"...And that is the grim reality of the Free Cities. Their economies do not merely utilize slavery; they float upon it," Maester Vyman said, his voice grave. "Do not picture only the whipped wretches in the mines. In Myr, the slaves are the artisanal pulse of the city—expert glassblowers and weavers of the finest carpets. They are property, yes, but property too valuable to be broken by a careless master."
He paced the room, his chain clinking. "We in Westeros despise that trade, yet we are not without our own shadows. Who do you think rows the war-galleys of the Great Houses? Do they have land? Rights? Families? Many landlocked lords ignore the truth. But we should be thankful the Narrow Sea serves as a barrier. Imagine if the Targaryens had ever reverted to their old Valyrian traditions—using blood-magic and bondage to fuel their rise. The world would be a much darker place."
Vyman let out a long breath, shaking off the weight of the lesson. "On that cheerful note, we conclude. As I promised, I have compiled the architectural scribbles and logistical data for your journey. Two days of hard labor for this old man; surely the heir to the Trident has a word of praise to spare?"
"In spades, Maester. Thank you," Edmure said, genuinely grateful. He clutched the parchments—his manuals for the upcoming southern patrol—and headed for the yard.
For two days, Edmure's life was a clockwork of obsession: learn, train, heal, sleep. He was pushing his body to a threshold that should have been impossible for a boy of his years.
His Shield skill had reached Level 4, and with it, his perception had shifted. It was as if the air itself had become thick with information. A prickle at the neck, a whisper in the mind—dodge, danger, hide. It was a high-stakes alarm system that made the world feel perpetually hostile. But this also shows just how high stakes environment Edmure is living in. It's just that he's the son of the boss so all the treachery, malice is not directed at him. He had to learn to dampen the false alarms lest he become as twitchy as a cornered animal, but he knew this sixth sense would one day be the difference between a successful feast and a poisoned chalice.
Archery sat at Level 7. Discounting his lack of raw muscle, he was arguably the best shot in Riverrun. He could see further and react faster than men twice his age, though he still couldn't draw a longbow without risking a spinal injury. He was becoming a master of parlor tricks—speed-shooting with light bows that left veteran bowmen blinking in disbelief.
Healing had hit Level 8, but the progress was slowing. Healing his own minor scrapes was no longer enough. He was a superior medic in theory—his hands were steadier and more precise than Vyman's—but he lacked the deep lore of herbs. He was an expert executioner of medical tasks, waiting for a guide to tell him where to cut.
But it was Running that drew the eyes of the castle. His course had become a nightmare of swinging pendulums and high hurdles.
"The boy runs unnaturally," Lord Hoster remarked from the balcony, his brow furrowed. "His body size and his speed shouldn't match. If I weren't watching him, I couldn't track his position."
Hoster wasn't wrong. Edmure was beginning to bypass the prehistoric algorithms of the human brain—the ones meant for tracking prey. Under the gaze of the household guards, Edmure shouldered his burden and stepped onto the impossible track.
"Do you think he'll do it?" Ser Desmond Grell asked his uncle, the elder Lord Grell, a scarred relic of the Blackfyre wars. "I don't understand why shortening length of string can make it swing faster, but it's halved today.. The speed is... well, it's impossible even without loads."
"He has the instinct for the shield," the elder Grell noted, his voice like grinding stones. "If he makes it, I'll give you my footwork notes. Perhaps we truly have a Barristan the Bold in the making."
Edmure didn't hear them. He was calm, focused on the math of the swing and the rhythm of his breath. To the onlookers, it was a spectacle; to him, it was a calculated grind. He cleared the final hurdle just as the chime echoed in his mind.
[Running Level 10: Speed +100% | Perk Unlocked: Infinite Stamina]