ASOIAF: Celestial Conqueror - Chapter 7 (Patreon)

“Okay… could you repeat that again?” Joren asked, his expression flat as he stared at his charge and the pale-gold-haired girl standing behind him.

“You didn’t understand me?” Jon shrugged, tilting his head slightly. “Well then…” He began to repeat himself, slower this time, careful to enunciate each word. “This is Marei. She grew up in the Brothel where her mother worked. Unfortunately, her mother passed away recently, and Marei had been looking for a new place to stay—and somewhere she could work. She’s welcome in the Brothel, yes, but that would have steered her toward… a certain kind of work.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Three former customers of said Borthel tried to assault her. I had to deal with them myself. And most importantly… she can read and write.”

Joren rubbed his face wearily. “I understood the first time. You were supposed to be in the Red Keep, safe from any danger. And here you are, blood on your clothes after fighting three grown men. I was supposed to keep you safe.”

Jon waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, you don’t need to worry, Joren. They were weak. Physically, sure—they were bigger—but they had no combat skills at all. I handled them easily.” His voice was calm, almost casual, yet a strange tension twisted in his chest. Something inside him whispered that it shouldn’t feel this way.

“You… handled them? You mean… killed them?” Joren’s face went pale, and his eyes locked on Jon’s.

That’s when it hit him. He had taken three lives. And it felt normal. Not shocking. Not horrifying.

It shouldn’t have been like that. Even with an adult mind, his first life had been in the 21st century. Death should have carried weight. Killing should have left a mark, something deep and raw.

But his reaction was… muted.

And then the realization sank in. He was used to it.

Not from this life, and not from his original one.

It was the memories he had absorbed through his Celestial System.

[Lore of the Lost Homeland] wasn’t just knowledge—it was experience. Knowledge of Numenor came paired with memories of using it: fighting styles sharpened during the Wars of the Second Age, the operation of machines of war, countless sea battles, and even the fall of Numenor itself.

[Combat Prodigy] was worse. It contained expert-level skill and experience in all fields of combat, enough to dismantle groups of average fighters alone. It included the raw memories and emotions of war. Swordsmanship at a master’s level, battles where a single fighter could change the tide. Jon had lived those moments in memory, fought, killed, survived.

Even [Witcher Signs] added layers of experience. It hadn’t just shown him training—it had placed him in combat situations. People burned with Igni, smashed through walls with Aard, allies turned on each other under the influence of Axii. The knowledge wasn’t theoretical; it was visceral.

Decades’ worth of combat, of life-and-death decisions, were embedded in him. Literal decades of killing, strategy, fear, and survival.

“Jon… are you okay?” Marei asked softly from beside him, her voice tinged with worry.

He realized he had frozen, leaving the people on his ship staring at him, concerned.

“I’ll manage,” he said, forcing a small nod. “I didn’t expect my first kills to come so soon. But… at least it was for a just cause. Me killing someone would have come sooner or later either way, that’s the unfortunate Nature of our World and as a Lord. Protecting someone’s innocence… that’s worth it.” He glanced at Marei, then back at Joren, using the words as much to reassure himself as them.

Feats Achieved: Make a Trade Agreement with a Noble House (100 CP), Visit King’s Landing (100 CP), Make a Trade Agreement with a Royal House (100 CP), Change a Fate (100 CP). 400 CP Granted, 400 CP total.

For the time being, Jon decided to suppress the Roll once again. There was no way he wanted random items popping out in front of a group of sailors. The last thing he needed was more questions or rumors spreading across the deck. It was much safer to deal with that sort of thing inside his cabin, away from prying eyes.

Still, as he dismissed the cascade of notifications, one particular message made him pause.

Change a Fate.

It stood out clearly, the last feat on the list, appearing right after the system had acknowledged that he saved Marei.

Not Save a Life. Not Protect Someone. But Change a Fate.

The phrasing felt different, heavier, like it carried some deeper meaning he couldn’t quite grasp.

Jon frowned slightly. Did it mean Marei would have survived the assault anyway, only to meet some grim end later? Or had her fate simply been death from the very beginning, and his intervention pushed her onto an entirely new path?

The truth was, he had no real explanation. The Celestial System remained as mysterious as ever, dangling cryptic words in front of him without giving answers.

So far, he hadn’t managed to figure out any consistent pattern—what counted as a feat, how rewards were calculated, or why certain actions were recognized while others were ignored.

That lack of clarity made it impossible for him to plan ahead. He couldn’t deliberately chase feats or construct a reliable strategy to gather more CP.

On the other hand, maybe that was for the best.

Jon thought about the ring he had received, resting on his finger always present and giving him power—an artifact eerily similar to Sauron’s One Ring, yet forged by Celebrimbor instead.

He had been tempted to try his Power of Domination today, the only thing holding him back had been Marei’s presence.

Something that absurdly powerful had cost only 600 CP. If something like that could appear at his level, what kind of items or skills might be waiting for him at higher tiers?

The idea of trying to “game” the system, to squeeze every advantage out of it, suddenly seemed foolish.

Perhaps it was safer that he couldn’t treat the Celestial System like some video game where an optimal path could be discovered. If he could, he might end up with far more than he was ready to handle.

The pressure of the upcoming Roll lingered in the back of his mind, but Jon forced himself to focus on the present. Turning to Joren, he finally spoke.

“Well, no luck with any blacksmith,” Jon reported, scratching the back of his neck. “None of them were willing to move north, especially not for a small town like ours. They’re not about to abandon the lives they’ve already built here. As for their apprentices, I couldn’t steal any of them away either. A few looked like they might be open to it, if things don’t work out in King’s Landing, but for now… nothing. Looks like we’ll have to rely on Clayton and start training more of our own people.” He exhaled, then tilted his head at Joren. “How did it go for you?”

Joren hesitated before answering. His expression softened with a rare hint of concern. “Jon, if you need someone to talk to… I’m here. Taking a life—it always leaves a mark. No matter the reason. You may get used to it over time, but you never truly forget. You just… adapt.”

Jon gave a small shake of his head. “I know, Joren. But for now, I’m fine.” His tone was steady, though he kept his eyes on Joren, clearly waiting for the actual report.

“We’re in luck,” Joren finally said, his voice shifting back to business. “The Ironborn are stirring again. They’re disguising themselves as pirates and bandits, but everyone knows it’s them. They’ve begun raiding the western coast, striking smaller villages in the Westerlands, Riverlands, and even parts of the Reach. Survivors have been fleeing eastward, many of them ending up here in the Crownlands to seek safety and new opportunities.”

Jon crossed his arms as he listened, brows knitting.

Joren continued, “None of the people I found are exceptional fighters, but I managed to recruit quite a number. Eleven farmer families who lost their lands—thirty-one people in total. Five hunter families. And a mix of tradesmen: millers, bakers, weavers, coopers, carpenters, potters, and fishermen. Altogether, that comes to one hundred thirty-two people.” He turned his attention to the ship’s captain, a man personally trusted by Lord Manderly. “Will the vessel be able to carry that many? They will gather here tomorrow.”

“Hmm… we’ll need to stock up on more rations,” the captain said thoughtfully, stroking his beard as he calculated. “Many will have to cramp into shared cabins as well. But it should be manageable. That’s about our limit though.”

Jon gave a satisfied nod. This was good news. He hadn’t expected to bring back so many, let alone skilled laborers across different trades. Until now, that had been one of the greatest weaknesses of his settlement—plenty of people, but few who could actually craft, build, or provide the day-to-day goods necessary for a growing town.

With this group, that gap could finally begin to close. Millers could grind grain without him needing to worry about shortages.

Carpenters could handle construction without him hovering over every nail and beam. Bakers, potters, weavers, and fishermen would all add their share. A steady stream of essential goods would be secured without him personally needing to teach the basics of Numenórean craft.

Sure, he knew how the Numenóreans wove baskets, or milled grain, or produced furniture. But that knowledge wasn’t unique. It wasn’t some divine secret only he had access to.

Millions of people across Westeros already knew the same things. The real problem was that his settlement had started with too many people who lacked even those simple skills.

His earlier attempts at recruiting from other Northern houses had been only partly successful. Yes, he had gotten numbers, but most of them were unskilled workers—peasants without land, families who had lost their farms, men and women who couldn’t find a place elsewhere. They were willing, but they didn’t have any real trade.

Instead of easing his burden, many had become mouths to feed before they could contribute anything meaningful. Training them from scratch had been slow and troublesome.

It was becoming obvious. If he wanted to build something lasting, he would need to establish a proper structure. Something bigger than just taking whoever showed up at his gates.

A guild system…

The thought made him pause. A proper Craftsmen Guild. The idea had come from his past life, but it fit here too. Westeros had no such System, the closest to an formal Education was the Citadel in Oldtown, most knowledge got passed down from Parents to Children, or trough rare Apprenticeships for someone who could pay for it.

He wasn’t completely aware of how Guilds had worked in his past Lifes History, his will be probably different. Something like a place where people without work could train for free, learn a trade, and eventually be certified.

Of course, it would cost resources. It would take planning, teachers, and oversight. But in the long run, it would secure a steady supply of skilled workers for every generation to come.

He could finance it through taxes once the settlement became more stable, and the value of productive citizens would outweigh the initial expense.

Each occupation would need teachers—and the people he had just recruited could be the foundation of that system.

Once the basics were covered, he could even start introducing more advanced Numenórean techniques to push their crafts ahead of the rest of Westeros.

For now, getting his people to work productively mattered more than anything else. But even so… it would require a massive effort.

Jon’s gaze shifted slightly, falling on the pale-gold-haired girl standing quietly near the edge of the group.

“Marei will stay with me,” he announced, glancing toward Joren.

The older man raised a brow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea… Lord Snow?” He placed a faint emphasis on the title, as if to remind Jon of the position he now carried.

“Yes,” Jon replied firmly. “She can read and write. That already puts her ahead of most. She’s perfect to train directly. She’ll become my personal assistant and help me manage the territory. The workload will only get heavier, and I need people like her.” His tone softened slightly as he added, “I can start teaching her during our journey.”

He wasn’t wrong. With this latest group, the population of his settlement had climbed past two thousand. And while it wasn’t an overwhelming flood of migrants, more were still trickling in. Word had spread across the North.

Lords who had landless peasants or idle men with no work began sending them to Jon instead. The volunteers came in small groups, scattered from all corners of the kingdom, but they came nonetheless.

As rumors reached even the more remote regions, the numbers would only grow. It was inevitable.

Of course, there would be a limit. At some point, the stream would slow, even if the North was vast it didn’t hold a population larger than any of the other Kingdoms—somewhere between four and five million people in total. Still, for the moment, the growth was steady, and Jon had to be ready to make use of it.

At some point, the Northern lords would inevitably run out of people they could spare. Most wouldn’t want to lose too much of their smallfolk, especially the skilled ones who kept their own lands running. Numbers, after all, were power.

For now, though, the first waves of migrants were more of a test. The lords were watching to see whether Harry could truly handle the influx. If he succeeded, the flow of people would grow larger before it eventually slowed down.

That suited Harry just fine. In fact, he welcomed it. Out of everything his territory lacked, manpower was the greatest need. More farmers meant more food, more craftsmen meant more goods, and more families meant more stability. Every new arrival was another stone in the foundation of what he wanted to build.

And the effectiveness of his new Farming Machines hadn’t spread yet, and most will not realize that they soon can support more People themselves with all that new Food.

Food had always been the North’s bottleneck.

With his Farming Machines, that problem would be solved, and the new Bottleneck would be People and in the distance Future even Land.

Until the other Lords realized that it will take a few years, Jon would be already well established by then.

Still, sheer numbers weren’t enough. People needed direction. If they weren’t made productive, if they had no work or purpose, then crime and disorder would follow. The guild system was his first step toward solving that problem, but it was only the beginning.

There were countless other things he would have to put in place if he wanted to achieve his true ambition. Education especially would be key. Literacy, training, and organization—these were the things that would separate his house from the others. If he could raise his people to be smarter, more skilled, and more disciplined, then becoming the most powerful house in the world would no longer be just a dream.

“Don’t forget,” Joren reminded him, “Lord Stark is set to send another five hundred people next year.”

Harry didn’t look worried. Instead, he allowed himself a small smile. “That’s fine. Our construction projects are running smoothly already. With the plans I have for what comes next, they’ll become even more efficient.”

would have to be among the very first. Without trained builders, everything else would bottleneck—housing, workshops, fortifications, even roads. If he could organize and train them properly, expansion would accelerate by leaps and bounds.

“I’ll head to my cabin,” he added as he turned to leave. “Make sure Marei gets a proper meal, and take her to buy clothes and any personal necessities she needs. Also, someone from the Crown will be here soon to deliver payment and pick up our full shipment of alcohol.”

Joren blinked. “All of it?”

“Everything,” Harry confirmed without hesitation. “I spoke with His Majesty in the Red Keep. As a close friend of my father, he made a point to meet me personally. He enjoyed the products greatly.” Harry’s tone carried quiet satisfaction. “Once we have the money in hand, begin purchasing the supplies from the list I gave you.”

With that, he stepped down from the deck and disappeared beneath, heading toward his cabin.

———

Back in his cabin, Jon finally allowed himself to relax. The room wasn’t luxurious by any means, but compared to what most of the crew had, it was practically comfortable.

The space was a little larger than the average quarters, and while the wood creaked faintly with the ship’s movements, it felt sturdy and private.

Several cots had been set up along the walls. They weren’t soft beds, just simple frames with thin mattresses, but they were clean and decent. For Marei, it would be more than enough.

She wouldn’t have to fight for space or cram together with strangers in the crowded lower cabins. Sharing the room with him was still a far better option than what the other passengers had to endure.

Jon dropped onto his own cot with a quiet sigh, leaning back against the wall. The weight of the day pressed on him—negotiations, recruitment, Marei’s situation, and everything else that had piled up since morning.

But one thing still remained unresolved, lingering in the back of his mind like a constant itch.

The Roll.

He had been holding it back since receiving new CP, suppressing the urge to activate it while surrounded by others. Doing it on deck, in full view of sailors and recruits, would have been reckless.

They were in King’s Landing the Capital of the Seven Kingdoms, where the Faith of the Seven has been fiercly established. If he got an Item and it appeared in front of everyones Eyes, the cries of Witchcraft wouldn’t wait for long.

But here, in the privacy of his cabin, there was no reason to hesitate anymore.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes briefly as he steadied his thoughts. Then he exhaled slowly and released the pressure he had kept restrained.

The Roll began to spin freely.

[ Peerless Instructor ] - 400 CP (0 CP remaining)

Source: The Games We Play

You are simply a very, very good teacher. You have a deep, wide grasp of techniques, and know just how to teach anything you know to others. Under your tutelage, people improve by leaps and bounds, shattering limits and defying expectations left and right. Simply put, you’re capable of imparting months and years’ worth of knowledge in mere days and weeks, and that’s if you take things lightly. You also have an instinctive understanding of just what the best way to teach anyone is, an idea of a person’s potential, and most importantly, how to go about making them grow beyond it. Under your care even the weakest sparks can grow into blazing infernos, so long as you pay even the slightest attention.

“Well that’s useful…” Jon muttered in astonishment, wasn’t that like exactly what he needed. Something allowing him to teach People better to impart his Knowledge?

Wait.

Teach anything?

Like his Witcher Signs? Requip Magic? Artificier Knowledge?

All that Magical Stuff too?