The black blood finally stopped flowing.
Gavin poured his own magic straight into the runes.
The hideous gut wound on Dasio’s body began knitting together at a speed that would have made any maester faint.
In moments the flesh was whole again, smooth and unmarked.
The man who had been dead for an entire night slowly opened his eyes.
They glowed the deep, bloody red of fresh arterial blood.
Gavin’s heart hammered.
He could barely contain the rush of triumph.
“Stand up!” The corpse rose smoothly to its feet.
Gavin opened the panel at once.
Under the prompt asking for a name he paused only a second before typing Blood Dragon Guard.
Host: Gavin Flowers Age: 15 Bloodline: Bloodfire Dragonborn (Development 33%): Valyrian dragonlord bloodline.
Grants dragonriding and flame control.
Initially awakened.
Command: 1/33 (Your subordinates can be improved through the panel) 1 Primary Blood Dragon Guard (Blood-witch puppet created with dragonlord bloodline.
Can be advanced twice) Skills: Flame Control: Master Swordsmanship: Master Flame Blade: Proficient Archery: Proficient Spear: Proficient Energy Points: 1 Gavin tapped the entry for the Primary Blood Dragon Guard and read the details.
Type: Blood Dragon Guard Tier: Primary Abilities: Giant Strength (Extreme physical power) Rapid Self-Healing (Consumes magic to heal wounds at high speed) Combat Technique (Possesses 50% of master’s combat skill) He handed the freshly made puppet a sword and ordered it to attack.
Two minutes later he called a halt.
The thing was noticeably stronger than him in raw power, but its sword work was only half as good as his own—still easily the equal of a solid knight.
He cut shallow and deep wounds into its body and commanded it to heal.
The injuries closed in under a minute, the worse ones draining more of its magic reserves.
Gavin watched the flow of power with interest.
Everything worked exactly as the panel described.
Satisfied, he spent his single remaining energy point on the puppet.
The change was immediate and visible.
The Blood Dragon Guard’s skin tightened and took on a healthier tone.
Its muscles swelled, shoulders and chest broadening until it looked far more imposing.
A raw, dangerous aura rolled off it.
Gavin checked the updated panel.
Type: Blood Dragon Guard Tier: Intermediate Abilities: Giant Strength (Ritual-enhanced extreme physical power) Rapid Self-Healing (Consumes magic to heal wounds at high speed) Combat Technique (Possesses 60% of master’s combat skill) Toughened Skin (Skin is extremely resilient, offers leather-armor level protection) He tested the new toughness with a few careful sword cuts.
The blade barely marked the skin.
It was every bit as good as boiled leather.
Dawn was breaking.
Gavin gave the puppet the spare clothes and weapons he had brought, ordered it to dress, then told it to hide deep in the woods until he returned for it.
He climbed back onto the cart and drove slowly toward camp.
By the time he reached the tents the sun was well up.
One night without sleep had left him tired, but the sheer scale of what he had accomplished kept a fierce excitement burning under the fatigue.
He stepped inside his tent, ready to collapse onto the cot.
The flap was yanked open before he could even sit down.
Ser Emond strode in, took one look at him, and smiled.
“Heard you personally buried that dead gladiator last night.” Gavin straightened.
“Yes, my lord.
We fought together.
It felt right that I handle it myself.” Emond waved a hand.
“Next time there’s no need to exhaust yourself.
The man was just a sellsword chasing coin.
Let the soldiers deal with that sort of thing.” He jerked his chin toward the entrance.
Two tailors stepped inside carrying measuring tapes and bolts of fine cloth.
Emond looked back at Gavin, eyes warm but firm.
“In two days the Tyrells are holding their big feast.
Willas invited you.
You don’t have anything suitable to wear, so let these men take your measurements.” Gavin thanked him and stood still while the tailors worked with quick, professional hands.
They murmured numbers to each other as the tape moved across his chest, shoulders, and waist.
By the time they finished, Gavin’s eyes were fighting to stay open.
The moment the tailors left he dropped onto the cot and was asleep before his head fully hit the pillow.
— Two evenings later Emond led a freshly dressed Gavin through the gates of Highgarden itself.
It was Gavin’s first time inside the castle walls.
The beauty of it stopped him cold.
Everything was built from pale white stone that glowed softly in the late sunlight.
Gardens spilled everywhere—towering trees, banks of flowers in every color, the air thick with their scent.
Birds sang from the branches.
The whole place felt alive in a way no other castle he had seen ever had.
They walked a long, graceful corridor and stopped outside the great hall.
A servant bowed to Emond.
“One moment, my lord.” He slipped inside, then reappeared and announced in a carrying voice, “Ser Emond Cotoin of House Cotoin!” Emond turned to Gavin with a knowing little smile.
“Come along.
You might find more than food and wine tonight.” Before Gavin could ask what he meant, Emond stepped through the doors.
Inside, Willas Tyrell rolled forward to greet them in his wheeled chair.
After the usual courtesies Emond asked, “Where’s Lord Mace?
I’d like to pay my respects.” Willas smiled.
“My father’s been waiting for you.
This way.” He glanced past Emond at Gavin, the same faintly amused look in his eyes.
“Relax.
Wander around.
There’s food on the tables to your left if you’re hungry.
Call any servant if you need something.
Enjoy yourself.” Then he turned his chair and led Emond deeper into the hall toward the high table where Mace Tyrell sat.