As spring gave way to autumn, and autumn neared winter, the late season in the Reach was still pleasantly mild.
The forest floor was blanketed in golden leaves.
At the center of the woods, atop a small hill, stood the legendary Golden Tree—the enduring symbol of House Rowan.
[Rebirth Incarnation Proficiency +1]
As Gawen meditated, a wisp of life energy flowed into his body.
Though no obvious change could be seen, its effects were as gentle as spring rain nourishing the earth.
Without realizing it, he had become even more attuned to the natural world.
Name: Gawen Rowan
Class: Phoenix Druid
Rank: Woodland Apprentice (Lv.
3)
Environmental Affinity: The Reach (Excellent)
Core Specializations:
Flora Mastery — Lv.
1 (87/200)
Wild Affinity — Lv.
1 (43/200)
Earth’s Resonance — Lv.
0 (91/100)
Nature’s Guardian — Lv.
0 (28/100)
Rebirth Incarnation — Lv.
1 (112/200)
Skills:
Sprout — Lv.
2 (60/200)
Whisperer — Lv.
1 (68/100)
Life Manipulation — Lv.
0 (49/50)
…
When the system awakened in the spring, every specialization had begun at Level 0.
After nine months of relentless meditation, study, experimentation, and even farming, Gawen had raised Flora Mastery, Wild Affinity, and Rebirth Incarnation to Level 1.
Earth’s Resonance was only a step away from breaking through, while Nature’s Guardian lagged behind the others.
The small woodland outside Goldengrove had become his personal training ground.
Every day, he meditated there three times, each session lasting an hour, absorbing the faint traces of natural energy that permeated the world and slowly increasing the numbers displayed on his status panel.
The rest of his time was spent studying under Maester Corlin.
Heraldry, geography, arithmetic, history…
every discipline expected of a noble heir, he mastered at a remarkable pace.
Swordsmanship and horsemanship were naturally part of his daily routine as well.
Every so often, however, he would excuse himself for a “walk” before secretly slipping away to the neglected wasteland along the edge of his family’s domain to experiment with his druidic powers.
Encouraging a single blade of wild grass to grow required only a tiny amount of natural energy.
Nurturing a sapling into life demanded considerably more.
He had even experimented with restoring barren soil, transforming land that could barely support weeds into fertile fields capable of producing healthy crops.
Those forgotten corners of the Rowan domain—small patches of neglected ground scattered across the countryside—had gradually become miniature enchanted fields under his care.
Every plant he nurtured and every stretch of land he restored was converted by the system into proficiency for Flora Mastery or Earth’s Resonance, while simultaneously strengthening his skills and expanding the reservoir of life energy within him.
“Almost there.”
Gawen rose from the ground, brushing grass and dirt from his trousers.
“Just nine more proficiency points before Earth’s Resonance reaches Level 1.
Nature’s Guardian still has farther to go…
but by the end of the year, all five specializations should have broken through to Level 1.”
What new abilities would the system unlock then?
He had no idea.
Yet an indistinct intuition lingered in the back of his mind.
When all five core specializations reached Level 1, he would awaken a power capable of opposing the cold darkness.
Cold darkness.
The phrase immediately reminded Gawen of a terrifying night three years ago.
He had been sitting quietly beside the river with a fishing rod in hand…
…when the surface of the water suddenly rippled in a way that was utterly unnatural.
A ghostly, bloated face suddenly emerged from beneath the water.
Its skin was deathly pale.
Empty eye sockets stared directly at him, while long, tangled hair drifted through the river like waterweed before wrapping itself around his ankles.
It was the druid’s power that had saved him.
Gawen had never told anyone about what happened that night.
His father believed the boy had grown frustrated after failing to catch any fish, jumped into the river to catch one by hand, and accidentally fallen into the water.
The misunderstanding had persisted ever since, and Gawen had no intention of correcting it.
He had no idea how to explain the existence of a malicious spirit, nor did he wish to attract the attention of the Citadel or the Faith.
But the image of that woman in white—her corpse drifting silently beneath the water—had become a scar etched into his mind.
From that day forward, he never went near the river again.
Nor was that spirit the only supernatural being in the world.
Magic undeniably existed in Westeros, though by the time of the original story it had become an age where magic was fading.
Legends spoke of the Children of the Forest, the White Walkers, wights, dragons, and countless forms of sorcery.
Most people dismissed them as fairy tales.
Gawen knew better.
This world was far more dangerous than it appeared.
Especially now, as more and more people whispered about the prophecy of the coming Long Night.
And then there was the druidic magic he himself possessed.
“Only by becoming a true druid can I survive in this world.”
He silently repeated those words to himself.
“A mere first-tier Woodland Apprentice is nowhere near enough.
I need to reach the third tier…
perhaps even the fourth.
Only then will I possess the power to resist that unnatural cold and truly have nothing to fear from those things.”
And the first step toward becoming a true druid…
…was mastering every one of his specializations.
“Young Master Gawen.”
A deep voice called from behind him.
Turning around, Gawen saw a middle-aged knight standing beside the wooden fence surrounding the grove.
He wore brown leather armor, with a longsword hanging from his waist.
Gray streaks had already appeared at his temples.
His weathered face bore the marks of countless hardships, yet his eyes remained as sharp as ever.
“Ser Harwyn.”
Gawen inclined his head.
Harwyn Grey was the captain of Goldengrove’s guard and one of Lord Mathis Rowan’s most trusted knights.
Though not born into nobility, he had served House Rowan faithfully for over twenty years through unmatched skill and unwavering loyalty.
Half of Gawen’s swordsmanship had been learned from this quiet, stoic warrior.
“My lord is looking for you,” Harwyn said.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
“I like this place.”
Gawen smiled faintly.
“What does Father need?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
Harwyn shook his head.
“But you’ve received visitors…
from Oldtown.”
Gawen raised an eyebrow.
Oldtown?
Leaving the ancient heart tree behind, he followed Harwyn along the winding woodland path.
Ahead, the gray towers of Goldengrove gradually emerged above the treetops.
Goldengrove was hardly an imposing fortress.
Compared to the gleaming white walls of Highgarden or the towering Hightower of Oldtown, it seemed almost humble.
Yet for House Rowan, it was the last secure foothold they possessed.
Gawen understood all too well.
His father, Lord Mathis Rowan, was struggling to preserve the future of their ancient house.
During the early years of the Mad King Aerys’s reign, the Reach had remained relatively peaceful.
But as the king grew increasingly paranoid and unstable, ambitious lords throughout the realm began making their own calculations.
Though House Rowan possessed an illustrious history, it had produced no extraordinary generals or master statesmen in recent generations.
Lord Mathis was a cautious and loyal man.
Unfortunately, caution and loyalty alone rarely protected a family in troubled times.
More importantly…
Gawen knew the true storms had yet to arrive.
Robert’s Rebellion.
The War of the Five Kings.
The Long Night.
All the catastrophes awaiting Westeros weighed heavily upon his heart.
He could tell no one.
No one would ever believe the prophecy of a ten-year-old boy.
The only thing he could do was grow stronger.
Use the system.
Use his druidic powers.
Become powerful enough before the storm finally broke.
“Very well.”
Gawen caught up beside the knight.
“Where is Father?”
“In his study.”
Harwyn stepped aside to let him enter the castle before following behind.
“He’s discussing this year’s winter wheat planting with Maester Corlin.
The frost has arrived earlier than usual.
If the harvest is poor, we may not have enough grain to last through the winter.”
“I might be able to help.”
Gawen spoke quietly.
Harwyn glanced at him, hesitating as though he wanted to say something.
He knew the young master possessed certain…
unusual abilities.
The previous autumn, several nearly abandoned plots of barren land along the edge of the domain had somehow produced healthy crops after months of Gawen’s experiments.
Lord Mathis had been astonished.
Gawen had merely explained that he was applying soil improvement techniques he’d learned from books.
He didn’t pursue the subject further.
Entering the castle, Gawen climbed the stone staircase to the second floor and paused outside his father’s study.
The door was slightly ajar.
From within came Lord Rowan’s weary voice.
“…Has the soil assessment for those fields been completed?”
“It has, my lord,” Maester Corlin replied.
“The fertility remains extremely poor.
Even rye would likely produce a disappointing harvest.”
“Then plant oats instead.
At least we’ll have enough feed for the horses…”
“Perhaps…
the young master could give it a try?”
“…”
Gawen gently knocked before pushing the door open.
“Father.”
He inclined his head toward the man seated behind the desk.
Lord Mathis Rowan looked up.
Just past thirty years of age, he resembled Gawen closely, though his features were sharper and carried the maturity of responsibility.
He wore a dark brown suede coat whose cuffs had noticeably faded with age.
Only a few years ago, such worn clothing would have been unthinkable for the lord of Goldengrove.
But after the family lost part of its income from its lands, frugality had become a necessity.
“Gawen.”
Mathis managed a faint smile.
“You’re here.”
“I heard the frost came early this year.”
Gawen walked to the desk, his eyes briefly scanning the parchment spread across it, covered in figures and calculations.
“It did.”
Mathis rubbed his temples.
“The northern reaches of our lands always feel winter first.
But if this year’s harvest disappoints us, our grain reserves may not last until spring.
Combined with everything that’s happened these past few years…”
He let the sentence trail off.
Instead, he picked up an unopened letter.
“Gawen.”
He gestured for his son to sit opposite him.
“Do you remember your cousin Rhonda?”
“Rhonda Rowan?”
Gawen thought for a moment.
“She married Baelor of House Hightower, if I remember correctly.”
“That’s right.”
Mathis gently shook the letter.
“She sent this through a messenger.
Lord Leyton Hightower has invited me to send someone to study at the Citadel in Oldtown.
Several of his own sons are there as well.
It’s a rare opportunity.”
Gawen’s heart skipped a beat.
The Citadel.
The greatest center of knowledge in Westeros.
A gathering place for the maesters.
Its vast libraries contained countless works on herbal medicine, astronomy, history, and every branch of learning imaginable.
Perhaps…
…they also held knowledge that could aid his cultivation as a druid.
“You want me to become a maester?”
Gawen asked cautiously.
“Not necessarily.”
Mathis chuckled knowingly.
“I know full well what you think of the Citadel’s methods of teaching, so you don’t need to pretend.”
“You’re ten years old now.”
He studied his son carefully.
“Maester Corlin says your talent is exceptional.
At your age, there’s little left he can teach you.
Ser Harwyn has already laid a solid foundation for your swordsmanship, and as for riding…”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Even the most ill-tempered warhorses become remarkably docile in your presence.”
Author’s Note:
1.
This is a transmigration kingdom-building novel.
The Phoenix Druid class has been significantly reimagined and does not follow the druid mechanics of any existing game.
Please use this novel’s setting as the reference.
2.
The story will gradually introduce technological development.
Don’t expect firearms or modern weapons—rather, existing technologies such as gunpowder will be refined and improved.
3.
The setting will gradually evolve into a high-fantasy world with abundant magic.
Druidic magic is only one part of the larger magical system.
Send those stones my way—the more, the merrier.