Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

At dawn, as the insects' chirping gradually faded, a chorus of crisp birdsong seamlessly took over the baton.

In a secluded corner of the once-quiet forest, the air suddenly rippled, followed by a flicker of light—then, a human figure appeared out of thin air.

But the moment the figure landed, he stumbled instinctively, as if his legs had given out beneath him.

Only after catching himself against the trunk of a nearby tree did he manage to steady himself.

"Damn it... it's like being eaten alive."

Just thinking about the more-than-a-day he had spent inside the game world made Kal shudder involuntarily.

The real world wasn't like a game, where all it took to move the story forward was a pre-rendered cutscene.

In games, the longest part of the process might be the time spent by someone in front of a computer, holding a wad of tissue—or maybe a holy grail—and 'working'.

But now that everything had become real, whatever Kal wanted to do, he had to do it the hard way—with real effort, real pain.

Even just walking.

Worse still, in the world of The Farmer's Pursuit, there was actually such a thing as fatigue.

To save time—and to test his own theories—Kal had made visits to the vampire castle, the Tower of Terror, the temple, and even the Ancient Temple.

He even went as far as seeking out the witch, and the elven matriarch, unwilling to miss even the tiniest scrap of information.

And yet, he came back empty-handed every time. Worse, he was drained dry at each place.

He hadn't just lost his resources—he'd lost face and dignity, too.

It was a total disaster. A loss in every possible sense.

Not only had he gained nothing, but most of the people he visited didn't even understand what the hell he was talking about.

In the end, Kal realized that only back in the dragon's lair could he glean even vague, half-formed bits of information.

...

"Artessa, are you sure there's nothing else?" Kal asked hopelessly, clutching the dragon egg in his hands. His eyes, sunken and dark, betrayed how defeated he felt.

Artessa, now back in her dragon form and clearly 'well fed and satisfied', had already curled up and begun to nap again. At Kal's question, she lazily let out a murky, meaningless grunt from deep in her throat.

Then came the unmistakable rumble of snoring.

Faced with the post-coital vanishing act of the great dragon, Kal felt even more helpless.

He looked at the egg in his hands. Then he looked at the dragon lounging atop her mountain of gold.

Furious and humiliated, Kal could only reach down, scoop up a handful of gold coins, and stuff them into his pocket before storming toward the exit of the cave.

Screw it. I'll just sell it.

...

"Boss, that's the seat of House Darry up ahead!"

Riding on horseback, Kossi shouted loudly toward Kal, who was riding alongside him, pointing at a small town in the distance.

But because of the wind whipping across his face as he rode, the gusts kept sneaking into the gap between his teeth—where he was missing one—so after shouting that sentence, he quickly shut his mouth again.

Kal nodded at his words, lifted his gaze toward the small town ahead, and tugged on the reins to slow his horse.

In truth, he had already noticed the settlement some time ago—it had just appeared as a tiny black dot from a distance.

But now, as they got closer, that dot had 'grown' significantly and begun to resemble a proper castle that could actually house people.

And up ahead lay Darry, the seat of House Darry, specially marked on the map by the Spider.

Kal kept riding, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

This house had long been a staunch royalist supporter of the Targaryens. During both the Blackfyre Rebellions and Robert's Rebellion, they chose to back the Targaryen side.

They even went so far as to defy their liege lords, House Tully, refusing to join Robert Baratheon's cause.

As a result of this loyalty, House Darry lost three heirs during the Battle of the Trident.

And with the fall of House Targaryen, House Darry lost more than half of its lands, the bulk of its wealth, and nearly all of its strength.

To be honest, because of all that, Kal couldn't help but feel a bit puzzled by this current assignment.

After all, the royal convoy's unannounced arrival could hardly be seen as anything but that of an uninvited guest.

Though Raymun Darry had sworn fealty to the King, House Darry had been one of the noble families who fought under Rhaegar's true dragon banner at the Trident, loyal to the crown to the very end.

All three of his elder brothers had died there—how else would Raymun Darry have become Lord of Darry?

Kal didn't believe for a moment that either Robert or Raymun Darry had truly forgotten any of that.

Which made him wonder—was this particular assignment the work of a certain little bird from King's Landing? Or merely a strand of web left behind by some wandering spider?

Maybe both?

Surely Robert wasn't that petty—was he really here just to flaunt his power?

Unable to make sense of it, Kal simply shook his head, clearing the mess of thoughts from his mind.

"Let's go. We need the local lord to come greet his king."

Kal gave the order. But after casting his gaze around their surroundings, he added a line: "Hold the banners steady. Don't startle the townsfolk."

After all, the king's retinue would be resting here for a while before crossing the Trident and continuing the journey.

And once they crossed the Trident, the road ahead would be far less comfortable than the one they'd just traveled.

As for the upcoming encounter with House Darry, Kal didn't dwell on it too much—after all, House Darry no longer held any real power.

Westeros was indeed a place where favors and alliances mattered—but at its core, it had always been a land where strength spoke loudest.

It was true in the Dawn Age, true in the Age of Heroes.

And even more so during the Andal invasion, and Aegon's Conquest.

So, gazing at the small town ahead, Kal chose to set aside whatever grudges or blood-debts lingered between the nobles. All that mattered was doing his job well.

He then slowed his horse and led his band of mercenaries forward, raising high the golden banner bearing the crowned stag—the sigil of the king.

As they drew closer, Kal and his men gradually saw the city ahead more clearly.

It truly was a very small castle—nothing compared to the more famous ones. In fact, calling it a castle at all might have been an overstatement.

From a distance, several banners fluttered atop the keep, each bearing a black farmer on a brown field.

A bent-backed laborer tilling the earth with a plough.

This was a small house that, after nearly losing everything, had no choice but to lower its head and withdraw from the world, quietly trying to grow strong again.

Slowing his pace even more, Kal instinctively turned his gaze to the surrounding landscape.

True to House Darry's sigil, farmland spread out in all directions from the small keep, forming a ring around it. And within those fields, peasants were busy at work.

Fields, farms, villages—all together formed the scene before him.

Perhaps it was the sudden sound of hooves or the imposing presence of the approaching column—even if it was only a dozen or so men—the farmers paused their work and quickly looked up.

But upon noticing that this unexpected group made no aggressive move and had even slowed their pace deliberately, the villagers who had been preparing to flee gradually settled down.

Even so, their eyes remained fixed on Kal and his men, and their expressions were still filled with unease and tension.

Noticing this, Kal once again spoke up to restrain Kossi and the others.

And just then, a response came from the castle in the distance—seven or eight mounted riders charged out from the gates, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.

...

Contrary to what Kal had imagined, after seizing Raymun Darry's castle, Robert did… nothing.

The king didn't even demand his vassals offer him any form of hospitality.

He truly just stayed one night and, before dawn the next day, urged his party to continue on.

Nothing happened at all. It was as if this stop had been a pointless detour, nothing more than a moment to mutter a few words.

And that—nothing happening—was undeniably the best outcome.

Especially considering the castle's lord seemed far from fond of the man now known as Robert Baratheon I, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

Even so, as the lord of Darry, Ser Raymun Darry still treated King Robert with the courtesy dictated by law and tradition.

Kal and his companions rode another half-day's journey to reach the southern bank of the Trident, where they waited for the king's entourage to arrive so they could cross together. Then, after riding for another half-day…

King Robert Baratheon suddenly did something completely out of character—he ordered the entire party to set up camp at the inn at the crossroads.

Until now, their pace had been relentless. Each day they would march as far as possible, only stopping when night was nearly upon them.

Even though Kal had already received a 'briefing document' about King Robert's intentions for this journey, it hadn't changed the fact that they'd been rushing ahead at full speed all along.

This time, though, they'd set out early—so early that even after the queen's wheelhouse and the royal guard had all settled in at the inn, daylight still lingered across the land.

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