"Can you serve me?" Gendry asked Quaithe. He really wanted to see the sorceress's face, but it seemed there was no chance. blood and fire, and power; the magic dragon indeed contained power. Those Grand Warlocks actually wanted to drain Daenerys or his own life force to sustain their immortal shells.
The sorceress shook her head. "How can I serve? Most magic is blood and fire, blood for blood, fire for fire. As for you, I find your power even stranger. You have been breaking the mysteries of bloodlines, haven't you? Right. After all, the Storm God's bloodline comes from Durran, who married a god's daughter. The Stormborn bloodline is ancient and tenacious. Some power comes from bloodlines, some from faith. All Stormborn throughout history have the Stormborn bloodline; it's just a matter of how much they can ignite. The strong remain strong, the weak have no door."
Everyone held their breath. The power of the Stormborn was indeed extraordinary, but most people only considered those stories absurd, as all nobles claimed to have heroic ancestors.
"You need not be surprised," Quaithe said, then looked at the Stormborn and the true dragon. "The glass candle is lit, and other things follow. The Stormborn and the true dragon, the sea monster and the Wolf Pack. The dance of dragons and the awakening of power."
Gendry looked at Quaithe. They needed to have a good talk. This era was indeed an era of exploding bloodlines, with a host of prodigies appearing under the magic tide.
Several of the House Stark children were Skinchangers—Jon, Arya, Bran, and Rickon—practically a den of Skinchangers. As for the sea monster, Crows Eye also seemed to possess this ability, and he was a blasphemer... Tyrion looked at the dark green liquid in the jars. wildfire looked terrifyingly cruel in the cold cellar.
"It is said that Brightflame once drank a jar of wildfire, trying to turn himself into a dragon?" Tyrion asked Hallyn.
"There was such a thing. He was an utter fool and a devil," Hallyn replied. "You know, Targaryen always carry a shadow of madness."
"He was indeed mad, but now the shadow of the dragon has reappeared," Tyrion thought. After Prince Daeron, Maekar's eldest son, died, Aerion became the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Aerion believed wildfire could turn him into a dragon, and he died in 232 AC after drinking a jar of wildfire.
Tyrion put the jar back. The table was covered with such jars, neatly arranged, four in a row, extending into the dark depths. The Alchemists' Guild had experienced a gap in its personnel, and there might still be other wildfire left in King's Landing.
"Can the Mad King's 'fruits' still be used?"
"Of course they can be used, but with extreme caution. After being stored for a long time, this substance becomes very unstable. Even a tiny spark will cause it to ignite instantly. If the temperature rises, the jars can also spontaneously combust. So they must never be exposed to sunlight, not even for a very short time..."
Tyrion nodded. As long as they could be used. These jars of wildfire, stored for over a decade, indeed posed a great danger. wildfire that had been stored too long was unpredictable and highly prone to explosion. The thought of one jar exploding, followed by a chain reaction of other jars, creating a towering inferno, truly filled him with terror.
"You just said that last year you found two hundred jars in a storage room beneath the Great Sept of Baelor. No one knows why these things were stored there?"
"Yes, Lord Hand. Our great organization had a shortage of members several decades ago."
Tyrion nodded. This matter seemed related to his brother Jaime, but Jaime never spoke much about it. There might be other wildfire jars in other regions, but Tyrion no longer cared. The Alchemists' Guild providing him with seven or eight thousand jars of wildfire was already a terrifying number; he had originally thought these sorcerers only boasted, but he hadn't expected their work efficiency to be quite high.
Tyrion told the Pyromancers to continue working overtime, but he demanded perfect wildfire; he would not allow any flaws or accidents. So much wildfire both excited and terrified him.
"Lord Hand, please rest assured, there will be no accidents," Hallyn, the Pyromancer, promised him. The Pyromancers were a well-trained organization. The Pyromancer said that the wildfire workshop had powerful protective spells on its ceiling and a room filled with sand to prevent the fire from spreading.
"You must watch over them carefully," Tyrion reiterated. King's Landing had experienced two riots recently, and he most feared the mob getting their hands on this, which would completely destroy King's Landing.
"Lord Hand, we have proper procedures."
Tyrion also requested several thousand more "jars," but these were empty. He intended to distribute them to the Captain of the Guard so that the City Watch could adapt in advance. After all, wildfire was too terrifying; even a minuscule leak could lead to disaster.
Tyrion looked at the Pyromancers; apart from that substance, they truly had little talent, which was why they had declined so much over the years. Only during the Mad King's era were the Pyromancers highly valued.
"I have seen enough. Please escort me back to my litter."
"Lord Hand, I, hehehe, would be delighted." Hallyn raised an oil lamp and led the way towards the stairs, uttering flattering words. Since the Mad King, no important person had visited here for a long time. The Alchemists' Guild's most brilliant period was during the era of the Mad King Aerys; since then, it had fallen into obscurity.
"We sincerely hope that His Majesty and the Queen Regent can both come here to inspect. I have mentioned to your esteemed sister, the Queen Regent, that we will host a grand banquet." Besides Tyrion, Hallyn also wanted to approach Cersei and King Joffrey, which greatly frightened Tyrion.
"I will inform my sister and nephew of this grand event," Tyrion promised, but inwardly he was dismissive. The Mad King used wildfire to roast his enemies; he certainly didn't want Little Joff to learn that trick.
The higher Tyrion climbed, the warmer he felt. Famine was a predicament he had to face, and the pressure on the city defenses was equally immense.
Tyrion turned left and right, finally emerging from underground into the "Iron Torch Gallery."
This was a long, echoing grand room, where greenish flames danced around twenty-foot-tall black iron pillars. Flickering ghost lights shimmered on the polished black marble walls and ceiling, bathing the entire hall in an emerald glow. These giant "iron torches" had been lit this morning to welcome his arrival and would be extinguished immediately after he left—if he hadn't known this, his impression would surely have been even deeper.
wildfire was very expensive and not to be squandered.
The greenish flames were about to bloom, but whether Stannis's fleet would arrive first, or the Stormborn's fleet, or if they would arrive together, Tyrion couldn't say.
Others sought dragons, but the dragons would come for the Lannisters themselves, for the enmity between them was as deep as the sea. Amory and the Mountain were merely interest taken by the Stormborn; the best principal would be the heads of their father and sons.
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