This was a summer unlike any the older generation of Westeros had ever known.
When the morning light of the seventh year of the Long Summer crept over a watchtower in Black Iron Castle, a boy of fifteen or sixteen, wrapped in a bear pelt, huddled beside a nearly extinguished stove. The sudden brightness struck his eyelids, and Leon—startled—couldn't help but open his eyes.
In truth, Leon wasn't originally from this world. He had been an ordinary high school student who, during summer vacation, discovered a Mount & Blade 2 mod called Game of Thrones. He had played it obsessively for seven days and seven nights.
He loved starting new files each day, experiencing different lives—but in the end, he collapsed and died at his computer. And when he woke up, he found himself here.
Leon—or rather, the Night's Watch recruit Leon Victor—shivered, then slowly stood, stretching and exhaling a puff of cold morning air.
Near the Wall of Despair, the mornings—even in the Long Summer—were so cold that they could freeze a man to death.
From his perch in the watchtower, Leon surveyed Black Iron Castle. In the misty dawn, shadowy figures were already moving about, beginning their day.
As a new recruit, his duties didn't include watching over the castle itself.
The stern, majestic, unsmiling face of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, suddenly flashed in Leon's mind. His mission was to keep watch beyond the castle walls, to see if any wildlings tried to sneak in.
In his previous life, Leon had lived in peace, never knowing daily danger. He had once looked down on this post, imagining that a Night's Watchman's job was simply standing on a tower or along the Wall, gazing at unchanging wilderness.
But an incident two days ago had shattered that illusion.
Now, Leon widened his eyes and scanned the wilderness outside the tower, as if to make amends. But the morning mist obscured everything beyond a few miles. The land was a tangle of gullies and hills, and farther out lay a wolf forest, lush and green as the sea. Even if hundreds of savages hid there, he wouldn't see them.
"Don't worry too much, Leon," came a calm voice from a nearby lookout tower. "It's the Long Summer. Even if a few savages slip through the Wall, they won't cause trouble. Besides, we have spies in the villages within a hundred miles—so you're safe."
Leon turned toward the voice. A man clad in the Night's Watch black leathers leaned out from the observation deck, smiling casually.
Even though Leon had seen this face countless times over the past week, he felt an urge to ask for an autograph.
Because this was Jon Snow—the very Jon Snow, one of the main heroes from the Game of Thrones TV series he had watched over and over in his previous life.
His life story read like a perfect novel: a bastard most of his life, only to be revealed as a Targaryen heir. Yet he was just fifteen, sent to the Wall with his uncle Benjen Stark soon after his nameday.
"I don't know whether to call you strong or reckless. You didn't even add firewood when the fire went out last night," Jon said, without a trace of mockery. Only then did Leon notice the stubborn little flame still flickering in the stove. In any case, he should be thankful the fire hadn't gone out entirely.
"You're welcome. Brothers of the Watch look after one another," Leon said. "I climbed up to add firewood in the middle of the night for you. Didn't wake you because you were sleeping so soundly. But it felt good to see you alive this morning."
Jon's lips curled into a bored half-smile as he noticed Leon's dazed silence. Without another word, he slid back from view, obviously sitting down again.
Even though Jon claimed there was no danger, half-exposed like that, he could easily have been shot by a wildling. Two nights ago, a fellow brother had nearly died from just such carelessness.
And Leon had seen it happen firsthand. The wildling's arrow had grazed his scalp—just a centimeter off, and he might have faced another reincarnation instead of this world.
Though Benjen Stark led rangers in pursuit, they had caught nothing.
Since then, Leon had grown quiet, cautious, and wary of risk. His body was now far stronger than the fragile high schooler of his former life—but he still didn't dare gamble that his skull could withstand a wolf-tooth arrow.
Seven days passed like a flash. His initial curiosity about this world had given way to a gnawing fear of death, amplified by the vast, untamed wilderness and an instinctive sixth sense alerting him to danger. Even on watch, he found himself staring blankly, wondering how to escape.
And yet, in the cafeteria, he heard tales of deserters caught and executed by northern lords—heads struck down without mercy.
Hearing old soldiers recount their deaths with cruel smiles sent shivers down his spine. He knew that even if he survived the North, the unknown threats of this world could still kill him in countless ways.
But what choice did he have?
Leon knew little of this world, yet he remembered the White Walkers vividly. Worse, he was now on the front lines against them. Even with basic self-defense skills learned from videos, he feared that after a few rounds, he might have to beg for mercy. And if he died, the Night King's magic would force him to rise as one of the walking dead, with no chance of rebirth.
"Oh gods… or Old Gods… anyone, please save me, a lost lamb!" Leon muttered, sliding down to sit on the wooden floor of the arrow tower.
Usually, protagonists in other novels were born with a system. Here, Leon had to pray on his own.
Better late than never.
[ Sorry for being late… Congratulations to the host on awakening the Mount & Blade panel! A Thousand Faces God system included as a gift. ]