As the army continued its march, Karl, serving as the scouting vanguard, was responsible for reporting his findings to the king each day. It had become routine by now—ride ahead, gather information, and return before dusk with his report.
That evening, as the sun dipped halfway toward the western hills, Karl guided his horse, Fox, down the dusty road. The mare's mane shimmered in the fading light. He absently ran his fingers through it, lost in thought. His mind drifted—back to simpler days when he was nothing more than a young boy raising donkeys in the Vale.
Sensing her rider's distraction, Fox slowed her pace. She snorted softly, kicking up a faint trail of dust as she trotted along the path, as if unwilling to disturb his thoughts.
Karl smiled faintly.
When he had first awoken in this world six years ago, he had been nothing but a broken, twelve-year-old boy—battered and bruised, a peasant's bastard kicked by a donkey. Yet, despite the odds, he had survived. He wasn't completely alone either. Like the heroes from the many novels he'd read in his previous life, fate had handed him a gift.
A cheat.
Every transmigrator in those stories seemed to have one—an old man sealed in a ring, a bottle that grew herbs, a mysterious chat group that spanned worlds, or even an entire system interface that granted powers at will. It was almost as if authors couldn't write a proper story without handing their protagonist some overpowered artifact.
Karl used to laugh at such clichés. But after crossing into this world, he discovered the irony—he had one too.
How he'd come here, he couldn't say. Maybe it was divine humor, or a cosmic mistake. But after six long years, Karl had stopped wondering. It didn't matter anymore. He had learned to adapt.
His so-called cheat came from an old game he used to play on his computer before his transmigration—a small, obscure title called "The Farmer's Pursuit."
It wasn't well-known. Most people had never heard of it. At best, a few hobbyists might have stumbled upon it while looking for something relaxing to play after work. It was a simple RPG that combined farming, monster-slaying, and story progression.
Nothing fancy. Nothing groundbreaking. Yet, it had one thing that set it apart—a surprisingly deep narrative and beautiful CG cut-scenes. It was more than just planting crops and raising livestock; it told a story of growth, adventure, and quiet perseverance.
And somehow, that very game had followed Karl into this world.
When he first awoke, he found that The Farmer's Pursuit had manifested inside his mind—not as code or pixels, but as a real, tangible world.
It wasn't just a game anymore; it was a dimension tethered to him, a pocket-sized world where everything from the game—the lands, creatures, and even NPCs—had become real.
Karl could enter and leave it at will.
At first, he thought he was dreaming. But when he felt the soil under his feet, the warmth of the sun, and the solid weight of tools in his hands, he knew it was real—or at least as real as anything in this strange, unforgiving land of ice and fire.
Still, it wasn't perfect. Despite its realism, something about that world felt off.
The people inside behaved like actors following scripts. The wild beasts respawned after death. Villagers repeated their daily routines endlessly, unaware of time or change. They were like the hosts of Westworld—alive in form, hollow in spirit.
Karl was the only one who truly existed there.
He tested the boundaries of that world and found that at its edges, an invisible wall of mist prevented him from leaving. No matter how far he walked, beyond the fog there was nothing. The world was whole yet fragmented, real yet incomplete.
But even with its limitations, it was the greatest gift he could have received.
Karl could bring items from that game world into reality. Through a translucent panel that hovered before his eyes, he could access his inventory, equipment, skills, and status bars—just like in the game.
Not all features worked in the real world, but the ones that did were enough to change his fate.
The inventory alone was a treasure beyond imagination. He could store anything inside—tools, weapons, even livestock—and retrieve them whenever he wanted. It was the ultimate storage and trading system, capable of making anyone rich.
The only limitation was that game currency couldn't leave the world. Still, Karl found a workaround. He used the coins in-game to purchase items, materials, or even enchanted trinkets—then brought those tangible goods into reality.
With patience and creativity, he turned the world of The Farmer's Pursuit into an endless supply of resources.
When he first arrived, Karl was nothing more than a bastard boy recovering from an accident. He lived by raising donkeys for House Royce in the Vale. But every night, after his day's labor, he would enter the game world and build his small realm piece by piece.
He started with nothing—working at the village farm for a man named Jacob, earning meager wages and food. He dared not explore the dangerous Goblin Forest east of Strange Wood Village. Death in that world might mean death for real.
So he played it safe. He worked, saved coins, and learned.
After a month of labor, he saved enough—450 coins—to rent a small house from the village chief. It was humble, but it was his.
By day, he toiled. By night, he crafted and studied. He spent months at the blacksmith's forge, hammering iron until the rhythm of sparks and heat became part of him.
The experience points were small, but the real gain was skill. One day, Karl realized he could actually forge weapons—real weapons, not just digital illusions. His muscles remembered the motion; his hands understood the metal.
It was then he truly believed—this was no ordinary dream.
Years passed in the blink of an eye. The time flow between worlds was different—two hours in the real world equaled nearly a day inside the game. That difference became his greatest advantage.
While the Vale's peasants aged by one year, Karl lived many within The Farmer's Pursuit.
He completed every quest, mastered every craft, and explored every inch of that small, mist-bound world. When he finally looked back, he realized he had changed.
The weak, twelve-year-old boy who once cowered from a donkey's kick was gone. In his place stood a tall, hardened young man—nearly six feet of solid muscle and quiet confidence. His hands were rough, his gaze steady.
He had grown stronger than most adult knights.
By then, Karl had made his decision. He would no longer stay confined in the Vale, tending donkeys and dreaming small.
He wanted to see the real world—the Seven Kingdoms, the politics of the Iron Throne, the snow-clad North, and the burning red suns of Dorne.
He quit his position under House Arryn, the noble family that had given him shelter and labor. With a small pack—more for appearances than necessity—he prepared to leave.
Before departing, he made one last stop: a small cottage perched on a hill overlooking a flock of sheep.
Inside lived a woman who had once been beautiful, though years of hardship had softened her features. She was his mother—Robert Baratheon's lover from long ago, who had borne him in secret. Now she was a peasant wife, married to a shepherd, with four more children.
Karl had no memories of her warmth. He had grown up in the Eyrie under Jon Arryn's patronage, far from this simple home. But when he saw her, something stirred inside him.
She wept softly when he told her he was leaving. She feared for him—feared that her bastard son would be swallowed by the cruel world beyond the mountains.
He only smiled and assured her that he would be fine. His path was already chosen.
He wasn't destined to live as a farmer or a donkey keeper. His journey was larger than that—his fate intertwined with the storms of kings and the fire of dragons.
As he rode away, the setting sun painted the hills in gold. The wind carried the faint bleating of sheep, the laughter of children, and the whispers of a mother watching her son disappear over the horizon.
Karl didn't look back.
He tightened his grip on Fox's reins and whispered, "Let's go, girl. It's time to see what this world really is."
The mare neighed softly in reply and began her steady trot down the mountain path.
From that day onward, Karl Stone—Robert Baratheon's bastard, the transmigrator bound to a farmer's game—set out on his journey.
A new adventure awaited him beyond the green hills of the Vale.
And though few would remember his name now, history would one day speak of him as Sir Kal-El of Bloodwind, the Father of Dragons, the Holy Emperor who united fire and frost under one banner.
But for now, he was just a man chasing a dream—
A farmer's pursuit.