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CaveLeather
Viserys's little complaint seemed to have backfired spectacularly.
After the final Golden Treasure Chest coughed up forty war elephants, the remaining Silver and Bronze chests apparently got the memo. One after another they started beefing up his personal menagerie like it was their damn job.
Tibetan mastiffs, hunting hounds, warhorses—you name it. The grand finale? Two honest-to-God polar bears. (Sure, the system called them snow bears, but to Viserys it was the same oversized, white-furred tank.)
Staring at the hundreds of beasts of every shape and size now crowding his "zoo," Viserys could already picture his future army rolling out like some Hunnic horde crossed with southern barbarians: falcons wheeling overhead, mastiffs loping beside the warhorses, the whole damn circus.
What a goddamn sin.
He kept one or two of every species—except the fire wyrms—for Daenerys. Let his little sister run her own private zoo so she wouldn't die of boredom.
The rest he dumped straight into the player shop. Let the leeks fight over the cute ones, the ugly ones, the useful ones—whatever. With thousands of players online, there were bound to be a few weirdos who got off on that shit.
The combat-focused players with deep pockets would probably grab the fire wyrms anyway. If they bitched about them, fine. Viserys would just issue the rest to the native legions. The beasts were already tamed; they wouldn't turn on their handlers.
These animals had been summoned for one reason only: to crank up his army's fighting power. Viserys had only been a tiny bit black-hearted by making his troops buy their own heavy gear out of pocket. If the players passed, he'd hand the beasts over to the locals for free. No skin off his back.
Speaking of players… Viserys figured it was time to let in another batch. The official forums were drowning in survey responses and approved reservation players. Hell, they could swallow another ten thousand without breaking a sweat.
But he wasn't dumping ten thousand at once. He always brought them in waves, even after they cleared the questionnaires. Ten thousand unpredictable, fearless psychos with their own agendas? Even he couldn't babysit that many.
"Start with one thousand… nah, fifteen hundred this round," he muttered. "And toss in a hundred slots for female players."
Ever since the game exploded, Blue Star netizens couldn't stop talking about this 100% realistic VR experience. The hype had hit levels no other game in history had ever touched. It was the single hottest topic on the entire planet. People were losing their minds trying to get in.
Plenty of them were women. Gaming wasn't just a dude thing—especially not when the selling point was total freedom in a living, breathing world. Young players, middle-aged, even seniors: if real-world travel was out of reach, exploring these landscapes could still scratch that itch.
You could tell how insane the demand was by the fact that, even after every video blogger on every platform proved the helmets were non-transferable, people were still throwing stupid money at anyone who even hinted they might sell one.
The second Viserys announced the next closed-beta draw—fifteen hundred fresh players, one hundred of them women—the already-crowded, multiple-times-expanded official forums lit up like a wildfire:
FishingRememberTheHelmet: Oh my god, please, devs, just one beta key this time! I'm begging!
DaveEatsZombies: I'll trade my bro's fifty years of being single for a slot! On my knees!
AutumnMountainRacerGod: Hell yeah! Female players finally getting in!
FivePoisonsAllIn: @above, didn't expect a girl to have a name like that.
AutumnMountainRacerGod: I'm a dude.
FivePoisonsAllIn: My bad. My eyes suck.
AutumnMountainRacerGod: Also from Mountain City, btw.
The random draw for the fifteen hundred new testers wrapped up fast. A lot of people didn't even get the friend ping before it was over. Tough luck—plenty missed out.
After the server-wide notice went out that a fresh wave would log in at noon, Viserys closed the system menu.
He pulled his eyes away from the little fire creature and sighed at the chest-opening mechanics one last time. Then he picked up the report on the Braavos god-botherers and the Iron Bank that was still sitting on his desk.
First things first: the Iron Bank's loans to the other side of the Narrow Sea were getting seized. No question. Having a literal mountain of gold sitting right under his nose? Viserys wasn't just taking the outstanding debts—he was already dreaming about straight-up owning the whole damn bank.
And the House of Black and White's little brotherhood of assassins? They weren't walking away either. Having a pack of faceless killers operating in his backyard made his skin crawl. He couldn't sleep easy knowing they were there.
A whole guild of assassins had the balls to try and murder the True Dragon Emperor himself.
This wasn't some garden-variety cutthroat. This called for the heavy artillery.
The more Viserys thought about it, the angrier he got. Ever since the Fourth Scourge became his left and right arms, he was the one doing the bullying. Nobody bullied him. Not in Essos. Not anywhere.
He'd already started thinking of himself as the uncrowned king of this corner of the world. A bunch of hooded, face-stealing assassins hiding behind the Many-Faced God? Big deal.
Having the Many-Faced God as a patron wasn't going to save them.
Today he was sending in the war-elephant legion to stomp every last one of them into paste. Let's see the Many-Faced God pull that off.
"Come in!" Viserys called.
[Nine Thousand Years]—who'd been sorting documents in the corner—hurried over and bowed low. "Your Grace, what are your orders?"
The guy had been strutting around lately. Ever since he started selling intel in the player chat groups and built a reputation, he'd picked up a whole crew of "disciples." Word was he'd even organized some "Five Tigers and Ten Dogs" inner circle. Clearly Wei Zhongxian was his hero.
Viserys didn't care. He just gave the order:
"Bring me the intelligence chief, the secret police director, the captain of the Kingsguard, the captain of the royal enforcement squad, and the Braavos legion commander."
Brother Wei's about to go full purge, [Nine Thousand Years] thought, eyes gleaming. Those assassins are fucked.
He'd seen the file on the king's desk. He knew exactly what this was about. He bowed and scurried off to fetch them.
"Wait," Viserys added. "And get the grenadier commander—Teflon—while you're at it."
Perfect. Kill 'em, burn 'em, scatter the ashes. One-stop service.
[Nine Thousand Years] shivered and hurried out faster.