[In the name of the ancient king of the First Men, the user gathers magic in their palm. Any plant they touch will grow faster, with the rate of growth determined by the user's magical output.]
Darean remembered the description of the spell, "Garth Greenhand's Gift."
Ever since obtaining this spell, he had thought it rather useless, nowhere near as much of a boost to him as his first spell, Force of Sharpness, which enchanted weapons.
So, after a simple test, he had set it aside and left it alone.
Yet Marwyn's words just now had suddenly brought this spell, gathering dust in his "storeroom," to mind.
No conventional method could make the seed sprout.
Darean believed that.
An archmaester of the Citadel wielded far greater influence than outsiders might imagine.
The resources he could mobilize really could encompass almost every cultivation technique known in Westeros.
So, in Darean's view, that was not where the problem lay at all.
If there was nothing wrong with the planting methods, then the problem could only lie with the seed itself.
When Darean caught the seed Archmaester Marwyn tossed over, the one named the Valyrian Purple Queen.
In that instant, he sensed a faint layer of magic covering it that made his heart quail.
To Darean, the magical fluctuations from the Faith of the Seven here seemed grand and solemn on the surface, but hollow within.
The magic entwined around this seed was precisely the opposite.
Though it resembled a spark about to go out, its essence was extremely volatile and frenzied, like the Fourteen Flames that had shattered the entire Valyrian Freehold.
This magic bound the seed, stubbornly driving away the magic of the Seven that approached it.
Now he understood why it would not grow.
Because this visitor from a foreign land rejected this soil.
And the spell "Garth Greenhand's Gift" happened to be able to solve precisely that problem.
The seed's life was bound by foreign magic, but this was their home ground, after all, and that little bit of magic had long since become rootless duckweed.
Now it was time to see whose magic was more badass!
Archmaester Marwyn was amused by Darean's words.
As he saw it, this young noble was resorting to every possible means to lure him away.
Though rather ridiculous, it still felt quite nice.
The old man leaned back in his chair with a broad smile and said, utterly unconcerned:
"All right. With the Seven as our witnesses, we have a wager."
"If you win, I'll go to that wretched backwater of yours. Even Theobald won't be able to stop me. You have my word."
"But if you can't do it, then once all the people in your fief have run off, don't be an idiot. Get your ass back to the Hightower and behave. I'll personally speak to Earl Leyton and have him keep an eye on those scheming brothers of yours under him."
Archmaester Marwyn thought very highly of Darean.
He had an eccentric temperament to begin with, and finding someone in that vast sea of people whom he could freely chat and shoot the shit with was truly difficult.
He had no desire whatsoever to see Darean drown in some muddy pit in the countryside.
Oh? Taken the bait? Those were your words, Marwyn.
Wild delight surged within him, but his face betrayed nothing.
Darean was pondering how to perform his special trick.
After all, throughout Westeros, magic was something more akin to a figment of the imagination.
The Citadel's Glass Candles had not burned for thousands of years. Visitors from the east occasionally came here, but their meager magic could not leave a deep impression on anyone.
Marwyn had forged a Valyrian steel link, signifying mastery in magic and the occult.
Unfortunately, however, he had never witnessed true magic.
In this age when magic had dwindled to almost nothing, even R'hllor's most devout apostles could, at most, see fragmentary images in the flames.
As for doubling as a fire lighter, that was utterly beyond them.
So even if Darean merely made this seed sprout rapidly on the spot, it would be regarded as an extraordinary miracle.
Marwyn sat with his arms folded in leisurely anticipation, waiting to see what antics Dareon Hightower would perform.
Darean, on the other hand, was racking his brains over how he would explain it afterward.
After thinking for a long while, Darean decided to stop trying.
Since he could not explain it anyway, he simply would not.
As long as he could hoodwink this old man into coming to his territory, that would count as a victory!
Having figured that out, Darean raised his head, glanced at that old face wearing its half smile, and said with a smile:
"Watch closely, Marwyn. You're definitely going to regret making this bet with me."
He had not used any magic throughout the journey. Though his own pathetic abilities meant that the amount he had stored up was pitifully small.
It was still more than enough to bully a little seed that had been cut off from its support.
With a thought, the faint magic stirred at Darean's will, beginning to gather in his palm from every part of his body.
An invisible page turned, and the mark of a green hand flickered faintly.
[Spell: Garth Greenhand's Gift], activate!
Marwyn's eyes, which had been brimming with amusement, instantly narrowed at the fleeting flash of green light.
Though he could not resonate with magic, he had spent his entire life studying magic and the occult, and of course knew that this was anything but normal.
His brown eyes filled with incredulous shock.
How was this possible?!
Ignoring Archmaester Marwyn's suddenly straightened posture and drastically changing expression, Darean focused entirely on the seed in his hand.
After being released through [Spell: Garth Greenhand's Gift], the chaotic magic was tinged a pale blue-green.
The moment it touched the seed's surface, a volatile, frenzied sensation, like a volcanic eruption, traveled through the point of contact straight into Darean's brain.
This thing was harder to handle than he had imagined!
Like an untamable wild horse, it kept refusing to submit to Darean's will.
Considering where this thing came from, a wild dragon would actually have been more accurate.
But in a battle of attrition, who's afraid of whom?
You little bastard, you think I can't handle you?
He increased his output, and the blue-green light finally began to flicker continuously in Darean's palm.
Time ticked by, but Archmaester Marwyn showed not the slightest impatience.
The old fellow's eyes were as wide as bronze bells as he stared unblinkingly at every detail unfolding before him.
His dry lips moved slightly, but he could not utter a word.
Finally, a second before the magic Darean had saved up for so long ran out, a shattering sound that seemed to come from another dimension "rang out" beside his ears.
Darean knew he had succeeded!
He had torn open the curse from the ancient Valyrian Freehold that shrouded this seed.
Before he could rejoice, however, a piercing pain shot through his palm.
Startled, Darean immediately checked.
"Holy shit! How the fuck is this thing putting down roots in my hand?!"
"That hurts!"
Inside the old room.
Within the elderly archmaester's heart, towering waves surged, powerful enough to destroy the world.
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