Chapter 49:
The Riverlands, Lord Harroway's Town.
The once peaceful fields were now in utter chaos.
Rows of newly erected telegraph poles, still carrying the fresh scent of pine, had been chopped down by an angry mob. The black copper wires were torn apart, curling on the muddy ground like dead snakes.
"Burn them! Burn these demonic totems!"
A barefoot sparrow in ragged gray robes stood on a haystack, waving a seven-pointed star amulet and spitting furiously as he incited the gathered villagers.
"That usurper from King's Landing wants to use these black lines to draw lightning down on our heads!"
"It's because of these cursed poles that our cows won't give milk and our wheat is full of worms!"
"This is blasphemy against the Seven! Smash them!"
"Smash them! Smash them!"
The ignorant villagers' eyes gleamed with fear and fanaticism. They raised hoes and axes and charged toward the Pompey engineering team's camp.
Several engineers responsible for laying the lines were beaten bloody and huddled trembling inside the work shed.
Just as the situation was about to spiral out of control and the engineering team faced massacre—
Buzz— Buzz—
A low, rumbling sound came from the horizon.
There was no sign of the massive airship (Victor considered it overkill for killing chickens). Instead, several steam-powered armored trucks, spewing thick black smoke, smashed through the roadblocks with a thunderous roar.
The doors opened.
A squad of soldiers wearing riot masks and carrying shotguns quickly formed ranks. Their black gun muzzles were aimed at the mob.
But they did not fire.
Victor Pompey stepped down from the command vehicle in the middle.
He wore a long coat with a metallic sheen and held a long metal rod with a sharp tip (a lightning rod) in his hand.
"Everyone stop."
Victor's voice was not loud, but the miniature amplifier on his collar magnified it tenfold, exploding like rolling thunder above the crowd.
The mob was startled by the sudden "giant voice" and subconsciously stopped their actions.
The leading sparrow was also somewhat afraid, but he still forced himself to shout:
"Look! That is the voice of the devil! He is the demon who summons lightning!"
Victor looked coldly at the sparrow, then at the sky.
Dark clouds gathered, and muffled thunder rolled.
According to the system's weather forecast, a powerful thunderstorm would arrive in five minutes.
"You say I summon lightning to harm people?"
Victor walked to the center of the town square — the highest point in the entire town.
He directed the soldiers to quickly erect the huge metal rod and connect it with several thick copper wires to a metal grid deep underground (grounding net).
"Fellow villagers!"
Victor pointed at the sky.
"The gods are not angry. What is angry are those who exploit your ignorance to obstruct the progress of civilization."
"Today, I will stand right here."
"If these poles are demonic, then let the lightning strike me dead."
"If this is science… then let the lightning submit to me!"
"Is he mad?"
"Standing under an iron rod during a thunderstorm?"
The villagers retreated in terror, afraid of being caught in the crossfire.
But the sparrow was overjoyed:
"Good! You brought this upon yourself! The Seven will surely send divine punishment to strike this blasphemer dead!"
Rumble—!!
The sky seemed to answer the sparrow's prayer.
A blinding bolt of lightning tore through the sky, followed by a deafening crash of thunder.
Torrential rain poured down.
Everyone lay in the mud praying, except Victor.
He walked into a metal cage that had been prepared in advance (a Faraday cage) right beside the lightning rod. He even took out a cigar from his pocket and casually put it in his mouth.
"Come on, Zeus… oh no, Storm God."
Crack!!!
A thick blue-white lightning bolt struck the tall lightning rod with pinpoint accuracy!
The terrifying current flowed down the lead wire and was instantly conducted into the ground!
Sparks flew, and the earth trembled!
Part of the current even hit the metal cage where Victor stood. Blue arcs danced wildly across the cage's surface, crackling and popping.
"Ahhhh!"
The villagers screamed and covered their eyes, thinking the duke must have been burned to ash.
However.
When the electric light faded.
The metal cage remained completely intact.
Victor pushed open the cage door and walked out.
Not a single spark had touched his coat. The cigar in his mouth had even… been lit by the arc just now.
He took a deep drag and blew out a perfect smoke ring.
The entire square fell deathly silent.
Only the sound of raindrops hitting the mud remained.
In the eyes of these medieval peasants, what did this scene mean?
A man standing at the center of lightning, bathed in thunder and fire, not only survived but used heavenly fire to light his cigar?
This was no demon.
This was clearly the Thunder God descending to the mortal world!
"A miracle… a divine miracle!"
Someone shouted.
Immediately afterward, a wave of people knelt down with a thud.
Even the sparrow who had been shouting earlier was now scared witless, collapsing to the ground with a large wet patch on his crotch.
"Listen."
Victor walked up to the sparrow and looked down at him.
"These lines are not for summoning lightning to harm people."
"They are used to bind lightning and allow the voice of the gods to travel thousands of miles."
He pointed at the protected telegraph pole.
"From today onward, anyone who dares to destroy these poles is an enemy of the Thunder God."
"Do you understand?"
"We understand! We understand, my lord!"
The villagers kowtowed like pounding garlic.
From now on, these telegraph poles would be more sacred in their eyes than any statue of the gods.
…
One hour later, at the temporary telegraph station.
With the final line connected, a series of "dit-dit-dah" sounds rang out from the device.
"My lord, the line is through."
The accompanying telegraph operator said excitedly, "This is the first line connecting King's Landing and Winterfell."
"Send the message."
Victor flicked the ash from his cigar.
"Send it to Lady Sansa."
"The content is:"
[Although there were some minor hiccups, the lightning has been tamed. The Pompey Note exchange rate is stable, and the railway will soon open. Don't worry. Love, V.]
Dit— Dit-dit— Dit-dit-dit—
Thousands of miles away.
Winterfell, the Maester's Tower.
The newly installed receiver spat out a long paper tape.
Maester Luwin stared at the characters on it in shock, his hands trembling.
"Gods… this sound really travels faster than a dragon flies."
…
At the same time, in Oldtown, the Citadel.
The thunderstorm had not extinguished everyone's ambition.
In a sealed underground laboratory, the escaped Iron Bank envoy Tycho stood with the Grand Maester.
Before them was a huge glass tank.
Inside floated a tall figure with skin of a strange gray-iron color.
"Is this your achievement?" Tycho looked at the monster with disgust. "It looks like a dead man with greyscale."
"No, Master Envoy."
The Grand Maester tapped the glass with fanaticism.
"This is the Steel-Skin Guardian."
"We combined Valyrian blood magic with the bio-alchemical blueprints left by Qyburn. His skin is harder than plate armor, his pain nerves have been severed, and his muscles have been strengthened three times by alchemical potions."
Bang!
The Grand Maester pulled out a Pompey-made revolver bought on the black market and fired at the monster in the glass tank.
The bullet shattered the glass and struck the monster's chest.
But it did not penetrate. It was bounced off by the gray keratin layer, leaving only a white mark.
The monster suddenly opened its eyes — a pair of emotionless, pure black eyes.
Tycho sucked in a cold breath.
Even a handgun couldn't pierce it?
"This is only the prototype."
The Grand Maester said sinisterly.
"As long as the Iron Bank is willing to pay, we can build an army."
"An army that fears neither death nor bullets, capable of tearing Victor's forces to pieces."
Tycho was silent for a moment, then took out a check from his robe (of course not a Pompey Note, but the Iron Bank's gold draft).
"Whatever the cost."
"I want Victor Pompey… dead without a corpse."
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