Jaqen was having terrible luck.
Perhaps he had used up all his fortune the moment he discovered the demon jar of "Fire Demon Hades." Everything had gone downhill in the months that followed.
First, his hidden identity was exposed.
Among tens of thousands of books in the library's cellar, he had only stolen a dozen or so. In theory, even if a maester came down to borrow books, they shouldn't have happened to ask for the exact ones he took.
But the Old Town Archmaester did request the exact books he had stolen.
And then, just like that, he was discovered.
Not only was the theft exposed, but his "Pate" disguise was also unmasked.
It was a rare case of a Faceless Man's identity being revealed in broad daylight.
This was a significant blow to the House of Black and White.
And then there was the mission.
After effortlessly killing a few apprentice assistants who tried to apprehend him, Jaqen went on the run.
Well, he was a Faceless Man. Getting exposed was irritating, but it didn't threaten his life.
But with the city guards of Old Town hunting him down, he had no time to deal with the books he had stolen from the library.
Most of the books were massive tomes—impossible to tuck under his arms and flee with. That was why he had been stealing them in batches.
At that point, he had only one option: rush back to his residence, pick one or two of the most important books, and flee immediately.
There was no doubt about it—Jaqen the wise and cunning chose the demon jar!
The books could be stolen again.
The Citadel was still there, the library still there, the maesters still there. As long as a Faceless Man had the will, he could always replace one or two of them and...
But the demon jar was one of a kind. Discarding it would mean saying goodbye to Hades' "Death God's Forbidden Magic."
Not to mention the "Death God's Forbidden Magic" that every Faceless Man coveted, even the knowledge Hades possessed—his insights, the secrets of the Citadel, his advanced magical theories, and even the fragmented legacy of the Valyrian Archmages—were all priceless.
So, he took only the demon jar.
Jaqen arrived in Old Town empty-handed and left with only the demon jar.
But in his heart, he was satisfied—proud, joyful, and filled with hope for the future.
Every day, he would stroke the ceramic jar; every day, he would kneel before it and chant the incantation, "Mother, your son is filial."
Having obtained the jar and with his identity exposed, Jaqen naturally had to return to the House of Black and White.
He easily found a ship heading to Braavos, and just when he thought his journey home would be smooth sailing, misfortune found him again.
The Dragon Queen had subdued the great pirate King Vyswater and absorbed the surrounding island pirates into her fold, becoming the dominant power of the Stepstones.
Her Royal Fleet commander, the honorable White Knight Barristan, even went as far as raiding grain ships from Hightower.
These bits of news surprised Jaqen, but that was all.
Unfortunately, the Dragon Queen's Royal Fleet set its eyes on the very ship he was aboard—the Chickling.
The world's greatest assassin, the feared Faceless Man Jaqen, was conscripted as a laborer!
Well, "hired" temporarily.
Barristan had not turned pirate; he paid the Chickling for grain transport and hired its sailors to help build military camps.
He paid wages!
Real wages!
So, "Sailor Forl" ended up doing carpentry work on the farms of "Queen's Point" for over a month.
Yes—"Sailor Forl" was Jaqen's current alias.
Generally, if their identity wasn't exposed, a Faceless Man wouldn't abandon their current persona and risk fleeing—just like when Jaqen spent over half a year as a "dangerous prisoner" in the black cells of King's Landing.
Queen's Point, a peninsula extending into the Narrow Sea from the Disputed Lands, sat between Tyrosh and Lys. It was very close to the Royal Navy's new base—Torture Abyss.
Well, the place had no name originally. After the Dragon Queen's navy seized it, they named it Queen's Point.
Jaqen couldn't guess the Dragon Queen's intentions, but he didn't care—she had deliberately had Barristan raid the Chickling. She knew Jaqen was aboard and intentionally delayed his return.
Her Ghost Cultivation Meditation hadn't yet yielded results and needed more time.
The Royal Navy sailors didn't give him trouble. He spent his days building houses and his nights tinkering with the demon jar. Life wasn't so bad.
On the night of the last full moon before winter, 15th day of the 12th moon, in the year 299 A.E.
Queen's Point, behind the hills, in a wooden cabin.
The moon shone like a silver plate, while waves in the distance whispered in the wind.
Bathed in moonlight, a man with shoulder-length hair sat cross-legged on the rooftop, hugging a smooth, polished ceramic jar.
"Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop!"
He kissed it seven times, quite audibly.
Apart from his own months-unbrushed saliva, there was no smell. Well, any odor was overpowered by his bad breath.
Then he rubbed the jar vigorously seven times—no grime aside from the sweat and dirt of his own palms.
At last, Sailor Forl solemnly placed the jar on a wooden platform, prostrated himself, touched his forehead to the ground, and chanted fluently in clumsy Chinese:"Mother, your son is filial! All Faceless Men are dumb|asses."
He knocked his head to the ground seven times and repeated the chant seven times.
Slowly, he raised his head and looked at the mouth of the jar, where no strange phenomenon appeared. The hope in his eyes quickly faded.
"Sigh… After absorbing months of moonlight essence, why hasn't it repaired itself yet? Or… was that night just a dream?"
Even a steadfast Faceless Man could feel disheartened after so many repeated disappointments.
He lowered his head, long hair falling over his face, overwhelmed by doubt and uncertainty.
"Jaqen?" Suddenly, a voice came from across the rooftop.
The sailor's body trembled. He shut his eyes tight, then slowly opened them. Brushing the messy hair from his face, he looked up with the caution of a hatchling emerging from its shell.
Crimson mist flickered atop the jar like a swirling cloud, and standing upon it was an old scholar in grey robes with white hair and beard, peering down at him.
It was still that familiar, deathly pale face, caked in thick powder. Perched on his nose was a pair of reading glasses, and around his neck hung the longest necklace Jaquen had ever seen. He was hunched over, leaning heavily on a cane.
Though he looked as ancient as a corpse, he exuded an overwhelming aura that made one feel as if standing on the edge of an abyss.
A true magic jar spirit—the Flame Demon Hades!
"Wuu~~~ I've finally seen you again," Jaquen choked out.
Tears welled up uncontrollably, blurring the sailor's vision.
"You've changed faces again. Where is this now?"
The magic jar spirit, Dany, looked around and began showing off her dramatic flair.
"Southern Essos, near the entrance to the Narrow Sea, in the Land of Conflict."
Jaquen wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, his voice nasal with emotion.
"How long has it been?" Dany nodded and asked again.
"Over three months—almost four. I've been chanting spells every day, praying all night under every full moon." Jaquen answered.
"Only three months?" The magic jar spirit was taken aback. With a shrill voice, she exclaimed, "The magic tide is in full surge now. I thought I wouldn't reappear for at least three or four decades!"
"Three or four decades?!" Jaquen shouted, eyes wide.
"What did you expect? The jar was shattered!"
"Has it been repaired now?" Jaquen asked quickly.
"Repaired? You just had a bricklayer patch up the hole. How is that a proper repair?" The magic jar spirit shook her head.
"Then how long can you hold on? Will you be able to appear again in the future?" Jaquen asked nervously.
"Let fate decide."
The magic jar spirit let out a sigh, and a desolate, lonely atmosphere settled around him.
"The magic of moonlight and the power of faith can help me recover, but I don't want to go on living like this—neither human nor ghost," the spirit said, his voice distant and sorrowful.
"Aren't you a demigod mage? And a scholar too? You can still study magic and knowledge!"
Jaquen was truly anxious. This old mage seemed like he had given up and was contemplating ending his own existence!
"I've lived far too long—sealed alone in that jar."
At this, the magic jar spirit suddenly flung his sleeve and said helplessly, "Forget it. Even if I told you now that 'Death itself longs for death,' you probably wouldn't understand."
"Death itself longs for death…" Jaquen repeated, dazed, as if entranced.
Wasn't this the ultimate version of the saying "All mortals must die"?
He didn't fully understand it yet, but the phrase sounded lofty and profound, stirring something deep within him.
It seemed the Flame Demon Hades had truly delved into the forbidden death magic to an extraordinary level.
"There's no point in talking more. Once our fated meeting ends, I will attempt to break through into the Astral Realm," said the magic jar spirit.
"Break through into the Astral Realm? What does that mean?" Jaquen snapped out of his trance and asked, puzzled.
"I seek to become a god," the spirit said, lifting his head to gaze at the moon, his voice bleak.
"How does one become a god?" Jaquen asked.
"You Faceless Men worship the God of Death, don't you?" The spirit looked down at Jaquen, answering with a question of his own.
"Yes. We believe in the Many-Faced God, the God of Death."
"Then do you know who the God of Death truly is?"
Jaquen replied, "The Many-Faced God has different names in different places. In Qohor, he is the Black Goat; in Yi Ti, the Night Lion; in Westeros, he is the Stranger."
"Heh… One god, one name, one truth—that's precisely why you Faceless Men have never received a true response from Death.
It's simple logic. If you stand in the street and shout, 'Hey, answer me!' the passersby will just think you're a fool," the spirit said mockingly.
Jaquen's expression didn't change, but he emphasized meaningfully, "The Faceless Men believe in the Many-Faced God and carry out His will, bringing deliverance to all followers of any faith."
Dany understood what he meant: the Faceless Men could not pledge themselves to any one death god specifically, or it would contradict their core doctrine.
To give an example—if they believed only in the Stranger, then they wouldn't be able to kill followers of the Black Goat.
Because the people of Qohor believe in the Black Goat, while the central belief of the Faceless Men is that their killings are not murders, but offerings to Death.
The spirit looked up at the full moon again and said quietly, "Jaquen, Death is a divine office—a role. And no role is held by only one individual.
The Night Lion, the Black Goat, R'hllor, the Cold God… these are all gods of death who hold this divine post.
Even I...
I am a demigod, master of death magic, though I cannot compare to R'hllor—He is a true god.
But the Black Goat is only a demigod too. So by that logic, I count as a god of death as well!"
Jaquen's pupils contracted slightly, then he quickly regained composure and said slowly, "If someone were to worship you, the House of Black and White could establish a divine seat in your name."
"No. I said this the first time we met: it's precisely because I don't want to become a dark god that I sealed myself inside the magic jar."
"The Black Goat? Trash. To walk beside him would be worse than ending myself right now," the spirit said arrogantly.
This time, Jaquen was truly shaken to his core.
His face showed undeniable shock and awe.
"What… what do you plan to do?" Jaquen's voice trembled, and a clear look of reverence appeared on his face.
"I plan to take the risk—ascend to the Astral Realm. That is, to seize the throne of a true god. If I can raise my divine seat in the Astral Realm, I will become the world's one and only God of Death."
(End of Chapter)
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