"…And thus, the treasury of Riverrun is secured. By denying certain charters, we ensure the grain flows toward the castle, maintaining House Tully's supremacy over the Trident. Trade is our lifeblood, Edmure; the river is our greatest ally, so long as we control its banks."
Maester Vyman closed the heavy tome, marking the end of the day's instruction. Edmure offered a polite nod of gratitude, but as he walked back to his solar, his mind was already dissecting the Learning progress.
The bar hadn't moved. It seemed the system demanded more than just hearing a lecture; it required a fundamental shift in understanding or a depth of knowledge he hadn't yet reached. The Citadel would be the most logical move, he mused. All those rare scrolls, centuries of data... it would be the ultimate shortcut. But he dismissed the thought instantly, the risk is too high.. The heir to the Trident didn't just vanish into Oldtown without every spider in the realm taking notice.
"So why did Healing level up while the shield didn't?" he wondered. "Is it the physical repetition, or the successful application of the skill? If I were to block a real assassin's blade, would I jump three levels instantly?"
He shook the thought away. He didn't need to invite death to find growth. He would simply turn his own training into a feedback loop: practice, take the damage, and then use the Healing skill to repair the toll.
When he returned to the yard, Ser Desmond Grell was waiting, but the jovial spark from the day before had vanished, replaced by a stiff, professional mask.
"I thought you'd be nursing your bruises today, young master," Grell said. "That was a thrashing fit for a song."
"The ointment worked wonders, Ser. I'm ready to adjust my stance. Show me how to angle the shield to dissipate the force—even when I miss the perfect block."
"I could," Grell said, his voice unusually rigid, "but I won't. I've no desire to be known as the Master-at-Arms who broke the Lord Paramount's only son. No more sparring today. We run. Tomorrow, we take up the bow. By the day after, Lord Hoster returns, and he can decide the state of your hide."
It was clear someone—likely Catelyn or the Maester—had whispered in Grell's ear. Edmure didn't argue. "Fine. Any advice?"
"Don't fall," Grell grunted. "And watch your breathing. You're still weak from the fever; your judgment will fray before your muscles do. If it feels too easy, find a weight to carry. But remember: the exhausted are the first to be captured and sold for ransom. Such is the life of a noble."
Edmure began his laps alongside a page his own age. The boy was struggling, burdened by more gear than his small frame could handle. As the sun beat down and the page began to stumble, Edmure saw his opening. He didn't just want to finish the run; he wanted to improve it.
He stepped alongside the gasping boy, wordlessly taking half the page's load onto his own shoulders.
"Keep moving," Edmure urged. "When we're done, I'll send an ointment to your quarters. You'll be back on your feet by supper."
He wasn't acting out of simple kindness. Every ache he helped the page recover from was another point of data for his Healing skill. When the boy eventually collapsed, Edmure took the entire weight himself and kept moving, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Grell watched from the shade, his stern expression softening into one of grudging respect. He's a poor swordsman, the knight thought, but he has the heart of a lord. Perhaps I'll dig out my uncle's old notes on House Dayne's footwork for him.
As the sun dipped low, the notification finally flickered.
[Running: 1/10 Progress. +10% running speed
Level 10 = +100% speed. Never-ending stamina.
Level 100= +1000% speed. Teleporting unlocked.
Level 1000 = +10000% speed. Apotheosis]
Having three active progressions—Learning, Healing, and now Running—settled his mind. He reported his "supervision" of the herbs to Maester Vyman and personally oversaw the application of the poultice to the page's bruised shoulders.
[Healing: 2/10]
"Tomorrow it'll be archery. It works for me. With Eidetic memory, having diverse training is much easier. This also masks my deficiencies in fields till my levels catch up. A noble who can't use shield even after 3 months of training is a disappointment. A noble who can't do it while also training archery, riding, study, etiquette is just a normal." With that, Edmure started formulating plan for training.
"Running will level up faster if there are obstacles, loads, and unforeseen events while training. Archery will be made difficult by changing heavier bows, increasing distance to target, using a moving target and trick shots. Unlike the plan of levelling up shield using assassin, these are normal.
Never mind. I'm just a kid yet to reach teens, Robert's Rebellion is a year away. My first appearance would be Greyjoy rebellion, which is more than a decade later.
I plan to reach at least 30s levels in fighting by then. If the healing level is of any indication, then level 10 is best of humanity. Ser Arthur Dayne might be 9 or 10 in swordsmanship. Ser Gregor Clegane 9 or 10 in strength. A Level 30 Edmure Tully would be a god walking among men. He wouldn't just survive the coming wars; he would dismantle them.
"What a devoted fan of the story I am," he smiled to himself, "preparing to royally bully the entire cast."