Early the next morning.
The sound of the wooden door opening came with a harsh, rusty grinding noise. A shaft of grey light stabbed into the room, chasing away the stagnant gloom. Lynn squinted, his eyes adjusting to the brightness he hadn't seen in days.
"Come out."
The guard's voice was devoid of emotion, simply carrying out orders.
Lynn wasn't dragged back to the chopping block, nor was he thrown into a deeper dungeon. Instead, he was taken to the castle courtyard.
The biting air filled his lungs, carrying the ringing of iron on iron and the faint, charred scent of roasting meat from the kitchens. This vivid, living atmosphere gave him the illusion of being in a different lifetime.
Lynn's body was recovering. The energy from the hot soup and bread was slowly repairing this shell that had been hollowed out by hunger and cold.
Two guards stood behind him like statues, neither too close nor too far. It was both supervision and a silent warning.
Lynn's movement was restricted to this small corner of the courtyard. His gaze swept over the surroundings.
Nearby, the heir to Winterfell, Robb Stark, was sparring with the Master-at-Arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel. Wooden swords clashed with dull thuds. Robb's movements were steady and powerful, methodical, showing a seriousness that went beyond his years.
On the other side, Theon Greyjoy was practicing archery. His posture was dashing, and every arrow drew quiet cheers from the servants nearby. But his eyes kept drifting toward Robb, holding a trace of rivalry he couldn't quite hide.
Sansa Stark was learning embroidery. Meanwhile, Arya Stark was making a total mess of hers.
Everything was full of life. A rough, resilient vitality unique to the North.
Lynn paced over to Ser Rodrik to watch the sparring match. Ser Rodrik was an experienced teacher, always able to point out Robb's flaws instantly. It was no wonder he could train young men like Robb and Jon to be such skilled swordsmen.
Seeing Lynn on the sidelines "watching and learning," Ser Rodrik didn't chase him away. Instead, he stopped what he was doing and waved him over.
"Kid, you've been watching for a while. If you want to learn, come over. Why are you sneaking around?"
It was the straightforward bluntness typical of the North. Lynn didn't stand on ceremony and walked right up.
"Ser, I want to learn the greatsword. Can you teach me?"
Ser Rodrik looked surprised. He looked Lynn up and down, then stepped forward to squeeze his arms and shoulders before shaking his head.
"With your build, a longsword fits you just fine, but you're a bit lacking for a two-handed greatsword. Even if you could swing it, I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to bring out its true power. Don't bite off more than you can chew; start with the basics."
Lynn had already mastered the one-handed sword and naturally had no interest in relearning it, so he insisted, "Ser, I still want to see your greatsword technique."
Seeing Lynn so persistent, Rodrik scratched his thick white beard in frustration.
At that moment, Robb, leaning on his iron sword and panting, spoke up. "Ser Rodrik, if he wants to learn, teach him a move or two. Let him hit a wall, and he'll settle down on his own."
Since the Young Wolf had spoken, Ser Rodrik didn't argue further. He took a heavy training greatsword from the weapon rack and threw it to Lynn.
"Hold it steady."
Clang!
Lynn reached out with both hands to catch it but underestimated the weight of the thing. The greatsword nearly slipped from his grip, jarring his wrists until they went numb.
Rodrik showed a look of surprise. "Unexpectedly, you have some foundation. Alright, I'll teach you." "But at your current level, it's still a stretch."
The sword felt cold and rough in his hands, its entire weight pressing down on Lynn's forearms. It felt less like holding a sword and more like shouldering an iron pillar.
Ser Rodrik shook his head and easily took the greatsword back from Lynn. Rodrik had great strength—Lynn estimated he might have 8 points—which had to do with his burly physique; he handled the heavy weapon with ease.
"Watch closely, kid." "The essence of the greatsword lies in brute force and momentum!" "Of course, you can't get fancy with this thing either."
As soon as he finished speaking, Ser Rodrik sank his weight slightly, twisted his waist, and his arms moved with the flow. The heavy blade sliced through the air, creating a dull, whistling roar!
There were no flashy moves, just a simple horizontal sweep, but it carried an unstoppable momentum, as if it could split everything in front of it in two.
"Every swing needs the body's rotation—use the waist to drive the shoulder, transfer that to the arm, and finally to the sword." "You have some core strength in that frame of yours, but driving the sword is a struggle; you'd just end up being dragged around by the blade."
Ser Rodrik handed the sword back to Lynn. "Try it again."
Lynn mimicked him, sinking his center of gravity and trying to twist his waist. But the sword was simply too heavy. Lynn copied Rodrik's motion, but the swing came out soft and weak, lacking any momentum at all—more like he was swinging a wooden stake.
Robb shook his head as he watched, but his eyes held no mockery, just a trace of curiosity. He actually managed to swing it. Man, this kid has some tricks, he muttered to himself. If Lynn had a bit more strength, he might actually be able to use a greatsword!
Just as Lynn was trying desperately to feel the "momentum" Rodrik described, a cold notification rang in his mind.
[Ding! Detected learnable skill 'Two-Handed Greatsword'] [Learning Condition: Strength ≥ 7]
[Your current Strength attribute is insufficient. Unable to master this skill.]
Lynn's movement froze. Not enough strength... Learning skills had conditions? It made sense; if he could just learn it and ignore physical limits in combat, the System would be too broken.
Now wasn't the time. Rodrik wasn't going anywhere. Lynn put down the greatsword and bowed seriously to Ser Rodrik.
"Thank you for the guidance, Ser."
Although he hadn't learned the skill, the effort gave him a new understanding of how to use strength. More importantly, he found a clear short-term goal.
This kid might be overestimating himself, but his attitude is decent.
Robb walked over, shouldering his sword, and patted Lynn's shoulder with a look of inquiry. "How did it feel? Still want to learn?" "I wanted to learn it back then, too, but I ended up just like you."
Robb was kind-hearted and didn't look down on Lynn for being a deserter; he was sincere and straightforward.
Lynn grinned, showing his white teeth. "Of course. If I get the chance, I'll definitely ask Ser Rodrik for more pointers."
Rodrik nodded in agreement. Lynn seemed talented enough, and Rodrik wasn't a stingy man.
"Kid, if you want to learn later, just come find me. As long as I have time, I'll teach you. But before you come back, you better train that body of yours properly."
Just then, the rapid sound of hoofbeats shattered the peace of the courtyard. A messenger covered in snow rushed in through the castle gates. He stumbled as he dismounted, his face full of panic.
"Lord Stark!"
He ran toward Ned Stark, who was watching his sons train. Robb and Ser Rodrik stopped their sparring. Theon lowered his longbow. Everyone's eyes focused on the messenger.
"Another caravan..." The messenger's voice was low. But in the quiet courtyard, a few words drifted on the wind into Lynn's ears.
"White Knife River..." "...not a single survivor."
Ned Stark's face, originally calm, instantly frosted over. The air around him suddenly became heavy.
"This is a provocation against the North!"
Robb's young face was full of anger, his hand gripping the hilt of his wooden sword tight. "Father, let me go!"
"Just a bunch of rats hiding in the gutter," Theon Greyjoy walked over, a bloodthirsty excitement on his face. "Leave it to me, my Lord. I promise to hang their heads from the walls."
Ned ignored them. He simply gave a brief order to the captain of his guard.
"Gather the men." "Cleanse them."
The captain bowed and turned to execute the order immediately. Ned then turned to Robb.
"Come with me."
He was taking him to the council chamber. It was a clear signal. The Young Wolf of Winterfell was about to officially participate in his first military operation in the North.
The group walked quickly toward the main keep. In the courtyard, only Lynn remained, guarded by the two soldiers.
Lynn's heart began to beat powerfully. Not out of fear. But out of an unsuppressable... desire.
The Slayer System. To gain experience, he had to kill enemies. And now, enemies had appeared. They weren't nobles or soldiers, just a bunch of lawless bandits. Killing them wouldn't cause any trouble or invite retaliation from any House. They were perfect experience points.
This was his chance. The only chance to shed his prisoner status and truly master his own fate!
When Ned, Robb, and the others walked out of the main keep with grim faces, Lynn moved. He took a step forward. The guards behind him immediately reached out to grab his shoulders.
"Halt!"
"Let him speak." Ned Stark's voice rang out. He stopped and turned around. Those grey eyes were like deep pools, quietly watching Lynn.
The guards released him. Lynn faced everyone's gaze, straightened his tattered black clothes, and bowed slightly.
"My Lord." Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but it was incredibly clear. "You gave me my life. For this kindness, I have no way to repay you."
Theon Greyjoy let out a sneer. "A deserter knows how to repay kindness?"
Lynn ignored him and just looked at Ned. "Prophecy is words in the wind; time will eventually prove everything." "But right now, loyalty needs to be proven with action."
Lynn turned his gaze to the gathering guards, to the sharp blades and cold armor. "I heard bandits are ravaging your lands, slaughtering your people." "They threaten the safety of the North and are enemies of the entire North."
Lynn raised his head, looking straight into Ned Stark's eyes. "I am not a knight, and I have no title." "But before I wore the black, I fought men to survive." "Please allow me to join the clearing party." "Let me use the blood of these bandits to wash away my shame and prove my value."
"My life is yours to take back whenever you wish." "But please, first let me fight for the North."
Silence fell over the courtyard. Everyone looked at Lynn with disbelief. A prisoner who had just been begging for his life on the execution block was now volunteering to face vicious bandits.
Robb's face was full of surprise. Theon's mouth hung in a mocking smirk, as if looking at an arrogant madman. Maester Luwin stood behind Ned, his grey brows knit tight.
Ned Stark didn't speak for a long time. He just looked at Lynn. He looked at his pale face, his tattered clothes, and those eyes that still burned with fire amidst the cold Northern wind.
This man was full of mysteries. Under the Northern code of honor, his request actually sounded somewhat... noble. Using enemy blood to wash away the shame of being a deserter. Proving loyalty with action.
It was very Northern. It was also very... Stark.
"On what grounds?" Ned finally spoke, his voice cold.
Lynn answered quickly. "If I die at the hands of bandits, you have one less burden." "If I survive and kill the enemy, then I prove I am not a useless man who only speaks empty words."
Ned's gaze lingered on his face for a long time. Long enough that Lynn could almost hear his own heart slamming against his chest.
"Hullen." Ned called the captain's name. "Give him a sword."
The captain paused for a moment but immediately bowed. "Yes, my Lord."
Ned's gaze fell back on Lynn. "You follow Robb's squad." "Don't let me down."
With that, Eddard Stark turned and strode away. In Lynn's vision, the blue panel seemed to glow a little brighter.
[Name: Lynn] [Strength: 5 (Average Adult: 3)] [Agility: 5 (Average Adult: 3)] [Constitution: 5 (Average Adult: 3)]
After a night of rest, his body had fully recovered to its peak state! Even among veteran Night's Watchmen, these attributes were excellent, ranking above average.
Killing some bandits who were just commoners—some of whom probably couldn't even hold a weapon properly—would be easy to accomplish.