Karl watched the young man's determined expression and almost laughed.
He remembered clearly—
Not long ago, this same boy had looked down on him, speaking with a tone full of pride and stubborn defiance.
Time truly changed people.
Ewing, in truth, was a good child.
Smart.
Diligent.
Kind-hearted.
But fate had not been kind to him.
His father had long since disappeared—whether dead or simply gone, no one knew. That left his mother to raise him and his younger sister alone in King's Landing.
And King's Landing was no place for the weak.
Survival itself was a struggle.
The endless labor had already worn his mother's body down. Even basic necessities were hard to come by, and more often than not, they lived on scraps.
Karl still remembered the day they met.
It was at the docks.
Ewing had been begging passing sailors for a fish—just one—to take home for dinner.
That scene had stayed with him.
After that, the boy had worked under Karl for half a year.
He had been reliable.
Hardworking.
Never complained.
So when Karl prepared to leave King's Landing with the royal entourage and head north to Winterfell, the boy had come to him.
He wanted to follow.
He wanted to leave the city.
He wanted a better life.
But Karl refused.
Not out of indifference—
But responsibility.
Instead, he arranged for Ewing to become an apprentice under Tob Mott, one of the finest blacksmiths in King's Landing.
Karl even paid the apprenticeship fee himself.
It was, in a way, repayment.
For the boy's six months of loyalty.
And more importantly—
Karl did not want a child dragged into the dangerous life he himself walked.
Ewing still had a family.
They needed him.
For nobles, a blacksmith was merely a skilled craftsman.
But for commoners—
It was a path upward.
A real chance to change one's fate.
To learn how to forge armor and weapons was no small thing.
It meant survival.
Respect.
Even status.
Of course, the process hadn't been entirely smooth.
At first, Tob Mott had refused.
His excuse?
Ewing was already twelve, yet still thin and malnourished—hardly ideal material for an apprentice.
Karl had no choice but to accept his outrageous conditions.
Still—
Tob Mott had his pride.
After all, he was widely considered the best blacksmith in King's Landing.
And masters of their craft always demanded a price.
Karl lifted a silver goblet, taking a slow sip before setting it aside.
"That matter can wait," he said calmly. "Let's talk business."
Seeing that Karl wasn't dwelling on the past—and had even spoken positively about Ewing—Tob Mott visibly relaxed.
"Ah! If my lord wishes to commission armor for the upcoming tourney, then you've come to the right place!"
His confidence returned immediately.
"Of course… my work is expensive."
Karl's lips twitched slightly.
"I'm well aware. Not just your armor—everything about you is expensive."
Tob Mott let out an awkward chuckle.
"My lord, for you, I can offer a discount…"
But then, as if remembering himself, he straightened proudly.
"Still, I guarantee—there is no one in the Seven Kingdoms whose craftsmanship surpasses mine!"
Karl nodded.
That much was true.
He himself had once spent time as a blacksmith apprentice in another life—though far from a master, he understood enough to recognize true skill.
And Tob Mott—
Was the real deal.
Unlike the rigid limitations of game mechanics, real craftsmanship required intuition, experience, and creativity.
And Tob Mott possessed all three.
There was even something… almost magical about his work.
For instance—
He could infuse color into steel.
By all logic, it shouldn't have been possible.
Under the intense heat of forging, any pigment should burn away, leaving nothing but slag.
And yet—
He could do it.
Karl had seen it.
It was said that Tob Mott had learned the technique in Kohor during his youth.
A rare skill.
Something far beyond simple surface decoration.
That alone made him worth every coin.
"Tell me your requirements, my lord," Tob Mott said eagerly.
Karl leaned forward slightly.
"I want a full suit of armor."
Tob Mott nodded.
"Entirely black," Karl continued. "And not the kind where protection is sacrificed for convenience."
His tone grew sharper.
"I want complete coverage."
Tob Mott frowned slightly.
"That can be done. But the black…"
He hesitated.
"Something like House Targaryen?"
Karl gave him a look as if he had just said something foolish.
"Of course not."
Tob Mott immediately relaxed.
That was a dangerous association these days.
"Then what kind of black?"
"Deep. Layered. With texture," Karl replied. "Not dull. Not flat."
Tob Mott stroked his chin.
"…I can do it."
His confidence returned.
"What else?"
Karl continued without pause.
"I don't need a helmet. The one the king gave me will remain as a collection piece."
Tob Mott nodded.
"Then your house crest?"
Karl paused briefly.
Then—
An idea formed.
"The helmet I commission separately will have stag antlers."
Tob Mott nodded again.
"Positioned backward," Karl added. "Angled toward the sky."
That was already unusual.
But then—
"The antlers will be surrounded by a lion's mane."
Silence.
Tob Mott blinked.
Then instinctively glanced toward the man sitting nearby.
Tyrion Lannister.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
The implication was obvious.
The lion—
Belonged to House Lannister.
To incorporate it into his own crest—
Was a statement.
A bold one.
Perhaps even provocative.
Tyrion opened his mouth slightly—
Then closed it.
He said nothing.
Karl had made his choice.
Tob Mott hesitated.
"…I will draft a design first," he said carefully. "You can review it."
Karl nodded.
"Good."
Then he continued.
"The armor will be edged with gold."
Tob Mott smiled.
"That's simple."
"Not gilded," Karl interrupted. "Inlaid."
The smile froze.
"…Pure gold?"
"Yes."
Tob Mott exhaled slowly.
"That will increase both weight and cost."
Karl waved a hand dismissively.
"Cost is not a concern."
At this point, Tob Mott understood.
This was no ordinary commission.
This was excess.
Pure, unrestrained excess.
"And I want a cloak," Karl added.
"That can be arranged."
"Best materials only. Wool blended with silk brocade."
Tob Mott nodded.
"Black on the outside. Red on the inside. Gold trim."
Karl's eyes gleamed.
"And the crest—large, embroidered in gold, visible on both sides."
"Understood."
Then—
Karl reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch.
He tipped it over.
A pile of rubies spilled onto the table.
Deep red.
Flawless.
Each one worth a fortune.
"These will be used for decoration," Karl said casually. "Armor. Weapons. Belt."
Tob Mott swallowed.
"…Of course."
The sheer wealth on display was overwhelming.
Even he, a seasoned craftsman, felt pressure.
"What weapons?" he asked quickly.
Karl didn't hesitate.
"A long-handled warhammer."
"And a greatsword."
"How large?"
"Larger than House Stark's Ice."
Tob Mott blinked.
"…That large?"
Karl nodded.
After all—
Once you experienced cutting down enemies with overwhelming force—
It was hard to go back.
"No shield," Karl added.
"And a lance."
"All metal."
Tob Mott froze.
"No wood?"
"No."
"…That will be extremely heavy."
Karl smiled faintly.
"I'm not worried."
Tyrion finally spoke.
"…Are you sure you'll even be able to use all this?"
His tone was dry.
"I'm starting to think your horse won't survive it."
Karl glanced at him.
Then—
Grinned.
"These are for display," he said casually.
"Works of art."
Tyrion stared at him for a moment.
Then sighed.
"…Of course they are."
He gave a small shrug.
"You're rich. Do as you like."
Then, with a smirk—
"If you actually wear that into a tourney, I'll commission a painting. Three times your size."
Karl ignored him.
Unable to wear it?
What nonsense.
His strength—
Was far beyond normal limits.
And as for his mount?
If necessary—
He had other options.
Far greater ones.
After all—
Somewhere far beyond this world—
A dragon awaited.
And when it came—
Even this absurd armor would seem perfectly reasonable.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)