Winterfell, Main Keep (City Council Function), Council Chamber
The mountain clans of the North numbered six in total: the Flint clan of the mountains, the Harklay clan, the Knott clan, the Liddle clan, the Norrey clan, and the Wull clan. They possessed vast stretches of land and large populations, so under Winterfell's official records, many clan chieftains held the title of count.
When Robb led the armies of the North southward, these clans did send forces to support him. But at the time, the mountain clans were constantly harassed by the ironborn and the wildlings, so they did not dare move recklessly—their available manpower was extremely limited.
The sudden appearance of the Makor Valyria Empire caught many Northerners unprepared. By the time they reacted, Makor had already secured his footing in the North. At that moment, some of the so-called "Never Forgetters" began to feel fear—because every action Makor took was essentially uprooting the foundations of the nobility.
Why had so many Northern lords favored Eddard Stark's rule? It was entirely because of his "rule without interference." Over the years, countless smaller houses of the North had vanished from history—especially around the White Knife and the Weeping Water. They were either swallowed by House Bolton or consumed by House Manderly.
And because these disappearances all occurred "voluntarily" under the law, Eddard Stark had no grounds to punish either house. The disappearance of both Eddard and Robb Stark also made some people believe their time to rise had come.
But with the fall of the last Stark bloodline, and the repeated defeats of the Boltons, many could no longer sit still. Thus today, the mountain clans were sent forward as "feelers."
These small Northern nobles who hovered in semi-neutrality still controlled populations and troops. Now that House Stark and House Bolton had both lost their chances, they all hoped to reach a "deal" with Makor as early as possible to secure benefits for themselves.
"Before you stands His Imperial Majesty, Makor Belleris of the Valyrian Empire! Descendant of the dragonrider Jaenynara Belleris! Reviver of Magic! Conqueror of the World! God-King of the Pantheon!"
Aegon Targaryen's deep voice carried a strange power, leaving the six envoys below momentarily stupefied. Makor's titles were not long, but each one struck harder than the last. The atmosphere froze into silence.
"Ahem… Honored Your Majesty! We are envoys from the mountain clans. We have come to discuss certain matters with you."
A young man in fur and rough cloth stepped forward and bowed. He seemed to be their leader.
Makor raised an eyebrow."Since entering Winterfell, I sent raven-letters to every noble in the North instructing them to gather and swear fealty. Why are you only arriving now? And what exactly do you mean by 'discuss'?"
"This… our clan leaders have been fighting off ra— the free folk from the North… and the ironborn who land from the Sunset Sea…"
"I don't enjoy hearing excuses. But as a benevolent ruler, I will allow your clans to migrate. From Frost-Fang to the lands near Long Lake, I can grant you new territory. The current North has more than enough land for farming. Of course, if you wish, you may also plant new crops in the Frost-Fang mountains. Once they bear fruit, I will have Winterfell exchange grain for them."
Makor waved aside the envoy's words and directly laid out his terms. Using magic-sight and manipulation skills, he had already seen through their intentions.
These small and mid-sized nobles still dreamed of restoring their old dominance. Makor shattered those fantasies by directly arranging the mountain clans' future—cutting off their ties with the other Northern houses.
The region from the North—Hardhome—Griffin's Roost would begin recovering its climate this very year. Long Summers and Long Winters alike would become history. The coming seasons would be stable, clear, and balanced.
Thus Makor had every confidence that he could support the tens of thousands of mountain clanfolk. With mammoths and goblins joining the labor force, the burden of farming would lighten, freeing the people to generate even more wealth for him.
"Th-This… Your Majesty Makor! We… we…"
The envoy was stunned. All the speeches he had rehearsed suddenly had nowhere to be used. The feeling was excruciating.
"If your lords are interested, tell them to come speak to me directly. My army will depart soon. I will leave one of my knights here to oversee matters. Everything will depend on how your lords choose."
After speaking, Makor dismissed the six envoys—except the young man. He had a head of curly brown hair, was somewhat thin, and though he wore fur and rough cloth, his mannerisms were nothing like a mountain clansman.
The young man, embarrassed, bowed."Uh… Your Imperial Majesty, do you have something to discuss with me?"
Makor looked at him calmly."You're from House Cerwyn, aren't you? Clay Cerwyn—that is your name. Ah yes, I recall. You are the son and heir of Mikey Cerwyn. Since your house offered no aid to the Boltons… what exactly do you hope to gain from me?"
Makor's words hit Clay Cerwyn like a hammer, driving him back several steps, speechless. Makor already understood the mountain clans' demands—and had already granted what they wanted.
Now he sought to understand these nobles. House Cerwyn was the largest family nearest to Winterfell. For generations they had guarded the lands south of Winterfell and trained cavalry for the Starks. During the War of the Five Kings, the Cerwyn cavalry made up a major portion of the Northern riders.
After seizing Winterfell, the Boltons had no time to deal with this dangerous threat. Makor's earlier decision to let Brynden hold Winterfell had been to watch these nobles. But now, since Makor had taken the barrowlands of the First Men, he had completely severed contact between the western and central Northern nobility.
Now they were the ones seeking him. With time, Makor's grain strategies and religious reforms had driven the power of Northern nobles to one of their lowest points in history.
Clay swallowed hard, fear visible in his eyes. Tales claimed Makor could see into men's hearts. Clay had always believed this to be exaggerated—until today.
"Your Majesty Makor… We only wish to retain our rights. Our house has for generations developed the North, governed its people, upheld its laws!"
Though fearful, Clay still voiced his thoughts—this concerned the future of his house.
Makor sneered lightly."What you call governance is merely exploitation. The laws you uphold exist only to protect yourselves. The ones who truly develop the North and create wealth are the 'lowborn' folk you scorn."
He continued calmly:
"I have already been merciful. I am allowing you to retain governing rights, and a portion of your property. As long as you obey, your houses will continue to exist. But if you do not… there are plenty who wish to take your place—and they demand far less."
Clay, panicked, blurted:
"Your Ma—no, Your Great Imperial Majesty! The common folk—those who lack culture, etiquette, and military understanding—cannot help you rule the North! In the future, you will still need nobles like us who possess education, culture, and proper conduct!"
Makor rose from his throne, descending the steps slowly. Before Clay, he raised his left hand—fire blossomed. From his right—ice grew. His gaze burned like a living flame.
"Etiquette can be taught. Writing can be taught. Faith is my sacred shield. Magic is my long sword. With these in my hands, the world itself will kneel beneath my feet."
His voice sounded like divine proclamation descending from the heavens. Clay's vision blurred; he saw phantoms, miracles, indescribable images.
"Go. Discuss with your fellow nobles. Your time is running out. Once I conquer the Dreadfort, you will have even less. Take him away."
With that, Makor gestured, and the Wind-Dragon Guard escorted Clay out. His policies were unfolding step by step—but such changes required time. The people of Westeros were accustomed to a noble-ruled hierarchy; removing an entire tier abruptly would only cause chaos.
Makor's plan was not to demolish the pyramid, but to carve out part of the middle layer to nourish the base—raising the quality of life for the common folk. This was the only thing he, as someone who grew up under the red flag of the Flower-Growing Nation, could do.
Some "divine beasts" and certain ideologies, once released, brought destruction beyond measure. Makor knew well he lacked the power to control such forces.
After handling miscellaneous affairs in the council chamber, Makor led Yueying and the others toward the South Gate. Troops and logistics units had already gathered in vast numbers.
Among the dense crowds, over a hundred small figures stood out. They had ET-like heads, long thin ears, wore padded coats, and belts of simple rope.
They were Jingguai—sprite-folk, the Academy's Tier-1 unit. They resembled goblins but were smarter, gentler, and extremely dexterous.
Though the system had not provided them their usual firearms, it had compensated with a new trait: Mechanical Master.
With this ability, they could use faint magic to craft enchanted devices. And with the new Golem Foundry, they could help Makor produce golems directly.
Although this rewarded foundry could not summon golems with gold, the system had given it unlimited potential. With the spritelings' help, Makor could craft many types of golems.
In theory, the foundry could create vast numbers of golems—Generations 3 through 7—all with schematics included. It even absorbed and stored all the strange materials Makor had collected from the Biter Bay ruins.
Makor called toward a tall spriteling directing the others:
"Hawess! Are you ready?"
Hearing his voice, the tall spriteling hurried over.
"Great Majesty! We spent three months assembling what you ordered. Once the fighting starts, it will be incredibly useful—your enemies will be scared enough to wet themselves!"
Makor nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. You understand these devices better than anyone. This time, I will bring you into battle. You will command the engineering corps."
"Thank you, my greatest Majesty!"
Hawess—named personally by Makor—fell to his knees and kissed Makor's boots.
Naxsis had once explained that spritelings carried goblin blood, but purified by magic. They lacked the goblins' cruelty and chaos.
Throughout winter, Makor's goblins had grown to nearly two hundred in number and were well-trained. They now understood human commands. Marauder-soldiers and Northern warriors guarded them as they cultivated land around Winterfell.
With druids and the Children of the Forest assisting, natural-type magical creatures had multiplied rapidly. Forest wolves and shadow lynxes continued to grow in number. And most importantly—the mammoths were reproducing steadily.
These beasts of labor, modified repeatedly by the Three-Eyed Raven, had developed many new breeds. Magic-nurtured, their growth cycles shortened dramatically.
In all of Makor's production efforts, mammoths were everywhere. Even woolly rhinos, altered by magic, thrived and were beloved by the free folk.
Their fur made clothing; their milk could be eaten or turned into cheese—better than the cattle originally raised beyond the Wall. And as the Wellspring of Vitality strengthened its influence, the Three-Eyed Raven worked with increasing mastery. Many things that Blue Star agriculture could never accomplish were realized here through magic.
For many Northerners, life was changing before their eyes."Never enough food"—that old nightmare was gradually becoming history.