly.
Young Griff really was Illyrio’s biological son.
Aegon was absolutely certain of that.
Illyrio had falsely claimed that his true son, “Young Griff,” was the surviving child of Crown Prince Rhaegar, hoping to place his own blood on the Iron Throne.
Illyrio Mopatis was a wealthy Pentoshi fat merchant who sheltered and supported the exiled Targaryens, Viserys and Daenerys.
He arranged Daenerys’s marriage to Khal Drogo and presented her with three petrified dragon eggs as a wedding gift.
His true purpose was to divert the disaster elsewhere to have the Dothraki invade Westeros while his own son, Young Griff, waited behind to reap the rewards.
“Khal” was the title used by the leaders of the Dothraki.
It was similar to the titles of “Great Khan” or “Khan” used by the nomadic peoples Aegon remembered from his previous life.
At present, the most powerful khal among the Dothraki was a man named Drogo.
He was said to command forty thousand screamers, and readers of Game of Thrones had given him the name “Khal Drogo.”
As the most powerful khal, the Khal Drogo’s influence was considerable.
If the forces of the other khalasars were added to his own, they might genuinely be able to gather an army of sixty or seventy thousand men and launch an invasion of Westeros.
Sixty or seventy thousand soldiers and an army consisting primarily of cavalry at that—would be enough to make any power in this world feel a chill run down its spine.
And if Dorne and the Reach of Westeros were added to the equation…
The possibility of a Targaryen restoration would become very real.
Aegon knew all of this because he had been born into this world from the womb.
After getting drunk one time, he had awakened with the memories of his previous life and realized that he had somehow been reborn into the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.
And it wasn’t merely the memories from his previous life.
Fragments from his earliest years in this world had also remained buried within his mind.
He remembered living in a red castle when he was very young, though he had no idea how he had somehow ended up in a foreign land.
That realization led him to a terrifying conclusion.
His true identity was Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, and true heir to the Iron Throne.
Yet Aegon remained deeply puzzled.
After the Battle of the Trident, Rhaegar had fallen beneath Robert Baratheon’s warhammer, and the Targaryen cause had collapsed.
Then Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock had led his army to King’s Landing, tricking his way through the city’s gates before allowing his men, including the Mountain, to butcher the royal family.
Rhaegar’s wife and children had all died beneath the blades of the Lannister army from the west.
The only members of the Targaryen family who had escaped and survived to the present were Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons, and Viserys, the Beggar King.
But Aegon had been barely two years old at the time.
How could he possibly have escaped King’s Landing alive?
After considering the matter from every angle, there was only one person who possessed both the ability and the means to smuggle him out of King’s Landing and send him across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities.
The Mad King’s master of whispers.
Varys, the Spider.
Only Varys knew all the secret passages beneath King’s Landing.
After all, in the original story, he had relied on those very passages to help Tyrion Lannister, the “Imp,” escape the city.
Leaving aside the question of why Varys, who had never exactly seemed like a good man, would save a surviving “remnant of the old dynasty” like himself, even if he had rescued Aegon and handed him over to Illyrio, why hadn’t Illyrio simply killed him?
Why would a man who had always wanted Young Griff to replace Aegon allow the real Aegon to live?
What exactly had happened in between?
Yet not only had Illyrio refused to kill him, he had even shown Aegon an extraordinary amount of affection—almost outright spoiling him.
If Aegon wanted something to eat, he could have it.
If he wanted to play, he could play.
If studying and martial training were too tiring, then he simply didn’t have to do them.
And when Aegon was only twelve or thirteen, Illyrio had even placed the sixteen-year-old Shamira at his side.
For roughly a year, Aegon had lived through days when the little head ruled the big head.
Young men were naturally susceptible to temptation, and Aegon had nearly lost himself in it.
Illyrio had never shown the slightest intention of correcting him.
It was almost as though he had deliberately set out to turn Aegon into a useless wastrel.
Fortunately, the awakening of his memories from his previous life had made him realize that if he continued living that way, his body would only deteriorate further.
After that, he became much more restrained.
At the same time, he began practicing martial arts to make up for the damage he had done to his body.
That was how the calluses had appeared on his hands.
Could it be that Illyrio actually wants to spoil me to death?
Well, the man’s certainly generous.
At that moment, a series of dull thumps came from behind the master and servant.
A massive, broad-shouldered man approached.
His skin was nearly the color of burnished bronze, he stood close to six feet four, and he weighed more than two hundred pounds.
“Young master, the master has arrived.
He wishes to speak with you about joining the army.”
The man’s voice was deep and heavy.
He was the bodyguard Illyrio had assigned to Aegon.
He was an eunuch gladiator whom Illyrio had purchased from Slaver’s Bay—the man known as Strong Belwas.
He looked less like a man than a living statue cast from brass.
Aegon was certain that Illyrio would never tell anyone that Aegon was not his biological son.
The orders Belwas had received were probably to look after Aegon rather than spy on him.
Though, objectively speaking, there was little difference between the two.
Through Belwas and Shamira, Illyrio could still learn everything Aegon was doing.
Although Aegon had greatly reduced the frequency with which he got intimate with Shamira, he still took every opportunity to put his hands on her whenever he could, ensuring that Illyrio wouldn’t grow suspicious.
“Hmm.
Tell him to come and see me.”
Considering that Illyrio had always raised him as a spoiled young noble, Aegon had simply decided to play the part.
He had never shown Illyrio the respect one would normally give one’s father.
Hearing this, Belwas didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he wore an expression as though he were suffering from the worst stomachache imaginable.
After finally gathering his courage, he tried to persuade him.
“But…
Little master, the master has been out running around all day.
You should go to him instead.”
After all, Illyrio was the master who had purchased him, so Belwas naturally had to put Illyrio’s wishes first.
But Aegon was the son Illyrio had spoiled rotten, as well as his future heir.
Caught between the two, Belwas found himself in an extremely difficult position.
There was something else that puzzled him as well.
Aegon had a perfectly comfortable life as a wealthy young master.
So why had he suddenly decided that he wanted to join the army?
“I’d say he still has plenty of energy.
He’s got time to visit someone else’s son, but no time to see his own?
Tell him to come here!”
Aegon continued speaking in the same insolent, disrespectful tone.
Belwas had no choice.
He turned around and went back to fetch Illyrio.
A short while later, a fat, middle-aged man with yellow hair and a yellow beard appeared on the deck.
He wore luxurious silk robes, and one hand covered in rings rested against his enormous belly.
In an age when malnutrition was common among the masses, Illyrio was clearly living an exceptionally comfortable life.
Every time he moved, the deck beneath his feet creaked ominously.
It was none other than Illyrio Mopatis.
Yet there was nothing about his round, bloated figure to suggest that he had once been a swordsman.
Illyrio was one of Pentos’s newly risen merchant princes of the past several decades, having built his fortune primarily through the trade of gemstones, dragonbone, and spices.
As for where the dragonbone and gemstones came from…
There was obviously a story behind that.
Even someone with the intelligence of a toe could figure out that Varys must have had a hand in it.
Still, Illyrio genuinely possessed a talent for business.
Over the past two years, he had also begun expanding into the cheese trade, and his fortune had continued to grow at an impressive rate.
He himself was particularly fond of cheese.
He loved it so much that his teeth had turned a deep yellow and he had even developed severe halitosis.
For both physical and psychological reasons, Aegon had absolutely no desire to get close to him.
Yet Illyrio wasn’t particularly fond of Aegon, either.
The moment he saw Aegon leaning against the railing in a crooked, slouching posture, an instinctive mixture of disgust and contempt rose within him.
As an old hand in the world of commerce, however, Illyrio was extremely skilled at hiding his true feelings.
The instant Aegon turned around, a smile immediately spread across the fat man’s face.
“Good boy.
How has your day been?”
Seeing the governor arrive, both Shamira and Belwas obediently moved aside and stood quietly.
Only Aegon continued to act like a spoiled son who had been indulged far too much.
He remained sprawled against the railing, tilted his head upward, and looked at Illyrio through his nostrils.
“Oh, look at that.
The old bastard finally decided to come back from Young Griff’s side?
Don’t tell me that little brat is your bastard son?”
“What did you say?!”
Illyrio’s voice instantly darkened.
The killing intent radiating from the former swordsman was so palpable that it seemed to make the surrounding air grow several degrees colder.