"New functions are now available," a calm, mechanical voice suddenly announced, echoing in Eddard's mind.
"Soul Absorption: Any life taken by you and your subordinate soldiers will leave behind a pure soul power."
"Soul Power: 0"
"Current Magic Fluctuation: Weak"
"Basic Magic Exchange List is as follows:"
"Magic Armor: Summons a transparent armor constructed from a force field around the body. In addition to deflecting magic attacks, its physical defense is similar to chainmail in the mundane world, providing strong protection against slashing and blunt force, but weak against piercing.
Exchange Price: 10 units of Soul Power.
Casting Conditions: 1 unit of Soul Power, three times daily."
"Burning Hand: Calls upon the power of fire, spewing a fan-shaped orange-red flame from the center of the palm, covering all areas within three meters in front, lasting for 5 seconds.
Exchange Price: 10 units of Soul Power.
Casting Conditions: 1 unit of Soul Power, three times daily."
"Enchanted Blade: Infuses elemental power onto cold blades and swords, increasing weapon power and damaging enemies affected by magic. Lasts for half an hour.
Exchange Price: 10 units of Soul Power.
Casting Conditions: 1 unit of Soul Power, five times daily."
Eddard barely had time to register the sudden appearance of this system when a small cavalry unit caught his attention. The leader, Ser Cleos of House Frey, was approaching, a tall, thin man with a narrow chin, sparse brown hair, and an expression somewhere between nervousness and excitement.
Eddard recognized him immediately. After the battle in the Haunted Forest, Cleos had been part of the convoy escorting prisoners. Among the group were the Kingslayer, with his head held high; William Lannister, bowed and anxious; and this Cleos Frey, muttering to himself, seemingly lacking intelligence.
It appeared that Cleos was headed to King's Landing, carrying a letter from Robb Stark outlining the conditions for peace: the North and Riverlands' independence, the return of Eddard Stark's remains and sword, and the exchange of his sisters, along with measures to prevent further hostilities.
Eddard's inner voice scoffed. This was nothing more than wishful thinking. Had he possessed his current identity earlier, he would have advised Robb to exchange William Lannister—and only him—for Sansa. The odds of success were slim, but infinitely more plausible than trying to exchange two girls. Arya, clever and resilient, had already fled, most likely nearing Harrenhal. Sending someone to retrieve her would be reckless; the Lannister raiding parties were actively rampaging, and Eddard's confidants could easily be lost in the chaos.
Sighing silently, he refocused on the task at hand. Robb Stark, the young King of the North, remained in true danger, and any misstep could drag House Karstark into ruin. Eddard's focus shifted to Theon Greyjoy, whose recklessness could be exploited.
Just then, a dark figure emerged, blocking his path—it was Daisy Mormont again.
"Anything else?" Eddard asked, irritation creeping into his tone. How many times had this young woman intercepted him over the past few days?
"My mother wishes to invite you for a drink," Daisy said, forcing a smile that looked far more strained than tears.
"Where?" Eddard inquired.
"Qingteng Tavern," she replied.
"Lead the way."
Ten minutes later, Eddard entered a familiar private room. Lady Maege Mormont, clad in chainmail, sat on a polished wooden couch, her grey-black eyes observing the few who entered. Her calm expression barely masked the tension beneath.
"Karstark boy, how do you know Jorah Mormont is alive in Essos?" she asked sharply.
Eddard had intended to sit, but he froze at her question. Instead, he responded with a sly deflection. "Lady Maege, I am curious—your five daughters, all raised under the bear's guidance—how is that even possible? Even in the North, it seems remarkable."
The question, a clever dodge, made Lady Maege's smile vanish. She retorted coldly, "Boy, that is none of your business."
Eddard paused, then repeated the phrase deliberately. "Indeed, Lady Maege, none of your business."
A few seconds of silence passed before Maege grasped the subtle meaning behind his words. Her lips twitched in frustration, but she persisted, asking more formally, "Then I will ask another: if you know Jorah's location, do you know his exact whereabouts?"
Exact location? Eddard considered the situation. The Red Comet's appearance—or imminent appearance—was an indicator. That silver-haired girl with multiple titles had faced sudden upheavals: the loss of her brother, the nearing death of her first husband. Any ship departing White Harbor now would struggle to locate her in the Red Waste. The safest strategy was to wait in Qarth, where she had likely joined the commotion.
A faint smile crossed his face. "Lady Maege, I can deduce Jorah Mormont's location, but revealing it seems unnecessary." He glanced at Daisy, silently reminding her that the fierce young woman was sharp but sometimes slow to understand subtlety.
"What do you want? Gold dragons? Weapons?" Maege asked, frustration evident in her tone.
"No," Eddard replied calmly. "Karhold is modest, but I am not easily bought. I require only one thing: an apology to a father who has lost his son, for past words and actions. Fulfill this, and I will provide Jorah's location."
Maege's stubbornness faltered. Though it was harder to accept than money, she ultimately agreed. "Alright, tonight I will go apologize to your father."
Eddard, satisfied, poured himself a glass of Arbor golden wine, savoring it slowly. Then he outlined Jorah Mormont's journey, his survival through Essos, the loss of his wife, and the trials he endured among mercenaries and nomads. The detailed account erased Maege's doubts; ordinary men could not improvise such precise information.
Eddard gave two final pieces of advice: any attempt to capture Jorah in Yunkai or Meereen must involve skilled fighters and ample gold; failure would likely result in enslavement. Maege, curiosity restrained, accepted the guidance.
With the meeting concluded, Eddard departed, taking Abel Qashtak and Dita. Kalander with him.
Looking up at the sky, Abel pointed. "My lord, look!"
A magnificent red comet streaked across the heavens, as though a god had carved a wound into the azure sky, silently weeping blood.
[Magic fluctuation detected. New function loading.]
Eddard didn't linger to contemplate this; he had other matters to attend. The North's army prepared for war, Lord Rickard had emerged from Riverrun's godswood to oversee operations, and Karstark duty demanded his attention. Eddard seized the opportunity to quietly follow Theon Greyjoy, intending to test his newly acquired Soul Power through controlled combat with prisoners.
Theon, meanwhile, had indulged his usual indulgences. Escorting merchant convoys provided both protection and profit. With Abel and Dita in tow, Eddard moved among the three convoys, disguised as guards, careful not to reveal their true affiliations.
Three days later, they reached Fairmarket, a prosperous stop along the Blue Fork River. The town bustled with merchants, soldiers, and entertainers. As the sun dipped, Theon wandered alone, seeking the Tulip Tavern. His thoughts drifted, irritated by the Melister family's old grudges and his inability to indulge freely in pleasures.
A striking figure caught his attention—a young woman with flowing red hair, fair skin, and sapphire eyes brimming with shyness. She extended a rose, a silent invitation.
Theon, arrogant and oblivious, approached. "My lady, I am Theon Greyjoy, foster brother to the King of the North, heir to the Iron Islands. May I know your name?"
The girl paused but remained silent, instead pulling him towards a courtyard. Theon's infatuation blinded him. He failed to notice the danger until it was too late. A crisp voice interrupted: "At least one golden dragon to proceed."
Dita and Abel moved quickly. The red-haired girl was subdued, tied, and gagged. Theon was dragged into the house unconscious, and Eddard, smiling, surveyed his work. No assassination had been necessary; a simple, well-executed trap had succeeded.
Once Theon regained consciousness, he realized the extent of the scheme. Eddard Karstark stood over him, calm and composed.
"What do you want?" Theon demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.
"I intend to let you die, leaving no trace of your body. Balon Greyjoy will have one more concern during his invasion of the North, giving me time to act. Perhaps, I might even save the two little wolves in Winterfell."
Eddard's words hung in the air, deliberate and chilling. The game had just begun.
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