A plain, unadorned longsword was presented to Lynn.
The hilt was wrapped in rough leather, and the crossguard was a simple crucifix shape without any superfluous decoration . It was a standard-issue guard's longsword—heavy, sturdy, and full of pragmatism.
Lynn reached out, his fingertips grazing the cold hilt.
In that instant, a strange warmth surged from his palm, rushing through his entire body. It felt as if something long-dormant deep within his blood had suddenly awakened .
Memory fragments that didn't belong to him came flooding back.
This time, it wasn't the fear of the White Walkers. instead, it was countless days and nights on the Wall, swinging a sword against the biting wind and snow . It was the drag of the blade cutting through leather and flesh while fighting wildlings.
It was Alliser Thorne's monotonous, harsh scolding ringing in his ears.
"Hold it steady! You useless waste!"
"Your sword is your life!"
These instincts, carved into the bones of the original owner, thoroughly merged with Lynn's soul in this moment .
[Synchronizing original host's combat memories...]
[Synchronization complete!]
[Congratulations Host, obtained new skill: One-Handed Sword (Proficient) 18/100]
[Congratulations Host, obtained new skill: Horsemanship (Beginner) 9/10]
[Congratulations Host, obtained new skill: Unarmed Combat (Proficient) 84/100]
Lynn's eyes changed.
If the fire burning in his eyes before was the will to survive, now, wrapped around that flame, was a layer of steel-like sharpness .
Lynn tightened his grip, holding the hilt steady. The longsword in his hand no longer felt like a dead object; it felt like an extension of his own body.
"Let's go."
Robb Stark's voice drifted over. The Young Wolf had already mounted his warhorse. He glanced at Lynn, his eyes still holding a look of scrutiny .
Lynn didn't say much. He simply and nimbly vaulted onto a spare garron.
The party of twenty riders quickly rode out through the gates of Winterfell. The cold wind howled across the plains, and the group left a long trail of hoofprints on the snow-covered ground .
Theon Greyjoy rode up beside Robb. He glanced back at Lynn, who was trailing at the rear, and a mocking smirk curled his lips.
"Robb, do you actually trust this guy?"
"A deserter who broke his vows to the Night's Watch, and now he's spouting nonsense about fighting for the North."
"Don't you find it laughable?"
Robb stared straight ahead, his young face revealing little emotion.
"Father told me to watch him."
"That's enough."
Theon shrugged. "Fine. I just hope he doesn't drag us down. Otherwise, I wouldn't mind carrying out Lord Ned's justice a little early."
Their conversation wasn't loud, but carried by the wind, it still drifted intermittently into Lynn's ears.
Lynn didn't care. He just silently focused on the weight of the sword in his hand and the strength slowly returning to his body . He knew that while words had power, steel and blood were what truly commanded respect.
---
The group traveled east along a tributary of the White Knife. The scent of blood in the air grew thicker the deeper they went .
Finally, at the edge of a burnt-out woodland, they found the wreckage of the ambushed caravan.
Several wagons were overturned, cargo scattered everywhere. The ground was stained a mottled blackish-red by snow and congealed blood. Several corpses lay stiff in the snow, the terror of their final moments frozen on their faces. Crows circled above the bodies, letting out hoarse cries .
"They haven't been gone long," a veteran soldier said to Robb after examining the rutted tracks. "Half a day, at most."
Robb's face was gloomy. He tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
"After them!"
The party set off again, hooves thudding dully against the blood-soaked snow. They chased for several more miles.
Ahead, in a sparse patch of woods, came the faint crackle of a bonfire and the sound of coarse, rowdy laughter .
Robb raised his hand, signaling the column to halt. Everyone immediately dismounted, moving silently.
"Hullen, take five men and flank from the left," Robb lowered his voice, calmly assigning tasks. "Theon, your archery is good. Find the high ground and cover us."
"The rest of you, with me."
He looked at Lynn last.
"You. Stick close to me. Don't run off."
It was both an order and a warning.
Lynn nodded and drew the longsword at his waist. The blade left the scabbard with a clear hum. The cold edge reflected the calm in Lynn's eyes.
He had already made up his mind. If he wanted to live a better life, he had to kill .
The group quietly crept into the woods, pushing aside the last brush blocking their view.
In a clearing not far ahead, a dozen ragged bandits were gathered around a bonfire, tearing into roast meat and guzzling stolen ale . Their weapons were tossed carelessly aside, their faces full of the indulgence and smugness that comes after looting.
A fierce look flashed through Robb's eyes. He raised his sword high.
"For the North!"
The roar was like a thunderclap on a clear day!
Robb was the first to charge out, with the Stark guards close behind, shouting battle cries that shook the sky.
The bandits were instantly thrown into chaos, panicking as they scrambled for their weapons. Some even coughed violently, choking on their ale. Theon's arrow whistled through the air at that exact moment, accurately piercing a bandit's neck .
The battle erupted instantly.
Lynn's breathing was steady, his heart beating powerfully in his chest. He didn't roar like the others; he simply focused his entire mind on the chaotic battlefield before him .
These bandits were just commoners holding weapons.
One bandit noticed Lynn. He was a large man with a face full of fleshy ridges. Seeing Lynn's tattered black clothes and pale face, a look of contempt flashed in his eyes.
A soft target.
Grinning savagely, he raised a hand axe and chopped down viciously at Lynn's head!
The wind howled. Lynn's body reacted faster than his brain.
He sidestepped, dodging the axe blade.
Now!
Lynn didn't retreat. Instead, he took a step forward, sinking his center of gravity. The longsword in his hand stabbed upward from a tricky angle.
The [One-Handed Sword] skill was now Lynn's instinct. No flashy moves—just the simplest, most lethal thrust .
Thwack!
A soft sound. The tip of the sword accurately pierced the man's throat.
The savage grin on the bandit's face froze instantly, the contempt in his eyes turning into extreme terror. He tried to make a sound, but his throat only produced a leaking, gurgling noise .
Blood gushed down the blade, the warm sensation coating Lynn's hand.
[Enemy Killed: 1. Experience +1]
Lynn didn't feel the slightest discomfort; instead, he found it stimulating.
Without pausing, he yanked the longsword out. Warm blood sprayed, and the large bandit crashed to the ground like a felled log.
It all happened in a flash. The surrounding battle cries seemed to fade away. Lynn wiped his hand, slippery with blood, on his clothes. In this moment, his eyes saw only life and death .
Two more bandits realized their companion had been killed and roared, flanking Lynn from the left and right. A scimitar and a wooden club, carrying a foul wind, sealed off all of Lynn's escape routes.
Lynn took a deep breath.
His footwork shifted, his body twisting to avoid the deadly scimitar. At the same time, he parried outward with his sword. Lynn accurately blocked the wooden club smashing toward his head.
With a flip of his wrist, his longsword slid down the length of the club.
The wooden club had no crossguard .
"Argh!"
A miserable scream rang out as the club-wielding bandit's fingers were sliced clean off by Lynn. The club dropped to the ground.
Blood sprayed wildly.
Before the other bandit could react, Lynn was already upon him. His movements had no wasted motion—a clean, sharp horizontal slash cut through the air.
The bandit's eyes only had time to reflect the flash of snow-bright steel.
The next moment, his world spun upside down.
[Enemy Killed: 1. Experience +1]
[Enemy Killed: 1. Experience +1]
Lynn followed up with a backhand thrust, piercing the heart of the bandit with the severed hand, ending his misery.
In just a few breaths, Lynn had killed three men in a row.
He stood there, sword in hand.
At this moment, Lynn was splattered with warm, fresh blood. The surrounding bandits were stunned by his clean, brutal efficiency. They instinctively took a step back, looking at Lynn with eyes full of fear .
Not far away, Robb Stark, who had just cut down an enemy, saw the whole thing.
His young face was written with shock.
This deserter... actually killed three enemies that quickly?