Early the next morning.
The wooden door opened with a harsh, ungreased groan, as if it hadn’t turned on its hinges in ages.
A shaft of pale gray light cut into the room, scattering the stagnant chill that had settled within.
Lynn narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the long-absent brightness.
“Out.” The guard’s voice was devoid of emotion, merely carrying out an order.
Lynn was not taken back to the execution block, nor was he dragged into a deeper dungeon.
He was led into the castle courtyard.
Biting cold air surged into his lungs, carrying the faint echo of clanging iron and the crisp aroma of roasting meat drifting from the distant kitchens.
This vibrant breath of life gave him the illusion of having returned from another realm.
Lynn’s body was recovering.
The energy provided by the hot soup and bread was slowly mending a shell hollowed out by hunger and cold.
Two guards stood behind him like twin sentinels, neither too close nor too far.
It was a watch, but also a silent warning.
Lynn’s movement was restricted to this small patch of the courtyard.
His gaze swept over his surroundings.
Not far away, Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell, was sparring with the master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik.
Wooden swords clashed, emitting dull, heavy thuds.
Robb’s movements were steady and deliberate, strictly by the book, displaying a seriousness beyond his years.
On the other side, Theon Greyjoy was practicing archery.
His posture was fluid and swaggering, each arrow drawing quiet cheers from a few surrounding servants.
Yet his eyes repeatedly darted toward Robb, carrying a barely concealed edge of competitiveness.
Sansa Stark was learning embroidery.
Arya Stark, meanwhile, was turning her needlework into a complete mess.
Everything was full of life—a rough, resilient vitality unique to the North.
Lynn ambled over toward Ser Rodrik, watching the two spar.
Ser Rodrik was a seasoned teacher, always pointing out Robb’s openings with sharp precision.
It was no wonder he could forge young men like Robb and Jon into such capable swordsmen.
Noticing Lynn “stealing a lesson” from the sidelines, Ser Rodrik didn’t chase him off.
Instead, he paused his movements and beckoned with a hand.
“Boy, you’ve been watching for a while.
If you want to learn, come over.
What are you sneaking around for?” It was the straightforward frankness typical of the North.
Lynn didn’t stand on ceremony either and walked right up to him.
“Ser, I want to learn to use a two-handed greatsword.
Would you teach me?” Ser Rodrik looked slightly surprised.
He appraised Lynn from head to toe, then stepped forward to squeeze his arms and shoulders before finally shaking his head.
“With a frame like yours, a single-handed sword suits you fine.
Wanting to learn a two-handed heavy sword is reaching a bit far.
Even if you manage to swing it, I doubt you can bring out its true power.
Don’t aim higher than you can reach—start with the basics.” Lynn had already mastered the single-handed sword, so he naturally had no interest in learning it again.
He insisted, “Ser, I still want to experience your greatsword.” Seeing how stubborn Lynn was, Ser Rodrik scratched his thick white whiskers in dilemma.
At that moment, Robb, who was leaning on a wooden sword and catching his breath nearby, spoke up.
“Ser Rodrik, if he wants to learn, teach him a move or two.
Once he hits a wall, he’ll naturally behave.” Since the Young Wolf had spoken, Ser Rodrik no longer hesitated.
He pulled a heavy wooden training greatsword off the weapon rack and tossed it to Lynn.
“Hold it tight.” *Clang!* Lynn reached out with both hands to catch it, but he underestimated the weight of the thing.
The heavy sword almost slipped from his grip, the impact numbing his wrists.
Ser Rodrik showed a hint of surprise.
“Didn’t expect you to have some foundation.
Alright then, I’ll show you.” “Though at your current level, it’s still a stretch.” The heavy sword felt cold and rough in his hands.
Its entire weight pressed down on Lynn’s forearms, making him feel less like he was holding a weapon and more like he was hauling an iron pillar.
Ser Rodrik shook his head and effortlessly retrieved the greatsword from Lynn’s grip.
Ser Rodrik was very strong—Lynn estimated his Strength to be around 8, largely thanks to his burly physique.
He handled that heavy weapon with ease.
“Watch closely, boy.” “The essence of a greatsword lies in brute force and momentum!” “Of course, you can’t play fancy tricks with a thing like this anyway.” As soon as he spoke, Ser Rodrik dropped his stance slightly, twisted his core, and let his arms follow the motion.
The heavy blade sliced through the air, bringing forth a deep, dull roar!
There were no flashy movements—just a simple horizontal sweep, yet it carried an unrelenting momentum, as if it could cleave anything before it in two.
“Every time you swing it, you must harness the rotation of your body.
Use your core to drive your shoulders, transmit it to your arms, and finally to the blade.” “Your frame has a bit of core strength, but you’re barely dragging the sword along.
You’re letting the sword drive you instead.” Ser Rodrik handed the sword back to Lynn.
“Try again.” Lynn mimicked his posture, lowering his center of gravity and attempting to twist his waist and abdomen.
However, the sword was simply too heavy.
Lynn imitated Ser Rodrik’s motion, but the resulting swing was weak and lifeless, lacking any momentum whatsoever—it looked more like he was swinging a wooden log.
Robb shook his head as he watched, though his eyes lacked mockery, holding instead a faint trace of surprise.
*The kid actually managed to swing it.* *Good grief, he’s got some talent.* He muttered to himself.
If Lynn were just a bit stronger, he might actually be able to use a greatsword!
Just as Lynn was desperately trying to feel the “momentum” Ser Rodrik had mentioned, a cold prompt sounded in his mind.
[Ding!
Learnable skill detected: ‘Two-Handed Greatsword’] [Learning Requirement: Strength ≥ 7] [Your current Strength attribute is insufficient.
Unable to master this skill.] Lynn’s movements froze.
Not enough strength…
Learning skills actually required meeting physical prerequisites?
Then again, if he could bypass physical attributes and immediately apply a skill in combat just by learning it, the system would be overly broken.
Now wasn’t the time anyway.
Ser Rodrik wasn’t going anywhere.
Lynn lowered the heavy sword and gave Ser Rodrik a solemn bow.
“Thank you for the guidance, Ser.” Though he hadn’t learned the skill through this ordeal, he had gained a fresh understanding of how to exert power.
More importantly, he had found a clear short-term goal.
Though the boy was overestimating himself, his attitude was at least sincere.
Robb walked over with his sword slung across his shoulder, patting Lynn on the back with an inquiring look on his face.
“How does it feel?
Still want to learn?” “I wanted to learn it back then too, but ended up just like you.” Robb was kind by nature and didn’t look down on Lynn just because he was a deserter, remaining honest and straightforward.
Lynn grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth.
“Of course.
Given the chance, I’ll definitely ask for Ser Rodrik’s guidance again.” Ser Rodrik nodded in agreement.
This Lynn fellow seemed to possess quite a bit of talent, and Ser Rodrik wasn’t a stingy man.
He said immediately, “Boy, if you want to learn in the future, just come straight to me.
Whenever I have time, I’ll teach you.
But before you come, you’d better train that frame of yours properly.” Just then, the rapid thunder of horse hooves broke the serenity of the courtyard.
A messenger covered in wind and snow burst through the castle gates.
He tumbled off his horse awkwardly, his face pale with terror.
“Lord Stark!” He rushed toward Ned Stark, who was watching his sons train.
Robb and Ser Rodrik stopped their sparring.
Theon lowered his longbow.
Everyone’s eyes locked onto the messenger.
“Another caravan…” The messenger kept his voice low.
Yet in the quiet courtyard, a few words still drifted into Lynn’s ears on the wind.
“…White Knife…” “…Not a single survivor.” Ned Stark’s normally impassive face instantly grew cold as ice.
The air around him suddenly turned heavy.
“This is a provocation to the North!” Young Robb’s face was flushed with anger, his hand gripping the hilt of his wooden sword tightly.
“Father, let me go!” “Just a pack of rats hiding in the gutters.” Theon Greyjoy stepped forward, a glint of bloodthirsty excitement on his face.
“Leave it to me, my lord.
I promise to hang their heads from the castle walls.” Ned ignored them both.
He simply gave a brief command to the captain of the guard beside him.
“Muster the men.” “Clear them out.” The captain bowed in acknowledgment and turned immediately to carry out the order.
Ned then turned to Robb.
“Come with me.” He was bringing him into the council chamber.
A clear signal.
The Young Wolf of Winterfell was about to officially participate in a Northern military sweep for the first time.
The group walked swiftly toward the Great Keep.
In the courtyard, only Lynn remained, guarded by the two soldiers.
Lynn’s heart began to beat powerfully.
Not out of fear.
But out of a longing he could barely suppress.
The Enemy-Slaying System.
To gain experience, he had to kill enemies.
And now, enemies had appeared.
They weren’t nobles, nor were they soldiers—just a band of lawless bandits.
Killing them wouldn’t cause any trouble or draw retaliation from any noble house.
They were the perfect source of experience points.
This was his chance.
His only opportunity to shed his status as a prisoner and truly take control of his own fate!
As Ned, Robb, and the others walked out of the keep with grim expressions, Lynn moved.
He took a step forward.
The guards behind him immediately reached out to press down on his shoulders.
“Halt!” “Let him speak.” Ned Stark’s voice rang out.
He stopped in his tracks and turned around.
His gray eyes were like deep pools, quietly gazing at Lynn.
The guards released their grip.
Meeting everyone’s gaze, Lynn straightened his ragged black clothes and bowed slightly.
“Lord Stark.” Lynn’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was exceptionally clear.
“You granted me my life.
I have no way to repay such kindness.” Theon Greyjoy let out a sneer.
“A deserter knows gratitude?” Lynn ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on Ned.
“Prophecies are mere words in the wind; time will eventually prove all things.” “But right now, loyalty must be proven with actions.” Lynn shifted his gaze toward the guards who were assembling, toward the sharp blades and cold armor.
“I hear that bandits are rampaging across your lands, slaughtering your people.” “They threaten the safety of the North and are enemies to all who dwell here.” Lynn raised his head, looking straight into Ned Stark’s eyes.
“I am no knight, nor do I hold a title.” “But before I put on the black, I also fought to stay alive.” “Please allow me to join the clearing expedition.” “Let me use the blood of those bandits to wash away my shame and prove my worth.” “My life was given by you, and you can take it back whenever you wish.” “But first, let me fight for the North.” Silence fell over the courtyard.
Everyone looked at Lynn with sheer disbelief.
A prisoner who had just been begging for his life on the execution block was now volunteering to face bloodthirsty bandits.
Robb’s face was filled with astonishment.
A mocking smirk hung on the corner of Theon’s lips, as if watching a fool overestimating himself.
Maester Luwin, standing behind Ned, knit his gray eyebrows tightly.
Ned Stark remained silent for a long time.
He simply looked at Lynn.
He looked at his pale face, his tattered clothes, and those eyes that still burned with fire in the bitter Northern wind.
This man was wrapped in mystery.
Yet his request, under the Northern code of honor, sounded almost…
noble.
Using the blood of enemies to wash away the disgrace of being a deserter.
Using actions to prove his loyalty.
This was very Northern.
And very…
Stark.
“On what grounds?” Ned finally spoke, his voice ice-cold.
Lynn answered without hesitation.
“If I die by the bandits’ hands, you are rid of a nuisance.” “If I survive and slay the enemy, I prove that I am no useless blabbermouth.” Ned’s gaze lingered on his face for a long time.
Long enough that Lynn could almost hear his own heart hammering against his ribs.
“Hullen.” Ned called the captain’s name.
“Give him a sword.” The captain froze for a moment before quickly bowing.
“Yes, my lord.” Ned’s eyes fell back onto Lynn.
“You will go with Robb’s squad.” “Don’t disappoint me.” With that, Ned Stark turned and strode away.
In Lynn’s field of vision, the blue panel seemed to brighten slightly.
[Name: Lynn] [Strength: 5 (Average Adult: 3)] [Agility: 5 (Average Adult: 3)] [Constitution: 5 (Average Adult: 3)] After a night of rest, his body had fully recovered to its peak state!
Even among veteran Brothers of the Night’s Watch, these stats were exceptional, sitting well above average.
Killing a few bandits—ordinary men, some of whom couldn’t even handle weapons properly—would be a simple task.