Playing God 18 (Patreon)

Playing God 18

Charlie Foxtrot

As promised, I gave Sarella a tome in accordance with how much she impressed me. Which meant she got a book twice as thick as anything in her family library and heavy enough to club a man to death with. It took me over a week just to curate the information I wished to pass on to her.

I had two libraries, one for fiction, the other for nonfiction. Granted, the line between fiction and nonfiction blurred considerably these days, but the second library was dedicated to practical concerns such as techniques, encyclopedias, combat tactics manuals, various scholarly treaties, and more.

I began building that library because I expected to arrive in the New World. I thought that if I learned more about the mundane trades, I could use them as foundations for exploring their magical counterparts. Botany and herbology to complement alchemy. Metallurgy and blacksmithing to complement enchanting. Biology to optimize my healing magic. 

And then, my packrat mentality kicked in. Once I started collecting knowledge, I couldn’t stop. Before I knew it, my libraries grew massive, if not in physical size, then in data storage. After all, why not? It wasn’t like I lacked the space.

YGGDRASIL was a virtual reality game. Compared to even the most basic in-game avatar, things like a twenty-first century wikipedia page or even a full-length movie were miniscule in terms of data size. A “data crystal,” the in-game representation of what amounted to a compressed zip file, could hold a truly monstrous amount of information.

At some point, I stopped being choosy about the information I stored. I simply gathered everything that looked even remotely interesting until my libraries could rival entire national archives. After all, I planned on being immortal. Surely I’d find a use for it eventually, even if “eventually” was a thousand years from now.

There was no way for me to sort it all myself, so I hired a modder to design a basic boolean search bar and called it a day. That “search bar” was a master data tablet that acted like the archive of a college library. It was the only reason I could even navigate all this data in the first place.

Once again, I found Sarella in the library and placed the tome onto the table with a dull thump. I wanted her alone for this. This had to be her own decision. “Guess what I’ve got?”

“Foundations of Civilization: A fox’s guide to this and that. You finished it!” Sarella cried as she clutched the tome to her chest. It looked comically large compared to the young girl. “And it’s written in those weird squiggles!”

“Oi, them ‘squiggles’ are Japanese,” I huffed. “At least we know your ring’s working.”

“It’s great! Uncle Doran is so jealous. And he can’t even have me lend it to people because it’s attuned.”

“Yeah, can’t have anyone stealing the ring, can we? Open it. The first page is a table of contents. All the pages are numbered so you know exactly where to find any information you need. There are sections for different subjects and chapters for things that need to be explained in more detail.”

She began reading through the table of contents. “Agriculture… Animal husbandry… Beekeeping… Distilling and fermentation… Material sciences and metallurgy… Pottery and glassmaking… Public works and infrastructure… Medical best practices and elementary pharmacology… Wait, you know how to make glass?”

“Yes? It’s basically just heated sand. There’s a bit more involved if you want clear or stained glass of various colors, but it’s not too complicated. Why is that your first fixation?”

“High quality glassware is a Myrish trade secret. They hire assassins and kill people to keep it that way.”

“Oh… Well, sucks to be them, I guess. You should read the medical chapter, or just copy the information for the maesters.”

“What is phar-maco-logy?” she asked, sounding out the unfamiliar word.

“It is the study of chemicals and the way they interact with living organisms. In a nutshell, the development of medicine. And poisons too, I suppose.”

“This book… It’s really important, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s up to you.”

“Huh?”

“You’re the only person in the world who can read this book. You can share as much or as little of this knowledge as you please, however you please. Charge them a thousand dragons per chapter. Make them do the chicken dance. Or don’t share it at all and just keep it for fun. I’m leaving it all up to you.”

“Why? I’m… I’m just a girl. I’m not a maester,” she said quietly. It seemed the gravity of what she’d asked for was finally starting to weigh on her.

“Would you like the stories about heroes instead? Or the book about bowyering?” I asked, giving her an out. “I won’t lie to you. This book is a big responsibility. Simply possessing it makes you quite possibly the most important person in Westeros.”

“But you’re giving it to me anyway.”

“I am. Sunspear’s maesters do not impress me. You do. You asked for knowledge that could help your people. Well, here it is. This is the weight of that knowledge. I won’t think less of you if you decide not to take it.”

She looked at the tome intently. Then, with a resolute nod, she held it to her chest. “No. It’s mine. I… I wanted something only I could do. None of my sisters would want to do this, so I will.”

“You won’t get many miracles from me, Sarella,” I cautioned. “The book is the miracle. Dorne will have to advance on its own merits.”

“I know, Charlie. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I look forward to seeing the kingdom you will build.”

X

I spent the rest of the day running around with Elia on my back, a wooden lance tucked beneath her armpit. Well, I started by slowly practicing zanjutsu forms in the yard until I was pounced upon by a savage, unrelenting beast of the puppy-eyed variety. Naturally, before such an apex predator, I caved like a house of cards.

Jousting practice only lasted a short while. Much to her consternation, as a young girl of twelve, “two and ten” in Westerosi convention, the Little Lance had other commitments these days. She was currently learning all the trappings expected of a noblewoman so that she could one day be a lady-in-waiting. It was like squiring, she said, but boring.

It couldn’t be helped. Elia was a bit older now. She was, according to Ellaria, a “maiden flowered,” and had to learn such things. Basing a child’s maturity purely on whether she bled from her crotch once a month sounded preposterous to me, but such was the culture of the times.

Being Ellaria’s eldest biological daughter, Elia received more attention from the woman than her older half-siblings. The young girl no doubt found it unfair and stifling, but an overbearing parent and a child eager to try something different was a tale as old as time. I could scarcely blame a mother for wanting the best for her daughter.

“Care to spar with me, Master Fox?” Oberyn asked as he tossed me a wooden spear.

“Oh? With only one spear? You have me at a disadvantage, ser,” I chuckled. I set it aside in favor of a wooden sword from a nearby rack.

“You can use a sword as well. Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s a recent development. I only picked it up in the past year or so. I’d like to practice the forms if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish. Why do I get the feeling you are already the finest swordsman I will ever meet?”

I swung the longsword with a casual swoosh. It wasn’t the same as a katana, but Genji School zanjutsu wasn’t so inflexible that I could no longer use it. “That says more about the swordsmen you’ve met in your life than it does about me. I’m only mediocre, I’m afraid. Old man Yama is the true monster.”

“Coming from you, I think I’d rather I never meet him,” he replied with a wry grin.

“Yes, that’s probably for the best. He’s got zero sense of humor.”

I slowed myself down, focusing entirely on form over speed. I did learn to suppress my power, so that helped to level the playing field a bit. Even compared to the absolute least of Yamamoto’s students, Oberyn fell short in too many ways for me to do anything else. Still, it wasn’t often that I got to face a skilled spearman as a swordsman.

Usually, the range advantage was mine. Matching myself to his pace meant I had to look for other ways of closing this gap, something I admittedly didn’t have much practice with. Knowing he could not overpower me, he relied on a combination of sharp jabs and solid footwork to keep me at a distance.

“You gave Sarella quite the gift,” he said, panting lightly. He thrust as fast as he could for my kidney.

I gently guided his spear to my left as I tried to step into his guard. He took a step back to maintain his optimal distance and simultaneously withdrew his spear like a pool cue. “So you saw. In my defense, she asked.”

“She did. But is it a gift, or a test, oh god of foxes?”

“Why can’t it be both? She can do as much or as little good as she wants to.”

“Hmph, I see now that even the kindness of a god can be harsh. You place great burdens on young shoulders.”

I abandoned my two-handed grip. Holding the practice sword with one hand at the very bottom of the hilt, I dodged Oberyn’s lunge and replied with my own.

His spear was long. I could not strike his body, but nor did I have to. I aimed a shallow stab at his leading hand, forcing him to hastily transition into a guard.

I nodded in approval as he caught my sword on the section of the haft between his hands. “A nation is not built alone. You will assist her, won’t you?”

“Of course, she is my daughter,” he said. With a determined expression, he stepped forward and tried to twist the sword from my hand.

I didn’t let him, instead skipping back and allowing him to establish the range advantage once more. “Then I’ve merely ensured that she will never be sidelined, that her advice will be given due weight.”

“Do you intend for her to rule alongside Arianne? Or perhaps to wed Quentyn?”

“Of course not, Oberyn. That’s altogether far too much politics for me.”

“I suppose so. Some say you show her much favor because you want her in your bed,” he said neutrally. Having her father ask me bluntly about whether I wanted her was a little uncomfortable, but that was just the kind of man Oberyn was.

I shook my head with a quiet chuckle. “I don’t have any such intentions. Oberyn, I’ve never lied to you. Sarella is free, truly free, to do as she pleases. I gave her precisely what she asked for, no more and no less. You are trying to discern secrets where none exist.”

“That is a relief to hear. And what of my other daughters? Truthfully, everyone thought it would be Tyene who received your gifts first.”

“I favor her greatly. She is beautiful, fun to talk to, and has been an excellent guide and companion during my stay here. But, she has not asked. Sarella came to me and asked for something that would distinguish her among her many sisters, something only she had a mind to pursue. When Tyene decides on what she wants out of life, of course I would be delighted to support her.”

“That is good. At least this way, I know my daughters will not fight amongst themselves for your attention,” he said. He attempted a risky feint with his spear, but I saw through it and used the chance to step into his guard.

“I hope not. Do let them know, won’t you? Oh, and is Garin around?” I asked as my wooden sword tapped his collar.

“He is. I believe I saw him keeping my niece company. Will you head to Planky Town next?”

“I will. It’s been a while and I enjoyed the seafood I tried there.”

X

Another week passed. Sunspear was in quite the chaotic mess thanks to Sarella’s new treasure trove of knowledge. At first, she didn’t know what she should start with, but eventually made a list of things she could implement right away.

Funny enough, the first thing she did was build a modular beehive akin to those used by apiarists in the twenty-first century. When asked why, she said it was because beehives had to be destroyed to extract honey. She’d read about the importance of pollinators and wanted to preserve as many of them as possible while simultaneously laying the foundations for a new industry.

That, and it was something she could offload onto others right away. She oversaw their initial construction, then passed the design to a number of trusted carpenters vetted with her father’s authority. Because the designs were fairly simple, a skilled carpenter could craft one or two each day. The portable bellows designed to blow smoke into hives to neutralize them were similarly easy to make with a bit of wood and some old wineskins.

The centrifuge used to extract honey from honeycombs was a little more difficult, but the smiths were making good progress. They didn’t need it right away and they were drawing inspiration from mechanical butter churners and pottery wheels.

She also wrote down instructions for glassmaking and pottery techniques. Tradesmen would likely have to experiment, perhaps for months or years, so it was best they get started. But now, luxury goods imported from Myr or Yi Ti were within their grasp. Doran had been especially happy about that one.

Changes regarding medicine and wellness had been put aside for a time at Oberyn’s request. There were some basic things Dorne could do to improve general health, but  truthfully, they weren’t entirely oblivious. While not even the maesters knew about the existence of microbes, they weren’t stupid. They understood that washing hands, boiling water, or applying strong vinegar or wine could clean wounds.

It wasn’t so much that these methods didn’t exist before I came around. Rather, it was a matter of distribution of ideas, implementation, and adoption by the smallfolk. In other words, just as important as the gap in knowledge was the gap in culture.

Smallfolk, or even nobles, did not often wash their hands for the same reason people in my first world didn’t go to the dentist as often as they ought: Most people didn’t think the dentist was out to get them; they just found it inconvenient. And if they were unlikely to regularly wash their hands, they were even less likely to attend lectures about nutrition or general physical fitness.

Oberyn could demand they attend of course, but the orders of the prince did not translate to ingrained habit. For that to happen, Sarella herself had to become a “sage” in truth. She needed reputation bought through success in other fields, a name that could inspire trust and touch the people’s hearts.

Well, none of that was my business. Securing and implementing all these innovations was the responsibility of Doran and his subjects. Knowledge was fine, but logistics sounded so dreadfully boring.

As for me, I fooled around with Arianne and Tyene, ate seafood and drank with Garin, tried to modify tofu-based dishes to the local palate, and worked to recreate my spells as kido in the desert.

Standing atop a desert dune, I held out my arm, palm outstretched like a king making a declaration. “Hado Thirty-One: Sakkaho!”

An orb of orange fire appeared in front of my hand. It was five times as tall as a grown man. Great Fireball, a fourth-tier spell. In the New World linked to YGGDRASIL’s collapse, it would have been the domain of great mages, those on the cusp of the realm of heroes.

Of course, to a prospective shinigami, this was basic bitch shit. Rukia was able to use spells like this even in that gigai that crippled her reiryoku recovery. And while she was talented, she was hardly a great kido expert. This was what I wanted, an accessible spell that could be used by anyone with a modicum of talent and decent-ish reiryoku.

I clenched my fist. The fireball resisted, not because I lacked a fire affinity, but because it was not formed from mana at all. It was formed from ki, the spiritual half of my Ki Master class. That kind of “fighting spirit,” I’d found, was far less malleable than the mana I preferred. If I had to guess, this difficulty in molding reiryoku was why captain-class kido practitioners were so much rarer than those who relied primarily on their zanpakuto.

Nonetheless, I persevered. Slowly but surely, it shrank and compressed. Its orange hue condensed to an angry red. I’d done it. I’d recreated one of the most basic bitch hado. Now came the hard part: optimizing the process so more students at the Genji School could use the new spell.

“It looks… like every other fireball you’ve made so far,” Garin observed blandly. 

He, Arianne, and Tyene had tagged along for my training session, curious to see magic being used. That curiosity had long since been replaced by boredom after my fortieth attempt at a reiryoku-only fireball.

They sat on lounge chairs I’d made for them, under an umbrella and in a bounded field that shielded them from the wind and sand. Between them was a plate of snacks and cups of fruity drinks.

“It hasn’t exploded in his face this time,” Arianne chimed in with a teasing smirk. “That is progress.”

“You two are mean. This is clearly a very different fireball. Do you not see how red it is?” Tyene added. “Obviously, red fire is better than orange fire… somehow…”

I rolled my eyes with fond exasperation. “You three don’t get it. This is progress.”

“I don’t see how, foxy. You make fireballs all the time, blue ones, shaped like cute foxes.”

“Foxfire is very different from what I’m doing now. It’s much stronger than this.”

“Really? Then why are you struggling with this?”

I flicked the Shakkaho away with a dismissive shrug. It flew off, collided  with a rock formation, and blew it up so that only dust and gravel remained. “Hmm… How do I put this… Oh, I know. You start a fire with wood or charcoal.”

“Yes? Doesn’t everyone? Except you, obviously.”

“Yes, but what if you tried to start a fire using… bone? Yeah, sure, bone. Imagine using slivers of bone as kindling instead. Would that work?”

Garin frowned in thought. “Obviously not. I mean, bone does burn, but you first need a fire of wood to heat bone, though. Although… I guess if you rubbed two pieces of bone hard enough without them cracking somehow…?”

“Exactly. I’m using a different form of fuel to make the same fireball. It’s less efficient, but that’s part of why it’s good training.”

“I see. So you are using magic… without using magic?”

“That’s right. This form of ‘not-magic’ is called ‘kido.’ I’m working on converting some of the spells I know into kido. Once I have them down, I’ll devise incantations and rituals for lesser kido practitioners to use.”

“Huh, that sounds complicated.”

“Very.”

“So what’s the most powerful spell you can cast?” Arianne asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Are you asking about raw destruction? Because I would argue that this is the least useful way of measuring a spell’s power.”

“Well, what else is there?”

“Take Polymorph. It lets me turn one thing into another. Does it matter how strong my opponent is if I can just… turn them into a bunny and eat them? I have destroyed nothing, and yet, I am well-fed.”

“I suppose. Then what is your favorite spell? Surely you have that.”

“My favorite? It’s gotta be One Who Carries Rice.”

“Rice? Isn’t that the grain eaten in Yi Ti?”

“Precisely. I am the Great God of Rice,” I said smugly. I dug in my pocket and withdrew a handful of rice, as I knew I could. I never ran out. It never cost me mana. It just was, a direct manifestation of my domain. “Behold: rice.”

“You can create gold with a word.”

“I can.”

“You can fly.”

“Yup.”

“You can blow up mountains.”

“And raise them. I can even make a mountain shaped like your face taller than the Wall.”

“And yet, your favorite spell… makes grain.”

I nodded happily. I clapped my hands and a bowl of fluffy, steamed rice appeared. “Yup! With a bit of extra mana, I can even conjure different kinds of cooked rice.”

Arianne saw the bowl and shook her head with a rueful smile. “Never change, Charlie. Never change.”

Author’s Note

I’ll admit it: ASOIAF uplift fics are a guilty pleasure of mine. Forget about the “great game,” give me a random, backwater noble house that makes whiskey or something. They’re very relaxing to read for some reason.

Anyway, since Charlie is a traveler, he’s outsourcing all the uplift shit to Sarella. Will she do a good job? Eh, that’s debatable. She does have the ear of the ruling prince, a family that supports her, and the resources to get started. Let’s be honest, that’s more important than most people care to admit.

Animal Fact: The only truly wild horse is the Przewalski's horse, which is native to Mongolia and can also be found in China and Kazakhstan. That said, feral horses, those that are now “wild” but descended from domestic breeds, can also be found in the US, Canada, and Australia.

This came up while I was reading about Sable Island. Sable Island is a small island (only twelve square miles) off the coast of Nova Scotia. However, there are anywhere between four hundred and five hundred fifty feral horses that live there. They were introduced multiple times across the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries for labor, food, and commercial reasons.

What’s interesting is that in just the few generations since, they’ve begun to adapt to their environment. They are smaller, have shaggier coats (especially during the winter). Though there are freshwater ponds on the western half of the island, there are no such ponds on the eastern half. So, the horses have learned to dig near the beaches to reach the groundwater. They even eat washed up algae.