The ancient Nightfort had been born alongside the Wall itself, and like a faithful shadow, had declined in lockstep with the Night's Watch. Abandoned for more than two hundred years, every breath drawn within its crumbling halls tasted of decay and emptiness, and every vista revealed scenes of ruin and desolation.
Under the bloodied glow of the setting sun, Joffrey and his companions stepped through a breach in the outer wall, their footfalls disturbing fat gray rats that scurried away into shadowed corners.
What do they live on? Joffrey wondered idly, watching the vermin flee. No one knows.
"Hurry and lead the way," Benjen commanded, his voice tight with mistrust.
He and several black-clad brothers kept close watch on Osha's every movement, hands never straying far from the hilts of their weapons.
Osha walked silently ahead, relying on her memory and faint markings upon the frost-heaved ground to find the path to the kitchens, where the well—and the steps within it that led to the fabled Black Gate—awaited them.
Joffrey's body rose and fell in rhythm with Rain's powerful strides. To be honest, he found riding the lion rather enjoyable now that he had grown accustomed to it.
Tyrion's gaze remained almost constantly fixed upon his own left wrist, as if he might peer through skin and flesh to glimpse the tiny sparkles of magic that pulsed within.
The device implanted there was called "Magic Net Core 1.0 Official Version."
Indeed, the Imp had become Joffrey's second test subject. Jon Snow was his third.
Through these experiments, Joffrey had reached a crucial conclusion: the location of the core's implantation had no effect whatsoever on its ability to collect and convert Source Energy or Magic Energy.
In other words, Osha's version of the core—implanted directly into her brain with such brutal efficiency—was now relegated to limited-edition status.
After all, placing the device in the wrist or other readily accessible areas was far more acceptable—and easier to promote and popularize—than the alternative of stuffing it directly into a subject's brain.
Yet the modifications to the "Magic Net Core 1.0 Official Version" were not limited to placement alone.
After creating Osha's prototype, Joffrey had quickly realized the impending difficulty he faced: a critical shortage of Rune Energy.
Among the three pillars of magic—Source Energy, Rune Energy, and Magic Energy—Rune Energy had emerged as the most significant bottleneck to widespread adoption.
Although the precise origin of Source Energy remained unknown, it was clear that it could be continuously absorbed through runes and converted into Magic Energy, and could be briefly manifested in the material world through human thought for use and storage.
Magic Energy was derived from Source Energy and would naturally increase in proportion to the availability of Source Energy.
Only Rune Energy remained problematic—it could only be accumulated slowly through the runes or rune reflections in the consciousness; runes in tools were useless for this purpose. The accumulation had to be done by living people.
This posed an extreme disadvantage for the initial popularization of magic.
Creating a core like Osha's required consuming seven units of Rune Energy, which demanded the combined accumulation of seven rune reflection owners (or mages) for an entire day.
Joffrey estimated that by year's end, there might be two to three hundred mages throughout the realm. The approximately two hundred units of Rune Energy they could provide daily would be sufficient to create only a few dozen cores—a number so insignificant as to be meaningless in the grand scheme of his ambitions.
Therefore, the new core took a different approach and eschewed rune reflections entirely.
Its material was selected from gems or crystals capable of absorbing and storing Source Energy independently, and the communication function was powered by constantly consuming information Magic Energy, which required regular recharging.
Simple to the point of crudeness, yet effective.
Though the functionality was hardly diminished, it did reduce the core's operational lifespan and energy storage capacity.
Looking at the situation optimistically, this limitation could also serve his purposes better—allowing closer control of the user's movements, requiring regular replenishment of Magic Energy, facilitating consistent collection of Source Energy, and preventing unexpected loss of control.
Viewed from this perspective, the limitations were not flaws but features. Perfect!
Tyrion, however, clearly did not share this sanguine assessment.
He could not resist complaining to Joffrey through the information rune reflection: "This core is completely useless to me!"
It was indeed largely useless to a man of Tyrion's particular talents and needs.
Joffrey immediately changed the subject. "Has your snow bear learned communication magic yet? What knowledge has it shared?"
"This is critically important and directly relates to our safety!" he added with grave emphasis.
Tyrion curled his lips skeptically. "Snowball's utterances are nearly incomprehensible. It might be trying to tell me that two people had somehow entered its body before we encountered it."
Joffrey assumed an expression of profound seriousness.
"Don't underestimate this information. If I'm not mistaken, that person could be none other than the infamous Bloodraven—Brynden Rivers himself!"
"The sorcerer with a thousand and one eyes?!" Tyrion's japing manner fell away, replaced by genuine concern.
"The very same," Joffrey confirmed. "He has acquired even more eyes since those days, countless watchers spying upon the Seven Kingdoms from afar. It's entirely possible that Bloodraven is observing us at this very moment from somewhere on the Wall."
Joffrey actually believed this might be true.
In terms of motivation, the true intentions of the Three-Eyed Raven were difficult to discern with certainty, but Joffrey operated on the principle that the entity was hostile to his plans until proven otherwise.
Regarding strength, the Three-Eyed Raven had dwelled beyond the Wall for many years. With the weirwood network as his eyes and the powers of a greenseer taught by the Children of the Forest, he was not an adversary to be underestimated.
The raven's mystical sight was indeed formidable and might well be capable of tracking their movements with precision.
And then there was the Wall itself.
Joffrey raised his head and peered through broken sections of the Nightfort's ceiling at the dim, gray-blue serpent of ice that stretched across the northern horizon.
The magic-suppressing runes embedded in the Wall severely limited his own magical abilities, and he had no clear understanding of what might await them on the other side.
Perhaps wildlings lurked outside, preparing an ambush? Or the enigmatic Children of the Forest?
Joffrey consoled himself with the knowledge that the Three-Eyed Raven himself was unlikely to be physically present.
Bloodraven, having merged with a weirwood tree deep in the haunted forest, could hardly move from his living throne and could only issue remote commands—a fact that made him both less dangerous in the immediate sense and more frustrating as a long-term adversary.
It was regrettable that the sorcerer could not be eliminated in the short term.
Joffrey's schedule allowed little flexibility, and he lacked the time required to venture deep into the haunted forest to confront the Three-Eyed Raven directly. Furthermore, he had insufficient intelligence regarding the strength of the Others, who were gradually becoming more active beyond the Wall. Acting rashly would demonstrate hubris rather than courage.
He was still in the developmental stage of his plans. Recklessness would be folly.
"Your Highness, my lords," Osha said, interrupting his thoughts, "this is the entrance to the secret passage." She pointed toward a well several meters in diameter that gaped darkly in the center of the room.
Joffrey returned his attention to their immediate surroundings and realized that Rain had already carried him into the great kitchen of the Nightfort.
The enormous brick ovens stood open and empty, like the maws of slumbering beasts. Many rusty meat hooks hung from the blackened ceiling, and rows of scarred and stained butchering tables lined the soot-darkened walls.
It was, in most respects, an ordinary castle kitchen. Yet it was here that the infamous "Rat Cook" had allegedly chopped an Andal prince into bloody morsels and used one of these very ovens to bake the flesh into meat pies, which the prince's own father had unwittingly praised for their savor before the gods struck down the cook for his violation of guest right.
Those familiar with the tale could not help but feel a chill of dread in this place where such abominations had occurred.
Joffrey looked toward the center of the kitchen, where a pale, twisted weirwood sapling had forced its way through cracks in the stone floor and grown toward the ceiling. Directly beneath the bone-white tree lay the dark maw of the well, its depths invisible.
Benjen cautiously leaned against the well's rough-hewn edge and peered into its depths. "There are indeed steps carved into the well wall," he confirmed, surprise evident in his voice.
Tyrion approached, maintaining a prudent distance from the edge. "Heh, it appears bottomless," he observed with nervous humor. "Can these steps truly accommodate a snow bear's bulk? I confess to some trepidation."
Joffrey dismounted from Rain with a fluid motion. "What are you waiting for?" he challenged. "Let us descend and discover the truth for ourselves."
One by one, the group began to climb down into the well.
The descent was like sinking into the depths of a cold sea.
With each downward step, the damp walls grew colder beneath their hands. The visible range diminished steadily until darkness enveloped them completely, and the empty shaft in the center of the well increasingly resembled an abyss that might swallow them whole should they lose their footing.
They could only cling desperately to the well wall, advancing with painful slowness.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Gradually, their eyes adjusted to the darkness. After what felt like hours, they finally glimpsed their destination: the legendary Black Gate.
Though named the Black Gate, it was fashioned from white weirwood, like all the sacred trees of the old gods.
The wood had been carved into the visage of an ancient man who had perished thousands of years past. It seemed to emit a faint white luminescence in the surrounding darkness.
But the light that Joffrey perceived was not white at all.
Suddenly, the face opened its eyes.
"Who are you?" it asked, its voice as thin as autumn mist, yet it echoed continuously in the silent confines of the well.
Joffrey nodded to Benjen. "The oath," he prompted quietly.
Benjen straightened his back slightly, and without hesitation recited: "I am the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men."
The face regarded him for a long moment before responding: "Go then."
Then, slowly, its mouth began to open wider and wider, until it gaped like the entrance to another world entirely...
...
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