Late at night.
Most of Winterfell had sunk into silence.
Only the footsteps of patrolling guards echoed across the empty courtyard, alongside the occasional whinny from the stables.
Lynn’s room was situated on one side of the Great Keep, near the kitchens.
The flames in the hearth had shrunk to a small cluster of dark red embers, barely staving off the room’s chill.
Lynn sat cross-legged on the bed, the longsword bestowed upon him by Ned Stark resting across his knees.
He was not sleeping.
He was waiting.
*Tap, tap tap.* A knock so quiet it was barely audible sounded against the wooden door.
Lynn opened his eyes, the corners of his mouth curving upward slightly.
He stepped off the bed and unlatched the door.
A small figure darted through the crack with the agility of a cat.
Arya Stark, holding a wooden practice sword taller than herself, slipped into the room.
She turned and closed the door behind her, letting out a long breath, her face flushed with the excitement of a successful prank.
“The guard thought I was sleeping,” Arya whispered triumphantly, setting the wooden sword on the floor and dusting off her hands.
Her eyes burned with a desire far hotter than the dying hearth.
“Remember our deal?
Teach me.” Lynn offered no unnecessary chatter.
He picked up his longsword and executed a swift flourish in the dim room.
The steel cut through the air with a faint hum.
“The Night’s Watch sword style has no fancy name,” Lynn said, looking at her.
“It serves only one purpose: to kill the enemy in the shortest time possible so you can stay alive.
It isn’t pretty.
In fact, it’s quite ugly.” Arya nodded vigorously.
“I know!” Lynn stepped into the middle of the room, clearing a small space.
“Watch closely.” He assumed a standard guard position: center of gravity lowered, tip pointing diagonally toward the ground—a stance that emphasized stability and explosive force.
“When an enemy swings at you…” Lynn demonstrated a parry.
He did not rely on brute strength to block directly; instead, he used the angle of the blade to deflect the imaginary attack outward.
Instantly, with a flick of his wrist, he thrust his sword forward.
The movement was clean, vicious, and aimed straight at a vital point.
“Defense is always meant to setup the next attack,” Lynn said, drawing back his blade.
“Many wildlings beyond the Wall are larger and stronger than us.
If you try to match their strength, you’ll be the one who ends up dead.” Arya watched intently.
She picked up her wooden sword and tried to copy his posture.
Lynn halted her and handed his actual steel sword to her instead.
“A wooden sword is a child’s toy.
Use this!” Excitement flashed in Arya’s eyes.
This was her very first time holding a real sword—a weapon Catelyn had strictly forbidden her from touching!
Arya took the heavy, single-handed sword.
“Hah!” she let out a small cry and thrust it forward.
However, her movement appeared somewhat clumsy.
The weight of the blade dragged her speed down significantly.
Lynn picked up her wooden sword to spar with her.
When she tried to parry, her thin arms shook violently from the impact.
When she tried to thrust, her attacks lacked penetrating power.
“No, this isn’t right,” Arya stopped, her brow furrowed in frustration.
“I can’t deflect your sword like you do.” Lynn looked at her tense little face and trembling arms.
He realized that although the Night’s Watch sword technique emphasized skill, its foundation still rested on the physical strength of an adult male.
For Arya, it was simply too heavy.
He had to adjust.
Lynn pondered for a moment, then raised his sword again.
This time, his movements changed.
He no longer emphasized solid parries, focusing instead on evasion and nimble counterattacks.
The blade no longer followed straight, energy-draining slashes and thrusts; instead, it traced light, fluid arcs that targeted gaps in the opponent’s defense.
His movements were smaller, faster, and far more agile.
As Lynn immersed himself in developing this lighter, more agile sword technique tailored specifically for Arya, a familiar blue panel silently floated into view: [Host has drawn analogies.
Strength attribute met, Agility attribute met.
Successfully comprehended a new skill…] [Congratulations, Host has obtained new skill: Light Sword (Beginner) 1/10] Lynn’s heart stirred.
This “Light Sword” technique—derived from the Night’s Watch style yet entirely distinct—was precisely what he currently lacked.
When facing strength-focused opponents, his single-handed sword style tended to fall short.
He could not beat such opponents in a contest of pure power; he could only dodge to wear down their stamina and deliver a lethal blow once they grew exhausted.
“Try it like this,” Lynn said, breaking down the rudimentary footwork and thrusts of the Light Sword style to teach Arya.
Arya’s eyes lit up.
She raised the iron sword once more.
This time, she stopped trying to block head-on.
When Lynn’s wooden sword tapped lightly against her iron blade, she naturally took a half-step back, simultaneously angling her steel upward toward Lynn’s “wrist.” “So fast!” Arya cried out in excitement.
She felt like a fish returned to water, liberated from her previous constraints.
However, that excitement lasted only a moment.
When she tried to execute a series of continuous attacks, new problems arose.
Although the Light Sword style did not demand immense strength, it required an extremely high level of body coordination and precision.
Several of her thrusts missed their mark entirely.
Gasping for breath, she stopped, her cheeks flushed red.
“It’s still not working,” Arya said, her shoulders drooping in defeat.
“My sword is too heavy.” She looked down at the steel longsword in her hands, then at the wooden sword in Lynn’s grip.
A harsh realization suddenly struck her.
“I’m…
I’m a girl,” Arya whispered, her voice carrying a trace of unwillingness.
“No matter how much I train, I’ll never be as strong as Robb or Theon.” She lifted her head, her grey eyes filled with confusion.
“In the end, this kind of sword style still relies on strength to overpower the opponent, doesn’t it?” Lynn remained silent.
Arya’s intuition was sharp.
Even with the Light Sword style, under the battlefield logic of Westeros, fatal effectiveness still relied on enough force to penetrate armor or break bone.
Lynn knew that what Arya needed was an entirely different way of fighting—a martial art that relied purely on speed and precision without depending on brute strength.
“You’re right, Arya,” Lynn said, gently patting her head.
“You don’t need to be the strongest.
But you can be the fastest.” Just then, a chaotic set of footsteps sounded from outside the room.
“Over there!
I think I heard something!” It was the night patrol!
Arya’s face went pale, and she grabbed Lynn’s sleeve tightly.
Lynn quickly blew out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
He pulled Arya into the shadow behind the door.
The footsteps drew closer, finally coming to a stop right outside the door.
Lynn could clearly hear the guards’ breathing through the wood.
Arya held her breath in extreme tension, her small, cold hand gripping Lynn tightly.
Though two years younger than her sister Sansa—currently only nine years old—she was well aware that she should not be caught inside a man’s room at night.
After a long pause, one guard grumbled, “Must’ve misheard.
Let’s go.” “Gods-damned weather,” another guard muttered.
“Even the wind sounds like ghosts tonight.” The footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Lynn and Arya exchanged a look in the dark, both letting out a quiet breath of relief.
“I should go back,” Arya said, her voice still trembling slightly.
“Tomorrow…
can I still come tomorrow night?” “Be careful,” Lynn said, smoothing out her ruffled hair.
“There are too many eyes and ears in the castle right now.
The King’s wheelhouse and party will be arriving soon.” Arya nodded earnestly and vanished silently down the end of the corridor like a nimble fawn.
Lynn closed the door and reignited a candle.
He looked at the longsword in his hand, then at the system panel displaying [Light Sword (Beginner) 1/10].
Although Arya had not fully mastered it yet, he himself had gained plenty.
Lynn knew he needed to increase his strength as quickly as possible.
The King’s arrival meant that the center of the storm had officially shifted to Winterfell.
And he was already standing right in the eye of it.