Chapter 141 – The Truth
In the gloomy darkness of the underground chamber, the White Harbor ship captain "Rafe" lay slumped inside an iron cage, utterly motionless. His clothes were caked with dirt, his cheeks bruised and swollen purple, a trace of dried blood clinging to the corner of his mouth.
The cellar was lightless on all sides. Only a single guard holding a torch illuminated the space. In the flickering firelight, the guard spoke flatly:
"Someone's resigned himself. Someone has nothing to say."
Charles stood before the cage, quietly studying the man inside. He did not respond.
After the failed assassination, this Faceless Man—someone Charles had encountered before—had been brought here. Yet no matter how he was questioned, he remained silent.
Under normal circumstances, Charles would not have bothered pressing further. Whatever assistance this man might once have provided could not excuse the fact that he had now attempted to murder him.
And yet—
"Aren't you afraid of death?" Charles asked.
"A man without a name will die sooner or later," the prisoner replied coldly.
Charles shook his head.
The reason he had not acted yet was not merely because of why—but because of the warning from the Eye of Reality.
…
This man could, in a sense, be called Jaqen. But to the Faceless Men, names were nothing more than tools. They possessed no true names.
Thus, the Eye of Reality displayed only one word:
Nameless.
Charles had recognized him largely out of habit. In his mind, Jaqen equaled Faceless Man. The association was instinctive.
Their brief exchange afterward only confirmed it.
This was an old "acquaintance."
But why was a Faceless Man entangled with the Long Night?
"Where did you go after that?" Charles asked again.
The answer was as evasive as ever.
"A nameless man wanders the world. Everywhere, and nowhere."
Judging by his expression, the man did not seem controlled or corrupted. He appeared… normal.
But the Eye of Reality did not lie.
After a moment's thought, Charles took out a crystal cross pendant. Under the prisoner's wary gaze, he began to invoke a spell.
The solemn, reverent incantation made the nearby guards instinctively straighten, reverence flickering across their faces.
But Jaqen frowned.
He looked uncomfortable.
When the cross-shaped radiance appeared upon his forehead and began to rotate, that discomfort rapidly escalated into pain.
His entire body flushed crimson. His face darkened to purple. He began coughing violently, thick and labored. Under the enveloping white radiance, it was as if his body were being boiled alive.
Slowly, the brown hair of the White Harbor sailor shifted—turning half red, half white. His facial skin wrinkled, blackened, then began peeling away like rotten cloth, flaking off to reveal another face beneath.
His body shrank slightly as well—subtly, but unmistakably.
"S-stop!" Jaqen forced out through clenched teeth.
Without the disguise, his expression became far more vivid, far more human.
Charles did not respond.
When the light showed signs of dimming, he calmly reinforced the spell.
Pure radiance flooded the chamber once more.
Bathed in holy light, the Faceless Man—his false skin already destroyed—twisted in agony. His body convulsed violently as he collapsed to the ground, unable to endure it any longer.
The spell showed no signs of amplification. In this pitch-black underground chamber, it was impossible for sunlight to reach them—but even so, pure holy power alone was already provoking a reaction.
A reaction was a good thing.
Failure now did not mean failure forever.
"Though this seems to be hurting him badly…"
Charles pondered the thought, yet his actions did not slow.
When the light dimmed once more, he calmly cast the spell again—for the third time.
The rotating cross flared back to life.
Inside the iron cage, the Faceless Man let out a hoarse, agonized growl. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, his body trembling as white foam spilled from his lips. His eyes rolled back as violent convulsions overtook him.
The sheer intensity of his reaction caused the cage itself to shake violently, chains snapping taut with metallic clangs as his limbs strained against them.
At last, under the crushing pain, Jaqen H'ghar lost consciousness.
His entire body was flushed red, drenched in sweat. And then—
a thin wisp of black mist quietly surfaced on his forehead.
"So this is the so-called power of the Long Night?"
Charles narrowed his eyes.
Ignoring the man's unconscious state, he began chanting once more.
The cross-shaped radiance descended for the fourth time.
Purification had been an exhausting spell to master at first, but once learned, it had proven endlessly useful—earning him recognition as a divine agent, activating the Scepter of Authority, and now even affecting the mysterious force of the Long Night.
If spells could be leveled through repetition alone, Charles would have already pushed it to ninety-nine percent.
"Once this so-called post-advancement shock period ends," he mused,
"I should probably take on more Church commissions—trade work for spells."
His hands did not stop moving.
Fifth time.
Sixth time.
When Charles cast Purification for the seventh time, the Eye of Reality finally changed its response—
…
As the notification faded, the underground chamber fell into complete silence.
Torchlight flickered. The guards lowered their breathing instinctively, as though afraid to disturb the young man standing before the cage.
After a long moment—
Under their wary gazes, the Faceless Man slowly opened his eyes.
With the Long Night's power expelled, the damage to him was severe. His once-deep brown eyes were now dull and lifeless. His limbs lay slack against the iron bars, and when he looked at Charles, he managed only a weak tug at the corner of his mouth.
"A man went to Oldtown to uncover the truth," he said faintly.
He seemed to remember what he had done—and what he had said—but unlike before, there was no hostility left in him, only weary patience as he struggled to explain.
"A man was cursed."
"The curse ordered the man to kill you. So the man came to kill you."
He paused, gasping for breath, trying to brace himself against the cage as if to sit upright—but his strength failed him, and his arm fell limp again.
"Who cursed you?" Charles asked.
"The one who cursed the man was not a person," he replied weakly.
"It was the Hightower."
"The Hightower? The seat of Oldtown's lord?"
Jaqen tried to nod, but his neck would not obey. In the end, he could only blink slowly.
"No one?" Charles pressed.
"The… Hightower," Jaqen emphasized through clenched teeth.
His face, once flushed red, was now deathly pale. As he spoke, his body began trembling uncontrollably.
Purification was not a spell designed for this. Forcibly stripping away the Long Night's power had inflicted catastrophic damage—so severe that the once-formidable assassin now looked more fragile than a dying old man.
After a few more questions, his voice became so faint it was nearly inaudible.
"He's dying."
Charles frowned and issued a brief order. One of the guards turned and left. Not long after, he returned carrying an unconscious man on his shoulder.
During the delay, the Faceless Man in the cage had already slipped back into unconsciousness.
Seeing the materials arrive, Charles did not hesitate.
After inscribing the sigils, he pressed both hands firmly onto the unconscious man's head.
Muscles tightened. Flesh shriveled.
In the pitch-dark cellar, accompanied by eerie, whispering incantations, vivid green light bloomed from Charles's hands, spiraling and pulsing with life.
When he withdrew his hands, the man beneath them had been reduced to little more than skin and bone.
Charles paid it no mind.
He stepped around the cage, crouched behind it, and pressed his glowing hands through the bars onto the Faceless Man's shoulders.
The green aura enveloped him, drilling inward.
Visibly, Jaqen's pallid skin regained color—first normal, then flushed with healthy red.
In moments, he looked almost… whole.
The spell complete, Charles returned to his original position.
Under his gaze, Jaqen soon opened his eyes.
For a moment, he seemed disoriented. He instinctively touched his chest, then looked up at Charles with a strange expression.
He said nothing—but Charles knew exactly what he wanted to ask.
That explanation could wait.
"You went to the Hightower for what reason?" Charles asked again.
"A man sought the truth," Jaqen replied, still dazed,
"for the same reason a man once went to King's Landing."
"What truth?"
"The truth of the Many-Faced God."
"The Many-Faced God?" Charles was genuinely surprised by his calm tone.
"And did you find it?"
"As you can see," Jaqen sighed,
"a man came close to the truth… but the truth slipped away."
"It cursed the man instead."
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