The sun never rose gently in the North. Even in the warmth of midday, it cast long, tired shadows across the road.
We were two weeks into our trade circuit, the longest and most distant path Harwin had laid out. From Bogwater to Greywater Watch, through scattered hill villages, past Last River, and finally toward Winterfell. We had passed the barrows just three days ago.
By then, the sll of dead wood and dried swamp had given way to the open, snowy trails of the North. But it never slled like peace.
Our wagons had grown leaner. We sold cloth, berries, preserved ats, and the few trinkets Harwin had let carry basic silver trinkets shaped from the few coins I tried to multiply. They didn't work. The cheat engine never once allowed to replicate them like swampberries.
And now, I wasn't even sure they'd be enough.
We were twenty wagons strong before the attack. One hundred and ten guards, ten of whom I'd grown to know by na. There was old Brams, whose left ear had been chewed off by a boar. The twins Laren and Lyle, who never shut up about crossbow technique. Even Cale, the youngest, who'd tried to flirt with every camp girl between Bogwater and the barrows. I used to think it was annoying. Now I'd give anything to hear him joke again.
They hit us just past a bend in the road.
The trees were too thick for this part of the North. Harwin had noticed it first—he slowed his horse and muttered sothing under his breath. By the ti the first arrow flew, he had already unsheathed his sword.
It wasn't a clash. It was a slaughter.
We weren't surrounded by wildlings or rebel houses. No banners. No war cries. Just ragged figures in mismatched furs, so barefoot, all desperate. So had swords; others had only sticks, hatchets, or hunting spears. Yet they charged like starving dogs.
Fifty-eight guards died before the last of them fled.
Three of the ten I knew. Gone. Cut open in the mud, trampled beneath hooves, or bled out in the wagon shadows.
I stood on a cart. That was it. I held a dagger Harwin gave a week ago, but I never drew it. Just gripped the hilt so tightly my palm bled. Harwin stood nearby, red across his shoulder and side, blade blackened, breathing hard like a man who had seen this before but never wanted to again.
Silence followed. Then the cries. Then the counting.
"Fifty-eight," one of the rchants whispered, his face pale. "Gods…"
We piled the dead in the ditch beside the trail. The firewood ran out before we could burn them all. So were buried. Others… we just had to leave behind.
I stayed seated on a wagon, head low, when the Winterfell soldiers arrived.
They ca on horses, six of them, steel glinting like stars through the trees. Their armor bore the direwolf, their cloaks thick, blades sharp. The lead rider raised his hand and shouted: "Halt! Who commands this caravan?"
I expected Harwin to hesitate. But he didn't. He stepped forward, one hand pressing a cloth to the wound near his ribs. The man was soft-spoken by nature, not timid but calm. Hardened in so place beyond anger.
"I do," Harwin said, voice steady. "We were attacked."
The Winterfell captain eyed the wagons. His gaze narrowed as it swept across the blood, the ruined carts, the torn tents.
"Who were they?" he asked.
"That's what I'd like to know," Harwin answered. "They ca from the woods. No banners. No cries. Only desperation."
"Wildlings?" the captain asked.
"No. No markings. No Northern sigils either. Just people."
Another rider pulled his horse forward. "If they weren't wildlings or bandits, who were they?"
That's when one of our surviving guards called out from a wagon, his face sared with dried blood and ash.
"We caught four of them alive!" he said, dragging a bruised, battered youth by the collar. Three others followed, roped and bound.
I walked forward to get a better look.
They weren't older than I was. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. Their faces hollow, bones jutting out beneath the skin. One of them was shaking from the cold, lips purple, eyes dull from fever or starvation. Another had fresh blood on his temple and refused to stand upright.
They didn't look like killers.
I couldn't help it. I stepped closer. "Why?" I asked, quiet, hoping soone would answer. "Why go this far? What could you gain by killing for a few carts of cloth and dried at?"
All four stared at , blankly. Then the one with the cut on his face barely older than twelve spoke.
"You're not from here," he said, voice low. "You don't know the North. You don't know what it's like when the snow cos and no food does."
Another boy, one with straw-blonde hair, nodded slowly. "Winter isn't for the weak. You take what you can. Or you die."
They didn't speak with rage. No rebellion. No grief. Just acceptance.
I stood frozen.
Then ca the Winterfell captain again. "That's enough," he barked. "You four are prisoners now. You'll answer to Stark justice."
He nodded to his n, who quickly dismounted and seized the boys, dragging them back toward the town trail.
Harwin exhaled beside .
"You see now?" he muttered, his eyes fixed on the woods. "This land eats the weak."
"But they weren't even n," I replied. "They were Just kids like ."
"Children fight when the world forces them to," Harwin said. "So do it out of rage. Others just want to eat. There's no kindness in hunger. Not in the North."
We were allowed entry into the town hours later. The guards made space for our battered caravan, what remained of it. Twelve wagons left. Forty-four n and won still breathing. The rest had been buried or taken by crows.
I stayed close to Harwin as we entered. The town was a small outpost, more a rest stop than a true village, with cobbled roads and a wooden hall with long banners flapping in the breeze. No market. No brothel. Just soldiers, supplies, and fire.
They gave us tents and salted bread. And when night fell, I sat beside the fire, staring at the flas as if they held answers. But none ca.
I thought of Brams. The twins. Cale.
I didn't even cry.
I wanted to feel angry. To curse the cheat engine. To wish for swords or fireballs or sothing anything to make stronger. But none of that mattered.
Because all I could think about… was that it was real.
This world.
This pain.
Those kids.
No respawn. No retry.
No way to undo the fact that 58 n had died protecting cloth, cheese, and berries.
Harwin sat beside as the fire burned low. He didn't speak at first. Just sipped from a clay cup, eyes watching the distant snowcaps.
Then he asked, "You ever seen death before this?"
I shook my head.
He nodded like he expected that. "There's an old saying in the North. A man is worth less than his blade if he can't bleed or bury. You've bled now. And you've buried."
"I didn't fight," I admitted. "I just stood there."
"You survived. That counts."
"But I didn't protect anyone. I didn't help."
"You didn't run either."
I didn't know what to say to that. I just kept staring at the fire. My hand slipped into my coat pocket, brushing against the single silver stag still hidden inside.
Then I rembered the cheat engine.
How it updated when I touched the coin. How it tracked the value even when the gold wasn't real.
The screen had said Gold: 342. But not in golden dragons.
It counted silver stags as 'gold.' sothing i should change the na of but im too afraid if i do change it will it vanish and never letting have sothing unlimited.
Even the system itself was mocking . But i wonder if its truly mocking or is there sothing else at play here.
"Is this what it ans to live here?" I asked suddenly. "To kill and die over food?"
Harwin didn't answer at first. Then he said, "It's what it ans to survive here."
We stayed in the town for two more nights. Harwin needed rest. So did the horses.
I helped repack wagons. Tied ropes. Shared water. Listened. Learned.
One man said the road to Winterfell had grown more dangerous every season.
Another claid the young wolves Stark boys and girls were being trained harder than before. Not for war, but for storms.
And then I heard sothing else.
A whisper.
That the snow might co early this year.
"Not snow in the air," a woman said, "but snow in the heart. In n. That's worse."
Five towns passed. one still to go, Winter town.
And Winterfell would be in sight.
I had 56 dragons but plenty of silvers.
But I also had sothing new.
But purpose.
Because if this world demanded cruelty just to live if even children could beco thieves just to eat then maybe, just maybe, I could change sothing in this life i currently live in.
Even if it was one cart at a ti.
Even if it began with berries.
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