Far across the Narrow Sea.
A small wooden boat rocked, slowly sailing from afar toward the feet of the magnificent Titan.
It was not just a landmark and a lighthouse, but also a perfect defensive fortress, standing at the mouth of Braavos's harbor, guarding this developed Free City day after day, year after year.
"My lady, you have reached your destination."
The boat slowly docked. The boatman, hunched over as he stowed the oars, flashed a fawning smile at the figure at the stern.
A voluminous black robe obscured her figure, and her face was completely hidden beneath a hood. Only a glimpse of her chin and a few stray strands of silver-gold hair suggested that she was a lady.
"Clink~"
Accompanying the crisp sound, a fair and slender hand reached out from under the robe and tossed a Golden Dragon into the boatman's hand.
Though she had already paid the fare, how could she not see the intent behind that fawning smile?
Fortunately, after a journey of "acting heroically," her pockets were currently not lacking in Golden Dragons.
Lifting her feet, her light steps trod once more upon the harbor of Braavos, making a rhythmic tapping sound.
Clearly, she was in a fairly good mood.
Braavos truly lived up to its reputation as the wealthiest of the Nine Free Cities. Even though the sun had only just begun to peek over the horizon, the bustling harbor was already teeming with people.
The cries of vendors were incessant, the scent of fresh seafood still smelling of the ocean wafted into her nose, and the occasional "cling-clang" of a blacksmith's forge echoed from a nearby shop.
"Beautiful Young Miss, please buy some oysters."
Just as she was enjoying the lively atmosphere while hurrying toward her destination, a Little girl carrying a wooden basin blocked her path.
The Little girl's eyes were incredibly pure, filled with a beautiful yearning for the future. As she diligently peddled her wares, she took one from the basin and pried the shell open with a small knife, revealing the white, still-quivering oyster meat inside:
"Look, they're all fresh oysters, just fished from the sea this morning."
"I don't need any, Little girl."
A clear and beautiful voice came from beneath the hood; even her refusal was remarkably elegant.
Failing to make a sale, a hint of disappointed loneliness appeared in the Little girl's innocent eyes, but she obediently stepped aside.
" Jeanne Targaryen !"
Just as she was about to resume her pace toward her destination, a man's voice called out to her in pure Valyrian.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth beneath the hood. Jaina took off her hat, her silver-gold hair shining brilliantly in the sunlight. Combined with her incomparably beautiful face, she instantly drew the gaze of every man—and not just men—at the harbor.
Slowly turning around, her purple eyes reflected a tall figure wearing a light rapier. She asked somewhat playfully:
"Might I ask what business a Water Dancer has with me?"
Water Dancers were a type of swordsman unique to Braavos. They practiced a distinct swordplay technique known as the "Water Dance."
They used signature light rapiers, which allowed them to deliver lethal strikes with swifter and more elegant footwork.
"That is what I should be asking you, destitute princess."
As the First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel's pride and elegance made him reluctant to trouble a Little girl in exile.
But constrained by the Sealord's orders, he had no choice.
"Since the Targaryens have already safely left Braavos, what are you planning to do by returning now?"
Although the Sealord's command was to expel Jaina, Syrio did not draw his rapier, merely asking a casual question.
"Relax, proud swordsman."
Jaina maintained her elegant smile, facing the equally elegant Syrio as if they were two nobles attending a ball:
"I mean no harm; I have only come for the Iron Bank."
Indeed, this was Jaina's goal.
Ever since the day Daenerys decided to marry that Dothraki Khal, she had decided to assemble a massive fleet.
After all, Dothraki horses could not cross the Narrow Sea on their own.
Looking across the Nine Free Cities, only the Iron Bank of Braavos, the wealthiest of all, could provide such a staggering amount of wealth.
With the intent to give it a try, Jaina had "acted heroically" all the way to Braavos.
To her surprise, the Sealord had already received intelligence, and she encountered opposition the moment she stepped ashore.
"The Iron Bank will not lend to you."
Though he had already guessed as much, Jaina's answer still made Syrio breathe a sigh of relief.
As long as she hadn't come with the intention of using her Targaryen status to vie for power with the Sealord, she shouldn't face any danger.
Although he was the first sword appointed by the current Sealord, such an absurd command had already caused Syrio to feel a sense of disappointment toward him.
Every Sealord was chosen from all citizens by the Magisters and Keyholders of Braavos, following a mysterious and baffling process.
They bore the heavy responsibility of serving Braavos for life, until their dying breath.
After every Sealord died, statues recording their achievements would be carved in a row along the canals of Braavos.
Reasonably, a Sealord should be a person of broad mind, wisdom, and erudition.
But for the current Sealord to actually fear an underage girl was truly difficult for the ever-proud Syrio to accept.
"Thank you for the reminder, kind swordsman."
Sensing that he meant no harm, Jaina also released her grip on the hilt of the sword at her waist.
But she was never one to give up easily. Her beautiful purple eyes revealed an unyielding resolve as she replied in a firm tone:
"Even though the Iron Bank believes the destitute Targaryens no longer have investment value, I must try regardless."
"Daenerys needs a massive fleet to transport the Dothraki warriors."
The news of the Dragon's daughter marrying the most powerful Dothraki Khal had already spread throughout the Nine Free Cities.
Everyone knew clearly that these three young dragons who had fled from Westeros were biding their time and gathering strength, ready at any moment to retake the iron throne belonging to their family by force.
Hearing her explanation, Syrio did not intend to trouble this Little girl who was focused on restoring her family any further. His figure gradually vanished into the crowd, leaving behind only a light warning:
"Then please ensure you follow the rules of Braavos and do not attempt to do what should not be done."
"At the same time, I hope you achieve your heart's desire, destitute Princess..."
..."Syrio, you have disappointed me greatly."
In the Sealords Palace, the current Sealord of Braavos, Ferrego Antaryon, sat upon his throne. His blue eyes looked at the first sword who had come to report, filled with disappointment.
He was over fifty years old. His twenty-plus years of ruling Braavos had led Ferrego to a state of near-obsessive conceit regarding his own decisions.
Ferrego had once been a young king full of ambition and vigor. Under his rule, the consistently peaceful and wealthy Braavos had never encountered any mishaps.
When the three Targaryens fled to Braavos, the wise Sealord witnessed the secret marriage pact between Oberyn Martell and Willem Darry, promising that Viserys would marry Princess Arianne, the eldest daughter of Prince Doran Martell of Dorne.
This was very much in the interest of Braavos.
But like many aging kings, his declining health made Ferrego deeply fearful of threats from anywhere, wishing only to die peacefully on his throne in his remaining days.
When news of Jaina's uninvited arrival reached his ears, the aging king quickly dispatched his strongest first sword, hoping to expel this still-growing young dragon from Braavos's territory.
"Your Majesty, she is but an unarmed Little girl."
Facing the Sealord's questioning, Syrio also had his own pride. As someone who never raised a hand against women or children, he firmly stood his ground and retorted:
"I have already warned Jaina. She does not seem like someone who would cause trouble in Braavos."
"You are too naive, Syrio."
The elderly Sealord clearly did not accept such a weak explanation. As long as Jaina remained in Braavos for a single day, he would be unable to eat or sleep in peace:
"The House Targaryen people are a bunch of madmen. Have you forgotten how hard our ancestors struggled to flee from the dragons, and how many generations of effort it took to build the Braavos of today?"
"You are actually foolish enough to easily believe a Targaryen's words? Must you wait until Braavos is destroyed by mad dragonfire to be satisfied?"
Ferrego grew more agitated as he spoke, his angry roars echoing throughout the Sealords Palace.
"The dragons have long been extinct, Your Majesty!"
Syrio truly could not understand why the once-great king had become like this, actually fearing a mere thirteen-year-old girl and the legendary dragons that had long been extinct!
"Furthermore, I will keep an eye on her."
"If she does anything detrimental to Braavos, I will personally see to her expulsion."
"That won't be necessary, Syrio."
Faced with Syrio's repeated rebuttals, Ferrego no longer trusted this first sword who continually rejected his orders.
With a wave of his right hand, a tall, slender man stepped slowly from the shadows in the corner.
"Valentin will take over your mission and make that Targaryen little bitch disappear from Braavos forever!"
"Your Majesty..."
Syrio wanted to say more, but Ferrego cut him off directly:
"No more words, Syrio."
"Since you are unwilling to serve your king, I believe there are many others who would gladly risk their lives for me."
Looking at the near-mad Sealord, Syrio's expression shifted uncertainly, his thoughts unknown.
After a long while, he sighed softly. Under Ferrego's disbelieving gaze, he removed the badge from his chest that symbolized the First Sword of Braavos:
"My king, I believe I am no longer qualified to serve you."
He turned around, his back still elegant yet carrying a hint of loneliness:
"Braavos will not be destroyed by dragonfire; it will only be submerged by the hands of a mad leader."
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