The stench of blood in the wood was somewhat scattered by the biting cold wind. The campfire still crackled, its flames flickering over the faces of the survivors. Guards set about clearing the battlefield, piling up the bandits' corpses while tending to their wounded comrades.
Hollen rushed over with a medicine chest. He tore away the blood-soaked cloth from Lynn's left shoulder, revealing a gruesome gash that ran deep to the bone, its flesh turned outward. In the dim firelight, it looked particularly ferocious. Hollen moved deftly, first flushing the wound with strong liquor.
A sharp, searing pain jolted Lynn's body. He clenched his teeth tightly, cold sweat beading on his forehead. Theon Greyjoy approached, casting aside his usual frivolity. He glanced at Lynn's pale face, then at the several badly mutilated bandit corpses around him.
"Didn't expect a runaway crow to have such sharp claws," he said. The mockery in his tone had faded considerably, replaced by a scrutiny mixed with surprise.
Lynn had no strength to reply. His entire focus was fixed on the blue system panel visible only to him:
[Host: Lynn]
[Strength: 3 (Wounded and Weakened)]
[Agility: 3 (Wounded and Weakened)]
[Constitution: 3 (Wounded and Weakened)]
[Skills: One-Handed Sword (Skilled) 18/100, Horsemanship (Novice) 9/10, Unarmed Combat (Skilled) 84/100]
[Experience Points: 7]
The number "7" was the best reward for Lynn's recent fight for survival. Yet the three bright red "Wounded and Weakened" statuses on the panel constantly reminded him of his dire physical condition. The severe pain from his wound and exhaustion made his consciousness fade in and out. He had to return to Winterfell as soon as possible to receive treatment from Maester Luwin.
"I should prioritize upgrading stats with experience points," Lynn thought. "Three points in Strength is average for a common man—if I could boost stats directly with XP, I'd be invincible in no time! Put all into Constitution!"
[Warning: Stats cannot be upgraded with Experience Points. XP is only for upgrading learned skills!]
[There are various ways to improve stats—please explore on your own!]
"Right, if I could raise stats directly with XP, I'd become a superhuman in days," Lynn mused, disappointed he hadn't found a loophole. "Guess I'll just focus on upgrading skills properly then." His gaze settled on the [Horsemanship (Novice) 9/10] entry. The journey back was long, and with his current condition, the jolting of the horse alone would worsen his injury. Without hesitation, he muttered inwardly: "System, allocate 1 Experience Point to Horsemanship."
[Experience Points -1]
[Horsemanship 9/10 → 10/10. Level Up!]
[Congratulations, Host! Horsemanship upgraded to (Skilled) 0/100]
A warm current suddenly flowed through Lynn's limbs. It was not the warmth of restored stamina, but a more profound sensation. Fragments of memories about horseback riding flooded his mind—how to maintain balance on horseback, how to control the horse's direction with subtle leg movements, how to sense the horse's mood… This knowledge felt innate, as if he had practiced it a thousand times, etched into his bones.
"All done," Hollen said steadily, tying up Lynn's wound with clean linen cloth. "Lucky it didn't hit the bone—otherwise, you'd be in real trouble."
Lynn nodded, staggering to his feet with the guard's support. Robb led over Lynn's pony. "Can you still ride?" The young Young Wolf looked at him, his blue eyes no longer filled with simple scrutiny, but a hint of concern.
Lynn nodded. He said nothing, just took a deep breath and climbed onto the horse, enduring the sharp pain. His movements were much more agile than when he'd mounted earlier. As soon as he settled into the saddle, that strange feeling returned. He could clearly sense every tremor of the horse's muscles, and its slight unease from the surrounding bloodshed.
Lynn instinctively squeezed the horse's flanks gently with his legs and flicked the reins softly. The previously restless pony unexpectedly calmed down, snorting docilely. A flash of surprise crossed Robb's eyes, but he asked no questions. "Let's head back."
The party regrouped and set off on the journey back to Winterfell. This time, Lynn was no longer at the rear of the group—he rode alongside Robb and Theon. It was a silent signal: having killed the most bandits, Lynn had earned the right to ride at the front. Westeros revered strength, and Lynn had won their respect with his sword and blood.
The North's night wind cut to the bone. Hooves crunched on the snow as Lynn's body swayed rhythmically with the horse's movements. His upgraded Horsemanship allowed him to adapt to the jolting in the most energy-efficient way, easing the tension in his muscles and lessening the pain in his shoulder.
"What did you do before?" Robb suddenly asked, breaking the silence. His gaze fell on Lynn's bloodstained longsword.
Lynn's swordsmanship lacked the elegance of a knight or the discipline of a master-at-arms, yet every strike was simple, direct, and deadly—purely designed to kill enemies in the shortest time. It was unmistakably the style of the Night's Watch, much like that of his father's brother, Uncle Benjen.
"Before donning the black, I was just a common man trying to survive," Lynn said, his voice blurred by the wind as he stared ahead. The Night's Watch had long lost its former glory; most of its members were criminals, sent to the Wall as good as exiled. "You have to learn a thing or two to stay alive."
It was an ambiguous yet plausible answer. Robb did not press further, just quickened his horse's pace silently. On the distant horizon, the massive grey outline of Winterfell gradually became clear under the stars.
When the party passed through the castle gates, the courtyard was already lit with torches. Eddard Stark stood on the steps of the main keep, with Maester Luwin holding a lantern behind him. His expression was as calm and imposing as the North's night sky.
His gaze swept over the group—over the bandits' heads strung on horseback, over the wounded guards—and finally settled on Lynn. The deserter, half his body soaked in blood, sat quietly on his horse, riding alongside Eddard's eldest son.
Robb dismounted and hurried to his father, dropping to one knee. "Father, all the bandits have been eliminated."
Eddard nodded, lifting his son and patting his shoulder. He felt a surge of pride that his eldest son, though young, could already share his burdens. "You did well."
Eddard's gaze drifted past Robb to Lynn again. "He…"
"He fought bravely, Father," Robb cut in, his tone filled with youthful enthusiasm. "He killed six bandits and protected our flank several times. He's proven his loyalty with actions."
Silence fell over the courtyard. All the guards looked at the young man still on horseback with complex eyes. Eddard Stark said nothing, just stared at Lynn, his grey eyes swirling with emotions—doubt, scrutiny, and a faint, barely perceptible hint of approval. Clearly, a runaway crow would not fight so recklessly. He found himself believing Lynn's words about the White Walkers a little more.
After a long pause, Eddard spoke. "Maester Luwin."
"My lord," Maester Luwin replied, descending the steps with his lantern and approaching Lynn's horse.
Lynn dismounted, stumbling slightly. Having remained tense for so long, weakness and exhaustion overwhelmed him the moment he reached safety. He held out his sword to a nearby guard, but Eddard stopped him.
"No need to return it. Keep the sword—it's yours to earn."
As Lynn followed Maester Luwin across the courtyard, he could feel the Warden of the North's gaze lingering on his back. He knew that from tonight onward, he was no longer a prisoner awaiting execution. He had survived—but the danger was not yet over. Lynn, Eddard, and Maester Luwin all waited for the raven.