Chapter 157 – Multiple Lives
The wooden bowl held in the Child of the Forest's hands was pale and rough, its surface carved with many twisted faces resembling the carved visages of weirwood heart trees.
Inside the bowl was a thick, sticky liquid the color of gray ash—almost like paste rather than fluid.
The color was strange: dull gray-white streaked with thin threads of crimson that glimmered under the firelight like strands of fresh blood.
"This is sap from the weirwood leaves," the Child of the Forest said softly when Charles didn't immediately take the bowl. "It won't harm humans."
With the True Sight, Charles wasn't worried about poison or trickery.
It was simply that the substance looked utterly unappetizing.
After hesitating briefly, he took the bowl and tilted his head back, draining it in one gulp.
The thick slurry slid down his throat. A bitter, earthy taste spread across his tongue.
Gradually, however, the unpleasant flavor shifted—becoming oddly sweet and slightly sour, the fragrance lingering longer and longer in his mouth.
Not so different from the Shade-of-the-Evening, he thought.
Following the Child's instructions, Charles sat down in a chair woven from vines and closed his eyes.
The Child extinguished the torch.
Darkness swallowed the cavern.
With his eyes shut, Charles felt his thoughts slowing. A heavy dizziness crept into his mind, and his consciousness began to blur.
---
In a haze, he became a staff.
A staff born in the hands of an old crone whose skin was covered in gooseflesh. Runes and enchantments were carved and woven into his wooden body.
From the moment of his creation, he watched silently as the old witch used sorcery to conjure illusions—deceiving the mountain tribes around her.
Slowly, those deceived tribes began worshipping a fabricated deity called the Seven Gods, a faith deeply bound to the staff itself.
They adopted the seven-pointed star as their symbol.
They treated the number seven as sacred.
They anointed warriors with holy oil and named them knights.
But the land they lived in—the Andal Mountains—was limited.
And under the influence of a will hidden behind the staff, the tribes gathered the converted mountain peoples and sailed across the sea.
They came at last to Westeros.
Then came conquest.
War.
Expansion.
Empowered by the faith the staff instilled in them, the Andal armies became unstoppable.
Only when they reached the northern marshlands called Moat Cailin did they finally suffer defeat—repelled by the resistance of the First Men and their ancient gods.
Afterward, the Andals settled in the south of Westeros and multiplied.
The staff passed from hand to hand over the centuries.
Eventually, it fell into the hands of someone who realized its true potential—and turned it into a weapon capable of destroying magic itself, even the dragons of House Targaryen.
But as time passed, the staff—born from human faith—began to change with the hearts of men.
Gradually, it developed something like a spirit.
And that spirit became feared.
In the chaos of war, the staff was lost.
Centuries of dust and silence followed.
Until one day, a young man wandered into a ruined hill and snatched it from the coffin where it had long lain hidden.
At that moment—
The vision ended.
And the scene shifted.
---
This time, he was a newborn child.
A baby boy born into a noble household.
His father was kind, his mother gentle. With careful upbringing and education, he grew to love the world around him.
Even as he grew older and discovered the harshness hidden beneath the world's surface, his nature never truly changed.
Eventually, he became a septón—a priest of the Seven.
Devout and sincere, he traveled from city to city across Westeros, preaching the teachings of the Seven-Pointed Star.
But when he arrived at a place where war broke out.
His faithful life ended abruptly.
A black-haired sellsword—annoyed that the priest spoke too much—cut off his head with a single swing of a sword.
---
Another life ended.
The scene shifted for the third time.
This time, he became the barbaric thug from the missionary's memories—a man born in a city, in the Trident River region.
He was born into wealth and privilege, never lacking food or clothing.
Yet that upbringing brought him little refinement. From childhood he was restless and unruly, eventually growing into a powerful warrior.
Powerful—
and brutal.
His nature was cruel. He bullied the weak, acted arrogantly and without reason, relied on his family's power, and killed without remorse.
His violent and reckless life finally ended when he carelessly drank a cup of poisoned wine.
And just like that—
it was over.
---
The fourth transformation came.
Once again he was born as a baby.
But this time, he was a girl.
From birth, to childhood, to education…
She attended a grand ball, her life gradually changed because of someone she met, and she eventually left her family to settle in a remote little town.
Her story ended when she encountered her strange and temperamental young nephew.
---
For the fifth time, he was reborn—this time in a magnificent palace.
He became the prince of a kingdom on an ancient continent.
As an infant, he had a plump wet nurse to care for him, a beautiful mother, a dignified father, and a kindly godfather who often visited to bless him.
At first, life seemed perfect.
But as he grew older, his mind matured rapidly.
The childish chatter of his peers disgusted him. The condescending arrogance of his godfather during visits to the palace also filled him with quiet resentment. The childhood admiration he once felt had long since faded.
At seventeen, after defeating a monk from the Church during a conflict, he proudly returned to the palace.
His father immediately slapped him to the ground.
"Why did you hit me?" he asked in confusion.
"That was mercy!" his father snapped. "Now come with me to the Church and apologize!"
"Why should I?"
"Because the Church's fist is bigger!"
That day became the most humiliating moment of his life.
Afterward, he began to change.
He restrained his temper.
He learned to stay quiet.
He cultivated patience—and ambition.
Eventually he became known as a graceful and gentle prince, polite to all, composed and elegant in manner.
But beneath that flawless exterior—
what kind of fury was hidden?
That humiliation clung to him like a stain, haunting him until it became an obsession.
He began searching for forbidden books, studying secret knowledge, looking for ways to oppose the Church.
Once his research deepened, he began building his own power base.
The son of the Minister of War.
The younger brother of the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
The eldest daughter of the Minister of Finance.
Many nobles, rising stars, and promising young talents within the kingdom became his pawns.
One day I'll shock you all.
Whenever his organization grew stronger, that humiliating day returned to his mind.
But everything changed after he encountered others like himself.
Through them, he learned many hidden truths—and realized just how naïve his earlier plans to openly oppose the Church had been.
He abandoned the idea of direct confrontation.
Instead, he worked secretly with other hidden organizations.
With his resources and education, he rose quickly among them. After more than ten years of expansion, he had become one of the most influential figures in the kingdom.
Eventually, he participated in a major project—
the exploration of an ancient ruin.
The ruins were said to contain forgotten secrets of antiquity. If they could be successfully excavated, he might gain the power needed to challenge the Church.
He was full of anticipation.
But the first expedition ended in disaster.
The ruins were indeed full of secrets—
and full of danger.
Their casualties were devastating.
Still, as he prepared to regroup and explore again, the Church found him.
"Damn that bitch…"
Realizing he had failed to clean up his tracks, he cursed himself and ordered his organization to scatter and flee.
It was useless.
A Heavenly Seal descended, isolating them from the real world.
No spells could be cast. No one could escape.
Flames engulfed the island.
Countless people burned to death before his eyes.
Fortunately, an ancient spell recovered from the ruins allowed him to escape the Heavenly Seal.
Taking advantage of the Church's arrogance, he slipped away and captured two materials required for a ritual.
One of them was the nephew of the woman who had ruined him—
Charles Cranston.
Normally, he would have tortured the boy to vent his anger.
But time was short.
Instead, he decided to act quickly.
He prepared the materials.
Drew the ritual circle.
Chanted the incantation.
Everything went according to plan.
But the moment he entered the boy's spiritual world, he sensed something unusual—
a strange innate talent hidden within.
He changed his strategy.
Rather than carefully performing the possession ritual, he attacked directly with brute spiritual force.
Possession normally required elaborate preparation.
But if the gap between two souls was great enough—
none of that mattered.
And he was certain of victory.
The boy had some special qualities, but he was far too weak.
"Weakness is the original sin."
He sneered coldly and slammed his own spirit again and again into the center of the boy's soul—the most fragile point.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Cracks like shattered glass began spreading across the surface.
Finally—
a dark hole burst open.
Without hesitation, he plunged inside.
But the moment he did, dense black mist erupted within his spirit.
It churned violently.
To a soul, the substance was pure poison.
He had no power to resist.
His memories ended there.
---
The vision changed again.
---
For the sixth time, he was born into the County of Rohn, within the Kingdom of Dulin.
His family was a noble house.
His father was a smiling schemer, like a tiger behind a mask.
His stepmother was hypocritical and ugly.
His younger brother was timid and painfully slow-witted.
Infant.
Child.
Youth.
At first he was obedient and well-behaved.
He desperately wanted his father's attention—because the man was always busy.
But no matter how obedient or excellent he was, the only people around him were nurses, servants, and that irritating younger brother.
So he changed his approach.
He became rebellious.
Disobedient.
Dismissive of everything around him.
He started fights.
Insulted people.
Cultivated every bad habit he could think of—anything that might attract his father's attention.
And in that sense—
he succeeded.
The father who once ignored him became constantly exasperated, taking time every day just to scold him.
But the game went too far.
After beating up a prince who had mocked him with sarcastic remarks, he was expelled from his family.
Exiled to a place called Pita City.
There, by chance—or perhaps by fate—
he obtained a brown leather notebook.
---
The final scene was Charles's own memory.
He suddenly appeared in the slums of Pita City, in a strange world.
He was no longer normal.
He could walk through walls.
Drill through the earth.
Blink from one place to another.
No one noticed him.
He wandered aimlessly, observing everything with detached indifference.
Days passed.
The sun rose and set.
Crowds moved around him like shadows.
He watched without emotion, as though he had lost the ability to truly think.
Then, after an unknown amount of time—
a faint incantation echoed in his ears.
"In the name of Charles Cranston…"
The voice came from every direction.
Young.
Excited.
Followed by a quiet sigh.
His hazy spirit slowly dissipated in a narrow alley.
His consciousness fell into sleep.
When he awakened again—
he had a body.
A young body.
A noble body.
A body named Charles Cranston.
As he sat up on the floor, still dazed, a soft knock sounded from the door outside.
"B-Brother… are you there?"
The vision shattered.