reincarnated in GOT with a down graded Cheat engine.

The afternoon mist still clung to the ground like wounded breath. Moat Cailin loomed in the distance—dark, ancient, unclaimed. Levi stood beside the half-finished palisade that wrapped the edge of Bogwater's clearing, hands behind his back. He had just returned from the outer marshes, where small burial mounds now rose in silence.

A soft crunch of boots behind him broke the stillness.

"Ser Gewin wants to speak with you," said a passing guard, a young man in wolf-gray leathers.

Levi nodded, dusting his tunic. "Now?"

"Aye."

He found Ser Gewin near the longhouse that had become a temporary command post. The northern knight stood just beyond it, arms crossed, looking toward the horizon. A flagon of ale sat untouched on a barrel beside him.

"You wished to speak with me?" Levi asked.

Ser Gewin turned, eyes cool. "I did. Thought it time we talked proper. No walls between. No crowds."

Levi stepped closer.

The silence between them lingered.

Then the older man asked, "Why do you do this?"

Levi blinked. "This?"

"All of it," Ser Gewin said, sweeping a hand to the growing village—half-built homes, tents still standing, smoke drifting from cookfires. "Feeding the poor, paying the builders, barking at merchants like a little lord. You could've vanished back into the swamp and no one would blame you."

Levi inhaled. Then answered honestly, his voice low.

"When I got here, I had nothing. Truly nothing. Not even a name that mattered."

He looked past Ser Gewin toward the silhouette of Moat Cailin—broken towers standing like ancient ribs against the sky.

"But when I first saw Moat Cailin, I asked myself—why is a beauty like that left that way? Half-sunk. Forgotten. Why?"

Ser Gewin raised a brow but said nothing.

"I can't touch it," Levi said. "It's not mine. That stone belongs to history. And I…" He gave a quiet laugh. "I'm just Levi. From Bogwater. I speak of truth. That village, I protect it because it's my home."

He turned his gaze back to the knight. "But what about me? What about my dreams? My ambitions? What if I said I'm willing to kneel to the Lord of the North? To serve. But how can they even allow me when I'm no one? Not a knight. Not a lord. Just a stranger who pays his debts."

For a moment, nothing stirred but the wind.

Then Ser Gewin chuckled—a deep, amused sound that made Levi pause.

"You think knighthood matters here?" he said. "Boy—pardon, lad—we northerners may accept knights, sure, but we don't place them on pedestals. That's a southern thing, for southern gods. Their Seven."

Levi furrowed his brow.

"We follow the Old Gods," Ser Gewin said. "The trees with faces. The ones who listen in silence. Except maybe White Harbor—they've always had southern ties. But the rest of us?" He shook his head. "We don't care for titles. We care for strength. Grit. Loyalty. You keep your people fed, warm, and safe, you've already earned more than most knights I've met."

Levi opened his mouth, but Ser Gewin wasn't done.

"What you wish to accomplish," he said, "is no easy thing. Hell, others tried. A few managed to raise a hall or two. Most failed. Unless you marry into a noble house or win a lord's favor, it's near impossible to climb. And Moat Cailin—" he gestured back at the fortress "—that's not something a village boy can claim. Even if the Crannogmen hold it, it's not theirs. Not truly."

"Then whose is it?" Levi asked quietly.

Ser Gewin's voice dropped. "A king's. And the one we've got now… isn't in his right mind."

A long pause followed.

The two men stood in stillness, not as enemies, not even as allies—but as men of different worlds, staring at the same truth.

"Even with all your silver," Ser Gewin said, "you'll need more than coin to shape your name. You'll need patience. And roots."

Levi nodded. "Then I'll dig deep."

Ser Gewin smirked. "Good. Just don't dig too fast. Or you'll sink your own house before it stands."

He turned to leave, then stopped. "You've got something. Don't lose it rushing toward crowns and stones that don't want you."

And with that, he walked off.

Levi remained still long after the knight vanished from view. His hands clenched and unclenched.

So the North didn't care for knights.

But they did care for legacy.

And he—Levi, the cheater, the lazy coward, the would-be lord—would have to earn it.

Not by silver.

Not by swampberries.

But by fire. By grit.

By becoming someone no one could deny.

Maybe one day.But not today.

Today, he still had work to do.