Skyrim System In Westeros

Faced with the cold, sharp sword, the four who were grappling wisely chose to distance themselves from it. Bronn, Sandor, and Jaqen retreated to one side of the prison cart and sat down, while Geralt remained lying on the ground, his face uninjured but covered in dirt.

Seeing that the four had split into two smaller groups, the guard holding the sword was pleased with the result. As long as the prisoners were not united, the chances of rebellion and escape were lower, and the guards could enjoy a more leisurely time.

Several ox-drawn prisoner carts followed the procession, gradually arriving at a small square within the city. Surrounding them were newly built stone houses, all standing at least four stories tall, forming a circle that blocked the cold wind, making the square warmer than other areas. Many craftsmen with hammers and picks hung at their waists had gathered there.

The prisoner cart team stopped at one side of the square, and the guards leaned against the carts, keeping watch, while the leading mages up ahead were speaking with others. Jaqen nudged Bronn and Sandor with his arm and motioned for them to look ahead.

In front of a shop, a wooden canopy had been set up. A long line of craftsmen entered from one side of the canopy and came out from the other side, each holding a piece of black bread and a bowl of steaming fish soup.

The craftsmen with food did not walk far. After squatting down to quickly eat, they placed their empty wooden bowls into a barrel. Once the barrel was full, they would help carry it into the shop.

"The grey direwolf banner. I didn't expect the Starks to run a budget restaurant. Looks like the lords house isn't doing so well!" Sandor muttered quietly, seeing two flags hanging on either side of the wooden canopy.

So what if they're lords? Even the Lannisters have willingly turned into vampires! Sandor found some truth in what Geralt had said—Robb Stark, despite his outward virtue, was not a good man behind closed doors.

"That blue flag on the other side, why is it hanging next to the direwolf banner?" Jaqen, who had suffered from soul damage and frequent headaches, had been in Westeros for years and knew some of its customs. The height at which flags were hung often signified the rank of the person represented.

"The blue flag with three silver ships, that's Robb's wife, the Farman family from Fair Isle in the West." Sandor, peering through the crowd, quickly recognized the other flag.

"People in the North are saying that Robb is enchanted by his wife's beauty! The 'Western Fairy' nickname is no joke. Robb is either making babies or preparing to make them every day, and he even raised the Farman family's banner to an equal status with his own!" Bronn repeated some gossip he had heard.

"Rumors from the common folk aren't trustworthy!" Sandor retorted. In any place, the lower classes would fabricate stories about the nobles' lives, and Sandor believed that Seran Farman wasn't the type of person the rumors described. He was also trying to protect the reputation of the Westermen.

"Quiet!" a guard shouted from beside the prisoner cart.

"These craftsmen were conscripted by House Stark. With the cold weather and high physical demands, the Starks are providing an extra meal for them. The merciful Lady Seran is here, and as long as you don't speak out of turn, you'll also get a free meal later," another guard explained.

Hearing that food was being offered, the prisoners in the cart straightened up. Bronn and the others followed suit, but Sandor, upon hearing that Seran was present, hoped to see her and possibly gain a chance of survival.

Soon, some of the craftsmen who had finished eating brought three wooden barrels from the shop toward the prisoner cart. A Skinchanger and a Stark knight were escorting a blonde noblewoman toward the cart.

Two of the barrels were placed in front of the prisoner carts. One contained empty wooden bowls, another was filled with fish soup, and the third contained black bread. The craftsmen began distributing the food to the prisoners.

Sensing the smell of the fish soup, Bronn and the others, forgetting about the guards nearby, moved to the bars and extended their hands like beggars, desperate for food.

The noblewoman stepped out of the crowd, pointing at the prisoners with the Skinchanger beside her.

She wore black tanned leather boots and a glossy mink fur coat. Despite having three children, the thick clothing could not conceal her graceful figure. Her golden hair was neatly pinned atop her head, and a fluffy collar hung with a golden necklace set with green gemstones, matching the color of her eyes. Once a youthful girl, she had now matured into a gentle, graceful woman.

In a square mostly filled with men, no one dared to speak ill of the beautiful Seran. Even those who harbored thoughts about women didn't dare look her in the eye. Seran was well-liked by the people of the North.

Seeing Seran's beauty, Bronn muttered, "If I were Robb, I wouldn't make it past thirty!"

"You're about to die, and you're still thinking about women!" Jaqen gulped. Right now, he only wanted to get his hands on the hot fish soup.

"Money and women are my two greatest loves in life," Bronn said with simple, pure goals.

Geralt also crawled to the bars. Seeing Seran Farman's face, he felt a strange sense of familiarity: Rosamund Lannister? No, they just looked very similar.

In another timeline, Rosamund had served as Myrcella's stand-in because they looked alike.

"Why do all the scum have beautiful wives? Robb doesn't deserve her!" Geralt cursed, glaring at Seran in anger.

Bronn chuckled, "Ha, look, even the white-haired kid is thinking about women!"

Geralt clenched his fists and glared intensely at Seran from a distance.

At the time, he had taken the initiative to ask Wright for training, but the real reason he had never told anyone.

Among Wright's children, Geralt was the oldest, and Wright taught him magical theory. His mother, Arianne, took care of his daily needs, while other magical practices were mostly taught by Sansa and others.

Tyrosyh and Dorne were relatively open-minded. By the time Geralt was just over ten years old, he had developed feelings for Sansa. Later, when he learned of their blood relation, he shifted his affections to Sansa's friend, Meredyth Crane. As time passed, Rosamund Lannister grew up, and Geralt found himself thinking of both of them as his lovers.

Darkseid and Sauron were too young to understand love, and with no one to confide in, Geralt found secret love to be a very painful experience. One day, he went to his grandfather Doran's house for a meal. After chatting with Oberyn for a while, Oberyn managed to get the truth out of him. The unreliable Oberyn arranged for him to receive a full-service treatment.

Believing himself to be an adult, Geralt now cherished Meredyth and Rosamund even more. But then bad news kept coming. The Three-Eyed Raven had activated the inheritance, and Sansa and Meredyth had left Tyrosh for the North, while Rosamund was to marry Willen. The goddesses in his heart were gone, and feeling disheartened, Geralt found an excuse and went to the North alone to find his father, Robb.

Now, seeing Seran, who looked remarkably like Rosamund, and knowing Robb was a scoundrel, Geralt thought this world was incredibly unfair!

Rocco handed a small booklet to Seran. After they exchanged a few words, Rocco instructed his subordinates to open the prison cart and release several prisoners. The knights quickly moved in to grab the prisoners and took them toward the shop.

"Are they going to send us to the kitchen to be made into braised meat?" The braised meat from King's Landing had a notorious reputation, and Bronn had tasted it several times.

"Stop talking nonsense, human flesh and fish meat taste different."

Bronn raised an eyebrow, "You've eaten human flesh?"

"I've seen others eat it and smelled the taste!" Sandor lowered his voice, "I know Seran. Once she comes over, I'll ask her to help us."

Bronn snorted, "The whole of the West and the North knows her! But does she know you?"

"Stop talking, we only have one chance, cooperate with me!" Sandor was too lazy to explain, knowing he needed to save his strength for a last-ditch effort.

"Seran! I know you, please help us get out of here!" The unfreed prisoners started shouting in desperation.

"Scoundrels!" Rocco shouted, raising his hand toward the cage. Green light flashed, and the wooden bars seemed to come alive, growing branches that wrapped around the shouting prisoners, growing thicker and thicker, lifting them up. When the green light faded, the branches stopped growing, and the prisoners were bound head down to the bars, their faces turning bright red as blood rushed to their heads.

Bronn turned to Sandor, "Sandor, I think you should change your approach."

Sandor shook his head.

After dealing with one cart of prisoners, Seran was now closer to Geralt. The group could hear Seran and Rocco talking.

Seran, with leather-gloved fingers, pointed at the list in the small booklet: "Rocco, this one, this one, and this one, release these three thieves. They'll work here as craftsmen for three years to make up for their sentences."

Rocco checked the list and nodded, "Let these three go."

The three lucky men were quickly led away by the knights, calling out Seran's name as they went. Then came another cart, only a few meters away from Sandor.

This distance was enough! Sandor crouched by the bars, lifted his long hair, and shouted with his famous scarred face exposed, "Seran! I'm Sandor Clegane, please save us!"

Hearing the voice, Seran turned toward the prison cart, looked at Sandor in confusion, and after a few seconds, turned back to continue her conversation with Rocco.

"Why is she pretending not to recognize me! Why?" Sandor found it hard to believe. In his mind, Seran was a very kind person. Even if he were a prisoner, she should have at least spoken to him when seeing a familiar face.

"Shut up! Quiet down!" A guard kicked the arms of the prisoners reaching out from the bars.

The others withdrew their arms, but Sandor clung tightly to the bars, refusing to let go despite the guard kicking him and Bronn pulling from behind. He kept shouting, "Seran! Save me!"

Geralt, unable to watch anymore, struggled to lift his heavy shackles. He poked Sandor in the elbow with his finger, and Sandor's arm went numb from the loss of strength, allowing Bronn to pull him back into the cart.

"We're like trash with no legal status!" Sandor slumped down, sitting listlessly in the cart.

"This cart is for imprisoning magicians, and the magical array at the bottom activated as we entered the square. I think Seran saw us as nothing more than a bunch of wild animals making noise," Geralt explained to the others.

Bronn gripped Geralt's shoulders, "What! So it didn't activate when we entered the city?"

Geralt: "As long as one's magic is stronger than the mage who set the array, they can see through it. If they open it in front of Robb, it would just raise suspicion. The mages in the square are all their people. By activating the illusion magic array, they can block our voices and shapes."

"Does that mean we're dead? White-haired kid, I hate you even more now. How many chances to call for help did you miss!" Bronn pushed Geralt away.

"No matter how powerful Geralt's magic is, he's still just a young noble who grew up in a greenhouse. If we want to survive, we'll have to rely on ourselves!"

"I agree."

"I agree."

"Yeah, I've missed too many chances, maybe I'll never see my family again." Geralt lowered his head and muttered to himself.

From Seran's point of view, the last cart only had four black wolves. When they saw her and the person distributing fish soup approaching, they started growling and showing their teeth.

Seran didn't bother with the beasts. She had heard from Rocco that these animals were for the Skinchangers going to Winterfell. She had even set aside a few extra bowls of fish soup for the wolves, worried they might get hungry.

---

The prisoner cart entered a small courtyard that looked like a military camp.

The tall walls had magic arrays, and the smell of fresh manure came from the stables. There were many people on the training grounds wielding swords and knives, all displaying excellent combat skills.

Geralt began actively thinking of ways out. He carefully observed his surroundings, not wanting to die without understanding why.

"Stop!" Rocco walked toward Geralt.

He squeezed Geralt's arm. "The others will be locked in cells, but this white-haired kid, we're putting him in a bottle!"

A bottle? Geralt was confused. Bronn and the others looked at him with sympathy.

It didn't take long for Geralt to find out what a "bottle" was.

On one side of the square, there were several small wells, each less than fifty meters in diameter. The guards unlocked the iron bars at the top of one well and kicked Geralt into it.

The well wasn't deep. Geralt landed with his feet on the bottom, his head only about a meter from the opening.

Clank! The bars were locked.

His vision was limited to a small round patch of sky above. The sun slanted down, and fortunately, there was no snow. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to breathe in here.

"Damn!" Geralt soon realized this was a place meant for tormenting people.

In the narrow vertical well, still wearing heavy shackles on his wrists, he couldn't squat as his knees couldn't bend. He had to stand, and after a while, his knees began to hurt terribly.

By the time night fell, Geralt was groaning in pain. Standing with no way to rest, the severe pain in his knees and back kept him from sleeping.

"I swear, if I get out of here, I'll tear you to pieces!" In his agony, he could only curse his enemies to ease the pain.

Time passed, and the moonlight reached Geralt's head. An eagle circled overhead as he looked up at the crescent moon and the star-filled sky. Geralt cried.

The wailing of a big boy echoed from the vertical well, spreading throughout the military camp. Prisoners in their sleep woke up, huddling in corners, afraid that the next person to be sent into the bottle would be them. They all tried to avoid the guards' gaze.

The crying continued, and soon, the oil lamps in several rooms lit up. A guard came carrying a bucket of snow and walked toward the well, cursing as he went: "Damn it, I'll throw this snow in to cool you off. If you keep howling, I'll fill the well with ice water!"

The crying stopped. Geralt waited for a long time, but the snow in the cursing guard's words never fell into the well. He perked his ears and heard two familiar voices near the well's opening.

"Poor kid, crying so pitifully. Aren't you going to save him?"

"He won't die. Let him stay in there for a while longer, let him know the world isn't as nice as he thinks!"