reincarnated in GOT with a down graded Cheat engine.

The morning mist still clung to the trees when Levi stepped behind the longhouse.

No one watched. Or at least, no one visible. He half-expected the entire village to be peeking through shutters or whispering from porches. But the space behind the longhouse was quiet. Private. Just the beaten dirt, a few scattered stones, and the sound of birds high in the trees.

Ser Sedge stood there already, arms folded, waiting.

No armor. No pomp. Just a simple tunic, heavy boots, and a wooden sword tucked into his belt.

He looked like a farmer. A farmer with the stance of a killer.

"You came," he said simply.

Levi nodded, trying not to let his feet shift too much. "You said every morning."

Sedge tossed him a wooden sword. Levi caught it — barely. It was heavier than he expected, not some stick from a child's game but something built for real pain.

"Hold it with both hands. You're not here to look fancy," Sedge said, drawing his own.

Levi raised his makeshift blade. "So, uh, do I bow or something?"

"No. You try not to get your teeth broken."

And then Sedge moved.

Levi didn't see the first blow, He just felt it crack against his wrist. He yelped and stumbled back, almost dropping the sword.

"You're dead," Sedge said flatly. "Again."

Levi shook his hand out. "You didn't even give me a count!"

"This isn't a song-and-dance. Again."

They reset. Levi tried to anticipate this time — narrowed his eyes, knees bent.

Sedge struck his thigh.

Pain jolted through Levi's leg. He yelped again, hopping once before falling backward into the dirt.

"Dead again."

Levi growled into the mud. "You're enjoying this."

Sedge didn't smile. "You haven't bled yet. That comes later."

They went again. And again. And again.

By the fourth round, Levi had stopped trying to swing first. By the fifth, he stopped asking questions. By the sixth, his hands were raw and his breath came short.

He finally collapsed on his knees, chest heaving. The wooden blade slipped from his grip.

Sedge stood over him, unbothered. He hadn't broken a sweat.

"I said you only needed to hit me," Sedge said. "Not win. Just one hit."

Levi wiped his forehead with a sleeve, smearing dirt across his face. "Right now I'd be happy just staying conscious."

The older man crouched beside him, resting his wooden sword against his shoulder.

"You're not completely hopeless. But your stance is trash, your balance is worse, and your wrists are weak."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

Sedge looked at him for a moment, then said, "Pain teaches. You're not the first soft lad who thought ambition would carry him."

Levi looked up. "You think I'm soft?"

"I know you're soft. But soft things harden. Or they break."

He stood and turned away. "Same time tomorrow."

Levi remained on the ground long after Sedge had left. The birds had gone quiet. His arms throbbed, and every muscle in his back ached like they'd been cursed.

He stared at the wooden sword lying next to him.

One hit. Just one hit.

He picked it back up and stood. Slowly. Painfully.

Then he practiced the motion Sedge used — just the grip, the turn of the foot, the arc of the swing. Once. Twice. Ten times.