Chapter 7 Karamic Judgement

Author her~ GO AND GIVE A RIVEW FIRST, AND ALSO COMMENT IN PARAGRAPH OR CHAPTER OR DO YOU WANT ME TO DROO THIS.

Note ~ The chapter name , is the name of a spell, though I don't know if it is right as the real word for it will be Karam which is a Sanskrit as well as Hindi word having same meaning, "the things we do in like, bad things meaning bad karam, good things meaning good karam " But English translators always have a fetish of adding extra a at the last of every Hindi name or word. It would be "Karm" without extra a's, equivalent of you English "Karma".

And 3006 words written just because you said it, Zayji_Vinsmoke.

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Richard Stark's P.O.V

The chill of the Northern air felt sharper this morning as Richard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sat brooding by the hearth in his solar. The news from House Noir troubled him, though he did not allow it to show. Richard was not a man given to quick judgments or rash decisions, but the sudden rise of House Noir was something he could not ignore.

 House Noir, a relatively minor house of the North, had been the talk of the region for the past year. Their sudden rise in wealth and prosperity was unprecedented. Their once rocky, barren lands along the Stony Shore had transformed into fertile fields, and their coffers seemed to overflow with gold. Their vodka and beer had become the most sought-after spirits in the Seven Kingdoms, a feat no other Northern house had achieved. Lords in the South now openly requested shipments of these spirits.

The first reports had seemed almost laughable. Fields that had never yielded more than a handful of crops were now said to be fertile, producing bountiful harvests even in the leanest of seasons. Gold and diamonds flowed from their lands as if the earth itself had decided to bless them. And the people—Richard had heard whispers of their strength and resilience, rumors that they could work tirelessly, fight like demons, and endure what would break most men.

Rodric had dismissed the early tales as exaggerations, born from the mouths of traveling merchants eager to spin a story. But the letters that now sat on the table before him told a different tale. Lords Ryswell, Dustin, and Glover had all written with growing alarm, their words echoing the same concerns: the peasants from their lands were leaving in droves, flocking to House Noir for the promise of better lives. It was not just the lower folk, either; skilled laborers, smiths, and even some sworn swords had abandoned their oaths to seek opportunities under the Noir banner.

Richard frowned. The North was vast, its people hardy, but loyalty was its lifeblood. The sudden migration of so many was unsettling, to say the least. More troubling still was the response—or lack thereof—from House Noir. Young Alaric Noir, the boy-lord of the house, had sent a letter full of polite assurances but little substance. I am pretty sure Master Edward had him write it. He claimed no intention to poach workers and stated that his lands were open to all who sought a better life. It was a clever response, Richard had to admit, but it did nothing to ease his mind.

And then there were the rumors.

Some claimed the Old Gods had blessed their lands. Others whispered of sorcery or secret dealings with merchants from across the Narrow Sea. I, however, believed in neither blessings nor sorcery—not without proof. But the speed at which their fortunes had changed could not be ignored.

"Edward must have the mind of a merchant and the cunning of a lord," I murmured to myself. Master Edward, regent of House Noir, had managed this transformation under the guise of stewardship. By all accounts, the young lord, Alaric Noir, had little say in the house's decisions. Yet reports claimed that whenever he spoke, his suggestions were insightful and fruitful, leading to the successes they now enjoyed. For a child so young, it was impressive.

The ravens from my bannermen had demanded action, but what action could I take? House Noir had not broken any laws. Their lands were their own, their people theirs to govern. Prosperity was no crime, and while the migration of peasants had irritated my lords, I could not fault House Noir for offering a better life to those willing to work for it. Still, I needed answers, if only to quiet the dissent.

Blessed by the Old Gods," some were saying. Rodric snorted at the thought, though unease prickled at the back of his mind. 

"What do you make of it, Maester Aelric?" Rodric asked, turning to the grey-haired man who stood nearby, his hands folded neatly over his chain of office.

The maester hesitated before speaking. "It is... unusual, my lord. The sudden fertility of their lands could be explained by some natural phenomenon—a hidden spring perhaps, or new farming techniques. But the wealth? The rumors of their people's strength and resilience? Those are harder to explain."

Rodric grunted. "And the Ironborn raids?"

"A curious thing, that," Aelric replied. "The raiders were not just repelled; they were slaughtered to the last man. House Noir's forces were outnumbered, yet they suffered almost no losses. The reports speak of tactics and skill far beyond what one would expect from a small house."

"Maester Luwin," I called, and the elderly man stepped forward from his place by the hearth. "Prepare my horse and a small retinue. We leave for the Stony Shore at first light. It's time I saw this newfound prosperity with my own eyes."

"Shall I send a raven to inform House Noir of your visit, my lord?"

I paused, considering. If this Edward was as shrewd as the rumors suggested, he would have already anticipated my arrival. A formal announcement would give him time to prepare—to present only what he wished me to see. "No," I decided. "I'll not have them tidy up their lands for my sake. Let them show me what they are, not what they want me to see."

The maester nodded and left to make preparations.

I sat in the great hall a while longer, staring into the flames. Despite my suspicions, I could not deny the opportunity House Noir represented. If their wealth and prosperity were genuine, if their vodka and beer business continued to grow, then they could be a powerful ally to House Stark and the North. But if there was deceit or dark dealings behind their rise, it would be my duty to uncover it and act accordingly.

Rising from my seat, I made my way to the battlements, the crisp winter air biting at my face. Winterfell's walls were strong, its people resilient. The North had survived countless hardships, and it would survive this curiosity as well.

With that thought, I descended the steps, my decision made. At first light, I would leave for the Stony Shore, to Wraithstone Castle, the seat of House Noir. There, I would meet Edward Noir and his young charge, Alaric. And perhaps, I would finally uncover the truth behind their sudden rise.

Alaric Noir's Point of View

It had been five months since the last large-scale Ironborn raid, and though I was certain they were still reeling from the devastation I had wrought upon them, they had not entirely given up their nuisance. Instead of grand assaults, they had resorted to smaller raiding parties that plagued the edges of my shores. At first, I'd found their persistence amusing, even delightful. After all, with every Ironborn raid, we acquired more ships—free of cost, courtesy of their own arrogance and underestimation of my territory.

But as time wore on, what began as a humorous advantage had turned into a tiresome annoyance. Their pitiful raids disrupted the peace and stability I was cultivating, and so I had decided to send a message. Two months ago, I issued a simple order: every Ironborn killed on my shores would have their head mounted on wooden spikes as a grim display. We lined the unused stretches of our coastline with the grotesque trophies, a macabre warning to any would-be invaders.

Now, with the shores dotted with countless decaying heads, the Ironborn seemed to have finally understood my message. Their raids had ceased entirely in the past few weeks, and the villages in my territory had begun to breathe a sigh of relief. For now, the shores were secure.

Outside of dealing with the Ironborn, my plans for my territory were progressing smoothly. In fact, everything seemed to be falling into place. The roads connecting the entirety of my lands were nearly complete, their winding paths stretching like veins to every corner of my domain. Alongside these roads, rows of wirewood trees had been strategically planted, their presence creating small patches of forest in what were once barren expanses. These trees, grown and nurtured by my magic, had taken root in ways that defied all logic.

The people of the North, ever steeped in their belief in the Old Gods, had taken to calling my lands the "Blessed Lands." To them, the rapid growth of the wirewood trees was a sign of divine favor, and perhaps they weren't entirely wrong. The wirewoods served more than just aesthetic or symbolic purposes. Their existence had fundamentally altered the very essence of my lands. The magic density and vitality in the air had increased exponentially, saturating the land, the people, and the very soil.

Now, everything within my territory thrived. The once barren soil had turned fertile, and even the biting cold of the North seemed to have lessened, replaced by a crisp but manageable climate. Grass grew where none had grown before, painting the landscape in shades of green that had been absent for generations.

The transformation had not gone unnoticed. News of the improved weather and fertile lands had spread like wildfire, drawing peasants from across the North. In just a few months, the population of my territory had nearly doubled, swelling to almost forty thousand and still growing. The influx of people was both a boon and a challenge, but I relished the opportunity to shape and mold my domain further.

Standing by the window of my solar, I gazed out at the harbor near my castle and then I saw the surrounding of my castle. My castle was the one part of my territory that still seemed outdated, a remnant of what the land had been before I began my work. Nevertheless, the harbor was bustling with activity. We had started with forty ships, but after the Ironborn raids, the number had grown to sixty. And with my intervention, we had constructed an additional 100 ships, including ten of the largest warships the world had ever seen.

[Harbour]

[Large warships]

[Warships]

[Normal cargo and travel ships]

These warships, designed with both functionality and intimidation in mind, were marvels of engineering and magic. While they would serve as cargo ships in times of peace, their true purpose was war. Armed with medieval weapons infused with magic, they boasted scorpions, arrow throwers, and cannons powered not by gunpowder but by a magical compound similar to wildfire. The warships were also equipped with wildfire flame throwers and catapults, capable of turning enemy fleets or castles into infernos.

[scorpions]

[arrow throwers]

[cannons powered by compound similar to wildfire (non-replicable)]

[ Wildlife flame throwers]

[ Wildlife catapults]

For now, only the ten largest warships and other 60 normal size were visible in the harbor. The rest were hidden, their existence a closely guarded secret. I planned to reveal them gradually, crafting plausible explanations for their construction to avoid arousing suspicion. Their weapons, too, remained unloaded for the time being, their devastating potential known only to me.

Plans upon plans filled my mind as I watched the bustling harbor. A proper city needed to be built to accommodate the growing population, and new, sturdy houses were required for the families settling in my lands. Beyond that, an expedition to Essos loomed on the horizon, with the jungles of Sothoryos as the ultimate destination.

Of course, the expedition was more of a facade than anything else. I would send thirty magic clones and people from my territory as merchants to carry out the journey, their progress serving as a convenient cover for the wealth and resources I intended to acquire. While I would remain in Wraithstone in world's eyes. It was a carefully crafted deception, one that would allow me to expand my influence without drawing undue attention.

As I pondered my plans, a smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. In my previous world, such slow progress would have been met with scorn. People would have mocked me, questioning why I hadn't conquered entire worlds or amassed countless lovers by now. But I saw no reason to rush. With immortality on my side, I had all the time in the world.

And besides, my current state made certain pursuits impossible. In this child's body, there was little I could feel or desire. The women I might consider worthy of my attention were either unborn or still children themselves. The very thought made me grimace. I was no pedophile, nor would I ever be.

Shifting my thoughts to more productive matters, I reflected on my magic studies. Among the many disciplines I had explored, telekinesis had proven to be the most versatile and reliable. Unlike other forms of magic, which could be which needed more mastery for increasing their power, telekinesis was limited only by the amount of mana I could channel—and I possessed an infinite supply. In theory, I could compress the entire universe into a single point, returning it to its state before the Big Bang.

In addition to telekinesis, I had delved into hex-like magics, mastering space magic and making significant progress with time magic. But my most intriguing discovery was a spell I called "Karmic Judgment." This powerful magic allowed me to punish those who had taken lives, forcing them to experience the pain and suffering of their victims. The spell was indiscriminate, making even the deaths of insects a source of torment. And as I made this to in countermeasure to Death, you know the rest....

The challenge with Karmic Judgment was its reliance on divine energy, a resource I had yet to acquire. As a workaround, I had designed runes to channel my magic into the spell. These runes, which I planned to etch onto my right hand, would serve as a substitute for divinity. The design felt fittingly Nordic, a nod to the land in which I now lived.

[Pic of arm]

As I lost myself in thought, a soft knock at the door drew my attention. Sereyna, my sweet and ever-dutiful maid, stepped into the solar with a gentle smile. "My lord, Lord Stark has come for a visit. He is at the castle gates. Please come with Master Edward to offer bread and salt."

I had known of his arrival, of course. I had spotted him long before he reached the gates, through the eyes of my territory residents. 

Flashback 

...

Looking down at the harbor, I watched as people moved with purpose—unloading goods, repairing ships, or building new ones. They were thriving, their faces brimming with hope and pride, and it was satisfying to see. Though I ruled with an iron hand, they respected me for the stability and prosperity I had brought to the once-barren Stony Shore, but above all, the strength I have given them.

But not everyone shared their admiration. I had no doubt that Richard Stark's visit, unannounced as it might be, was not a coincidence. His retinue would arrive at Wraithstone soon, and while I welcomed the chance to showcase my accomplishments, I also understood the underlying threat. The Starks were the face of the North, but I had no intention of playing the role of a submissive bannerman. I would show Richard what I had built—not as a boast, but as a warning.

Turning away from the window, I called for Master Edward, the man who had served as my regent and advisor since I had inherited this territory. Who, like everyone else in my territory, was infected with Prototype Virus and under my control. He entered quickly, his face calm but sharp with intelligence.

"Richard Stark will come soon," I said, my tone as steady as the still waters of the harbor. "Ensure the castle and surrounding lands remain as they are. Do not hide anything, except for inhumane things, but do not go out of your way to explain. Let him see what he wishes to see."

Edward nodded. "And what of his questions, my lord? He will undoubtedly ask how we achieved such prosperity in so short a time."

I smiled faintly. "Then we tell him the truth—or at least, a version of it. Fertile lands, diligent people, and a bit of luck. Let him assume the rest."

"And if he digs deeper?" Edward pressed.

"Then I am the genius who helped," I replied, my voice firm. "and you Master Edward are the one who designed the ships, you are a Master after all, aren't you."

As Edward left to carry out my instructions, I allowed myself a moment to savor the irony. Richard Stark would come seeking answers, but in doing so, he would only solidify the myth of House Noir—the Blessed Lands, the thriving people, the unyielding lord. Whether he left Winterfell as an ally or a cautious observer, it mattered little. My plans would continue, and House Noir would rise, whether the Starks liked it or not.

With that thought, I turned back to the table in my solar, the maps and plans spread out before me. 

Flashback ends.

"Yes, let's go," I said, rising from my seat. As I followed Sereyna, my mind raced with possibilities. Richard Stark, Warden of the North, had come to my lands uninvited.