ASOIAF: Celestial Conqueror - Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Foundation

POV: Jon Snow

Jon had spent the past several days riding across the land, pushing himself even when the long hours in the saddle wore him down. The moment they had crossed into the borders of his new territory, he had felt the urge to see it with his own eyes.

Tired or not, he refused to waste the chance. This was his land now, and he needed to understand it.

Compared to him, the caravan moved at a crawl. Dozens of carts creaked along the King’s Road, wheels sinking into the dirt with every turn. They carried everything Jon had managed to gather in Wintertown—food for the settlers, tools, and the first supplies for building.

Timber, nails, and iron fittings clattered in the wagons, along with crates of stonecutting gear. Everything they needed to setup the Machines as soon as they arrived. There were even materials for a smithy, and with it, the ability to make their own tools once they began harvesting raw materials from the land.

Horses were few among them. Most of the carts were pulled by sturdy oxen, slower but far cheaper and able to endure the weight.

Those same animals would later be hitched to the farming machines they hoped to build. Jon watched them with a critical eye and felt the weight of responsibility settle heavier on his shoulders.

The caravan wasn’t without protection. They carried weapons, though nothing fancy—mostly bows for hunting, and a handful of swords. Even with no war raging in Westeros, bandits and raiders were never an impossibility.

Jon’s father had insisted on sending five guards, armed and armored properly, to ensure the group’s safety. Their presence was reassuring, though Jon knew he would need more in the future.

At his departure, he had received something special. Mikken, the blacksmith of Winterfell, had forged him a real sword.

Until then, Jon’s training had been limited to blunted practice blades. The weight of the steel at his hip reminded him that things were different now. He wasn’t just training anymore.

The scenery had begun to change as they pushed farther south. Snow was behind them; the lower reaches of the North were bare of it outside the harshest winters. Thick forests covered the hills, their trees cut through by countless streams that fed into the Fever River.

The valleys stretched wide, dotted with grass and broken up by stones, some no bigger than a fist while others were massive boulders left behind by ancient ice. Jon saw potential in the land. Someday, those valleys would be fields.

By the time their goal rose on the horizon, the sun was already dipping. Three towers jutted upward in the distance, built from dark basalt stone. Moss clung to their surfaces, and streaks of white ghostskin gave them a haunted look.

Only one of the towers still stood tall; the others leaned at dangerous angles, half-claimed by the swamp.

Hallis Mollen rode up beside him, reins in hand, his expression serious but calm. “It seems we’ve arrived, m’lord. The men are asking where we should set up camp.”

Jon studied the ruined fortress for a moment. The thought of pitching tents in the mud didn’t appeal to him in the slightest, and the towers offered shelter. His answer came quickly.

“Why camp outside when we have walls to protect us? We’ll use the three towers as our base. They should be enough to house five hundred people if needed.” His voice carried so the guards and riders nearby could hear him clearly. “Until we build permanent homes, this will do. And if anyone dares attack, our valuables will already be in a defensible position. Spread the order.”

The decision was welcomed with nods and murmurs of agreement. The settlers weren’t fragile; the caravan was made up mostly of adults, young couples eager to seize this chance and carve out a future of their own. A few days or weeks in rough conditions wouldn’t scare them.

By nightfall, the towers of Moat Cailin echoed with new life. Fires were lit, smoke curling out through broken windows. Dust and rubble were cleared away, and floors were swept until they were at least livable.

Jon and his guards claimed a floor in the most stable of the three—the ancient gatehouse. The fortress was a ruin, but for now, it was theirs.

———

Jon stood at the edge of the worksite, arms crossed as he watched the massive wooden crane creak under strain. A counterweight shifted into place, and with a groan of rope and timber, the machine lifted the first basalt slab into the air. Slowly, carefully, the slab was lowered into the pit they had dug for it.

The sound of stone scraping against earth echoed across the clearing. Jon couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. After days of preparation, the first foundation stone of his city was finally being set.

It had only been a few days since their arrival at Moat Cailin, but progress was visible everywhere. The ruined fortress had become their camp, and the gatehouse tower had been turned into something more useful than just shelter.

On its lowest floor, they had built a temporary smithy. The forge fire never seemed to die, smoke curling out from the broken windows above. Any metal parts that needed refining for his machines were worked on there. Mikken’s oldest apprentice, Clayton had made the journey with them and now served as the first blacksmith of Jon’s new hold.

During the long trip south from Winterfell, Jon had not wasted time. Whenever the caravan stopped to rest or share a meal, he gathered people around and explained his ideas. He sketched designs in the dirt, pointed at cart wheels or axles as examples, and walked them through what he wanted to build.

How to assemble the machines, how to operate them, and what their first priorities would be—all of it had been laid out. By the time they arrived, most of the settlers already knew what role they were expected to play.

The first crane had been completed by their second day at Moat Cailin. A second one followed soon after, half finished before the day was even over. They were not complicated machines, mostly wood reinforced with a few carefully forged metal joints, but their strength was impressive. Each was capable of lifting six thousand kilograms without collapsing, and both were mobile enough to be moved where needed.

Once they had two cranes in working order, the real work began. A clearing north of the fortress was chosen as the site where the city would rise. The field had to be cleaned of brush and stone first, then leveled as much as possible. From there, the cranes were put to use—one loading basalt slabs onto wagons, the other unloading them into the waiting holes dug by the laborers.

While most of the workforce focused on hauling stone and digging foundations, other groups handled the daily necessities. Fires for cooking were kept burning, hunters roamed the nearby woods, and craftsmen followed Jon’s instructions to build even more cranes and drills for later use. Every hand was busy, every task mattered. The settlement might have been small, but under Jon’s direction it already moved like a living machine.

Meanwhile, Mikken’s apprentice Clayton had taken on more than just adjusting crane parts. In the back of the smithy, he was secretly working on another project, one Jon had insisted would be their first completed building. It wasn’t a house or a barracks, but something that could generate steady revenue from the start. Farming would earn them a fortune in time, and save the north Coin, but crops took months to grow. They needed money sooner, and Jon had knowledge none of the Northerners could match. From the ancient lore of Númenor, he carried ideas that could be reproduced here with relative ease.

The basalt slabs themselves came from the ruins of Moat Cailin. They were too heavy to be worked easily with stone-fusing powder and far too massive to be reshaped into walls. But as foundations, they were perfect. Set deep in the earth and fused together where they touched, they would form an unshakable base for every structure that followed. Jon refused to build a city of mud huts and wooden shacks. If he was going to raise a new settlement, it would be solid, lasting, and worthy of the future he envisioned.

Drills would soon bore holes through the slabs, each one to be filled with pillars and fused directly into the stone. Buildings raised on such supports would not just stand firm—they would endure for generations. No storm or war would easily bring them down.

As the first basalt slab settled with a heavy thud inside the prepared pit, Jon felt something stir within him. A pulse, faint but undeniable, rippled through his body. The familiar sensation of his celestial power welled up once more, activating with the first completed Foundation.

Feats Achieved: Bring a new Invention to this Planet (Crane) (100 CP), Bring a new invention to this Planet (Distillery) (100 CP), Set the first Foundation of a new City (100 CP). 300 CP earned. 300 CP in total.

‘It looks like the distillery is finally finished,’ Jon tought to himself. His focus, however, wasn’t on the building but on the strange feeling in his body as he tried to halt the Roll.

Up until now, every Roll had been wild and uncontrollable, triggering the moment he received CP. Each time it happened, he felt like a passenger in his own body, with no choice but to endure the spin. This time, though, he was testing something different—if he could stop it, hold it back, and release it only when he wanted.

The experiment seemed to be working, at least partly. The Roll slowed under his will, but he could tell the ability resisted being restrained. It felt alive, almost willful, like a creature that refused to stay caged. The more he forced it down, the more pressure built, as if warning him: Don’t try to save CP. Use it.

Grinding his teeth, Jon let out a slow breath and steadying his focus. ‘So it doesn’t like being stopped, huh?’ he tought with a bit of annoyannce at the constant pressure building against his Mind.

Turning his attention back to the construction site, Jon spotted Hallis standing nearby. The man watched the massive stone slabs being lifted into place by the cranes Jon had designed. Usually it would take twenty, maybe thirty men just to move a single slab. Now, two workers were operating the machine with ease, guiding it like it weighed nothing at all.

Jon raised his voice. “Keep an eye on the work! I’m going to check on the distillery. It should be about ready by now.”

Hallis gave a sharp nod, a grin tugging at his lips. “I can’t wait to taste this new alcohol of yours, m’lord.” His tone was lighter than before, almost teasing. At the beginning of their journey, Hallis hadn’t been convinced at all. He had doubted Jon’s machines, certain they were just fanciful ideas that would never work in practice. But now, after seeing the cranes in action with his own eyes, his skepticism had started to crumble.

Hallis probably was thinking something according the line, if the first Machines and ideas already worked why not the rest too.

Rather than heading straight back to Moat Cailin, Jon decided to take a small detour. The road he chose led toward a more isolated area, away from the workers, where no one could watch him. He needed privacy for what he was about to attempt.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, Jon exhaled, letting the anticipation settle in his chest. He gave a single thought and allowed the Roll to surge forward.

And roll it did.

[ The Great Map ] - 200 CP (100 CP remaining, starting another Roll)

Source: God of War

Simply put this item is a map that shows every city, every town, and a majority of major landmarks. It also updates the locations based on their conditions, for example if a city was burned down then the map would update to show the city was burned down. The map also shows your location at all times.

The expected rush of foreign memories or sudden changes to his body never came this time. Strangely enough, Jon didn’t feel disappointed by the absence.

What appeared instead was far more practical—a map. A constantly updating map that displayed the current state of the world in real time. Even better, it always marked his exact location.

Jon’s eyes widened a little at the discovery. That’s… ridiculously useful. He realized quickly that he would need to make a habit of checking it regularly. Any sudden changes, whether small disturbances or large-scale events, could be spotted immediately if he paid attention.

His gaze naturally drifted northward across the map. Beyond the Wall, scattered marks showed several small settlements. Most of them were Wildling camps, temporary at best, with only one actual town noted: Hardhome. According to the map, though, Hardhome was nothing more than a ruin—burned and abandoned long ago.

Further north, the dots representing settlements became fewer and fewer. The last cluster appeared in a region labeled Thenn. That was expected; he knew of the Thenn from stories. But when his eyes pushed even higher, into the white emptiness of the Land of Always Winter, the results made his stomach tighten.

Instead of emptiness, more and more settlements appeared. Villages. Outposts. Entire clusters of habitation that had no business existing in such a desolate place. The further north the map scrolled, the more of them appeared, as if they multiplied endlessly in the frozen dark.

Jon felt a chill crawl down his spine. They weren’t just mindless creatures wandering the ice. They had a society. A structure. A frighteningly large one, judging by the sheer number of settlements.

Unfortunately, the map’s labels betrayed him. Each settlement had a name, but the script was in a language he couldn’t read. Strange letters and symbols, completely alien. That detail only made the realization worse.

‘So it’s real. My Ice Zombie Apocalypse isn’t just a nightmare in the back of my head that I picked up from talks of a TV Show—it’s right there, north of the Wall, building strength.’

Jon clenched his fists unconsciously, trying to process the weight of what he was seeing. He didn’t get long to dwell on it. The familiar sensation of his Celestial System stirred again, the activation washing through him like a tide and pulling his attention away from the map.

[ Crafting Table ] - 100 CP ( 0 CP remaining. )

Source: Minecraft

Crafting Table that works by the rules of that world and can make anything it does in the game.

“Works by the rules of this world? What’s that even supposed to mean?” Jon muttered, eyes narrowing as a blocky, yet strangely realistic table materialized in front of him. At the same time, a flood of memories entered his mind—recipes, techniques, and blueprints for crafting. There were so many of them that it felt like a library had been stuffed straight into his head.

The table itself looked peculiar. Its shape reminded him of something from a video game: blocky and square, but with a more grounded, almost realistic finish. The sides were engraved with tiny depictions of tools—hammers, chisels, and saws—while the top displayed a neat three-by-three grid. According to the memories he’d just gained, the grid could accept items of any size, reorganizing them for crafting without difficulty.

For a while Jon simply stared at it, half in awe and half in disbelief. If what he remembered was correct, then this single object was one of the best things he could have possibly received in his current situation.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he glanced at the ground and quickly collected a handful of sticks. Arranging them into the grid in the familiar ladder shape, he willed the recipe to activate. Light pulsed faintly across the table, and then—just like that—three ladder segments appeared where the sticks had been.

Jon immediately picked one up. “No way…”

It didn’t look blocky or cartoonish. Unlike the ladders in Minecraft, these were solid and tangible, made of actual wood with sturdy joints. The only unusual feature was that each segment was designed to seamlessly connect to another, creating a modular system that could extend as high as needed while still looking reliable.

A grin spread across his face. “This will change everything.”

Another thought struck him as he dug deeper into the crafting memories. Without hesitation, Jon began gathering medium-sized chunks of stone scattered around the area. He placed eight of them into the crafting grid, leaving the center empty. Just like before, the table shimmered faintly, and when the glow faded, a cubic stone furnace now stood in front of him.

The furnace had two openings at one side: one at the top for whatever needed to be smelted and one at the bottom for fuel. Its design was simple, practical, and far sturdier than anything a blacksmith in this world could have built in so little time.

“Too bad I don’t have any sand at hand,” Jon muttered under his breath. Glass would have been a nice test. For now, he settled on testing the furnace with simpler materials. A few sticks and one of the stone chunks went inside, and within seconds a solid cube of smooth stone emerged from the top. It was denser and bigger than the raw material he’d put in, as if the crafting process had added something extra during smelting.

Jon turned the finished block over in his hands, eyes widening at the result. “So it even refines and condenses the material while filling up the gap… this thing doesn’t just transform items, it improves them and increases them.”

According to the memory-knowledge, cobblestone was considered a rough material, the broken fragments of true stone. Smelting it returned it to its original form, restoring lost mass and structure in the process. That alone made the furnace invaluable.

His curiosity didn’t stop there. Pulling from his requip space—which had grown to a respectable twenty-five cubic meters after weeks of steady training with both it and his Witcher Signs—Jon retrieved a small vial of the grey stone-fusing powder.

The moment the powder touched the smelted stone block, the surface softened and became malleable, like clay. Jon’s eyes widened as he carefully pressed a finger into it, watching the material shift under his touch. He could shape it however he liked. Like any other stone under the Powders influence.

“This… this is insane,” he whispered, excitement creeping into his voice. “Out of everything I could’ve gotten, this is probably the single most useful object for my situation.”

His gaze snapped back toward the crafting table, thoughts racing. “Wait… can I make more?”

There is a crafting recipe.