Sandor Clegane / The Hound pov :

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Ya know, this world's one big steamin' pot of hypocrisy.

Aye, it's like every noble prick and highborn twat's wearin' a mask, pretendin' to be somethin' they ain't.

They talk about honor, but they'd slit their own mother's throat for a bit more power.

They preach about justice, but it's a justice that suits 'em, not the smallfolk sufferin' in the muck. They claim to serve the gods, but the gods are probably laughin' their arses off watchin' this farce.

And don't get me started on the knights. Supposed to be paragons of virtue, right? More like shinin' piles of shite.

They've got fancy armor, pretty shields, and all the songs about 'em, but when the real shit hits the fan, they're just men with swords, bleedin' like the rest of us.

Every lord's got their castle walls, their gold, their power.

But they forget one thing: death don't give a damn 'bout your fancy titles or fat coffers. It comes for us all, highborn or low, sooner or later.

People say I'm a cold-hearted bastard. Maybe I am. But at least I ain't blind to the truth of this world. I've seen the cruelty, the lies, and the hypocrisy up close, and I've got the scars to prove it.

So, if you ask me, I'll take the cold, hard truth over their pretty words any day. At least it doesn't pretend to be somethin' it ain't.

In a world full of hypocrites, sometimes the only honest thing is the blade in your hand and the blood on your conscience.

And Joffrey, the little shit, transformed like a snake sheddin' its skin.

I've seen men change in the face of death, but this was somethin' else entirely.

He was like a different creature, a warrior forged in the fires of his own ambition.

The boy I knew was a snivelin' brat, all bluster and no bite.

He'd order people to their deaths from the comfort of his high chair, and the only thing he ever held in his hands was a goblet of wine.

But now, I don't know what to make of him. He stood in that tourney, his body battered and bloodied, and he didn't back down.

He fought like a demon, showin' the world a warrior's heart.

It was like watchin' a cat turn into a lion right before your eyes.

If I believed in gods and curses, I'd say he was possessed by somethin' dark and twisted.

Or maybe he's just a goddamn hypocrite like the rest of 'em.

Pretendin' to be somethin' he ain't to climb higher on the ladder of power.

He's somethin' else now, and I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's the taste of real power that's changed him, or maybe it's somethin' deeper, buried in the shadows of his past.

All I know is, watchin' him fight in that tourney, I saw a glimpse of a man I never thought I'd see in him. And whether it's a blessing or a curse, it's somethin' that's gonna shape the fate of this damned realm.

Aye, we left Winterfell behind three bloody days ago. Lord Stark, his two wolf pups, and the mad prince in tow. That prince... he's actin' stranger than a three-legged mule, I tell ya.

Refused to ride on a horse, that one. No, he walks beside the caravan like he's a damn commoner, swingin' that sword of his as he goes. I've seen enough madness in my time, but this takes the cake.

Folks in the camp are lookin' at him like he's got two heads. You can hear the whispers, 'He's lost his mind,' they say. And maybe he has. Or maybe he's found somethin' he thinks is worth fightin' for.

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The boy's always been a mystery, but this... this is somethin' else. I can't make heads or tails of it. He fought like a demon in that tourney, and now he's marchin' like a soldier to the beat of his own drum.

I've seen men do crazy things in the heat of battle, but this is different. It's like he's possessed by some inner fire, somethin' that won't let him rest. Maybe it's power, maybe it's madness, or maybe it's somethin' darker.

Aye, and there's another thing. The boy looks different, too. His golden hair's been sheared shorter, and he's not as wiry as he used to be. I've seen the signs – muscle buildin' on him like a mason layin' bricks.

It's as if the lad's shed his old skin and shown the world the warrior that's been hidin' beneath. But why? What's drivin' him to this madness? Is it a hunger for power, a thirst for blood, or somethin' else entirely?

I don't pretend to understand it, but I've seen enough in this world to know that when a man changes this much, there's usually a reckoning on the horizon. And I can't say I'm lookin' forward to findin' out what it is.

And his eyes... when they're not vacant, there's a fire in 'em. It's like he's got a purpose, a direction he's headed in. But then, sometimes, he just goes all empty, like a man runnin' on autopilot, followin' a set of instructions he don't quite understand.

It's damn unnerving, that's what it is. I've seen soldiers like that in the heat of battle, their minds shuttin' down to protect 'em from the horrors they're facin'. But this... this ain't battle. This is somethin' else entirely.

I've got a feelin' we're all just pawns in whatever game he's playin'. And I ain't too keen on findin' out what the rules are, or what happens when we reach the end of the board.

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Negary Pov :

My Flesh Golem was marching while swinging his sword...without any interference from me.

I floated besides it , watching it execute the commands I imprinted into it with a wide grin on my spectral face.

"I've found the rabbit in your hat , Night King..."

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It's been three days since we left Winterfell, and oh boy , many things had happened.

I spent the day before our departure climbing buildings with Bran , collecting bits and pieces of souls from those that died recently enough for them to have not completely dissipated.

And then I used them to strengthen Bran's soul , as my deal with the Raven dictated.

Sure , the the passerby looked at him weirdly for staring into space and laughing when I funneled the energy into his soul but who cares about that.

Suffice to say , at the end of the day Bran had a soul thrice as strong as a normal man , and since he started with a weaker than normal soul because of his young age , it was quite the boost.

For reference, it took me around a year to reach the same level by eating soul stones.

Anyway, as you might expect from someone bound to a soul oath , the raven familiar of the Three Eyed Raven (I think I will just call him R3 from now on) came to me quite quickly after that , with a piece of paper held in it's beak.

"To harness the power of greensight, one must embrace the ancient wisdom that has been passed down through the ages.

Greensight is not a power to be controlled but a force to be embraced. It is a gift, a connection to the world that transcends the physical realm.

Embrace Nature: Greensight is rooted in the natural world. Spend time in the wilderness, among the trees, rivers, and animals. Listen to the wind, feel the earth beneath your feet, and let the world's energy flow through you. Nature is your greatest teacher.

Open Your Senses: Greensight is about seeing beyond what meets the eye. Open your senses to the world around you.

Close your eyes and listen to the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, the gurgling streams. Let the scents of the forest fill your nose.

By fully engaging your senses, you become attuned to the world's hidden secrets.

Quiet the Mind: Greensight requires a quiet mind. Meditate regularly to clear your thoughts and find inner peace. In the stillness, you can better hear the whispers of the world."

...Did this motherfucker write a greensight manual and is now giving me bits and pieces of it?

"Pfff, HAHAHA" I couldn't help but laugh a little bit.

Still ,as shitty as it was explained , it was good advice.

Connecting with the world...I might have a few ideas...

"Are you ready for our training?" I was broken out of my musings by the childish voice of my magic instructor, (which was shit at her job by the way)

"Yeah yeah , but what's gotten into you , Leafy? You seem almost excited"

Heh , as if it's not painfully obvious that she wants me to strengthen her soul.

"...."

And indeed , the little wood girl kept silent , as if debating whether to speak or not.

In the end , her soul body remained silent , and she floated away , probably towards the Godswood.

She's not desperate enough yet , it seems.

Which in turn means that it's not the proper time for me to bargain with her.

Let's let her stew for a while.

She'll come around sooner or later...

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As we left Winterfell behind , I found myself falling into a routine.

During the day I walked besides the caravan while swinging my sword and training my magic by trying to prevent my sword from completing it's swing.

I didn't give a flying fuck about what those in the caravan thought though, because I needed to train my body.

Using my mana in my training meant that none remained to strengthen my physical body .

So I stated doing it the old fashioned way , uncaring about my new namesake "The Mad Prince"

Like come on , I'm not even related to Aerys.

Anyway , that's how I spent my day , while my night was dedicated to the infiltration branch of take over magic and trying (and failing) to connect to the world around me.

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But I was also working on a little side project , borne of my curiosity towards the way White Walkers turned dead humans into zombies.

It clearly wasn't take over magic .

I very much doubted those guys had more than a few neurons to rub together, and even if they did , they would be frozen solid.

So it must have been a trick that allowed them to raise the dead .

And it clearly required the Whites to do this constantly, otherwise the zombies wouldn't collapse the second their creator was dead.

And then inspiration struck me...like truck-kun hits weebs and Isekais them.

What would happen if I took a body that used to host a soul...and gave it some mana alongside a simple command?

The answer was right in front of me ,a bonafide flesh golem , with nothing going through its head besides ,,move forward,, and ,,swing sword,,

The only downside was that I needed to be quite close to it to be able to feed it with the mana it required to keep moving ,and the commands needed to be repeated constantly to not fade away , but I'm sure it's only a matter of practice until I will be able to passively maintain some flesh golems without even noticing.

It might even be a good training method...

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I looked towards the sky and thought about all the challenges that would befall me in the future.

Schemes , wars , backstabbing allies , undead monsters and maybe even gods.

But I had a big smile on my face.

Because what others may see as obstacles...I saw as opportunities for growth...

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A.N :

"Negary's previous self was also a normal person who was unwilling to remain mundane, but he had given up his everything as a price for it, which gave birth to Negary who would never become mundane."

-The original Negary , Soul of Negary

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A.N 2 :

Strength : 70 kg ->75kg

Magic added- Corpse control (Novice)

The other magic also grew a bit , but not warranting a change in the stat sheet.