Solo Leveling in Westeros

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Lord Mormont gave Aeron a small, approving nod before gesturing to the map on the table. "I want you to inform Lord Stark of what has happened here. He will see to it that this incursion is dealt with properly. You can set sail at once." 

"Lord Eddard?" Aeron asked cautiously, testing the waters. 

At this, Mormont let out a low chuckle, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Of course not, boy. I wouldn't send you to King's Landing, not unless I had a death wish for you. No, I'm sending you to Winterfell. Robb Stark will receive you." 

The name hung in the air for a moment. Aeron allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. "At once," he said with a respectful nod. 'Good,' he thought. 'Now I know exactly where and when I am. Let's see how I can play this.' 

Just as he turned to leave, something tugged at the back of his mind. He paused, turning back to face Lord Mormont. "Before I go, my lord, may I ask something of you?" 

Mormont leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Of course, friend. Anything within my power." 

Aeron pointed to the guard standing at the door—the same one whose daughter had been in his bed that morning. "Your daughter. She's coming with me." 

The room went silent. The guard's face turned an alarming shade of red, and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. 

But Lord Mormont didn't react with anger. Instead, he studied Aeron for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm and resolute. "Naturally. She'll go with you." 

The guard's jaw dropped, his protest dying on his lips as Mormont shot him a warning glance. "She'll be safer under his watch than here with us. Besides," Mormont added with a faint smirk, "it's high time she saw more of the world. Perhaps Winterfell will teach her some sense." 

Aeron grinned, inclining his head once more. "Thank you, my lord." 

As he left the room, Aeron allowed himself a quiet laugh. 'Well, this should make things interesting.' 

**** 

Aeron sat alone in the dimly lit room he'd been given, his hands resting on the table as his mind drifted to the events of the battle. He closed his eyes, willing the system to reveal the shadow soldiers he had summoned in that desperate moment. 

In an instant, the faint shimmer of dark energy surrounded him, and a dozen shadowy figures materialized, kneeling before him. Each one was a warped and distorted reflection of the bodies he had extracted them from. Their forms were crude, their weapons mismatched, and their armor ill-fitting. 

Aeron ran a hand down his face, sighing. "This isn't ideal," he muttered to himself. "I extracted them randomly during the chaos. No strategy, no thought. This is... inefficient." He rose from his chair, pacing as he examined the soldiers. Their presence felt unnatural, their movements disjointed and stiff. 

He frowned, crossing his arms. "I need to organize this," he said aloud, though the shadows, of course, did not respond. "I need to see the bodies. If I can choose carefully, I might be able to extract more... specialized soldiers. Ones that could actually help me survive whatever madness this world throws at me." 

With that resolve, Aeron stepped out of his room and flagged down the first guard he saw. A broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a perpetual scowl, the guard looked none too pleased to be stopped by him. 

"You," Aeron called out, his tone firm. "Take me to the bodies of the fallen." 

The guard turned, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why?" he asked bluntly. 

Aeron forced a disarming smile. "I just need to see them. For... personal reasons." 

The guard grunted, clearly unimpressed. "The scum of the sea? We're about to burn 'em. That's all they deserve. Our fallen, on the other hand, are getting a proper burial." 

Aeron's eyes lit up. "Brilliant. Show me where." 

The guard's expression darkened, his lip curling in distaste. "Brilliant?" he echoed, his voice thick with disdain. "Burning those bastards is brilliant to you?" 

Aeron tilted his head, meeting the man's gaze with an unnerving calm. "Yes," he said simply. "It's exactly what they deserve. Now, are you going to take me there, or do I need to find someone else?" 

The guard hesitated, his stomach turning at the sheer ease with which Aeron spoke of the dead. But after a moment, he grunted and turned on his heel. "Follow me, then. But don't touch anything, or you'll answer to Lord Mormont." 

Aeron followed, his pace steady as he silently calculated his next steps. His mind buzzed with the possibilities. 'If I can extract the right ones... soldiers with skill, maybe even officers... I'll be unstoppable.' 

As they approached the makeshift pyre, the stench of death grew stronger. The bodies of the raiders lay in a haphazard pile, their faces contorted in the grotesque stillness of death. Aeron stopped short, scanning the mound with a critical eye. 

The guard crossed his arms, glaring at him. "There they are. Do what you need to do, but don't take too long. The fire's ready." 

Aeron stood near the edge of the clearing, the crackling flames of the pyre just a distant whisper. The guard who had led him there had already left, muttering something about "not wanting to waste time on corpses." The area was now deserted, save for the lifeless bodies of the raiders stacked in a gruesome heap. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the faint, sickly scent of decay. 

He glanced around cautiously, ensuring no one was near. Satisfied, he took a deep breath and whispered, "come out my shadow soldiers." 

In a shimmer of dark energy, the ethereal forms of his soldiers appeared before him. Twenty-five shadowy figures knelt, their twisted shapes bearing the essence of the battle they'd been pulled from. Some were solid and formidable, like the five shieldmen who still bore the faint silhouette of the Mormont crest on their spectral shields. Others, however, were little more than distorted remnants of the chaos, their forms clumsy and lacking refinement. 

Aeron frowned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "This won't do," he muttered to himself. "I need precision. Strength. Not whatever this rabble is." 

With a deliberate motion, he raised his hand and whispered, "Dismiss." 

One by one, ten of the weaker shadow soldiers faded into nothingness, their forms dissolving into tendrils of black mist. Only the five shieldmen and five knights—hulking figures with sturdy armor and spectral blades—remained. Aeron nodded, satisfied. "This is better. Focused." 

He turned to the pile of corpses before him, his gaze sharp. The system hummed faintly in his mind, a constant presence that felt almost alive. He extended his hand toward the bodies, his voice low but commanding. "ARISE." 

The air around him thickened, dark energy swirling like a storm. Shadows stretched and slithered from beneath the bodies, coiling around five particularly strong-looking pirates. Their forms twisted and reshaped, rising into ominous figures clad in the essence of the battlefield. Their weapons were crude but lethal, their presence exuding menace. 

Aeron's eyes flicked to the remaining bodies. "Not done yet," he muttered. He scanned the pile, seeking out those that would serve his next purpose. His gaze locked onto the bodies of pirates armed with bows—archers who had fallen clutching their weapons in defiance. 

"ARISE," he commanded again, his voice ringing with authority. 

The shadows obeyed, weaving into the forms of ten archers. Their bows, though spectral, looked sturdy, their arrows glinting with a dark, unnatural light. They knelt before Aeron, their forms disciplined and precise. 

He stepped back, surveying his new force. Five shieldmen to protect him. Five knights to lead a charge. Five pirate brutes for raw power. And ten archers for ranged precision. It was a small but formidable force, tailored for survival and dominance. 

Aeron smirked to himself, the faint glow of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. 'Now, this is how you build an army.' 

He turned away from the pyre, his cloak billowing slightly in the cool night air. As his footfalls echoed into the quiet, one by one, the shadow soldiers melted silently into the ground, merging with his own shadow. By the time he walked away fully, there was no trace of them—only the faint, unnatural chill lingering in the air. 

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If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC

AND 

If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at 

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