Game of Thrones: The Witcher System

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Perhaps it was due to the fact that the complaints he made before crossing over were so realistic that they moved some unknown existence in the cosmos. He did not arrive empty-handed in the world of ice and fire.

With a single thought, a dark blue panel unfurled before his retinas:

——

◇◆────────────────◆◇

Witcher System (Level 1)

Potions (expand to view)

Bombs (expand to view)

Equipment (expand to view)

Mana Pool: 70

Unlocked Witcher Signs: None

Items (expand to view)

◇◆────────────────◆◇

——

After some time of exploring, he had roughly figured out the purpose of this system.

The system was only level 1, with bombs and the equipment section had no formulas or blueprints—everything was empty, except for the potions section which contained a recipe for a Witcher mutation potion using a herb concoction.

The recipe was as follows:

Forktail spinal fluid → Dragon Bone (reusable)

Manticore Poison Gland → Basilisk Venom Gland

Albino Bruxa Tongue → Adult Swamp Leech

Bryonia → Heart Tree Bark

Ribleaf → Ghost Grass

Mandrake Root → Devilgrass

The system had already found suitable replacements for these ingredients in this world.

Upon seeing this recipe, Clay immediately spent all the gold dragons he had brought from White Harbor to buy a dragonbone bow from a collector in Pentos.

This was the hardest ingredient to obtain. If he hadn't been the young master of White Harbor, acquiring a dragonbone—after dragons had disappeared for over a hundred years—would probably have required sneaking into King's Landing and performing a heist.

By now, he had already gathered all the other ingredients, except for the Heart Tree (Weirwood Tree) Bark, which could theoretically only be found in the Wolfswood to the northwest of the North.

Merely having the materials was not enough. In the Witcher world, a mutation required the assistance of a mage. Without magic to stabilize the body during the mutation process, it would be a death sentence.

In this world, Clay had visited all the trading Free Cities, yet he couldn't find a way to increase the 70 points of magic stored in the system.

He had also been to the Red Temple, but most of its priests were nothing more than charlatans, merely performing fire-breathing tricks.

He was well aware that when the stars bled and the glass candles of the Citadel burned once again, the magic of the entire world would be restored; however, he couldn't afford to wait that long.

This time, as he traveled north, the largest Weirwood in House Stark's Godswood was another target of his.

According to the system's notes, only when the magic pool reached 100 would there be an 80% success rate for the mutation.

Higher magic storage would gradually increase the success rate of avoiding negative side effects during the mutation process.

Clay did not want his little brother to be useless, nor did he wish to end up paralyzed. [P.S.; 😂]

He thought for a long time. According to the original timeline, the unfortunate Hand of the King would soon die from poisoning, followed by the southern march of the Starks. Once Robert died, the kingdom would plunge into a bloody war.

Thus, in the coming chaos, possessing powerful personal strength was the first choice for survival.

Don't even mention the grandson of a noble like himself. Just look at the tragic fates of Lord Eddard Stark's children to know that titles were nothing but empty symbols—meaningless and unreliable.

Moreover, he was backed by White Harbor, holding the largest fortune in the North. And who said the potion trial could only be used by him? As long as the recipe and magic issues were resolved, Clay was confident that, with enough time, he could raise an army of Witchers to fight for the Seven Kingdoms.

Before he knew it, the afternoon had passed.

"The sound of knocking at the door interrupted Clay's thoughts. He sat up from the bed, walked over to the chair, and sat down before speaking:

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and a small head with light green hair peeked inside, revealing two small tiger teeth. With a grin, the voice chimed:

"Clay, it's time for dinner. My sister sent me to bring you to the hall."

"I'm not unfamiliar with the way," Clay shook his head and smiled. He stood up, stretched his back, and followed his sister down the splendidly decorated circular hallway.

Soon, they arrived at the hall. Clay noticed that a long table had already been set in the center, and meals were being prepared in the kitchen.

Since they had arrived early, the other family members hadn't shown up yet. Only the old butler was directing the servants, who moved back and forth.

Seeing the eldest young master arrive, the old butler smiled and stepped forward to greet him.

"Master Clay, you and Miss Wylla are quite early, but the dinner hasn't started yet. Would you like to take a stroll in the garden first?"

When Clay heard that the dinner hadn't started yet, he realized that his cousin, whom he hadn't seen in two years, likely had something to discuss with him. He didn't press the issue, simply nodding and following Wylla into the garden.

Leaning against the railing that overlooked all of White Harbor, the cool sea breeze greeted them, and the twinkling lights of the city looked particularly beautiful from there.

Clay glanced at Vera, who seemed hesitant to speak, and gently rubbed her head, smiling kindly as he asked:

"Wylla, is there something you want to say?"

"Uh… did you figure it out, Clay?" Wylla hesitated, her eyes darting away.

Clay smiled and nodded. Wylla bit her lip, hesitated for a long moment, and finally spoke:

"At dinner, Grandpa might ask you to go to Winterfell. Can you take me with you?"

As she spoke, Wylla's light purple eyes were full of hope.

"What would you do in Winterfell with me?" Clay asked, a bit confused.

"To take a look around. You know Grandpa's temper; he thinks we noble ladies should stay in the castle until we get married," Wylla explained, almost plausibly.

Clay was a little stunned. To him, Wylla now seemed like a bird trapped in a cage, flapping its wings desperately, trying to break free.

Just as he was about to agree, the old butler's voice interrupted them:

"Master, Miss, dinner is ready. Lord Wyman is asking for you both."

Returning to the hall, they found that, thanks to the efficient efforts of the Manderly family servants, a meal that looked quite appetizing had been set on the table. The servants lit the candles, and the entire Merman court took on a more majestic, mysterious air.

Lord Wyman Manderly sat at the center, with two burly, bald men sitting on either side. The one on his right was his eldest son, Wylis Manderly, Clay's uncle, while the man on his left, who was smiling broadly at Clay, was his father, Wendel Manderly.

"Sit down, you two. After you and your son eat, there will be plenty of time to talk," Lord Wyman Manderly said, his face glowing in the candlelight, filled with warmth.

Clay and Wylla sat together, and as soon as Lord Wyman took the first bite of bread, everyone began focusing on their food.

"Clay, in the next couple of days, prepare yourself. Take my personal letter and go to Winterfell to pay a visit to Lord Eddard Stark," Lord Wyman suddenly said.

Clay thought for a moment and understood Lord Wyman's intention. The old man was using his presence to extinguish the flames of ambition in those who coveted White Harbor. As long as Clay met Lord Eddard Stark, no one—after his uncle's passing—would have the right to inherit the title of Lord of White Harbor before him.

"Alright, Grandpa," Clay quickly replied. Though the old man's motives were rooted in the stability of White Harbor, Clay knew this was the right attitude to take.

Just as he finished speaking, someone stepped heavily on his foot. He gritted his teeth and glanced at Wylla, who was giving him subtle, constant glances. With a bitter smile, he turned to Lord Wyman and said:

"Grandpa, I'd like to bring Wylla with me to Winterfell…"

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[Chapter End's]

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