Skyrim System In Westeros

The blinding light faded, and a gust of wind began to whip through the air again. Okaaztuz, the blue dragon, flapped its wings as it hovered above the training field.

A roughly two‐meter–wide patch of ground, scorched black by the lightning's impact, bore radiating marks of char, yet in its very center, Wright still stood firm. Though he undoubtedly suffered magical damage and felt considerable pain, in front of his son he refused to yield—relying on his defensive enchantments and a hidden healing spell inscribed beneath the earth, he withstood the dragon's searing lightning breath. He had even bolstered his head's protection to keep his hairstyle intact.

Strolling casually over to Margaery were two court mages from the Red Keep, Sansa and Meredyth. Their aim was twofold: to safeguard Margaery and to see firsthand how Wright would handle the dragon.

Abandoning his usual battle silence, Wright—hands clasped behind his back—began lecturing Lyonel, "Forcing a dragon to hover by sacrificing its mobility only makes it an easy target! If it were to face a powerful mage or a heavy crossbow, your dragon would be finished!"

"Mind your own business about how Okaaztuz and I fight!" the prince retorted, refusing to heed a word of Wright's counsel.

Determined to teach him a lesson, Wright resolved to show that dragons were not invincible. If Lyonel continued to handle his blue dragon in such a reckless manner, it would be his undoing sooner or later.

Slowly raising his gaze to the blue dragon, Wright deliberately spoke in a low tone, "Even if Okaaztuz is a descendant of Odahviing, tell me—do you think I wouldn't dare kill it?"

"Crap!" Lyonel suddenly recalled that his uncle Wright was the very man who had slain four dragons in his time. Even without armor or a greatsword, Wright was an immensely dangerous foe. Hastily, he shouted skyward, "Okaaztuz, fly away!"

"Too late!" Wright bellowed as his right foot slammed down onto the ground. A massive ice pillar shot upward at an angle from beneath, and Wright leaped onto its peak, charging straight at the blue dragon. At that very moment, an icy blossom erupted at Lyonel's feet—over a dozen spiky ice shards sprouted from the ground, pinning him tightly in place.

Okaaztuz thrashed its wings in a desperate bid to escape. Midair, Wright simultaneously cast spells with both hands: his left, emanating a blood-red mage's hand, latched onto Okaaztuz's jaw, while his right plunged into the earth. "Come down!" he commanded, bringing his hands together at his chest as twin streams of red magic rapidly contracted.

With a tremendous crash, the 30-meter-long, 40-meter–wingspan blue dragon was hurled from the sky onto the ground, raising a cloud of dust. Although a dragon in normal flight possesses enormous inertia—making it nearly impossible for apprentice-level magic like the mage's hand to seize it—its hovering state left its center of gravity vulnerable. Using a deft touch and the combined force of gravity and magic, Wright managed to drag it down.

Not falling from a great height, Okaaztuz's feet were the first to hit the ground. After a couple of twisting turns, it quickly readjusted its posture, its head swiveling back toward Wright to ready another lightning attack. But Wright had already leaped in its direction.

Soaring high, with his head above and feet below, Wright spun midair. Cloaked in several layers of defensive magic that made him as resilient as if he were clad in armor, he delivered a full-force right-handed blow straight to the dragon's snout.

Bang!

The punch sent Okaaztuz's head twisting ninety degrees. The scale struck by the blow shattered, and the crackling lightning erupting from its mouth dispersed. Fortunately, its long, flexible neck absorbed the shock—otherwise its cervical vertebrae would surely have been dislocated.

Awo~~ Awo~~

Sensitive to pain thanks to the dense array of sensory tissue within its keen nose, the dragon let out a high-pitched, rapid, and plaintive cry—not unlike that of a small, whimpering puppy.

"Dragon!" Margaery cried in alarm, instinctively grabbing Sansa's hand. Sansa, too, felt uneasy—the aura of Lady had clearly affected her. Behind her, a direwolf companion, witnessing its fellow Okaaztuz being battered into a wailing state, also tensed and clutched its tail in fright.

"Wow! Wright is so cool!" Meredyth cheered excitedly, dancing with delight near her brother, Kingsguard Parmen Crane. If there had been even a hint of cheers in the arena, she would have leapt up to root for Wright.

Having landed his blow, Wright stood tall with his chest puffed out. With a sudden turn that sent the hem of his noble robe swirling behind him, he walked steadily toward the prince, hands still clasped behind his back. In the mutual exchange of force—without the benefit of dragonbone battle armor to absorb the impact—Wright's right palm's bone had been shattered. He discreetly treated the injury with magic hidden behind his back.

Scalding dragon blood dripped onto the ground, releasing puffs of blue smoke. The searing pain in his nose rapidly radiated through his body. Okaaztuz's massive form twitched from the blow, and it took a long while before it recovered.

"Ang~~" Okaaztuz roared in anger, its bellow echoing throughout King's Landing. Lifting its neck—ignoring the pain in its snout—lightning began to gather again in its mouth, readying another assault on Wright.

At that moment, Wright stood before Lyonel. Any lightning attack now would have struck both of them; retreat was not an option—indeed, retreat was impossible.

Activating its acute senses, the dragon seemed to heighten Wright's own vision; his eyes transformed into the vertical, slit-like pupils characteristic of a dragon, and he fixed his gaze intently on Okaaztuz's eyes. Wright's newfound dragon-like vision was a gift from Odahviing. Midway through the buildup of his Lightning Dragon Flame, Okaaztuz caught sight of this change and quickly shut its mouth, forcibly swallowing back the lightning. In the current dragon kin, the mother, Odahviing, embodied supreme authority.

Awo~~ Awo~~

Okaaztuz let out a cry, whether from the pain in his nose or something else, and retreated to a corner of the training ground, lying down and licking his nose incessantly. He no longer dared to look at Wright.

"Okaaztuz!" Lyonel called out to the blue dragon, but there was no response.

Wright sneered, "Without your dragon, look at you now—completely immobilized by a few icicles. If I were a real enemy, the dragon would die, and so would you!"

"You!" Lyonel struggled, but his sword couldn't reach Wright. He lowered his head in frustration.

"Have you calmed down now?" After waiting for a moment and seeing that Lyonel had stopped struggling, Wright turned to the queen. "Your Grace, the prince's training is over."

Margaery immediately let go of Sansa's hand and rushed to her son. Wright stepped back and began dispelling the magic that restrained the prince.

The ice spikes shattered into fragments and fell to the ground. Margaery quickly pulled Lyonel into her arms, checking him all over. "Are you hurt?"

"Uwaah!" Lyonel burst into loud sobs in his mother's embrace.

As long as the prince calmed down enough to listen, the clever Margaery would find a way to deal with him.

Not long after, Renly and Loras returned to the Red Keep from their travels. In front of all four of them, Lyonel once again addressed Renly as his father and Wright as his uncle. Wright even noticed that the prince now looked at him and Renly with a mixture of admiration and awe. He had no idea what kind of persuasion Margaery had used on him.

---

Back to the present, the final match of the team jousting tournament was about to begin.

Queen Margaery and Prince Lyonel rose from their seats on the royal dais and stepped forward to the railing, with the prince eagerly waving to the knights entering the arena.

Fully armored knights crossed the entrance, where non-spiked barricade stood. Some vaulted over them, others leaped with one hand bracing, some used both hands—it was a display of agility in every form. Each knight's entrance was met with roaring applause, the cheers growing louder with every passing moment.

"Ooooh!" Even Margaery joined in the clapping. A knight from the Westerlands, clad in full plate armor, spun his legs in midair over the barricade, balancing on his hands as he flipped over his turning legs, alternating his support with impressive precision.

After several rotations, he kicked his legs skyward and used his hands to push himself off the ground. His body soared briefly before he landed smoothly on both feet.

The heavy armor had clearly exhausted him with those maneuvers, but the stunning performance earned him thunderous applause from the entire audience, including the queen. Gasping for breath, he repeatedly bowed to the spectators. When he reached the royal dais, Margaery picked up a fresh flower from the table and tossed it to him.

"To be honored by Your Grace is my greatest privilege," the knight declared. "I, Antano Juster, am deeply grateful!"

"Roaaah!" The crowd erupted into another wave of cheers. With the queen setting the example, by the time he joined the competing knights, his arms were filled with flowers—despite already being married.

Once, such applause and cheers had been the privilege of champions alone; only a few among hundreds of participants could claim such honor. But ever since William and the knights returned to the Westerlands after battle, they had taken to entering tournaments by mimicking Wright's famous vault over a fence.

Even those who didn't win a championship had a chance to show off, and their athletic prowess often won them flowers from the ladies. The older knights remained reserved, but the younger ones embraced the trend enthusiastically. Soon, this practice spread throughout the Westerlands, becoming a common part of tournament entrances, and from there, it traveled across Westeros.

Wright sat at the far end of the royal dais, with Renly and Stannis beside him. Their conversation grew quieter and quieter until their lips moved without any sound—Renly had cast a silence spell.

"Wright, are you really going to establish a Mage's Tournament?" Renly asked. He knew Wright had always been against the idea and had delayed it for as long as possible.

Wright straightened. "The Three-Eyed Raven has begun his succession. He first contacted me through the Three-Eyed Crow. But the message he brought wasn't Juster about that, which is why I summoned all the skinchangers across the continent."

"Are there… things beyond the Wall?" Renly asked, his voice tense.

"The Others, or the vampires?" Stannis inquired. He wasn't sure what Renly was referring to.

"The delicate balance beyond the Wall has been broken," Wright explained. "The Children of the Forest, who guard the Three-Eyed Raven, have been attacked. The Others now ride enormous ice spiders, greatly increasing their mobility. The Children have suffered heavy casualties—but none of that is why the Three-Eyed Raven suddenly initiated his succession."

Wright paused, looking at the two men. "What I'm about to tell you must remain secret for now. It would cause widespread panic."

Renly and Stannis exchanged a look and nodded solemnly.

"The Three-Eyed Raven has been gravely wounded. He used his prophetic power to try and save the Children of the Forest. He reached into the future and, in the black waters filled with writhing tentacles, he saw a massive humanoid monster holding a knight in its grasp. But the creature became aware of the Three-Eyed Raven's presence in the void of time—and it raised its warhammer and struck him down."

Renly clenched his fist. "With the power of the Three-Eyed Raven, he wouldn't pass on his legacy unless he was near death. Wright, you sent all the skinchangers to the North—do you know who the next Three-Eyed Raven is?"

"He told me," Wright replied. "It's Bran. Bran Stark, the son of the Lord of Winterfell."

"Is his ascension inevitable? What if he dies along the way?" Renly pressed further.

"I'm not a prophet," Wright admitted. "I don't know if there are multiple possible outcomes. But if the Three-Eyed Raven disappears completely or becomes a wight or a vampire, what will this world become? Can we gamble on an unknown result? I can only trust in him."

Clink! A golden dragon coin flicked from Stannis's finger, spinning in the air before landing back in his palm. "People say I'm a gambler, but I don't believe I've ever truly gambled. Everything is preordained."

Stannis pressed the coin between his fingers. Wright and Renly noticed that both sides bore a dragon engraving—there was no portrait of King Renly.

"If it's that important," Renly continued, "will you go beyond the Wall to protect Bran?"

"No. I'll only escort them to Castle Black. This is a trial for the skinchangers. The Three-Eyed Raven told me not to step beyond the Wall," Wright shook his head.

"What is that massive creature?" Stannis asked.

Renly's expression darkened. "Don't ask!"

A sharp pain stabbed through Wright's mind. Against his will, his mouth opened: "Molag Bal! And Hermaeus Mora!"

"Shit!" Wright immediately drew his dagger and plunged it into his palm.

His left hand had turned pitch-black. As the dagger pierced through, thick, tar-like liquid oozed from the wound, clinging to his palm like molten asphalt. But as the enchanted blade's fiery glow flickered, the darkness rapidly recoiled, retreating back into his body.

He yanked the dagger out and cast a healing spell. In moments, his hand was back to normal.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Why haven't you told me about this before?" Stannis demanded.

Even a child could tell that the blackened state of Wright's hand was unnatural.

Wright flexed his fingers. "Back in Meereen, I had to counter Durnehviir's mind-control Shout. I was forced to learn the same magic to wrest control away from him. That dragon-tongue spell was his creation—anyone who learns it becomes his slave. I've been resisting his corruption ever since."

"Don't you mages believe that all magic can be unraveled, just as it can be cast?" Stannis pressed.

Renly raised a finger toward the sky. "If the caster is far stronger than you, even knowing the counterspell won't help—you won't have the power to break it."

Wright turned to Stannis. "Do you still remember the names I just said?"

"Uh… Something with 'Lag' in it," Stannis muttered, trying to recall.

"Good. Forget them. Never say those names aloud—those are true Daedric Princes."

"Daedric Princes?"

"Renly, explain it to him. The Dragon Cultists are arriving—I need to go." Wright sheathed his dagger and left the soundproofing ward.

Years ago, the High Sparrow had caused a stir, and Wright had let him run amok, driving the Faith of the Seven into decline across Westeros. The Dragon Cult had seized the opportunity to spread their influence.

When the High Sparrow was finally nailed to a wooden frame, Wright had ensured he survived for two whole years. Only when he grew bored did he have his mages withdraw their spells, and the High Sparrow perished soon after. Within days, his remains were picked clean by ravens and rats, leaving behind only a skeleton.

His tattered grey robes, stained with years of sweat and oil, had remained on his body until the very end.

After his death, devout followers had stolen his bones under the cover of night. Some claimed he was enshrined in the Starry Sept of Oldtown; others said he was buried atop the tallest mountain in Westeros. Wright had investigated—both were lies.

The Dragon Cult revered Odahviing. A living, flying, fire-breathing dragon that could speak and wield devastating magic was far more convincing than the Seven's intangible presence. In King's Landing, the Stormlands, and the Riverlands, the Dragon Cult's influence now rivaled that of the Faith of the Seven.

Today was the dedication ceremony for the new temple in Lannisport. As a high-ranking figure within the Dragon Cult, Wright was expected to attend.