The biting cold wind dispersed some of the stench of blood clinging to the woodland glade.
The campfire still crackled, its light flickering across faces that were relieved to have survived the ordeal.
Guards were clearing the battlefield, dragging the bandits’ corpses into a pile while treating their wounded comrades.
Horen hurried over, carrying his medicine chest.
He tore away the blood-soaked clothes at Lynn’s left shoulder.
The wound was deep enough to expose bone, the flesh turned outward and jagged.
In the dim firelight, it looked ghastly.
Horen worked deftly, first rinsing the cut with strong spirits.
A piercing, bone-deep pain made Lynn shudder violently.
He clenched his jaw tightly, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
Theon Greyjoy strolled over, his usual reckless swagger missing for once.
He looked down at Lynn’s pale face, then cast a glance at the ghoulish corpses of the bandits scattered nearby.
“Who would’ve thought an escaped crow would have such sharp talons?” His tone held far less mockery than usual, replaced by an inquisitive look mixed with genuine surprise.
Lynn lacked the strength to answer.
His entire focus was pinned to the blue panel only he could see.
[Host: Lynn] [Strength: 3 (Injured and Weakened)] [Agility: 3 (Injured and Weakened)] [Constitution: 3 (Injured and Weakened)] [Skills: One-handed Sword (Practiced) 18/100, Riding (Beginner) 9/10, Unarmed Combat (Practiced) 84/100] [Experience Points: 7] The number “7” was the ultimate reward for the life-and-death struggle Lynn had just survived.
Yet the three bright red “Weakened” statuses on his panel were a constant reminder of his dire physical condition.
The agonizing pain from his wound and total exhaustion made his head spin.
He needed to return to Winterfell as quickly as possible to receive proper care from Maester Luwin.
*I should probably use my Experience Points to raise my attributes first.* *A Strength of 3 is just normal human condition.
If I can increase it directly with EXP, I’ll be unstoppable in no time!* *Put it all into Constitution!* [Please Note: Attribute points cannot be increased via Experience Points.
Experience Points may only be used to advance learned skills!] [Methods to increase attribute points vary.
Please explore on your own!] *Right.
If I could just boost attributes directly with EXP, I’d become superhuman in a few days.* Lynn had thought he’d found a loophole, but testing it proved otherwise.
*In that case, I’d better stick to leveling up my skills properly.* Lynn’s gaze fell on the entry: [Riding (Beginner) 9/10].
The journey back was still long.
Given his current state, just jostling on horseback would be enough to worsen his injury.
Without hesitation, he focused his mind.
*System, allocate 1 Experience Point into Riding.* [Experience Points -1] [Riding 9/10 → 10/10, Level Up] [Congratulations Host, Riding has increased to (Practiced) 0/100] A sudden wave of warmth coursed through Lynn’s limbs and body.
It wasn’t the warmth of physical recovery, but something far more subtle and profound.
Fragments of memory regarding horsemanship flooded into his mind—how to keep his balance on horseback, how to use subtle leg pressure to guide a horse’s turn, how to sense a mount’s mood…
It felt as though this knowledge were innate, as if he had practiced it ten thousand times until it was etched into his very bones.
“All done,” Horen said in a steady voice as he bound Lynn’s wound tightly with clean linen.
“Didn’t hit the bone.
You’re lucky, otherwise you’d really be in for it.” Lynn nodded.
Supported by a guard, he swayed slightly as he pulled himself up.
Robb led over the pony that belonged to Lynn.
“Can you still ride?” The young Young Wolf looked at Lynn, his blue eyes no longer filled with mere scrutiny, but with a trace of genuine concern.
Lynn nodded.
He didn’t speak, simply taking a deep breath and enduring the sharp pain as he swung himself into the saddle.
The movement was noticeably smoother and more agile than when he had set out.
The moment he sat in the saddle, that marvelous feeling returned.
He could clearly feel every muscle twitch of the horse beneath him, sensing its slight unease caused by the surrounding scent of blood.
Subtly, Lynn squeezed his legs against the pony’s flanks and gave a faint flick of the reins.
The pony, which had been fidgeting nervously, calmed down miraculously and gave a gentle snort.
Surprise flashed through Robb’s eyes, though he didn’t press the matter.
“We move.” reached back into formation, setting out on the return path to Winterfell.
This time, Lynn was no longer positioned at the rear of the column.
He rode alongside Robb and Theon.
It was a silent acknowledgment.
Lynn had claimed the highest kill count in the skirmish and earned the right to ride at the front.
Westeros valued martial strength above all.
Lynn had used steel and blood to earn their respect.
The Northern night wind was bone-chilling.
Hooves crunched softly against the packed snow.
Lynn’s body rose and fell in a natural rhythm with his horse’s stride.
The improvement in his riding skill allowed him to absorb the bumps while using minimal effort.
This gave his strained muscles a chance to relax and eased the burning ache in his shoulder.
“Where were you from before?” Robb suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.
His eyes drifted down to the blood-stained longsword at Lynn’s waist.
Lynn’s swordplay lacked the elegance of a trained knight and the formal structure of a master-at-arms.
Yet every strike was simple, direct, and lethal—a style designed purely to kill an enemy in the shortest time possible.
It was unmistakably a Night’s Watch style, remarkably similar to the techniques of his uncle, Benjen Stark.
“Before I took the black, I was just an ordinary man trying to stay alive,” Lynn said, gazing ahead, his voice somewhat muffled by the wind.
“I committed a few crimes, so I was sent to the Night’s Watch.” The Night’s Watch had long since lost its former glory.
Most of its members were criminals, and being sent to the Wall was practically an exile.
“To survive, a man has to learn a few things.” It was a vague answer, yet perfectly reasonable.
Robb didn’t press further.
He simply picked up his horse’s pace.
On the distant horizon, the massive gray silhouette of Winterfell grew clearer beneath the starlight.
When the party passed through the castle gates, blazing torches lit the courtyard.
Ned Stark stood on the steps of the Great Keep, Maester Luwin behind him holding a lantern.
Ned’s countenance was as quiet and stern as the Northern night sky.
His gaze swept over the column, taking in the bandit heads tied to the saddles and the wounded guards.
Finally, his eyes rested on Lynn.
The deserter, half his body drenched in blood, sat quietly atop his horse, riding side by side with his eldest son.
Robb dismounted quickly, stepped up to his father, and dropped to one knee.
“Father, the bandits have been completely wiped out.
The intelligence wasn’t entirely accurate—there were twenty-six of them.
Fortunately, Lynn killed a good number, or we wouldn’t have won so easily.” Ned nodded, helped his son up, and patted his shoulder.
Though young, his eldest son was already capable of sharing his burdens, which brought him a sense of quiet relief.
“You did well.” Ned’s eyes moved past Robb, settling on Lynn once more.
“He…” “He fought bravely, Father,” Robb interjected, his tone carrying a touch of youthful excitement.
“He killed six bandits and covered our flank multiple times.
He proved his loyalty through his actions.” Silence fell over the courtyard.
All the guards looked at the young man still sitting on his horse with complex expressions.
Ned Stark remained silent.
He simply watched Lynn, emotions swirling inside those gray eyes—doubt, scrutiny, and a barely perceptible hint of…
approval.
Evidently, a cowardly crow running from his post wouldn’t fight so fearlessly.
The tale Lynn had told regarding the Others felt a fraction more credible now.
After a long pause, Ned finally spoke.
“Maester Luwin.” “Take him to be treated.
Use the best remedies.” “Yes, my lord.” Maester Luwin held up his lantern and stepped down the stairs, approaching Lynn’s horse.
Lynn dismounted, his legs faltering slightly.
Arriving in a safe place after hours of extreme tension allowed weakness and exhaustion to wash over him in an instant.
Lynn unbuckled his sword to hand it back to a nearby guard, but Ned raised a hand to stop him.
“No need to return it.
Keep the sword—you’ve earned it.” As he followed Maester Luwin across the courtyard, Lynn could feel the gaze of the Warden of the North lingering on his back.
He knew that starting tonight, he was no longer a prisoner awaiting the executioner’s block.
He had survived.
Yet the crisis was far from over.
Lynn, Ned, and Maester Luwin were all waiting for a raven.