Shaking his dizzy head, Illyrio stumbled, almost losing his balance and falling to the ground.
It's fine, it's fine. He's only wounded. As long as he's not dead.
For Illyrio, all he needed was the banner of Viserys's name. It didn't matter if the man was crippled or injured; the plan would proceed regardless.
But then, a wave of anger washed over him. Pentos was a large city with many powerful Magisters. It wasn't surprising that they had noticed he was harboring the Targaryen remnants.
However, for someone to brazenly assassinate his guest inside his mansion... that was like throwing his reputation on the ground and stomping on it.
"Go! Let us see the King!"
Suppressing his rage, Illyrio knew the priority was confirming Viserys's survival.
I'll need to buy more Unsullied to strengthen security, Illyrio thought, his heart aching at the expense.
Having just woken up, Illyrio didn't suspect Mouse_Is_Duck at all. He grabbed two Unsullied guards and hurried after the player toward Viserys's quarters.
"Your Grace! By the Gods, that accursed assassin deserves to rot in the Seven Hells!"
Illyrio's voice trembled with righteous indignation, sounding exactly like a loyal subject humiliated by the insult to his monarch.
But the moment he stepped into the courtyard, he sensed something was wrong.
The courtyard was suddenly filled with over a hundred strangers armed with swords and knives. Their appearance matched the "loyal subjects" Viserys claimed had crossed the Narrow Sea.
Dozens of hounds stared at him, drooling hungrily. They looked at him like he was a delicious meal.
Trap!
A thunderclap went off in Illyrio's brain. Realizing the danger, he immediately turned to flee, but it was too late.
Six or seven armed men popped out from behind him, blocking his path.
"Protect me! Get me out of here!" Panicked, Illyrio pulled the two Unsullied in front of him and barked orders.
The Unsullied are highly trained. These people don't even have armor. They are absolutely no match for the Unsullied! Illyrio thought. The eunuchs he usually viewed as tools were now his only lifeline.
Without hesitation, the two Unsullied leveled their spears at the players surrounding them.
"What is this? The 300 Spartans?" One player scoffed, eyeing the Unsullied shielding Illyrio with their spears and shields.
"There are so many of us. Taking down two trash mobs should be easy, right?" Another player gripped his longsword, eager to try.
The rewards from the newbie quests had emboldened them. In their eyes, Illyrio and his guards were just loot pinatas waiting to be burst open.
"Rex, attack!"
Finally, a player lost his patience. At his command, his starter pet hound whined and lunged at the Unsullied.
But a second later, the snarling dog was skewered instantly by an Unsullied spear.
"Charge!"
Like a starting gun, the players swarmed forward.
As it turned out, against absolute numerical superiority, two Unsullied couldn't do much.
After spearing a couple of unlucky players, the two Unsullied were overwhelmed and stabbed to death by a flurry of chaotic sword strikes. Their spears, shields, armor, and helmets were instantly looted clean.
"Do we kill him?" New player Pineapple_Pizza_Lover dragged his friend Im_Actually_Cracked over and asked the group.
"Don't kill him. Tie the fat pig up and take him to His Grace!"
FaFo, being a veteran player decked out in "high-level gear" (scrap metal from chests), held significant sway among the group.
Soon, the players, acting like a tribe of cannibals, hogtied Illyrio and carried him like a stuck pig to see Viserys.
---
"We haven't seen each other for a day, my Master of Coin. Why do you look so haggard?"
Viserys sat in a chair, toying with an ivory goblet, looking impeccably groomed as he stared down at the disheveled, sweat-stained Magister.
"Your Grace... the ropes are too tight. Could you loosen them a little?"
Illyrio's opening line stunned Viserys for a second before sending the players into fits of laughter.
"Wait, is this guy Lu Bu?" Player Cannot_Tell_Tree_Roots picked his nose and flicked a booger at the struggling fat man. "Asking to loosen the bonds before begging for his life?"
"Don't insult Lu Bu. Even a hundred of this fat guy wouldn't be enough for Lu Bu to chop down!" Bun_Immortal, hefting a blacksmith hammer, looked at the wretched Magister with disdain.
"Do not underestimate the pig. When attacked, it backs its butt against a wall. If you underestimate it, it might just bite you with its sharp teeth and never let go!" Minister_of_Excuses declared solemnly.
"Wisely spoken, Minister!" Dawn (Zhao Xiaotian's Uncle), in a playful mood, played along, making the players laugh again.
The players' bizarre banter sounded jarring to Illyrio's ears. But having risen from a lowly bravo to a Magister, Illyrio possessed a thick skin that had long since abandoned shame.
"Your Grace, surely some unfortunate misunderstanding has occurred between us. I am certain I can explain everything. There is truly no need to interrogate your loyal subject in such a manner. It might dishearten other loyal servants of the Dragon!"
Illyrio struggled to lift his head, but from his position on the floor, he could only see Viserys's chest. He begged with difficulty, refusing to die at the hands of someone he considered a mere pawn.
"The Magister has been busy at home," Viserys said, placing the expensive ivory goblet down. He pulled a dagger from his robe and slammed it onto the table. "A dagger of Valyrian Steel. My Master of Coin, care to guess where I found it?"
Illyrio froze for a moment, then a look of realization flashed in his eyes. For a man as slippery as an eel, as long as he was allowed to speak, his chances of survival jumped to fifty percent.
"Your Grace, even the closest relationships can suffer misunderstandings when provoked by malicious actors. You see," Illyrio strained against the ropes to speak clearly.
"Those weapons and armor were prepared for you, Your Grace. The dragon bones and spices? Those were funds I gathered for your Restoration. As they say, an army without gold is just a disorganized mob.
"Now, I am willing to hand everything over to Your Grace's command. I only hope that after Your Grace reclaims the Iron Throne, you might save a humble seat on the Small Council for your lowly, loyal servant!"
Watching Illyrio bury his dignity in the dirt, Viserys couldn't help but marvel at the man's flexibility. Calling himself a "humble, loyal servant"... if Viserys didn't know better, he'd think he was in the Qing Dynasty court.