Gathered together, they are a roaring fire; scattered, they are just sht everywhere.
That perfectly describes the "player" demographic.
If you ask them how to level up or optimize their builds, they might not all have ideas.
But if you ask them to cause chaos and destruction? Suddenly, every single one of them is an Einstein of mayhem.
The fact that Viserys hadn't marched to occupy Pentos the very day he gathered 3,000 players proves that he ultimately underestimated the sheer destructive power of the "Fourth Scourge."
Right now, less than three hundred players had turned the entire city of Pentos upside down.
The Magisters, usually lost in their lives of luxury, were frantically ordering the City Watch to put out fires everywhere. But the only news they received was either that a squad had been wiped out or that a guard unit had broken and fled.
The players of the Grenadier Corps had transformed into full-blown arsonists. They were lighting fires everywhere. Whether it was a commoner's house or a Magister's mansion, whether the occupants surrendered or not, if they had a Wildfire jar, they threw it.
If Viserys hadn't timely issued a challenge between the Grenadier Corps and the Brotherhood Without Banners—promising that whichever side captured a district with more intact buildings would be rewarded with a Bronze Chest-tier item of their choice from the Player Shop—he probably would have inherited a pile of ashes instead of the city of Pentos.
With high-tier rewards on the line, the pyromaniacs finally settled down and obediently followed their Guild Leader's orders: threaten first, burn only if they don't listen.
Seeing the number of "arsonists" drop significantly on the System interface, Viserys finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Compared to letting Pentos be burned to the ground by Wildfire, giving out some welfare items from the shop was nothing.
Besides, most of the items available to players were just armor and weapons from Illyrio's armory anyway.
It wouldn't cost him much.
"What do we do now?"
Magister Ordello had been looking forward to enjoying his favorite mushroom soup at the banquet, but his subordinate's report of riots in the city made him so angry he nearly exploded. He had no appetite left.
"The City Watch is useless!" After cursing under his breath, seeing his own household guards gathering and moving in and out of the courtyard gave Ordello a slight sense of relief.
"What about the other Magisters?" Ordello asked his confidant.
"Those unknown madmen are throwing Wildfire everywhere. The city is in chaos, and we can't contact the other Magisters. I did hear that the Prince attempted to flee, but he was surrounded by those people and burned alive with Wildfire."
The confidant spoke with a bitter face. His fate was tied to the Magister's—if the Magister fell today, he would be on the auction block at the slave market tomorrow.
Ordello's face went pale. He didn't care if the Prince died; Pentos had gone through plenty of Princes.
But the way he died... burned alive by Wildfire...
Ordello gulped dryly, panic rising in his chest.
"My Lord, have you forgotten the sailors at the harbor? We can ask them to enter the city and help suppress the rebellion!"
Suddenly, the confidant seemed to remember something and spoke urgently.
Ordello's spirits lifted instantly upon hearing this.
Although Pentos's fleet was a "pitiful thing" consisting of only twenty small warships due to the unequal military treaty with Braavos...
With the City Watch proving useless, those sailors on the ships were the last lifeline in Ordello's eyes.
"Yes, go quickly! Invite the Fleet Admiral. Tell him to bring his sailors ashore to quell the riot. Once it's done..." Ordello paused, looking at his confidant.
"Promise him whatever you want. Status, wealth, estates... doesn't matter. Let him ask the other Magisters for it later. Just get him to bring his men ashore first!"
The confidant was clearly stunned, but although he was speechless inwardly, he turned and left immediately. After all, his life was on the line too; there was no time to waste.
"Damn bastards! You'd better not run away with your tails between your legs. Just stay right there and wait for me to bring the fleet ashore. I'll send every last one of you to heaven!" The Magister said with a furious face.
"Your Grace."
Ser Jorah entered the room. After bowing to the terrified Princess Daenerys standing to the side, his gaze fell on Viserys, who appeared as steady as a mountain but was actually watching the players' massacre through the System interface.
"The City Watch is being pulled in every direction by the Magisters to put out fires. They are in complete disarray and pose no threat to us now."
Looking at the King sitting dignified and composed in his chair, Ser Jorah nodded secretly. Perhaps the Gods truly decided my fate long ago, putting me through trials so I could follow the True Dragon.
Viserys nodded upon hearing this, saying nothing. He had already gathered this information from the players' movements on the System interface.
The 2,000-strong City Watch never answered to a single person but rather to the most powerful Magisters.
After the players started the riot, these Magisters panicked. One issued an order here, another gave a command there, running the mere 2,000 guards ragged trying to put out fires everywhere.
It was like the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, but with fire.
The exhausted City Watch was already suffering from low morale when facing player legions that dared to self-destruct. After being run around like headless chickens, their morale hit rock bottom. Many guards simply deserted and found places to hide.
It could be said that thanks to the "cooperation" between the players and the Magisters, the visible military power of Pentos—the City Watch—was finished.
Now, aside from the household guards of the various Magisters, the only thing that could pose a threat to his player army was the Pentoshi fleet at the harbor.
Viserys didn't take them seriously at all. In his view, even if he popped the champagne at halftime now, there was absolutely no way he could lose.
Most of the Magisters' household guards had been defeated one by one by the players. Faced with the gleaming jars of Wildfire, most Magisters chose to surrender.
After all, the players had started flying the Targaryen banner. Surrendering to a descendant of the former dynasty was justifiable; there was no shame in it.
The remaining Magisters, who hadn't been dealt with yet due to a shortage of player manpower, were just fish on the chopping block, flopping around for a bit longer.
As for the Pentos fleet?
Viserys couldn't help but recall a nickname of a hero from the classic novel Water Margin he had read in his previous life: "Dry Land Crocodile"—meaning a crocodile out of water.
Hmph. What is there to fear from a crocodile on land?
Daenerys's hands trembled as she poured wine from the flagon into the horn cup in her brother's hand.
It wasn't that she feared Viserys. She had slowly become immune to her brother, who now hid the "Dragon's Rage" deep inside.
She was just terrified of the sudden war.
However, despite the fear in her heart, the Princess seemed to have grown up a little. She didn't say childish things like "I'm scared" or "I want to go home" to her brother as she used to.
Instead, she chanted silently in her heart:
"Blood and Fire are one..."
"Blood and Fire are one..."
Over and over again. Under Ser Jorah's slightly surprised gaze, the fear in Princess Daenerys's beautiful eyes slowly transformed into a rare haughtiness.