In the 106th year after Aegon's Conquest of Westeros, the island city of Lys—affectionately known as Lovely Liss—glistened in the Essosi sun. Situated on rocky terrain in the southwestern region of the continent, the city enjoyed a temperate climate, abundant sunlight, and fertile land adorned with palm and fruit trees. The surrounding ocean shimmered in shades of green, its depths alive with schools of colorful fish, a serene picture that stood in stark contrast to the scene within the city's heart.
The Bloodstone Arena reverberated with the thunderous cheers of a bloodthirsty crowd. As the largest fighting pit in Lys, it could accommodate nearly a thousand spectators, and today it was packed to the brim. The air was thick with excitement as blood splattered across the sand. At the center, a man and a woman were locked in a brutal combat. The woman seized an opening, delivering a powerful, precise punch to the man's chin. The impact was decisive; he crashed to the ground, silence claiming him almost instantly.
A chorus of boos and curses arose from those who had wagered heavily on the fallen man. Seated in the judge's platform, Cayman observed the victor with keen interest. Her silver hair starkly contrasted with her dark skin, and the combat prowess she had displayed was remarkable—dispatching a seasoned heavy brawler with a single blow.
The woman, sensing his intense gaze, turned and met his eyes, her own narrowing in challenge. Cayman responded with a smirk. He tossed the dagger he had been toying with to a nearby guard and, in one swift motion, leaped down from the stands into the arena.
A momentary hush fell over the crowd, followed by an eruption of even louder cheers. The master of the Free Trade Guild himself had entered the fray.
"Stormfire! Stormfire! Stormfire!" the audience chanted.
Cayman raised his arms, reveling in their adoration. He relished this sensation, a world away from the trepidation and powerlessness of his past life. Here, his origins, while humble as the illegitimate son of the Governor of Lys, were a ladder, not a cage. This era was fortuitous. On his thirteenth birthday, he had boldly requested thirty gold dragons from his father and used them to establish his own Free Trade Guild. Now, three years later, he was one of the wealthiest merchants in the region, with aspirations to contest for the next governorship of Lys.
"What is your name?" Cayman inquired, his attention fixed on the woman before him.
"Reika," she replied, her tone flat and even. "Reika Ross."
"Are you in need of money?"
Reika remained silent.
"Do you hail from the Summer Islands?" he pressed. "Those from the Summer Isles who enter these life-and-death duels are undoubtedly in dire straits." A confident smile graced his lips. "A race, then. The deal. Should you defeat me, the prize will be tenfold. Fifty thousand gold dragons. What say you?"
"Agreed," Reika responded without hesitation.
"Would you care for a moment's respite?"
"No need. I know you are but sixteen years old."
Reika exuded confidence. She had inquired about Cayman before the duel, ensuring his reputation was intact before stepping into the blood-soaked pit. With fifty thousand gold dragons, she could procure a warship. And with a warship, she could become a pirate, a queen of her own destiny.
Cayman chuckled and propelled himself forward, summoning his strength for a thunderous punch aimed at her face. The suddenness of the strike took her by surprise, forcing her to evade instinctively. Yet, her extensive combat experience allowed her to quickly regain her composure, and the two engaged in a fierce exchange of blows.
Amid the cacophony of cheers—some for Cayman, many more for Reika, hoping to see the young master vanquished for their own thrill—Reika's expression grew serious. Cayman's strength far exceeded her expectations. That a mere sixteen-year-old could contend with her to this extent was astonishing. Committing herself fully, she seized an opening and landed a heavy blow squarely on his face.
The force sent Cayman staggering back. He spat blood, but excitement gleamed in his eyes. "Now that's more like it!" he exclaimed.
Reika rubbed her wrist. "Shall we continue? You cannot defeat me."
"Ha! Fifty thousand gold dragons are not so easily won," Cayman laughed heartily.
Through their bout, he realized he was not her equal in skill. Yet he was unwilling to concede, not out of pride or stinginess, but because he desired Reika Ross for herself. If memory served, the Ross family held considerable status in the Summer Isles.
Taking a deep breath, a green luminescence ignited in Cayman's gaze. The rhythm of his heartbeat resonated like a war drum within his chest, a formidable force surging from his heart to his limbs. In an instant, he charged again, delivering an unadorned, yet devastatingly powerful punch that sent Reika crashing to the ground, unconscious.
Gasping for breath, Cayman felt the peculiar state he had entered consuming his vitality. The power was immense, but costly. After a moment, he gestured for his men to carry Reika away. The deceased gladiator was of no consequence, destined for the incinerator without ceremony. Cayman raised his arms once more to accept the crowd's fervent cheers, offering a few perfunctory words before departing the arena.
Upon returning to his estate and changing clothes with the assistance of a maid, Cayman was taken aback to find Reika stripped bare and laid out upon his bed.
Tsk. He clicked his tongue softly.
Having been reborn into the world of A Song of Ice and Fire for sixteen years, he was no longer the man who clung to modern ethical standards. He had not altered this era, steeped in the darkness where human rights were a foreign concept; rather, it had assimilated him within a mere few years. Since reaching adulthood, he had engaged with numerous women, even fathering two illegitimate children. But he swore to the Goddess of Love and Desire that his intention to safeguard Reika Ross was based solely on her formidable fighting prowess and the strategic opportunity she presented to influence the Summer Isles.
Reika possessed an elegant, elongated figure, standing at least 175 centimeters tall. Her physique was reminiscent of a graceful panther, particularly her long, muscular legs, which exuded a unique and powerful allure.
Cayman stroked his chin, surveying the scene with unabashed curiosity. I recall that the inhabitants of the Summer Islands are rather liberal in this regard, he mused.
Lys was a native colony of Valyria. Its people typically possessed golden curls, azure eyes, and skin as fair as milk, and Cayman had long grown accustomed to women of that description. Yet, the sight of Reika stirred dormant memories from a previous life—of an anime featuring a sister, her two friends, and a notably large brother. Among them had been a strikingly beautiful, dark-skinned woman who had left a profound impression on him.