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Chapter 235: Ny Sar
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 13:57:41 +0000 UTCOn the surface of the Noyne River, Lynd lay leisurely on the boat, propelling it forward with telekinesis as it glided swiftly over the water. Maester Marwyn leaned over the side, his face alight with excitement as he watched the river rush past beneath them. Like a child, he occasionally dipped his hand into the water, feeling the current push against his palm.
After spending some time together, Lynd had gradually come to understand Marwyn's personality. Simply put, he was a true scholar—his curiosity for the things he loved was intense, but he still had a fundamental sense of ethics. He was nothing like Qyburn, who would abandon all moral boundaries in the pursuit of knowledge.
That said, Marwyn was not without his flaws. His insatiable curiosity made him prone to asking endless questions. By now, the number of questions he had posed to Lynd easily numbered in the hundreds, which was starting to wear on someone who preferred peace and quiet. More than once, Lynd had considered dropping him off somewhere suitable and letting him find his own way to Summerhall.
Fortunately, Marwyn had enough awareness to notice the shift in Lynd’s mood. Sensing his growing impatience, he reined in his curiosity just in time—thus avoiding the risk of being abandoned mid-journey.
With the aid of telekinetic propulsion, the boat moved at an impressive speed. Coupled with the advantage of traveling downstream, what would have taken over ten days on foot was covered in just two.
On the morning of the third day after leaving Norvos, Lynd's boat entered the ruins of Ny Sar.
If Ghoyan Drohe was the pearl of the Rhoyne, then Ny Sar was the most dazzling jewel in the crown.
This city had once been ruled by the warrior queen Nymeria. Before it was destroyed by the Valyrian Freehold, it had been the heart of the Rhoynar city-states, which made Ny Sar vast—more than ten times the size of Ghoyan Drohe. Among the Free Cities, only Volantis could barely compare to its scale.
This immense city was centered around the confluence of the Rhoyne and Noyne Rivers, expanding outward on both sides. It spanned both rivers, with multiple stone arch bridges connecting its districts. Along the riverbanks, enormous docks had been constructed, capable of accommodating hundreds of vessels. These were not mere fishing boats, but flat-bottomed warships designed for river combat.
In the deepwater bay by the docks, more than a dozen sunken warships could be seen, with only their bows or sterns jutting above the water’s surface. Judging by the scene, these ships had belonged to the Norvoshi river fleet. It appeared they had been ambushed while docked, unable to even set sail before being sent to the riverbed.
“The faith of the Old Man of the River has existed in the Rhoyne basin for thousands of years,” Marwyn remarked as he sat on the bow, watching Lynd steer the boat toward the dilapidated pier. “It rarely attacks fishing vessels. According to its associated beliefs, it holds dominion over the creatures of the deep, which means it has little interest in what happens on the river’s surface.”
As he spoke, he jumped onto the dock while Lynd secured the boat. Continuing his explanation, he added, “Based on my research, the Old Man of the River does not refer to a singular deity but rather a group—a species of one-horned giant turtles. Records of the Rhoynar migration indicate that the earliest conflict between the Rhoynar and the Valyrians began when the Valyrians hunted one of these creatures. Later, during the wars between the Rhoynar and Valyria, these giant turtles appeared multiple times, aiding the Rhoynar in their battles against the Valyrian invaders. Many were slain, but their repeated involvement suggests that the Rhoynar had discovered a way to communicate with and command them.”
“Was it the power of the Greenseers?” Lynd asked as he stepped ashore, tying the boat’s rope to a large stone.
Marwyn shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Greenseers do have the ability to influence animals, but the creatures they control are rarely large. Even driving a bear-sized beast is considered the upper limit of their power. A giant turtle larger than a flat-bottomed warship would far exceed the capabilities of any known Greenseer.”
Lynd nodded thoughtfully at Marwyn’s words. Then, instructing Marwyn to remain on the riverbank, he dove into the water to investigate the sunken ships.
The warships protruding above the surface were only a fraction of those resting on the riverbed. Below, many more vessels lay in ruin—not only Norvoshi warships but also numerous merchant ships. Without exception, every one of them had been sunk by large breaches in their hulls, water flooding in through gaping holes.
As he examined the damage, Lynd noticed an important clue—these ships had not been brought down by a single one-horned turtle. The breaches varied in size and shape, suggesting that the attack had been carried out by a group of these creatures—perhaps a dozen or more, ranging in size, all working together to bring the ships down.
Among the wrecks, many bodies had been decayed by the river water. Based on the state of decomposition and the condition of the cargo from some of the merchant ships—bloated and ruined from prolonged exposure—Lynd determined that these ships had all sunk within the past few months.
After thoroughly inspecting the wreckage to ensure he had not missed anything, he surfaced and relayed his findings to Marwyn.
Marwyn considered for a moment before saying, “A few months ago, there were indeed rumors of ships meeting disaster in this area, but the numbers were very few, hardly enough to disrupt navigation on the Noyne River. However, judging by reports from Norvos, the attacks by the Old Man of the River have surged in the past two weeks, completely cutting off trade along the river. Something must have happened recently to make the Old Man of the River more aggressive and combative.”
Lynd listened to Marwyn’s analysis and fell into thought before suggesting, “Could it be that they've entered a breeding and egg-laying period? Many animals become highly aggressive during this time. Even domesticated creatures will attack their owners, let alone wild ones.”
“That’s very possible,” Marwyn agreed with a nod. Then he asked, “So, what now? Do we look for the Old Man of the River’s lair?”
Lynd shook his head. “No need to go looking. We'll make it come to us.”
As he spoke, he dipped his hand into the water and used the rune power of the Nameless King to activate the frozen dragon rune on the Banished Knight’s greatsword, channeling its extreme cold magic into the river.
A moment later, icicles began to rise from the riverbed, lifting the sunken ships to the surface. Soon, the entire deepwater bay was crowded with ships, as if a massive fleet had suddenly docked at the ruined pier.
Though Marwyn had witnessed Lynd’s godlike magic before, he still reacted with the same shock and excitement as the first time.
With the bait set, Lynd did not wait idly for the Old Man of the River to appear. Instead, he and Marwyn wandered through the vast ruins like travelers, exploring the remnants of a once-thriving city.
Perhaps because Nymeria’s name was linked to this place—the city once ruled by the warrior queen of the same name—Lynd felt a subtle fondness for it. That feeling grew stronger when he arrived at the ruins of the warrior queen’s palace, compelling him to step inside for a closer look.
Despite being abandoned for centuries, the palace’s marble structures still stood tall. However, the damp environment had long since eroded the intricate reliefs on the walls, leaving only smooth, worn stone. Moss and vines had crept over the ruins, covering the scars of time as if attempting to preserve a shred of dignity for this once-glorious city.
“Even though the palace has fallen into ruin, some ancient artifacts have survived,” Marwyn commented as he followed Lynd through the old halls. “There’s a statue of Nymeria in this palace that has remained perfectly intact despite all these years. It is said that Mother Rhoyne protects it. Quite miraculous.”
“A statue?” Lynd paused at the mention and gestured for Marwyn to lead the way.
The two made their way through an overgrown garden, stepping carefully through thick grass and scattered rubble. After rounding a crumbling colonnade, they came upon the statue Marwyn had spoken of.
Just as Marwyn had described, the statue stood in pristine condition despite the harsh environment. There was no moss on its surface, no vines creeping up its form, not even a speck of dust. It looked as if it had been carved only yesterday.
But none of this was what caught Lynd’s attention.
He was captivated by the statue’s face.
“Nymeria?” he murmured.
Marwyn, standing beside him, clearly heard the name but assumed Lynd was referring to Queen Nymeria of the Rhoynar. In reality, Lynd was thinking of his wife, Nymeria.
The reason the name escaped his lips was simple—the statue’s face, its form, everything about it was identical to his wife. The only difference was the weapon it held. While his Nymeria wielded a massive two-handed axe, this statue held a spear.
Marwyn, oblivious to Lynd’s thoughts, continued explaining, “Some say this statue was sculpted at a one-to-two scale of Queen Nymeria’s actual size. But if that were true, her height would have been far beyond that of an ordinary person, and her physique incredibly exaggerated. I believe the actual ratio must be closer to one-to-two-point-five, or perhaps even one-to-three.”
“No, it’s a one-to-two ratio,” Lynd corrected Marwyn. “My wife’s name is Nymeria, and her height and build are exactly one-half the size of this statue.”
Marwyn chuckled at Lynd’s words, assuming he had mistakenly projected his wife onto the warrior queen Nymeria from a thousand years ago, forming an amusing association.
But then, something struck him. He turned to look at Lynd’s expression as he gazed intently at the statue and asked, “My lord, does this statue of Queen Nymeria resemble the Lady of Tumbleton?”
Lynd nodded. “Nymeria has the bloodline of House Martell of Dorne, which means she also carries the blood of the warrior queen.”
“This is truly remarkable!” Marwyn exclaimed. “It could be an example of atavism—a reversion to ancestral traits!”
Lynd circled the statue, searching for any traces of magical energy but found none. However, by channeling the rune power of the Nameless King to enhance his vision, he detected a faint aura of faith entwined around the statue. That, he suspected, was the reason it remained pristine—untouched by time, undamaged, and free of plant overgrowth.
Curious, Lynd asked, “This statue is clearly extraordinary. Why hasn’t anyone taken it after all these years?”
“I know the reason,” Marwyn explained. “It’s because of a curse. Anyone who attempts to move the statue falls victim to greyscale. According to legend, Prince Garin the Hero cursed Queen Nymeria in his dying breath. He resented her for withdrawing from his campaign, believing that her departure doomed the Rhoynar to their crushing defeat at Volantis. However, Queen Nymeria was protected by Mother Rhoyne, so the curse meant for her was instead transferred to this stone effigy.”
“An interesting tale,” Lynd said, shaking his head dismissively. “Prince Garin may have had an army of over two hundred thousand, but Valyria had more than a hundred dragons. Even if Queen Nymeria had stayed and defended Chroyane, the outcome wouldn’t have changed. The Rhoynar were utterly defeated, left with no chance to recover—because of his own arrogance. What right did he have to curse anyone?”
Marwyn laughed. “Perhaps you should tell him that in person. According to legend, the Shrouded Lord who now rules over the stone men in the ruins of Chroyane is none other than Prince Garin, the same man who was hanged in Volantis.”
“The Shrouded Lord?” Lynd turned to Marwyn, puzzled.
Marwyn proceeded to recount the legend of the Shrouded Lord. As he listened, Lynd’s expression grew thoughtful.
He wasn’t convinced that the Shrouded Lord was actually the vengeful, undead form of Prince Garin. More likely, it was a title passed down through generations. The original Shrouded Lord could have been a Rhoynar who had stayed behind when Nymeria fled, disguising himself as a spectral figure to rally the remaining Rhoynar in their struggle against Valyria.
That said, in a world where White Walkers and wights existed, the idea of Prince Garin rising from the dead as a revenant wasn’t entirely impossible. In the face of magic, the rules of the past life didn’t always apply.
Lynd stared at the statue in silence for a long time. Then, suddenly and without warning, he launched into the air, soaring high above the ruins of Ny Sar. From above, he surveyed the vast remnants of the ancient city.
As he descended and landed back on the ground, he turned to Marwyn and asked, “Maester Marwyn, what do you think of the idea of restoring and rebuilding this place as my own domain?”
Marwyn was taken aback. He looked at Lynd’s serious expression and pondered for a moment before replying, “Setting aside the cost of reconstruction, you would need the approval—or at least the tacit acceptance—of three Free Cities in order to claim and rebuild this place.”
“Three cities?” Lynd mused. “You mean Volantis, Norvos, and Qohor?”
Marwyn shook his head. “No, Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor. As long as those three cities don’t oppose you, someone of your strength would have no difficulty restoring and holding this land.”
Lynd nodded slightly but didn’t pursue the topic further. It seemed, at least for now, that the thought had merely crossed his mind in passing.
