"Forgive me, Lord Tarly, Samwell, Dickon—for keeping you waiting."
Lifting her gown slightly, Margaery gave a graceful curtsey, her radiant smile brightening the entire knights' hall as if sunlight itself had entered.
Samwell stole a single glance before lowering his head again.
The beauty before him was not someone he could even dream of coveting.
At least… not as he was now.
His younger brother, Dickon, however, stared openly, completely unaware of how improper his behavior was.
Lord Randyll cleared his throat sharply, snapping his second son out of his daze, then turned to Margaery.
"May I ask when His Grace, the Duke, will be arriving?"
A trace of apology crossed Margaery's face. "My father is unwell today and could not attend. I beg your pardon."
Randyll's brow furrowed. "In that case, let us reschedule."
But Margaery shook her head. With a smile, she produced a rolled document from behind her.
"That won't be necessary. My father has already signed the writ of expansion and entrusted me to deliver it on his behalf."
"And the investiture?" Randyll pressed.
"That, too, I will conduct in his stead."
At her words, the knights' hall fell utterly silent.
Dickon remained oblivious, but both Randyll and Samwell understood at once: Duke Mace was deliberately making excuses not to come.
It was no surprise, really.
After decades of cultivation, the Reach had little unclaimed land left. To "expand," one would have to venture toward the barren frontier, such as the Crimson Mountains.
But those lands were desolate and dangerous, rife with bandits. Establishing a domain there was no small feat.
And the Reach nobility all knew of Samwell's reputation as a timid weakling. None believed him capable of carving out a new territory.
The Duke clearly had no wish to grant such a man a writ of expansion.
If not for Lord Randyll's personal petition, Mace would never have agreed.
Yet granting the writ meant Samwell would become his vassal. Tradition demanded that Duke Mace himself bestow the title of Frontier Knight.
Instead, the Duke feigned illness and sent his daughter.
Randyll could understand Mace's reluctance, but still—it was an insult. If the Duke had sent his heir, Ser Loras, Randyll would have swallowed his pride.
But Margaery?
What right did she have to invest a knight?
The humiliation was hard to bear, even for a father who despised his own son.
He fixed Margaery with a cold glare, fury undisguised.
Yet her delicate face remained serene, her smile soft and innocent, as if she failed to understand the source of his anger.
The air grew heavy, until Samwell himself broke the silence:
"In that case, I shall trouble Lady Margaery."
Though anger burned in his chest, he knew well that the fury of the weak was meaningless.
What mattered most was the writ of expansion.
He would not lose it for the sake of hollow pride.
His past life's storms had taught him when to endure.
Margaery blinked in surprise at his composure, then smiled again.
"Very well. Let us begin."
Randyll shot his eldest son a look of bitter disappointment—as if to say, You would accept investiture from a woman?
But Samwell had agreed. He could not object further.
Margaery ascended the dais while Samwell knelt on one knee below the steps.
A shaft of light streamed through the stained glass overhead, enveloping them both in a halo of solemnity.
Samwell drew the longsword at his waist and held it aloft with both hands.
Margaery reached to take it, but Randyll interjected:
"For the blood of House Tarly, the investiture must be with Heartsbane."
Steel rang as he unsheathed the massive greatsword and offered it to Margaery.
Forged of Valyrian steel, Heartsbane had been the Tarly family's heirloom for five centuries. Weighing over thirty pounds, it was a burden for most men—let alone a delicate noblewoman.
It was clear Randyll wished to see the highborn rose of Highgarden embarrassed.
But Margaery only smiled faintly. She extended her slender hands and grasped the hilt.
Clang—
The tip struck the marble floor, yet she managed to keep the hilt steady.
With a deep breath, she summoned all her strength to lift the greatsword, resting it across Samwell's shoulder.
"Truly, the Tarly heirloom is extraordinary. No wonder you, my lord, wield it so mightily upon the battlefield."
Her compliment left Randyll with no choice but to retreat with a gruff snort.
Margaery lowered her gaze to the kneeling knight, about to recite the oath, when she suddenly remembered something.
"Sam, will you keep the name of your house, or choose a new one?"
As a frontier lord, Samwell had the right to take a new family name, declaring independence from Horn Hill.
He did not answer at once. His head remained bowed—and his body began to tremble.
Margaery thought the greatsword was weighing on him, and she shifted to relieve the burden.
But Samwell's trembling was not from the sword.
It was from overwhelming exhilaration.
For the first time in three months, he saw them—the square-shaped words not of this world.
They had appeared in the corner of his vision as the ceremony began, faint but legible with effort:
[Samwell Tarly][Title: Frontier Knight][Territory: None][Vassals: None][Strength: 1.08][Agility: 0.52][Spirit: 1.12]
What was this?
An attribute panel?
Joy surged through him like a crashing boulder, shattering the restraint he had forced upon himself since crossing into this world.
All the fear, shame, anger, and doubt he had buried erupted into a single blazing ambition—
For that grotesque, jagged throne forged from a thousand swords.
The Iron Throne.
"I have chosen a new name." Samwell lifted his head, eyes burning like fire as he stared into Margaery's doe-brown gaze.
"Kaiser. From this day forth, I am Samwell Kaiser!"
Margaery blinked, momentarily dazed.
For an instant, she thought she glimpsed flames dancing in his eyes.
Then she collected herself, confirmed that the name was unprecedented, and smiled with solemn grace.
"I, Margaery Tyrell, daughter of Mace Tyrell, in the name of the Warden of the South and Duke of Highgarden, hereby invest Samwell Kaiser as Frontier Knight.
All unclaimed lands of the Reach may you conquer, and all unbound people may you shelter. May the Father grant you justice, the Mother compassion, the Warrior courage, the Crone wisdom, and the Stranger strength to overcome all foes."
"And I, Samwell Kaiser, in the sight of the Seven and by the spirit of Garth Greenhand, swear my loyalty to Duke Mace Tyrell. From this day forth, your will is my creed, your sword my direction.
With my life, I shall defend this honor!"