Chapter 195: The Seven Gods Priest Forced Out of the Group

"You" were momentarily stunned. The young fire mage, who had previously used all his strength just to ignite a tiny flame on Tyrion's beard, recognized Dany and coldly said, "This is not a place for mortals."

"I know, a gathering of mysterious figures, right?" Dany smiled and nodded.

Before the fire mage could respond, she dropped her smile and solemnly declared, "Actually, I am a priestess."

"Priestess?" The Moon Singer, hailing from the Plains of Jogos Nhai, had a large head, a sharp face, waxy yellow skin, long black hair, and wore a yellow dress with colorful floral patterns.

Clearly dressed as a woman, yet speaking in a rough, hoarse male voice.

Dany was taken aback—was this a cross-dressing man?

"Yes, I am a priestess!" she reaffirmed.

"Which god do you serve? I don't see any symbol of your deity on your clothing," the zebra-striped elder asked.

"I serve the Seven Gods."

The Elder.

The Shadowbinder.

The Fire Mage.

The Warlock.

"Have some self-awareness. Leave," the young fire mage impatiently waved her away.

"I am truly a priestess of the Seven, serving—"

The Shadowbinder coldly interrupted, "We all know what the Seven are—seven wooden stakes. Even the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven couldn't light a glass candle."

"Believing in any dark god would be better than the Seven. The priests and monks of the Seven are all fake mystics. Our gathering does not welcome people like you."

Dany was indeed a priestess of the Seven, having declared herself the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven in Slaver's Bay. That made her a priestess, didn't it?

But she never imagined that the reputation of the Seven's priests in "the industry" was so terrible.

They didn't even want her to join their group. She was forcibly kicked out.

"This is prejudice!" Dany fumed. "Bring me a glass candle, and watch if this priestess can light it or not."

"Hmph, where are we supposed to find a glass candle now?"

The young mage thought she was making excuses and looked quite annoyed.

An elderly black fire mage cast a cold glance at Dany and said, "Forget it. If she wants to court death, let her in."

The zebra-striped cross-dresser showed a bit of conscience, frowning as he warned, "You may not believe me, but mystics are not easy to deal with. You have neither talent nor divine protection—you might get cursed."

"Cursed? Are you planning to curse me?"

"Not exactly, but..." The elder, whose face was so ugly it was hard to distinguish gender, hesitated. "Ordinary people can be physically altered by exposure to high-energy magic. You probably wouldn't understand that, would you?"

By now, Dany had gotten a good look at all six mystics, and to her astonishment, she realized she could see through them just like she had with the young fire mage—perceiving their magical strength and meditation techniques without them even noticing.

The fire mages' eyes all burned with flames, but their meditation techniques differed, and the color of their flames varied. The elderly black fire mage's flame was purple, yet it wasn't even half as tall as the young mage's.

So age didn't determine magical power.

That made sense. Her dragons had been born less than two years ago, and magic had only just revived. Everyone was on the same starting line.

The blue-lipped warlock was also an amateur. The blue mist in his sea of consciousness was incredibly thin, making him seem like a complete novice.

The Moon Singer's black eyes contained a crescent moon, curved like a sickle, veiled in jade-like mist. Dany estimated that his power was roughly on par with the young fire mage's.

The strongest, unsurprisingly, was the Shadowbinder from Asshai.

Behind the wooden mask, his cyan eyes contained twisted black shadows, writhing like an unstable fire.

Had she not noticed the shadow momentarily forming a twisted face, she would have thought it was simply black fire!

Yet, compared to Dany's vast nine-colored vortex, as boundless as an ocean, the Shadowbinder was nothing but trash!

Feeling reassured, she ignored the Moon Singer's warning and followed them into the stone passage.

Winding through the narrow crevice for about half a mile, the seven of them arrived at a cold, dim underground chamber roughly two hundred square meters in size.

An old slave with sparse blue hair and deathly pale skin stood at the entrance, holding an oil lamp. Upon seeing the elderly fire mage leading the group, he stepped back, respectfully bowed, then hung the lamp on a stone wall before slipping away through a small wooden door.

Under the dim oil lamp, Dany caught a fleeting glimpse of the old slave's face and was startled.

His face looked like a watercolor painting smeared by water—his nose was on his forehead, his mouth near his left ear, and his two eyes were mismatched—one in the middle of his brow and the other on his chin.

A deformed monster!

The others acted as if this was perfectly normal, so Dany refrained from asking questions.

The underground chamber was surrounded by gray stone walls, with a gray stone floor. It was empty, with nothing inside. The ceiling was especially high—seven or eight meters—so high that the oil lamp's light couldn't reach it.

Upon entering, the six others positioned themselves along the wall near the lamp. Suppressing her doubts, Dany followed suit and stood next to the Moon Singer.

Clap! Clap! Clap! The elderly fire mage clapped his hands and spoke in Valyrian with a thick accent, "Let's skip the small talk. First, display your skills, and then we'll discuss trade."

His fluent, casual manner made one thing clear—he was a veteran!

"I'll go first." The young fire mage stepped into the center of the hall, facing the group. Confidently, he reached into his waist pouch and pulled out two fist-sized glass bottles.

He made sure to hold them up for Dany and the others to see.

One contained a red powder, resembling chili flakes.

The other was a greenish-brown powder, looking like ground Sichuan pepper.

Is he making barbecue?

Dany watched as he crouched down, slowly unscrewed both bottles, grabbed a handful of each powder, and placed the bottles back on the ground before him.

"Watch closely," he warned, his yellow flame surging three feet high in his sea of consciousness. Then, clapping his hands together with a shout, he roared:

"Blood Dragon Frenzy!"

Boom!

With a flick of both hands, a young man conjured two sparks—one red, one blue—each the size of a rice cooker.

The acrid scent of burning sulfur and saltpeter filled the stone chamber, making it slightly suffocating.

Then, as if having an epileptic fit, the young man flailed his limbs wildly. The two sparks began to stretch and deform, gradually transforming into two massive dragon-like shapes.

Well, "massive" was debatable.

Not only did they lack details like eyes, noses, mouths, or scales, but they were also missing their hind legs altogether. They looked as if a mischievous five-year-old had kneaded them out of dumpling dough.

The young man's face flushed red, veins bulging on his neck and forehead, sweat trickling down his nose like twin rivulets. Finally, the red and blue dragons slowly approached each other, entwining—

Poof! Extinguished.

"Good! Good! Good!"

Just as Dany was about to let out a dismissive tsk, the other two fire mages clapped excitedly, chanting their praises thrice in a row.

Their ecstatic expressions didn't seem fake in the slightest.

Was it really that impressive?

Dany kept a blank expression, about to ask, "What exactly is good about it?" when the male mage from Qohor stepped forward, his voice filled with admiration.

"Lisbon, you truly are the most outstanding mage of our generation. I cannot compare."

The young fire mage lifted his chin proudly.

"If Mage Baihong were to study further in Qohor for two more years, he might have a chance to reach my current level."

Dany's stiff face almost cracked.

After Lisbon bent down to clean up the glass bottles and returned to the stone wall, the old black man looked around and asked, "Who's next?"

"I am."

The shadowbinder's voice was hoarse as they stepped forward.

Standing at the center of the stone chamber, the shadowbinder removed the backpack from their back and took out a metal basin (?), a bag of charcoal, and a glass bottle as thick as a thumb, half-filled with dark red liquid.

They placed the charcoal in the iron basin and lit it. The flames quickly flared up, rising two feet high, sending waves of heat rippling through the cold underground chamber.

The shadowbinder held their hands over the fire at chest height, chanting an incantation that Dany couldn't understand.

It was as if a heat valve had been opened—gradually, the warmth dissipated, and an eerie chill filled the air, like the damp, bone-chilling cold of a crypt.

Dany's eyes widened in shock as she saw the shadow behind the binder start to twist.

At first, it unfurled slowly, like the budding of a tree branch. But as the shadowbinder's chant quickened, the shadow writhed more violently.

Eventually, an entire sea of dense, forest-like shadows spread across the wall behind them.

"This blood belongs to a noble," the shadowbinder announced, lifting the small glass bottle.

Then, they removed the cap and poured the blood into the fire.

Sizzle!

A burnt, acrid stench rose with the white smoke, making everyone gag.

What happened next shocked Dany to her core.

The shadow behind the binder slowly began to contract, growing darker and denser.

She had never imagined a shadow could be so pitch-black—so utterly void of light—that a mere glance sent a chill down her spine, freezing her very soul.

It was as if a two-dimensional silhouette pressed against the wall was struggling to step into the three-dimensional world.

And then, it did.

A humanoid shadow, its face indistinct, emerged from the wall!

Like a sleepwalker, it wandered aimlessly through the room, silent and spectral. As it approached an oil lamp, its form darkened and became more defined. When it retreated into the shadows, it faded once more.

Strangely, the brighter the fire, the sharper the shadow appeared.

Gulp!

Dany swallowed hard and turned to look around—only to find that the others were even more terrified than she was, their faces frozen in horror.

Instantly, her expression eased. Somehow, drawing courage from their fear made her feel braver.

"Amazing," she said. "Can you command it to kill?"

The shadowbinder glanced at her in surprise, as if astonished that she hadn't been affected by the blood magic.

The others' fear wasn't just terror—it was a primal suppression of their souls by a higher form of sorcery.

This Seven God priestess... she was no ordinary woman.

"I cannot control him," the shadowbinder replied.

"Him?"

The Ashai woman explained solemnly,

"I summoned a noble's shadow using his blood. His soul is projected onto his shadow, but he has his own will—even if that will is chaotic and senseless."

"Is it because you're not strong enough, or is there another reason? I've heard of people who can command shadows to kill from a distance, like obedient servants."

The shadowbinder gave Dany a strange look.

This powerless false mystic dares to speak to me like this?

I am a shadowbinder, the most feared of my kind. Right now, I am playing with a noble's very soul!

Does she not know fear? Or is ignorance truly bliss?

"Impossible," the masked woman shook her head firmly.

"I told you, the shadow carries the noble's soul. And the soul is the fusion of will and spirit. I can only guide it—I cannot truly control it.

That's not to say I can't make it kill.

I am indeed not strong enough yet. But even if one day I reach the level where I can command it to murder, there is still one condition that must be met—

The shadow itself must want the victim dead.

Do you understand now?"

A shadowbinder can only guide and tempt the shadow into action—they cannot distort its will.

Just as no one can simply say a few words and make an ordinary person on the street commit suicide.

(End of Chapter)

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