[Hiatus, READ LAST CHAPTER] Game of Thrones: Ghost of the Uchiha

Calendar Year: 289 AC (2 Years)

< Madara POV >

My eyes were closed, and I was attuned to nature's sounds, the rustling of leaves, the birds' distant chirping, and the wind's faint whistle. I took a deep breath, inhaled, paused for a second, and then slowly exhaled. When I finished exhaling, my eyes shot open.

The single tomoe of my Sharingan spun, its crimson glow sharp and focused. My gaze was piercing, unwavering.

With a swift movement, I charged forward, slicing through a training dummy precisely.

The blade cut cleanly into the wood, and I circled back, almost disappearing and reappearing behind it in one fluid motion. I knew this was my fast, explosive speed from the jumping training.

My timing was swift but less quick than I remembered from the ninja world. Still, it was progress.

Sweat dripped from my forehead down to the ground. My body was feeling good. After two years of hard work, the muscles are already showing, although it's hard to see from the outside.

This was only the beginning of my training. I started heading towards a big tree with fist marks all over, and this vibrant tree had fewer and fewer leaves than it should.

My hair whipped wildly in the wind as I drew my fist back and struck the tree violently, bark splintering and flying off the surface.

A cascade of leaves tumbled downward in the wake of the impact.

Keeping my Sharingan active, I focused on the falling leaves.

Each movement slowed to my heightened perception.

Catching them should have been simple, but this exercise wasn't about perception but reaction.

For the past two years, I have been training to synchronize my body's movements with the information my Sharingan provided.

Yet, every day, I still fell short.

'Today may be no different.' I thought bitterly

The leaves began to fall, and my hands moved instinctively, reaching out to grab them mid-air.

The first one was easy, my fingers closing around it with precision.

Then came the real challenge as several leaves drifted down almost simultaneously, spaced just far enough apart to make a single motion nearly impossible.

I lunged for the second leaf, my hand curving under it in time to snatch it from the air.

The third leaf floated unpredictably, its path more erratic. My hand darted toward it, but it was a near miss. For a split second, it seemed I had failed again.

Then, almost reflexively, my hand twisted at an unnatural angle, my fingers brushing against the leaf's edge and snapping it out of the air.

I stood there, clutching all three leaves, the realization dawning slowly. I did it.

A wave of relief and satisfaction washed over me, an overwhelming emotion after two years of relentless training with my Sharingan in this small, fragile body. I had finally completed the first step.

I felt immense tranquillity and peace. It was like my head was in the clouds. Soon, I realized what this feeling was. Then, the peace turned into excitement.

'I am one more step closer to my goals.'

My Sharingan had borne a single tomoe for so long and had now awakened a second one.

Power surged through me, and I instinctively activated my Sharingan.

The world seemed sharper, more alive, as if every moment unfolded before me just a fraction of a second before it happened.

I turned my gaze to a bird perched on a branch. As I watched, I saw it spread its wings and take flight, yet it hadn't moved.

A heartbeat later, the bird flew precisely as I had foreseen.

A smile crept across my face.

'Finally'

Taking another deep breath, I steadied myself, feeling the familiar calm settle over me.

This body still needed more work and training to grow stronger, faster, and sharper.

There was no room for complacency.

My eyes returned to their natural black as I deactivated my Sharingan and returned to the estate.

The halls were eerily quiet as I walked. The estate felt even more deserted than usual.

At this point, it was as though I lived here entirely alone, and I didn't mind. I welcomed the peace and solitude. It gave me the space to think, prepare, and grow without interference.

As I crossed the empty corridors.

My mind replayed the fragments of knowledge I had gathered about this world's history, its complex structures of power, and its complexities of existence.

This place was nothing like the world I remembered, yet it fascinated me all the same.

The tales of gods and their interventions stirred something in me. I knew better than to dismiss them as mere myths.

The idea of their existence seemed almost inevitable in a world as unpredictable as this one.

If they were real, then they weren't just stories. They were potential threats, perhaps even the ultimate ones.

I began to plan not just for the immediate future but for the long game.

I needed strength, knowledge, and unwavering confidence to shape this world.

With my new Sharingan, I can become the strongest. This power is my tool, weapon, and path to controlling this chaotic world.

Whether natural or mere fables, the gods have imprinted on this land.

The stories I've read give me a general understanding, enough to consider them potential obstacles or, perhaps, sources of power to manipulate. But my immediate focus lies elsewhere.

'The Faceless Men.'

They are the closest thing to ninjas. They are masters of assassination, disguise, and perhaps even magic.

They are the perfect starting point for carving my own path. I plan to recruit from their ranks or, at the very least, use my Sharingan to gain insight into their methods. If they possess secrets of magic or techniques to control the mind and body, I will uncover them.

My Sharingan activates with its red, hypnotic glow, the second tomoe spinning lazily within my irises.

"I will never lose again," I vow quietly, the words filled with unshakable determination.

This world may be brutal, but it is one I will master. Step by step, I will shape it, tear down its rotten systems, and build something new.

Let the houses fight petty wars, and the gods meddle with mortal lives.

Soon enough, all of them will bow to my will.

Returning to my room, I picked up the inked feather and continued sketching schematics for my needed tools and armour.

The designs were clear and purposeful: kunai and shuriken for quick, lethal strikes and tanto blades for close combat.

Once I felt satisfied with the diagram, I finished my drawings. Then, I rolled up the parchment and headed toward the blacksmith in Pentos.

Everything seemed novel as I followed the bustling crowd and observed the civilian lives. I had been staying at the estate without leaving until now.

I took my safety seriously. No matter how arrogant I could be, I would not stupidly bring my weak self here.

Suddenly, I felt a strange gazing presence on me. Years of Ninja training had taught me that I must be being watched, and I subtly looked at and saw four men.

One was holding a sack the size of a person, the other two held clubs and the last was a city guard. But they looked to be a group.

I wandered, yet they kept up. I knew they were following me now. If I didn't, I could commit seppuku.

I wanted to see how my training had gone recently, and these would be the perfect wet stone. So, I started moving towards the city's edges until I reached a distance where only a few people would appear.

I stopped, and they stopped only several meters away from me. I slowly turn around to look at these worms before they die. 'I wanted to know-'

Before my thoughts could continue, I heard them both say almost instantly.

"Eh, he's a cute one, too," a careless, bearded man muttered, his voice thick with malice.

"He'll fetch a good price," said another, a fat, obscene figure licking his cracked lips. "But I want to have some fun with him first."

The moment those vile words left his mouth, I stopped listening. My Sharingan flared to life, spinning with crimson precision. Before they could act, I was already moving.

Instantly, I was in front of the man holding the sack. Before he could react, I leapt up, both feet slamming into his chest like a springboard.

He stumbled backward with a grunt, the sack falling from his grasp. While still airborne, I reached for the knife at his waist, yanking it free as I flipped and landed with fluid grace.

The blade felt natural in my hand, like an extension of my will. I twirled it effortlessly, the action deliberate and unnerving, as the other two men exchanged uneasy glances.

"He's just a kid!" one of them barked, trying to muster confidence, his club trembling in his grip.

But fear had already seeped into their bones.

They charged together, clubs swinging wildly. A mistake.

The first swing was sluggish, telegraphed to my Sharingan like a slow-moving shadow. I sidestepped with ease, closing the distance between us. As I circled behind the first man, I slashed his wrist, the weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

My blade found his neck next, the motion seamless, and blood sprayed into the air as he collapsed in a gurgling heap.

The second man hesitated, his attack barely grazing my ear as I turned at the last second.

My Sharingan caught the flash of steel, and a skinny, wiry man armed with a sword was moving faster than I expected.

"A challenge," I thought, a grin curling my lips.

The sound of laboured breathing drew my attention. Another man wielding a mace was lumbering toward me, his desperation written in his uncoordinated swings.

I hurled my newly acquired knife at the swordsman, forcing him to retreat, and turned my attention to the mace-wielder.

He swung clumsily, an arc of raw power with no precision. I ducked under the blow, my face almost brushing his chest as I slipped past him.

All the while, my arm was raised with a blade ready to harvest his life.

My blade traced a clean line across his throat, the movement smooth and effortless. He collapsed behind me, gurgling his last breaths.

The swordsman was quick, his strikes sharper and more calculated, but he lacked endurance. I moved with deliberate precision, dodging and weaving as his frustration mounted. Each missed swing drained him further until his movements became erratic.

I was bored.

Catching his eyes in mine, I activated my genjutsu, trapping him in an unbreakable illusion.

His blade faltered, his body frozen as he saw horrors that didn't exist.

I stepped forward and ended it, slicing his neck in a single, swift motion.

Turning back to the man with the sack, who now crouched on the ground, I strode toward him with measured steps. His eyes widened in terror as I grabbed a fistful of his greasy hair, yanking his head back to meet my gaze.

"Sharingan," I whispered, locking him in a genjutsu. His screams died in his throat, his body slackening under my control.

Standing amidst the bloodied corpses, I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The red glow of my Sharingan reflected at me from a nearby puddle of crimson.

I felt alive. This was my power. The power of the Uchiha Clan.

And I would never let anyone take it from me.

"Why did you follow me?" My voice was cold, unfeeling, as sharp as the blade in my hand. There was no pity in me for a man like this.

The slaver blinked, his fear evident despite the lingering effects of the genjutsu. "Astapor's masters have come," he stammered, his voice trembling. "We're collecting children off the streets... to sell as Unsullied or prostitutes."

Even after hearing his words, my emotions remained calm and detached.

This world was like this... a cesspool of cruelty and exploitation.

"Then you are useless now," I said, releasing the genjutsu.

Before he could process the reality around him, I thrust the dagger into his heart. His eyes widened for a fleeting moment, shock and pain mingling before the light left them entirely.

I let his body fall to the ground, wiping the blade clean against his filthy tunic. My next destination was clear.

The blacksmith's shop.

This minor inconvenience would not hinder my destination. I needed the tools on the blueprints, as tools could tip the scales in any battle.

As I walked, Hashirama's words echoed in my mind. They were the ideals he'd entrusted to me long ago: a path of kindness, striving for peace, and selfless duty to others.

Those words had awakened my old feelings when we first created Konoha together, and the closure I felt from being born anew, but the books I'd read and the history I'd uncovered in this world revealed atrocities that rivalled, perhaps even surpassed, my old one.

'This world is a nightmare, too.'

The clang of the blacksmith's hammer against metal filled the air as I arrived at the open-air forge.

A burly man worked away at a glowing steel rod, sweat dripping down his soot-streaked face. The rhythmic pounding ceased as he noticed my approach.

"I have some equipment to be made," I stated curtly, my tone edged with authority. It felt natural. As my strength grew, so did the instinct to command those weaker.

The blacksmith leaned on his hammer, eyeing me calmly. "Wyddya want?"

Without a word, I passed him the schematics I'd meticulously prepared.

"Make what you can from these. When it's done, send someone to deliver it all to Magister Illyrio's Western Estate by the port."

"Holy fuck," the man muttered, his demeanour changing instantly. "Khelsi! Sam! Riu! Get over here!" He waved over two men and a muscular woman loitering nearby. They hurried over at his call, wiping their hands on aprons as they approached.

The blacksmith barking orders at the trio as though his life depended on it. "We got a big customer, so stop dawdling and get to work!"

I should have acknowledged their bustling activity. I observed for a moment before losing interest.

Leaving the forge, I wandered through the streets, the sea breeze mingling with the scent of salt and tar. The docks were alive, active sailors hauling cargo, merchants haggling, and beggars watching from the shadows.

A massive ship flying the flag of Astapor docked in the harbour. Its crimson banner flapped in the wind, bearing the mark of the slave city.

Around a thousand Unsullied stood in formation, their spears glinting under the sun, their faces as emotionless as stone.

My blood surged.

'This is the perfect army.'

Their discipline and unwavering loyalty made them ideal for my ambitions.

My knowledge of the Unsullied's brutal training came flooding back, reminding me of Konoha's roots. They were shaped by harsh indoctrination, stripped of their humanity, and turned into tools.

'Would I do worse if given the chance?'

The thought lingered, unspoken.

I didn't flinch from it. Instead, I let my mind race, formulating plans to wrest control of the Unsullied from their masters and bind them to my will.

They would serve the rebirth of the Uchiha clan, a legacy this world had yet to understand.

Satisfied with my musings, I returned to the estate, eager to rest and await the completion of my ninja tools.

But as I stepped through the front gate, I was greeted by Illyrio's beaming, serene smile. His expression was warm yet calculating, as always.

Behind him stood two children.

The boy appeared around eleven. His lean body and skinny arms suggest he needed to be better trained. He looked like a beggar to me.

How he looked at me seemed like I should kneel to him... I already wanted to punch him in the face.

The girl, however, was around my age.

Both bore the unmistakable traits of the Targaryen line, silver hair and striking purple eyes that seemed to gleam even in the fading light. I could still see the feint bruise marks on her skinny arms.

My mind was caught for a moment, and only then did my memories go back two years to when Illyrio asked me if I would like a brother or a sister.

'Is this them?

How...

Disappointing.'