Levi never imagined he'd walk the line between pauper and prince using nothing but swampberries. Yet here he was, standing in a bustling northern trade hub with fifty silver stags jangling in his pouch and a hundred more hidden under cloth and charm, secured tightly in a lockbox and left with Harwin's caravan.
The secret, of course, was simple—swampberries. The village of Bogwater could only eat so many of them, but after selling just thirty of the things to traveling peddlers and curious villagers who found their taste passable if tart, he was finally able to exploit the cheat engine with some trickery. Generate a handful. Sell one or two. Let word spread. Generate a few more, and soon, the illusion of scarcity sold them at a silver apiece. It was slow and maddening, but after weeks of effort and some clever peddling outside the village, Levi had accumulated the wealth he needed.
When he revealed the hundred silver stags to Harwin, the man simply stared, suspicious. "You'd best not have stolen it, boy. Or worse."
"Of course not," Levi grinned. "Think of it as... fruit fortune."
Harwin didn't laugh, but silver spoke louder than jokes, and soon they were on the road, bound for White Harbor. There, Levi said, they'd handpick their men, buy up food and supplies, and make for the distant holds of the North. "Further than White Harbor," Levi had said. "We'll sell where no southern merchant bothers to go."
The journey to White Harbor wasn't quick, and Levi's thin patience frayed by the day. He hadn't used the cheat engine for food in over a week, partly because he feared breaking it again and partly because he couldn't stomach another swampberry.
So when he arrived in the city, his stomach louder than his thoughts, he decided it was time to eat like a man of coin.
He scouted taverns and stalls with all the dignity of a rat sniffing cheese. Meat—he needed meat. Proper meat. Pork or beef or something tender and noble. Not mystery meat or salted scraps.
But alas, even with fifty silver stags in hand, he couldn't quite bring himself to waste it on fine taverns meant for true lords. Instead, he found himself near the docks, past the nicer alleys, in a crooked little street lined with ill-fated shops.
That's when he saw it: a crumbling shack of a butcher with meat hanging like forgotten laundry.
"Lizard meat," the shopkeeper grunted, swiping at flies.
Levi stared.
He bought a portion. Five cuts, salted and strung together.
The moment he tucked the first slice into his mouth, the system blinked in his mind—Meat: 5.
He froze. His throat went dry.
"Lizard?" he croaked. "That's what I get? That's the meat I've unlocked?"
His hopes crumbled faster than the bread he hadn't dared eat in months.
He collapsed onto a bench outside the shop, eyes wide. Of all the meat in Westeros, the cheat engine now recognized lizard as his meat. Not beef. Not goat. Not venison. Not the pork he dreamt about.
"Curse this world," he muttered. "Curse these damned berries."
He sighed. If he wanted something different, he'd need to eat it first. It was the rule, cruel and simple. Food could only be cheated after consumption.
So Levi did what any stubborn, hungry man with money to burn would do—he bought cheese.
Not just any cheese. The good stuff. Or what he thought was good stuff.
From a fine stall near the city's merchant district, he picked a pale, soft block that smelled like sour hay. The merchant grinned with all the smugness of a man who knew his buyer was clueless.
"It's northern cheese," the man said. "Good enough for the Manderlys."
Levi took a bite and nearly gagged.
"Good enough for nobles," he muttered bitterly, "but not good enough for a man with taste."
He bought it anyway. Cheat engine rules were rules.
Cheese: 1
He wept inside.
As the afternoon wore on, Levi turned from food to function. If he couldn't eat like a lord, he'd at least supply one.
He sought out staple goods. Wheat was first—plentiful, heavy, and already a known cheat material. A few coins and some sacks later, he had his first samples.
Then came the beer. Or ale. Barrels of it, stacked in shady warehouses near the port. Levi inspected one, then bought two.
Barrel of Beer: 2
A flicker in the system. It worked. He could now duplicate barrels of ale.
He almost smiled. Almost.
"It's not meat, but it'll keep the men happy," he said, patting the side of the barrel like an old friend.
He added flour to the list next. And oil. The basics. Things he knew travelers in the North would trade for when roads got long and food got scarce.
He stared longingly at the bread stalls. He had yet to eat bread. Not in three months. Not since Bogwater. Not since the day Mae gave him stew and he noticed the hard loaf on the side.
"Gods help me," he whispered. "If I eat northern bread and the cheat engine locks me into that, my teeth are done for."
For now, he abstained.
By sunset, he had his own cart loaded—paid in full, half from real coin, half from the swampberry scheme that kept his pockets padded.
Harwin found him later near the pier, nursing a clay cup of sour ale.
"You've been busy," Harwin said, eyeing the cart.
Levi raised his cup. "Would you believe me if I said I'm just lucky?"
"No," Harwin replied. "But I'll believe you're desperate."
Levi grinned.
"Same thing, isn't it?"
They had food, drink, and a path northward. All that was left was time.
But Levi knew one truth better than most: in this world, nothing was free.
Except swampberries. Those he could never run out of.
And oh, how he hated them.