Skyrim System In Westeros

Wright and the Crowned Wight's bodies gradually returned to their physical forms. Fearing the Wight might use a dragon shout at the moment of reappearance, Wright grabbed both of its hands while pressing his foot firmly against its jaw. As the spell ended, the dragon spine impaled the Wight's withered heart, and the Dark Sister sword materialized, embedded deep in the Wight's skull. Immobilized by Wright and Odahviing, the Crowned Wight's purple soul flames in its eyes dimmed and shrank.

"Xxxxxx," the Wight mumbled something incomprehensible, yet Wright could clearly sense magic seeping from its mouth. He knew he couldn't afford to let up; the Wight needed to be completely destroyed. Staying vigilant, he kept the creature restrained, his senses scanning the surroundings with heightened tension.

Not far off, a faint blue magical light flickered, and a spectral image of a middle-aged man materialized. Both Wright and Odahviing turned their attention to the figure.

The summoned man, though a spectral projection, was clear enough to reveal his features: a robust figure standing roughly six feet tall, appearing to be around fifty years old, with shoulder-length hair and a simple outfit of pants and a shirt. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and he carried no visible weapons.

He glanced at Odahviing, then at the grounded Wight and Wright before walking toward them. His gait was peculiar — though his legs were straight, he walked bow-legged with a pronounced outward stance. His feet seemed to bounce with each step as if equipped with springs, and his hands remained in his pockets, exuding an exaggerated swagger entirely out of place in this world of warriors.

Wright recognized him immediately as a former coworker from his life before his transmigration. Despite the aged appearance, his distinctive smirk and uniquely awkward stride were unmistakable.

The blue magical aura emanating from the figure suggested the use of a dragon shout: Call Of Valor. In the game, this shout summoned ancient heroic spirits who had become immortalized in the Hall of Valor, an otherworldly sanctuary for powerful souls. These spirits retained their peak physical forms and abilities and could be temporarily summoned to the mortal plane for battle.

Odahviing, watching the spectral figure, opened its massive maw, ready to unleash a torrent of dragonfire. But the spirit remained unfazed, continuing its approach toward Wright. Golden-red flames gathered in the dragon's mouth, casting an intense glow over the scene. Just as Wright was about to call out to stop the dragon, the spirit began to speak.

The words tumbled out so quickly that Wright couldn't discern them, but the spirit's body suddenly radiated the same blue, white, and yellow magical armor as Wright's. Its movements became impossibly swift, and with a burst of magical energy, it imposed a gravitational pressure on Odahviing, pinning the dragon's entire body — wings, tail, and head — against the ground. Another red spell entered the dragon, further suppressing its resistance.

The spirit reappeared in an instant beside the dragon's mouth, assuming a stance reminiscent of a soccer goalie about to kick the ball. With a resounding thud, it delivered a powerful kick to Odahviing's massive jaw, snapping its gaping maw shut. The gathered dragonfire escaped through the seams of its teeth, with the bulk forced back into its throat.

"Roar—ugh!" Odahviing's pained bellow was abruptly silenced as yet another spell entered its body.

The dragon's claws loosened their grip on the Wight's body. Crawling forward a few steps, its swollen jaw opened slightly, and its massive head turned toward Wright, prepared to strike at any moment. Beneath Wright, the Crowned Wight's soul flames had completely extinguished. Ordinarily, the death of the summoner would cause the summoned spirit to dissipate.

However, the spectral figure raised its hand and made a grasping motion toward the Wight's body. The Wight's soul coalesced into the form of a middle-aged man and appeared beside the spirit.

Time Slow, Dragonrend, Marked for Death, Whirlwind Sprint, and Bend Will — Five dragon shouts executed in rapid succession. The swollen-jawed Odahviing was now under the spirit's command, and even with its summoner dead, the spirit showed no signs of fading. How could anyone fight against that?

The worst part? Wright recognized the spirit, but the spirit didn't recognize him. Wright had transmigrated as a soul and now inhabited the body of a Baratheon twin who resembled Renly, while the spirit had transmigrated physically. They were separated by five thousand years of history, and it was likely the spirit had long forgotten its pre-transmigration life. To make matters worse, Wright had just killed the spirit's son in this world.

Despair overwhelmed Wright.

Fortunately, the spirit seemed disinterested in him for now, focusing on manipulating the soul of its son. The middle-aged soul stood upright, and as the spirit cast several spells, it gradually regained awareness. Upon seeing the familiar, unsightly visage of the spirit, the soul deeply bowed.

"Father!"

"Good," the spirit sneered. "So, you dared to change your name to Rahgot."

"Father, it wasn't entirely my fault. I—"

Before Rahgot could finish, the spirit interrupted him:

"I casted spells on you and all of your brothers. When the others died, they entered the Hall of Valor I created, so i know what happened: petty squabbles between brothers."

Rahgot lowered his head. "I personally killed one of my brothers and two of my younger siblings."

The spirit's expression remained indifferent. "So, to avoid entering the Hall of Valor in shame, you turned yourself into a Wight?"

Rahgot said nothing.

The spirit scoffed. "The Hall of Valor's entry requirements are extremely high. Aside from my fourteen children, I predicted that few of your descendants would qualify. That's why I taught the method of becoming a Wight. But you — just to avoid the Hall — remade yourself into this!"

Hearing their familial chat, Wright dared not flee. His mind raced as he tried to devise a way to survive. How could he face a legendary Dragonborn who had lived for centuries, mastered every skill, spell, dragon shout, created advanced magics, and become a spirit of unparalleled combat experience?

The spirit, hands in its pockets, placed a foot on a nearby stone and began shaking its leg. "Your soul is sealed, but your siblings' are not. Over the millennia, they've long come to terms with everything."

"Father!" Rahgot called again.

The spirit smirked and gestured toward Wright with a nod. "Heh, so, what's going on now? What year is it? And what's the deal with him?"

Rahgot glanced around. "Our family's tomb should be located not far east of Valyria's capital. But judging by this landscape, the Valyrian Freehold has already fallen. This man disturbed my rest in the family tomb. And he knows dragon shouts."

The spirit turned its gaze to Wright. "Dragon shouts? Is he of my bloodline? Black hair — doesn't seem like it. But he has a dragon. A bastard, perhaps?"

Rahgot shook his head. "I don't know. Too many descendants."

At that moment, Nymeria, Tyene and Volantis's Triarch Dofas Pennymion arrived on horseback.

"Wright, are you all right?"

Disaster. Now that they'd all gathered, it seemed none of them might leave alive.

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