The plaza outside the Tyrosh castle had been temporarily arranged with several small stands, where mages and Wright's personal guards sat as spectators.
In the center of the field, Robb Stark—covered in dust and sweat, bare-chested, and wielding a greatsword—was unleashing a rapid barrage of attacks against thin air.
Wright, standing off to the side with the Bloodskal Blade in hand, addressed the audience on the stands. "A battle between mages isn't about who has more magic or whose spells are stronger. The key is identifying your opponent's weakness and using the most efficient method to conserve magic while fighting."
Raising a single finger, Wright continued, "I only used the simplest illusion spell, yet Robb is locked in combat with an enemy that doesn't even exist. I could attack him from behind at any moment or simply wait for him to exhaust himself before capturing him."
"Hah!" Robb suddenly raised his left hand, releasing a blast of fire at the empty air. The red glow of his greatsword extended its reach, and he spun continuously, the blade forming sweeping arcs around his body, as if determined to slice the air into countless pieces.
After delivering a powerful slash, Robb stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, flicking it back in a practiced motion. It was only then that he saw Wright standing calmly in the distance, his massive sword planted in the ground, one hand resting on its hilt as he watched. The spectators on the stands gave him sympathetic smiles—anyone in his place would have suffered the same.
"Go, Robb!" Seran Farman cheered excitedly from the stands, the only one offering him unwavering support.
Robb was a mage, but he focused more on training his swordsmanship than his magic. As he often said, magic was too valuable to waste on mere displays. Seran had rarely seen him use magic beyond small tricks, like lighting a candle with a flicker of flame or chilling wine with a touch—simple feats that even some street performers could manage.
Realizing he had just spent all that effort slashing at nothing, Robb, slightly out of breath, turned to Wright and asked, "I was guarding myself the whole time. When did you cast the illusion on me, Master?"
Wright smirked. "Now comes the lesson I want to teach you all. Watch closely. Robb, prepare your defense."
A golden glow enveloped Robb's body as he activated a protective spell. He took a firm stance, gripping his sword with both hands, his eyes locked onto Wright's hands, ready for any movement.
But Wright remained still, hands resting on his sword, showing no sign of aggression.
"The hands are the most dexterous part of the body, ideal for channeling and casting magic. But magic isn't limited to the hands!" Wright said, eyes locked on Robb as he infused his right foot with magic. Lifting it slightly, he then stomped down.
"Hm?" Robb caught the movement and immediately shifted his focus to the ground beneath him.
Unseen to him, magic had already spread from Wright's foot, coursing through the earth toward him.
With a sudden explosion, over a dozen ice spikes, each as tall as a man, erupted beneath Robb, forming a deadly bloom of frozen spears. The first spike shattered against his protective barrier, but the second and those that followed pierced straight through him, leaving him suspended atop the ice formation.
"Agh!"
A sharp scream startled even Wright. Turning his head, he saw Seran Farman clutching her face, on the verge of tears.
"Uh… I'm fine!" Robb's weak voice came from where he hung, impaled in several places. "Master, could you pull me down and heal me first? This really hurts…"
Magic that had already been cast couldn't simply be withdrawn to restore one's reserves—it consumed energy both in release and in retrieval. However, Wright had a rule that during training between mages, they should always save enough magic for dispelling their own spells to avoid unnecessary harm.
The ice spikes gradually retracted, and Wright cast a healing spell on Robb. After shaking off the pain and stretching his limbs, Robb activated another protective spell. "Let's try again! I had no idea magic could be cast through the feet—I want to experience it once more."
"The illusion spell you fell for earlier," Wright added, "wasn't cast through my hands or feet. I used my eyes."
As soon as he finished speaking, a flash of violet light flickered in Eye of Wrights. This time, Robb swiftly raised his arm to shield his gaze, successfully avoiding the illusion. But the moment he did, Wright stomped the ground once more, and a blast of fire erupted beneath Robb, sending him flying.
Seran Farman, still shaken, watched her husband soar through the air, his body now charred black from the explosion.
Standing beside her, Ser Balon Swann noticed her expression and explained, "This is how mages train. You'll get used to it."
"Ser Balon, is that really the case?" Seran asked, looking up at the towering knight. She had spent the past few days memorizing the names and ranks of every important figure present.
Balon chuckled. "And as long as there's a mage who can heal, the training tends to get… quite bloody. When Lord Wright had Ser Robb fight bare-chested, we all knew he'd have a rough time today. Just let him eat some extra meat tonight to recover."
"Oh." Seran finally relaxed, watching her soot-covered husband flying through the air with far less concern.
After a moment, she turned back to Balon and asked, "Then how does Lord Wright usually train? Not many people could spar with him on equal footing."
Balon laughed. "He spars with Odahviing! The first time I saw them fight, Lord Wright was being chewed on, his bones making awful cracking sounds, all while he screamed in agony. I was so terrified I nearly collapsed on the spot, already thinking about chopping down a tree to build him a makeshift coffin."
"Dragons!" Seran looked up at the sky. She hadn't seen one since arriving in Tyrosh, and a small wish of hers remained unfulfilled.
Magic could heal wounds, but the spilled blood could not be taken back. After consecutive battles, Robb was pale, his lips white from exhaustion.
"Robb, go rest. Qyburn, you're up," Wright finally let him off the hook.
"Hey, Lord Wright, take it easy on me. These old bones of mine can't handle what Robb just went through." Qyburn stepped down from the platform and summoned a skeletal archer, which eagerly awaited Wright's command.
"Don't worry, you won't die while I'm here," Wright assured him.
"Ahhh~~~!" The old man was sent flying just like Robb.
The skeletal archer stood dumbly in place, bow raised, glancing left and right. Its attack command had been interrupted halfway, leaving it unsure of who to target.
Opportunities to experience life and death up close were rare. The mages present were all intelligent individuals, and one by one, they lined up to be thrashed by Wright. Afterward, they were paired off according to their abilities, engaging in full-force magical duels while Wright provided verbal guidance and emergency aid.
Yun Kong wielded swift and rapid wind magic, Quaithe showcased his eerie shadow magic, and the Warlock Paya Bolin, after being force-fed over a hundred alchemical potions by Tyene, spewed toxic fumes from his mouth, offering the King's Landing mages quite a spectacle.
After the sparring sessions, Wright led them to his study and placed books detailing techniques for casting magic through different body parts onto the table, allowing those interested to copy them freely.
These techniques weren't suited for high-level magic, as advanced spells required precise magical control and still relied on dexterous hands. However, for lower-level spells, adept mages could learn them with ease—much like learning to write with one's non-dominant hand.
Several days later, while drinking in a tavern in the city, Robb and Jon overheard someone shouting about a dragon.
This tavern featured only women performing songs and dances, making it a respectable establishment. Sansa, Seran, and Arya were also present.
Jon took a sip of his drink. "That's odd. Dragons fly overhead all the time, and the Tyroshi don't even look up. Why the commotion now?"
"Maybe it's not Master's dragon. Let's go check it out." Robb placed a silver coin on the table, grabbed his sword, and pulled Seran along as he headed outside.
"Wait for me!" Arya scrambled off her high stool and ran after Robb.
"Come on, let's see what's happening." Life in Tyrosh was too peaceful, and Jon had grown fond of excitement.
As the group reached a small square, the four direwolves playing behind them suddenly sensed something and began howling at the sky.
"Look! Eye of Wright is glowing!" Arya's exclamations were always dramatic.
Everyone looked up. It was their first time witnessing Eye of Wright—a massive, glowing blue orb radiating magical energy, fixed on the western sea. Suddenly, it turned yellow for a few seconds before reverting to blue.
The people in the streets, seeing it return to blue, didn't panic and simply continued watching the sky.
Before long, a small dragon with a white body and red-gold markings flew in from the west, circling above the city around Eye of Wright.
"It's Lord Renly!" a passerby shouted, recognizing the dragon. The other onlookers eagerly discussed its speed, diet, and habits, sounding like seasoned dragon experts despite their casual chatter. Tyrosh were well-traveled, after all.
In his castle, Wright controlled the Eye, keeping his gaze locked on the dragon. When Renly's ship was about to dock, he deactivated the magic, changed into his finest robes, and set out for the harbor with Tyene and his honor guard.
As Wright's procession neared the port, the crowd grew larger. The Lord of Storm's End was no minor figure, and his official visit drew nobles and wealthy merchants alike to the harbor to welcome him.
The spectacle was grand. When the ship finally docked, Renly was the first to leap ashore, grabbing Wright by the collar. "I know that eye of yours is for enemies, and yet you were watching me too?"
Wright turned and placed a hand on Renly's shoulder. "Heh, how did it feel to be under the gaze of a magical eye?"
"Not great. When that yellow light hit me, my magic surged uncontrollably. It was miserable."
Wright chuckled. "If I had switched to red mode, it would've knocked out an ordinary mage. Would you like one for Storm's End?"
Renly's eyes lit up. "Of course! I thought you only installed those things in Tyrosh."
Wright lowered his voice. "I'll send you a full set of blueprints when you return. And I'll sell you Valyrian steel at a discount."
"Deal!" Renly, having witnessed the power of Eye of Wright, was eager to install one in Storm's End.
"Lord Wright, aren't you even going to greet me?"
Wright and Renly turned around. Dressed in a light green gauze robe, the Little Rose, Margaery, was already standing behind them, accompanied by several Tyrell girls holding children.
"Ha, long time no see!"
"Long time no see!"
Margaery and Wright exchanged smiles, though Wright felt there was something rather fierce in Margaery's gaze toward him.
Renly planned to stay in Tyrosh for about half a year, bringing with him a large entourage. Half of Storm's End's officials, along with all his maids and attendants, had followed him here.
Fortunately, Wright's castle had two floors. Renly and the nobles would stay in the castle, while the attendants had to find lodging in the city's inns.
After the welcoming feast, Renly took his captain of the guard to converse with the mages, finally giving Wright a chance to rest during the day.
Wright was in his chambers, playing with his child alongside Tyene when a knock sounded at the door.
Before he could respond, Margaery had already entered on her own, casually locking the door behind her.
"Aren't you supposed to be taking care of the children?" Wright asked.
Margaery walked up to him. "Still pretending?"
Wright sighed. "Broad daylight… Not very appropriate, is it?"
Margaery pointed at the grandest bed in Westeros. "Get on."
Wright nodded reluctantly, dragging his feet as he climbed onto the bed.
Margaery turned her head. "Tyene, come join us!"
Tyene ran a hand over Margaery's belly. "I'm still recovering. I'll just watch from the side. Do your best!"
---
At dinner, Wright glanced at Margaery, who sat beside Renly, smacking his lips. There was still a faint taste of milk lingering in his mouth.
"Eat this, it'll replenish you." Tyene forked an unfamiliar shellfish from her plate and placed it on his.
Wright hugged her and planted a kiss on her cheek. "You're the best, Tyene! My waist is about to break."
"Want some help?" Tyene reached into her pocket.
Wright quickly grabbed her hand. "No need, not that bad yet!"
Tyene casually peeled open a shellfish and popped it into her mouth. "Oh. Nymeria sent a letter. She's reached Hellgate Hall and has met up with a few Lords."
"I know," Wright replied. "Don't worry. Odahviing will ensure her safety."
"What's her next target?" Tyene asked.
"They can only move north or east," Wright said. "You know Dorne better than I do. I'm not good at commanding battles, so I can't predict their next move."
Tyene pondered. "She's been sending fewer letters lately."
Wright sighed. "They're at war. They can't send reports for every little thing. A raven could be shot down by an expert archer, exposing them."
Tyene nodded, resuming her meal.
To Wright's left, Renly leaned in. "Wright, I have a few things to discuss. First, I'm here on behalf of Stannis. He wants to open a shop in Tyrosh."
"His gambling den?" Wright chuckled. "No problem. We've got gods of all kinds here—why not welcome a God of Gambling as well?"
Renly straightened up. "Would I need to pass on a message just for a simple shop? Everyone knows Tyrosh is packed to the brim right now. There's no space to build anything in the city. Stannis sent me here to ask you to find him a larger plot."
"Don't worry," Wright assured him. "Tyrosh itself may be full, but the outer terrain is vast. South of the city walls, beyond the temple and workshop districts, we're planning to build a large residential and commercial area. There's also a second port in the works. However much land he wants, I'll set it aside for him."
"That settles it, then. Stannis' business is done." Renly grinned and leaned in closer. "Now, onto my own matters. One child isn't enough to secure things—I need another. Can you make that happen?"
Wright stared at him in shock. "You're staying for half a year just for this?"
Renly sighed. "No choice. My brother Robert is pressuring me, House Tyrell is pressing the issue, and even the lords of the Stormlands keep bringing it up. So here I am, asking you again."
"Even if Margaery is young, she can't just keep having children back-to-back. It's not good for her health."
Renly fixed Wright with a firm stare and clasped his left hand. "That's why I'm staying in Tyrosh for half a year. By the time I leave, you must ensure it happens."
Wright drummed his fingers on the table. Even a mule wouldn't be worked this hard. He glanced up to find Margaery raising her goblet in his direction, toasting him with a sly smile. Wright instinctively clutched his waist, feeling a sudden sense of dread.