Chapter 194 The first scene
Ian could not get up. He could only feel life seeping from his body. The pain in his shoulder gradually faded, and the strength in his limbs seemed to drain away with it.
*[You have died. Please choose a resurrection time.]*
A line of text appeared before his eyes. He realized then that the first round of his dream-adventure had ended so absurdly.
The option before him was a progress bar spanning just three minutes, from which he could choose any moment to resurrect. In the upper-left corner, a timer showed the elapsed time, which was currently paused; time did not pass while he waited to resurrect.
Without much thought, Ian chose to return to the very beginning, to the 0th minute.
As expected, the sound of something slicing through the air whistled in his ears again. This time, he was not caught in confusion. He immediately looked around, desperately trying to find a place to hide.
But his hope was instantly dashed. The street was clean, empty, and offered no cover whatsoever.
The next moment, a sharp arrow pierced his chest.
In the blink of an eye, he was back in the salt mine in Lord Harroway's Town, and Haruy's corpse was rising to its feet once more.
This time, Ian did not choose to kill the ghoul. Instead, he turned and ran for the exit.
He had realized the trick: if he killed Haruy, he would return to Whitewalls. But in that scene, he was already in the state of having an arrow in his chest; he would die the instant he returned. Even if he resurrected again, he still could not escape the plot-kill at the beginning. He had to find another way to break the cycle.
At the gate of the salt mine, Ian found an old horse. He mounted it and rode away quickly.
After riding for some time, Ian noticed nothing was following him and breathed a sigh of relief.
To be honest, he was utterly bewildered. He did not know what to do next. In a sense, he was already dead; the only reason he was still alive and well was that the dream had inexplicably switched scenes. This process was completely illogical—but if it were logical, it would not be a dream. Dreams themselves are the most absurd of things.
Therefore, to clear this dream-dungeon, he had to find a method that conformed to the 'logic' of the dream itself.
Ian fell into deep thought.
What next? The conditions for clearing the dungeon were unknown, which meant he had to infer them from his experiences. So far, he had experienced only two things: one, being killed by a plot-mandated event at the start, and two, having the scene change after death, which delayed his demise.
Being killed was definitely not the way forward, so the scene change that postponed his death had to be the key.
*Could I use this borrowed time to rush to Whitewalls and kill the player with the bow and arrow?* Ian suddenly wondered. Although his recent experience suggested the scene in Whitewalls took place *after* the scene in the salt mine, according to the rules of dreams, there was no certainty which came first in the timeline.
*Maybe killing that archer is the real condition for clearing this part!* Ian felt like he had finally found a viable idea.
However, it would take at least three days to get to Whitewalls from Lord Harroway's Town, and his total dream exploration time was only seventy-two hours. Thinking of this, Ian felt a pang of despair.
To his astonishment, the very next moment, he found himself riding into Whitewalls.
*But this is a dream, after all,* he thought with a grimace. *It isn't supposed to make sense.* Cursing under his breath, Ian dismounted and ducked into an inn to hide.
He was still wearing the same equipment he'd had in the salt mine: a set of fine clothes and a heraldic sword. He knew he stood no chance against the archer on an empty street with just that.
The inn was deserted, but Ian did not find it strange. He simply began rummaging through the rooms. Fortunately, in an inner chamber, he found a chainmail shirt that fit him and a large shield.
After shedding his fine clothes and donning his new equipment, Ian walked back out onto the streets of Whitewalls and began cautiously searching for the archer.
A short while later, he found his target.
Ian burst from around a corner, shield held high. His opponent reacted quickly, raising his bow and loosing an arrow. The shot struck the shield, penetrating two centimeters into the wood before getting stuck.
Just as the archer drew his bow for a second shot, Ian closed the distance. A single sword thrust pierced the man's chest, just as his arrow had pierced Ian's.
The next moment, Ian was back in the salt mine of Lord Harroway's Town. Haruy's body stood up once more.
This time, Ian did not flee. He swung his sword, hacking Haruy to pieces again.
The scene did not change. Ian remained where he was.
He let out a long breath. He had guessed correctly. After killing the archer, the plot-kill that had plagued him from the start had been lifted.
However, before Ian could celebrate, he saw all the corpses scattered around the mine begin to stir. Soon, every last one of them was on its feet.
The mercenary captain, Kammer. The old mercenary, Adam. The entire band that Ian had wiped out that day.
Unlike Haruy, who was merely frightening, these ghouls all held weapons. There were more than ten of them, and he had no Rolle or Case at his side.
"Damn it!" Ian cursed, turning to escape again.
But it was as if they knew what he was thinking. Several of them had already moved to block the exit of the salt mine, cutting off his escape route.
Ian had no choice but to raise his sword and charge the four corpses guarding the entrance.
As a player who was proficient in swordsmanship and had trained for a long time, Ian found that his combat effectiveness had been significantly enhanced, despite having very little actual battle experience. In just half a minute, he cut down all four corpses in front of him. They stood up again, of course, but if they had been normal men, they would have been dead for good.
During the fight, Kammer and the others caught up to him from behind, but Ian was no longer in a hurry to escape. Where else but a dream could he find a combat opportunity with infinite resurrections?
Thinking this, Ian turned to fight, and was soon clashing with several corpses at once. Though he quickly fell to the ghouls' blades—outnumbered and facing enemies that could not be killed by normal means—Ian was still very satisfied with his performance. To have held his own to that extent had already exceeded his expectations.
Of course, it helped knowing that he could not truly die, which allowed him to fight calmly, without fear. From that perspective, it was easier to understand how the Unsullied could become one of the finest armies in the world.
*[You have died. Please choose a resurrection time.]*
The familiar text appeared. This time, he chose to resurrect at the moment he appeared in the salt mine just after killing the archer.
Haruy's body stood up for the third time that night, but Ian was not in a hurry to cut him down. He simply shoved the corpse back to the ground and then went into one of the mining sheds. Inside, he found a miner's flint and steel, which he used to light a bonfire in the courtyard.
Then, Ian dragged the corpses from all over the mine into a single pile, poured oil over them, and set them ablaze. When the bodies were nearly burnt to ash, he kicked Haruy's corpse into the fire as well.
This time, no corpse rose again. A new line of text appeared before Ian's eyes.
*[Successfully cleared the first scene. Dungeon exploration rate: 10%. Player's mental strength +2.]*
"What the hell?" Ian said, surprised. "There's a reward for each scene?"
Although two points of mental strength was not much, the entire process had taken him less than an hour of his time in the dream. If he could clear the entire dungeon, he would undoubtedly gain a massive improvement—assuming, of course, he could survive it.
Chapter 195 Message from the King of Light
The Disputed Lands.
"Illyrio said Viserys would bring an army of fifty thousand Dothraki to join us, but not only have we not seen this army, Pentos itself has been sacked!" Tristan Rivers complained. "If you had taken my suggestion to marry Daenerys to Quentyn Martell, we would have at least secured Dorne!"
"I said before that Illyrio was playing with fire. The horselords are unreliable," another serjeant added in support.
"My opinion is to send troops immediately," a third officer declared. "If we wait until Tywin is brought to heel by Robert and all of Westeros bends the knee to the Crowned Stag, we will lose our last chance."
"Tywin can never be our ally! Have you forgotten the crimes he committed against the Targaryens?"
"We have no choice! We don't have enough men to take on any one of the Seven Kingdoms, let alone all seven combined."
"So you choose to be a coward?"
"Watch your tongue, or I'll cut it out."
"Then you'll see how my sword answers you."
"Enough! You sound like a gaggle of gossiping women!" Seeing two of his senior serjeants about to draw steel, Harry Strickland finally had to assert the authority of the Captain-General.
Unfortunately, a few of them merely gave him a cold look, not taking him too seriously. Everyone knew the former paymaster was a cautious man, bordering on cowardice. He had only become Captain-General because he was the most senior man left in The Golden Company after Jon Connington's departure.
Still, the senior officers ceased their bickering after a few more grumbled complaints, knowing that such arguments would solve nothing.
"Is there any new word from Pentos?" Captain-General Strickland asked, breathing a sigh of relief when they gave him a measure of respect. He turned to the intelligence officer, Ranselm Marr. "Has any new message come from Illyrio?"
"No, Captain-General," Ranselm said, shaking his head. "Half of Pentos was burned to the ground, including Illyrio's manse. We don't even know if Illyrio and Viserys escaped."
As soon as he said this, the entire room fell utterly silent.
"If…" the paymaster, Gorys Edoryen, was the first to break the silence. "I mean, if… if they failed to escape, then our plan for the restoration…"
"We…" Captain-General Strickland hesitated, then finally decided to reveal the secret. "Lord Jon Connington is not dead."
"What did you say?" Several men shot to their feet at once.
"He is protecting our last hope: Prince Rhaegar's son, Aegon Targaryen." Harry looked to Jon Rothstan and Marq Mandrake, senior serjeants who, like him, were already privy to the secret. Seeing their supportive nods, he continued, "I have written to Jon Connington, asking him to come here. When he arrives, we will make our final decision."
***
King's Landing.
Lately, Varys often found himself staring into the flames, hoping for another vision. Ever since the last dream, he had begun to wonder if he had truly inherited the Targaryen gift of prophetic dreams, and so he had read through every book on the subject he could find.
To his surprise, he could find no precedent for what he had experienced. Prophetic dreams were always obscure, filled with hints and symbols that were difficult to interpret. Yet he had seen a man's face with perfect clarity.
This made Varys wonder if some god or devil was truly trying to convey a message directly to him.
It was a pity that he had no similar dreams in the following days, nor could he see anything new in the flames. He could only hope his little birds on the other side of the Narrow Sea could bring back some valuable information about the young earl. Of course, that would be a lengthy process.
A knock on the door interrupted Varys's thoughts.
"Lord Varys, Lord Baelish is here to see you," a servant announced from the doorway.
"Tell my old friend to wait for me in the solar," Varys chuckled. It seemed some people were growing restless.
***
Volantis.
"I feel my power draining," Benerro, the High Priest of Volantis, whispered to his confidant, Magiro, as they stood beside the holy fire. "No, it should be said that the power of the Lord of Light has fallen silent again."
"That should not be. The tide of magic has only just returned; my lord's power should be recovering."
"I had a dream a few days ago, of a young Andal knight with a black dragon behind him. The most terrifying thing is that I saw his face," Benerro paused. "The Lord of Light has never conveyed information to his faithful so directly. Perhaps this act consumed his newly recovered strength, forcing him to return to silence."
"What does the Lord of Light wish to tell us?"
"I do not know. The dream was cut short the moment I saw his face," Benerro shook his head. "However, for our Lord to send a warning so stark that it silences him again… this man is either an apostle of our Lord or the vanguard of the Great Other."
"The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us. Please show us the way."
***
Ian spent the better part of the next three days asleep, consuming a full fifty hours of instance time before he could finally pass stage three of the dreamscape. Because acting within the dream did not rest his body, he felt dizzy and utterly exhausted, physically and mentally. He had to temporarily give up on exploring stage four and decided to rest for a few days.
So far, he had gained 4 points of mental power and 2 points of agility from the dream. If he could clear just one more stage in the remaining time, he would have gained at least 8 attribute points in total.
On the morning of the fourth day, Ian's new captain, Koru, finally finished recruiting a full crew for the *Deep Blue Siren*. More than ten of them were Koru's old subordinates who, upon being called, did not hesitate to rejoin his service.
The *Deep Blue Siren* was a Volantene-registered galley with 280 oars. To close the deal quickly, Darren had spent 6,000 gold dragons to acquire her. Unlike the rushed purchase of their first ship, Ian had enough time to arrange the personnel properly.
He ordered all the original sailors on *The Breeze Goddess's Kiss* to be discharged. After appointing Koru as captain of the new vessel, he transferred half of the sailors from his first ship to serve on the *Deep Blue Siren*. For the demanding work at the oars on both ships, Ian purchased 300 slaves from Tyrosh. They came from five different ethnic groups and spoke three different languages. Additionally, he bought a contingent of 80 slave warriors and several crates of crossbows to supplement the ships' fighting strength.
After all arrangements were made, Ian chose a favorable time and departed from Tyrosh with his small fleet that afternoon.
Over the next two and a half days, they crossed the Stepstones and officially entered the Summer Sea. The entire voyage was surprisingly smooth; they did not encounter any of the pirates known to plague the region.
If their luck held, they would reach the Free City of Lys in three days. However, Ian did not plan to make port there. They had stocked enough supplies in Tyrosh to allow them to sail directly to Astapor.
Chapter 196 The Savage's Proposal
"How dare you?" Joffrey shrieked. "I am the Crown Prince! I—"
Before he could finish, a shove sent him sprawling to the ground again, earning a fresh wave of laughter from the onlookers.
"You will regret this!" Joffrey scrambled up, his face flushed and his beautiful blond hair caked with mud. "All of you! You will all regret this! I'll have my mother order you all killed! All of you!"
The wildling boy who had knocked him down took a step forward. Joffrey flinched back so quickly that he slipped and fell again, this time bursting into tears of aggrieved frustration.
The laughter from the crowd grew louder, each chuckle a harsh sting in Joffrey's ears.
"I'll have you all killed! I want my mother to kill you all!" he muttered, fumbling for small stones on the ground.
Joffrey meant to throw one at the boy who had hit him, but when their eyes met, a tremor ran through him and the stone fell from his hand.
From a distance, Tyrion watched his nephew's humiliation without making a sound. He was pleased to see it. Perhaps a lesson from the wildlings was exactly what Joffrey needed. Cersei doted on him far too much, and Robert had always ignored his children, allowing the boy to develop his insufferable, overbearing character.
Although the purpose of this band of wildlings remained unknown, they had done him no harm. They had even provided him with furs to keep warm, and for that, he was grateful.
Thinking of it, Tyrion pulled his collar tighter.
It was freezing cold here, and the temperature kept dropping. At night, it had already fallen below freezing, and whenever the wind blew, it cut through his warmest sheepskin jacket like a razor.
This was the land beyond the Wall. These strangely amiable wildlings had saved him from the fate of freezing to death at Castle Black, only to drag him somewhere even colder. His elder brother had truly landed him in it this time.
The good news was that the wildling women were far less guarded than the whores at the Wall. The bad news was that they had no fondness for dwarfs. An offer of coin would most likely earn him a sound thrashing in return.
"Tyrion Lannister." A voice sounded from behind him. He recognized it at once.
It was the leader of this group of wildlings. He had led a full forty strong men to ambush their party on the way from Winterfell to Castle Black. They had set up a dragnet around them as if they had known all along that their group would be passing that way.
Although the escort from Winterfell had all been mounted, not a single man had managed to escape.
These wildlings had slaughtered the cavalry escort, leaving only Joffrey, Tommen, Jon, Benjen, and himself alive. They had then led their captives through a secret passage beneath the Wall to the lands beyond. Tyrion made a mental note to send a raven to the Iron Throne, accusing the Night's Watch of dereliction of duty.
*Assuming I'm not still in exile,* he thought.
"Yes," Tyrion said, turning around. "Thank you for remembering my name. But if you could ignore the unfortunate surname, I would be even more grateful, my dear Free Folk."
"The Free Folk have no lords, and we never bend the knee," Malvin said with a smile. He found himself getting into character, he added silently.
"A good and enviable habit," Tyrion praised. "I mean it."
"Then I'm glad we have something in common. It will be helpful for our cooperation."
"Cooperation?" Tyrion's voice rose an octave. He lowered his head and looked up at the man, his gaze traveling from the wildling's boots to his chest. "And what possible cooperation could there be between a great man of the Free Folk and a dwarf less than half his height?"
"If the dwarf's last name is Lannister, there can be a great deal."
Tyrion frowned. He did not enjoy being reminded of this repeatedly.
"Let me share some news that will surely please you," Malvin continued. "Your brother Jaime has left the North. If all has gone to plan, my friend should have him on a boat on the Red Fork by now. They will reach the Westerlands soon."
"What did you say?" The news sent a jolt through Tyrion. "Jaime wasn't captured by them?"
"He is as free as you are. No, he is far freer than you are now."
"Your friends will send him back to Casterly Rock?" Tyrion pressed.
"Who else would we ask for the bounty?"
"And what about us? Me, and…" Tyrion gestured to his two nephews not far away. "Them. Are you going to ransom us as well?"
"You wound me, Tyrion. We rescued you. I considered you a friend, and you treat this as a common kidnapping."
"Friends?" Tyrion laughed. "You saved Jaime, and then saved us by such a wild coincidence? The Seven Gods themselves couldn't arrange such a thing. No, no, no. You knew everything beforehand, didn't you? Who in the Seven Hells are you?"
*As expected of the sharpest mind in this world of ice and fire,* Malvin thought. *He saw the heart of the problem at a glance.* "It was magic, my lord," he said without hesitation, blaming it all on the supernatural. "We saw everything that happened at Winterfell with the Greensight. So we traveled a thousand miles to rescue you. It's a pity we arrived a step too late."
*No, you came just in time,* Tyrion answered in his mind.
What benefit would they have gained by arriving early and preventing the disaster? Only by letting the affair between Jaime and Cersei be exposed could they create a situation where they could indebt the Lannisters with a life-saving rescue.
Of course, Tyrion saw through this, but he would not say it aloud. To do so would be detrimental to their newfound unity.
"No matter what, we have you to thank, don't we?" Tyrion said, following Malvin's line of reasoning. "So tell me, what can I do for you?"
He no longer resisted the idea of so-called cooperation. The news that Jaime was alive had changed everything. His father, Tywin, might abandon him, but Jaime never would.
As long as Jaime was alive, he would come for him, no matter where he was. Of this, Tyrion had no doubt.
"It is cooperation," Malvin corrected him again. "A win-win situation for both of us."
"Win-win?" Tyrion wondered. "That's a new term."
*It means I win twice,* Malvin thought. To Tyrion, he said, "It means that both of us can benefit from it."
"For example?"
"You will write to Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime. You will inform them of the situation here and tell them of your intention to raise an army beyond the Wall."
"I'm forming an army?" Tyrion was stunned. "Where in the hells am I going to form an army?"
"Us, Lord Tyrion. We are your army," Malvin said, pointing to himself. "Mance Rayder is uniting all the Free Folk. He has already gathered thirty thousand at the Frostfangs. Within the next year, we will mobilize an army of one hundred thousand."
"You can't be telling me this army would be at my command." This was stranger than magic.
"So long as Lord Tywin agrees to our conditions," Malvin explained. "I promised the chieftains at the clan moot that I could get them thirty thousand iron weapons, three thousand sets of iron armor, two thousand suits of leather armor, and enough food to feed us all for three months."
"And all of these things are to come from Casterly Rock, I presume?" Tyrion began to see the shape of the wildling's ambition.
"Yes. Fulfill this promise, and my renown among the Free Folk will surpass Mance Rayder's. I will become the new King-Beyond-the-Wall. Then, our army will invade the North, forcing the Starks to keep every last soldier north of the Neck. The military pressure on the Westerlands will be drastically reduced."
"An ambitious proposal," Tyrion commented after a moment's thought. "Do you want to hear the truth?" he asked.
"Can you tell lies?"
"Of course. I've always had a knack for it."
"Then you had better tell the truth."
"I think you are a rabble," Tyrion's evaluation was ruthless. "You have neither training nor discipline. No matter how many of you there are, you have no real fighting ability. If you were to ask my brother Jaime, he would tell you that even with a million of you, he would only need two thousand knights to tear you to pieces on an open plain."
"A single charge and you would scatter, trampling one another in your haste to flee."
"War is coming. Casterly Rock cannot afford to throw such a vast quantity of arms and food into the sea. Tywin will never agree. If he did, he wouldn't be Tywin Lannister!"
"And that is why we need your wisdom, my lord," Malvin said with unnerving sincerity. "No matter what, this is your army. Besides," he added, his voice dropping slightly, "we still need to protect the two princes, don't we?"
Tyrion's face darkened. Malvin's last words were a clear threat.
But he was right. Joffrey and Tommen, sons of his own brother, were in their hands. Regardless of the odds, he had to try.
Chapter 197 The Ship Arrives at the Smoking Sea
"The Smoking Sea lies ahead, my lord. We will turn south now," Darren explained to Ian as they stood on the deck. "We need to bypass the whole of Old Valyria and then enter the Gulf of Grief."
More than half a month had passed since Ian and the others set off from Tyrosh. Their ship had crossed the Summer Sea and arrived at the coast of the ancient Valyrian Peninsula.
Their voyage had been smooth thus far. Although they encountered a sizable storm in the Summer Sea, the crisis was successfully averted thanks to the rich sailing experience of the two captains, Darren Grafson and Kolu.
During the voyage, Ian had used the remaining time to clear the fourth scene of the dream instance. Unfortunately, he was trapped in the fifth scene until his time ran out and he was kicked from the dream.
The dream instance had rewarded him with a total of 4 points in Mental Strength and 4 points in Agility, but in his opinion, this was not his biggest gain.
Compared to the attribute points, the series of high-intensity 'pseudo-battles' in the dream instance had significantly improved his combat effectiveness.
In addition, Ian took the opportunity to learn High Valyrian from Daenerys, further testing the optional-quest bug he had discovered.
Although Daenerys was surprised by his request, she still cooperated, issuing two quests to Ian in High Valyrian that should have theoretically been rated 'extremely difficult'.
Due to the bug, both quests were completed on the spot and judged as [Simple] by the system.
At that point, Ian finally confirmed that the difficulty rating for optional quests was capped by the player's own 'status'. Even when receiving a quest from someone with the title of 'Queen', his own status as an 'Earl' and 'Hand of the Queen' meant he could not obtain a judgment above [Simple].
Ian had to admit it was a clever balancing mechanic on the developers' part. Capping quest difficulty based on the player's status was an effective way to prevent high-level players from farming stats and becoming 'attribute monsters'.
"We must go around, my lord," Darren said quickly, perhaps mistaking Ian's silence for dissatisfaction. "Though the maps show a sea passage through the middle of the Valyrian Peninsula, it is impassable. The Smoking Sea was once part of the peninsula, before the Doom. That cataclysm shattered the land, allowing the sea to pour in. The waters there boil year-round, and it is full of volcanoes and smoke. Adventurers have even brought back tales of demons and sea monsters that roam the Smoking Reefs."
"I know of the Doom, and I have no interest in the ruins of Valyria," Ian said, shaking his head to dispel Darren's concerns.
Ian was certainly not foolhardy enough to attempt a crossing of the Smoking Sea or an exploration of Old Valyria's ruins. If there truly were demons or sea monsters within, their two ships would be serving themselves up on a platter. And that was the best-case scenario.
If, as some readers from his old world had speculated, the ruins contained a natural nuclear reactor, and the entire peninsula was saturated with radiation or some other cursed power, then there would be no coming back.
The latter theory had some evidence to support it. In 54 AC, for instance, Princess Aerea Targaryen flew to the ruins of Valyria on Balerion the Black Dread. She returned looking as if she had been afflicted by a terrible curse—though some suspected it was radiation poisoning.
After getting Ian's consent, the two ships, the *Kiss of the Breeze Goddess* and the *Deep Blue Siren*, began to steer south, circling the Valyrian peninsula at a safe distance of roughly 150 nautical miles as they continued toward Slaver's Bay.
The last few days of the month flew by, bringing them to the fourth month's settlement day.
Unsurprisingly, Ian once again topped the standings.
[Congratulations to the player for ranking first in the standings on the fourth month's settlement day.
Player receives rewards: 30 points, 3888 gold dragons, 1 local S-rank NPC of your choice.]
The rewards were an improvement over last time. Though the increase wasn't large, the cumulative resources from the standings were substantial.
Another piece of good news was that the number of remaining players was still 26. This meant that of the bottom three from the previous month, only the unlucky soul drawn to be assassinated by a Faceless Man had been eliminated; the other assassins no longer posed a threat to the remaining players. If this trend continued, he could continue to earn points from the standings for at least another half a year.
As for the new S-rank card, Ian wasn't in a hurry to claim it.
Although he didn't know how large the system's so-called 'local' range was, judging from experience, the NPC he could draw would be one active in the nearest major city. If he drew the card now, the NPC would most likely appear in Volantis or New Ghis, and neither city was on his itinerary. So, Ian decided to wait until they landed in Astapor before drawing the card.
After handling these matters, Ian summoned Rohr to his cabin.
Since even Daenerys could no longer provide him with quests rated above [Simple], Ian once again tasked Rohr with generating quests for him. Soon, Ian had earned two more attribute points from the month's optional tasks.
He allocated both points to his mental strength, which finally pushed the attribute past the 30-point mark. At last, he could upgrade his skinchanging skill to the advanced level.
After the update, Ian's character sheet was as follows:
[Ian: Strength 35, Agility 31, Mental Strength 30
Skills: Basic Etiquette, Basic Common Tongue, Basic High Valyrian, Sword Mastery, Advanced Equestrian, Intermediate Lancer, Advanced Skinchanger, Basic Green Seer
Attribute points: 0
Skill points: 2
Points: 225
Items: Basic skill scroll of your choice*1, Skill upgrade scroll*2]
With the Advanced Skinchanger skill, Ian could now simultaneously control a total of three bodies, including his own.
He left his room and headed for the cage where his falcon was kept, planning to try controlling three bodies at once for the first time.
However, as soon as he entered the room, Ian's gaze fell upon the ship's sheep, and he stopped short. A far bolder idea had taken root in his mind.
Indeed, his first reaction after upgrading his skill was to simultaneously control his own body, the cat monitoring Celia, and the falcon used for high-altitude reconnaissance. This would save him the trouble of switching back and forth between the cat and the hawk.
But when he saw the sheep—kept onboard to provide milk for the young black dragon, Ion—Ian suddenly thought, why couldn't he skinchange into a dragon?
His inability to become a dragonrider was the greatest constraint Ian currently faced. It meant that the only dragonrider he could rely on was Daenerys, and to do that, he had to ensure they remained politically aligned, without serious disagreements.
But what if he made the dragon his animal companion, as a skinchanger?
One of the reasons those without the blood of the Valyrian dragonlords couldn't become dragonriders was their inability to withstand high temperatures. The moment they climbed onto a dragon's back, they would be burned by its hot scales.
But a soul has no temperature.
Chapter 198 Dragon Spirit
A dragon was, after all, an animal. In theory, it was a potential vessel for a skinchanger.
Even if the idle speculations of the maesters of Westeros were true—that dragons were a product of Valyrian blood magic—it shouldn't matter. The system assistant had told him long ago that powers gained through the system did not conflict with the world's native magic. Even if the dragon's body pulsed with Valyrian sorcery, it would not affect a player's ability to skinchange into it.
Thinking of this, Ian decided he would wait no longer.
He had no idea how powerful an adult dragon's mind might become, but against a hatchling that was merely a month old, he thought he stood a chance.
Ian walked directly to Daenerys's room. Though he had wanted to keep the dragon in his own chambers to bond with it, the little creature followed Daenerys everywhere, never leaving her side. Ian had no choice but to let her raise the dragon.
"Who is it?" After a moment of knocking, Ian heard Daenerys's voice from within.
"It is I, Your Grace," Ian replied, certain she would recognize his voice.
After half a minute, the door to Daenerys's room opened a crack.
"Lord Darry?" Daenerys peeked her head out timidly. Her silver hair was uncombed and fell loosely about her face. After confirming it was indeed Ian, she hesitantly opened the door and invited him in.
Ian didn't stand on ceremony. He stepped inside and immediately began looking for the black dragon, Ion.
Daenerys lit the candles in the room, and a pale yellow glow filled the space.
"It's so late," the young queen asked in a low voice. "What do you need?"
Night? Ian glanced back at Daenerys and only then noticed she was wearing nothing but a thin, silk nightgown. In the candlelight, a deep blush was spreading across her face, reaching the roots of her hair.
Noticing his gaze, Daenerys averted her eyes, her expression a mixture of fear and anticipation.
*Seven Hells!* Ian resisted the urge to cover his face.
The system's monthly settlement was at midnight. He'd handled that, and the moment the idea of becoming a *dragon spirit* had struck him, he had rushed over. It had to be two in the morning.
*Scandal! A shameless lord knocks on the young queen's door in the dead of night!* Anyone would misunderstand.
*And the most outrageous part,* Ian thought, glancing at Daenerys, *is that you actually opened the door dressed like this! Honestly, have you been secretly lusting after me this whole time?! A man really does need to protect himself out in the world.*
"I apologize for disturbing your rest, Your Grace," Ian said quickly, trying to clear up the misunderstanding. "I came for Ion."
For reasons he couldn't quite articulate, Ian decided it would be best to let the young queen pine for him for a few more years.
"Ion?" Daenerys was completely bewildered. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.
Ian imagined her thoughts: *I have a claim to a throne and the looks of a dragonlord. Men who want me could form a line from here to Westeros. And I open my door to you in the middle of the night... for a dragon?*
"Your Grace, if you'll permit me," Ian said with another bow. He crossed the room, lifted the sleeping Ion from his nest, and walked out, leaving a dazed Daenerys and a drowsy dragon in his wake.
Daenerys stood frozen long after he had gone, unable to process what had just happened. Finally, her gaze drifted down to her own chest.
She found her answer.
So, what Ian had said back at Illyrio's manse—that one day she would be a queen so beautiful no man could resist her—was as empty a compliment as calling Viserys a wise king.
***
After returning to his room, Ian first fed Ion a bowl of goat's milk. The creature hadn't weaned yet and seemed to think itself a mammal. Once Ion was calm and had relaxed completely, Ian launched a careful probe into its consciousness.
His mental push was not aggressive; it was largely tentative. There was no precedent in the known histories for a skinchanger bonding with a dragon. He could not guarantee there wouldn't be unforeseen complications, and he was prepared to withdraw immediately if he met any resistance he couldn't understand.
To his surprise, the process of establishing the skinchanger bond was unexpectedly smooth.
The mental fortitude of the one-month-old black dragon was even more fragile than that of Big Orange, the cat he had previously mastered. Perhaps in the long lifespan of a dragon, one month of mental growth was negligible.
In any case, Ian slipped into Ion's mind with little resistance.
Even after he flapped his new wings and flew two low circles around the room in the body of a dragon, Ian still felt a sense of unreality. It was only when the system's notification chimed in his mind that he snapped out of the dreamlike state.
He logged into the system and saw a new message in his inbox.
[Successfully skinchanged into a dragon. Special Achievement Unlocked: 'Dragon Spirit']
[Reward: 30 Points]
"Special achievement?" This was something new. The points awarded were more than an intermediate achievement but less than a high-level one, and there was no scroll. Overall, it wasn't a major windfall.
But unlocking the achievement confirmed it: this was no illusion. He had truly become a dragon spirit.
This was a terrifying advantage.
The approaching Long Night would not grant his dragons enough time to grow to the size of their ancestors—like Balerion the Black Dread, whose wingspan measured hundreds of feet and who could swallow a mammoth whole. If dragons of that size still existed, the other players might as well give up; no amount of struggle would matter.
His dragon would likely only reach five or six years of age. The Long Night would begin to fall in about four years, and it would take another year or two for winter to fully descend. This game would inevitably end before Ion reached the age of ten, and a dragon of only a few years was destined to be fragile. During the Dance of the Dragons, even adult dragons, decades old, were slain by mobs of commonfolk—or perhaps knights and mercenaries disguised as such. This proved that a young dragon's scales were not truly invulnerable.
But a dragon had more uses than just frontal assaults, especially a dragon controlled directly by a skinchanger's will.
Ian's mind raced with the possibilities.
**High-altitude reconnaissance:** If an enemy also had a skinchanger, it wouldn't matter. No matter what fearsome bird an enemy might command, a dragon would be invincible in an aerial duel.
**Attacking scouts:** A lone scouting party could never haul a scorpion. By picking them off, he could render an enemy commander blind.
**Raiding supply lines:** When attacking a granary or supply train, if he found it lacked sufficient anti-dragon weaponry, he could just burn it. A supply train couldn't be burdened with scorpions at all times. If the enemy chose to arm them anyway, their logistical burden would double.
Even on a frontal battlefield, a dragon could be used. By coordinating with ground troops, he could easily keep the dragon out of the effective range of the enemy's defenses.
It was a true strategic weapon.
Chapter 199 Four-person Alliance
**Branded City**
"Arm your wildlings? No. My father would never agree to such terms," Jaime Lannister flatly rejected Ian's proposal. "My father will give you a chest of gold as a reward for saving my life. But send weapons, armor, and food to arm a band of savages when war is imminent? That is absolutely impossible!"
"Free Folk," Ian corrected him.
"Whatever you call them, they are a rabble!" Jaime paused but made no effort to soften his harsh words. "You have no training, no discipline, and no honor. You say you have a hundred thousand men—let's assume that's true. But I tell you this: even if there were a million of you, I would only need two thousand knights to charge you once on an open field to leave you utterly broken."
Ian's shapeshifting ability was only at an intermediate level; two hundred kilometers was the absolute limit at which he could maintain control of his eagle. He had therefore never overheard the conversations between his allies and Tyrion. Otherwise, he would have been astonished at how well Tyrion understood his brother, Jaime.
He merely frowned, expressing his dissatisfaction with Jaime's answer.
Ian knew Jaime was telling the truth. It was just like in the original story when Stannis's cavalry arrived beyond the Wall. The wildlings, a hundred thousand strong, panicked at the first warning of a cavalry charge and had no intention of resisting. And the heavily armored knights of the Westerlands were far more elite than Stannis's sellsword cavalry.
According to the plan Ian and the others had devised, they would only select ten to twenty thousand of the most promising wildlings to form a main force for proper training. The rest would be used as cannon fodder, at best.
Therefore, this blackmail of House Lannister—ah, this *cooperation*—was crucial for their plans to seize the North.
***
**Casterly Rock**
"Go and summon all the lords here for a council immediately," Tywin Lannister ordered an attendant as he tossed a letter into the fire.
"Have you decided to go to war? We still have no news of Jaime," his brother, Kevan, reminded him.
"Jaime has arrived at the Branded City. The maester of House Malbrand sent a raven." Tywin pointed to the ashes in the hearth. "The letter Tyrion sent from beyond the Wall was true. The wildlings sent my son back."
"Then we must agree to the savages' conditions?"
"I cannot judge yet," Tywin said, shaking his head. "Tyrion painted a very promising picture in his letter, but he has always had a talent for spinning tales. Once Jaime returns to Casterly Rock, I intend to speak with these wildlings myself and weigh their worth."
Tywin paused. "And if Robert dies, we will need a new king. Both Joffrey and Tommen are in their hands."
Less than five minutes later, a host of Westerlands nobles had gathered in Tywin's solar.
"Lord Terrence Kenning, you and Lord Lymond Lydden will lead two thousand men to Deep Den to guard the Goldroad. You are to ensure no army from the Reach enters the Westerlands from there." Tywin offered no further explanation, issuing his commands directly.
"Yes, my lord." Lord Kenning and Lord Lydden quickly took their leave.
"Stafford Lannister, you will immediately take six thousand men to Crakehall and join your forces with Lord Roland Crakehall's. You are to monitor the coast road. If you find the main army of the Reach on the move, report to Casterly Rock at once."
"Yes, my lord." Stafford Lannister also accepted his orders and departed.
"And you, Kevan. You will go to the Golden Tooth. I will have Jaime meet you there later."
"We are to guard against an invasion from the Riverlands?"
"No," Tywin said coldly. "You will gather all our remaining forces and march east. You will strike the Riverlands, wipe out House Tully's standing army before the royalist forces can assemble, and put their lands to the torch."
***
**The North**
Winterfell had not been this lively in many years.
At Eddard Stark's call, nearly every lord of the North had gathered his army and marched to his liege. Only the lords of the Barrowlands, the Neck, and White Harbor were absent, waiting to join the host on the Kingsroad as it marched south.
The camps outside Winterfell were a sea of colorful banners: the white sun of House Karstark on a black field, the mailed fist of House Glover, Lady Mormont's great black bear, the flayed man of Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort, the moose of House Hornwood, the battle-axe of House Cerwyn, the three sentinel trees of House Tallhart, and the roaring giant with shattered chains of House Umber.
Even without the armies of the southern lords, the northern host assembled at Winterfell already numbered eighteen thousand men. That was six thousand more than the twelve thousand Robb Stark had summoned in the original story after Eddard's capture.
It made Loran, the player, reflect that even the Northmen, famed for their honor and loyalty to House Stark, had their own selfish motives when answering the call of their lord.
Lyanna had already accompanied Robert to White Harbor, where they would take a ship south to King's Landing to rally the southern armies.
Loran had learned from Eddard Stark that Riverrun, Storm's End, and Highgarden had all answered the king's call to arms. Only the Eyrie and Sunspear remained silent. Eddard judged that Lysa Arryn was simply overcome with grief; given time, she would surely command the knights of the Vale to join the war. As for Dorne, he believed their contribution to this war was, in a sense, dispensable.
Eddard Stark was far too optimistic. To be precise, *everyone* was too optimistic about this war.
In a five-against-one conflict, Loran could never accomplish enough to win Casterly Rock for himself. He needed to diminish the strength of the royalist army, making himself a crucial player in the battles to come.
In a way, they were already halfway there.
The Tyrells of Highgarden had not been Robert's allies during the war for the throne. As Targaryen loyalists, they had never managed to break into the core circle of power in Robert's new dynasty. The reason they were so active this time—replying to Robert and mustering their armies even before Riverrun and Storm's End—was because they finally saw an opportunity.
Cersei Lannister was dead, leaving the position of Queen of Westeros vacant. Robert's three most important allies—Stark, Tully, and Arryn—had no daughters of a suitable age to marry. This was House Tyrell's chance. They intended to use this war to defend the king to put Margaery on the throne beside Robert, allowing Highgarden to finally enter the inner circle of the new dynasty.
Loran could well imagine the fury of Lord Mace Tyrell and the Queen of Thorns when they heard Robert had returned from the North with a 'Lyanna' in tow. *You, Robert, are willing to marry a girl from a minor northern house, but not a daughter of House Tyrell?* It was a naked humiliation.
Of course, that alone would not be enough to make Highgarden withdraw from the war.
The rest would be left to his other two allies. They would attack from beyond the Wall, forcing the Northmen to pull back from the southern campaign. With that, Highgarden, its marital ambitions thwarted, and the turncoat Lady Lysa of the Eyrie, who was firmly under Littlefinger's control, would naturally begin to defy the Iron Throne.
He had forgotten to mention: they were an alliance of four.
Although they couldn't all trust a single person to win the final prize and then share it equally after, they could form pairs of trust. Their plan was to ensure only two of them remained at the end. Those two would secure the billion-point prize, and once it was over, the winners would divide their earnings with their eliminated allies.
It sounded unbelievable, but it was precisely because other players found the idea of a four-person alliance so incredible that they had been able to use a bit of theater and deception to eliminate all their rivals at Winterfell, emerging as the sole victors of that contest.
Chapter 200 Astapor
Astapor lay at the mouth of a winding river the locals called the Worm, which snaked its way from the east to empty into Slaver's Bay. To the south rose the Ghiscari Mountains, where the ruins of Old Ghis lay hidden among the peaks.
According to Darren's calculations, the fleet was less than half a day's sail from the city.
The voyage from the western coast of the Valyrian Peninsula to Astapor had taken a full month. They could have arrived three or four days earlier, but after entering the Gulf of Grief, Ian had deliberately ordered Darren to reduce their speed. He timed his arrival for just after the fifth month's settlement day.
This month, his reward was substantial.
[Monthly Settlement: 40 Points, 4,888 Gold Dragons, 1 Self-Selected S-Rank NPC (in the area).]
The influx of coin pushed Ian's wealth back over one hundred thousand gold dragons. With that much money, he could buy nearly every Unsullied in Astapor, even without leveraging his dragons.
But the news was not all good. The system message also informed him that only twenty-two players remained. At this rate, he had at most two months of standings rewards left.
A major event had occurred in the middle of the previous month. The second bounty mission had been discovered in Volantis, and in a single day, three more players had been eliminated. Ian suspected that a showdown between two allied player factions hiding in the city had finally come to a head.
Of course, any player who had failed to find a bounty mission by now posed little threat. Ian's true rivals were the players who had secured the box in Oldtown and the group that had stirred up trouble in the North.
Putting thoughts of his rivals aside, Ian accessed the system. It was time to draw his S-rank cards for the last two months.
The first set of three cards offered him the [Black Goat Cavalry of Qohor], which had appeared twice before; the [Unsullied Spear Master], which had appeared once; and a new option, [Meereenese Champion Gladiator].
The repetition was somewhat irritating, but considering the sheer number of S-rank NPCs generated by the system, it was understandable that he would eventually start drawing from the pool of characters other players had passed over.
*Understandable, my arse!* Ian fumed internally. *The NPC has to be 'in the area'! I drew these same options in Pentos and Tyrosh, and now I'm drawing them again in Astapor? Are they following me? This has to be rigged!*
Though he cursed the system's blatant corruption, he had no way to report it. He had no choice but to accept his fate and select the [Meereenese Champion Gladiator]. He had rejected the Black Goat Cavalry twice already and was determined to never select them. As for the [Unsullied Spear Master], Mamad, he was about to purchase an entire army of Unsullied. What was the point of one more? The loyalty of the Unsullied was practically as reliable as an NPC's anyway.
Soon, a data card materialized before him.
[Sama: Strength 36, Agility 38, Spirit 1]
[Skills: Scimitar (Master), Swordsmanship (Advanced), Riding (Intermediate)]
[Equipment: Ghiscari Scimitar]
"My luck holds, it seems. Agility is slightly above average," Ian noted with a nod of acceptance before opening the second card draw.
This time, he was presented with the [Black Goat Cavalry of Qohor] for the fourth time, the [Unsullied Spear Master] for the third, and a new card: [Dothraki Bloodrider].
Ian selected the bloodrider without even checking his attributes.
[Quigo: Strength 33, Agility 35, Spirit 1]
[Skills: Arakh (Master), Archery (Master), Riding (Master)]
[Equipment: Arakh, Dothraki Sand Steed, Compound Bow]
Quigo's attributes were average, but his skill masteries were well worthy of an S-rank rating.
Later, Ian learned from Anne that Sama, the champion gladiator, was already in Astapor. The bloodrider, Quigo, could arrive within ten days, which led Ian to conclude he was currently in Meereen. After arranging for the new NPCs to find him, Ian exited the system and went out on deck.
About four hours later, the *Kiss of the Breeze* slowly approached the port of Astapor. The colossal Harpy statue at the harbor gate came into view. It had the torso of a woman, the wings of a bat, the legs of an eagle, and a scorpion's tail, clutching a pair of open manacles in its talons.
The harpy was the sigil of the old Ghiscari Empire, once one of the most powerful states in the known world. The Ghiscari had forged a glorious civilization while the Valyrian Freehold was still in its infancy. But then the Valyrians had found dragons. Over the course of five great wars, they had crushed the Ghiscari legions, and more than five thousand years ago, they had annihilated Old Ghis itself. After the city's fall, the Valyrians had sown every inch of its ruins with salt, sulfur, and skulls to ensure no survivors could ever return.
Though the people of Astapor now called themselves the Sons of the Harpy, they no longer possessed the pure blood of Ghis. Their tongue was a dialect of High Valyrian, and the harpy in their statues no longer clutched the lightning bolts of the old empire, but a set of shackles.
Ian mused that if a man of the old Ghiscari Empire were to see the three great cities of Slaver's Bay today, he would likely feel as sad as a man of the Valyrian Freehold might, should he see the squabbling Free Cities that were its legacy.
"Ian," Celia's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Your queen rejects your suggestion that she remain on the ship."
Ian had warned Celia many times not to use the phrase 'your queen' in his presence, but the warnings had not only failed but made her more insistent. She was obviously certain that he wouldn't risk losing half his points to punish her over such a trivial matter. Ian had to admit she was right.
"She says she wishes to speak to the Good Masters of Astapor herself, as it is her duty as queen," Celia continued.
"Her duty," Ian muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Well, at least that proves she's been listening to my lectures."
"So, what is your decision? If you insist she stay aboard, I can help you persuade her."
"We'll take her with us," Ian said, shaking his head and rejecting the offer.
"Why?" Celia asked, surprised. "Do you plan to let her see for herself how the Good Masters treat their slaves?"
"She'll see it sooner or later."
"I thought you would ease her into it, not be so direct," Celia sneered. "How will you ensure she doesn't lose control?"
"Why would she lose control?"
"Forget the principle of the matter. She is the only dragonrider you have."
Ian smiled but said nothing. He hadn't told Celia the truth: that he was now bonded to a dragon himself.
"Fine. Have it your way," Celia said with a shrug. She knew that look on his face all too well. It was the same smile he'd worn when he had her cornered in the Red Temple of Pentos. Whenever Ian smiled like that, it meant everything was under his control.
*And why should I worry?* she thought. *I'm just hired help. It's his problem, not mine.*
With that, Celia departed to make the arrangements for Daenerys's visit.
---
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