"Does the lord of the land not give a flying fuck about this village?" I asked, because it'd been over five hours, at this point, after we defeated the Wildlings and still the village remained unattended to. No one of any real authority came – not a single man at arms, a knight, or even a damn messenger. At this point, it was probably better for the village if they just up and ignored their lord, because what the fuck. I'd raised the thirty or so Wildlings that I'd executed earlier and, using them, began fixing up whatever damage had been done in the attack. Mostly, I rounded up the dead and began digging mass-graves, after stripping them of their clothes and gathering weapons and armor – whatever I could find really.

"That had been, at least, three raiding parties – fucking three – attacking this one village at once. Someone, somewhere must've noticed something."

The Wildlings mostly wore furs and tanned hides, both of which I'd been told were somewhat valuable commodities for trading, especially with the few merchants that came to Bear Island. And, both of these things didn't decompose easily; so, just looting them was simply the best option. And, after a lot of washing and treating, the villagers definitely would find some use for these things, no matter how macabre the thought of doing so actually was.

The Wildling weapons were crude and flimsy, but the village did have something of a smithy and I figured that they'd be useful if properly honed and reworked; their spears, for instance, were ultimately still spears – a bit sharpening and honing and it'd be as good as new. Or, if they didn't want to fix them, I was pretty sure they'd be able to use the crude iron or bronze tips for other tools. Whatever couldn't be used, I simply gathered up in the hope that it might be used later. I also discovered something odd about how I controlled my Wights. As it turns out, I could share their senses; I'd been wrong when I practiced with the Undead Bear. The trade off, however, was that I needed to sit in one place and direct them; the moment I moved or broke concentration, I lost my ability to see through their senses and control them remotely.

Anyway, I did all of that from the center of the village, right on the blood-soaked ground, where I executed all those people. I'd claimed this little portion of the place as mine, unofficially, but mostly because I just didn't want to move around and I was rather exhausted. The villagers gave me a very wide berth. They were afraid, but otherwise were rational enough to acknowledge the help that I was giving them for absolutely free, because I definitely wasn't getting paid for any of the shit that I was doing. Most of the Wights were spent digging graves; there were a lot of dead Wildlings and I had no further use for their corpses. The villagers did, however; and one of them told me that, indeed, dead bodies made for pretty good fertilizer – well, better than what they had, anyway. I was aware of the risks this posed, such as diseases and shit, but there really wasn't much else to be done with the bodies and, at least, the soil would be a lot healthier than before.

I still felt numb, honestly, and there were times when I felt outright dead to myself and to the world around me. It wasn't a particularly pleasant feeling, honestly, but it was what it was and I had to keep moving forward. I had no idea why the villagers were afraid of me and I guess I just stopped caring about it. But, really, I'd shown them no hostility and I had, in fact, been nothing but courteous to them. Though, I suppose none of that mattered. As long as they didn't attack me or try anything funny or shifty, then I had no cause for alarm and neither did they.

"I'm starting to agree with you, sorcerer boy," the only villager who wasn't afraid of me said. It was the woman I'd run into the first time I stepped foot into this place - red hair, green eyes, and pale skin. Well, she survived, but not after earning herself a bunch of wounds all over her body – minor, but definitely painful. She walked around with a wooden crutch, which was made from the repurposed spear of a Wildling "spear wife" or whatever it was they called their warrior women. "You'd think they'd have sent, at least, a response party by now.. but... noooo – not even a fucking messenger to tell us what the fuck's been happening all over the damn island. By the Old Gods and New, how dumb is our liege supposed to be?"

"I don't think you're going to like the answer to that question." I could still talk, at least, even when I directed my Wights. All I had to do was maintain my focus and concentration – not an easy thing to do, honestly – and closing my eyes really helped a lot. Also, I haven't properly spoken to anyone in more than 24 hours now and Halga was honestly refreshingly blunt and opinionated, even for a Northerner. She spoke her mind whenever she felt like it and damn the consequences; I decided immediately that I could be friends with her, somewhat. "But, I think you already doknow."

"Aye, I do." Halga said. I saw her nod through the eyes of one of my Wights, who was nearby, helping an old villager put up wooden planks for a hasty roof reparation by carrying said planks. The elderly man didn't seem to mind that his helper was essentially just a reanimated corpse and, once again, I found that both oddly amusing and comforting. It was nice to see people not be afraid of me. Actually, looking back, it seemed honestly ironic that it was the older population who cared little for my sorcery or necromancy, while the younger ones leapt at any and all chance to call me a witch or demon or something. Speaking of kids, the kid who'd aimed a spear at my throat, the one I'd saved from certain death, did not make it; unfortunate, but, even if I'd pulled him from death's door, infections weren't something that medieval folk could easily cure and that's essentially what he died from.

Very unfortunate. But, anyway, not my problem either. I'd done what I could.

"He's probably dead." Halga said. "Wildlings probably got to him and shanked him and his household to death. The keep's probably empty."

I raised a brow. That was... interesting. Halga once mentioned that their liege-lord was merely a Knight, meaning his household wouldn't be too large and his family wouldn't be too powerful – maybe an armed force of only fifty at most, a number that could and would be very easily overwhelmed by a horde of angry and determined Wildlings, even if the book hyped Northerners up to be steely and hard or whatever. Whatever the case, assuming that Halga was right and the local liege lord was dead, I could, theoretically claim his keep for myself. Hell, why stop there? I wasn't a big Mormont fan anyway; I could even take over the whole island. And, once again, why should I stop there? Depending on whether or not the Targaryens currently had dragons, I could even make a play for the Iron Throne and, if I succeeded, maybe even beyond that. After all, Essos was a thing and I could march an army of the living and the dead all the way there if I had to.

But then, I had to ask myself, to what end? Well, my answer to myself was that, ultimately, the god who brought me here wanted some form of entertainment, right? Well, what could be more entertaining than watching someone slowly conquer an entire planet, defeating horrors and monsters along the way? Wasn't that a sad thing, though? Knowing that everything I was going to do was essentially just entertainment for a bunch of bored ROB's.

Or was it? I had power and I was alive. It didn't have to be sad. I could, instead, enjoy this whole thing, have fun. After all, it they wanted some entertainment, then I could be damn sure to be entertained by it as well. This was my life, bitch. And no one else ruled it but me. Screw it.

So, right then and there, I made up my mind. The first thing on my itinerary was to take over Bear Island; if I could do it peacefully, then good, but I also had to be prepared to take the route of violence if the Mormonts proved too stubborn.

"Yes, that's one possibility." I replied, managing a measly thirty-five Wights was incredibly difficult. But, as with anything in life, I was getting better at it. Repetition was the mother of all learning, after all. In time, I figured, I'd be able to lead entire armies of undead, entire hordes that outnumbered the living.

The repairs were coming along nicely. Another day and I figured I could walk away without having to worry about them anymore. I was getting hungry, however, and my stomach growled and burned; ah, I haven't eaten anything since I woke up in this world and I guess the adrenaline had worn off. And so my concentration suddenly dipped. My Wights stirred and, to prevent them from rampaging, I activated Protocol One, which essentially forced them all to stay dormant until I commanded otherwise. The villagers panicked for a moment, thinking I'd unleashed my power on them, only to realize their unpaid interns, provided by yours truly, only took a nap.

"Where can I get some food around here?" I asked, turning to Halga.

"You fine with dark bread, southerner?" She asked me, smirking slightly. There was no malice in her tone. Ah, I suppose northerners had tendency to look at southerners as softer people? And, based entirely on my rather regal outfit, she must've mistaken me for a southerner. Eh, whatever.

"I'm fine with anything edible and non-poisonous, honestly," I answered. And then, I realized that no one here had seen my face. My clothes, the [Zith Robes], actually did a pretty good job of obscuring my face, even if the hood itself wasn't quite enchanted. I was also rather curious if my original face carried over or if I was totally my game avatar; because, if it were the latter, then I'd be a hot piece of ass. If it were the former, then I'd be a moderately kinda maybe attractive piece of ass – maybe. Whatever the case, I pulled back my hood.

Halga smiled. Her smile, this time, was real, her green eyes twinkling. "You should keep the hood down, stranger. You've a good face. Huh, you never gave your name."

"Ah," I smiled and scratched the back of my head. The hair that I felt wasn't mine – curly locks, instead of straight. So, this definitely wasn't my original body. Oh boy, body dismorphia here we go. But, eh, I'd worry about that later. "That was rude of me."

I extended my right hand towards her. As far as I knew from the books, handshakes were still a thing, but were kind of uncommon. Halga returned the gesture, briefly clasping my hand, but not shaking. "I'm Jason Lee. It's a pleasure to have met you, Halga."

"Likewise, Jason," Halga smiled. And then, both our heads snapped to the right, to the sound of horses neighing, of hooves frantically approaching. There was blood in the air, I noted. Much blood. My eyes narrowed. What was going on?

I kept my Wights dormant. If something hostile and malicious was headed our way, it'd be best to have the element of surprise and no one was going to suspect a bunch of corpses suddenly waking up to bite and claw at their necks.

Halga and I walked from the village square to the main gate, which was a strange concept, given that there was a gate, but there were no walls attached to it so anyone could just walk around it. It was more like a wooden archway, honestly. I'd offered to help her walk the whole way, but Halga claimed to be entirely fine, which was a lie, but I admired her courage, even if she winced with every step. By the time we reached the gates, most of the villagers had already gathered there. They stepped away from me, however, forming a path between them, a wide berth. And there, fallen right beneath the archway, was a woman, dressed in a noble dress, her hand still clutching the reins of her horse. Her face was covered in blood and her hair was matted with it, her clothes torn. She was... maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, lithe of body and build. Yep, definitely a noblewoman. A Momont, perhaps, or some lesser house sworn to them?

No one, it seemed, wanted to even approach her. Instead, the villagers just kind of looked at her.

So, I walked up to her and untangled her bloodied hand from the reins. The horse was calm, which was very fortunate, since I absolute did not want to have to hurt animals. I'm fine with genocide, but animal cruelty was where I drew the line.

"Does anyone know who this is?"