Chapter 154: Lyanna's Ghost
Ian smiled to himself. Illyrio clearly thought he was awestruck by the clock's precise and magical inner workings, but the magister didn't know that Ian was simply coveting the crystals and gems encrusting it.
He set the clock down and picked up a steel shield from a nearby stand.
Generally, steel shields had little practical value, especially in a world without firearms. Wooden shields were sufficient for most defensive needs and were significantly lighter.
Of course, this particular shield was never meant to be a practical weapon. Both its inner and outer surfaces were coated in a fine glaze, intricately painted to depict the saga of the ancient Leilian Dragon King. The dragon itself was rendered with such skill that it seemed alive.
"A work of art by a master painter from Volantis," Illyrio continued his tour, his voice brimming with pride. He seemed to be in an excellent mood, showing off the treasures that so impressed his guest. "It tells the story of the Dragonlords of old Valyria conquering the Rhoynar."
*Too bad it isn't Valyrian steel,* Ian thought, and put the shield back.
His gaze then fell upon a wine set, consisting of a silver kettle and four delicate glass cups.
"Those were made by the masters of Tyrosh," Illyrio said. "It is the purest and most transparent glass you will find anywhere in the world."
The sight reminded Ian of jade from his own world—the so-called "glass type" was the most valuable precisely because it resembled glass, even though glass itself was worthless. That, of course, was a product of industrialization. In this era, such flawless glasswork was undoubtedly a priceless treasure.
But his eyes did not linger. They moved past a horn fashioned from antler and steel resting on a silver base, then past a multi-layered pearl necklace, its total length easily reaching two meters, draped over a bronze mannequin.
Ian's inspection continued, his eyes glancing over a golden crown topped with a massive black jade, a huge blue-and-white porcelain vase, a folding fan decorated with ink-wash paintings, and finally, a black dragonbone bow.
At last, his gaze settled on a cedar box.
This was his target for the night.
"That box," Illyrio said, following his line of sight, "contains the dragon eggs you wished to see."
"May I open it?"
Illyrio gave an inviting gesture.
Ian carefully lifted the lid.
Three stones rested inside.
One was a deep green, speckled with flecks of bronze. Another was a pale, milky white, streaked with veins of gold. The last was black as a midnight sea, yet swirled with vibrant, living waves of crimson and ruby.
"They are beautiful," Ian breathed. He reached out and touched one. It felt like ceramic or enamel, yet the texture was rich with detail; he could clearly feel the fine, overlapping scales beneath his fingertips.
The stone was so large that his hand could not fully encircle it. He drew his hand back, lost in thought.
"Dragon eggs, from the Shadow Lands east of Asshai," Governor Illyrio said, stroking his forked beard with pride as he observed Ian's daze. "They have been turned to stone by the millennia, yet they remain as bright and moving as ever."
"This is simply the finest gift imaginable," Ian said in a joking tone. "If this isn't the gift you already prepared, I truly would want to choose this."
"They are beautiful, are they not?" Illyrio smiled. "But they are for Daenerys. Only little girls are fond of such pretty things. If you wish to befriend Khal Drogo, this would not be a wise choice."
Ian felt no anger. He had never expected Illyrio to part with such a priceless treasure. He turned his back to the magister and closed the box again before standing up.
"You are right," Ian said, picking up the dragonbone bow from the shelf. "According to Dothraki custom, only items used by men in the Khaleesi's bridal ceremony are given to the Khal as her husband's due. I want Drogo's friendship, and giving him a weapon is a far more sincere gesture."
***
After returning to his residence, Ian summoned the system and began to review his data card.
[**Ian**]
Strength: 32
Agility: 27
Mental Strength: 19
[**Skills**]
Basic Etiquette
Basic Reading and Writing (Common Tongue)
Proficient Swordsmanship
Advanced Horsemanship
Intermediate Lance
Basic Skinchanging
Basic Greenseeing
[**Resources**]
Attribute Points: 2
Skill Points: 4
Points: 52
Items: Scroll of Basic Skill of Choice, Skill Upgrade Scroll
He had spent 10 points to expand his system backpack just before visiting Illyrio, leaving him with a current balance of 52. To be honest, with the third month's settlement day fast approaching, that score made his status as the "top player on the leaderboard" feel much less certain.
While points from missions and killing other players were calculable, points awarded for achievements were always a variable. Ian wouldn't be too surprised if another player managed to surpass him this time. After all, he had spent a great many points this month.
Of course, given the urgency of the situation, he'd had no choice but to expand the backpack's capacity when he did. It was necessary to secure his core interests moving forward.
After checking the contents of his system backpack, Ian smiled and returned to the data card interface.
He first allocated the two attribute points to Mental Strength, then used two skill points to upgrade Skinchanging by one level.
The data updated instantly:
[Mental Strength: 21]
[**Skills**]
Skinchanging: Intermediate
[**Resources**]
Attribute Points: 0
Skill Points: 2
After completing the adjustments, Ian went to bed, eagerly anticipating the direct confrontation with Xiao Heizi tomorrow.
***
**Late Night at Winterfell**
"Lyanna? Is that you?" Robert Baratheon, deep in his cups, clutched the woman before him. "Lyanna, you saw my sorrow and came to comfort me, didn't you?"
"Oh! I can see your face so clearly. It's the first time in so many years." Robert reached out a trembling hand to caress her cheek. "How long has it been since I last saw your face clearly in my dreams? I'd almost forgotten what you look like."
She was so beautiful, with the Stark's signature long face, brown hair, and grey eyes.
She was still so young. Time seemed to have left no mark upon her at all.
Just as she was when Robert first saw her—as passionate as a wild horse galloping across the north, as noble as a winter rose blooming in the snow.
"Your Majesty," 'Lyanna' struggled gently. "Don't do this. Please, let me go."
"You still won't forgive me," Robert said, his voice thick with grief. "You still blame me for not being able to save you from that villain, Rhaegar."
"Your Majesty, I am not." She was still struggling, but she never quite broke free from his embrace.
"But I avenged you. I killed that monster with my own hands. I smashed him to pieces. And since then, I have killed him ten thousand more times in my dreams, every single night," Robert murmured, noticing that she had finally stopped resisting. "But it still does nothing to ease the hatred in my heart."
"I lost you. Even after I won that iron chair, what good was it? To keep it, I have to sleep with that bitch Cersei every night. She betrayed me… she betrayed me from the very beginning. Oh," Robert leaned his head on Lyanna's shoulder and began to sob softly. "None of this should have happened. If only I hadn't lost you."
"Your Majesty, I'm here now." Finally certain that he was completely drunk and lost to the world, 'Lyanna' took the initiative, wrapping her arms around Robert and stroking his back. "This time, I will never leave you again."
---
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