Chapter 5: Sword in the Frost, Part 3
[Winterfell Tower - Dawn, Simulation]
[The system's narrative continues: [SIMULATION ONGOING: CONFRONT JAIME LANNISTER]. You lie bleeding, your shoulder torn, your vision blurring with pain. Despite your efforts, Jaime reaches Bran. His crimson cloak flutters in the wind as he shoves the boy, who falls silently, a small shadow against the dawn. You crawl forward, your sword lost, and manage to tackle Jaime's legs, but his blade pierces your chest. The pain is like a bolt of lightning. Your blood pools on the cold stone, and darkness claims you. The final system message appears: [SIMULATION FAILED. HOST DEATH. REWARD: SWORDSMANSHIP (NOVICE, LEVEL 1)]. You snap back to your quarters, unharmed but panting, your heart racing from the phantom pain.]
The transition was jarring, a sickening lurch from life to death and back again. The scent of hay and horse manure was a comfort, a signal that you were safe, that you had survived. But the phantom pain remained, a ghost of a wound that would haunt your dreams. You had failed. Bran still fell. But you had gained something. A skill. A small, pathetic skill, but it was a start. It was a sign that this system was real.
"Died for a kid's fall. System's a brutal critic, but it gave me a skill. A small step toward a larger goal. The next time, I'll be ready for him. The next time, I'll win."
You had to play the long game. You had to build your power, one simulation at a time, one death at a time. The game had just begun, and you were a man with a secret.
[Stark Courtyard - Morning, Day 3]
You report to Ned Stark, your hands still trembling slightly from the simulation. His stern face is softened by a trust you've earned with your vigilance, as you claim to have been checking the horses. A lanky servant with greasy hair mocks your tattered cloak as you pass. You make a mental note to salt his porridge.
"Good work, Adam," Ned says, a small smile on his face.
"Horses are happier than me, milord," you reply, a dry, sarcastic comment that goes over his head. You had to be careful. You had to play the part. You were a servant. A nobody. A man with nothing. That was the perfect cover.
"Ned's clueless. His trust is a currency. Jaime's my real fight. The simulations will get me there. I'll use every person, every moment, every event to my advantage. I'm not a hero. I'm not a villain. I'm just a survivor. And I'll do whatever it takes to win."
[Winterfell Stables - Evening, Day 3]
You slip a generous amount of salt into the servant's porridge, watching him choke and turn red, unnoticed in the evening gloom. Back in your quarters, a new text glows on your holographic screen.
[GREEN SIMULATION AVAILABLE.]
You had failed the normal simulation, but you had gained a new skill. Now, you had a new opportunity, a higher tier, a new challenge. You were ready.
"This porridge is vile!" the servant bellows.
"Winterfell's finest, mate," you murmur, a smirk on your face.
"Salt for insults. Bran needs a sharper plan. It's time for the next simulation. Time to try a new tactic. A stealthy one. A green one. This time, I won't die in vain."
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