The power of magic and divinity is real and undeniable.
For those with extraordinary talents, magic is a blessing from the world itself, giving them a natural potential to perceive deeper truths.
But for ordinary people, this extraordinary power is too high in energy—more of a curse than a blessing.
Energy Hierarchy: Ordinary people < Extraordinary magic users < Divine power of the gods.
The magic of the extraordinary can "curse" the ordinary.
Yet even the extraordinary cannot resist being tainted when facing divine power.
In this world, there are five places suspected to be polluted by high-level divine power: Asshai, Thunder Isle, the Land of Long Summer (Valyria), Sothoryos, and the Sorrowful Lands by the Rhoyne River.
Among them, the "curses" of Valyria and the Sorrowful Lands are the most renowned.
During the Valyrian Cataclysm, divine power and fire sorcery ran rampant. Those close to the epicenter—both people and dragons—were instantly consumed by intense heat. Those further away later suffered from magical radiation, leading to grotesque mutations and deformities.
Chroyane, located by the Rhoyne, was known as the "Festival Capital"—the wealthiest and grandest city along the Rhoyne and the cultural heart of the Rhoynar civilization.
During the battle between Prince Garin and his 250,000 Rhoynar against the Valyrian dragonlords, the Rhoyne River was boiled dry by hundreds of dragons. The splendid city was reduced to ruins, and Prince Garin was captured alive and imprisoned in a golden cage.
The Rhoynar civilization was destroyed.
The Mother Rhoyne, goddess of the Rhoynar, enacted her final vengeance for her people against the invaders: a sudden midnight flood swallowed Chroyane and all the invaders within it.
A mutual destruction.
The once-glorious capital of the Golden Plains lost its radiant colors and summer warmth, becoming a grey, mist-covered land of sorrow. It was here that Greyscale originated, the homeland of the Stone Men (Greyscale sufferers).
Greyscale causes the skin to harden, lose all sensation, and become covered with dark grey blotches. To the touch, the affected skin is as hard as stone.
In its late stages, the tongue and lips turn to stone first, rendering the victim unable to speak.
As death draws near, the rest of the body gradually petrifies.
Eventually, they become a statue of stone.
A truly fantastical infectious disease.
Yes, Greyscale is contagious—transmitted through touch.
While passing through the Sorrowful Lands, Clinton leapt into the river to save a drowning Tyrion, but was unfortunately scratched by a Stone Man, infecting one finger on his right hand.
The most effective way to test for Greyscale infection is to stab the area touched by the Stone Men with a knife.
If the area feels numb, there's an eighty percent chance of infection. If it hurts and bleeds red, you're in the clear.
So Clinton grabbed Tyrion and said solemnly, "Let me take a look at you."
"What did you say?" Tyrion thought he was hallucinating.
He shuddered and broke free from Clinton's grip, his face pale. "Did you hit your head on a rock and go mad?"
"I—" Clinton noticed the strange looks from Aegon, Aemon, and the others. He paused, then pulled Tyrion aside and whispered, "I'm not crazy. This is serious. You must answer me honestly."
Sensing the seriousness in Clinton's eyes, Tyrion forced himself not to pull away again and quietly asked, "What do you feel?"
"Do you still have any feeling?" Clinton asked gravely.
A cold sweat prickled up Tyrion's spine like needles.
His eyes widened in terror as he stared at Clinton's square-jawed face, his calves trembling.
"You… what do you mean?" he asked weakly.
"I'm asking, do you still have feeling?" Clinton had just begun to explain when Tyrion recoiled in horror, withdrawing his hand.
Clinton grew agitated and walked toward him again, clearly frustrated.
"Hmm." Clinton suddenly looked thoughtful.
If the infected area is amputated immediately upon detection, there's a small chance the Greyscale won't spread to the rest of the body.
With that in mind, he nodded with a complicated expression. "Very well. Since you have that kind of courage, I won't press you."
He wasn't lacking courage.
In fact, cutting off his right hand might save his life—keeping it meant certain death. Clearly, Clinton wasn't afraid of death. Why would he fear losing a hand?
If it had been his left hand, he would've cut it off immediately.
But it was his right hand—his dominant hand.
Eighty percent of Clinton's martial strength came from that hand. He still needed to lead troops and help young Aegon reclaim the throne.
Just look at the miserable state Jaime ended up in after losing his right hand, and it's clear how vital a dominant hand is to a swordsman.
After being thoroughly spooked by Clinton, Tyrion's enthusiasm for learning fire magic plummeted.
As they approached the Dragon Queen, they saw Mormont dragging a fire mage out of a pile of rubble.
The mage's arm and face were completely scorched, and he was coughing up blood, looking utterly miserable.
Seeing this pitiful fire mage, the Imp couldn't help but imagine himself in the same situation.
He shivered violently, stepped closer to Daenerys, and cautiously said, "Your Majesty, it seems things didn't go so well. The heat in Slaver's Bay is too intense—wildfire experiments won't work. Maybe we should call it quits?"
"Call it quits?"
"This word sounds familiar!"Dany glanced sideways at the little imp who was trying to please her and said, "It's precisely because it failed that you, the Wildfire General, have the chance to show your skills! If it had succeeded in one go, how could your talent have shone through?
Once we return to the city, I'll allocate some funds to you. Head five kilometers west and find a remote area to build a wildfire testing ground. Make it the kind where you can blow things up and experiment however you like."
The second fire mage was dragged out. One of his legs was broken, bone fragments poking out and blood gushing; the other had been charred by wildfire, the scorched black bone giving off a smell like grilled ribs.
Tyrion winced at the sight, his own calf seeming to ache in sympathy.
"How about replacing me? I'm not cut out for this!" he pleaded.
Damn it, "experiment however you like, blow things up however you like"—who exactly is getting blown up here?
"You've got this! Have confidence!" Dany patted his misshapen head, encouraging him. "You can fight on horseback, which makes you a good security guard. You can strategize off the horse, which makes you a good manager. You have the world's most extensive experience in storing and using wildfire, which makes you a great technician. As Wildfire General, who else but you?"
"I…" Tyrion felt like crying.
"Oh right, didn't you say you wanted to learn fire magic from me?" Dany gave his head three more pats and praised, "Such ambition!
Once you master pyromancy, you'll be able to personally formulate wildfire too.
Seems like you've got potential to be a scientist. Maybe you'll develop a super-stable version of wildfire."
"Improve wildfire?"
You think I haven't died badly enough already?
Tyrion's eyes turned red.
"Improving wildfire would be changing the world. If it retained its current energy output but had the stability of lamp oil, steam engines would finally have hope.
We could even directly develop 'wildfire engines,' pushing civilization ahead by not just a thousand years, but a million years—at the current pace of technological development in this world."
"And with wildfire's efficiency and power, it could even be used as rocket fuel.
If you could produce wildfire inside a spacecraft—think about it—you're small, you eat little, drink little, and you'd just keep flying toward the moon. You might even be the first person to land on it!"
Dany grew more and more excited.
What began as encouragement (or perhaps mockery) of Tyrion ended with her getting carried away by the grandeur of her own fantasy.
"Wildfire is created through magic. If we could design a magic array to manufacture it—embed the array into a wildfire engine forged from valyrian steel—and if that array could automatically absorb magical elements from the universe…"
Dany's eyes widened. She gasped, "By the Seven, maybe wildfire really is the hope for this world's transcendence!"
Seeing the Dragon Queen's feverish expression, Tyrion nervously took a few steps back.
By the Seven, anyone this obsessed with wildfire must truly be the Mad King's daughter.
"Sigh, this once-in-a-lifetime chance to go down in history falls to you. If not for the burdens of managing an entire kingdom, I'd want to become a wildfire scientist myself," Dany said with a sigh, looking at the terrified dwarf.
How about we switch roles?Tyrion desperately wanted to say that.
"I can help ease your burdens," he said tactfully instead.
"Very good," Dany said, touched. "There are too few ministers as responsible as you."
"Wildfire General, I know this accident is partly your fault," the Dragon Queen suddenly raised her voice, immediately drawing everyone's attention.
"???" Tyrion blinked, bewildered.
"As Wildfire General, you misjudged the explosive potential of wildfire after prolonged sunlight exposure. You irresponsibly assigned mages to a dangerous task. You should have had a sheep pull the detonation rope instead.
But even with all these mistakes, you can't shoulder all the blame alone. I made mistakes too. We all did," the Dragon Queen sighed.
When did I ever volunteer to take the blame for everything?!Tyrion was dumbfounded.
"Fire Mage Wood's flame-repelling ointment didn't hold up against the wildfire. I was too far from the scene to help in time. The mages don't fully understand wildfire's properties—we all share the blame. At most, you're sixty percent responsible."
"I just took office," Tyrion argued.
"Yes, and you made such a huge mistake right out of the gate, which is definitely not ideal. But you can redeem yourself. There's no need to request a flogging, right?" The Dragon Queen looked down at him and pressed her hand on his head.
"You're right," Tyrion murmured with closed eyes, sighing.
And so, the Dragon Queen delivered her final verdict on the accident:"Wildfire General, your salary will be docked for six months. Mages Tim and Duncan will each receive five thousand gold sun coins as compensation for work-related injuries. The remaining mages will be given 100 gold sun coins each for emotional distress."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll recover soon and return to work as quickly as possible!"Tim and Duncan, both still coughing up blood as the healers treated them, struggled to speak.
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09