The cold hit him first.
Not the numbing chill of a winter morning or the sting of city wind tunnels — this cold felt ancient, alive, as if the land itself wanted him dead. His hands trembled as he pushed himself up from the dirt, breath turning to mist.
He sat up slowly, mud clinging to his skin, blood caked on his shirt. A wide, snow-covered plain stretched out before him. Thick pines rose in every direction. There were no buildings. No people. No cars.
No world he recognized.
Then came the sound — not wind, not wolves.
A voice.
> [SPARTAN SYSTEM INITIALIZED.]
[WELCOME, COMANNDER.]
[MISSION: SURVIVE. CONQUER. ASCEND.]
[STARTER PACK DEPLOYED.]
He blinked hard. A translucent screen hung in his vision, glowing faintly blue:
> +10 Spartan Initiates (Level 1)
+1 Agoge Blueprint
+10 Iron Spears
+1 "Red Cloak of Command" (Epic)
"No fucking way…" he muttered. "A system? Like in those novels?"
He forced himself to his feet, groaning as pain flared up his spine. He was dressed in rags — not hospital scrubs or a uniform — and barefoot in the snow. And yet, his body… felt different. Stronger. Denser.
He looked around. Then down.
Ten figures kneeled in a perfect line before him. Bronze-skinned, muscular, each with a red cloak draped over their backs and short iron spears in hand. Their expressions were calm. Sharp. Silent.
The one in the front spoke, voice deep and unwavering.
"You're majesty. We await your orders."
---
⚒️ SYSTEM MESSAGE:
> Your Spartan camp must be established before nightfall.
Quest: Birth of a Nation
Objective: Use the Agoge Blueprint to place a Spartan training ground.
Reward: Unlock unit upgrades, morale bonus, passive regeneration.
Time remaining: 6 hours until nightfall.
---
He paced for a moment, heart pounding. This wasn't Earth. This wasn't even a game.
It was Westeros.
He recognized the stars, the language of the raven calls, even the banners on the corpses nearby — faded sigils of House Glover and Umber. Northern houses.
"Is this... the North?" he whispered. "Am I in the middle of a civil war zone?"
A body near his feet groaned. A wounded man, half-frozen and bleeding from the thigh, reached toward him.
"P-please… help…"
The Spartan initiates looked to their leader. No movement. No empathy.
The man in red — the one they now called Strategos — hesitated. Then turned away.
"I'll help my people first," he muttered.
"Execute him," he said aloud.
A single iron spear thrust forward. No scream. No mercy.
---
The Agoge was placed on a slight hill, using the system interface like placing a holographic structure. As soon as he confirmed the build, the ground cracked open with red light, stone and timber assembling into place as if summoned by ancient gods.
In minutes, it stood: a circular training ground with wooden dummies, a fire pit, and a carved stone archway inscribed with a single word.
> ΛΑΚΕΔΑΙΜΩΝΙΟΙ
"Lacedaemonians"
The Spartans began their drills in eerie silence, spearpoints flashing in the dying light.
---
That night, the Strategos stood on the cliff overlooking the frozen valley. Wolves howled in the distance. His warriors camped in perfect formation. His enemies were bones in the snow.
He pulled the red cloak around his shoulders, the heavy fabric warming him with unnatural heat.
> [Congratulations. You have founded the Spartan State.]
[New Title Unlocked: The Crimson Warlord]
[New Ability: Battle Trance – +25% to Spartan damage in first 30 seconds of combat.]
He stared into the dark, where the fires of Westeros flickered faintly on the horizon.
"Kings," Alex said quietly, "you sit on your thrones of lies."
He looked down at his hands — calloused, steady, strong.
"You have no idea what's coming"
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