An unadorned longsword was brought to Lynn.
Its grip was wrapped in rough leather, and its guard was a simple cross, devoid of any extra decoration.
It was a standard guard’s longsword.
Heavy, solid, and thoroughly pragmatic.
Lynn reached out, his fingertips touching the cold hilt.
In that instant, a strange, warm current surged up from his palm and instantly swept through his entire body, as if something long dust-bound had awakened deep within his bloodline.
Fragments of memories that did not belong to him surged up once more.
This time, it was no longer the terror of the White Walkers.
Instead, it was countless days and nights spent swinging a sword through wind and snow atop the Wall.
It was the dragging resistance of a blade slicing through flesh while fighting wildlings.
It was Alliser Thorne’s monotonous, harsh scolding.
“Hold it steady, you useless scrap!” “Your sword is your life!” These instincts, belonging to the original host and etched into his very bones, thoroughly fused with Lynn’s soul at this moment!
[Synchronizing host’s combat memories…] [Synchronization complete!] [Congratulations, Host!
Acquired new skill: One-Handed Sword (Proficient) 18/100] [Congratulations, Host!
Acquired new skill: Riding (Novice) 9/10] [Congratulations, Host!
Acquired new skill: Unarmed Combat (Proficient) 84/100] Lynn’s gaze changed.
If before his eyes had burned with the fire of survival, now a layer of steel-like sharpness was added to that flame.
Lynn tightened his fingers, firmly gripping the hilt.
In his hand, the longsword no longer felt like a dead object, but rather an extension of his own body.
“Let’s go.” Robb Stark’s voice called out.
The young Young Wolf had already mounted his warhorse.
He glanced back at Lynn, his eyes still filled with scrutiny.
Lynn said nothing, deftly mounting a spare pony.
The ten-man squad soon rode out through the castle gates of Winterfell.
Cold wind howled across the plains.
The group left a long trail of hoofprints in the snow-covered earth.
Theon Greyjoy rode up alongside Robb.
He cast a backward glance at Lynn, who was following at the rear of the line, his lips curling into a mocking smirk.
“Robb, do you really trust this guy?” “A deserter who couldn’t even keep his Night’s Watch oath is now talking about fighting for the North.” “Don’t you find it laughable?” Robb looked straight ahead, his young face revealing little expression.
“Father told me to watch him.” “That’s enough.” Theon shrugged.
“Fine.
I just hope he doesn’t drag us down.” “Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind helping Lord Ned execute the law early.” Their voices were not loud, but carried by the wind, they drifted intermittently into Lynn’s ears.
Lynn did not care.
He merely felt the weight of the longsword in his hand and sensed the strength slowly recovering within his body.
He knew that while words possessed power, steel and blood earned respect.
The squad rode east along a tributary of the White Knife.
The stench of blood in the air grew thicker as they pressed deeper.
Finally, at the edge of a burnt patch of woodland, they came across the remnants of the attacked caravan.
Several wagons were overturned on the ground, goods scattered everywhere, and the snow was stained a mottled blackish-red with congealed blood.
A few corpses lay stiff in the snow, their faces frozen in pre-mortem terror, while crows circled overhead, uttering raspy caws.
“They didn’t leave long ago,” an experienced veteran said to Robb after inspecting the wheel ruts.
“At most, half a day.” Robb’s face darkened, and he tightened his grip on his hilt.
“Pursue!” The squad set out once more, horse hooves treading over blood-soaked snow with muffled thuds.
They pursued for several miles.
Up ahead, in a sparse patch of woods, the faint crackle of a campfire and rough, boisterous laughter could be heard.
Robb raised his hand, signaling the squad to halt.
Everyone dismounted instantly and silently.
“Hullen, you flank them from the left,” Robb assigned calmly, lowering his voice.
“Theon, you’re the best shot.
Find high ground and cover us.” “The rest of you, follow me.” Finally, he turned to Lynn.
“You, stick close to me.
Don’t wander off.” It was both an order and a warning.
Lynn nodded and drew the longsword from his waist.
The blade unsheathed with a clear, ringing chime.
Its icy edge reflected Lynn’s tranquil eyes.
He had long prepared himself.
To survive and thrive, he had to kill!
The group crept silently into the woods, parting the last bush obstructing their view.
In a clearing not far ahead, over twenty ragged bandits were gathered around a campfire, tearing into roasted meat and guzzling stolen ale.
Their weapons were tossed aside carelessly, their faces full of post-pillage indulgence and swagger.
Theon noticed the scene as well.
With ten men—one of whom was a deserter—against twenty bandits, each of them would have to kill two men to win.
“Robb, there are far more of them than us.
Should we go back for reinforcements?” Go back for reinforcements?
By the time reinforcements arrived, these men would have vanished without a trace.
Once they changed clothes, who could tell they were bandits?
“Their gear is crude.
We can take them!” A flash of fierceness crossed Robb’s eyes, and he raised his sword.
“For the North!” A roar erupted like thunder over flat ground!
Robb was the first to charge, followed closely by the Stark guards behind him, shouting a flurry of battle cries.
The bandits instantly fell into chaos, frantically grabbing the weapons beside them, while some even choked violently on their ale.
Theon’s arrow whistled through the air at that moment, cleanly piercing a bandit’s neck.
Battle broke out instantly.
Lynn’s breathing remained steady, his heart beating powerfully in his chest.
Unlike the others, he did not roar.
He focused his entire mind on the chaotic battlefield before him.
These bandits were merely ordinary men holding weapons.
A bandit noticed Lynn.
Tall and heavy-featured, the bandit took one look at Lynn’s ragged black clothes and pale face, and a gleam of contempt flashed in his eyes.
A soft target.
Grinning cruelly, he raised his hand-axe and chopped down fiercely toward Lynn’s head!
The wind howled.
Lynn’s body reacted faster than his mind.
A sidestep dodged the axe blade.
Now!
Instead of retreating, Lynn took a step forward, sinking his center of gravity.
The longsword in his hand thrust upward at a sharp, tricky angle.
His proficient One-Handed Sword skill was pure instinct at this moment.
No flashy moves—just the simplest and most lethal thrust.
*Pfft!* A soft sound echoed.
The point of the blade cleanly pierced his throat.
The cruel grin on the bandit’s face froze instantly, the contempt in his eyes turning into absolute terror.
He tried to make a sound, but only a wheezing leak of air escaped his throat.
Blood flowed down the blade, its warm touch coating Lynn’s hand.
[Killed bandit × 1, EXP +1] Lynn felt no discomfort whatsoever; instead, he felt a rush of adrenaline.
Without a moment’s pause, he ripped the longsword free.
Warm blood spurted, and the tall bandit crashed to the ground like a severed log.
All of this happened in the blink of an eye, and the surrounding shouts of battle seemed to fade into the background.
Lynn wiped his slick, blood-covered hand on his clothes.
In his eyes now, there was only life and death.
Two more bandits saw their companion killed and roared as they pincered him from both sides.
A scimitar and a wooden club swept through the air with harsh gusts, sealing off all of Lynn’s escape routes.
Lynn took a deep breath.
Shifting his footwork and twisting his torso, he dodged the lethal scimitar.
At the same time, he parried outward with his longsword.
Lynn cleanly blocked the heavy club aimed at his head.
With a flick of his wrist, Lynn slid his blade down the wooden club.
The club had no guard.
“Aargh!” A blood-curdling scream erupted as the club-wielding bandit’s hand was chopped clean off, sending his club tumbling to the snow.
Blood sprayed violently.
Before the other bandit could react, Lynn closed the distance.
With a clean, decisive horizontal slash, his blade cut through the air.
The bandit had only enough time to see a bright flash of steel reflected in his eyes.
The next moment, his world spun out of control.
[Killed bandit × 1, EXP +1] [Killed bandit × 1, EXP +1] Lynn backhanded his blade, stabbing through the heart of the bandit with the severed wrist, ending his agony.
In just a few brief breaths, Lynn had killed three men in succession.
He stood tall, sword in hand.
Now, Lynn was splattered with warm blood.
The surrounding bandits were stunned by Lynn’s swift and efficient killing.
They subconsciously took a step back, their eyes filled with dread as they looked at him.
Not far away, Robb Stark—who had just felled an enemy with a single slash—witnessed the scene as well.
His young face was filled with shock.
This deserter…
How could he have killed three enemies so fast?