Chapter 293: The Power of the Soul

"Your brother seems to have returned to normal."

Unnoticed, Melisandre had appeared by Samwell's side, her gaze fixed on Dickon's retreating figure before speaking.

Samwell, however, still wore a frown. "But his memory is still fragmented."

"That must be from the damage caused earlier. At least now, I can no longer sense the power of the Lord of Light in him."

Samwell turned to look at the red-robed priestess beside him.

During the Bloodstone Isle incident, he knew she had lent him a hand. Without her intervention, he might not have been able to free himself from the Lord of Light's control.

After a few days apart, she still wore her familiar red robe, but her skin was no longer the porcelain white it once was. Instead, it had turned a pale, sickly hue, revealing a hint of fragility.

The ruby necklace around her throat also seemed dimmer than before.

It was clear that defying the Lord of Light had come at a considerable cost.

"Back when we attacked Storm's End, R'hllor controlled Dickon to infiltrate the castle and assassinate Edric. The shadow you carried in your womb—it was for this moment on Bloodstone Isle, wasn't it? To revive me and take control?"

"Yes," Melisandre admitted, her eyes flickering. "We are all tools to Him..."

"No. We are not." Samwell looked into the priestess's blood-red eyes. "He failed to control me, and He failed to control you. If I'm not mistaken, the message you had me deliver to Dickon—'remember who you are'—was actually meant for me. You foresaw what would happen on Bloodstone Isle, didn't you?"

Melisandre shook her head. "I only foresaw death. Beyond that, everything was blurred, fragmented visions. I initially thought it was divine punishment. But reflecting on Azor Ahai's rebirth and what happened with your brother, I deduced a few things and made some preparations."

"Why did you help me?"

"Because I believe you are right. Life should not be a tool. And..." Melisandre fixed her gaze on Samwell. "I also had my doubts. I wanted answers."

"Did you find them?"

The ruby at her throat began to glow again, not as bright as before but still radiant.

She nodded slowly. "I once believed that R'hllor was the Lord of Flames, the source of all light. But after this act of defiance, my powers have indeed weakened—but they have not disappeared.

"I can no longer see prophetic visions in the flames, but I can still wield fire and perform sorcery. That shadow gravely injured me but did not strip me of my strength.

"So, perhaps R'hllor is not the Lord of Flames. Perhaps He is not as omnipotent as I once thought."

"He is certainly not omnipotent," Samwell said. "There was once a maester in the Citadel who theorized that gods are nothing more than imprisoned, immensely powerful sorcerers. Stronger than mortals, yes, but far from omnipotent. If they were, why would they be so obsessed with finding champions?"

As he spoke, Samwell drew his greatsword, Dawn.

"R'hllor can strip this blade of its fiery power," he said, running his hand along the pale blade. Though it no longer glowed with radiant red light, its edge remained razor-sharp.

"But He cannot take my white dragon," Samwell continued, adding silently, Nor can He interfere with my attribute panel.

"Indeed," Melisandre agreed. "I once thought dragons were His emissaries. Now it seems that is not the case."

Samwell sheathed the greatsword. "It seems R'hllor has given up on me. Do you think He'll look for another Azor Ahai reborn?"

"No," Melisandre said with conviction. "You are the prince that was promised. But you are not R'hllor's prophecy."

Samwell understood her meaning. "The prophecy didn't originate with R'hllor?"

"No," Melisandre sighed. "That prophecy has been circulating in Asshai for a very long time, and its true origin is unknown."

"So R'hllor might be exploiting the prophecy for His own purposes?"

"That is possible. But unless we discover the true intentions of the gods, all we can do is speculate."

"The gods' intentions..." Samwell's gaze sharpened. "One day, I'll find out."

"I believe you will," Melisandre said.

Samwell hesitated, then asked:

"Do you remember the ruby you gave me? The one that allowed me to take on the appearance of 'Puffish'?"

"I remember."

"You mentioned then that the Faceless Men use similar methods to disguise themselves."

"Correct. It's a form of blood magic that requires the target's blood."

"Is there a way to see through such blood magic?" Samwell didn't want to risk another Faceless Men attack.

"There is," Melisandre nodded. "There's a blood magic spell called the Eye of Truth, which can pierce any disguise."

"Can I learn it?"

"You can. However, learning blood magic takes a long time. While your soul is exceptionally strong—giving you extraordinary talent—it will still take years to master the Eye of Truth, given your lack of magical training."

"Soul strength?" Samwell pondered if this referred to his mental attribute.

"Yes, the strength of your soul. If I'm not mistaken, you must be a skinchanger."

"I am. I can inhabit a hawk, soar through its wings, and see through its eyes."

"This is a manifestation of powerful soul strength," Melisandre explained. "The original inhabitants of Westeros, the Children of the Forest, had immense soul strength. Even today, in the North, descendants of houses that intermarried with them sometimes inherit this gift. Such people are called skinchangers."

Samwell became more certain: soul strength was tied to his mental attribute.

"How long would it take me to learn the Eye of Truth?"

"At least ten years. You lack any foundational knowledge of magic and would need to start from scratch. Even with your exceptional talent, it would take years."

Samwell pondered this and asked:

"What if my soul strength were even greater?"

"Soul strength is innate; it doesn't change easily—" Melisandre froze mid-sentence.

Because before her, Samwell underwent a staggering transformation.

Something about him shifted—a profound, heart-stopping change that left her stunned.

His black eyes became fathomless voids, pulling everything into their depths.

"You..." For the first time, Melisandre's voice carried a tremor of fear. "Your soul strength... just increased exponentially..."

Samwell's thoughts lingered on his attribute panel.

Moments ago, he had allocated all the free attribute points he'd gained from becoming Storm King to his mental attribute.

Title: Storm King

Holdings: Storm's End, Eagle's Nest

Vassals: Lucas Dayne, Chiman TigerFang, Katu TigerFang, Todd Flowers, Gavin Mander, Brienne Tarth...

Strength: 15.96 (18.70)

Agility: 5.67 (7.86)

Spirit: 39.38

Becoming Storm King had granted him 30 free attribute points—close to what he had expected. He also suspected there would be more points to gain when he conquered the other six kingdoms or claimed the Iron Throne.

Initially, Samwell had hesitated over how to allocate the points, knowing they couldn't be divided. But Melisandre's mention of soul strength helped him decide: he poured everything into his Spirit attribute.

As his mental attribute surged, the world around him seemed to transform.

"You now possess the strongest soul strength I've ever seen," Melisandre murmured in awe.

"Then learning magic should be easier for me now, right?" Samwell rubbed his temples.

With his heightened mental strength, the world around him shimmered with strange, vibrant hues.

For example, Melisandre appeared to be cloaked in a faint red mist, emanating from the ruby at her throat.

"Yes. Such powerful soul strength will make mastering many spells much easier..." Melisandre agreed. "In fact, you may no longer need the Eye of Truth to discern a Faceless Man's disguise."

Samwell quickly grasped her point. The vivid colors in his enhanced perception seemed to reveal traces of sorcery.

For instance, while he couldn't yet see Melisandre's true face, he could tell she was veiled by blood magic.

If another Faceless Man approached, he wouldn't be caught off guard again.

However, this new awareness came with its own challenges.

A strange sound whispered in his ears—a dreamlike murmur that felt like tiny worms burrowing into his mind.

"Hantam... Hantam..."

The whispers unsettled him, tightening his head.

"Your Grace, you need to learn the basics of magic," Melisandre said. "Otherwise, such immense soul strength might become a burden."

Samwell nodded, though the whispers persisted.

"Alright."

"Follow me." Melisandre extended her hand, placing hers over his.

A peaceful and tranquil force passed through her arm, slightly relieving Samwell's discomfort.

"Do you know what Hantam means?"

"It's a Valyrian word," Melisandre said. "And It means—

Don't come in."

(End of Chapter)

TL: I need someone to fact check the valyrian.