Karl decided to be generous that morning, insisting on treating everyone at the Crossroads Inn to a hearty meal. Tyrion, of course, was more than happy to take advantage of his sudden burst of hospitality. The dwarf ordered with no restraint whatsoever—going so far as to request an entire roasted pig, which happened to be the most expensive dish on the inn's menu.
Karl nearly vomited blood when he saw the price.
Damn it, this dish alone costs more than my entire weekly living expense!
Still, expensive food usually means high-quality ingredients, and that part, at least, proved true.
The roasted pig arrived at the table steaming hot, its skin crisped to a golden shine. The meat was generously coated with crushed black pepper and aromatic herbs, laid atop a bed of sautéed onions, mushrooms, and thinly chopped radishes. The fragrance alone could make a starving man cry. When the knife broke through the crispy crackling, juices glistened beneath, promising a flavor just as rich as the appearance.
Paired with the inn's ale—frothy, slightly bitter, and cool from the cellar—the meal felt like the perfect beginning to what should have been a wonderful day.
After eating and drinking more than he should have, Karl leaned back heavily in his chair, rubbing his swollen stomach and picking his teeth, only to find Tyrion increasingly irritating. It wasn't that Tyrion had done anything wrong. Karl simply felt the familiar regret of a generous man realizing too late that he had been too generous.
To clear his mind and escape Tyrion's smug little smirk, Karl mounted Fox—his ever-reliable horse—and announced that he would ride to the famous Ruby Ford for a stroll. Perhaps if the gods favored him, he might really find a ruby or two. After all, stranger things had happened in this world.
He said farewell to Tyrion, who by now was slightly drunk and praising Karl's idea a bit too loudly. Then the dwarf promptly found a quiet corner, pulled out a book, and began reading with alcohol-induced enthusiasm.
The reason for Tyrion's good mood was easy to understand. Yesterday, during a visit to the Darry family, Tyrion had stumbled upon a cellar containing ancient tapestries depicting Targaryen kings across generations. The Darrys, grateful that Tyrion had helped them recognize the historical value of their neglected treasures, gifted him three books from their personal collection.
A very reasonable "deal," as Tyrion phrased it.
Meanwhile, Karl trotted down the countryside road atop Fox, enjoying the gentle rocking motion despite his slight dizziness from overeating and overdrinking. The quiet landscape gave him plenty of space to think—perhaps too much space, because his mind suddenly drifted to the name "Darry" again.
He remembered that someone with that surname had helped smuggle Daenerys Targaryen and her brother Viserys away from Dragonstone back when Robert Baratheon seized the throne. Karl squinted, trying to clear his fuzzy head as the horse swayed beneath him.
After some thought, the name finally surfaced.
William Darry.
A loyalist instructor from the Red Keep. Rhaegar's teacher. And a man who had quietly arranged for Daenerys and Viserys to escape to Braavos just before Dragonstone was surrendered to Robert's forces.
Karl tugged at his hair in frustration.
"So… the Darry family I met yesterday… They probably aren't related to that Darry anymore, right?"
He wasn't entirely sure. After all, names tended to repeat in this world, and the original book didn't dwell much on William Darry's background.
Trying to shake off the dizziness, Karl instinctively flipped his hand, and a beautiful crown materialized in his palm. A slender circlet of pure gold, delicately crafted with intertwining floral vines. Three types of gemstones sparkled inlaid along its curved shape. Its elegance made it clear it was a woman's crown.
And indeed it was.
This crown once belonged to Rhaella Targaryen, the late queen and sister-wife of Aerys II—the infamous Mad King. Karl had bought it personally from none other than Viserys Targaryen himself.
That transaction was also the moment Viserys earned the nickname "Beggar King." Karl didn't dislike the title, but he personally preferred "Sleepy Dragon," since Viserys often screamed about unleashing the "Wrath of the Sleeping Dragon" whenever someone angered him.
Back then, Karl had just left the Vale and journeyed across the sea to Essos. Driven by curiosity about the two exiled members of the Targaryen family, he'd gone to find them. He encountered them living in utter misery—so poor that they were forced to sell their last remaining valuables to survive.
Karl still remembered that day clearly. Daenerys was only eight or nine years old, a tiny girl with silver-gold hair and soft violet eyes. Timid, fragile, and painfully insecure, she clung to her brother's sleeve like a frightened kitten. Despite their dire situation, Viserys protected her fiercely.
Karl couldn't explain why, but he had bought the crown even though he didn't know what to do with it afterward.
Now, he twirled it thoughtfully before returning it to his inventory.
He sighed slowly.
"At this time in the original plot… Daenerys is about to be married off to Khal Drogo by Illyrio Mopatis, isn't she? And she's barely thirteen…?"
Karl grimaced.
"Damn. What a beast."
Fox snorted behind him, startled by Karl's sudden exclamation, and picked up speed. Karl steadied himself, patted Fox's neck, and let out another sigh.
"Anyway… none of that has anything to do with me."
Letting his thoughts drift away, Karl raised his head. The river ahead shimmered in the sunlight like a sheet of moving silver.
He found a comfortable patch of grass near the water's edge and waved his hand. A thick but plain carpet appeared beneath the tree's shade. After tossing Fox's reins over the saddle horn and signaling that the horse could wander freely, Karl settled down against the trunk.
He stretched his arms behind his head, half-closing his eyes as he admired the river. The wide current flowed gently but with strength, producing a soothing murmur. Sunlight danced over the ripples, scattering golden-white reflections in every direction. A soft breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of water and wild grass.
The peacefulness seeped straight into Karl's bones.
With another casual wave, a pile of fresh fruit appeared beside him. Their bright colors and sweet fragrance filled the air immediately. Karl grabbed a bunch of grapes and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them whole with barely a chew.
When he finished the grapes, a green glass bottle appeared in his hand—Elf Wine, a specialty beverage Tyrion had begged him for earlier. In the game it came from, this wine was used to defeat a drunken elf guarding a holy spring. Only by getting her drunk could players win the archery contest.
Karl had just uncorked the bottle when a massive shadow suddenly loomed across the carpet.
A gigantic creature stood before him—so large it blocked the sun. Two long, sharply curved horns stretched outward from its head, easily wider than a grown man's arm span. Its black fur hung nearly to the ground, yet even the long coat couldn't hide the bulging muscles beneath.
Karl's jaw dropped.
"A bison…?!"
He blinked.
"No—wait. There really are bison?!"
And the giant creature snorted, confirming his fears—and curiosity.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)