The next morning, Thaddues woke earlier than expected. The sun had yet to rise. Inside the room, he expanded the space and used the silence to practice magic.
After an hour, he snapped his fingers, restoring the room to normal.
He then walked out and stepped into the tavern.
At dawn, the tavern was already awake—quiet movement, early conversations, and the smell of bread and broth filling the wooden hall.
He took a simple meal and ate without thinking about its taste. The meal was simple, but enough to tide him over.
Afterward, he checked out of the inn, paying another Galleon to show his satisfaction. The innkeeper beamed, clearly pleased by the amount, and even walked him to the door.
The carriage he had requested the day before was already waiting outside. At the sight of it, Thaddues almost felt like acknowledging the innkeeper's competence. He was capable.
It was a well-built carriage—reinforced wood, smooth wheels, and a level of refinement comparable to that of a minor noble's transport. It bore no official markings, yet it carried a quiet sense of authority.
Esteban, the horseman, stood beside it, carefully adjusting the reins.
When Thaddues approached, he straightened at once.
"My Lord, everything is prepared. We can depart for Sunspear at once."
Thaddues gave a small nod and stepped inside.
Since Thaddues had decided to remain in Dorne, he needed a plot of land to begin his life here. The land itself could be anywhere in this sovereign country, but finding a seller would not be easy on the open road.
In Westeros, land was tightly controlled by the nobility. If he wished to avoid trouble, he could not simply claim even unoccupied territory and would have to abide by the laws of the realm.
Sunspear, as the capital of Dorne, offered the best chance of finding a seller and negotiating a purchase. With his current wealth, few would refuse a generous offer.
The carriage rolled forward soon after.
Dorne stretched out around them—dry earth, pale stone, and a sun that never seemed to soften, even in the morning. The road to Sunspear cut through it like a scar, straight and exposed. From the port where he had arrived, the journey to the city would take weeks.
Their food was already packed in two chests inside the carriage, prepared by the innkeeper—mostly dried fruits, spiced meats, and preserved delicacies.
If that wasn't enough, Thaddues still had his pouch with the briefcase inside. He could always take out more food if needed.
Inside the carriage, Thaddues pulled a book from his pouch and opened it.
The Tales of Beedle the Bard—a sign-in reward from the system, a collection of five stories each carrying its own lesson.
He was on the first one, The Tale of the Three Brothers, where three siblings tried to cheat death by crossing a river, and Death in turn granted each of them a gift: an Elder Wand, a Resurrection Stone, and an Invisibility Cloak.
Most would call it a myth.
But Thaddues knew better.
Some myths were simply truths without witnesses.
His fingers drifted into his pocket, brushing the cloak he had received from the system. It lay there unused, quiet.
He hadn't expected it to carry such a story. The system's description had been plain, almost indifferent compared to what he was reading now.
He left it untouched. Invisibility was crude compared to what he could already do.
And as for death… he had no intention of escaping it. Only surpassing it.
A thought surfaced then—if the system had given him one of the three relics of death, could it also grant the others?
He considered asking, but the system remained asleep.
Only a single line lingered in his vision.
2%.
Still unchanged, even after a night had passed, as if time itself refused to move within it.
He closed the book, planning to eat dates and continue with the second tale, when the carriage slowed… then came to a stop.
Thaddues looked up.
Voices drifted in from outside—sharp, urgent.
Esteban called from the front, tense. "My Lord… there's a carriage ahead. Bandits. They're attacking it."
Steel rang in the distance.
A scream followed.
Then another.
Thaddues did not react at once. Instead, a faint flicker of interest crossed his expression. They had not been on the road long, and already they had run into bandits.
"How many?" he asked, still holding the book.
"More than ten," Esteban replied. "The escorts are holding, but not well. We should take a different route."
Another clash of metal echoed closer now—sharper, more desperate.
"Continue," Thaddues said calmly. "They're only bandits."
The carriage started moving again.
Esteban lowered his voice. "My Lord… I was married last year. My daughter's three. I'd rather not die on a road for someone else's coins."
Thaddues paused.
Married last year… daughter three.
He glanced at him through the open window of the carriage for a moment, then thought: either this man was very honest… or very bad at counting
"Stop the carriage."
Esteban turned, startled. "My Lord—"
"I will handle it."
The carriage halted.
The moment Thaddues stepped out, the air shifted.
It carried iron and dust—and something sharper beneath it. Fear.
Ahead, chaos had already taken hold.
A convoy had been ambushed.
Ten lightly armored soldiers held against roughly fourteen bandits, but the formation was breaking fast. Shields were dented, sand stained with blood. Discipline was fading into disorder.
One soldier fell hard, armor cracking on impact. Another staggered back and dropped to one knee.
The bandits pressed forward without structure or restraint—numbers doing the work of strategy.
To the side, a woman knelt in the dirt. A sword hovered inches from her neck.
The bandit holding the sword looked almost bored, as if her death had already been decided and only delayed for his amusement.
Thaddues observed everything with calm calculation rather than urgency. His attention eventually drifted toward the banner, where he lingered for a moment before a faint smile formed on his lips.
"Interesting," he thought.
A scream cut through the air as another soldier fell, and the formation began to break apart faster than before.
Esteban's voice came from behind him, strained. "My Lord… we should not—"
Thaddues raised a hand, cutting him off without turning.
"Immobulus."
The spell left his lips quietly.
Then the world stopped.
Steel froze mid-swing. A blade hung just short of flesh. Dust suspended in the air. Blood held between drip and fall.
Then—nothing moved at all.
Silence pressed down on everything.
Thaddues stood within it untouched, as if the stillness simply did not recognize him.
Behind him, Esteban was locked mid-step, eyes wide with disbelief.
And the kneeling woman remained exactly as she was… except for her gaze, which suggested she was still aware of what had just happened.
Thaddues stepped forward slowly, controlled, each movement passing through a battlefield that no longer functioned as time itself had stopped obeying it.
Men were frozen mid-strike, weapons suspended in the air, faces locked in rage, fear, desperation.
He reached the woman.
She trembled—not fully, but within the narrow limits of what still moved in her.
Her eyes stayed on him.
Thaddues crouched slightly.
"It is inappropriate for a noblewoman to kneel in daylight," he said calmly, and extended his hand.
She hesitated.
Her gaze flicked between him and the suspended blade near her neck.
Then, slowly, she reached out.
Their hands met.
He pulled her up.
Only then did her voice break free.
"You—how?! How is this possible?!"
The words came sharp, fractured by shock.
Thaddues did not answer at once.
His eyes crossed the frozen battlefield and stopped on the banner again—a red sun pierced by a golden spear on an orange field, unmoving in the air.
"Let's say it was fate," he said with a quiet smile.
TBC
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