The good and evil of spells

"What? The last person they saw was Father?"

Baelor was stunned.

To be honest, he really did not want to hear that news.

Over the past few days, he had suppressed the wild thoughts bouncing around his head countless times, only to find himself involuntarily recalling them countless times more.

Surely... the old man hadn't really done something?

But why?!

She was his daughter!

Deep breaths, Baelor, deep breaths!

You have to stay calm now!

As that thought echoed endlessly in his head, Baelor considered what he should do next.

Seeing the strange look on his elder brother's face, when years of Garth's needling had rarely managed to rattle him, Guncer asked in confusion:

"Baelor, what's wrong?"

He had already realized that the last thing he had said had caused this change in his elder brother.

But the problem was, he could not understand what it mattered if the old man was the last person they had seen.

As the member of the family who spoke to the old man most often, couldn't Baelor Hightower simply go up and ask him?

Hadn't that always been the way, all these years? Whenever he could not solve a problem, he went to the old man for support.

Knowing what puzzled his younger brother, Baelor wrestled furiously with himself.

Piecing together everything he knew now, the source of every problem seemed to point to his father.

But he had no evidence.

Guncer's information was only the account of those under him. As for the smell of blood he had noticed and the extra meal no one ate, no one else had been present for the former, and the latter proved nothing as long as the old man refused to answer.

More importantly, Baelor had absolutely no idea what had actually happened.

There was no helping it. Magic had been absent from Westeros for far too long.

Even House Hightower, which was closest to it, could hardly connect events to such things when something happened.

Baelor could not be blamed for incompetence over that.

His expression shifted several times as an immense sense of crisis gradually enveloped him.

Moroia, the strange smell of blood, "Father" hidden in the shadows, the collateral family members who had mysteriously disappeared but had last been seen going to see "Father."

Damn it! What the hell was going on?!

Baelor raked his fingers through his hair so hard that he accidentally pulled several strands out.

Watching this gesture, so utterly unlike Baelor, Guncer felt his heart sink little by little.

Although he knew nothing, even a fool could tell that something terrible must have happened, and the information he had just delivered had supplied the heir to the Hightower with the final piece of the puzzle.

The brothers remained silent. Finally, just as the gale sweeping through the window threatened to extinguish the flickering candle on the table, a hand shielded the flame on the verge of going out.

Guncer heard his elder brother's voice:

"Guncer, remember this. You must listen carefully to what I am about to tell you."

"Set aside the unpleasantness between us over the family's interests."

"If I am wrong, then the Seven have truly blessed House Hightower."

"But if not, if not..."

Baelor's voice grew quieter.

Yet the next moment, it suddenly rose:

"Then I, the heir to House Hightower, your elder brother, will become fiercely burning kindling to light the family's future for you!"

Guncer was dumbfounded.

He had absolutely no idea what his eldest brother was trying to say.

Naturally, they both knew perfectly well about the dirty dealings between the brothers.

But to lay them out so nakedly, in such a solemn tone.

And this fellow was even going to set himself alight like a madman.

Seven above...

In the dim room, Baelor's voice drifted through the gale.

Opposite him, his younger brother's mouth slowly fell open.

"Magic itself is neither good nor evil. Everything is decided by its wielder."

That statement was itself utter nonsense.

Necromancy and blood magic-the purposes for which these two kinds of spells had first been created had doomed them to bring harm to the world.

As for the former, in the eyes of R'hllor's Apostles, their ancient enemies in the North used precisely this method to revive corpses that should long since have departed.

The latter, in certain hands, had turned Khal Drogo into a mindless living corpse, brought down several crowns, and indirectly killed countless people.

Unfortunately, when the disturbance in magic reached the Hightower, the power locked behind the words of an ancient volume Leyton Hightower was studying was a form of necromancy.

In the normal course of history, when Daenerys summoned dragons and magic began to surge, the fortunate Lord Leyton might have temporarily forgotten what he had previously studied.

But as time passed, he would eventually come into contact with those things lost to history.

When you drew closest to warmth, the flames would also set you alight.

New Land Town

Maester Marwyn's Raven Cage.

"Coo, coo, coo." A newly arrived raven alighted on the stone slab before the maester.

Taking a pinch of grain from a nearby bowl to feed the plump messenger, Marwyn stroked its feathers, then opened the brass tube on its leg and withdrew the letter it had brought.

Darean had already authorized him to read incoming letters as needed. Otherwise, if one happened to go missing, no one would know its contents.

Yet when the maester unfolded the rolled letter and carefully read its contents, his expression changed dramatically.

Ignoring the fat bird sticking its head into the feed box, he yanked the door open.

Thud, thud, thud. He climbed the wooden stairs.

Marwyn immediately spotted Darean leaning by the window, watching the rain.

He relaxed inwardly. Fortunately, the lad had not gone out in the rain to inspect the various sites.

Naturally, Marwyn's footsteps also drew the attention of Margaery and Darean on the second floor.

Seeing the Citadel maester's troubled expression, the thoroughly bored Margaery asked with some curiosity:

"Maester Marwyn, is something wrong?"

Oh, rose of Highgarden, something is very wrong. So wrong that you shouldn't hear a single word of it.

Thinking this to himself, Marwyn turned his gaze toward Darean.

Understanding the question in his maester's look, Darean nodded:

"All right. Wait downstairs."

Turning to give Margaery a slight bow, Darean followed him downstairs.

With no awareness whatsoever that she was an outsider, Margaery pouted, deeply displeased that the two were avoiding her.

Darean, however, paid her no attention at all.

Downstairs, Darean entered Marwyn's room, which doubled as an apothecary, and found a place to sit among the jars and pots.

He raised a finger to his lips, then pointed toward the second floor.

The old fellow nodded, then handed Darean the note.

Yet after he quickly finished reading its contents, his expression came infinitely close to Marwyn's when he had first read the letter.

"Honestly, I'd rather believe your elder brother Baelor has gone mad."

Darean gave no response to that remark.

Because just then, the familiar burning sensation returned.

The Book of Strange Script had updated!