NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 166: Nobody Enjoys Eating Dry Food
Since taking over the mine, Viserys had made occasional visits to ensure the slaves knew who he was. After all, he would be leading them into battle one day. In the past, he would say a few words from a distance before leaving, but today, he decided the time was right to get up close and personal.
The slaves all knew their master was a silver-haired boy with an almost divine appearance.
"It's our master!"
"Master!"
"Master! It's the master!"
"Master, thank you for your kindness!"
Viserys walked among the slaves with Jorah by his side, nodding to those who greeted him. Some slaves from other mines looked at Viserys with curiosity, taking in his presence. Before long, a few slaves spontaneously knelt on the ground, extending their hands for him to walk on.
Puzzled, Viserys turned to Jorah. "Lord, they are expressing their gratitude by offering you their hands to tread upon," Jorah explained.
As Viserys looked at their rough, callused hands, a complex emotion stirred within him. He recalled a moment from his previous life as a mercenary, when a villager had begged him for a single tablet of fever medicine for his ailing mother. In gratitude, the villager had offered to work for him. This reminded Viserys of how Daenerys, with nothing more than hot water and a simple soup, had earned the title of "Young Mother" from the slaves.
It wasn’t surprising that Daenerys had been able to establish a foothold in Slaver's Bay with just three young dragons and fewer than 20,000 Unsullied.
These slaves were in an even more desperate situation than that villager. They had nothing—no property, no rights. But despite his pity, Viserys knew he couldn’t start an immediate revolt and grant them freedom like Daenerys had. It would have to be a gradual process. If these uprisings succeeded, he would grant freedom to those who followed him. For the others, he might secure some preferential treatment, but nothing more. He was aware that a sudden upheaval could cause panic in the surrounding Free Cities, resulting in more losses than gains.
"Take your hands off the ground. I have something to say," Viserys commanded.
The slaves quickly withdrew their hands and looked up at him, ready to listen.
Viserys had learned a thing or two from the speeches of third-rate country leaders. His message was straightforward: work hard for him, and within three years, they could earn their redemption; within five, they could turn their lives around.
He also pointed out a path to "social advancement" for them. Viserys promised to select the best among the slaves to join his personal mercenary army. While working in the mines was grueling and becoming a mercenary was dangerous, the latter offered a path to freedom. A life spent toiling in the dark mines until death was inevitable, but the chance to fight for one's freedom was a glimmer of hope. The choice between the two was clear.
Viserys's plan was to select soldiers from among the slaves and gradually train them into a "new army." Slaves, with their obedience and large numbers, made an ideal source for recruitment. For instance, in the copper mine alone, he estimated that out of the 30,000 slaves, at least 5,000 could be transformed into a disciplined and effective force.
However, it was still too early to focus on that. For now, his priority was to motivate these slaves to join him in a rebellion when the time came.
Although the idea was promising, Viserys understood that most slaves were still preoccupied with whether they could secure an extra bowl of food. The long years of servitude had numbed them to the point where survival was their only concern. He realized that the key issue was the absence of a 'model' slave—someone who could inspire others by rising above their station. Slaves had their own form of wisdom; for them, doing as little as possible while eating as well as they could was often the most practical approach.
Yet, his efforts were not entirely in vain. The eyes of some younger slaves, especially those under twenty, still glimmered with excitement.
Take the newcomer, Milen, for example—he would much rather fight people outside than pound rocks in the mine. Some of the slaves had already decided in secret that they would seize any opportunity to escape their lives of darkness and deprivation.
...
At the Tyrosh Palace, in the Wine Garden, the Tyroshi, known for their flamboyant tastes, continued their love of bright colors even in their gardening.
“I heard Viserys is in Tyrosh. What’s he up to these days?” Kambron asked.
“He bought a mine in the east. Seems like he’s looking to invest in property,” Toland replied. He had become even more self-assured after his victory at Dragon's Flame Fortress. His newfound confidence was reflected in his appearance—his ‘hairdresser’ had recently introduced a gradient hair dye, making him the envy of others as the first to use it. The admiration for his hairstyle had extended to his personality and abilities, and now he regarded the world’s heroes with disdain.
Toland sneered at Viserys and the old captain's actions. “If we’d known the Windblown were all so short-sighted, we wouldn’t have bothered hiring them.”
It wasn’t uncommon for mercenary groups to have a “sideline,” often involving the sale of slaves. But Kambron was a man of extreme caution. In the original account, he had meticulously prepared for the war with Lys, even going so far as to leave his youngest daughter in Sunspear for safekeeping. To gain the favor of Pentos, he had appeared at the Mother of Dragons’ wedding. Of course, his ambitions likely extended beyond Pentos, perhaps even to the Dothraki.
“Still, caution is never wasted,” Kambron said seriously. “By the way, I’ve heard that Viserys’s sister has set up some sort of relief station to treat slaves?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Toland replied. “The siblings grew up in Braavos, where slavery is forbidden, so Viserys probably just wanted to give his sister something to do. But she’s got quite the temper. She dealt with a troublemaker not long ago.”
Kambron frowned, sensing that things might not be as simple as they appeared. But he was still skeptical that a group of slaves could pose any real threat. With war imminent, his focus remained on military preparations rather than what he saw as trivial matters.
“How is our fleet coming along?” Kambron asked, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand.
“Rest assured, in a month or so, we’ll be ready to attack Lys,” Toland replied confidently.
“Be careful,” Kambron cautioned, stroking his green beard thoughtfully. “The long-term prosperity of our houses depends on this.”
