Skyrim System In Westeros

Nymeria and Tyene, seeing the dragon land and the magic and battles in the sky cease, assumed the fight was over.

Riding over on horseback, they arrived to see a massive dragon lying on the ground, Wright standing nearby, and two spirit-like figures engaged in conversation. Assuming these were Wright's summoned creations, they hurried to his side to check on him.

Tyene knelt and began applying her most basic healing spell on Wright.

Wright, not daring to speak, squeezed their hands to signal silence, his mind racing for a solution.

The two women, well-accustomed to subtle cues from their time with him, instantly understood that these two spirits were enemies. Nymeria drew her weapon and began to stand guard.

Dofas Pennymion, the Triarch of Volantis, arrived in a palanquin. As his slaves set it down and soldiers formed up, they found themselves nervously studying the two spirits and the mountain-like dragon nearby.

Dofas dismounted from the palanquin and prepared to address Wright, only for Wright's sharp glare to silence him. Mistaking Wright's injuries as severe, Dofas chose to remain where he was.

The sneering spirit continued tapping his leg against a rock, his hands shoved into his pockets. Seeing this, Rahgot remained unbothered. Their spectral forms began fading until the older spirit waved his hand, sending mana into their forms, restoring their blue glow.

As Dofas approached, Rahgot spoke first, his voice dripping with disdain: "Pale skin, platinum hair, violet eyes, riding in a palaquin drived by slave. That looks like one of our descendants."

The sneering spirit gestured to Dofas. "You. come here!"

The two spirits spoke in High Valyrian — the Dragon Tongue of the Elder Scrolls. Wright, Dofas, and the dragon Aldawiyn all understood them.

Dofas, unfamiliar with such blue, translucent figures, hesitated. Only when Wright nodded did he dare approach.

The sneering spirit stared at him. "Name?"

Dofas, a powerful figure unused to being spoken to with such disrespect, bristled.

Rahgot stepped forward and roared, "NAME!"

The spectral Rahgot, a battle-hardened Dragonlord, released a killing intent so overwhelming that Dofas nearly fell to his knees. Behind him, his slaves and soldiers shuddered, their sense of duty paralyzed by fear.

Even Nymeria and Tyene began to tremble until Wright shielded them behind his body.

"Do-Dofas Pennymion," he stammered, voice trembling.

The sneering spirit looked at Rahgot, who shook his head. "Never heard of that house. Probably some offshoot family of a bastard or in-law who earned favor."

The sneering spirit sneered further. "How many descendants do you even have? This one's bloodline shows no trace of magic."

Rahgot shrugged. "Father, I've been dead for nearly 5,000 years. How would I know?"

The sneering spirit's demeanor — resembling that of a street thug despite the obvious reverence Rahgot showed him — left everyone puzzled.

At that moment, something emerged from Rahgot's dead body — a cluster of ethereal dragon heads.

The dragon spirits tried to flee from the corpse but were immediately drawn to Wright, their spectral forms pulled into his body as shimmering threads.

Twelve dragon souls left Rahgot's body and merged into Wright's own.

Though invisible to most, the two Dragonborn spirits witnessed everything.

"Kill him along with this Dragonborn," the sneering spirit declared, standing and preparing to act. The Dragonborn bloodline was hardly rare to him, given his prolific descendants.

"Wait!"

Wright released the women's hands and stepped forward, shouting in Mandarin.

The sneering spirit froze in his tracks, staring at Wright in confusion.

Wright followed up: "Palace Jade Liquor!"

The sneering spirit seemed to pause, opening his mouth before closing it again, seemingly wrestling with a thought.

Everyone watched the exchange in stunned silence, unsure what Wright had said in this strange language.

Rahgot, unfamiliar with Mandarin, looked puzzled but remained silent.

Wright's heart raced as he watched the spirit hesitate. Did this man, who had spent thousands of years in this world, forget their shared past? If so, everyone here was doomed.

Finally, the sneering spirit broke his silence. "A hundred and eighty a glass?"

"Correct!"

Relief washed over Wright as he exhaled deeply. The connection was re-established.

The sneering spirit scrutinized Wright closely, recalling a long-forgotten phrase only a true Chinese adult would know.

Wright sealed the bond. "Weekend plans, Cadillac."

Recognition dawned as the spirit's eyes widened.

Stepping closer to Wright, he looked up at his nearly six-foot-three frame. "Imperial Spa, male guests, two seats!"

It clicked.

"Mamas Boy!"

The sneering spirit's face softened as he added: "Baldy?"

Wright nodded, feeling a surge of hope. He wasn't alone in this world after all.

The sneering spirit grinned, his demeanor shifting from menace to camaraderie. The crisis was temporarily averted.

The two old colleagues — now reunited — began reminiscing, while the stunned audience looked on in disbelief.

Finally, the sneering spirit said, "This was my home. I'd like to take a look around. Shall we talk as we walk?"

Wright agreed. Retrieving the Dark Sisters and Bloodskal Blade from the ground, he handed them to the two women.

Rahgot discovered that his father and this man actually knew each other. He didn't dare to ask more questions and just followed the two of them.

Nymeria followed with the Bloodskal Blade in her arms, and Tyene followed with the Dark Sister. Dofas Panemion saw that Witt and the two women had left, so he called for the slaves and soldiers to follow as well. However, he did not dare to ride in a sedan chair now, and walked on his own two legs like everyone else.

Only Odahviing stayed where it was. It was safe here, and now no one or animal dared to approach its huge body.

The Mamas Boy nickname came from when he received a call from his mother while working. He turned on the speakerphone because he had no time to speak. The nickname "mamas boy" spread throughout the office through the phone.

And baldy does not is not really about Wright having or not hair in his past life. Before Witt traveled through time, he was always browsing the news website and the ad column was filled with advertisements for hair growth products and hair transplants. After his colleagues saw this several times in a row, they just started calling him the baldy.

He and Wright arrived on the same day, at the same time, but thw first arrived five thousand years earlier, in a small shepherd village.

At first, he helped the villagers improve their livelihoods. Soon, however, he realized the entire world was a primitive low-magic place. Driven by ambition, he began forming city-states, improving his skills, summoning dragons, building a family, and eliminating rival factions to grow his influence. Gradually, he established a kingdom. The nation wasn't called Valyria back then; the name came after his death, during the first dragonlord civil war.

Wright chuckled when the man mentioned starting a family. Knowing his peculiar preference for silver-haired individuals, Wright wasn't surprised. This world conveniently had people with silver-gold hair and violet eyes, perfectly matching his tastes. Predictably, he managed to create an entire ethnic group.

The world was too primitive, and the population too sparse. When his kingdom reached a certain size, it hit a development bottleneck, prompting him to turn his focus to magic.

His Conjuration magic, enchanted artifacts and dragons injected unprecedented vitality into this low-magic world. However, neither divine spirits nor Daedric Princes paid much attention to this barren place. Essentially, it was his playground, where he indulged freely. To simplify enchanting, he even established a slave system.

Odahviing was among the entities he summoned. Being a fragment of Akatosh, how two identical entities could exist within the same plane puzzled him. Perhaps Akatosh, in a moment of whimsy, made it so. Gods were inscrutable.

He also summoned Durnehviir. The first fourteen dragon eggs were laid by these two dragons, and all the dragons in this world descended from them.

Wright asked curiously, "No wonder I can absorb dragon souls here. But two dragons laying eggs? Both females? How does that work?"

The lecherous spirit glanced toward Odahviing in the distance and chuckled slyly. "I once asked. It refused to answer. But I figured it out — magic combined with parthenogenesis."

Wright looked incredulous. "That's absurd."

The spirit shrugged. "It's not uncommon. Our world has desert whiptail lizards, which reproduce via parthenogenesis, and Komodo dragons can do it too, despite having males. The key lies in magic. Dragons are half magic by nature, and magic doesn't follow scientific rules."

After his death, the two dragons he had summoned became wild and unmanageable. Each time they laid eggs, they sent them back to the Valyrian Empire for hatching. These dragons eventually lived for millennia before succumbing to natural death due to the world's dwindling magic.

The spirit warned, "Avoid summoning Durnehviir. The plagues it brings far outweigh its contributions. During my time, its arrival caused countless deaths. It took me, my children, and my grandchildren — three generations — to prevent a full-blown outbreak."

Durnehviir brought many plagues; the worst ones were eradicated, but stubborn diseases like greyscale remained.

As for the fall of his kingdom, he was indifferent.

"If you summoned my spirit a hundred years after my death, I'd have fought fiercely to save my kingdom. If it were a thousand years later, I'd have scolded my unworthy descendants. But after five thousand years, my attachment to that kingdom is like finishing a book — something to remember but not dwell on."

Wright asked, "Was the empire's destruction a natural disaster or self-inflicted?"

"They brought it upon themselves! Blood and fire both produce magic. I designed magical devices to keep volcanoes erupting, replenishing the world's magic. But they grew greedy, endlessly expanding the devices."

The conversation shifted to the Daedric Princes of the Elder Scrolls world.

"By the end of my life, I had mastered magic to a profound degree. I extracted the abilities of the fourteen dragon priest masks, enhanced them, and fused them into my fourteen strongest descendants. I fused the powers of the Black Book of Forbidden Secrets into myself."

Wright speculated that he had more than fourteen children, but the masks allowed him to select only the strongest. After his death, these bloodlines likely exterminated the weaker ones, triggering a war among the fourteen siblings. Rahgot, one of his descendants, had slain three of them single-handedly. It revealed the spirit's ruthless mindset, prioritizing the nation's survival through natural selection.

The spirit advised, "Never trust Hermaeus Mora, that tentacled abomination. I could've achieved immortality by serving it, but I chose otherwise. I created the Hall of Heroes in this world instead. Though I'm just a spirit, I'm content."

Wright asked, "Can I summon people from your Hall of Heroes now?"

The spirit shook his head. "No. I restricted it during its creation — only my descendants with golden hair and violet eyes can summon them. You'll need to establish your own bloodline and Hall of Heroes."

His current form couldn't last more than thirty minutes in this world. His direct descendants were extinct, and the surviving collateral ones lacked magical talent. Once he returned to the Hall of Heroes, he'd have no chance to revisit this world, but he had long accepted this.

The two exchanged information about their respective systems. Wright asked eagerly, "You brought everything with you from Skyrim. Any hidden treasures left?"

The spirit pointed toward a distant mountain. "I used to have a tower there, where I stored magical books and weapons. Most of the powerful Daedric weapons were gifted to my children after they matured."

He gestured toward Nymeria, who was holding a massive sword. "But these weapons are too powerful. Take the Bloodskal Blade, for instance. After me, only one of my descendants could wield it properly. By the end, they couldn't even unleash a proper magic slash, making dragons more effective in battle. Many of these weapons were either hoarded or buried. Judging by the terrain, most are probably underground now."

They climbed the mountain, now covered in thick soil and forests. Whatever treasures had been there were likely buried during the apocalypse.

The spirit used his magic detection skill, far superior to Wright's. After stomping on the ground, he announced, "There's one left!"

Placing his hand on the ground, he infused it with magicka — a technique Wright had never seen before.

Boom!

A sword shot out from the earth, sending dirt flying dozens of meters high. The spirit stopped the magic, and the blade fell, landing perfectly in front of Wright.

"This is all I could find. It's enhanced but not particularly powerful. At least it looks good. Take it."

The single-handed sword glimmered gold. Wright unsheathed it, revealing ornate runes on the hilt wrapped with magical thread. Its crossguard featured ring-like decorations forming a hollow center, where a gentle glow emanated. The glow wasn't blinding but seemed enough to illuminate a room at night. It cast intricate, shimmering magical patterns along the blade.

The spirit added, "It was once wielded by some descendant of mine and earned quite a reputation. But aside from its aesthetics, it never fit well in anyone's hands."