Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The night was thick with tension, the only sounds being the distant hoot of an owl and the crunch of boots on damp earth. The Black Vultures moved like a pack of wolves—silent, efficient, deadly.

We had tracked the bandits to a small encampment nestled between the trees, where they had set up a crude camp around a dying fire. A dozen of them, at least, their weapons scattered around as they laughed and drank, oblivious to the danger closing in on them.

Garrett, our leader, signaled for silence. He turned to me and the few others who were fresh to the company. "This is your proving ground. Kill or be killed. Hesitate, and you die."

I tightened my grip on my sword. This was it—my first real battle in Westeros.

I felt the familiar sensation of my Sellsword System activating, the translucent screen flashing before my eyes.

[System Notification]

[First Battle Quest Activated]

🔹 Objective: Kill at least one enemy

🔹 Bonus Rewards: Higher rewards for multiple kills or exceptional performance

🔹 Failure: None. But you don't want to fail.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. This was no game. No training. No sparring match. This was real combat, real death.

And I was ready.

The Fight Begins

Garrett gave the signal, and like a pack of starving wolves, we descended upon the camp.

Steel flashed in the firelight. The first bandit barely had time to scream before a sword slashed across his throat, blood spraying onto the dirt. The others scrambled for their weapons, their drunken haze slowing them just enough for us to strike first.

I saw one bandit reaching for a rusty axe, his eyes wide with fear as he turned toward me.

This was it.

I lunged forward, my sword cutting a vicious arc. The blade met flesh, slicing across his chest. He let out a strangled gasp, stumbling backward, but he wasn't dead yet.

He swung at me wildly, his movements sloppy, desperate. I ducked, sidestepped, and drove my sword through his gut.

His breath hitched. A wet, choking sound escaped his lips as he collapsed, his hands clawing at my blade.

For the first time in both my lives, I had killed a man.

[System Notification]

[First Kill Achieved!]

🔹 +1 Strength

🔹 +1 Dexterity

🔹 +2 System Points Earned

I barely had time to process the thrill of my first kill before another bandit rushed at me, his sword raised high.

I reacted on instinct. Dodging to the side, I twisted my body, feeling the rush of battle coursing through my veins.

His sword whistled past my ear, and before he could recover, I stepped in, grabbing his wrist and slamming my elbow into his jaw. He staggered back, dazed.

I didn't hesitate.

A quick thrust—my blade buried deep in his chest.

[System Notification]

[Second Kill Achieved!]

🔹 +1 Strength

🔹 +1 Endurance

🔹 +2 System Points Earned

Around me, the battle raged on. Swords clashed, men screamed, blood stained the dirt. The Black Vultures were winning, but the bandits were fighting like cornered rats.

I turned in time to see one of them charging toward Garrett with a dagger.

I didn't think—I just moved.

I threw my sword.

The blade spun through the air, embedding itself deep into the bandit's back. He let out a strangled cry before falling face-first into the dirt.

Garrett turned, eyes widening in surprise before a grin spread across his face. "Not bad, boy."

The remaining bandits saw their fate and began to flee into the darkness.

But Garrett wasn't one to let enemies escape.

"Kill them all!" he roared.

I took a deep breath, retrieved my sword from the corpse, and sprinted after one of the fleeing bandits. He was slower than me, panicked, stumbling through the underbrush.

I caught up to him with ease.

He turned, gasping, his face pale with fear. "P-please, don't—"

I didn't let him finish.

A clean slash—his throat opened, blood spilling onto the forest floor.

[System Notification]

[Third Kill Achieved!]

🔹 +1 Dexterity

🔹 +1 Endurance

🔹 +3 System Points Earned

By the time the battle ended, the bandits were dead, and the Black Vultures stood victorious.

I stood in the midst of the carnage, my breath heavy, my hands stained with blood.

I had done it.

I had killed.

And I didn't feel guilt.

I felt alive.

Garrett clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "You've got the makings of a real warrior, Damon. Keep fighting like that, and you'll make a name for yourself soon enough."

I grinned, wiping the blood from my blade.

This was only the beginning.

I had taken my first step toward power, glory, and domination.

And Westeros would soon know my name.