Just as Lynd was fusing the third character template, far away in the castle of Summerhall, Nymeria, who was handling official documents in Lynd's study, suddenly noticed that the patterns on the surface of the dragon egg—resembling blood vessels—were glowing with a molten, lava-like light.
The Holy Sisters and Silent Men standing guard in the room also witnessed the anomaly. Though they couldn't determine whether this was good or bad, their instincts led them to move protectively around Nymeria, positioning her behind them.
"Don't worry, it's fine," Nymeria reassured them with a gesture before rising to her feet.
In just two or three months, her belly had grown noticeably. Though she didn't yet require assistance to move, her condition was already beginning to affect her mobility.
She approached the dragon egg, watching as its fiery glow pulsed and flickered, then tentatively reached out to touch it.
She had braced herself for the heat, but instead, her fingers were met with an unexpected chill—despite its fiery appearance, the egg felt as cold as ice.
The strange phenomenon didn't last long. Soon, the glow faded, and with a keen eye, Nymeria noticed that new patterns had appeared on the egg's surface.
"Lynd! Something must have happened to Lynd to cause this," she murmured, gazing at the now-normal egg with a smile. "I don't know exactly what, but at least we can be certain that our Lord Chosen One is still alive."
At her words, the others in the room smiled as well. Even the usually expressionless Silent Men showed a hint of relief.
Though Summerhall's affairs had remained stable in Lynd's absence—thanks to careful management—and external matters were even flourishing more than before, everyone knew that this prosperity was only temporary. Without definitive proof of Lynd's fate, uncertainty loomed.
As time passed without his return, the likelihood of his death grew. The longer he remained missing, the more inevitable the brewing undercurrents of unrest would rise to the surface. Even with the backing of various factions, the region would eventually fall into turmoil—and her own Tumbleton would not be spared from the ripple effects.
But now, the dragon egg's reaction was an undeniable sign that Lynd was alive. After days of tension, Nymeria finally felt some relief.
"Should we spread word of this throughout the territory…?" Mus, her trusted aide in administrative affairs, asked in a measured tone.
Nymeria considered the question for a moment before shaking her head. A faint, disdainful smile curved her lips. "No need. Let them keep dancing. We'll deal with them when the count returns. For now, we just need to have a replacement list prepared in advance."
Mus immediately understood. Without further instruction, he coordinated with Balin, the Master of Whisperers, and Lothor, the Blood Armored commander, to continue keeping a close watch on the region's figures of interest, while identifying candidates who were truly loyal.
If Nymeria's deduction about Lynd's survival—based on the dragon egg's reaction—was just a vague intuition, then confirmation arrived a few days later in the form of a Red Falcon-sealed letter from Baelor Blacktyde, captain of the Nightwalker. The letter provided solid proof: Lynd was not only alive, but he had also tamed a sea dragon.
The moment she received the letter, Nymeria wasted no time in summoning a meeting in the council hall of Redemption Town. Every official who could be gathered from Summerhall was called to attend.
At the meeting, she immediately presented Baelor Blacktyde's letter, announcing that Lynd was alive and had subjugated a sea dragon. With the sea dragon's power, the Miracle Fleet would become an unstoppable force.
Before the gathered officials could erupt into cheers, Nymeria signaled Mus to proceed with the next order of business.
Mus stepped forward and began reading a list—a comprehensive register that spanned every administrative department in Summerhall. The list contained over a hundred names. Though none held the highest ranks, each individual played a role in areas such as public welfare, economy, and military affairs.
With every name Mus read, a Blood Armored soldier stepped forward to escort the corresponding person away. Some resisted, only to be struck down on the spot by multiple Blood Armored warriors and the garrison forces.
Everyone understood the reason behind these arrests. While some pitied the condemned, most silently counted themselves lucky for having maintained their integrity and not betrayed Summerhall's interests.
And this was only the beginning.
The hundred names revealed at the meeting were merely a third of the full list. The remaining two-thirds were not in Redemption Town—but escape was impossible.
By the time the meeting concluded, those individuals were already being apprehended, either by the garrison, the Blood Armored warriors, or the Chosen Army.
In total, the internal purge of officials across Summerhall and Tumbleton resulted in the removal of over three hundred individuals. When factoring in others implicated by association, the number exceeded two thousand.
Some were sent to the mines to serve as laborers. The rest were executed.
No amount of pleading could sway Nymeria.
Among those executed, some were wandering knights and free riders, but the majority were second or third sons, or bastards from noble houses across various territories. Their deaths inevitably offended these noble families, but Nymeria didn't care. She wanted to use this opportunity to send a clear message—this is the fate of traitors.
The purge also forced the Seven Kingdoms to re-evaluate Nymeria, the sole beloved of Lynd. Her ruthless and decisive methods sent shockwaves through the realm. The sheer brutality of her actions earned her a new title: the Bloody Lady, marking the first time she had been labeled with a name carrying such a definitive meaning.
Yet, as much as people were stunned by Nymeria's cruelty, they were equally astounded by her political acumen.
In any other territory, the sudden purge of over a hundred officials would have resulted in widespread chaos, potentially even leading to the collapse of governance and civil unrest.
But Summerhall was different. The moment those officials were removed, an equal number of replacements were immediately promoted to fill the gaps.
While there was some initial instability as the new officials assumed their roles, order was restored within half a day. Soon, the administrative system across Summerhall resumed functioning at full efficiency.
At that moment, the great lords of Westeros came to a sobering realization—the political reforms Lynd had implemented in his territory were incredibly effective. Many found themselves eager to adopt similar measures in their own domains.
However, they quickly discovered that such reforms were impossible to implement in their own lands. The nobility in their territories functioned like an intricate web, binding the entire power structure together. Any significant change would send shockwaves through this network, potentially backfiring on the rulers themselves.
This was the fundamental difference. Lynd, a newly risen great lord who had built his domain from the ground up, had the freedom to shape his governance as he pleased. But the noble houses of Westeros, with their centuries-old legacies, were shackled by their own deeply entrenched traditions and blood ties.
...
Despite all this, what truly commanded the attention of the great lords was not just the fact that Lynd was still alive, but that he had tamed a dragon.
For the first time in over a century—since the death of House Targaryen's last dragon—someone had once again subdued one of these legendary creatures. Though it was a sea dragon rather than a true dragon of Valyria, it was still a dragon.
Rumors about Lynd's true origins began to resurface across the Seven Kingdoms. The tale of the Summerhall ghost gifting him a dragon egg was once again a topic of discussion. Many believed that Lynd was no mere hunter's son, but rather the descendant of a Targaryen bastard.
This, they argued, explained why he, despite lacking the traditional silver hair and purple eyes of the Targaryen bloodline, was still able to tame a dragon.
After all, House Targaryen had, in the past, intermarried with the great noble houses of Westeros. The blood of dragons ran through the veins of many prominent families—including the Baratheons, Starks, and Lannisters. Even Robert Baratheon, who loathed the Targaryens, could not deny that his lineage carried traces of their blood.
Thus, even if Lynd did not outwardly resemble a Targaryen, it was still possible that he bore their blood.
...
Still, speculation could not compare to solid proof. As of now, the only confirmation of Lynd taming a sea dragon came from a single letter sent by one of his subordinates. No one had yet seen the creature with their own eyes.
Naturally, there were skeptics. Some suspected that Nymeria had orchestrated the entire announcement to mislead the world—crafting an illusion that Lynd was alive while using the moment to purge internal threats. If true, it would mean she was ensuring political stability in Summerhall before the inevitable news of Lynd's death could spread.
Regardless of the various theories circulating in the Seven Kingdoms, all eyes ultimately turned toward Miracle Harbor.
If Lynd had truly tamed the sea dragon, he would return there.
And if he had failed—or perished—the truth would surface there as well.
Thus, noble houses across Westeros mobilized their spies and informants in Miracle Harbor. Every day, agents watched the docks, waiting for any sign of Lynd's return. Some even disguised themselves as fishermen, patrolling the waters beyond the harbor, determined to be the first to confirm whether the legendary Chosen One had truly returned.
While the winds raged in Miracle Harbor, Lynd's fleet remained at sea, slowly making its way toward their destination.
What should have been a three-day voyage had stretched into six, bringing them only as far as the waters near the Bone Cape. Under normal circumstances, it would take just half a day to reach Miracle Harbor, but given the current situation, Baelor estimated it would take at least another full day.
It wasn't that Baelor Blacktyde was intentionally delaying; rather, he and his fleet had no choice. They couldn't pick up speed—not even by rowing, let alone unfurling the sails.
A powerful storm had materialized around them, its ferocity capable of capsizing any ship that dared intrude. It showed no sign of dispersing and moved at an eerily slow pace, always encircling them. Baelor's fleet had no choice but to move with the storm, unable to risk straying beyond its reach.
However, as they neared the offshore waters of the Bone Cape and approached the coastline of Red Watch, things began to change.
Whether it was due to the storm itself or the mountainous terrain along the coast acting as a natural barrier, the sky seemed to clear slightly. The dense clouds thinned, lightning strikes became less frequent, and the raging winds gradually lost their intensity. The most obvious sign of change was that the sea, once violent with crashing waves, had calmed considerably.
As night fell, the oil lamp in the captain's cabin of the Nightwalker was suddenly lit.
Ever since Lynd had entered the captain's cabin and ordered Baelor to stand guard outside, the lamp had remained unlit. No one knew what he had been doing inside. Now that the lamp was burning, it seemed to be a signal of some kind.
Almost immediately after the lamp was lit, the dark clouds in the sky completely dispersed, the storm vanished, and the sea returned to its usual calm.
Baelor stood in stunned silence for a long while, watching the dramatic shift in weather, before finally knocking on the captain's door. "My lord, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Lynd responded quickly. Then he asked, "Where are we now?"
"We're in the waters near the Bone Cape. If all goes well, we should reach Miracle Harbor by midday tomorrow," Baelor replied.
"We'll rest here for the night and continue in the morning," Lynd ordered.
The past few days of navigating through the storm had left everyone utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. A break was much needed. Hearing Lynd's command, Baelor immediately agreed. "Yes, my lord."
With that, he went off to arrange for the crews to rest, set up watches, and handle other necessary duties.
Inside the cabin, Lynd had already stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes. He grabbed the pitcher from the table, not bothering to check whether it held water or wine, and took several deep gulps to quench his thirst.
The third and final character template of his cheat had now fully integrated into his body. Unlike the previous two templates, which primarily involved memory fusion, this one had merged both his memories and his physical form. Over the past few days, he had undergone yet another Dragon Communion Ritual—this time, an immensely enhanced version.
The reason for this was simple: the template he had fused with was no ordinary one. In fact, calling it a "character template" was inaccurate; a more fitting term would be "deity template." The entity he had merged with was a god—an important figure from a past-life game: the Firstborn of the Sun, the Nameless King, the Dragon-Slaying War God.
Perhaps because of this divine nature, the fusion process had not only granted Lynd the god's memories but had also altered his body under the cheat's influence, adapting it to withstand the side effects of divine knowledge. At the same time, it had laid the groundwork for him to wield the abilities and skills of the Nameless King in the future.
Naturally, his physical condition had changed significantly, but the most striking transformation was in the Dragon Rune embedded in his heart. It had evolved—no longer a simple Dragon Rune, but something infused with mysterious symbols of the Nameless King, a fusion of ancient power.
Lynd wasn't yet certain what the Nameless King Rune was capable of, but one thing was clear: from the moment he woke, he could tell that its ability to absorb ambient magical energy had increased dramatically. It was now far faster than the original Dragon Rune—almost on par with the absorption rate of the Dragon Rune etched into the Banished Knight's greatsword.