A Game of Thrones and Gacha 37 (Patreon)

A day had passed since Cleon's death, and Astapor was already a different city, Rohar decided as he rode his horse through the streets, observing it.

It was not yet fixed. Far from it. However, previously, it was helpless and hopeless, squeezed by both internal and external forces, not to mention suffering through a carefully engineered famine.

The hatred Cleon’s name started to gather as Rohar unraveled the hidden granaries had been a sight to behold.

Rohar moved through the streets, Syzorys perched on his shoulder, calm despite not having a hood. He had four guards around him, but with his orders, they stayed behind. Everyone watched him, but not everyone had admiration on their faces. He knew that some of them belonged to disgruntled merchants whose plans to make a fortune had been ruined, while the others belonged to spies from all around the world.

The only problem, he couldn’t really distinguish the two. It was tempting to catch all of them and execute them , but he held back. One thing he had learned from King’s Landing, during his long stay, spies were a necessary evil. Killing all of them would blind an enemy, but it would also blind the others that might want to stay neutral.

People in power didn’t react well to being blinded.

Luckily, he had other options. “I’ll go out of the city, stay and keep an eye on the recruitment,” he ordered his guards.

They looked hesitant, but they soon nodded. All four of them were a part of Silver Drake company, and they were aware of the huge gap between him and them.

Rohar rode, but as he did, he saw a group of men taking down what seemed to be a slave pen. He had given no such order, but he was happy to see them taking the initiative. It was a small thing, but it told him more about the potential future of the city.

Broken people didn't fix things on their own initiative.

All he needed was not to screw up.

The docks were even emptier than yesterday, which had been an unwelcome detail, though not unexpected. He had read the communications between the slavers when he was in Yunkai, and he knew that a trade blockade was already in the works. Most of the traders who had been there yesterday were working with Cleon, and with his ignoble end, they retreated.

Rohar didn’t try to keep them, or try to negotiate them. He knew that the only merchants who would dare to visit Astapor would be searching for a bargain deep enough to qualify as robbery.

Add the fact that trading with Yunkai or Astapor would mark them as the enemy of the slaver cities, and he expected trade to stand still.

Could he find a way to break it? Certainly. If his real objective was to make the city the richest one, all he had to do was take a trip to Myr, steal their glassmaking secrets, then leverage his Adept Fine Arts and teaching to rapidly raise a hundred glassmakers and corner the luxury market.

He suspected he could make the city the richest one just by selling fancy glasses to Highgarden and Braavos.

Unfortunately, in the short term, they didn’t need money, because any path that they could use it was blocked. They couldn’t hire sellswords, because the other cities would outbid them. They didn’t need to purchase weapons, because Daenerys already had an overwhelming army with a healthy stockpile, not to mention the ability to craft them if needed.

The only thing they would need was food … which was why he was leaving the city. He didn’t see the point of relying on trade to keep the city fed, not when they had a perfectly convenient river that could turn Astapor into a self-sustainable city in rapid order.

Before he could leave the city, a merchant cut his path, with eight guards. Immediately, people in the streets froze, then they gathered around them. Rohar could see that if he gave the signal, they would kill the merchant.

“Disperse,” Rohar ordered. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t have to worry about me, especially against them,” he said, spinning his spear. “How can I help you, friend?” he asked.

“I want my payment,” he said.

“Oh, your payment? For what?” Rohar asked.

“I sold my grain to the city, and I need my payment. If you don’t pay, I’ll make sure that no other merchant visits Astapor to bring you food.”

Rohar made a show of shrugging. “Of course. Just show me the proof of your sale…” he added, then paused. “You have the proof, right?”

“It was a handshake deal,” the merchant said.

“Oh, with whom?” Rohar asked. “Let’s just find him, and as long as he’s authorized to make such purchases in the name of the city, I’ll honor the deal.” The merchant didn’t answer immediately. Rohar smirked. “Don’t tell me you have sold it to the traitor!”

“What if I did! He did work for the city, right?”

“Actually, he didn’t,” Rohar answered. “He was just an upstart gang leader. I’m sorry that you have been swindled, but risk of doing business, right?”

That didn’t make the merchant feel any better. He gestured at two of his guards, who drew their blades and moved toward him in a threatening manner.

Rohar glanced around, and saw that since the altercation started, more than twenty new observers had appeared on the various windows and rooftops, watching him. The merchant was there just to create some kind of issue.

He didn’t know what they were testing, but ultimately, Rohar decided to act unaware of their observation. He raised his spear, and two stabs were enough to kill the guards before they could react.

If they were stupid enough to draw their weapons against a newly appointed city lord, they were too stupid to live. However, while he stabbed them, he also made sure to undersell his abilities, both in terms of speed and skill. It was not too much. Move the spear slower, overextend just a bit…

He hoped it would be enough bait to convince them.

He didn’t prevent the merchant from escaping in fear. Instead, he rode out of the city. Once he walked out of the city, he reached for the large bag at the side of his horse, and pulled out a book, while his fingers brushed against the bow he had inside.

It was his insurance in case he had miscalculated, and he got attacked by a larger group than he had expected. He was yet to practice any, but he did read a few books on archery. Combined with his Master Archery and Training Booster, he expected it to be enough.

If not, he could always activate Momentum and escape.

However, as he rode along the Worm River, he was reading books on farming. He had seven with him. Three in Low Valyrian, two in Ghiscari, one in a dialect he was still puzzling out, and one in Westerosi Common that he suspected had been written by a Maester who had never touched soil in his life.

As he rode, he examined the Worm River, which was an interesting sight. The river itself was gentle, and the presence of several small islands, lush with grasses and trees, proved that there was nothing wrong with the water.

Yet, the surrounding land was mostly dead.

He hummed, curious why. He stabbed his spear down, and when he pulled back, it brought enough soil for him to examine it. “Perfectly fine silty soil,” he muttered. The books he read, combined with the guidance of his skill, confirmed it was perfectly arable. It was not the perfect loamy soil of Highgarden, but even then, it was perfect.

The only problem was that the land was dry, which was mostly about the riverbed having a higher clay ratio, preventing it from spreading.

However, that was not the full extent. He rode back and forth along the river, confirming that there was nothing wrong with the land. It was time to plan.

When it came to setting up a proper irrigation System, Ghiscari agricultural texts were the most useful despite being nearly two thousand years old. Valyrian books had very little material on farming, and the one they had had been referring to blood sacrifices too many times for it to be really useful.

Ghiscari, on the other hand, had built a real empire rather than living on an island and alternating between burning and taxing the rest of the world. Considering the amount of slaves they used, Rohar didn’t exactly admire their achievement, but there was no rule preventing him from paying people to build the canals.

Allowing the workers to use the land for free for five years would do the trick, he decided.

He continued to ride, this time drawing a detailed map, already deciding where to build the water channels. He looked at the landscape, imagining how different the empty land without any plant life would look once the channels were in place.

"It could feed the entire city," he muttered, then corrected himself as he made some mental calculations. "No. This could feed all three cities, and still leave some for exports."

Astapor had been a true waste.

The land was of high quality, so much so that it was impossible for the slavers to miss. They must have known. Any half-competent farmer could see it. Yet, they chose to keep it empty, and instead rely on selling slaves to support their lavish lifestyle.

What a disgusting approach. They ignored the land because raising slaves was easier than raising crops. Here he was, thinking that Bastard Joffrey was the cruelest imaginable person for feasting while Flea Bottom starved.

Wise Masters made the Westeros nobles look like saints.

“Oh,” he suddenly paused, realizing that it was intentional. If the cities could grow their food, they could rebel. As long as slaves didn’t starve, they would accept the other risks.

Naturally, it assumed that there wouldn’t be a rebellion that could threaten all the slaver cities at once. They assumed there wouldn’t be a Daenerys.

He took a deep breath, and let the anger settle. Anger was fuel, but fuel without direction just burned.

He could see it clearly. Within a year, if he organized the labor properly, the fields along this stretch alone could produce enough grain to make Astapor self-sufficient. Within two years, they could be exporting. Within five, the entire model of Slaver's Bay would be upended, not by conquering cities, but by proving that free men working their own land produced more than slaves ever could.

It was the kind of victory that Daenerys needed, not that she understood it yet. Luckily for her, he was there to address those gaps in her education.

“Oh, the divines. I can’t even imagine how bad her situation would be if I hadn’t arrived,” he muttered.

He mounted his horse and continued riding, making notes in his mind about which areas to prioritize, where to dig the first canals, how to organize the labor crews, and how many experts were needed. Luckily, he didn’t need tens of thousands of experienced farmers.

His Expert Teaching wasn’t only useful for training people on how to wield weapons.

“Speaking of weapons,” he said as he found himself a concealed valley, and pulled out his bow. He identified his target, which was a dead tree fifty feet away.

His initial aim when he had received Master Shooting had been to keep it hidden, create a second assassin personality to deal with the troubling people without raising suspicion. It was a good plan.

At this point, it was also completely unnecessary.

The whole point of it was to accumulate power without raising suspicion. Back then, he had no idea Daenerys had been struggling with two fundamental problems that he was able to solve with shocking ease.

Not only that, Dragon Rider meant that he could actually ride the dragons. Ironically, he didn’t care much about how deadly it would make him in battle, especially since the dragons would require a few years to grow to a point where they would be truly devastating on the battlefield.

With the system, he strongly suspected that, when the dragons had grown to the size they could truly threaten the armies, he wouldn’t need their assistance on the battlefield.

What being a dragon rider would give him was legitimacy. Both in Westeros and in Essos, dragons had been treated as the sign of kingship. Meaning, as long as he appeared on a dragon, no one would care about his lowborn status or his bastard rank. They would accept him as ruler. Easily as a lord, possibly more…

That would make his life much easier, meaning he could deal with people openly. People were more accepting of lords killing people. Hell, Tywin Lannister drowned two noble houses mercilessly and sent bards all around Westeros to brag, and half of the nobility actually respected him for being tough, the other half kept their mouths shut due to fear.

Master Shooting would be extremely valuable when combined with a dragon. The ability to shoot his enemies from the sky would make his life easier.

He still wanted to learn how to shoot a bow while hiding, because he suspected the speed he would learn would be too absurd for people to truly process. The speed he learned how to use the spear had been enough for Ser Barristan to declare him the greatest talent he had ever seen.

While Rohar was underwhelmed by Ser Barristan’s competence when it came to ruling, only an idiot would question his skill with the blade, or his eye for talent.

It was before he received Training Booster. With four ability slots, it meant sixteen times the speed of improvement. Combine it with his first Master combat skill. He raised his bow...

The first attempt, he botched wildly. The arrow didn’t even leave the bow, falling on the ground. He chuckled as he repeated. The second arrow actually moved five feet. The third one flew away to a random distance, not even in the general direction of the target.

The fourth one fell right next to the target, buried to the ground.

The fifth one hit the target. From there on, he didn’t miss even one, each landing on the dead tree. When he finished his first quiver, he was confident that he could find a job as an archer.

The second quiver all landed on an area smaller than his hand.

The third quiver, he started splitting arrows.

He hummed as he stopped wasting arrows. Instead, he went back to gather them. The next target, he picked two hundred yards, which was not the range limit of a bow, but close to it, making aiming far more difficult.

Yet, the arrow sang as it cut the air, each landing right on target, the drift once again barely as large as his hand. He couldn’t extend the range further without a better bow, but he didn’t let it stop his practice. He mounted his horse, testing his aim while mobile.

To another archer, it might have been a challenge. To him, it didn’t even make a difference. His balance was impeccable, and his control over his horse was great, thanks to his Taming skill.

He practiced for two hours, confident that it had turned him into one of the greatest archers alive. He had a feeling that he merely required a week to remove the first part of that statement.

Master skills were truly ridiculous, even by the standards of the System.

With that done, he started riding back. It didn’t take long for him to notice the dust. It was not a caravan, as the cloud was too dispersed. There were multiple riders, spread out, approaching from different angles. He counted the separate trails. At least fifteen, probably closer to twenty. They were converging on a point ahead of him, between him and the city.

The horns roared in a pattern, suggesting that they had been searching for a while, but were unable to find him while he hid in the valley, practicing.

It was an ambush.

As they got closer, he counted forty of them, all on horseback, but their skills varied. So did their weapons. Some carried bows and spears, while others had swords or arakhs. He guessed that it was a mixture of spies and whatever sellsword they were able to hire.

Rohar watched them while he continued to ride, not even changing his way. None of them moved like professionals. Their spacing was sloppy. They didn’t even chose to gather first before attacking him, no doubt trying to be the one to kill him and get the reward.

Forty people of varying skills. The only way for them to have any hope was for all of them to surround him, and for Rohar to have no weapon. Even then, it was only a chance.

And, only because he wasn’t able to find time to experiment with Expert Hand-to-Hand and develop his internal energy properly.

He hummed. He didn’t even bother slotting new abilities as he rushed toward the first group, his bow already in hand. It was a good way to show off his archery.

The first group rode toward him with excitement. Rohar saw two archers who were part of the first group reach for their quivers.

“I’m a kind man! Let me share my arrows!” he declared loudly. His bow twanged twice.

They fell down.

That had been enough to make the rest of the group freeze, which hadn’t been enough to save their lives. He killed all of them, and then, he passed near their bodies to take the arrows from their quivers.

After two hours of practice, most of his arrows were broken.

He expected the rest of them to split and run away, but they proved to be stupider than he had expected. Only after he had killed the second and third groups, they decided to run away, and even then, they tried to run away as one big group, which proved deadly.

It was not a fight. It was a cleanup.

After he was done, he went back to check the bodies. After all, just because he could get gold easily didn’t mean he should waste it, and the city could always use more horses.

The real treasure turned out to be letters. A lot of them, showing that more than one spy took the risk. They required a cipher to read, but more than one spy brought their cipher book with them, no doubt preparing to leave after killing him.

[Feat Achieved! Survive an assassination attempt

+1x Bronze Random Gacha ticket]

[Poison Breath]

{Uncommon Ability: Allows you to breathe out a cloud of poisonous gas that also erodes physical matter.}

“Well, that’s a good way to end the day,” he muttered. He didn’t expect to use it, but more ability meant more ability slots, which was always a happy occasion.