reincarnated in GOT with a down graded Cheat engine.

The sun had barely risen when Levi opened his door, the morning dew still clinging to the warped wood of Bogwater's cottages. The air held a heavy silence, broken only by the gentle gurgle of the nearby marsh and the distant bleating of goats. He stood with arms crossed, eyes sweeping the road that led north—the same road his first caravan group had vanished down weeks ago.

And then, dust. A creaking wheel.

First Returnee: Ruck

The wiry figure came into view atop a half-full cart, reins held loosely in one hand. Ruck, the self-appointed mouthpiece of the group, wore a crooked grin and a scarf tied to hide the scar along his throat. His words, as ever, came quickly.

"Told you we'd make it back before the frogs sang again. Though if I hear another swamp gnat buzzin' in my ear, I swear I'll trade my boots for wings."

Levi stepped forward, brow raised. "You look like you fought the swamp itself."

"Fought worse," Ruck said, hopping off the cart. "Traders east of the Neck still think this place is cursed. Tense trade, short tempers. But—" He tapped the side of the cart. "Preserved meats, sacks of flour, some cloth. We made it count."

Levi peeked at the contents: salted boar, dried fish, sacks sealed with wax to keep moisture out. Not much, but more than expected.

"What of the roads?"

"Clear for now. No bandits. Not near us, anyway. Word is, they've slithered west. Might be licking their wounds. Folks out there still think we're a patch of dead moss, but..." Ruck smiled. "Word's spreading. Bogwater stood its ground."

Levi let the silence linger, then nodded. "Unload by the storehouse. Tell Jory to inventory it."

"Aye. And, Levi?" Ruck leaned in. "Folk are watchin'. Keep giving them a reason."

Second Returnee: Mella

Near noon, the limp-thud of hooves approached. Mella rode in on a pitiful mule, the creature's left leg wrapped in moss-stuffed cloth. She rode like someone who didn't belong in a saddle—and didn't care.

Behind her was no cart, just a burlap bundle tied with frayed rope. Iron glinted from the edges.

Levi met her halfway. "You made it back. Alone?"

She nodded. "Wasn't worth more than one set of legs. My dad taught me that much."

"What'd you bring?"

"Scrap. Broken tongs, cracked nails, rusted hinges. Salvaged, not bought." She slid off the mule, wincing. "No smith wi'll come to Bogwater, not after the rumors. But there's boys in hamlets north of here. Curious ones. Strong arms. I tell 'em we've got coin and vision, they'll come."

Levi eyed the bundle, then her dirt-smudged face. "You want to start a forge."

"Need to. A village that can't fix a shovel or make nails is one bad winter from starving. I just need a roof, tools, and fuel. I'll build the rest."

He didn't hesitate. "You'll have it."

She smirked. "Didn't ask for your blessing, but I'll take it."

Third Returnee: Lysa

Evening brought with it a thin fog and a soft knock at Levi's door.

Lysa stood there—cloak wet from marsh mist, eyes sharp as ever. She had no cart, no bundle. Just a small satchel and a single message.

"We weren't just sent for trade," she said, brushing past him into the house. "You wanted eyes. Ears. So I listened and looked."

Levi sat, gesturing for her to continue.

"Nobles aren't talking about Bogwater. Yet. But they're talking about the Neck. About tension. The bandit attack was noticed. Some believe it was just a skirmish. Others think something's stirring. But what matters is—they're paying attention."

He frowned. "To us?"

"To what might be growing here."

She pulled a worn scrap of parchment from her satchel. A crude sketch of the region, marked with routes, villages, and sigils.

"You've started something. You need to move faster than the rumors. Build, trade, defend. If you stop for even a day, I'm afraid someone else will come and take it from you."

Levi leaned back, fingers steepled. The return of his caravan had brought goods, but more than that, it brought a reminder:

Lysa leaned closer and added in a low tone, "Among those things, I spent fifty-four golden dragons. Thirty spears, five crude swords. They'll need repairs. As for armor well steel or iron it's all too costly. I managed to buy one, but it's broken. Not something you'd be proud to wear."

Levi blinked. "That much?"

She nodded. "It's expensive. Very much so. My advice? Either find more coin, or learn to make your own. There's a rumor about an Ironborn merchant selling raw iron. I tried my luck—only bought five pieces. Don't know what you'll do with that, but maybe it's a start."