Chapter 201: Tyrion Falls into the Trap

"Melisandre?" The red lacquered mask concealed her face, but there was an unmistakable wariness in Tam's eyes and tone.

"I've heard of that woman as well. Merchants from Oldtown and King's Landing have mentioned her. She burned the statues of the Seven on Dragonstone, set fire to the godswood of Storm's End, and even replaced House Baratheon's crowned stag sigil with the flaming red heart. Arrogant and powerful. No one knows for sure, but people say Melisandre helped Stannis obtain the legendary hero's red sword—Lightbringer," the old black man said solemnly.

"Lightbringer? So you're saying Stannis is the Prince That Was Promised? The prophesied Azor Ahai reborn?" Lisbon asked in shock.

"Maybe," the old man replied uncertainly.

The young fire mage muttered, "But High Priest Benerro has always preached that Daenerys is the prophesied savior, the one born amidst smoke and fire.

Could it be that the priests of R'hllor themselves don't agree? Did the Lord of Light give two different visions to his followers?"

"Melisandre is not just an ordinary Red Priestess," the Shadowbinder said, frowning.

"Have your Moon-Singers ever prophesied who Azor Ahai truly is?" The male sorcerer furrowed his brows and turned to the zebra-striped elder.

"And what about you sorcerers?" The Moon-Singer countered with a question of her own.

"The House of the Undying was burned to the ground by that woman—how are we supposed to make any prophecies now?" The sorcerer chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "I have no idea what she saw in there."

"The supernatural world has been turbulent these past two years." The Moon-Singer sighed and slowly continued, "As for Azor Ahai's prophecy, we have secretly attempted over a hundred visions, but the results remain unclear.

We've seen Daenerys riding a dragon fifteen times, a dense, icy fog obscuring our entire vision forty-seven times, the back of an unfamiliar black-haired man thirty-three times, the flaming red heart sigil four times, and seven or eight other figures appearing once or twice."

As the group fell into deep thought, Dany asked, "So, does this mean Daenerys is unlikely to be the prophesied one? And who is that black-haired man?"

"Not necessarily. The future is uncertain, but it will come. A definitive outcome will emerge. Speculating about 'possibilities' when it comes to prophecy is meaningless.

Simply put, until the truth is revealed, we must approach everyone with caution.

As for the black-haired man, we've only ever seen his back. Most of the time, we can't even see that clearly."

So all your hundred-plus prophecies were a waste? Completely meaningless.

Suppressing her inner complaints, Dany turned to the Shadowbinder and asked, "Who exactly is this Lady Melisandre?"

"Someone not to be provoked," Tam forced out the words with difficulty. "It's said she has centuries of experience."

"What?" Not just Dany—everyone present gasped in shock.

"She is different from traditional Shadowbinders. Most of us first master the power of shadows, then study the doctrines of the Shadow Demon R'hllor, and finally, we may come to truly believe in the Lord of Light.

But she was originally a slave purchased by the Red Temple, raised as a priestess. No one knows when she arrived in Asshai, the Land of Shadows, but over time, she became a low-profile yet terrifying Shadowbinder.

I don't know what her current relationship with the Red Temple is, but one thing is certain—she is both a powerful sorceress and a devoted follower of R'hllor. And there is one terrifying rumor..."

Her voice trembled, revealing her deep-seated fear.

"What rumor?" Dany asked, her voice hoarse.

"She… is not human."

"Not human? Then what is she? A demon?"

"A god walking among mortals. Or a devil. She has reached a realm that we supernatural beings can only dream of—transcending the limits of the human body."

"Uh… what's so scary about that?" Dany twitched her lips.

So she's just a demigod? I thought you were going to say something truly terrifying. The way you all made the atmosphere so eerie had me too afraid to speak loudly.

"You… the ignorant fear nothing." The Shadowbinder shot her a look of disdain.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Let's adjourn." She casually dismissed the group and was about to leave.

"Wait a moment—one last question!" Dany quickly called after the Shadowbinder and hurriedly asked, "What's the deal with spell incantations? The more syllables, the stronger the spell?"

"The more syllables, the more universal truths the incantation can record, making the spell more complex. In theory, that means the supernatural profession has greater potential—but potential is not the same as power."

"Lisbon told me that the Red Priests' spell system only has fifty-four syllables, far fewer than the Valyrian sorcerers."

The Shadowbinder cast a cold, bone-chilling glance at the young fire mage, making him turn pale with fear.

"Lord Tam, I-I wasn't lying exactly. The Red Priests only—"

"But you deliberately withheld information and misled her," the Shadowbinder interrupted coldly, then turned to Dany. "The God of Shadows and Flames, R'hllor, has two aspects. The Lord of Light has fifty-four syllables, but the Shadow Demon has another fifty-four. R'hllor's followers must master a total of one hundred and eight spell syllables."

"One hundred and eight..." Dany fell into deep thought, momentarily dazed.

Finally, at the request of the Shadowbinder, the fire mage Lisbon swore that from now on, whenever he deduced new Valyrian spell syllables, he would teach them to Layla of Braavos for free as compensation for this deception.

Dany, with a stiff expression, expressed her gratitude to both of them at the same time.

MMP, can you not mess with us anymore? The 28 syllables you deduced—42 of them were wrong.

Uh, not only were all 28 syllables mispronounced, but even their written forms were incorrect. Among the 36 so-called "authentic" Valyrian letters, 14 had incorrect pronunciations.

To put it in English terms, Lisbon had only learned the seven letters "abcdefg" from the Black Wall wastrel. Then, when he encountered the word "English" in a spell, he realized that aside from "e" and "g," he had never seen the rest before.

So, in his infinite wisdom, he extracted "n, l, i, s, h" from "English" and assigned them "powerful" pronunciations—resonating with mysterious forces.

The problem was that a spell's "QR code" was far more complex than a simple one-dimensional string. Lisbon should have extracted "n," but he mistook it for "m."

As a result, not only were the pronunciations inaccurate, but even the forms were wrong.

On the way back to the surface, Dany and her companions encountered pirates, merchants, and courtesans emerging from other side paths. Some were fencing stolen goods, some couldn't hold back and came for a rendezvous, while others were negotiating secret agreements.

When they ran into each other, no one exchanged greetings. They all walked in silence, and upon exiting the artificial rock cave, everyone dispersed in the courtyard.

It was already late at night. The public rest area in the Merchant's House had fewer people, but it was still brightly lit. The grand hall was bustling with hundreds of guests, engaged in loud chatter—some boasting, some discussing business, and others drunkenly shouting curses.

Weaving through the crowd, Dany found the passage leading back to the second-floor guest rooms in a corner. Just as she climbed a few steps up the stairs, a shadowy figure approached from the side—a white knight in a hood.

"I thought something had happened to you. What took you so long?"

He let out a sigh of relief but still sounded a bit resentful, clearly having had a difficult time waiting.

"It really was a gathering of extraordinary individuals—very formal. There were magic performances, exchanges of mystical artifacts and secret techniques between wizards, and in the end, a grand mage even answered questions for the lesser mages."

Dany explained, then sighed, "Though those mages weren't particularly powerful, they still gave me a deeper understanding of this world's truths."

Reaching the second floor, she found her room. Barristan followed her inside and shut the door. After settling into the sitting area, Dany recounted the entire experience in detail.

"So that's what a gathering of mysterious individuals is like..." The old knight looked fascinated and sighed, "If this had been before, I would have scoffed at all these mystical matters."

"What's the situation with Tyrion?" Dany asked.

"His companion, a middle-aged man with a face like a stern ascetic, square-jawed and sharp-featured, is named Haldon. He seems to be a maester, though I've never heard of him before."

"Anyone else?"

"Yes. From eavesdropping on their conversation, I discovered that Tyrion and Haldon are serving 'Lord Griff,' though this Griff isn't in Volantis.

The two of them are acting as an advance team, searching for a ship bound for Slaver's Bay. Tyrion is also tasked with gathering information about you at the Merchant's House."

"They're heading to Slaver's Bay to find you," Barristan said strangely.

Griff? Who was that?

It definitely wasn't Varys. The Spider had no reason to hide his identity.

Dany was puzzled.

Why is this so different from the Game of Thrones storyline?

"Forget it. Let them go to Slaver's Bay! Tomorrow, we'll first scout around the Black Wall to locate the Giscar delegation's residence. Then we'll rest in the afternoon and leave Volantis at night, traveling straight to Dorne."

By the time she went to bed, it was already close to three in the morning. Dany had no energy left to study magic and fell straight into sleep.

The two of them slept until nine in the morning. While freshening up in the bathroom, Dany was surprised to find the outside world covered in a dense, white fog.

After getting dressed and having breakfast in the inn's small lounge, the fog dissipated around ten o'clock, as if a veil had been lifted. The Fishmonger's Square was suddenly bathed in golden sunlight, and the sky was a clear, refreshing blue.

The weather was almost exactly as the Moonsinger had predicted the night before.

When she mentioned this to the white knight, he marveled, "Having a Moonsinger like that would be invaluable on a military campaign."

Since she had no intention of running into Tyrion again, Dany didn't disguise herself as ugly this time. She handed her undergarments to the inn's maid for washing and wore a white shirt under a brown leather vest, layered with a silver-white chainmail hauberk. She paired it with silk trousers, open-toed sandals, and a long sword at her waist. Over it all, she draped a clean, light blue canvas cloak, pulling the hood up.

In Volantis's tropical maritime climate, this outfit was a bit stifling, but not too out of place—especially when there were tall, hairy Ibbenese wearing full fur coats.

As she descended the creaky wooden staircase, she could hear Tyrion's hoarse shouting from a distance.

"Impossible! How is this possible? I was watching closely the whole time—how could there be three dice?"

"I don't believe in teleportation magic. Let's go again!"

"As long as you have money, we can go ten more rounds." Lisbon laughed heartily.

At a round table near a street-facing window, a crowd of forty to fifty people had gathered in several layers. From the stairs, one could see the smug young fire mage and the red-eyed, gambling-addicted Tyrion.

The fire mage stood against the wall behind the round table, with two ceramic bowls, three dice, and a small pile of silver coins in front of him. In his hand, he held a thin black metal rod, about the thickness of a chopstick.

(End of chapter)

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