"If it weren't for the tacit approval of the Sea Lord and the Iron Bank, would you dare to kill so freely and make enemies everywhere? Without the protection of Braavos' massive navy, any wealthy magnate could hire a mercenary company to wipe out the entire House of Black and White. So how have you managed to survive until now?"
Jaqen fell silent. Although Braavos had never openly promised protection for the House of Black and White, and the Faceless Men had never explicitly pledged loyalty to the Braavosi government, anyone with a working brain could see that there was a deep connection between the two.
As the "Jar Spirit" had said, Braavos was indeed formidable when it came to assassinations—but in open combat, even ten Faceless Men might not be a match for ten seasoned, well-coordinated mercenaries.
The Faceless Men couldn't possibly succeed every single time. Nor could they always leave no trace behind, eliminating any suspicion from the families of the deceased.
Most of those targeted by the Faceless Men were not ordinary folk—regular assassins could handle ordinary targets. Why spend a fortune hiring the Faceless Men otherwise?
And when it comes to revenge, ten thousand, a hundred thousand gold honors are nothing to the rich and powerful. With ten thousand gold honors, you could hire at least 500 desperadoes—couldn't that overwhelm even the House of Black and White?
The House of Black and White sits openly in Braavos, conducting business under the sun—yet no one has ever dared to storm their doors.
Dany continued, "Given the Faceless Men's business model, their costs are shockingly low, but their income is absurdly high. Tell me, what do you need that much gold for? And where is it all kept now?"
How did the Iron Bank rise to become the world's foremost financial institution in just a few hundred years?
It's said that even if you combined the gold reserves of all the other banks in the nine Free Cities, it still wouldn't match what the Iron Bank alone possesses.
"Murder and arson bring wealth; a horse doesn't grow fat without eating grass at night."
Can they really be making that much just from maritime trade and high-interest loans?
Braavos is located in the northwest corner of Essos—hardly an ideal location. Compared to Volantis, it falls short in every way.
In terms of maritime trade, Braavos doesn't even match a third of Volantis' volume.
And it's not like Volantene merchants don't know how to lend money.
Ha! The first people to think of using finance to control other city-states' governments were the bankers of Braavos!
"The rise of the Mother of Dragons threatens the current political stability and peace of the world. Many people and many factions want her dead. We have no reason to refuse this job," Jaqen said slowly.
"Well, at least that's honest." Dany nodded, confirming her previous suspicions.
So, what's the current global political situation?
As the leader among the nine Free Cities, Braavos, through the Iron Bank, influences the political affairs of other nations. It is the "big brother" of the western world (west of Qarth).
Just like how the Americans don't allow certain countries to rise—there can only be one top dog, and the current top dog definitely won't give up the throne willingly.
To be brutally honest, Braavos, which has always waved the banner of opposing slavery, isn't actually free of the slave trade itself!
Of course, they don't deal in slaves directly. But the Age of Sail's maritime trade is propped up by slavery, and the profits of that trade are largely devoured by Braavosi merchants.
Where there's trade, there's harm—and guilt.
"The core of the Citadel is about spreading knowledge. As you've seen, not just Westerosi, but people from the Summer Islands and Free Cities can also join and study here.
So, sneaking into the library… well, it's not that big a deal. Stealing books isn't really stealing... sigh, matters of the learned—can they be called theft?"
Jaqen was screaming "WTF" in his heart, but he kept nodding earnestly. "Maester, you're absolutely right."
"Just one thing. The reason I sealed myself away wasn't just because I refused to follow the path of those evil demigods in the far east—accepting sacrifices, feeding on the essence and souls of the living—but also to keep the forbidden arts from falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, the forbidden arts are powerful, but they're also dangerous. If used carelessly, they're harmful to oneself, to others, and even to the world."
The "Jar Spirit" leaned on his cane with one hand, and with the other gently stroked his long beard, looking every bit the worldly sage. Under Jaqen's hopeful gaze, he sighed, "Young man, you may leave now. The Death God's forbidden arts are not to be passed on."
WTF! After all that buildup, now it ends with a "not to be passed on"? Are you messing with me?
Jaqen almost fainted from anger and mumbled, "Professor Hades, if there are any taboos about the forbidden arts, please just tell me. I swear I'll follow them."
"No. I can't teach you. Jaqen, you should go." Dany just kept shaking her head.
Suddenly, inspiration struck Jaqen. He remembered the incantation written on the torn manuscript and pointed at the "Jar Spirit," shouting:
"Mother, your son is filial! The Faceless Men are all dumbasses!"
Dany froze, not quite understanding at first. But when Jaqen repeated it a second time, she suddenly recognized the spell she had written herself. She let out a howl, clutching her head, and rolled off the bookshelf.
"AAAHHH! Jaqen, you bastard, stop chanting that!" she screamed, her face contorted in pain.
"Mother, your son is filial! The Faceless Men are all dumbasses!"
"Mother, your son is filial! The Faceless Men are all dumbasses!"
"Mother, your son is filial! The Faceless Men are all dumbasses!"
Seeing it actually worked, Jaqen chanted with even more enthusiasm. Dany played along, laughing inside but rolling on the ground in agony. Her head, legs, and body flickered like a mirage, darting between bookshelves—making Jaqen's heart pound with fear.
—What a terrifying demigod!
His chanting grew louder and faster, and even his pronunciation of Chinese became more fluent.
Dany thought to herself, I can't just keep rolling around forever. So, on impulse, she suddenly leapt up and smashed her head against a ceramic jar on the bookshelf, shouting:
"I'd rather die than submit!"
"Crash—!"
In that split second, Jaqen had no time to react. The ceramic jar tumbled from the wooden shelf and cracked against the sliding wooden ladder below.
Only then did Jaqen manage to dash forward and catch it.
"Ugh, ugh, it hurts so much!" Dany lay sprawled on the bookshelf, clutching her head and groaning. "Jaqen, you win. I'll teach you the forbidden art."
At first, when he saw the gaping hole in the jar, Jaqen's heart sank. He thought it was all over. But now, seeing that the "Jar Spirit" was just wailing in pain—and had even given in—his chest swelled with joy again.
"Sigh, professor, look at this mess…" He cradled the jar like a treasure, unwilling to let it out of his arms again.
"You're ruthless, kid. Do me one favor, and I'll teach you the forbidden art."
"Professor Hades, name it!" Jaqen replied, grinning ear to ear.
"It is forbidden to practice or use forbidden arts in Westeros. I'm not afraid to tell you—cultivating forbidden arts often leads to problems. At best, you'll attract the attention of the God of Death; at worst, He'll follow you constantly, or even possess your body.
He is the God of Death. If He notices you, misfortune will inevitably befall your family and friends."
The "Magic Jar Spirit" earnestly warned him, but Jaqen only grew more delighted: Noticed by the God of Death? Isn't that exactly what we Faceless Men seek? As for misfortune, Faceless Men have no family or friends—only enemies who deserve it.
"I swear, I will never practice forbidden arts in Westeros," he said immediately.
"Good, good, I'll teach you." The "Magic Jar Spirit" gasped for breath and quickly began explaining the theory of yin and yang spirit matter.
Beyond what she had learned from the Bu Cheng sect, she also crafted a hair-raising "forbidden arts theory summary" based on cultivation knowledge she had read in online web novels from her previous life.
"Doctor, could you speak slower? I'm having trouble understanding," Jaqen said awkwardly.
"Sigh, dull-witted! To put it simply—oh no, my magic is almost depleted!" the spirit suddenly cried out in panic.
"What?"
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"The jar is damaged, my essence is leaking, and I don't have much time left. I'm about to fall into slumber—if you have urgent questions, ask quickly."
"How long will you sleep?" Jaqen asked hurriedly.
"Uncertain. It depends on when my magic is replenished. Otherwise, why do you think you were lucky enough to find me, among all the scholars who've come here? Over hundreds of years, others must've tried to open the jar too. But it's too dark here, no moonlight, so magic recharges slowly," the Magic Jar Spirit shook her head.
"Moonlight? It helps replenish magic?"
"Place the jar under the moon, chant the incantation, and worship it. The speed of recovery depends on the number and sincerity of the worshippers."
"That sounds kind of like those cult rituals..." Jaqen muttered, puzzled.
"Of course. Cultists worship demigods. I, too, am a demigod. The magic I need is, in essence, the power of belief."
"You require blood sacrifices too?"
"No! Absolutely not! Blood sacrifices would intensify my demonic nature. I'd rather die than become a demon!" the spirit said firmly and righteously.
"How long until you can appear again?"
"Could be half a month, could be half a year—I might not wake up at all, especially since the jar has a hole."
Seeing the Magic Jar Spirit was fading fast, Jaqen quickly asked, "What meditation technique do you practice? Teach it to me first."
"Divine Modified Valyrian Archmage Inheritance! Listen closely—there are 108 basic runes—" Before she could even say one rune, the Magic Jar Spirit exploded into a burst of golden-red light and vanished before Jaqen's eyes.
Actually, she was hiding behind the bookshelf, using "fire control magic" to gather scattered fire elemental sparks above the bookshelf where she had just appeared.
Her earlier "special effects entrance" was done the same way—by gathering fiery elemental light into a celestial glow.
"Divine Modified Archmage Inheritance? 108 basic runes?" Jaqen murmured in shock.
Without hesitation, he lowered his head and searched for the broken shard of pottery. Once he found it, he didn't even bother flipping through more books. Carefully wrapping the magic jar in his clothes, he quickly left the library.
After exiting the steward's hall, Pet openly carried the jar in his hands. As he expected, the scholars and apprentices he passed didn't pay him any attention—until—
"Hey, Pet? Why are you carrying a jar?" The knightess Laila, who had just exited the Citadel gate, noticed him.
"Oh, it's broken. I'm heading to the pottery shop to find a master to repair it."
Pet answered honestly—he really did intend to have this precious "magic jar" repaired tonight so the spirit's hard-earned magic wouldn't keep leaking out.
"It's just a broken jar," Laila said, nibbling on a skewer while curiously glancing down.
"Oh, this—this is a chamber pot, right?" Laila suddenly jumped back, covering her nose and shouting.
"Uh, no, not a chamber pot. It's a pickle jar. Might not suit your taste, but I actually quite like it," Pet replied calmly.
"This smell... forget it. As long as you like it." Laila grabbed Pet's empty left hand and stuffed her half-eaten skewer into it. "It's just... that smell's killed my appetite. Here, you take it."
Though the skewer stabbed his hand, Pet still smiled and thanked her.
After chatting a little more, the two parted ways by the riverside.
(End of Chapter)
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