[System Alert]
[Sovereign Bond Updated]
Subject: Roslin Frey
Bond Level: 1 - 2
Monarch Points: +4,000 MP
1. New Ability: All Black (The Death Tax)
Type: Scaling Passive / Enchantment
Description:
The Twins demand a toll for crossing; the Monarch demands a toll for dying.
Effect: Whenever you kill an enemy, 1% of their total attributes are permanently harvested as "Tax."
Storage: This Tax is not absorbed by your body, but by your currently equipped weapon.
Result: Your weapon gains permanent durability and damage increases with every kill. There is no cap. The more you kill, the sharper the blade becomes.
2. Shared Passive
Effect: Roslin Frey now shares all of the Monarch's biological passives.
Current Transfer:
Venom-Purge: Roslin is immune to all poisons.
Winter's Skin: Roslin gains cold resistance and increased physical durability.
Sharing:
Sansa Stark
Roslin Frey
3. Item Rewards
Noble Lady's Winter Set (x2): High-stat clothing (Armored Silk).
System Chocolates (x100): High-calorie, mood-enhancing rations.
Aphrodite's Reserve (x10):
Description: Dark chocolate infused with potent pheromones. Guarantees 100% conception chance and heightens intimacy to "Obsessive" levels.
Alaric's mood shifted instantly as he scanned the rewards. A faint satisfaction curled in his chest, but he shook his head, clearing the interface away to focus on the trembling woman in his lap. He leaned down, sliding his hands under her arms to gently pull her up.
She lifted her head, her eyes swollen and red, tracks of dried tears staining her cheeks. As he settled her onto his chest, she moved with instinctive caution, avoiding the tender skin of his healing wound. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her legs straddling his waist as she clung to him.
He remained silent, sensing she had no capacity left for words. He simply rubbed her back in a slow, rhythmic motion. She sat unmoving, her grip slowly loosening until he felt her breathing even out against his neck. He glanced down; her eyes were closed, her lashes wet but still.
"just needs sleep," he muttered.
He stood up slowly, cradling her weight effortlessly against him, careful not to wake her up as he turned toward the door.
The corridors of Winterfell were silent, save for the heavy, rhythmic thud of Alaric's boots against the stone. The two Blood Knights guarding the solar door straightened as he emerged, their faceless helms tracking his movement. Alaric didn't speak; he simply jerked his chin toward the solar, a silent command to guard the wreckage of the battle until he returned.
Roslin stirred slightly as the colder air of the hallway hit them, mumbling something unintelligible into his collar, but she didn't wake. The emotional exhaustion of the last hour had pulled her into a deep, defensive slumber.
Alaric navigated the familiar path to the Guest Wing, his mind split between the warmth of the woman in his arms and the cold, calculations of the System.
All Black, he thought, the name of the ability echoing in his mind. A 1% permanent attribute theft. It sounds small, but in a war... it's a god-tier scaling ability.
He kicked the door to their chambers open with his boot and nudged it shut with his shoulder. The room was warm; the fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers, casting a soft, orange light across the furs.
He carried Roslin to the large bed, lowering her onto the mattress with a gentleness. She curled up instantly, seeking the warmth. Alaric sat on the edge of the bed, efficiently removing her shoes and loosening the laces of her dress so she could breathe easily. He pulled the heavy wolf-fur quilts up to her chin.
She sighed in her sleep, her hand reaching out blindly until it found the edge of his tunic, gripping it tight.
"Rest, Rose," he whispered.
He gently pried her fingers from his tunic and tucked her hand under the covers. Then, he stood up and walked to the other side of the room, near the dying fire.
"System," he commanded silently. "Equip The Red Eclipse."
A heavy bastard sword materialized in his grip. It wasn't like the castle-forged steel he had used before. The metal was dark, a deep, smoky grey that rippled with veins of crimson, looking uncomfortably like fresh blood vessels pulsing beneath a layer of iron. The crossguard was shaped like twisted roots, and the pommel was a rough, uncut ruby that felt warm to the touch.
Weight: Perfect. Balance: Impeccable.
Alaric gave the sword a test swing. It cut through the air with a low, whistle.
[Weapon Analysis: The Red Eclipse]
Tier: 1 (0/100 Souls to Upgrade).
Current Tax Stored: 0.
Durability: Indestructible (Self-Repairing via Blood).
Passive: Thirst.
The blade generates a faint heat when enemies are near.
Alaric lowered the blade, watching the firelight dance along the red veins in the steel. The System had given him a weapon that demanded slaughter to grow. It was fitting. The War of the Five Kings was about to turn the Riverlands and the North into a graveyard.
He checked his inventory again, his eyes landing on the stack of Aphrodite's Reserve chocolates. A dark amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Guaranteed conception. Obsessive intimacy.
He glanced back at the sleeping form of Roslin. He wouldn't use them yet. and her body needed to recover from the stress of the journey and the magic she had witnessed. But the time would come. If he was to build a dynasty that outlasted the Starks and the Baratheons, he needed heirs.
A sharp knock at the door broke his concentration.
Alaric dismissed the sword back into his inventory instantly. "Enter."
The door opened, and Dae slipped inside. The demon looked indistinguishable from a human servant, save for the utter lack of emotion in his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was his injury which was already a lot healed and he stopped... but after thinking of something he did decided to not ask about it
"Master," Dae whispered, bowing low. "The raven has arrived from King's Landing."
Alaric turned fully, his eyes narrowing. "And?"
"Robert is dead," Dae reported, his voice flat. "The Queen has seized the Red Keep. Eddard Stark has been arrested for treason."
Alaric walked to the window, looking out at the dark courtyard of Winterfell. The pieces were falling exactly where he needed them.
"Then it begins," Alaric said, his voice cold. "Wake Ser Rodrik. Tell him to sound the horns. I want the banners called."
He looked back at Roslin, sleeping peacefully while the world was about to burn.
"Alright Master"