Did you know that Campione possesses the inherent ability to influence probability?
It was not some grand, reality-warping spectacle where the heavens bent visibly to their will, nor was it a conscious expenditure of magical energy that drained their reserves.
No, it was something far subtler. It was a passive blessing, a cosmic tilt that ensured the universe always gave a Campione the benefit of the doubt. That's to say that a campione will always be favoured by the world.
They were always lucky, those moments when a lucky chance would appear and save a campione in battle were not just a coincidence, they really did have plot armor, even if it was limited.
And right now Fortune tilted gently in Harry's favor. Dice rolled before it stopped as everyone leaned over to see where it landed.
"Another win!" someone shouted, their voice cracking with a mixture of awe and burgeoning despair.
The smoky, dimly lit gambling den erupted in a cacophony of cheers from the spectators and guttural groans from those sitting at the table. Harry let out a soft, amused laugh as he leaned back in his creaking chair, lazily pulling the mounting pile of mismatched coins toward himself. Iron squares and silver stags clinked musically as they joined his growing hoard.
Why was Harry sitting in a dingy Braavosi gambling den instead of doing something more… productive? Well, why not? It wasn't as if he had been prepared to land in this specific world.
Navigating the Void was still imprecise, and while he had aimed for a human-populated realm, the exact world had been left to the whims of the dimensional currents.
Right now, he didn't know the local power players, he didn't know the current year, and hisauthority needed a few hours to fully recharge for him to be able to travel back home at the moment, as this world was not tethered to his world yet.
So, he decided to just chill. He would relax, observe the locals, gain some information if he could, and wait for his Authority to be active again while he formulated a long-term plan.
After all, right now he didn't even know what he wanted to do here, so what better way than to play around while planning, after all, he was sure something would come up.
Another round began. The dealer's hands were shaking as he distributed the pieces, his eyes darting toward Harry's calm face. Harry set his bet without even glancing, his expression bored and utterly unconcerned.
He knew he was going to win, he was that confident. The universe wouldn't allow him to lose something as trivial as a game of chance.
Now, what did he actually want to do in this world? He hummed.
He had a long-term project in mind, a plan he'd been brewing since he first realized the scope of the multiverse. This place looked like the perfect setting for it.
From the brief glimpses of "Game of Thrones" he'd caught in his life, short clips, internet summaries, and the occasional spoiler-filled rant from schoolmates, he knew this world was a grinder of politics, betrayal, and petty ambitions.
He didn't think it posed any real threat to him. He knew there were gods mentioned, the Seven, the Red God, the Drowned God, even the old gods in the north, but whether they actually existed as sentient, divine entities was another matter entirely.
In the series he remembered, there wasn't a single shred of definitive proof that the "Gods" were anything more than how people in his past life thought of the proof of god, whether he was real or not.
He knew even less about the books, having heard they were darker and different in many areas, but all in all, he knew enough about the world to realize one crucial thing, the existence of the gods was questionable, but the power of faith was undeniable.
Faith here was a powerful force in this world. This was a world where everyone had faith in something, and it even affected the nature of the world, he could feel the way the magic of this world seemed to be mixed with a massive amount of faith energy in the air.
He paused. Was this what created the gods of this world, or was it that this was the gods of this world, and just that the nature of humans dragged out the power by their beliefs.
Well, it didn't matter, he was more concerned about the plan he had been thinking of.
Harry loved being a Godslayer, but he wasn't delusional. He knew he was not yet at the top of the hierarchy of power in the wider reality. Sure, in his home world, he was one of the apex predators, the "Tyrant King" who could snuff out anyone if he grew bored enough.
But he knew about the infinite worlds out there. Unlike his "siblings" back home, who were ignorant of the world out there, like small fish in a small pond not knowing about the ocean, Harry wanted to be the biggest fish in the ocean, or at least big enough to scare others away.
He knew he might never be a truly omnipotent, all-powerful being, because Harry felt that there was always something above. Even a being like "The One Above All" in the Marvel multiverses he'd heard about, who was to say that being wasn't just some guy who got powerful enough to create a playground, while outside that playground, there were entities that would view him as a mere child? To Harry, the ladder of power was infinite, and he was currently just standing on a very high rung of a very small section.
He shook his head, clearing the heavy philosophical thoughts of the workings of creation. 'Don't go down that rabbit hole, Harry,' he thought with a smirk.
He won another round. The groans were louder now, and the air in the den had turned sour with suspicion and resentment. He could see several men glaring at him, their hands twitching toward the knives tucked into their belts. He didn't pay them the slightest bit of attention.
As he was saying, he liked being a Godslayer and had no intention of changing his "class," so to speak, but he wanted to grow and get stronger and not just from killing gods.
Luckily, as a Campione, he possessed a spark of divinity that could be fanned into a roaring forge by the power of faith. Harry had no intention of being a God.
No, he wanted to stay a predator. Why settle for being the strongest when you could be the predator of the strongest.
He was going to turn this world into a "Faith Farm." If he could sow the seeds here, he could harvest the power of belief to bolster his own divinity, and thanks to his nature, he wouldn't have to worry about being chained to their legends and myths like all gods were.
He'd do it here, then move to the next world, and the next, and with multiple worlds feeding his faith, he'd just keep getting stronger.
"He's cheating! I know it!" someone yelled out, breaking him out of his mind.
One of the men slammed his hands on the table, the wood groaning under the impact and sending tiles skittering. He was a large, brutish man, easily twice Harry's size and smelling of sour ale, stale sweat, and unwashed wool.
"And how, exactly, am I doing that?" Harry asked, his voice a mocking, dangerous purr.
The man's face turned a violent shade of crimson. He lunged forward, looking like he was going to attack, but he caught Harry's eyes, the glowing, emerald fire hidden in those pupils, and he froze mid-motion.
The primitive part of his brain, the part that recognized a predator, screamed at him to run. He glanced around at the crowded room, his courage failing him under the weight of that gaze, and he stormed out of the den with a string of guttural curses.
Harry didn't even spare him a glance as he turned back to the dealer. Others joined the game, and others left, thinking they would eventually get lucky and win back their losses. Spoiler: they didn't.
After a few more hours of "collecting donations," Harry decided he'd had his fun. He rose, stretching his limbs, scooping his winnings into a small, enchanted pouch, and walked out into the cool, salt-tinged night of Braavos.
He had walked for only a few minutes, listening to the lap of water in the canals, when he sighed. "Come out, you pest," he called out into the shadows of a narrow alleyway.
The man who had stormed out of the gambling den stepped into the moonlight. It seems he had been waiting, but he wasn't alone. Seven other thugs flanked him, armed with rusted shortswords, jagged daggers, and heavy cudgels.
'Oh, how cute. They're trying to gang up on me,' Harry thought, a cold amusement bubbling up. When was the last time someone had tried such a cliché, amateur ambush?
His eyes went cold, and a small, dangerous smile played across his lips. It had been a long time since anyone had been foolish enough to challenge him without, and while it was annoying to be bothered by insects, it was also somewhat refreshing to feel the simplicity of a street brawl.
"Hand over the coins, boy, and maybe we won't gut you and feed you to the eels," the large man growled, his confidence returned now that he had numbers on his side.
"Come and get them," Harry challenged, standing perfectly relaxed.
The man laughed harshly and waved his hand. His men charged, their boots thudding against the damp cobblestones. The first one swung a heavy blade at Harry's neck in a wide, clumsy arc. Harry didn't move to dodge. He simply raised his right hand, meeting the sharpened steel with his bare palm.
Clang.
The sound of steel hitting an immovable object echoed through the alley. The thugs froze as the sword failed to even nick his skin, the vibration of the impact travelling back up the attacker's arm, as the man's arm shook.
Harry's hand closed around the blade. He squeezed, and the steel crumpled like wet parchment, snapping into several jagged pieces. The attacker screamed, releasing the hilt and scrambling backward in terror.
"Monster!" the man shrieked, his voice reaching a high-pitched frequency.
The others wavered, their weapons lowering as they looked ready to bolt, but Harry's aura flared just a fraction. The alley walls seemed to shift and lean in, the shadows lengthening and closing the exits. Escape was no longer an option.
"It's a trick! A mummers trick!" the leader roared, desperate to regain control before his men deserted him. "Get him! He's just one man!"
'God, I love idiots, ' Harry thought as he watched them charge.
The men shouted to bolster their failing courage and charged at Harry together from all sides. Harry gave them a wide, cold smile that didn't reach his glowing eyes.
'Well then. Come and die.'
He moved like a blur of motion, not even bothering to use his authorities, just the raw, physical superiority of a Godslayer's body. To him, they were moving in slow motion.
In a matter of seconds, the alley was filled with the sickening sound of breaking bone, the thud of bodies hitting stone, and the desperate whimpers of the dying. He didn't kill them all instantly; he wanted them to feel the gap between them.
A kick sent one man flying twenty feet into a stone wall, where he crumpled like a broken doll. Another found his own dagger turned against him, pinned through his shoulder into the wood of a nearby door.
Harry stood in the center of the carnage, his clothes pristine and not a hair out of place, his pouch of gold still hanging casually at his side. He looked up at the stars of this new world.
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