Alaric looked at the floating blue words. Reward: 2,000 MP. He let out a quiet breath and closed the screen with his mind.
The System was playing games again.
Taking the Twins by force was simple now though not that simple thb.
But the System did not just want Walder dead. It wanted him to make Roslin the new leader.
That made the job hard. Walder had dozens of sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons. Men like Stevron, Black Walder, and Lothar had spent their whole lives waiting for Walder to die. waiting in the line of succesion.
In Westeros, men held the power, and the rules of who ruled next were strict. The second Walder stopped breathing, the Frey men would draw their swords and kill each other to take his chair. They would never just step aside for a daughter.
But the System wanted him to skip all the Frey men and make Roslin the leader. Right now, her family just saw her as a missing girl.
If I just kill Walder and put her in his seat, they will try to assassinate her one way or another...
He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair.
What kind of pill could he give them? Killing them all would be a waste, but they were greedy pieces of shit. Keeping them around as they were was just as useless.
"System," Alaric commanded mentally, staring at his current balance of 10,620 MP. "Filter the shop. Category: Subjugation and Mind Alteration. What do you have anything related to that??"
The blue holographic screen flickered, processing the request before dropping a short, curated single items into his vision.
[Shop Query: Mass Subjugation / Proxy Loyalty]
Option: The Blood-Oath Chalice (Cost: 2,500 MP)
Effect: A cursed, silver goblet. When infused with a drop of the designated proxy's blood and filled with wine, anyone who willingly drinks from it becomes biologically bound to her will.
Enforcement: The magic intertwines with their nervous system. Any thought of harming or betraying the proxy triggers paralyzing agony. Open rebellion results in immediate, fatal internal hemorrhaging.
Alaric's eyes lingered on the glowing description. A cold, smile touched his lips. The Freys were infamous for their feasts, their pride, and their greed. Getting Walder and his ambitious sons to share a toast to a "negotiated alliance" or a "tribute" would be incredibly simple.
"Perfect option," Alaric muttered into the quiet of the tent.
He mentally confirmed the purchase.
[Purchase Confirmed: The Blood-Oath Chalice. Cost: 2,500 MP]
[Current Balance: 8,120 MP]
A heavy, intricately carved silver goblet materialized in his inventory. It was elegant, completely unassuming.
As the shop interface minimized, Alaric leaned back.
Magic
his hand instinctively brushing against the fresh, pink scar tissue on his chest.
The physical world of Westeros was easily conquered with Blood Knights and Northern steel, but the shadow assassin had proven that he was vulnerable to forces beyond conventional warfare. The Red Priestess, warlocks, or whoever had sent that smoke-demon was still out there.
He couldn't rely solely on the Disharmony Gauntlet if they sent something worse next time. Later, once the army was secure and the Freys were dealt with, he should look into if system has anti magic items or something else.
Roslin walked over to his chair. She looked down at the heavy silver cup in his hand.
"What is that?" she asked.
She sat sideways on his lap and got comfortable. She didn't look surprised that he suddenly had a new item. After the ration bars, the enchanted blanket, and the tall knights, she was used to him pulling things out of thin air.
Alaric put his free arm around her waist. "Just something I need for later," he said.
She took the goblet from his hand. She turned it around, looking at the carved metal. "It looks nice," she muttered, tracing the patterns with her finger before setting it on the table.
...
From then
Two weeks passed. The Northern army kept moving south through cold and mud.
Alaric kept a tight grip on the camp. He made sure Roose Bolton and his Dreadfort men stayed surrounded. He placed them in the center of the marching line, with the Blood Knights close by. Bolton had no chance to slip away, send secret messages, or try anything at all.
Alaric knew Bolton was a time bomb. His plan was simple: let the coming battle with the Lannisters remove the problem for him.
During the long days, Alaric and Roslin fell into a new routine. Instead of just holding her on his horse all day, he got her a horse of her own. In his free time, they rode together near the front of the army. He taught her how to hold the reins, how to keep her back straight, and how to guide the animal over rough dirt.
Late one afternoon, they rode back into the center of the camp as the soldiers started setting up the tents. Alaric got off his horse and reached up to lift Roslin down.
When her feet hit the ground, she did not step away. She leaned her back right into his chest.
"Alaric," she said softly. "It has been about a month."
He put his hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "Since what?"
"Since the moon tea you gave me," she said. "The effects might be gone."
Alaric looked down at her. "Do you want more?"
Roslin nodded. "Yes. It is not a good idea to get pregnant right now. We are riding into a war. If something goes wrong, a baby will just make me a burden to you."
She paused and tilted her head back to look at him.
Her voice dropped into a lower, warmer tone. "But we can do it after the war ends." A small, dirty smile touched her lips. "I won't stop you then. I will let you put as many babies in me as you want."
Alaric let out a short laugh. He reached up and pinched her cheek, pulling the skin just enough to tease her.
"Don't think too far ahead, Rose," he said, letting go of her cheek to cup her jaw. "Let's win the war first."
They handed the reins of their horses over to a waiting squire and made their way through the bustling camp. The air was growing milder by the day, a clear sign that they were leaving the harsh grip of the North behind them.
As they stepped into the quiet privacy of their command tent, Roslin immediately went to work, brushing the road dust from her dress before turning to him.
"What would you like to eat, my lord?" she asked, her voice soft and eager to please. "Fruits, or something else?"
Alaric unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it onto a nearby chest, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Whatever you give," he answered simply, dropping into the heavy wooden chair near the center of the tent.
Roslin gave a quick nod and moved to the side table where the camp servants had left their evening provisions. A few moments later, she returned carrying a wooden platter stacked with fresh bread, sharp cheese, and a few apples.
As she set the food down on the table beside him, Alaric leaned back and looked up at her.
"We are making good time," he said casually, taking a piece of the bread. "We are near the Twins. and should be arriving soon."
///
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