A flock of ravens circled over Castle Black, their caws piercing the air.
Lynn lay on his simple cot, his gaze fixed on the crisscrossing wooden beams of the ceiling.
The room was filled with the bitter scent of herbs, and several rolls of bloodstained bandages were piled in the corner.
The assassin from last night had been hastily buried, his body interred in the paupers' graveyard behind the castle.
No one inquired about the body's identity.
Nor did anyone care who had sent him.
In a place like the Wall, death was a common occurrence.
Toren entered the room, carrying a steaming bowl of broth.
"My Lord, Maester Aemon says you need to replenish your strength."
Lynn took the wooden bowl, the warmth of the soup seeping through his palm.
He took a small sip, and a salty, savory taste spread across his tongue.
"Has the identity of the man from last night been confirmed?"
Toren shook his head.
"Just an ordinary Night's Watchman, named Bill."
"He usually didn't talk much, and had no friends."
"As for who instigated him..."
Toren's voice trailed off.
Such things were commonplace in Castle Black.
When a man died, the trail went cold.
Lynn placed the wooden bowl on the small table beside his bed.
He had anticipated this outcome.
A scoundrel like Alliser Thorne always covered his tracks meticulously.
Even if he was indeed the instigator, he wouldn't leave any evidence.
"Forget it."
Lynn slowly sat up, the wound on his back aching more from the movement.
"Dead men tell no tales."
"And the living don't always tell the truth."
Toren's fists clenched, his knuckles white.
"My Lord, should I take some men to 'have a word' with that Thorne?"
"No need."
"Doing so without reason would only provoke Mormont."
Lynn waved his hand.
"Now is not the time."
Lynn's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the bed, creating a rhythmic sound.
His mind was already calculating another matter.
Last night's gains were far more important than catching the assassin.
His subordinates killing also earned him experience points.
This discovery completely changed his strategic planning.
If his subordinates killing enemies could also provide him with experience points, then he could fully dispatch small teams to hunt outside.
While he focused on improving other aspects.
"Toren."
Lynn's voice suddenly became serious.
"Choose ten of our most reliable brothers."
"Take enough supplies and patrol outside the Wall."
Toren paused for a moment.
"My Lord? Are you saying..."
"Wildlings."
A glint flashed in Lynn's eyes.
"It is said that many small groups of Wildlings have been active near the Wall recently."
"It's a good opportunity for you all to get some practice."
Toren's face showed excitement.
These Northern soldiers had been cooped up for too long.
A real fight with swords and steel was exactly what they craved.
"Yes, My Lord!"
Toren turned to leave, but Lynn called him back.
"Remember, don't prolong the fight."
"Act according to the situation, and safety first."
Lynn's tone was sincere.
When he used to play Mount & Blade, even if his subordinates were virtual characters, their deaths would pain Lynn deeply, let alone now.
These hundred elites were Lynn's lifeline!
Their lives were more precious than experience points.
Experience could be accumulated slowly, but loyal subordinates were not so easy to find.
A flicker of emotion crossed Toren's eyes; he could see that Lynn's warning came from the heart.
He nodded heavily and strode out of the room.
Lynn lay back down on the bed, closing his eyes.
For the next few days, he needed to focus on recovering from his injuries.
At the same time, there was another, more important task to do.
He remembered the training methods he had learned in his previous life.
Since he was idle anyway, he might as well try more scientific exercise methods.
Three days later.
Lynn's injuries had mostly healed.
He stood on the training ground of Castle Black, with several iron pots borrowed from the kitchen beside him.
These iron pots were strung together with ropes, serving as temporary weights.
Jon Snow stood not far away, watching Lynn's actions with a puzzled expression.
"What are you doing?"
Jon walked over, pointing at the strangely shaped iron pots.
"Training."
Lynn tied the iron pots to his shoulders and began to do squats.
His movements were slow and precise, each squat tightening his leg muscles.
Jon's brows furrowed deeper.
"I've never seen this kind of training method."
"In Winterfell, knights always practiced directly with their swords."
Lynn did not stop his movements, and beads of sweat began to roll down his forehead.
"Everyone has their own method."
The core of strength training is progressive overload.
Only by continuously increasing the burden on the muscles can their tearing and regeneration be promoted.
And the traditional training methods of Westeros were clearly still in a relatively primitive stage.
An hour later.
Lynn put down the iron pots, his entire body soaked in sweat.
He leaned against a wooden post at the edge of the training ground, gasping for breath.
His muscles ached, a precursor to increased strength.
"Through scientific strength training, your Strength has received a slight boost; please explore other attribute improvement methods on your own."
"Strength: 5 (Current progress 4%)"
A flicker of excitement flashed in Lynn's eyes.
It really worked!
Name: Lynn
Strength: 5 (4%)
Agility: 5 (0%)
Constitution: 5 (0%)
"[Click to expand]"
Remaining Experience: 2
"It seems that only after filling the progress bar will the Strength attribute reach 6 points."
Jon was still studying the iron pots nearby.
"Does this really work?"
He tentatively lifted an iron pot, feeling its weight.
"You can try it."
Lynn stood up again and patted Jon on the shoulder.
"But proceed gradually; don't use too heavy a weight at first."
Jon nodded and began to imitate Lynn's earlier movements.
His movements were a bit clumsy, but his posture was fairly standard.
Watching Jon train diligently, Lynn felt a surge of emotion.
As the sun set.
Only two figures, drenched in sweat, remained on the training ground.
In the distance, Arya was perched on the windowsill, her small face pressed against the glass, intently watching Lynn's every move.
The girl's eyes were full of admiration and concern.
She didn't understand why Lynn trained in such a strange way, but she knew there must be a reason for it.
After all, everything Lynn did eventually proved to be correct.
On the seventh day.
Toren returned to Castle Black with his small team.
Their faces were all beaming with excitement, but their bodies were stained with quite a bit of blood.
The spoils of war were packed into several sacks and unloaded from the horses' backs.
Lynn stood in the center of the courtyard, awaiting Toren's report.
"My Lord!"
Toren strode up to Lynn, his voice filled with barely concealed excitement.
"We found a small Wildling team about twenty miles from the Wall."
"Twelve people in total."
Lynn nodded, signaling him to continue.
"We attacked from the flank, taking them by surprise."
"The battle lasted less than half an hour, and all the Wildlings were killed."
"Only two of our brothers sustained minor injuries."
Toren's tone was full of pride.
Lynn's attention, however, was focused on something else.
"Killed 12 enemies, Experience +15."
"Current Experience: 17."
The system's prompt sounded in his mind, instantly putting Lynn in a very good mood.
Indeed, his subordinates' achievements would also be credited to him.
This meant he could dispatch multiple small teams simultaneously to hunt Wildlings in different places.
As long as he commanded properly, the rate of experience gain would greatly increase.
"Well done."
Lynn patted Toren on the shoulder.
"Let the brothers rest well; prepare for the next operation in three days."
Toren grinned.
"My Lord, the brothers are all very excited."
"They say this is real combat, much more interesting than standing guard in Winterfell."
A faint smile also appeared at the corner of Lynn's mouth.
It seemed that the fighting spirit of these Northern soldiers had been completely ignited.
This was good news for his plan.
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