Davion

The stones of Harrenhal devoured people.

The fortress of massive black stones stood in the heart of the Riverlands, the spire of Kingspyre Tower shrouded in dark clouds year-round.

Ever since its first master, Harren the Black, had burned in the tower under Dragonfire, every lord who took possession of Harrenhal had met a violent death.

House Hoare had been slaughtered to the last, House Qoherys had perished in strife between blood relatives, House Harroway had been poisoned at a banquet...

These once-prominent powers had all become mournful ballads on the lips of bards, telling of Harrenhal's ill fortune over and over.

Now the shadow of the curse had fallen over House Whent.

In the lord's bedchamber on the top floor of Kingspyre Tower, cold air seeped through cracks in the stone walls, mingling with a faint smell of blood.

Davion lay on his back in a great oak bed. He was seventeen or eighteen, with disheveled black hair plastered against cheeks as pale as paper.

The boyishness had yet to fade completely from his face, but his jawline already held something of a lord's sharpness.

Coarse linen bandages wrapped his forehead, dark red blood slowly seeping along their edges. His lips were cracked and bleeding.

Only the extremely faint rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive.

Davion's consciousness struggled in the chaos:

Where am I? My body... I can't move?

He remembered only coming home from work and starting a game of Dota, playing Dragon Knight as the position-one carry.

The position-five support had been obsessed with jungling, abandoning Dragon Knight in lane.

Davion had held on for over three minutes before finally reaching level two.

In his anger, he had knocked over the Coke beside him. Then electricity flashed, and he lost consciousness.

Davion still had his senses.

He could hear the howling draft and smell the choking odor of cheap candles.

But his limbs felt filled with lead, and his eyelids were too heavy to open. He could only struggle in vain to direct his consciousness in the darkness.

Dimly, scattered fragments of the original owner's lingering memories flashed through his mind...

Two voices reached his ears, instantly bringing him a little closer to awareness.

"Wes, could you send some more firewood to the Earl's room? He's injured, and the wind is so strong tonight. We mustn't let him get cold..."

The girl's voice held a measure of urgency and a trace of timidity.

She was clearly afraid of the person beside her.

At the sound of her voice, a figure immediately appeared in Davion's mind: Pia, the original owner's maid.

"Get cold?"

Before Pia could finish, a rough male voice cut her off.

"If it's windy, seal the boards tighter! There's no telling whether he'll even survive tonight. No point wasting firewood on a dead man!"

"It'll be a good thing when the lordship of Harrenhal falls vacant. Once a rich lord takes over, as the person who knows Harrenhal best... heh!"

It was Wes, Harrenhal's steward.

Davion's fragments of memory grew a little clearer. This Wes had always liked shirking his duties and embezzling money, doing the bare minimum to appease the original owner.

But the original owner had been far too timid, letting Wes's behavior slide time and again.

That was what had made Wes so brazen.

The door creaked open, and heavy footsteps headed straight for the bedside, bringing a smell of sweat and a nauseating reek of alcohol.

It was Wes.

Davion felt a rough hand abruptly pull up his eyelid, then pry apart his cracked lips, as though inspecting livestock at a market.

The rough handling split Davion's lip, and blood flowed out.

"Heh, the fever still hasn't broken."

Wes sneered, ignoring the wound he had caused.

"Maester Tosmio said our Earl Whent will be meeting the Seven within three days! And then, heh heh heh..."

Davion had no idea what Wes meant by "then," but it certainly meant nothing good for him.

"Wes! You can't say that!"

Pia hurried inside with a water jug in her arms. Her voice trembled a little, but she still summoned the nerve to object:

"House Whent has treated us well. As steward, how can you wish harm on the Earl?"

As she spoke, she approached the bed and carefully poured hot water from the jug into an earthenware cup. She scooped up a little with a wooden spoon, gently blew it cool, and only then brought it to Davion's lips.

Warm water slipped over his cracked lips and seeped into his throat. Davion felt warmth spread from his throat throughout his body. His stiff body actually loosened a little, and his control over it slowly began returning.

He could distinctly feel a faint itch from the wound beneath his bandages, a sign that it was healing.

Wes eyed Pia sidelong, a malicious smile curling his lips:

"You'd better worry about yourself first! Once he's dead, what good end can a maid like you expect in Harrenhal, with no one to rely on?"

Wes's lecherous gaze roamed over Pia's full breasts:

"I happen to know a merchant in Riverrun who needs a personal maid. You're pretty enough. Going there would be better than starving to death in this wretched fortress."

Pia's hand paused as she fed him water:

"I'm not going! Harrenhal is my home! I only want to stay by the Earl's side and look after Harrenhal."

Riverrun? Harrenhal?

Davion's soul shuddered, and the original owner's memories instantly became clear!

He was Davion Whent, the current lord of Harrenhal. A few days earlier, he had gone to collect a debt from one of his vassals, only to suffer a head injury and lose consciousness.

Clearly, the original owner had died, and Davion had benefited.

And this was actually the world of Game of Thrones!

Just then, a scorching force suddenly surged from his chest throughout his body!

The itching beneath his bandages intensified, and a hint of color actually appeared in his pale cheeks.

His formerly heavy body grew light, and he could even move his fingers slightly.

The darkness in his consciousness faded completely, and a familiar panel appeared before him.

[Davion Whent - Dragon Knight]

[Level 2]

[Experience: 120/300]

[Attributes: strength 24, agility 16, intelligence 20.]

This is... the Dota 2 interface. I've actually become Dragon Knight!!!

Davion's heart pounded wildly, and overwhelming joy instantly drowned out all his panic.

So what if I've transmigrated into the world of Game of Thrones, crawling with schemers and lunatics?

Against absolute strength, all schemes and tricks are futile!

He looked eagerly at the skill bar, where three of the five icons were lit.

The scorching power stirred within him, as though resonating with those skills.

[Dragon Blood (innate ability): the lifeblood of the dragon improves Dragon Knight's health regeneration and armor. Effects are increased by 50% in Elder Dragon Form.]

[Bonus health regeneration: 2]

[Armor increase: 2]

[Slyrak's blood flows throughout Davion's body, granting him twice the vitality of an ordinary knight.]

Could these two points of bonus health regeneration be making my injuries heal faster?

Davion could distinctly feel the power continuing to surge inside him. His wound was healing faster and faster, and the bleeding on his forehead gradually stopped!

So Dragon Blood was working!

What had once been merely a string of numbers in a game had now truly become his lifeline.

It was a wondrous feeling for Davion.