Chapter 228: Message in a Bottle, Shake It?

"The Sky Tower is one of the Nine Great Man-Made Wonders."

Dany turned her head and saw that the speaker was a young man in a gray robe, around eighteen or nineteen years old. His face was unremarkable, even somewhat timid, and he was of average height.

Only two things caught her attention: his brown eyes were slightly crossed, and there was a white emblem of an open book on the chest of his gray robe.

This cross-eyed young man was an apprentice of the Citadel!

And not just any apprentice—he was one of those slow-witted, underachieving ones.

Judging by the style of his robe and the Citadel's emblem on his chest, Dany knew he was an acolyte. However, considering his age and the way he referred to "our Oldtown," it was clear he had been studying at the Citadel for several years.

Years had passed, and yet he hadn't forged even a single link for his maester's chain—a clear sign that he was an academic failure.

"Acolyte? How long have you been studying at the Citadel?" Dany asked with a smile.

"Five years." The young man blushed slightly upon meeting Dany's gaze and instinctively looked away.

Truly pitiful—five years, and he still hadn't earned a single link from his mentor.

Each link of the maester's chain symbolized a certification in a particular field of study. The chain itself signified that maesters were servants of Westeros, worn even while they slept.

Each link was forged from a different metal, representing a distinct area of knowledge.

It was even possible to have multiple links of the same metal, indicating profound expertise in that field.

For example, black iron represented ravenry, while steel denoted military strategy.

If, in battle, the opposing maester had two or more steel links in his chain, one would be wise to tread carefully—

At the very least, he would be a master of armchair warfare, like Zhao Kuo.

"What's your name?" Dany asked again.

"Petyr."

"Petyr, I can tell you with certainty that the Sky Tower doesn't qualify as one of the Nine Wonders. You should treat 'Long-Legged' Lomas's book as a mere travelogue—his architectural rankings are far from reliable."

In this world, without the printing press, books were scarce. Every manuscript had to be copied by hand, and the spread of knowledge was severely limited. If you pulled a random book off the shelf and threw it into the fire, there was a fifty percent chance you had just destroyed the only remaining copy of a historical text.

But Lomas was an exception. If he were to be ranked like an author on Qidian, he would be a top-tier, high-traffic writer.

That man had traveled almost everywhere in the known world—except Sothoryos. He had written two wildly popular travel books: Wonders (Seven Great Natural Wonders) and Man-Made Wonders (Nine Great Architectural Marvels).

Because of his extensive travels, he had even earned the nickname "Long-Legged."

The Nine Great Man-Made Wonders were the most famous of his accounts: the Valyrian Roads, the Wall, the Titan of Braavos (a stone colossus), the Triple Walls of Qarth, the Three Bells of Norvos, the Long Bridge of Volantis, the Thousand Room Palace of Sarnath, the Great Pyramid of Ghis (now a ruin, once 210 meters tall), and the Sky Tower of Oldtown.

Clearly, Lomas must have lived before the Doom of Valyria—otherwise, he wouldn't have compiled such a list.

Having glimpsed Valyria through the currents of time, Dany could confidently say that apart from the Wall, the Valyrian Roads, and the Great Pyramid of Ghis, the rest were just filler.

"Have you been to those places, my lady?" Petyr asked enviously.

Dany nodded and said, "I've visited some. The relief carvings on Qarth's Triple Walls have some artistic merit, but they're not particularly exquisite. The Long Bridge of Volantis and your Sky Tower, in terms of engineering scale and technical difficulty, are no match for the Valyrian Roads.

If you think about it carefully, it makes sense. The Valyrians built the Long Bridge, the Roads, the Triple Walls, and the Three Bells—so just imagine how magnificent their own homeland must have been!"

"This..." Petyr seemed never to have considered this before. He was momentarily stunned, then suddenly realized, "That's true! Most of the Nine Wonders are Valyrian in origin, yet they're just peripheral structures."

"My lord, it's just ahead," an old knight pointed toward a small island in the river at a fork in the road. "The strong cider there is quite famous—you should give it a try."

"You're headed to the Quill and Tankard? Makes sense. Other than being a bit pricey, the inn has excellent accommodations—clean, spacious, comfortable, and conveniently located on the Honeywine River with a beautiful view," Petyr remarked in sudden realization.

"You've been there?" the White Knight asked curiously.

The cross-eyed young man nodded with a somewhat inexplicable expression. "The Quill and Tankard is close to the Citadel. We often go there for drinks. I was just on my way there now."

Since they were heading in the same direction, Dany and the old knight dismounted, leading their horses along as they walked and talked with Petyr.

Dany shared her "background"—her father was a great noble of Westeros, but her mother was originally from Essos. She had died in childbirth, and Dany had never even seen her father.

Her name was Leila Waters, a wealthy and free-spirited lady knight traveling with her squire.

Petyr felt both sympathy and envy for this unfortunate bastard—sympathy for her tragic origins, envy for her freedom to roam wherever she pleased.

Aside from her name, Dany hadn't lied about anything. Naturally, the young acolyte assumed she was a noble bastard from the Crownlands.

"My greatest dream," Petyr confessed, unable to hold back, "is to save enough money to buy a donkey and travel across Westeros with Rosie, taking turns riding."

"You're no longer a maester?" The White Knight asked curiously.

"Heh, didn't you hear? He has a lover now, Rosy," Dany said with a smile.

Maesters, White Knights, Night's Watchmen, and Septons—these are considered the four great eunuch professions of Westeros.

They cannot marry, have no inheritance rights, renounce all worldly affairs, and dedicate their entire lives to their service: maesters to their lords, White Knights to their kings, Night's Watchmen to the Wall, and septons to the Seven.

"It's not… not a lover, not yet," Petyr stammered, blushing.

Rosy was a barmaid at the Quill and Tankard. When the inn's staff came over to help them with their horses, Petyr excused himself and pulled the dimpled girl toward a corner of the inn.

The Quill and Tankard's front hall was a slightly south-leaning, three-story wooden building. At its rooftop terrace, a torch was mounted to guide riverboats along their course. Passing vessels often docked at the small island, either bringing travelers or delivering goods such as wheat, turnips, and smoked meats.

Behind the wooden inn lay a lush grassy courtyard, with several two-story houses scattered across the land—private lodgings for those seeking more seclusion.

Since she wasn't sure how long they would be staying in Oldtown, Dany paid a hefty sum—ten silver stags—to rent a river-facing private courtyard for half a month.

The courtyard, less than thirty square meters, had a small rose garden and was kept fairly tidy. The two-story wooden house featured a spacious living room with a fireplace on the ground floor, about fifty square meters in size, making it look somewhat empty. Upstairs, there were two bedrooms.

After setting down their luggage, the two headed to the inn's dining hall. The tavern was as large as two basketball courts, with thick tallow candles embedded in the walls and kerosene lamps hanging from the ceiling. Under the dim, reddish light, three to four dozen rectangular wooden tables were occupied—half of them by maesters and acolytes in gray robes.

They found an empty spot at a table with only one other person. While waiting for their food, Dany glanced around and curiously asked, "This building is already leaning; why not just rebuild it?"

"It's not collapsing yet," the old knight shrugged. "They say this wooden house is six hundred years old. If it's lasted for centuries, maybe it can hold out for another one or two hundred years."

"Nonsense! Wooden houses rot, don't they?" Dany scoffed.

"Outsiders, huh?" The gray-haired old maester across from them snorted. "You must not know what kind of wood the beams and pillars are made of."

Dany looked up at a nearby load-bearing pillar. Beneath its peeling green paint, a pale white surface was exposed. Something clicked in her mind, and she exclaimed in shock, "Weirwood?!"

"Oh? You have some knowledge, after all," the old maester said, surprised.

"Gods! How much weirwood must have been used for this!"

If dragons were the most miraculous creatures, then weirwood was the most miraculous plant in this world—not even considering its connection to the Old Gods, but simply its properties as a material.

All trees have a lifespan—except weirwood, which, barring external destruction, can live forever.

In terms of materials, weirwood among wood is like Valyrian steel among metals—both are immortal in their own way.

Valyrian steel does not rust or wear down, and weirwood does not rot.

Even the Valyrians used weirwood to construct the Black Gate of the Nightfort—an immortal fortress with an immortal wooden door, meant to last for generations.

The gray-haired maester took a sip of green apple cider. The high alcohol content made his nose glow red, like a lightbulb.

After a deep breath, his aged eyes turned hazy as he explained, "Long ago, weirwood trees covered the lands of Westeros. But when the Andals invaded, the septons of the Seven saw weirwood as a symbol of the Old Gods and had every tree south of the Neck cut down—some were burned, others were harvested as lumber."

Dany was speechless. The Seven, a "false" religion with no real gods, had somehow succeeded in driving out the true deities.

This was practically the divine equivalent of the Lisbon Incident—where an ordinary mercenary, possessing no supernatural power, stabbed to death the most promising young prodigy of the Western mystical world.

Dinner consisted of capon stuffed with chives and mushrooms, crispy fried pork ribs dipped in plum sauce, and a bowl of crab and skate soup.

A hearty meal. Dany ate until she was stuffed.

Leaving the old knight behind to drink and gather news about the Seven Kingdoms, she returned to her quarters, took a bath, changed into fresh clothes, and sat cross-legged on a cool mat. From a wooden box, she retrieved a glass candle and attempted to activate the "beacon" on her right wrist.

Nothing. No response at all.

The grayish light filling the bedroom seemed almost alive. First, it contracted into a tight ball the size of a fist, dimming the room, then—without any warning—it suddenly exploded outward. Strange, silken gray rays bounced back and forth along the walls.

Her mental force could not connect with Quaithe through the gray light.

"She blocked me?" Dany muttered, her expression odd.

Quaithe had left a soul mark on her wrist—a fragment of Quaithe's own soul. Through this connection, Quaithe could locate Dany at any time.

The mysterious nature of her movements and her cryptic prophecies had always made Quaithe seem enigmatic—until Dany deciphered her "marking" sorcery.

Using the same principle, Dany could also trace Quaithe through the mark. Last night, she encountered a problem with a spell and had planned to reach out to her old friend for a remote lesson tonight. But to her surprise, she found herself blocked.

Hmm, just as she had blocked Quaithe before.

"Huh? What's this signal?"

Just as Dany was about to try pushing past the shadowbinder's barrier, she was shocked to discover that, out of nowhere, she had stumbled upon an entirely new "communication channel."

(End of Chapter)

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