Chapter 85 — Death
Wildfire erupted across King's Landing.
From the Mud Gate to the Dragon Gate, beneath the city walls, within the barracks and training yards—and most of all, the Red Keep itself—green flames burst forth everywhere at once.
No wind was needed. Wildfire burned anything it touched. The moment it was released, the green demons spread in all directions, unstoppable.
The blaze surged violently. The city, which had fallen silent under the night sky, was instantly plunged into chaos. People burst from burning homes, screaming as they fled in blind panic.
Yet whether they managed to escape in time or not, all were eventually swallowed by the advancing green sea.
Seen from above, the once-dark mass of tightly packed buildings bloomed from the edges inward—patches of emerald light unfurling like flowers. Their petals spread and merged, until the entire city became a vast, blazing garden of green fire.
As wildfire burned, towering columns of black smoke billowed upward. The usual stench of the city was erased by scorching heat and ash. Amid the inferno, the screams of bodies being roasted alive pierced the heavens.
The firestorm was unstoppable, engulfing the entire city within moments.
And yet—around certain structures—the green flames faltered, as though encountering a natural enemy.
A section of Flea Bottom.
Part of Steel Street.
The Silent Sisters' residence.
And the banquet hall of the Red Keep.
But compared to the vastness of King's Landing, these places were no more than droplets in the ocean.
Green fire.
Collapsing towers.
Crumbled houses.
Children's cries.
Smoke-choked skies.
Agonized screams.
A living hell had descended upon the world.
Encircled by stone walls and drowned in emerald fire, King's Landing—seen from afar—resembled a colossal brazier, burning with unnatural flames.
---
[You have touched the truth of the world (Humanity).]
[The second Gate of Traversal progress: 1/3]
[You have gained a massive amount of Spiritual Power.]
[Eye of True Sight has advanced—you can now perceive the essence of certain unknown things.]
[You have gained a massive amount of Spiritual Power.]
[Phantom's Veil, Wraith Substitute, and Tongue of Oaths effects enhanced.
Your core spirituality has increased.]
[You have closely encountered Death.]
[Your understanding of necromantic magic has deepened.]
[Bone Resurrection has been enhanced.]
[Touch of Fatigue has been enhanced.]
[Curse of Agony has been enhanced.]
[You have acquired fragments of the Authority of Death.]
[You can now perceive a target's time and vision of death.]
[Your necromantic spells have undergone mutation under Authority enhancement.]
[Under the Authority of Death, necromantic spells no longer require vessels.]
[Your item 'Scepter of Authority (Artificial)' has undergone an unknown transformation…]
---
Countless black shadows surged through his vision.
In a haze, Charles seemed to glimpse an endless stream of system notifications—but before he could read them clearly, the sheer weight of it all overwhelmed him.
Everything went black.
---
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the military camp of the Northern army.
His tent.
What… had happened last night?
He remembered saving people in the banquet hall. Then—he remembered that thought.
The necromantic incantation tied to the scepter.
The soul-absorption ability.
Back in Flea Bottom, repeated use of the scepter had caused the seven-pointed star on his palm to manifest six divine faces. The final one—the Stranger—had only appeared after absorbing nineteen dragon souls.
That had completed the sigil.
And with it, granted him the ability to roam as a spirit.
He had never used soul absorption again after that.
But last night… thinking it might yield "great returns," he had recited a necromantic spell.
What followed was beyond imagination.
A tide of souls.
The death of an entire city rushing toward him.
Even recalling it now sent a chill through his bones.
He had never expected the scepter's soul-absorption range to be so vast.
Still… it had changed him.
Utterly.
Charles lowered his gaze to examine himself.
---
Status:
Name: Charles Cranston
Age: 16
Condition: Energetic
Abilities:
Eye of Reality (Passive)
Authority of Death (Passive)
Phantom Veil (Devout)
Wraith Substitute (Centennial Wraith)
Tongue of Oaths (Sincere)
Spells:
Corpse Revival (1%)
Dismemberment Curse (0%)
Life Drain (0%)
Substitute Ritual (0%)
Whispers of the Dead (99%)
Evil Eye of Malice (99%)
Purification (5%)
Traversal Gate Cooldown: 11 days, 10 hours, 03 minutes, 05 seconds
---
Eye of True Sight had become Eye of Reality.
Previously hidden equipment effects had surfaced.
Bone Resurrection had evolved into Corpse Revival.
Curse of Agony became Dismemberment Curse.
Touch of Fatigue became Life Drain.
Blood for Blood had transformed into Substitute Ritual.
All newly acquired spells—except Purification—had somehow reached near-max proficiency.
Under the influence of Death, spell knowledge reorganized itself in his mind, evolving into something entirely new. When he recalled it, the understanding felt as vivid as if he had studied it for years.
"So spell upgrades aren't about making the same spell stronger… they're about evolution."
No wonder his previous research had gone nowhere.
The direction itself had been wrong.
Just then, loud voices erupted outside the tent, breaking his concentration.
At first, Charles intended to ignore it—until he heard his own name.
Frowning slightly, he dressed and stepped outside.
In the distance, a group of fully armed soldiers surrounded a tall man… and a much shorter one.
"You're only alive because the wizard spoke for you—and because Lord Stark clings to his precious honor," an elderly noble snarled. "But don't think you'll find respect here, you damned Hound!"
The speaker glared at Sandor Clegane—and especially at the dwarf beside him—with naked hatred, like a beast choosing its prey.
"Now step aside. I'm here for the Imp, not you."
Sandor, hands bound, chewed on a blade of grass and stared back coldly.
"A dog's life may be short," he said flatly, "but it'll outlast some rotting old bastard."
"I'm not the one you want," Sandor growled. "I'm just the leash."
The noble's gaze burned toward the dwarf.
"Step aside. I want the Imp."
"The Imp is my prisoner," Charles said calmly as he approached.
"Sir Cranston," the noble stiffened. "That monster deserves no protection."
"Perhaps," Charles replied mildly. "But if I release him one day, you're welcome to capture him again."
The words were gentle.
The chill was not.
Rickard Karstark's face darkened—then he bowed his head.
"You're right, Wizard."
He left in haste.
---
Tyrion whistled.
"Remarkable. These northerners usually fear nothing—but they fear you."
"How was the latrine?" Charles asked.
For a split second, his vision shifted—
An elderly dwarf, bald and drooling, staring blankly at a ceiling.
A young woman beneath him, hidden from view.
"Exhilarating," Tyrion said cheerfully. "Like bedding three whores back-to-back. You forget the stink."
The vision vanished.
Charles said nothing, turned around, and walked back toward his tent.
The dwarf hurried after him.
"Hey—wait. Aren't you going to think about it again? Maybe you can save that stinking city. Stark's sent people to warn them, but I doubt it'll be in time."
"No need," Charles replied flatly as he walked. "It's too far away, and I don't fly."
The refusal was obvious, yet Tyrion gave him a searching look.
"You don't look the same as you did yesterday when you first heard about it."
"Your imagination."
"My eyes have never failed me."
"You were just as confident standing on the walls of the Twins, weren't you?"
Tyrion ignored the sarcasm.
"The mind is a weapon. The eyes are its blade. With a face like mine, if I weren't sharp-eyed, I'd have been shoved into a pit long ago."
"So what now?" Charles asked. "Black robes? Waiting for Lord Karstark to take your head? Or being ransomed back to the Lannisters?"
"I'm thinking about how to convince the Great Wizard to let me go."
"Unless you're a pretty girl, don't bother."
---
In truth, Stark had already decided Tyrion's fate: he would be taken to Winterfell, where certain matters would be investigated thoroughly.
So this exchange was nothing more than idle chatter.
"Do you think you were stupid?" Charles asked.
"Stupid?" Tyrion laughed. "Of course. Who but a fool would walk into a trap on purpose?"
"Foolish, perhaps," Charles said quietly. "But you did do one good thing."
"What?"
Charles didn't answer. He merely glanced at him and dropped the tent flap, leaving a thoughtful Tyrion outside.
Inside, Charles paused, then picked up the staff resting beside his bed.
The visions, the changes in his status—astonishing as they were—he hadn't forgotten the true source of it all.
Or rather, if his so-called assistant had changed so drastically overnight, what about the staff itself?
He examined it closely, his gaze eventually settling on the Stranger's face among the Seven.
Staring into those strange, star-like eyes, he glimpsed a world beyond.
Dragons wandering.
Specters darting.
A blackened realm, where countless gray shadows surged like an endless sea.
---