Skyrim System In Westeros

After the two changed into their disguises, Tyene pulled out several small vials from an unknown hiding place. "This time, I'm bringing along a newly improved poison. If we can incapacitate them like we did with the Mountain last time, it'll make things much easier."

Wright recalled the time he saw the Mountain in the dungeons of the Red Keep. "You mean the one that turned him blue? Just make sure this new concoction doesn't leave anyone unrecognizable!"

"I tested it on chickens. No more blue corpses, I swear," Tyene declared confidently.

The styles of Myrish clothing were simple—robes and cloaks—and the two women quickly dressed themselves.

"I've cast a silence spell from the window to the courtyard walls," Wright instructed. "Remember, don't reveal your identities. And don't trust the people on the ship completely!"

"The ship will be in good hands. You take care of yourself, my little man," Nymeria replied, planting a kiss on his cheek. She then grabbed Tyene and pulled her along. Tyene turned her head as if to kiss Wright as well, but Nymeria pushed her toward the window instead. The two slipped out quietly.

The boy who had delivered the message earlier was one of Varys's "little birds". Varys had long arranged for a ship to be ready in Myr, awaiting Wright's arrival.

Wright unfolded the scrap of paper, which contained two names and addresses: a Magister and a Warlock.

"Varys, you scheming spider. First, it was just a Magister; now you've added a Warlock to the list. Fine. I'll deal with you when I return."

Wright cast two illusion spells on himself: one for silence, to muffle any sound he made, and another for invisibility, to conceal his presence.

"Coupled with my stealth skills, this should be a breeze. First, the Magister." He climbed out the window and began running across the rooftops, leaping from one building to another as he made his way toward the Magister's residence.

Over the years, Wright had rarely used his stealth abilities, focusing instead on refining and leveling up his magical skills. After all, he was the kingdom's Archmage, and such covert operations were hardly fitting for someone of his stature. Typically, he delegated these unsavory tasks to others.

The Magister was already asleep when Wright stood at his bedside. He cast an expert-level illusion spell: Rout.

The Magister shot up as though from a nightmare, bolted out of bed, and started running out of his residence. At the front gate, his guards saw him emerge in his nightclothes, panic-stricken.

"Don't come near me! Stay back!" he screamed, still trapped in the horrifying illusion.

The guards, misinterpreting his cries as orders, stopped in their tracks and retreated, leaving the bewildered Magister to flee further into the city.

Wright noticed a peculiar effect of the Retreat spell: the target always ran in the opposite direction of the caster. To guide the Magister toward the docks, he had to constantly reposition himself, casting the spell repeatedly to alter the Magister's course through the maze-like streets. It felt like a twisted game of box-pushing, and somewhere along the way, the man's nightclothes fell off entirely.

Near the port, patrolling guards caught sight of the crazed, naked man sprinting through the streets, screaming "Stay away!" at no one in particular.

After much effort, the Magister finally reached the ship, where Nymeria quickly subdued him. For all his authority, his physical strength was less than that of a blacksmith. Nymeria shackled his hands and feet with little difficulty.

Entering the ship's cabin and seeing the situation under control, Wright said, "Next up is the Warlock. Be cautious; he might be trickier."

"Got it!" Nymeria replied, busy fastening the bindings. Tyene, meanwhile, was busy force-feeding the Magister poison and didn't even glance at Wright.

The next target was a Warlock from Qarth's House of the Undying, rumored to possess magic. Even the locals of Qarth dismissed the sorcerers as frauds masquerading under the guise of mysticism.

In Myr, their influence was minor compared to the followers of R'hllor. They operated out of a modest three-story building, lacking a proper temple.

Approaching the building, Wright was hit by a nauseating stench of rot.

"No wonder only slaves live around here. No one else would tolerate this filth."

Using a detection spell, he identified three faint magical presences on the third floor, each in a separate room. The magical flows in their bodies were weak and chaotic, as if artificially infused with external power.

Climbing to a second-floor window, he slipped inside to investigate. The room was filled with barrels of liquid emitting the foul odor.

"Alchemical junk," Wright muttered after a quick analysis. "Temporary magic enhancement, poorly made. Impurities everywhere, mixed with who-knows-what else. A waste of materials. The creator knows a bit about alchemy but is utterly misguided."

The walls were adorned with human bones, dried organs, and vessels filled with blood, evidence of the occupants' vile practices.

"As expected, the sorcerers' home is a lair of bones and lies."

Despite his stealth skills being less than maxed out, Wright's Silence and Invisibility spells rendered him undetectable. Moving to the third floor, he magically disabled the door locks and inspected each room.

Inside, he found a disconcerting sight: the three sorcerers were eerily similar in appearance—bald, with pale bluish skin and lips of the same color.

"Dam," Wright muttered under his breath. "They all look the same!"

Wright approached one of the sorcerers' beds, grabbed his throat, and woke him instantly.

"What's your name?"

"Help!" the man tried to scream.

With a quick twist, Wright snapped his neck and moved silently to the second Warlock's bed, repeating the process.

"What's your name?"

"Don't kill me, please don't kill me!" The Warlock struggled in vain, but Wright's grip was unrelenting. Even as he pleaded, the man bit his tongue and tried to cast a spell on Wright.

Feeling a faint magical force directed at him, Wright didn't resist, curious about its effect — but nothing happened.

"Crude blood magic," he muttered. "Not enough power, so they substitute with their own blood. A poor imitation of illusion magic — like mine, but far less sophisticated. One more time — your name!"

The Warlock opened his mouth as if to respond, but whether due to his bitten tongue or his terror, no words came out. Sensing him gathering magic again, Wright ended the interaction with another brutal twist of the neck.

Abandoning stealth, he stormed into the last Warlock's room and leapt onto the bed. With two swift punches to the shoulders, the sound of cracking bones echoed through the room.

"Argh!" the Warlock screamed, jolted awake by the pain.

Grabbing the man's neck, Wright flipped him over and delivered two more blows to his thighs, snapping both legs.

"Ugh..." The Warlock tried to cry out, but Wright tightened his grip, silencing him.

Still invisible, Wright hoisted the crippled Warlock by the neck and began running toward the harbor.

"I was planning to use illusions to herd them like ducks, but with two dead, I'll settle for dragging this one back. Doesn't matter if he's the real boss."

The streets of Myr were nearly deserted due to the nightly curfew, but as Wright approached the harbor, he encountered the same patrol he'd seen earlier. One guard noticed something strange.

"Hey, look over there. What is that?"

They turned to see a naked man, arms limp, head tilted back, and toes barely brushing the ground as he eerily floated forward.

"What the—" The guards couldn't see Wright, only the Warlock's lifelessly dangling form. Recognizing the bald head and unnatural skin tone, they realized it was a Warlock.

"First the naked Magister, now this," one muttered.

"Not our problem," another replied. "Let's head back to the barracks."

Unwilling to get involved with whatever dark magic was at play, the guards quickly left the area.

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