Magic—this was the foundation of his strength, the key to his sorcery.
Yet in this age before the Red Comet split the sky, when the world's magical energy lay in a "low tide," the magic within him was limited.
Every spell of even modest scale had to be measured with care, lest he drain himself dry. That constant restraint was his greatest hidden worry, a chain holding back both his power and his plans.
If Janice's theory was correct—if this black stone truly contained immense reserves of magic, refining it into pure energy stored within, like a vast "magical reservoir" from which he could draw at will—then he could break free of this age's shackles.
No more carefully counting the cost of every spell. No more fear of exhaustion. He could spend magic as freely as breath.
He pictured a future battlefield: no longer would the Dragon Soul Guards be forced to endure the brutal disadvantages of naval combat. Instead, he would take the form of a dragon, unleashing torrents of Dragonfire to burn all to ash—Salladhor's fleet, Lys's armed merchantmen, even Tyrosh's warships—reduced to blackened wrecks adrift upon the sea.
That would be overwhelming power.
Lo Quen's fingers brushed the massive black stone that seemed to swallow the light, its surface cold and sticky to the touch. Yet the system gave no response.
He frowned. If the stone truly held magic, the system should have been able to absorb it.
What was wrong?
Studying the mysterious markings etched across its surface, he recognized traces of blood magic.
Perhaps, he thought with a sigh, it was that blood magic which blocked the system's absorption, requiring some means of activation.
He turned to Janice. "Then the question is—how do we begin the process? How do we draw magic from the stone?"
Pointing to the runes and ritual passages in the tome, he asked, "Does it describe a method?"
Janice's excitement dimmed, replaced with a flicker of frustration. "That, my lord, is the greatest difficulty. The book's instructions are vague, written in metaphor and symbolism.
After all my study, the only certainty I've reached is that the method must involve the stone's natural runes, and some form of resonance. But the exact procedure... I cannot yet decipher."
She rubbed her brow in weary annoyance. "I tried channeling magic into the black stone, hoping to awaken the blood magic within it, but it gave no response..."
Lo Quen watched her—tired, but still fierce with determination—as his mind turned rapidly.
Unlocking secrets of magic at this level was beyond what Janice alone could achieve in the short term.
He needed a true master of magical theory, one versed in ancient rituals and the workings of power.
A face rose instantly in his thoughts.
Archmaester Marwyn.
The man he had met briefly in Volantis. A Citadel scholar who had spent eight years in Asshai, who had once instructed the witch Mirri Maz Duur, and who had delved deeply into the many branches of magic.
More importantly, he scorned the Citadel's "grey sheep" who denied magic's existence. Marwyn was a practitioner, not just a theorist.
Three or four months had passed since their meeting. By now, he should have returned from Volantis to Oldtown.
Lo Quen made his decision in that moment.
When the war with Salladhor Saan was finished, he would set sail for Oldtown himself and persuade Marwyn to come to the Stepstones.
Here were Valyrian tomes, the black stone, and soon—living dragons.
For a scholar obsessed with the ultimate mysteries of magic, this place was a treasure beyond price. Marwyn would have no reason to refuse.
"Janice," Lo Quen said firmly, his voice full of approval, "you've done exceptionally well. The value of your research surpasses even the naval battle outside. This may be the cornerstone of our path to true power."
There was no exaggeration in his words. Once the black stone's secrets were unlocked, Salladhor's fleet—and even the balance of power across the Stepstones—would seem trivial.
To ease her burden, and to check on another vital matter, he suggested they inspect the progress of the ghost grass.
Janice readily agreed.
...
The three left the library cavern, following a damp passage to a smaller cave near the coast where faint daylight filtered in.
It had been turned into a "ghost grass experimental field."
But the sight remained discouraging.
The ghost grass, carefully transplanted into the soil of Torturer's Deep, showed pale, twisted roots drained of life. Its leaves withered and curled, dull and ashen, radiating only death.
No matter how many methods Janice tried, these strange plants from the land of doom withered once removed from the cursed soil of Valyria. They could not survive.
As Janice crouched to record the latest failed batch in her logbook, her eyes drifted toward the dry stone rack in the corner of the cave, where the remaining specimens were stored.
Her hand froze. Her violet pupils narrowed sharply.
"No!"
Her cry rang out in the silent cavern, sharp and urgent. "The count is wrong—how could there be one bundle missing?"
Lo Quen and Jaelena instantly followed her gaze.
On the stone shelves, the ghost grass lay neatly stacked, their twisted roots coiling together, faintly glowing with an eerie light.
Lo Quen's memory was flawless. He remembered with certainty: to awaken the four dragon eggs, he had consumed nine hundred bundles of ghost grass, leaving exactly one hundred intact.
Janice's experiments afterward had used only six bundles, carefully recorded in detail—testing vitality under different conditions, exploring possible cultivation methods.
That meant ninety-four bundles should remain.
But now, the shelves held only ninety-three.
"Someone stole the ghost grass?!"
Lo Quen's voice dropped to a freezing edge.
His gaze shot toward the two Dragon Soul Guards standing motionless at the cavern entrance like carved statues.
Driven by blood magic, these puppet warriors possessed razor-sharp senses, tireless vigilance, and absolute loyalty. Theoretically, no one could enter this heavily guarded core without their notice.
Jaelena frowned deeply. Closing her eyes, she reached through the blood magic link binding the Flame Knight and the Dragon Soul Guards. Moments later, she opened them and shook her head with certainty. "Impossible, my lord. The guards registered no disturbance. No intruders were detected."
Janice's face grew tense, shadowed with confusion. "I'm certain, my lord. When I checked yesterday evening, there were still ninety-four bundles. Unless..."
A flicker of disbelief flashed in her violet eyes. "Unless the one who took it used magic—enough to bypass the guards' perception entirely..."
Lo Quen caught the shock in her expression, and a buried memory tore back to life.
Among the slaves he had purchased in Volantis were several from Yi Ti.
At the time, he had sensed faint traces of magic from one or two of them, though it was so weak he dismissed it. Later, when none of them displayed unusual behavior—and with other matters demanding his attention—he let it slip from his mind.
But now, it seemed those slaves from distant Yi Ti were far from ordinary.
Lo Quen's lips curved into a cold smile. "So... they've finally shown their hand."