Viserys sat up, eyes darting across the interior of the tent like a hunted animal. The drums of the Dothraki wedding pounded outside in chaotic rhythm, but it was the pounding in his skull that truly echoed.
He rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath.
"I am absolutely fucked."
Then came the chime again. A faint, hauntingly cheerful sound in direct opposition to his spiraling dread.
[Dragon King System – Initialized]
"What the fuck?" he whispered, focusing on the glowing panel only he could see. The interface hung in the air like an illusion, ancient Valyrian script laced with golden Roman numerals.
Welcome, Viserys Targaryen
Title: Beggar King
Race: Human (Targaryen)
Age: 22
Status: Alive (Barely)
Starter Bundle Unlocked
• 10,000 Dragon Points
• 5 Summons
• 1 Free "Wheel of Fate" Spin
Note: Failure to achieve greatness will result in death. Good luck!
Viserys blinked, jaw slightly slack. "What kind of fucking system is this? This is a goddamn gacha game."
The glowing interface didn't respond—of course it didn't. But he knew—knew with the burning intuition of a man already betrayed too many times—that the goddess had done this on purpose. She knew about the gambling addiction. She knew what buttons to push.
"This stingy, smug, cosmic bitch wants me to spin my way to power. She's trying to get me killed!"
Still… his finger hovered over the "Summons" button.
Fuck it.
Click.
A flash of golden light. Then, five armored figures emerged into the tent, one by one, shimmering into existence like ghosts being forced into flesh. Each stood tall, clad in dark crimson cloaks, polished lorica segmentata gleaming beneath the firelight. They were human, but impossibly idealized. Roman to the bone—disciplined, brutal, loyal.
[5x Praetorian Guards Summoned]
Viserys stood, slack-jawed. "Holy shit…"
Summon Note: Praetorian Guards are elite Roman soldiers drawn from the peak of Earth's Imperial Age. Absolute loyalty to the summoner is guaranteed. Will not break under torture, corruption, or bribes.
Caution: Higher-tier summons (commanders, kings, etc.) may act autonomously based on their own values and moral frameworks. Betrayal is possible if your actions are deemed unworthy.
Now that was interesting.
He waved a hand and the guards shimmered out of sight—no doubt stored in some spatial inventory. It was good to know he could summon them instantly at will.
He tapped through the interface and opened the Summon Shop. The options branched in dazzling arrays:
Summon Shop
[Earth: Roman Empire | Feudal Japan | Medieval England | Mongol Horde | WWII Germany | Vietnam War USA…]
[Westeros: House Lannister Retainers | Unsullied | Night's Watch | Kingsguard | Wildling Raiders…]
[Essos: Golden Company | Braavosi Water Dancers | Faceless Men – Locked]
[Fiction: Warhammer 40K | Naruto Shinobi | Star Wars Jedi Knights – Locked]
Unlock Fictional Sections – Cost: 5,000 DP each
He narrowed his eyes. "I have to spend points just to unlock these?"
The goddess wasn't just stingy—she was a dealer. And he was hooked again.
"Fuck's sake…"
Still, his smile spread. The potential. The absolute chaos this system could unleash…
He could conquer Westeros. And maybe Essos. And after that?
Every other world.
But not yet.
He flipped to the Stats page.
Stats – Viserys Targaryen (Current Body)
Strength: 7
Dexterity: 8
Intelligence: 9
Charisma: 11
Endurance: 5
Willpower: 6
Leadership: 4
Viserys grimaced. "No wonder the old me got gold-poured like a fucking crème brûlée."
He dumped his initial 10,000 points, 25 into each stat. The interface beeped a warning:
Stat Cap Reached. Further increases require Great Achievement.
He confirmed the changes. Instantly, he felt it. Power flowed through his limbs, his spine straightened, muscles filled out. The scrawny body of the past Viserys was gone—this new shell was… better. Taller. Stronger. Built like a young warrior-prince from the old tales.
Finally, he turned to the Wheel of Fate.
He hesitated. "I shouldn't…"
Then he spun.
The wheel clattered and spun like a mad carnival relic. Finally, it stopped on:
[Sword Fighting Style Manual: Knight of the Seven Kingdoms] – Unlocked
He frowned. "No fireballs? No magic? No fucking dragons?"
Still, practical. He needed to not die, and swordsmanship was a start.
He took a long breath, rolled his shoulders, and stepped toward the tent flap. "Alright," he murmured. "Time to play the part."
⸻
Viserys emerged into the chaos of the Dothraki wedding celebration. A thousand horses danced in place. Meat roasted on spits. Flames crackled under the sky. Dothraki men and women drank, fucked, and fought in the dirt. The wedding was as much a battlefield as a ceremony.
He forced himself into Viserys mode. Arrogant. Cold. Regal. He was the dragon, the blood of the dragon.
People had to believe it.
He wove through the crowd, ignoring the savage grunts and foreign glances. The Dothraki stared at him with thinly veiled contempt, but none stepped in his way. A few noticed something different—he carried himself with too much confidence now. He no longer looked like a rat begging scraps.
He spotted Illyrio Mopatis sitting beneath a silk canopy, dressed in layers of fine orange and gold silks. The fat merchant smiled warmly as Viserys approached.
"Ah, my dear prince!" Illyrio boomed. "Come, come. A fine day, yes? Your sister is now wed to a Khal of ten thousand riders!"
Viserys slid into the seat beside him, his gaze cold and calculating.
"She is… radiant," he said, a practiced half-smile curling his lips. "A fitting start to our return."
Illyrio chuckled, jowls wobbling. "Indeed, indeed. With Khal Drogo's army behind you, the Iron Throne is closer than ever."
Viserys glanced across the sea of savages. His silver-haired sister sat beside her new husband, eyes downcast, shoulders tense.
"Closer," he echoed, "but not close enough."
The merchant raised a brow. "You seem… changed, my prince."
Viserys turned his head, slowly, eyes hard like Valyrian steel. "I am changed, Illyrio. The dragon is waking."
He leaned forward, voice low and burning.
"And this time, I will not die screaming."