“Young master, your favorite incense has arrived.
Come home early tonight.”
Shamira rested a hand against Aegon’s chest and looked up at him with a seductive, teasing gaze.
“The military camp is a little far from home.
I might not be able to come back every day.
Just take care of yourself.”
With that, Aegon left his residence and headed for the military camp with Belwas following behind.
Through the window, Shamira watched Aegon’s departing figure, worry filling her eyes.
Shamira was a bed slave.
She was a slave whose purpose was to serve her master in bed.
In Aegon’s understanding, bed slaves were somewhat similar to the maidservants who served as their master’s concubines in ancient times.
But in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, their position was even worse.
At least such concubine-servants sometimes had the opportunity to improve their status and secure their future by giving their masters sons.
Bed slaves had no such opportunity.
The moment they were purchased by a master, the countdown on their “useful life” began.
Eventually, their master would grow tired of them and give them away to someone else.
Or they would grow old and lose their beauty, along with every means of supporting themselves, until they eventually died forgotten in some neglected corner.
But people lived on hope—even the faintest sliver of it.
Among those who made a “profession” of being bed slaves, there were supposedly a few who could be called exceptionally fortunate.
The people who trained girls to become bed slaves could hardly tell them outright, You are nothing more than objects for men to satisfy their desires.
Instead, they would show the girls a “path forward.”
They encouraged them to attach themselves to promising nobles.
Even a tiny portion of what spilled from the hands of such a noble could be enough to guarantee them food, clothing, and shelter for the rest of their lives.
A vague hope for the future could allow a person to endure humiliation of both dignity and body in the present.
Shamira hoped that while she was still young, she could quickly find someone powerful enough to provide for her future.
But now, Aegon didn’t seem like such a promising choice.
The people who had trained her had taught her that great men would never allow their heirs to become consumed by wine and pleasure.
Instead, they would train their heirs strictly.
Only insignificant second sons were generally allowed to indulge themselves.
That was what confused Shamira.
Aegon was supposedly Illyrio’s only son, yet Illyrio treated him with extraordinary leniency.
Young Griff, on the other hand, was said to have people teaching him fighting skills, others teaching him scholarship, and still others instructing him in etiquette.
And then there was the terrifying expression on Illyrio’s face that day when Aegon had asked whether Young Griff was his bastard son…
Faced with all these circumstances, Shamira felt conflicted.
She didn’t know how she was supposed to respond.
…
…
Rows of barracks stood like moldy loaves of bread, soft and sagging, looking as though one good kick would bring them crashing down.
There were enormous holes in the roofs that could practically serve as skylights.
Wind and rain poured through them, yet the soldiers living inside seemed completely blind to the problem.
The warhorses in the stables were so thin that “skin and bones” would have been an accurate description.
There were even donkeys mixed among them simply to make up the numbers.
On the training grounds, where weeds had grown unchecked, soldiers in faded, wrinkled uniforms had already assembled.
They sat in the shade like a gathering of beggars, chatting aimlessly among themselves.
“Our new commander is arriving today.
Does anyone know where he comes from?”
“I heard he’s the son of one of the governors.
And he’s supposed to be very young.”
The speaker was clearly a soldier with more experience and knowledge than the others.
“Then he’s come to the wrong place.
Unless this new commander can squeeze oil out of a stone.”
There was a trace of helpless amusement in the man’s voice.
As an officer, the benefits of the position included, but were certainly not limited to, embezzling soldiers’ pay, diverting military supplies, and making soldiers work for you personally, among countless other abuses.
Even during festivals and holidays, or on their commander’s birthday, the soldiers were expected to find ways to present their superior with gifts.
The previous commander had served for three years and had thoroughly put these miserable soldiers through hell.
“Hmph.
The governor’s son,” someone muttered.
“A position like this can be bought with money, but it can’t be earned through experience or ability.”
The governors of Pentos did not trust their army.
They trusted only their walls.
The walls of Pentos were the tallest and most imposing among the Nine Free Cities.
Setting aside the Wall, that legendary structure supposedly built with the aid of magic, they might well have ranked among the most formidable fortifications in the entire world.
As the soldiers continued discussing their new commander, a small, thin soldier came running over.
“Get yourselves ready!
Our new commander is almost here.”
Hearing that the new commander was about to arrive, the cavalrymen and soldiers quickly straightened their uniforms and headed onto the training ground to await him.
With Belwas accompanying him, Aegon arrived at the camp.
The sight of the dilapidated barracks and the overwhelming smell of horse manure in the air made him wonder whether he had somehow wandered into a slum.
Perhaps the slum smelled better.
When Aegon reached the training ground, he looked around and discovered that the force was supposed to consist of three hundred men and five hundred horses.
Yet only a little over a hundred men had actually shown up.
Aegon had expected the army to have its share of soldiers drawing pay without actually serving.
But this was ridiculous.
Nearly two-thirds of the nominal force was apparently nonexistent.
Pentos’s city garrison was supposedly twenty thousand strong.
If this was representative of the entire army, then perhaps the actual number of soldiers who really existed was only seven or eight thousand.
It would be a miracle if an army like that could win a battle.
Then again, when Aegon thought about it, Pentos really hadn’t won many victories over the past century.
Back when the Targaryens still had dragons, the Pentoshi had been perfectly happy to cling to the Targaryens’ coattails.
The moment the Targaryens declined, Pentos had promptly been beaten by Braavos.
Pentos had once possessed the Great Plain and the Andalos Plain as part of its sphere of influence, but the latter had eventually been surrendered.
After all, the Andals had originally risen in Andalos, and many of the people of Pentos were themselves descendants of the Andals.
In other words, these people had effectively lost the land of their own ancestors.
And the banner under which the Braavosi had marched was “the liberation of slaves.”
It was practically an open declaration that they intended to beat Pentos into submission.
After Braavos’s victory, it imposed restrictions on the size of Pentos’s fleet, forcing the governors to retain only a small number of warships.
The Pentoshi had no choice but to accept.
But Braavos wasn’t the only power taking advantage of Pentos.
The Dothraki had not overlooked this juicy piece of prey either.
Whenever the Dothraki invaded, the governors of Pentos could do little more than send gifts and cultivate relationships with the khals in order to purchase brief periods of peace.
And the money used to buy those gifts and maintain the city’s walls all came from exploiting the common people.
As time passed, the governors of Pentos came to trust the personal guards who protected their rule far more than the army that was supposed to defend them from foreign enemies.
And so a vicious cycle was born.
The governors distrusted the army.
They reduced the army’s pay and benefits.
Lower pay and worse treatment weakened the army’s fighting ability.
A weaker army became even less worthy of trust.
And that only encouraged the governors to reduce its treatment further…
That was how Pentos had ended up in the miserable state it was in today.
“Commander, the Pentoshi field cavalry has assembled and is awaiting your orders.”
What the hell?
Field army?
Aegon stared at the soldiers standing before him.
Their ranks were so uneven that they reminded him of an old man’s missing and crooked teeth.
You lot are supposed to fight in the field?
He couldn’t help but mock them silently.
At that moment, the blue holographic screen appeared before his eyes.
An exclamation mark had appeared in its upper-right corner.
Aegon immediately understood.
He had triggered a quest.
[Side Quest: The army is the foundation of power and Dominion.
Build an army with a proper rating and make it your sword.]
[Item Acquired: Cavalry Training Manual]
[Quest Rewards: Level 1 Skill Card ×2, Level 2 Skill Card ×1]
[Current Quest Progress: (0/100)]