Chapter 89

“A big deal?” Tyrion rubbed his short arms, still chilled from the underground cold, as he quickly climbed the steps. “Are you talking about the wildfire down there? Sorry, but that’s probably impossible. The only reason the king hasn’t reclaimed that building from the Alchemist’s Guild is because the wildfire stored beneath it is far too dangerous. All the real experts in handling it either died or disappeared during the wars, so the remaining members are simply tasked with keeping it cold and contained. Strictly speaking, what we just did—buying wildfire—was illegal. Robert just doesn’t care enough to crack down on it. But if you’re thinking about moving all that wildfire to the Wall for military use, forget it. That’s out of the question.”

It was out of the question.

Aegor suspected that wildfire was likely a volatile oil mixed with white phosphorus or other phosphorous compounds. Its low flashpoint made it extremely flammable and explosive. The longer it was stored, the more concentrated the phosphorus in the remaining liquid, making it even more unstable. Without proper safety measures, transporting something like that over long distances was a pipe dream.

“Is that so?” Aegor turned to the so-called Wise Master.

“That’s correct,” Hallyne replied, his tone notably more pleasant after receiving ten silver stags. “The wise and noble King Robert ordered us to guard the wildfire in the cellars forever, forbidding any jar from being removed…”

“No jar can leave, but what about bottles? One by one?” Tyrion quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“That’s… no…”

“It’s fine,” Aegor interjected, not interested in making the old man uncomfortable. “I don’t want the wildfire in the cellars. What I want is the knowledge to make it. Can you show me the production process? Or do you only sell old stock now, without producing any new wildfire?”

“That’s impossible!” Hallyne’s face grew stern, his eyes wide with alarm. “The method for creating wildfire is the deepest secret of the Alchemist’s Guild. No matter the price, it cannot be revealed!”

Aegor scoffed inwardly at the man’s self-righteous tone but chose not to argue. Instead, he calmly said, “I don’t want you to give me your formula or process. What I want is for you to work for me. Understand?”

“Work for you?”

“Yes. Now tell me—can I at least see the production process or even just the workshop?”

“This… this can be arranged,” Hallyne relented after some hesitation. He led them up to the ground floor, where the warmer air was a welcome relief. Aegor noticed that there didn’t seem to be any other alchemists around. The guild’s decline must have been severe, leaving only a few members to manage everything, likely in shifts.

During their earlier visit to purchase wildfire, Hallyne had taken them straight to the underground storage. Now, as they returned to the surface and headed toward the production area, Aegor finally had a chance to examine the layout of the guildhall. It was a sprawling labyrinth made entirely of black stone, far more complex than it appeared from the outside. After winding through dim corridors supported by black iron beams, they stopped at a door. Hallyne opened it, revealing a room with small windows. For the first time, they didn’t need lanterns to see.

Stepping inside, Aegor immediately knew he was in the right place.

The room was lined with long tables covered in tools and equipment of various shapes and sizes. Among them, Aegor could easily identify two: one for extraction and another for distillation.

It was a chemistry lab—or at least the beginnings of one.

The Alchemist’s Guild was, in essence, a primitive chemical research institute!

Why had such a group, representing advanced productive capabilities, been overshadowed and replaced by the maesters trained at the Citadel? With so much equipment, they should have been making groundbreaking discoveries for society. Why had they squandered their resources on nothing but wildfire? Was this a failure of human nature, or the death of curiosity?

“What do you see?” Tyrion asked, noticing his friend staring in silence.

“I see the future,” Aegor murmured, his eyes blazing as he turned to Hallyne. “Do you know how to use all the equipment in this room?”

“I know the basics,” Hallyne admitted, his confidence faltering. “I was trained… but it’s been years since I worked here. If we were to restart production, I’d need time to refresh my memory.”

“Let’s leave, then,” Hallyne added quickly, glancing nervously around the room. “This place isn’t exactly safe.”

Aegor nearly choked. “Not safe? Don’t tell me there’s still wildfire stored here instead of in the cellar! Is there any place in this guildhall that is safe?”

“No, no… it’s not that,” Hallyne said, pointing to the ceiling. “There are mechanisms and spells in place. If a fire breaks out, the ceiling will collapse, and the sand stored in the chambers above will fall to extinguish the flames. It’s a failsafe. It should work… but it hasn’t been serviced in over a decade, so who knows if it’s still reliable.”

Looking up, Aegor saw that the ceiling was indeed sagging ominously, as if ready to collapse at any moment. He decided against further inspection of the lab’s equipment and quickly exited the room.

Before leaving the guildhall, Aegor turned to Hallyne. “Remember what I said. If you have time, come find me.”

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“What exactly do you want from that guy?” Tyrion asked as they stepped outside. “He’s not even a proper pyromancer—more like a glorified assistant. Anything he makes will be questionable at best.”

“I don’t need wildfire. I need his knowledge of how to use the equipment in that room,” Aegor replied, mounting his horse. He cast one last glance at the decrepit guildhall. “Back in my homeland, there’s a substance similar to wildfire—more stable and even more powerful. It’s called gunpowder.”

“More stable, more powerful, and solid?” Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. Though he had no martial skills, his bookish knowledge of war allowed him to grasp the implications immediately. “That would completely change the face of warfare—and the world.”

“Exactly,” Aegor said with a cryptic smile.

“You know how to make it?” Tyrion asked, his eyes widening.

“I know enough to get started, but I’ll need help figuring it out.” Aegor urged his horse forward. “But tell me, how are you so familiar with buying wildfire?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Our good King Robert has a court jester of sorts, a warrior from Myr named Thoros. He uses a flaming sword to terrify his opponents and their horses during tournaments. Once, I bought him a drink and asked about it. He told me he buys wildfire from the guild and coats his blade with it.”

“So that’s how it is,” Aegor said. He had always thought the flaming swords in the show were some divine manifestation of R’hllor’s power. Apparently, they were just another trick. “Enough about that. Let’s head back. We’ve got a lot to do in the coming days, and we should savor every moment of rest we can get.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go.”

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Karl Marx once wrote in The Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts: “Gunpowder, the compass, and the printing press—these were the three great inventions that heralded the arrival of bourgeois society. Gunpowder shattered the power of the knightly class, the compass opened up the global market and colonial expansion, and the printing press became a tool of Protestantism, a means for scientific revival, and the most potent driver of intellectual progress.”

Now, things were about to get very interesting.