Chapter 18

Behind the door awaited something far worse than I could have anticipated, even if I had encountered the tortured bodies of still-living people, it wouldn't have been as horrifying. What I saw easily sent chills down my spine while simultaneously igniting a nearly inhuman rage and wrath within me.

Before me lay a scene straight out of the depths of hell, with human skins hung all around, but the most terrifying sight was the hundreds of ghosts experiencing unimaginable pain.

"Save us! Help! Why?! Aaaaah!"

Such screams and moans were audible if one shifted to the magical level of perception. I don't know how, but the Boltons had somehow managed to harvest the afterlife from those slain within Dreadfort. It was truly a ghastly state, one I wouldn't wish on even my enemies.

As I surveyed the room with magical vision, I tried my best to ignore the cries, with varying degrees of success. After passing another person whose body had been flayed, I came across one of the few individuals who wasn't screaming.

Upon closer inspection, I realized he too had been flayed, but astonishingly, he seemed to have grown accustomed to the pain. Looking closer, I discovered something significant—he was a Stark, identifiable by the familiar grey eyes and black hair, and he bore a strong resemblance to the Starks.

The ghost, noticing my intense gaze, first thought I wasn't looking at him. But seeing my direct eye contact, he was startled and quickly spoke in the language of the First Men:

"Do you see me?"

"Yes, I see and hear you," I replied, seeing no point in hiding this fact.

The man, stunned, rubbed his eyes and slapped himself, saying:

"I'm not imagining this."

I simply raised an eyebrow and said:

"I understand your astonishment, but I would like to know what this place is and who you are?"

The man took a few moments to think, then began his tale...

From the man's perspective

"My name is Edric Stark, the fate of the only remaining King of Winter left to rot here within the walls of the Red Kings. I remember as if it were yesterday when I was young and foolish enough to trust the Boltons. Believing I would receive their support in quelling yet another King-Beyond-the-Wall, I indeed received aid, but the cost was far too great.

After being wounded in battle, I lost consciousness, only for Bolton's men to kill all my people nearby, while I was imprisoned in their dungeons. Initially, that Bolton wanted to torment me thoroughly before confronting my son. But after a few days of torture when he could no longer hear my screams, he was unable to move against my son due to the loyalty my son had secured from our vassals. Bolton revealed all this during my torment, expressing his hatred towards me. However, even a human body has its limits, and mine, overwhelmed by the pain, failed. Yet, death did not bring rest, quite the opposite...

Centuries passed, the number of ghosts increased, and observing all that transpired, I began to suspect why I remained trapped here. Initially, I thought it was the building or the room itself, but as the number of tortured souls increased without a corresponding increase in ghosts, I suspected something else was at play.

Eventually, I realized what was keeping me and all the others here in a state of eternal agony—it was a ritualistic cross and knife, passed down through generations. I noticed this quite unexpectedly when observing another Bolton torturing yet another innocent; I suddenly saw rune inscriptions on the knife and cross surface. However, the runes were unlike those used by either the Andals or the First Men; they were far more ancient and darker. I felt this darkness through my very being...

Discovering what was holding me here, the only thing left was to destroy these objects. However, the huge problem was that I was locked in this room and could not interact with the living.

What does it feel like to know the way out but have no means to escape? Terrifying, as even those who could somewhat communicate eventually lost hope, faith, and their sanity over time. So passed an unbearably long time—months, years, decades, and centuries stretched endlessly... And just when I had lost all hope, a chance for salvation from this prolonged nightmare appeared before me.

That day was like hundreds before it; the presence of day or night could only be discerned by the light filtering through crevices. But due to the structure, while light reached, it was dreadfully insufficient, always leaving the room in darkness.

That day was as dark as the thousand before it, but one small difference changed everything. The moment a boy with grey eyes and black hair walked in, I couldn't initially see his resemblance to myself, as his facial features did not resemble those of the Starks, but he was one of them. Moreover, he could see and hear me and the other ghosts. Thus, a hope I thought had long been extinguished reignited with new strength.

At first, I thought he was looking at the wall behind me. But when our eyes met and he looked directly into my eyes, doubts began to crumble. Following my intuition, I confirmed whether he could indeed see me, and he affirmed he could.

Afterward, I began to share my entire story with him—how I ended up here, who I am, and how I could escape this nightmare. All I could do was hope that he would agree to help me.

POV Daeron

What I heard from the man shocked me; it turned out the Boltons had somehow obtained or created a weapon of terrifying power. Who knows what the Boltons are truly capable of, as when I monitored them through my "eyes," I did not see this place or the current situation at all.

"Lord Edric, I will help you as it is also in my interest to do so. But before we rush into action, we need to ensure a few things and gather more information. I hope you can hold on a little longer?"

My ancestor, after thinking, nodded, apparently deciding there was some truth in my words. He also asked me to visit and talk with him whenever possible.

"Yes, of course," I said, leaving the room as dawn was approaching, and I did not want to be caught talking with a ghost.

"Time to start planning..." With these thoughts, I returned to my bed, thankful that the castle had not yet awakened.

But first, I needed a good night's sleep, as a solid rest is the foundation for good thoughts in the morning...

"Yawn..." As soon as I lay down in my bed, sleep took me away to the realm of Morpheus.

The day after visiting that underground chamber, I began devising a plan of action, as I knew they wouldn't let me simply destroy the Bolton family relics. And frankly, they wouldn't let me go after finding out that I discovered that place.

There was also the issue that I didn't know what would happen to the place if the Boltons remained alive. What if the ghosts are tied not just to the instruments and the place, but to the living Boltons as well? In that case, all my efforts to free the ghosts would be in vain.

Thus, the only solution left was to destroy not only the place but the Boltons as well... But how? These thoughts consumed my entire day. While interacting with Roose, I didn't sense any suspicion or other negative emotions towards me or Robb. Domeric also didn't exhibit such emotions; he was another variable to consider... Now that I knew about the place Roose clearly frequented, had Domeric been there too? This information could drastically change my perception of him, and my approach to him.

"Jon, will you join us for a hunt after lunch and lessons with the maester and Lord Bolton?" Robb asked me after breakfast.

"Why not? I could use a distraction."

Indeed, I needed a distraction, as all these days while I was at Dreadfort, I spent all my time either mastering the library or training. A break in the form of a hunt could help me think clearly.

One month later

A month had passed since I learned about the secret hidden within the depths of Dreadfort. During this time, I carefully considered various courses of action and weighed the pros and cons of each. My thoughts had narrowed down to two potential plans, and I also kept a close watch on Domeric.

His presence significantly altered my plans, and his knowledge would determine his fate... How easily I discuss the life of someone I know... Has this world changed me that much?

"Ah... My burden is heavy..."

With these thoughts, I entered the Bolton family library. I was interested in this library because the Boltons, nearly as ancient as the Starks, might have a library of comparable size... Overall, the library met my expectations, but it was clear that the Stark library was much more extensive.

As I wandered through the bookshelves describing the Bolton lineage, my thoughts involuntarily shifted to Roose... His atrocities, including the brutality he committed just yesterday, drove me to rage. Watching a man rape a woman and then slowly kill her by flaying her alive, and being powerless to do anything about it, was simply abhorrent!

"Damn it!" I muttered under my breath, probably releasing a wave of magic in my anger.

At that moment, my sense of magic suddenly detected something...

"It must be my imagination..." I thought, but then the sensation was confirmed.

Quickly pinpointing the source of the magical disturbance, I found myself standing before it. It was a simple black book, "Secrets of Essos: K'Dath," which I had already read. However, when I first read it, it looked different; it didn't have such a dark cover or emit such dark magic. Now before me was a literal manifestation of magic, and I wasn't sure how it affected people.

Ding

"Ice Mind has protected the owner from the deleterious effects of the magical book."

"Can I read this book without dire consequences for myself? And what will happen to Ice Mind?"

"The protection can handle the book's malign influence; furthermore, such trials will strengthen Ice Mind's power."

"Phew..." I sighed in relief, eager to read but not at the expense of losing my mind or soul.

However, reading this artifact here was too dangerous, so I decided to wait until I could peruse it alone. I suspected a direct connection between this book and that room. Considering my knowledge about the city it discussed, the contents likely involved a tremendous amount of sacrifice.

For K'Dath is a city in the Grey Waste, known for unspeakable rituals to satisfy the hunger of mad gods. Even the Shrykes fear this city, and it is said to be older than time itself. Not the most pleasant description, and given the nature of this world... It's clear this city is one of the most terrifying places here.

After finding the book, all my thoughts shifted to this issue. Quickly heading to my room, I also checked the surroundings to ensure no one was nearby so I could begin reading…

Three hours later

I had read about a third of the book, which, as expected, described methods for summoning gods that sow horror and death, satiating themselves with the bloodshed on a massive scale. It also covered methods for summoning various demons, as well as curses, runes, and rituals of all terrifying kinds—from methods of torturing people to when and where to consume certain parts of humans. What I read clearly bore a magical imprint and changed a person to serve the magical abilities described therein.

As soon as I opened the book, a horrifying image briefly appeared before my eyes—a monstrous eye watching me. This moment vanished as quickly as it appeared, and my Ice Mind became much stronger.

"What was that?"

Ding

"The owner survived an encounter with a God of Horror."

"Reward Received: Soul Fortification"

This revelation was quite surprising... It appears that this book has a direct connection with these monstrous beings...

Overcoming my fear, I continued reading because the answers to my emerging questions were likely within these pages. After some time, I found what I was looking for—the pages that described methods for imprisoning the souls of the dead. But then another question arose: why did the Boltons use only one ritual?

My theory is that the first Boltons to come across this tome had a certain amount of magic, but apparently, that amount was only sufficient to learn about soul entrapment.

It also turned out to be true that to destroy the soul prison, it was necessary to destroy the spell caster, or in my case, the descendants of the spell caster, so that their connection with the last instruments would disappear. By my estimates, the Boltons had much more ghastly tools before the current instruments, but it seems previous instruments were destroyed, and the last remaining ones received the fullness of blood protection.

This was my only assumption since the protection was either tied to blood or to the soul. But since the original spell casters had already died, the option remains with the blood, or more precisely, with the lineage.

This book also described methods to combat such a trap and ways to eliminate it.

"Heh, it seems there is only one path I ought to take."

I should relay this news to Edric Stark to learn more details about his situation. And simply maintaining dialogue with the old man is worthwhile, especially since I missed meetings with this ghost due to yesterday's actions by Roose...

"I'll also check something..." I murmured after ensuring there were no people around on my path.