reincarnated in GOT with a down graded Cheat engine.

Levi lay on his side, ribs wrapped in cloth and pain, head pulsing to the beat of his own foolishness. Every part of him ached.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth days of his so-called test had not been kind. Ser Sedge hadn't spared him an ounce of strength, and Levi hadn't landed a single hit with a wooden sword that is unless dirt counted and his fist.

He groaned, shifting only slightly before deciding even that was too much.

The morning sun crept through the longhouse windows, bringing with it voices. Not the shouting of men with wooden swords, but calm ones. Workmen. Maybe villagers. The world still moved even if he couldn't.

A knock came at the longhouse doors, steady and polite.

"Come in," he rasped, throat dry.

It was Ulrich, face sun-darkened and boots caked in dust. The man stepped in without ceremony, taking one glance at Levi's wrapped body before shaking his head.

"You look like a clay pot someone dropped," Ulren said.

Levi didn't laugh. He couldn't. "What is it?"

"The paving's nearly done," Ulrich reported. "The road to the river bends just shy of two more stones. Then we lay the binding grit. I'll need the second payment by tomorrow, maybe the day after. Materials, tools, some of the lads asking for proper wages now that they've taken to the place."

Levi blinked. "Taken to the place?"

Ulrich nodded. "Aye. Half the workers say they'd stay, if you'll let 'em. Masons, carpenters, and three with families. Said it feels like building something from the bones up.

Not like patching holes in someone else's keep. You've got people interested."

Levi winced as he shifted again. "The coin's in my house. You can take what's due when I'm able to stand and watch."

Ulrich gave him a crooked smile. "Fair. You've earned a day to rest. Maybe two."

He turned to leave

When the door shut, Levi let out a long, slow breath. It burned coming out. He stared at the wooden rafters of the longhouse ceiling, the thick beams holding everything together. Just like Mae.

Speak of the devil.

"Don't move."

Gran Mae's voice arrived before her footsteps, but soon she stood beside him with a bowl of something hot. It smelled earthy — swampberry broth, most likely, with herbs she refused to name.

"You're useless like this," she muttered, pressing a damp cloth to his brow. "Letting old men beat sense into you."

"He's not that old," Levi mumbled.

"He's twice your patience and ten times your weight. That counts for age," she snapped.

Another knock came, followed by a quiet entrance. This time, it was the Old Maester robes dusty from the walk, parchment tucked under one arm.

"So," he said without preamble. "You've succeeded."

Levi blinked. "In what? Not dying?"

"In bleeding for a cause," the Old Maester said. "And making others notice. I'd say that's step one of your plan. 

He stepped further inside, eyeing the walls of the longhouse and the open interior.

"This place now houses more than ideas," he continued. "People live here. Work. Trade. There's warmth in the hearth and a roof that doesn't leak. The road outside, that path you're paving? It's not just for carts and coin. It's for growth. Which means, boy, this is no longer a village."

Mae scowled. "Can't this wait?"

The Old Maester ignored her. "It's a town now. And every town needs a name."

Levi sighed. "It has one."

"Bogwater is what it was," the old man said.

"It's what it is," Levi replied, firm despite the bruises. "A village grows into a town, but the roots don't change. It's still Bogwater. That name matters."

The Old Maester looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Stubbornness. Good. It'll be tested soon enough."

Mae clucked her tongue. "Let the boy rest, you sack of ravens."

"Oh, he will," said the Old Maester "but not just the body. The mind must not go idle, especially when the body can't stand."

He pulled up a stool, laying out several scrolls.

"We'll start light," he said. "Houses of the North. Sigils, words, names. The ones you'll need to know, because sooner or later, your name will be said alongside theirs."

Levi blinked again. "My name ain't—"

"Not yet," the Old Maester interrupted. "But time changes things."

So the day passed, not in sword swings or drills, but in stories of direwolves and white suns on blue fields. House Stark. House Karstark. House Umber. House Manderly. The North wasn't just cold woods and swamp trails. It was bloodlines older than thrones.

By sundown, the Old Maester rolled up his scrolls.

"That's enough for today. We continue tomorrow."

He rose slowly, brushing dust from his robes. "Also... I'll be taking residence here. The longhouse is the center of work now. I'll share it with Ser Sedge for ease of counsel."

Mae muttered something that sounded like "bloody nuisance," but no one argued.

"One last thing," the Old Maester said, pausing at the doorway. "Prepare a fund. The boy we spoke of the one going to the Citadel? His approval has come. A wagon will take him within the week."

Levi nodded, exhausted but clear-eyed. "He'll have it. Whatever's needed."

The door closed behind the Old Maester. Silence returned.

Mae sat beside Levi again, setting the now-empty bowl aside. "You really want this place to grow, don't you?"

He didn't answer right away. His body ached too much for speeches.

But after a while, he murmured, "I want it be to big."