The journey to Braavos was long but not exhausting. Vlad did not feel fatigue like a human, even if he went days without stopping. He crossed the Narrow Sea aboard a merchant ship hired in secret, avoiding unnecessary attention. During the voyage, the crew whispered about the latest rumors: a growing conflict in the Riverlands, Ironborn raids along the western coast, and—most interesting to him—the news of a man in the Free Cities paying fortunes for dragon eggs. That brought a smile to his face. Belkaro was doing his job well.
One night, as the ship sailed through misty waters, Vlad sensed something unusual. A sailor shouted that he had seen a massive shadow gliding beneath the water. The men prayed to the sea gods, but Vlad only watched with curiosity. The creature was large, its movements fluid. Undoubtedly, a kraken. Vlad wondered if such beasts were magical, like dragons, or simply giant squids. Regardless of the answer, the kraken sank back into the darkness and did not reappear. By the time they finally arrived in Braavos, the sailors were still whispering tales of creatures in the mist.
The Titan of Braavos loomed imposingly over the harbor's entrance, a colossal silhouette that seemed to watch every traveler daring to cross its domain. The structure was surprisingly solid and detailed, a masterpiece of engineering. Vlad did not recall its exact origins, but if it hadn't been built by the Valyrians, it was certainly a work worthy of admiration.
He disembarked without drawing attention, wrapped in dark, elegant clothing, a cloak concealing his features. In Braavos, he would go unnoticed—just another shadow among merchants and travelers. He was in no hurry. The city was at his disposal.
His first objective was to follow the directions on the map his system had provided and find his dragon egg. Though the comet had not yet crossed the skies and the world's magic remained dormant, his vampiric nature, combined with stolen knowledge of pyromancy and blood magic, gave him a unique advantage. Perhaps, with the right approach, he could make the egg hatch prematurely. A larger, stronger dragon always meant an advantage.
The map led him to Braavos' underground aqueducts, a labyrinth of ancient tunnels running beneath the city. Vlad slipped through alleyways and descended through a hidden entrance behind a tavern in the fishermen's quarter. The air was damp, thick with the scent of stagnant water. He spent hours exploring, following the marked path.
In a hidden chamber, he found a small treasure: chests filled with gold and jewels, forgotten riches of some overly cautious merchant or a noble who no longer existed. Vlad ignored them. His interest lay deeper, beyond a passage that had been blocked for centuries. With minimal effort, he cleared the debris and advanced into a dust- and moss-covered hall. At its center rested a petrified dragon egg.
He lifted it in his hands, feeling the rough texture of the hardened shell. It was heavier than it looked, its surface absorbing the torchlight, giving it an almost spectral glow. There were no signs of life, but that didn't matter. One day, he would awaken it.
Over the following weeks, he focused on another objective: the Iron Bank. This was not an institution to be trifled with. Its vaults were deeper than any throne, and its influence stretched far beyond Braavos. Vlad requested an audience with one of its high-ranking representatives under the pretense of discussing a loan for future campaigns in Essos. He had no intention of incurring debt, but the meeting would allow him to evaluate potential candidates for a more… permanent purpose.
The encounter took place in one of the Bank's opulent halls, a space where marble and gold spoke louder than any heraldry. The man who received him was slender, with graying hair and eyes as cold as steel. His expression remained impassive, but Vlad caught the brief spark of surprise in his gaze. Clearly, he had not expected the infamous "Red Stallion" to be like this.
"The Bank does not usually lend to Dothraki," the man said in a measured tone, studying him with curiosity.
Vlad smiled faintly. "The Dothraki do not usually request loans. I, however, am no ordinary Dothraki."
They exchanged words about investments, campaigns, and financial returns—though it was all a game of appearances. The truly important moment came when Vlad casually mentioned his interest in the last descendants of House Targaryen.
The banker revealed little, but Vlad noticed the flicker of suspicion in his eyes. Though he lacked the dynasty's signature purple eyes, his appearance could easily pass for a distant relative. Yet the man asked no unnecessary questions. Instead, he offered the Bank's vast network to track information… for a price. Vlad smiled slightly. He liked this man. It was almost certain he would soon grant him "the embrace."
Months passed, and Vlad returned to his khalasar. He had his dragon egg, nearly 30,000 men under his command, and only two more things left to recover: a magical pendant and a book containing the most documented Valyrian magic. These would be the key pieces to cement his empire, and both were in Pentos.
Luckily, according to the current timeline, Daenerys and her fool of a brother were also in Pentos. It was the perfect opportunity to approach someone who could give him a crucial advantage in this world. Besides, he remembered that Illyrio possessed three dragon eggs.
However, commanding a Dothraki horde was not without its challenges. When he forbade rape, several men attempted to rebel, as if such a despicable act were fundamental to their culture. Vlad knew he had to set an example, and using Dracula's "management manual," he opted for the old tactic of impalement.
Seven thousand impaled men were enough to make his khalasar understand that his orders were not to be questioned. They also earned him the name "The Impaler," which brought him a satisfied smile.
The rest of the journey was quieter. The cities they passed through offered enough tribute to keep the horde fed and well-supplied, avoiding unnecessary bloodshed. When they neared Pentos, Vlad left the camp in the hands of two of his new bloodriders—men he had given "the embrace"—who served him with absolute devotion.
He rode toward Pentos accompanied by three of his bloodriders and only 100 more Dothraki—enough to command respect without seeming like an invasion.
"I don't care if you fuck every whore in Pentos, but if any of you rape a woman, I'll impale you from head to ass. Understood?" he said, his eyes glowing red in the dim light.
Though fear did a good job of controlling the horse lords, it was best to remind them constantly.
"You, Kharon and Talan, come with me. Seek an audience with Illyrio Mopatis while I search for something in this city. Be polite and don't cause trouble, understood?"
"Yes, blood of my blood," the two replied reverently.
Once he recovered all the treasures, it would be time to speak with the last Targaryen.