Oldtown

The gentle sunlight shone upon the mirror-smooth sea. As far as the eye could see, it resembled a carpet of emerald wool stretching all the way to the horizon.

The waters of Whispering Bay had always been famed for their calm. Waves higher than ten feet were rarely seen, and even the most unruly sea winds became tame here, soft as lovers' whispers.

As the merchant ship sailed into the bay, Samwell could already see Oldtown's iconic structure in the distance—

The Hightower.

This enormous stepped stone tower was one of the grandest and most awe-inspiring constructions in Westeros.

More than eight hundred feet tall, its summit burned with an eternal blaze that pierced the clouds, clearly visible even from hundreds of nautical miles away.

For countless centuries, this brilliant beacon standing at the mouth of the Honeywine had guided innumerable captains on their way.

As the merchant ship slowly approached the harbor, the Hightower's magnificent form became ever clearer before their eyes.

Everyone widened their eyes and gazed up at this miraculous structure, unconsciously holding their breath.

Chiman, who had seen little of the world, was even worse off. His whole body began to tremble as though he had beheld a god, and he nearly fell to his knees in worship.

Even though he had been accustomed to skyscrapers in his previous life, Samwell could not conceal his astonishment.

He truly could not imagine how a world with production capabilities close to the Middle Ages of Game of Thrones could have built such a lighthouse.

Unless it was magic!

The thought surfaced in Samwell's mind.

Other than magic, he could think of no way such a structure could have been built.

As the busiest port in Westeros, these waters were especially crowded. The merchant ship carrying Samwell and his party even had to wait in line before entering the harbor.

Beneath the lingering glow of the setting sun, the ancient city seemed tranquil and elegant, like an old man weathered by a thousand years of wind and frost, watching the world's changing fortunes with calm, indifferent eyes.

Besides the Hightower, Oldtown had two other famous structures—the Citadel and the Starry Sept.

The Citadel trained maesters, and it had also been the place the original owner had longed for most. Countless learned men departed from here to serve lords large and small across Westeros, offering them counsel and advice.

As for the Starry Sept, it had been the center of the Faith of the Seven and the seat of the High Septon for thousands of years, until it was replaced by the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing over a century ago. Yet in the hearts of many followers of the Seven, this was still the place closest to heaven.

Of course, speaking of Oldtown meant speaking of its rulers—the family that dwelled within the Hightower—

House Hightower.

As one of the oldest families in Westeros, the Hightower bloodline could be traced all the way back to the First Men. As early as the distant Dawn Age, they had ruled the Honeywine basin as kings—the Kings of the High Tower.

Yet such an ancient and influential family had never displayed the forcefulness one might expect of its status.

In fact, many believed House Hightower was not merely insufficiently forceful, but downright weak.

As kings of the First Men, when the Andals invaded, the Hightowers chose submission and marriage alliances. When House Gardener expanded from the Mander River basin, the Hightowers chose submission, divorced their wives, and formed marriage alliances. When Aegon Targaryen, the Conqueror, came riding dragons, the Hightowers again chose submission and marriage—

Well, no marriage alliance that time.

It was not that the Hightowers did not wish to. House Targaryen simply followed the tradition of sibling marriage and generally would not allow the "blood of the true dragon" to flow beyond the family.

This string of actions truly made it difficult for House Hightower to establish sufficient prestige, much less inspire proper awe.

Yet Samwell had never underestimated this family.

In truth, anyone who looked down on House Hightower would pay a heavy price—and often in ways they themselves could not even perceive.

Those maesters who left the Citadel to serve as advisers to great lords, though they claimed to have no family names, no allegiances, and no political inclinations, who dared say that House Hightower had no influence over them whatsoever?

What were the true aims of those maesters who feigned piety in order to study the mysteries?

What did the reclusive Citadel Conclave discuss in its shadowed chambers?

What secrets lay hidden behind those ancient, heavy doors?

In Samwell's view, House Hightower deeply understood the principles of overcoming strength with softness and defeating the strong with weakness. They never confronted powerful enemies directly; instead, they changed the world in silent, unseen ways.

Countless ancient and mighty houses had vanished in the river of time, yet House Hightower alone endured to this day. That could not possibly be a coincidence.

The moment Samwell and his party disembarked from the merchant ship, they boarded a ferry—the Hightower castle, the Hightower, stood on Battle Isle, so they had to change vessels.

Battle Isle was an alluvial island at the mouth of the Mander River. Legend claimed that in the distant Dawn Age, dragons had once nested upon the island, until the first Hightower appeared, slew them, and built the Hightower there.

When Samwell stood before this structure that could only be called a man-made miracle, he finally felt his own insignificance beyond all restraint.

This truly did not seem like the work of mortals.

"Honored Ser Caesar, welcome to the Hightower." Before the castle gates, a handsome and distinguished middle-aged man offered Samwell a brilliant smile.

This man was Ser Baelor Hightower, eldest son of Lord Leyton, ruler of Oldtown.

Yet the one who truly drew Samwell's gaze was the graceful figure beside Ser Baelor—

Lady Margaery Tyrell.

The duke's daughter wore a green pleated gown. A waistline traced in gold thread further accentuated her perfect figure, while soft brown curls were held by a headband and cascaded down from the crown of her head. When her gentle, water-soft eyes saw Samwell, surprise appeared within them.

"Ser Caesar, I nearly didn't recognize you!"

Samwell froze as well, clearly not expecting to encounter the Rose of Highgarden beneath the Hightower.

But he quickly recovered, bowed, and said, "Good day, Ser Baelor, Lady Margaery. The road of expansion has not been easy, so I lost a little weight."

"More than 'a little.' You've practically become a different person." Margaery looked Samwell up and down, covering a smile with her lips. "And I heard that you have already subdued more than ten thousand Wildlings. That truly is astonishing."

"And you helped House Hightower eliminate a detestable wanted criminal. My poor cousin can finally rest in peace." Ser Baelor added with a smile. It seemed he had already received the Wildling's head delivered by Viscount Brandon.

"It was my honor to be of help to House Hightower." Samwell smiled at Baelor, then turned his gaze toward Margaery. "And it is my duty to expand the lands of House Tyrell."

Margaery's eyes curved into crescents as adorable dimples appeared on her cheeks.

"I'm proud of you, my knight. This month's subsidy will be exceptionally generous as well!"

At those words, Samwell's smile grew even brighter. "Thank you for your generosity! Your investment will surely be rewarded."

Then he asked curiously, "Lady Margaery, forgive my boldness, but how did you come to be here?"

"I accompanied my mother home to visit her family. I never expected to run into you, either. What a coincidence."

Only then did Samwell remember that Margaery's mother—the Duchess of Highgarden—was Lord Leyton of Oldtown's daughter.

"Enough standing outside. Come in." Baelor invited them with a smile.

Samwell nodded, took the bread and salt from a servant beside him, put them into his mouth, and then entered the castle gates.