Skyrim System In Westeros

The surrounding assassins, seeing their comrade subdued, revealed themselves. Four dropped their invisibility, drawing rapiers or daggers as they cautiously closed in on Wright.

Wright regarded them with an air of casual authority. "I've always been a reasonable man. You failed to kill me, and I clearly have the upper hand. So, I'll ask again — who hired you to assassinate me?"

Their response came not in words but in the form of three throwing knives and a smoking vial hurtling toward him.

Without hesitation, Wright grabbed the legs of the assassin he had subdued earlier, swinging the body in a wide arc. The knives embedded themselves into the corpse's back, and the vial shattered on it, splashing corrosive liquid across its torso.

"Ssssss…" The liquid hissed as it ate through the assassin's robe, dissolving flesh and muscle into a bubbling slurry. Despite the agonizing effects, the assassin didn't make a sound.

"Impressive resolve," Wright admitted, before lifting the man's legs to bring his head down to the floor. With a sharp stomp to the neck, he ended the suffering swiftly.

Raising Dark Sister, its flames casting an ominous glow, Wright addressed the remaining assassins. "Let me show you what real assassination looks like."

The four visible assassins tensed, as did the three still hidden, realizing the danger they faced. They knew Wright had mastered their techniques — and perhaps surpassed them.

Expecting a rapid charge or a stealthy strike, the assassins prepared to counter. Instead, their expressions twisted in confusion as they suddenly saw their comrades transformed into exact replicas of Wright.

Panic set in as they began attacking the illusions, unleashing every skill they possessed — swordsmanship, poisons, throwing knives, and invisibility. Chaos erupted as they turned on one another, their anger stoked by the magic Wright had subtly woven into their minds: Riot Spell, a illusion spell that provoked them into mutual destruction.

While the assassins tore into each other, Wright stood motionless beneath the statue of the Many-Faced God, flipping through the black tome he had retrieved earlier.

After a few pages, his interest waned. "As expected, the targets listed are all wealthy or powerful, but there's no mention of who paid for their deaths."

Behind him, the sounds of clashing steel and pained grunts diminished. Some assassins had already fallen, leaving five still locked in combat.

Wright closed the book with a snap, observing the fray with mild amusement. "Amateurs."

Wright walked over to the wall, where hundreds of face masks were displayed. There were masks of men, women, children, and the elderly. He casually picked one up.

"Skin craft, impressive. The peeling technique is quite refined," he remarked as he inspected the mask.

He continued to circle the hall, but aside from the face masks on the wall and the two books beneath the statue, there was nothing else of interest.

Wright returned to the base of the statue, conjuring an ice chair to sit down. He extinguished the Flame Cloak that had been surrounding him, setting Dark Sister beside the chair. There were still three assassins left in combat, all injured and bleeding. Wright withdrew the Riot Spell he had placed on them.

The remaining assassins, seeing their enemies suddenly turn into their own comrades, froze when they saw Wright sitting casually on an ice chair. They immediately realized who was behind the illusion.

Two of them charged at him, drawing their rapiers, but before they could take more than a few steps, Wright formed two long ice spears and thrust them into their bodies, pinning them to the ground. They collapsed, unable to move, as ice rapidly spread from the wounds, freezing them solid. Even when they tried to slash at the ice with their swords, it barely chipped away at the frozen spears.

The last remaining assassin, who hadn't had the chance to attack, found himself lifted into the air, his body held aloft by a glowing white magical aura. He floated toward Wright, who was now standing in front of him.

"Last time I ask. Who hired you to kill me?"

The assassin remained silent.

Just as Wright was about to end their lives, he noticed something unusual. The assassin being lifted had two rings on his hands — one on each hand.

Wright swiftly drew Dark Sister, severing the assassin's fingers and taking the rings. He examined them carefully. Two were made of white steel, one of silver, all unadorned and without any magical resonance. "Trash," Wright muttered, discarding them without a second thought.

The final ring, however, was different. It was made of Valyrian steel, dark and smoky with swirling cloud-like patterns. There was no magical aura emanating from it, but it felt distinct.

Wright stood up, using magic to move the assassin to an open space near the statue. He formed an ice spike from the ground beneath him.

The assassin finally screamed as Wright impaled him on the spike, pinning him to it by his waist. Their will was gradually being broken as their life force drained away.

The ice spike lacked the cold of an ice spear, and the assassin's blood trickled down the spike, pooling on the floor. Wright used the blood around the ice spike to draw a magic circle.

The formations on the enchantment table could be made with Valyrian steel, which was sturdy and durable. However, Wright had seen blood magic used by the Warlock in Myr and was inspired: if magicka wasn't enough, blood could be used to supplement it. Drawing a magic circle with blood wouldn't last long, but it should work for a single use.

The magic circle was completed, and Wright placed the Valyrian steel ring on the tip of the ice spike, beginning to channel magic into the formation.

This was only a trial. Wright intended to enchant the ring to reduce the Magicka consumed by destructive magic. Even if it failed, he had two more assassins nearby to experiment with.

The assassin impaled on the ice spike had his mouth wide open, but no sound escaped. Soul-like light flickered from his mouth and eyes, slowly rising from his head and gathering into the ring.

The blood in the magic circle on the ground began to bubble like boiling water. Suddenly, a burst of smoke erupted, and the blood magic circle evaporated, losing its power.

Wright removed the ring and examined it. "Reduces 10% of the consumption for destruction magic," he muttered. "It seems I still need an enchantment table. Blood magic is a shortcut — useful only in emergencies."

He didn't dwell on the significance of the finger. This ring had been taken from the assassin, and it only fit on the index finger.

Wright placed the ring on his right index finger and conjured a fireball with his right hand. The flow of magic felt different — though the power of the spell didn't change, the magicka used from his body was only 90% of what it would have been before, with the remaining 10% drawn directly from the air around him.

There was only one Valyrian steel ring, and the remaining two assassins refused to reveal their employer. Naturally, Wright's fireball landed on one of them.

The magical flames would continue to burn as long as there was Magicka to sustain them. The assassin rolled on the ground in agony, and within moments, he ceased moving.

The last remaining assassin, seeing that Wright had begun to eliminate witnesses, endured the pain and crawled toward a nearby drainage ditch. There, he pressed a hidden mechanism and dove into a tunnel.

Before long, he saw the seawater behind him freezing rapidly. Desperately, he swam harder, finally emerging from the underground passage. He scrambled up onto a small boat docked there and, using his remaining strength, began to row away, hoping to put distance between himself and Wright.

"I need to treat my wounds. As long as Wright is still on Essos, I'll flee to Westeros. Once he's gone, I'll return."

A thud echoed as someone landed on the boat, crouching in front of the injured assassin, holding Dark Sister against his throat.

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