The moon was high and pale, its soft glow spilling across the quiet camp. Earlier, the place had been alive with voices—soldiers laughing, servants moving about, nobles finishing their meals. But now the noise had faded into a peaceful hush. One tent after another dimmed as candles burned out, and only a few bonfires remained to cast flickering light across the open ground.
Karl Stone sat up slowly in his hammock, letting the cool night air brush against his cheeks. He glanced toward the upper right corner of his vision—toward the ghostly dial only he could see. The crescent moon on the interface had already climbed to the center. Midnight.
Everyone should be asleep by now.
He closed the large tome resting on his lap, the one he'd borrowed from Tyrion earlier that evening. With a small gesture, the thick volume vanished in a flash of faint white light. He did not lose it—it simply returned to his inventory, that mysterious pocket dimension that had accompanied him since his strange arrival in this world.
Karl had long grown accustomed to using that ability, but only when alone. Even Tyrion, who was far more perceptive than most, had no idea how Karl always seemed to carry so many books without a pack.
He scanned the area. The rustling of leaves blended with the soft chorus of snores coming from nearby. The sound rose and fell like a mismatched orchestra—deep rumbling snores from the older men, sharp rhythmic ones from younger soldiers, and the occasional whistle from someone with a crooked nose. If Karl didn't mind the noise, it almost sounded like a strange sort of music.
Or a competition.
These men, he thought, snored even louder than last night.
He shook his head, amused, and climbed down from the hammock. His boots pressed softly into the grass as he moved to check the surroundings again. Kesi and the others—his subordinates—were sprawled on their bedrolls, dead to the world. Even the guards posted in the distance were drooping, leaning lazily on their spears.
Karl raised one finger.
Time to make sure no one woke up prematurely.
With a slow, practiced motion, he drew several circles in the air. To anyone else, it would look like he was tracing invisible symbols. But to Karl, shimmering motes of green light began to swirl around his fingertip, appearing from nothing. Under the bright moon, the floating specks looked like miniature fireflies.
The lights circled his finger a few times, then—almost as if they had their own intelligence—floated away. They drifted evenly outward, settling upon each of the sleeping people around him.
A heartbeat later, the already-loud snoring deepened into a heavy, irresistible slumber. Even those who had previously shifted or murmured fell suddenly still, breathing deeply and calmly.
"Perfect," Karl whispered to himself, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
He looked once more toward the inn where the guards kept watch. They hadn't noticed a thing. Good.
Satisfied, Karl took a step back—then shrank into the shadows, slipping silently into the forest behind the camp like a ghost.
The faint green glow earlier had not been mere moonlight. It had been magic.
Real magic.
One of the six spells he could cast outside the game-like system embedded within him.
The spell he had just used was called [Daze]. A simple, low-difficulty magic. It inflicted no pain, caused no harm. It simply lulled creatures—especially humans—into a deep, irresistible sleep.
Karl had grown so familiar with magic over the years that casting it felt as natural as breathing. Mana flowed through him smoothly; only a small amount had been consumed.
As he moved through the dark woods, he reviewed his repertoire mentally.
Six spells.
Six abilities from the eight in his skill bar that could be used freely in the real world.
1. [Daze]
A sleep spell—easy, harmless, reliable. Perfect for sneaking away without questions.
2. [Minor Healing]
A spell Karl had tested extensively on animals he found injured in the woods. Broken skin, shallow cuts, minor bleeding—it handled all of them well. He hadn't pushed it to extremes, though. No severed limbs, no fatal wounds.
Better not find out the limits the wrong way.
Still, it saved animals from dying, so that was proof enough.
3. [Lightning]
A more dangerous spell. The name sounded frightening—and indeed, at point-blank range, Karl had tested it on a human attacker once. The man had crumpled instantly, dead before he hit the ground.
But distance changed everything.
At two to three meters, the bolt weakened drastically, becoming little more than a stunning shock. Not fatal, but painful enough to drop a grown man. It reminded Karl of electric eels from his previous world—their sharp, paralyzing jolt that left the body momentarily helpless.
And though it wasn't ideal for combat, it was excellent at fishing.
Karl smirked. The memory of a river full of floating fish still amused him.
4. [Wither]
A debuff skill. Strange, unnerving, and difficult to fully understand.
Casting it stripped the target of strength, vitality, and stamina all at once. Even a healthy person became weak, sluggish, and exhausted—like someone on the verge of collapse from illness.
The effect gradually faded over hours, depending on target health.
Karl often joked that it was the "impotence spell."
In truth, it did a lot more than that.
Combined with certain potions he brewed, the spell had helped him earn a small fortune discreetly. Nobles paid well for plagues that left no trace.
5. [Soothe]
The strangest of them all.
Soothe didn't simply calm emotions. It inflamed them. It could melt resistance, cloud judgment, intensify desire. Karl had accidentally tested it on animals once—and regretted it immediately.
"Honestly," Karl muttered, pushing aside a branch as he walked deeper into the woods, "they should've named it [Flirt] or [Heat] instead…"
It affected men, women, and beasts equally. A terrifyingly powerful tool when used at the right moment.
Karl rated it a solid ten out of ten.
6. [Weapon Enchantment]
Karl's favorite—and arguably the most dramatic.
It could be used in two ways:
A. Cast on himself:
A glowing translucent sword of condensed energy would appear in his hand. Sword-shaped, bright, sharp-looking—but in truth, light as air and lacking weight. It struck like a heated iron bar, not like steel.
And it dissipated quickly.
B. Cast on a real weapon:
This was where the spell truly shined.
It enhanced durability, sharpness, weight balance, and overall performance. A mediocre blade became exceptional—able to slice cleaner, resist damage, and feel perfectly balanced.
Armor, too, could be strengthened, made tougher without becoming heavier.
A full 24-hour duration.
Subtle. Powerful. Borderline miraculous.
Karl often thought that if he displayed this magic openly, people would call him a god's chosen or worse—a monster.
---
Karl reached a small clearing in the woods. Above, the moonlight filtered through the leaves, creating shifting patterns on the ground. He exhaled deeply, inhaling the fresh night air.
This place was far enough.
He raised his hand and began practicing his spells—slow, careful motions, tracing unseen symbols in the air. Wisps of green, blue, and white light danced around him with every gesture.
Magic hummed within his veins like warm electricity.
Despite the system-like nature of his skills, Karl had spent years understanding their limits, nuances, and how they interacted with the physical world. Each spell was another tool—another advantage—another way to survive and thrive in the dangerous political landscape of Westeros.
His magic was the secret foundation of everything he planned.
He needed to grow stronger.
He needed to prepare.
He needed to be ready for the chaos that lay ahead.
Robert's decision to bring him on this journey had thrown Karl's original plans into disarray. Even though the king meant well, traveling north with the royal party placed Karl dangerously close to powerful figures—Cersei, Jaime, Renly, and soon, Eddard Stark.
A single wrong move could expose him.
A single careless moment could destroy everything.
But power—real, undeniable power—could change the game entirely.
Karl clenched his fist, watching sparks of blue light crackle between his fingers.
"Magic," he whispered to himself, "is the one thing in this world they cannot predict."
The corners of his mouth lifted into a confident smile.
With enough preparation, enough training, enough mastery of every spell he possessed…
He would survive.
He would rise.
And no one—not queen, king, lord, or bastard—would threaten his life again.
Karl released the crackling energy, letting it fade into the night.
Then, like a shadow carried by the wind, he slipped back toward the sleeping camp—silent, unseen, and more determined than ever.