Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web

Chapter 156: Deadly News

“Release the ravens.”

Jon Snow, having reviewed the entire contents of the letters, commanded the maester of the Eyrie.

Jon Snow was clad in iron-grey armor, draped with a golden, dazzling six-pointed star, and adorned with several badges of varying designs on his chest.

The four men guarding him from behind were similarly attired, except their armor was painted red.

“As you wish, my lord.”

The white-haired maester calmly re-rolled the three letters. He had written them himself, but the content was not of his own choosing.

Then, the old maester leaned slightly forward, warming the red wax seal by the flame of the candlestick on the table.

While waiting, the old maester took out a precious seal he kept close to his body and carefully wiped it, ensuring the engraving was fully displayed, without flaw.

The seal depicted a pair of griffins in combat.

Griffins, the symbol of the Eyrie, the sigil of House Clinton.

The combination of ravens and sigils was very effective. The First Men had begun using this method for long-distance communication ten thousand years ago, and it had continued to this day.

As a maester, his primary daily tasks included caring for ravens, writing letters, receiving letters, and sending letters.

The old maester was so skilled that it was impossible for him to make a mistake.

He removed the semi-molten red wax from the candlestick, soft enough, not dripping everywhere, and not too hard to shape.

With a flick of his wrist, the old maester sealed the letters’ openings with the red wax, forming a thick, round cap.

Then, he raised the seal, expertly breathed hot air onto it, and then pressed it down firmly, squeezing the warm wax, holding it still until the wax solidified.

The three letters were quickly completed.

Next was sending the letters, to Lormouth, Storm's End, and Green Valley.

The letters were sealed with the griffin seal of House Clinton, and contained the old maester's own handwriting, identical to the handwriting of countless letters before.

It was almost certain that the recipients would not be suspicious.

What would happen next?

The old maester turned to look at the black-haired young man. The new lord of the Eyrie, the temporary castellan, Jon Snow.

This face was so young.

The grey eyes were gloomy and cold, always reminiscent of the icy, desolate North.

The old maester couldn't help but sigh at the impermanence of the world.

Just last night, the person who had him write letters reporting and requesting aid was Ser Raymond Clinton. And before that, it had always been a Clinton.

For decades.

He was a witness to countless past events, an old friend of several generations of House Clinton, and he had also witnessed the heavy blows suffered by the ancient Eyrie.

During the Usurper's War, House Clinton's land and the title of Earl were stripped away by the Mad King.

Later, King Robert returned a small portion of land and the title of knight.

The Eyrie was thus able to continue, though no longer as wealthy and prosperous as before, the name of House Clinton had at least not disappeared.

But now, another war for the throne, could House Clinton survive this calamity?

The old maester harbored deep worries.

He personally had no opinion on this Jon Snow.

It was well known that the maesters sent to various castles served the castles and the people themselves, not a specific lord. Maesters should remain neutral and not participate in lords' infighting.

But he was old, after all, and had served at the Eyrie, in House Clinton, for too long.

Moreover, now he had to falsely use the name of House Clinton to deliver lies to Lord Renly, who had crowned himself king…

Jon Snow reminded him faintly, “Maester?”

The old maester averted his gaze, “A momentary lapse, a common ailment of the elderly. Please forgive me, Castellan.”

Jon Snow simply pointed to the rookery.

The old maester knew he could not hesitate any longer. Everyone in the city had been taken prisoner. Whether out of duty or emotion, he should serve diligently.

Although the army that entered the city was quite kind, not killing people indiscriminately or insulting women.

But, that terrifying power…

The old maester did not delay any further, quickly walking to the rookery, taking out three of the healthiest ravens, and placing the letters one by one into the message tubes attached to the ravens' legs.

Last night, the old maester had sent out four ravens in this way.

The army that launched the night attack outside the castle had failed to stop them. All four ravens had safely flown away, heading towards their respective destinations.

However, it later proved that this was just an illusion.

Not long after the four ravens flew away, the army outside the city displayed its terrifying power.

Heavy and swift iron balls were launched from iron pipes, and the iron gate of the “Eyrie's Throat” instantly shattered amidst a thunderous crash.

The old maester and all the guards were stunned.

Then, a small half of the enemy army outside the city quickly rushed into the barren ridge behind the gate, sprinting towards the main gate of the castle directly ahead.

The guards on the twin round towers on both sides of the main gate quickly launched an attack, throwing spears, hard stones, and arrows.

Yet the enemies were unscathed!

When the enemies broke through the main gate, unaffected by the boiling oil poured down on their heads, the old maester finally released the first raven for emergency aid.

But this time, the enemy's bows and crossbows were accurate, and the flames were deadly. Neither of the two crucial ravens escaped.

After that, the old maester had no more chances.

After the enemy revealed their true fangs, the Eyrie only held out for half an hour.

The old maester watched helplessly as one familiar face after another was dragged out and gathered in the hall, while the empty griffin seat in the depths of the hall, passed down for thousands of years, remained unresponsive.

The black-haired young man in the lead even instructed his subordinates: “Beneath the Mother's Altar in the Eyrie's Sept lies a staircase leading to a secret refuge. Another staircase in the northwest tower leads directly to the sea. Find them, and bring everyone to this hall.”

How could the enemy know?!

This was a complete secret to the vast majority of people in the Eyrie, and those who knew had no reason to reveal it to outsiders.

The old maester truly could not understand. Could it be that a bloodthirsty demon had spoken the answer?

But this matter soon became insignificant.

The black-haired young man announced the verdict on the Eyrie and House Clinton:

Everyone in the city must obey any arrangements made by the Kingsguard, dedicating their strength to the gods, justice, and the true king.

Jon Snow was appointed as the temporary castellan of the Eyrie, with full authority to manage the affairs of the Eyrie and its territory, preside over the war, mobilize personnel, allocate supplies, adjudicate laws, and collect and remit taxes.

House Clinton could still reside in the Eyrie, retain their title, and enjoy a portion of tax revenue and industrial income.

Finally, the Kingsguard displayed a strange power, healing the injured and sick, and stuffing a dragon crystal disc into the necks of everyone.

The old maester then saw it. Was this a creation of the gods, or a game of demons?

Its name was “Divine Grace Light Screen.”

Clearly, King Joffrey preferred to be favored by the gods, rather than being blessed by demons.

The “missions” on the light screen were flashing.

The old maester sighed silently and offered a handful of corn kernels.

After the three ravens had eaten their fill, they took off contentedly, flying north, carrying the crucial message, a perfectly reasonable message.

A deadly message.

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