reincarnated in GOT with a down graded Cheat engine.

Ser Sedge never thought the Neck would weigh so heavy on his bones.

The southern reeds clung to his boots like leeches. The air was damp, the sky always grey, and even the fire in his hearth seemed reluctant to burn. For the last ten years, he had served House Reed first as a sword in their Halls, then as a captain, and finally, now, as this: a bailiff to a village growing it barely even called a village but a town whose place earned itself on the map.

Bogwater.

He hadn't asked for this post. He hadn't refused it, either. Loyalty came with obedience, and Ser Sedge was nothing if not obedient.

The boy Levi should have broken on day three.

That was the quiet wager he'd made with himself. Not a coin in hand, but a mental mark. By the third day, the boy's spirit would crack like a green stick underfoot. Sedge had trained lads before. Some noble, most not. They all wore pride like armor until pain stripped them clean.

But Levi…

Levi bruised on day one. trembling on day two. bleeding and collapsed on day three.

And still, he came back.

Six days of bruises and blood. A week of beatings. No skill. No stance. Only stubbornness that bordered on madness.

And on the seventh day, the boy had landed a strike.

Not with strength. Not with skill. Not with the tool on his hand.

With dirt in his hand, and desperation in his bones.

It was not honorable. It was not knightly. It was not bravery.

But it had been enough to make me think otherwise.

Ser Sedge sat in the longhouse now, away from the smoke and noise outside. The hearth crackled faintly behind him, but the warmth could not chase the chill from his thoughts.

The boy was still asleep, recovering in Mae's home. Word had spread. The village buzzed like a stirred wasp nest. Some laughed. Some muttered praise. Others called it cheating. But all of them, in one way or another, looked to him.

The bailiff.

The man meant to judge.

"Ser?" came a voice from the side. It was Rann. Loyal. Sharp-eyed. And younger than Sedge had ever been, though the lad had seen his share of blades.

Sedge didn't turn. "Speak."

"We need to set the next order of guards or should we call them town's watchmen?" Rann said. "People are asking if the boy is to be included."

Sedge said nothing.

After a pause, Rann asked, "Did he pass your test? I think he did."

Sedge let the silence linger. Then he rose slowly, pouring himself a cup of bitter swampwine. He took a long sip before answering.

"No one passes a test like that," he said quietly. "They just get beaten. But a hit is a hit."

Rann nodded, as if that was answer enough.

But it wasn't. Not to Sedge.

When Ser Sedge stepped outside, the village was quieter than usual. Morning mist coiled between huts. Children whispered instead of shouting. Adults nodded but did not smile.

They were waiting.

He passed the well, the woodpile, and the small shrine to the Old Gods , Nothing but a carved stump with offerings of berries and feathers. Then he reached the longhouse where Mae lived, knocked once, and entered without waiting.

The smell inside was of damp herbs, fish oil, and blood-soaked rags. Mae stood over Levi, dabbing at his temple with cloth. The boy looked smaller now. Shrunken. Pale. But breathing.

Alive.

"Old Mae," Sedge said.

She didn't look up. "You here to congratulate him or shame him?"

"I haven't decided properly."

"Well, make up your mind. He's got more bruises than jokes now."

Sedge crossed the room slowly, watching the rise and fall of Levi's chest. He'd seen soldiers die from less. Seen them scream, beg, curse the gods.

This boy… never begged.

He remembered the final moment the crack of his fist against his cheekbone. He'd tasted a punch in his own mouth. Not from pain, but surprise.

He'd misjudged him. Belittled him.

Ser sedge sat beside the hearth, arms crossed.

"I trained together with the crannogmen whose battle fights are hit and run. I was trained by the elder whose fighting are not so knightly. But enough to bury hundreds of men in the swamps." he said to no one in particular. "He once beat me senseless for dropping a blade in the mud. Said a sword that falls is a sword that fails."

Mae didn't speak.

"But this boy he fights with mud in his fists and still dares to strike."

Finally, she looked up. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying he's either a Foolish… or a young leader in the making."

He stood.

"When he wakes, tell him I want him at the training field. Not for training. For speaking."

Mae raised an eyebrow. "You think he'll listen?"

Sedge gave a tired smile. "If he has half a mind left, he'll realize I've stopped treating him like a boy."

The training field was still being made were being expanded a crude structure built beside the storehouse of the longhouse, not much more than a roof over packed earth. Inside, the training dummies leaned like dead men, and the practice yard still held Levi's blood in the dirt.

Ser Sedge stood alone, watching two of his men practice with staves.

He didn't say anything until Levi arrived.

The boy moved stiffly, wrapped in bandages, but he stood on his own feet. His eyes had a hint of fire in them, though it was buried beneath weariness.

"You asked for me," Levi said.

Sedge nodded. "I did."

They stood in silence for a long breath. Then Sedge motioned to the dummies.

"You wanted guards. A force. Training. You came to me for that, before proving you could even hold a sword."

Levi looked down. "I didn't think I needed to prove it. I just thought... if someone taught me—"

"That's not how this works," Sedge said sharply. "In the Neck, no one gives you anything. You take it. With your hands. With your back. Or not at all."

Another pause.

"I know," Levi muttered. "That's why I came back each day."

Sedge tilted his head. "And the dirt in the eye? What was that?"

Levi didn't flinch. "I'd rather cheat death than lose again."

A long silence followed. Then he laughed.

Not loud, but real. Ser Sedge shook his head. "You're a mad boy."

"Probably."

"But you have guts."

Sedge walked forward, slowly circling Levi like a hawk.

"You'll train under me again. Not with a sword. Not yet. You'll learn how we in the swamp fight. Orders. I will instill what being a warrior is in your body and from the boys you bring me, I'll choose Twenty. Twenty who can learn. Who can stand with you."

Levi's eyes widened. "You'll let me form a guard?"

"No," Sedge said. "You'll earn the right to lead one. If you fail, they'll fall. If you succeed... maybe I'll forget the dirt."

Levi exhaled slowly. "Deal."

As the boy turned to leave, Ser Sedge spoke again.

"And Levi."

He paused.

"That strike. It landed. But not because you're strong."

Levi stopped.

"It landed because you refused to yield."

That night, Ser Sedge sat alone in his chambers, pen in hand, parchment before him.

A report to Greywater Watch.

To Lord Reed,

The village remains secure. The tax will be met. The bailiff's post is stable.

I note one development: a boy, Levi, untrained and stubborn, has begun raising a local guard.

He is either dangerous… or invaluable.

I will continue to watch.

— Sedge

He sealed it with wax and leaned back.

The measure of a man, he thought, is not in how he fights but how he stands after he's been broken.

For the first time since arriving in Bogwater, Ser Sedge allowed himself a moment of reflection.