Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire

319. The Law of Ritual

The blinding white light of the glass candle suddenly went out in the dim bedroom of the Red Castle, and the black column collapsed into pieces like a mountain collapse, which fell to the floor and softened and shrank in size, becoming as withered and fragile as the flowers that had bloomed.

King Joffrey's pupils suddenly dilated, his head was dizzy and his vision was blurred, as if the morning mist of Braavos was covering the surroundings, and all he could see was white shadows.

A man's face appeared in the candlelight that disappeared in an instant, his eyes closed, and disappeared without a trace.

Joffrey coughed violently several times. His voice was hoarse, not like that of a young boy, but rather like that of an old man who had experienced many vicissitudes of life. His eyes were solemn and his expression was serious. "Failed?"

He looked around and suddenly felt dazed. He stroked the burgundy sheets with his hand. There was no smooth or soft touch, but he felt a chill at his fingertips. The chill then went up to his chest and his whole body shivered.

The extinguished candle lamps hanging in the air around him were clearly not shaking, but they kept swaying in his sight, up and down, making him dizzy, as if the golden and white ceiling and the blood-red floor were upside down.

"Ahem!" Joffrey's lips twisted into cracks, and he gritted his teeth. "All men must die!"

“Knock, knock!” There was a knock on the door, followed by Mandon Moore’s hoarse voice: “Your Majesty, do you need my help?”

Joffrey's face was twisted into a ball, with dense cracks on it like cracked old bark. The whole face was divided into many pieces by the cracks. The candlelight was shaking, as if countless faces were mixed together, and the immaturity and old age were kneaded into a pool of mud.

Joffrey reached out his hand, grabbed the iron basin on the carpet, pulled it in front of him, and sank his whole face down, covered with cold water.

Where the glass candle had been, only a smear of shattered black ash remained. The candle light slowly stopped shaking, and the light and shadow in the bedroom became stable, as if the whole room had come alive, then died, and was given a short-lived soul.

After staying still for a long time, Joffrey pulled his face out of the basin. In an instant, it seemed as if his face was stretched very long by the water in the basin. He covered his face in pain. His face was burning red, as if he had been slapped hard.

Joffrey's face returned to normal, but it looked a little bloated, like a sponge soaking up water. He seemed to have not yet reacted, staring blankly at the black ash on the floor, opening his palms, feeling the magic dissipating in the air.

He couldn't help but move his gaze to the window, looking towards the east through the thick glass with a seven-pointed star pattern engraved on the surface.

Far away in the East, in the Courtyard of Black and White, the Faceless Man stood in front of a long cabinet filled with countless faces, with his hands folded in front of his chest, sighing softly.

Artis stood on the little finger of Harrenhal, looking at the vines that began to grow again at the base of the wall of Harrenhal, extending outward, even to the villages and farmlands not far away.

The blue robes in the valley were urging the farmers to clear the weeds on the ground. The farmers, holding hoes and rakes, were adept at clearing the weeds that competed with the rice and wheat for food, but they sighed at the overgrown vines.

It seemed like just a few days ago, the land before our eyes was still a cursed land, empty and gloomy, with the air always filled with vapor from the Divine Eye Lake and shrouded in fog.

Even the people of the Three Rivers would consider the excessive dampness as a punishment from the gods, not to mention the people who flocked in from the royal territory and the east bank of the Green Fork River.

But it seems that after the weirwoods in the center of the Harrenhal Garden were burned as a sacrifice and the Children of the Forest used magic to break the natural flood, the magic of Gods Eye Lake no longer grew and spread to the vicinity of Harrenhal. Except for the vines that were still growing vigorously and the rapidly growing blue dragons, the magic of Harrenhal was still displayed. At least this unknown magic did not bother the people who came to settle here.

"Creaky, creaky, creaky," the spiral staircase of the Wailing Tower creaked, and Simon, the steward of Harrenhal,'s panting and shrill voice echoed in the stairwell, and even the sound of the wind at the top of the tower could not cover it up. "Witch, I don't mean to debate with you. Well, I am arguing with you. As Master Marwyn said, dragons are not livestock. They have genders and different personalities."

Melisandre pushed the door open and looked at Artis Arryn, who was staring out the window.

"I received a prophecy" the voice stopped abruptly, and Melisandre's eyes quickly rested on the strange phenomenon in the room.

The raven flapped its wings, black feathers flying in the air, and a letter was spread out on the desk.

Melisandre quickly stepped forward, picked up the letter and read it quickly.

The tone of a child of the forest. Melisandre's heart tightened.

"With the eyes of the weirwood as ink, and the breath of the wind as messenger - to Artys Arryn, Lord of the Vale and the River Isles.

The heart tree of Harrenhal has witnessed the overlap of time, the changes in magic and the breaking of dragon scales. When the dragon is sacrificed, we can hear its roots crying in the flames.

There is magic in the heart tree's mushrooms, and the green dream of foresight lingers in everyone's mind, feeling the changes in the remaining magic in Westeros."

The content of the letter ended here, but Melisandre knew the habits of the Children of the Forest. They always liked to use the sound of crows to show themselves.

"What did the raven tell you?" Melisandre looked up quickly at Artis.

Artis turned to look at her, his lips slightly pursed.

"A city in the east, a city in the west, a city is burning, save everyone," Attis hadn't said anything yet when the raven called out, "Thousands of people with thousands of faces want to be slaughtered alive, write and draw the east and west cities, the gods are drawing at dusk!"

The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!

The raven flapped its wings wildly and dived into the door. Simon, who arrived later, subconsciously shrank his head to avoid it, and the raven escaped into the spiral staircase behind him.

Simon saw the bizarre scene, but he was no longer shocked and surprised. After witnessing the Children of the Forest entering the city and the birth of the dragon, he was no longer surprised.

Melisandre looked at Artis, who was frowning in confusion, and explained: "The Lord of Light told me that a ritual was happening in Westeros that was about to get out of control, but he couldn't point out the location."

She carefully thought about the prophecy that Raven had said, "Two cities in the east and west, one city burned down"

"Harrenhal? Riverrun?" Simon asked himself. "King's Landing? Highgarden?"

Artis pointed to the magic notes that Marwyn had given him on the bookshelf. "Dr. Marwyn said there are many kinds of rituals."

"The ritual of the Lord of Light requires blood and fire," said Melisandre.

"The Children of the Forest need heart trees and green magic?" Simon continued.

Atis flipped open Marwin's notes. "Marwin mentioned the need for a carrier, a narrator, strong magic, and some conceptual abstract things such as implementers and planners."

"The carrier can be a glass candle or a dragon egg. The narrator seems to be a praying believer. Of course, there needs to be an operator and an object for implementation." Melisandre murmured.

Melisandre turned her gaze toward the window, as did Artis.

"It seems that we can only guess which castles and cities are more suitable for performing magic."