In the days that followed, Leo showed up at the Red Keep's training yard every single morning, rain or shine, the moment the sky began to lighten.
He trained hard until noon, ate with his men, rested for an hour, then went right back at it until sunset.
His game-enhanced body made it possible. He had near-endless stamina and strength that let him push through the brutal schedule without breaking.
There was one more huge reason he never missed a day.
Training gave him experience points.
Not a lot, but the bar was steadily filling. That alone kept him motivated as hell.
Everyone noticed how hard Leo was working.
Barristan, his temporary master, watched the young foreigner grind day after day and grew more and more impressed. This was rare talent. Whenever he wasn't on Kingsguard duty, he spent every spare minute teaching Leo.
Leo's modern mind gave him sharp focus and fast learning. He also knew exactly what was coming in this world four years from now, so getting stronger wasn't just a goal—it was survival. Combined with his perfect game physique, he absorbed everything Barristan taught like a sponge.
One man taught with total dedication, the other learned with total focus. They fit perfectly.
Just over half a month passed, and Leo's progress was nothing short of insane. He could now trade blows with Barristan and actually look like he belonged there.
Of course, Barristan was holding back.
Even so, the old knight openly admitted it: Leo had already reached the level of an average knight in pure sword skill.
One afternoon while Leo was in the middle of a session, Robert appeared on the wall overlooking the yard. With him were Prince Joffrey, Queen Cersei, and Jaime Lannister standing guard.
"Ha! Looking good out there!" Robert boomed as he came down the steps, laughing loudly.
Leo and Barristan immediately stopped and turned.
"I heard the stories," Robert said. "They say you were a lazy little shit as a boy and never bothered with sword training. Yet I also heard that when you led those sellswords against the bandits you cut down several men yourself!"
"Your Grace, that was mostly luck and brute strength," Leo answered modestly. He sure as hell wasn't about to mention the system. "After that fight I realized I needed real skill if I wanted to survive in Westeros. That's why I begged Ser Barristan to train me."
Robert nodded, pleased. "Good. It takes a man to admit his mistakes. And I've heard you've been out here every day, rain or shine, working like a demon. The results speak for themselves. That's why I brought Joffrey—so he can watch and learn from you. The boy hates sword training just as much as you used to."
"Joffrey, this is Ser Neo, the man who gave you that shortsword you love so much—Lifeforce."
Leo looked at the prince standing behind Robert.
The future "Joffrey the First" was still just a spoiled kid who hadn't quite turned twelve. He had the same golden Baratheon hair as his father and a pretty, delicate face. A shortsword hung at his hip, its scabbard set with a red ruby that matched the one on Lifeforce.
Naturally, his real father was the golden-haired knight standing beside Cersei—his "uncle" Jaime. All three of Robert's children were actually Jaime and Cersei's, but Robert had no idea. His royal forehead was greener than the Kingswood.
Since his audience with the king, Leo had confirmed the year: 294 AC. The War of the Five Kings would begin in 298 AC—four years from now.
Knowing what a cruel, arrogant little psychopath Joffrey would become, Leo felt zero warmth toward the boy. On the surface, though, he gave a respectful bow.
"Well met, Prince Joffrey."
Joffrey stared back, expression blank, looking Leo up and down.
"So you're the generous one they keep talking about?"
"Generous Neo" was the nickname the court had given him. Easy to see why: the moment he met the king he had handed over two blades that cut like Valyrian steel plus tens of thousands of gold coins.
Valyrian steel was forged with lost magic and could slice through normal steel like butter. Every remaining blade was priceless. Leo's gifts had the same edge, so everyone assumed they were worth a fortune.
On top of that, Leo spent money like water all over King's Landing and tipped generously to anyone who served him. The Red Keep guards in particular loved him—smile, say a few flattering words, and Leo would happily toss them silver stags.
The nickname had spread among the nobles. Some were already comparing him to the Lannisters and joking that his family probably shat in golden chamber pots.
Leo smiled politely. "Yes, Your Highness. I am Neo Presto."
Joffrey gave a small nod, a flash of distaste crossing his face. He crooked a finger at the hulking guard behind him. "Hound, fight him. Try not to kill him."
The man he called "the Hound" was Sandor Clegane, Joffrey's personal bodyguard.
Sandor was the second son of House Clegane in the Westerlands. At age seven his older brother Gregor had shoved his face into a brazier for touching one of his toys. The left side of Sandor's face was a nightmare of melted scar tissue.
Now he served as Joffrey's loyal attack dog—brutal, bloodthirsty, and utterly obedient. Joffrey had nicknamed him "the Hound" because of the three dogs on the Clegane sigil. Sandor didn't mind. To him, a dog was the most loyal creature alive, and he wore the title with pride.
Whatever Joffrey ordered—no matter how rude or cruel—Sandor carried it out without question.
Hearing the command, Sandor flashed a cruel grin, drew the longsword at his hip, and stepped toward Leo.
The mood in the yard turned ice-cold in an instant.
Leo had always known Joffrey was a psychotic little shit, but he never expected the kid to pull something like this on their first meeting.
Facing the Hound—one of the most dangerous named fighters in the entire story—and feeling the murderous aura rolling off him, Leo felt a chill run down his spine.