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He dressed quickly and pushed the door open.
Maester Aemon had been right, there, crouched beside a Night’s Watch Guard posted at the corner, was a figure.
The moment the door moved and Leon stepped out, the figure rose and strode toward him.
“Leon.
Toughest fighter in the Night’s Watch.
Knew you’d still be alive.”
The voice reached him before the man did.
By moonlight, Leon made out Jon’s face, lit with excitement.
Jon rubbed his knees, numb from crouching.
He’d spent the entire afternoon working the apprentice at the door, all for one reason, to get inside and look after his good brother lying on a sickbed.
But without the maester’s order, the apprentice did his duty.
No one got in.
So Jon, indignant, told the apprentice: I’m not leaving.
I’ll stand here all day if I have to.
The apprentice rolled his eyes.
Then waste the day.
Stand wherever you want.
So Jon stood there, stubborn, the whole afternoon, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the hours dragged on.
By evening, Leon still showed no signs of waking.
Jon couldn’t hold out any longer.
He crouched by the wall and waited.
Now, seeing Leon emerge, Jon didn’t bother rubbing his sore knees.
He patted Leon’s shoulder instead, gently, like he was checking for missing parts.
“You know what?
When I saw you beaten to a pulp, face like a pig’s head, and you still grinned at me as two apprentices dragged you off — I knew you’d be fine.”
He’d confirmed it now: Leon’s body was in perfect shape.
Getting mobbed by over a hundred Rangers hadn’t done a thing to him.
If anything, he looked sturdier.
Relief washed through Jon, deep and wordless.
“It’s late.
You haven’t slept.
Did you need something?”
Leon shifted, uncomfortable under Jon’s over-the-top enthusiasm, especially with the memory of Maester Aemon using him as a test subject still fresh.
He asked carefully, “You’re not planning to run some experiment on me too, are you?”
“What?
No.
I came to tell you — the Old Bear’s put out word.
The moment you wake, your swearing-in is to be arranged.
But I figure all the important people are asleep by now.
Pushing the ceremony to tomorrow shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Ah.
That.”
Leon understood.
He recognized that early-stage hunger in Jon, that need to be acknowledged by the Night’s Watch as one of them.
Jon was happy for him.
With nothing else to discuss, Leon headed with Jon toward the recruit barracks.
As they passed the Night’s Watch Guard stationed at the maester’s tower, Leon caught the man’s eyes, and saw something different from the way the old veterans used to look at him.
Admiration.
Trust.
Equality.
Word of what had happened in the training yard had clearly spread through Castle Black.
The veterans had accepted him.
The formidable Leon was one of their brothers now.
Back at the barracks, his bunkmates were already snoring like thunder.
Leon’s blood was still up, but he decided to keep sleeping, see if he could dream of that White Walker again.
He hadn’t had his fill of fighting yet.
But first, he called up the panel and system he hadn’t had time to check before passing out.
The panel was the same as ever.
Except his level had jumped from 1 to 10, and his freely distributable points now sat at ten.
He didn’t rush to allocate them.
His current attributes were sufficient.
If some special situation arose later and he had no points left for emergencies, that would be a problem.
The panel might be static, but the system seemed to evolve day by day.
There were considerable changes.
Passive Tasks:
One, Bloodlust: After killing or defeating 8 people, restore partial stamina.
(199/200, can grow indefinitely)
Two, Ennoblement: Activates after commanding over ten people.
Allows promoting subordinates who gain experience in battle into elite troop types.
…
Three, Plunder: After killing or defeating 1 person, regardless of whether the opponent is poor or wealthy, plunder 1 Gold Dragon.
(Skill fixed)
In sparring, defeating an opponent grants a 1% chance to steal one piece of equipment from the opponent that is of better quality than your own.
(Can grow.)
The first thing was obvious: Bloodlust was about to live up to its name.
Leon had proven it in 2 real fights over 2 days.
The skill’s health recovery efficiency was heaven-defying.
If he kept leveling it, even if he were beaten to his last breath, defeating just 1 person would bring him back, full health, right on the spot.
But the upgrade condition still felt harsh.
If he hadn’t provoked them today, there wouldn’t be another chance like that, over a hundred men to fuel his leveling, anytime soon.
No.
He needed to keep finding ways to make people hit him.
No, to let him hit them.
Leon turned the thought over in his mind.
Then his attention locked onto the third skill’s description.
If Bloodlust was the foundation, the bedrock for a thousand-story tower,
Then Plunder, for Leon’s current financial state, not wealthy, not even comfortable, but flat-out dirt poor, was pure charcoal delivered in a snowstorm.
Regardless of whether the opponent is poor or wealthy.
Listen to that.
What grand, romantic words.
For a moment, Leon was so moved he could have wept.
“Damn it.
Over a hundred Gold Dragons, just gone?
Entry Three, you bastard — you should have shown up earlier!”
But there was no use saying anything now.
Leon could only turn grief and rage into motivation, diving deep into research on where the next batch of potential opponents might be.
The night passed without a word.
When the new day’s morning woke him, larks singing, sunlight streaming, Leon felt his body humming with energy, his mind sharp.
Just another beautiful, ordinary day beginning in Westeros.
Hord fetched water and attended to Leon’s face-washing, same as always.
He’d known Leon had gone hungry all day and had thoughtfully prepared a hearty, nutritious breakfast.
Leon gulped down the boiled egg Hord had peeled with his thick fingers, one swallow.
Then, seeing Hord was slow bringing the mouth-rinse wine, he kicked out.
His foot connected squarely with Hord’s broad backside.
Wine splashed across the floor.
The sissy Lide hurried over, offering his own cup.
Leon took one sip and sprayed it out.
“Water?
Are you trying to poison me, you son of a bitch?
Bring wine!”
The commotion woke Jon.
How could it not?
He stared, shock and confusion written across his face.
He couldn’t understand it, one night’s sleep, and Leon had woken up a completely different person.
Arrogant.
Caustic.
Vicious.
Jon’s innate sense of justice flared.
He couldn’t watch his good brother sink any further.
He stood, ready to demand answers.
But the moment he rose, his old pal Edd grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“Hord and the others,” Edd said quietly, “had wicked intentions last night.
They figured after over a hundred Rangers beat Leon down during the day, he’d be no match for them anymore.
They schemed to gang up and cripple him.
Turned out Leon sleeps with one eye open.
Caught them.
Beat each one half to death.”
“Look at Hord’s face.
See all those old wounds?”
Under Edd’s prompting, Jon finally noticed.
Hord’s face was layered, new wounds stacked over old.
The very picture of a pig-headed man.
Understanding dawned.
Jon let out a long breath.
So there was a reason.
As long as Leon hadn’t turned into a caustic, petty man like Alliser Thorne overnight, that was fine.
Jon wiped the anger from his face, put on a beaming smile, and walked toward Leon.
➤ Next: The Many-Faced God’s Follower Mod Appears — Mod, a Mod?