Creak…
The old wooden door of the riverside inn groaned open. A tall, armored figure stepped inside.
Every conversation in the crowded common room died as heads turned toward the newcomer.
The man wore shining plate armor of a style no one here had ever seen—bright silver with intricate golden engravings. Golden lion heads roared from his shoulder pauldrons and belt, fangs bared.
Dried blood stained the edges of the armor, dark and crusted, carrying the unmistakable iron tang of battle.
His helmet hid his face, but the golden lions stood out clearly even in the dim firelight. Everyone in the Westerlands knew the sigil of House Lannister.
The sight of those lions, the blood, and the man's height—well over six feet—made one thing obvious to every patron: this was a dangerous man.
"Lannister?" someone muttered.
"What the fuck are the Lannisters doing in the Stormlands?"
The noisy inn went dead quiet. Only the crackle of the hearth could be heard. Several hands drifted closer to sword hilts.
The innkeeper approached quickly, forcing a nervous smile while wringing his hands. "M'lord, will you be needing a room or just a meal? We've got good ale and fresh bread right out of the oven."
The armored man said nothing at first. His gaze slowly swept across the room.
Twenty or thirty people filled the common room, many of them armed with swords at their hips or leaning against the tables. All eyes were fixed on him.
After a moment, quite a few looked away, avoiding his stare.
The stranger walked over to an empty table and sat down heavily. His armor clinked loudly against the wooden chair, rattling the bowls on the table. He flipped a silver coin onto the wood.
"Ale," he said. His voice was rough, the accent clearly foreign.
The innkeeper hurried his wife over to pour a large mug of ale. She placed it in front of the man respectfully. The innkeeper then picked up the coin and frowned.
"M'lord, forgive me, but… where is this coin from?"
The man looked up, helmet still on. "Why? Isn't it silver? Can't it buy your watered-down piss?"
"No, no, m'lord! You misunderstand!" The innkeeper smiled obsequiously. "It's just… this silver is too fine. It's bigger than a regular silver stag. A mug of ale only costs two copper stars. This is… far too much."
The man tapped his fingers on the table.
"Too much? Then keep it on my tab. Actually—" He reached into a pouch and dropped several more silver coins on the table. "I'll buy a round for everyone here. Food too. All of it on me. That cover it?"
The innkeeper's eyes widened with delight. "More than enough, m'lord! Enough to buy every soul here a full mug and a hot meal!"
"Then stop talking and get it done. And bring me your best dishes."
"Yes, m'lord! Right away!"
The innkeeper snatched up the coins and shouted to the room, "This generous lord is buying a round for all of you!"
The tense atmosphere shattered. Cheers and raised mugs filled the room. Even the men who had whispered about "damn Lannisters" now smiled at the stranger and lifted their cups in toast.
"Seven gods bless you, m'lord! You're too generous!"
"To the Seven! And to our generous lord!"
"May your road be smooth, m'lord!"
Soon a full barrel of ale was rolled out. Hot vegetable soup and fresh black bread appeared on every table. The inn grew loud and cheerful again.
The innkeeper personally served the stranger their best offerings—stewed meat with vegetables, soft bread drizzled with honey, and two thick grilled sausages.
"Please enjoy, m'lord. Call for me if you need anything else."
The man nodded, then finally reached up and removed his helmet.
Only then did the surprise hit the room.
He wasn't a Lannister.
Instead of golden hair, the man had black hair and dark eyes.
He wasn't from House Lannister at all.
In fact, he wasn't even from this world.
His name was Leo.
Back on Earth, he had been an ordinary salaryman whose only real pleasures were playing games, reading novels, and watching TV after work.
He never imagined he would actually transmigrate like the protagonists in those web novels he loved.
And of all places, he had crossed over into the world of Game of Thrones—the land of Westeros.
Because he had been playing World of Warcraft while rewatching the show, he hadn't just arrived in this world. He had taken the place of his own game character—a human warrior.
The last thing he remembered was the pure joy of finally looting the Onyxia dragon mount he had farmed for so long. Then everything went black.
When he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar forest, wearing his transmogrified Seventh Legion plate armor.
After realizing this was no dream, he was attacked by three armed men who wanted his valuable-looking gear. Leo fought them off.
After some wandering, he finally reached this small inn beside the Wendwater River and confirmed the truth: this wasn't Azeroth.
This was Westeros.
By the time he sat down in the inn, Leo had already accepted his new reality.
Like every other transmigrator, he figured he might as well make the best of it.
Truth be told, he was even a little excited.
This was real transmigration.
Back on Earth he had been a nobody. Here, with his advantages, he could become someone truly powerful—maybe even a king.
The world of Game of Thrones was brutal and treacherous, full of schemes and sudden death.
But Leo had his own golden finger.
Not only had he become his warrior character from the game, he also possessed a game-like system, a backpack full of random items, millions in gold, and all his mounts and transmogs.
Most important of all…
He had brought the Black Dragon Princess Onyxia with him.
Which meant he now had a real, living dragon.