Just as Aegon's ghost had seemingly exhausted Baelon's good fortune, the next twenty or so shovelfuls of dirt yielded nothing but useless burial objects.
Dragon bones, bits of corroded jewelry, a scattering of gold coins… all treasures to some, but to Baelon, they were far less valuable than the ghosts he sought.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Baelon adjusted his grip on the shovel and continued digging.
---
[Obtained: Gordian Knot × 1]
---
The Gordian Knot?
Baelon's eyes lit up with curiosity. According to legend, it was the world's most famous unsolvable knot. Whoever managed to untie it would, so the stories claimed, become the King of Asia. The most well-known tale told of Alexander the Great, who, faced with the knot's impossible complexity, had drawn his sword and sliced through it in a single stroke.
When Baelon reached into the soil, he found a length of white rope tied into a small, unassuming knot. It looked utterly ordinary—no golden gleam, no mysterious glow.
"Huh… this is it?" he muttered, frowning slightly.
He tugged at it, trying to work the knot loose with his fingers. But it was as if the rope had been welded together; not a fiber shifted.
Baelon chuckled softly. "Alright, Alexander, I see your point."
Drawing his sword, he swung it once, cleanly severing the knot in two. The rope halves flopped to the ground, harmless and unremarkable.
Satisfied with his bit of historical imitation, Baelon tossed the pieces aside and returned to the real task—grave digging.
---
After dozens more shovels of dirt, another ghost finally appeared.
It was difficult to tell which generation of his ancestors this one belonged to, but that hardly mattered. With his spear in hand, Baelon stepped forward, engaging the ghost with the practiced rhythm of turn-based combat that he had already mastered.
The battle didn't last long. The ghost let out a sharp, crackling sound as its form broke apart, and Baelon once again felt that strange, cooling sensation seep into his mind.
---
[Spirit Value: 350 / 350]
---
Baelon straightened, pricking his ears in expectation. His hearing didn't sharpen. He sniffed the air—no enhancement to his sense of smell either.
"Hmph. Just spirit value this time."
He shrugged.
---
The night wore on, and Baelon kept at his task. By the time the first hints of dawn touched the horizon, he had dug up seven ghosts in total. Only Aegon's ghost had granted him a significant boost; the rest provided smaller and smaller increases with each defeat.
Finally, his spirit value settled at a new peak:
---
[Spirit Value: 460 / 460]
[Mana: 200 / 200]
---
He recalled what the system had explained—an increase in spirit value also meant a higher mana cap and faster mana recovery. That alone made tonight's efforts worthwhile.
Defeating the last ghost, Baelon gathered the jewels and peculiar trinkets he'd uncovered, storing them neatly in his spatial inventory.
"It's getting late," he murmured to himself. "Time to head back."
He used the shovel to flatten the disturbed soil, erasing any obvious signs of excavation. The remaining ancestors could wait until tomorrow night for their turn.
---
But just as he was about to leave, he froze.
A strange sensation crept over him—a gaze, sharp and lingering, prickling the back of his neck. It was the same kind of unnerving awareness he used to feel in his past life whenever he secretly played on his phone during study sessions… only to glance up and find his homeroom teacher staring at him through the classroom window.
The feeling was that vivid. That immediate.
Baelon's eyes scanned the area. The cemetery was empty, only rows of silent graves behind him. Nothing moved.
Besides, he had fought and slain several ghosts tonight without ever experiencing this sensation. Why now?
Keeping his face neutral, he decided not to react openly. If something—or someone—was watching him, best to let them believe he was unaware. He began walking toward the castle, his steps measured, his posture casual.
But the gaze didn't fade. Like a shadow, it followed him every step of the way.
When he reached the high stone path, Baelon glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping the empty night.
Nothing. Yet the feeling only grew stronger.
---
Illusion?
No. With a spirit value of 460 points, his mental clarity was razor-sharp.
And besides… years of experience being caught red-handed by sharp-eyed teachers in his past life had honed an instinct he trusted implicitly—this was no illusion.
---
By the time he slipped into his bedroom, Baelon finally felt some measure of safety.
He moved toward the window, intending to close it. But before he did, he tilted his head upward, scanning the pre-dawn sky.
Seabirds were already awake, their white wings cutting circles above the sea. Among them, almost perfectly blended in, was a single raven—larger than any seabird, its black feathers glinting faintly.
Baelon's brow furrowed.
Could it be… the bird?
He shut the window, and immediately, the sensation of being watched evaporated.
---
Easy Walker.
The thought formed instantly.
Easy Walkers were rare humans with the ability to control animals and project their consciousness into another living being's body. Ordinary Easy Walkers could merely see through the creature's eyes and control its actions, but the most skilled could completely take over the host.
In Westeros, Easy Walkers were dangerous and feared. North of the Wall, they were more common—but here on the continent, they were hunted down and executed as unnatural abominations.
If an Easy Walker was spying on him, it meant trouble.
And if it wasn't just an ordinary Easy Walker… if it was a Green Seer… then the trouble could be much worse.
Among a thousand Easy Walkers, perhaps one could become a Green Seer—a legendary figure capable of moving their mind through time and space, possessing any living thing connected to a Heart Tree.
Baelon's lips curled slightly. He didn't appreciate being watched.
---
He reached for his bow. Nocking an arrow, he pushed the window open just enough to aim.
The arrow sang through the air, slicing past the seabirds and heading directly for the raven.
The bird cawed sharply and twisted in flight, veering toward the flock. Baelon's arrow struck a seabird instead, sending white feathers scattering.
The raven moved like a snake, darting through the mass of wings and vanishing into the distance.
Baelon lowered his bow with a frown. Since arriving in this world, he had practiced archery relentlessly. After reaching a rare state of focus during training, his skill had advanced rapidly. Defeating Maester Arlin and the ghosts the night before had only boosted his confidence.
But this… this was his first miss.
Yes, the raven was no ordinary bird. Its intelligent evasions proved that. Still, it was a reminder that he'd been fighting easy opponents—an old man and defenseless spirits. Hardly a reason to feel pride.
---
There is always someone stronger.
Baelon watched the raven disappear over the horizon. He would remember it.
With a sigh, he turned his attention to something else—an unassuming ring he had taken from Maester Arlin's corpse.
At first glance, it was nothing special. Copper in color, unadorned by any gemstones, its inner surface smooth except for a faint, circular gap.
He examined it under the light, searching for a hidden mechanism, but found none.
"Fine. Let's do this the simple way."
Taking his dagger, Baelon pried at the gap until the thin metal cover popped open, revealing a hollow interior.
From within, he shook out a small quantity of cinnamon-colored powder onto a sheet of paper. The amount was tiny—less than a gram. Its hue matched the coppery tone of the ring, making it easy to miss.
---
[Scholar's Gift of Strangulation: a slow-acting poison that causes the stomach to rupture, resulting in death.]
---
Baelon raised an eyebrow.
The name was typical for this world—poisons often bore dramatic titles, like the infamous Tears of Lys.
But why had Arlin kept this? Old Bei had already returned to King's Landing. If Arlin's goal was to poison him, he would have had plenty of chances by now.
That meant the poison's true purpose wasn't finished.
A slow smile formed on Baelon's lips. In a realm where a dragon sat on the Iron Throne, a maester caught plotting to kill the crown prince would bring ruin upon the entire Citadel.
So why risk carrying the evidence around?
Unless… the intended target wasn't Old Bei at all.
---
Baelon tapped the table thoughtfully, the powder lying in a neat little pile before him.
A raven had escaped his arrow tonight.
An Easy Walker—or worse, a Green Seer—had taken interest in him.
And now he had stumbled upon a poison that could shatter the political order of Westeros.
His harvest tonight had indeed been rich… but it seemed the seeds he had unearthed were the kind that could grow into dangerous storms.