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The wooden door groaned open a stiff, reluctant sound.
Gray-white light stabbed in, cutting through the room's accumulated cold.
Lynn squinted, adjusting to the brightness he hadn't seen in days.
"Out."
The guard's voice held no emotion. Just orders.
Lynn wasn't dragged back to the execution block. Wasn't thrown into a deeper cell.
They brought him to the castle courtyard.
Crisp air flooded his lungsâthe ring of hammered iron, the smell of roasting meat from distant kitchens. The living world. It felt like waking from a dream.
His body was healing. The soup and bread had begun repairing the shell that hunger and cold had hollowed out.
Two guards stood behind him like statues. Not close, not far. Watchful. Warning.
His range: this small corner of the courtyard. Nothing more.
Lynn's gaze swept the scene.
Nearby, Robb Stark Winterfell's heirâsparred with Ser Rodrik Cassel. Wooden swords clacked together in dull rhythm. Robb moved with steady precision, serious beyond his years.
On the other side, Theon Greyjoy practiced archery. Flashy form, every shot drawing murmurs from watching servants. But his eyes kept drifting toward Robb. Competitive. Hungry for approval.
Sansa Stark sat learning embroidery. Arya Stark made a mess of hers.
Life. Raw northern life rough and resilient.
Lynn drifted toward Ser Rodrik, watching the sparring. The master-at-arms had sharp eyes, always spotting Robb's openings. No wonder he'd trained fighters like Robb and Jon.
When Rodrik noticed Lynn "stealing lessons," he didn't chase him off. Stopped. Waved him over.
"Boy, you've been lurking long enough. Want to learn? Come here. Stop skulking."
Northern bluntness.
Lynn didn't hesitate. Walked right up.
"Ser, I want to learn the greatsword. Will you teach me?"
Rodrik looked surprised. Sized Lynn up. Squeezed his arms, his shoulders. Shook his head.
"Your frame's built for a longsword. You want a greatsword? You're not there yet. Even if you could swing it, you wouldn't have the power behind it. Don't reach too high. Start with basics."
Lynn already knew longswords. No interest in relearning. He pressed: "Ser, I'd still like to see your greatsword technique."
Rodrik scratched his thick white beard, looking reluctant.
Robb, leaning on his practice sword and catching his breath, spoke up. "Ser Rodrik, if he wants to learn, show him a move or two. Let him hit a wall. He'll settle down."
The young wolf lord had spoken. Rodrik relented.
He pulled a heavy training greatsword from the weapon rack. Tossed it to Lynn.
"Hold steady."
CLANG!
Lynn caught it with both handsâbarely. Underestimated the weight. The blade nearly slipped. His wrists went numb.
Rodrik raised an eyebrow. "Huh. You've got some foundation. Fine, I'll teach you."
"But with your current level, it's a stretch."
The sword felt cold and rough. Its entire weight pressed on Lynn's forearms. Not holding a weaponâcarrying an iron beam.
Rodrik shook his head, easily took the sword back. His strength was massiveâLynn guessed 8 points. That thick build. He handled the heavy weapon like it was nothing.
"Watch, boy."
"The greatsword's essence is raw power. Momentum!"
"And you can't get fancy with it anyway."
Rodrik sank his stance. Twisted his torso. Arms followed through.
The heavy blade cut the airâa low, brutal whoosh!
No flourish. Just a simple horizontal sweep. But it carried unstoppable force, like it could cleave anything in half.
"Every swing uses your whole body. Twist from the waist. Drive through the shoulders. Transfer to the arms. Then the blade."
"Your core's got some strength, but you're barely moving the sword. It's moving you."
Rodrik handed the sword back.
"Try again."
Lynn mimicked him. Lowered his center. Tried twisting his waist.
But the blade was too heavy. His swing came out limp. No momentum. Like swinging a log.
Robb watched, shaking his headâbut his eyes held no mockery. Just surprise.
The kid actually swung it.
Damn. He's got something.
If Lynn's strength were higher, he might actually handle a greatsword.
As Lynn struggled to feel the "momentum" Rodrik described, a cold notification echoed in his mind.
[Ding! Learnable skill detected: 'Greatsword Mastery']
[Learning requirement: Strength â„ 7]
[Your current Strength is insufficient. Cannot acquire this skill.]
Lynn froze.
Not enough strength.
Skills had requirements?
Made sense. If he could learn skills and ignore physical limits, the system would be too broken.
Not yet. But Rodrik wasn't going anywhere. Lynn set down the greatsword and bowed deeply.
"Thank you for the lesson, Ser."
He hadn't learned the skill, but he'd gained new understanding of force and leverage.
More importantlyâhe'd found a clear short-term goal.
Rodrik nodded approvingly. The kid was overambitious, but his attitude was solid.
Robb walked over, clapping Lynn's shoulder. Curious. "How'd it feel? Still want to learn?"
"I tried when I was younger. Same result as you."
Robb was kindâdidn't look down on Lynn for being a deserter. Genuine and straightforward.
Lynn grinned, showing white teeth. "Of course. If I get the chance, I'll ask Ser Rodrik again."
Rodrik nodded. "Boy, you've got talent. Come find me anytime. If I'm free, I'll teach you. But bulk up first."
Suddenlyâurgent hoofbeats shattered the courtyard's calm.
A snow-covered messenger burst through the castle gates. Dismounted clumsily. Face full of panic.
"My lord!"
He rushed toward Ned Stark, who'd been watching his sons train.
Robb and Rodrik stopped sparring. Theon lowered his bow.
All eyes on the messenger.
"Another caravan..." The messenger's voice was low.
But in the silent courtyard, a few words drifted to Lynn's ears.
"White Knife River..."
"...not a single survivor."
Ned Stark's calm face turned to frost. The air around him grew heavy.
"This is an insult to the North!" Robb's young face burned with anger. His hand gripped the wooden sword tight. "Father, let me go!"
"Just rats hiding in gutters." Theon Greyjoy stepped forward, bloodlust in his eyes. "Give me the word, my lord. I'll hang their heads on the walls."
Ned ignored them. Gave a short order to his captain of the guard.
"Gather men."
"Wipe them out."
The captain bowed and left immediately.
Ned turned to Robb. "Come with me."
Taking him to the council chamber. A clear signal.
The young wolf lord would participate in his first military action.
They strode toward the keep.
In the courtyard, only Lynn remainedâwatched by two guards.
Lynn's heart began to pound.
Not from fear.
From hunger.
The Enemy Killing System. To gain experience, he had to kill enemies.
And now, enemies had appeared.
Not nobles. Not soldiers. Just lawless bandits.
Killing them would bring no trouble. No family vendettas.
They were perfect experience points.
This was his chance. His only chance to escape prisoner status and seize control of his fate.
When Ned and Robb emerged from the keep, faces grim, Lynn moved.
One step forward.
The guard behind him grabbed his shoulder. "Stop!"
"Let him speak." Ned Stark's voice cut through.
He stopped. Turned. Gray eyes like deep pools, watching Lynn.
The guard released him.
Lynn met every gaze. Straightened his ragged black cloak. Bowed slightly.
"My lord." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. "You gave me my life. I cannot repay that debt."
Theon Greyjoy snorted. "A deserter knows gratitude?"
Lynn ignored him. Kept his eyes on Ned.
"Prophecy is words on the wind. Time will prove everything."
"But now, loyalty must be proven with action."
Lynn's gaze shifted to the gathering guards. To the sharp blades and cold armor.
"I hear bandits ravage your lands. Slaughter your people."
"They threaten the North's safety. They are the North's enemy."
Lynn lifted his head, staring straight into Ned Stark's eyes.
"I'm no knight. I have no title."
"But before I took the black, I fought to survive."
"Let me join the cleansing."
"Let me wash away my shame with bandit blood. Let me prove my worth."
"You gave me my life. You can take it back anytime."
"But firstâlet me fight for the North."
Silence.
Everyone stared at Lynn like he'd lost his mind.
A prisoner who'd begged for his life on the execution block now volunteered to face brutal bandits.
Robb looked shocked. Theon smirkedâwatching a fool. Maester Luwin frowned behind Ned.
Ned Stark said nothing for a long time.
Just watched Lynn. The pale face. The ragged clothes. The eyes that still burned with fire despite the northern cold.
This man was full of mysteries.
But his requestâunder northern codes of honorâsounded almost noble.
Wash away desertion's shame with enemy blood. Prove loyalty through action.
Very northern. Very Stark.
"Why should I?" Ned's voice was ice.
Lynn answered fast. "If I die to bandits, you lose a problem."
"If I survive and kill enemies, I prove I'm not just empty words."
Ned's gaze lingered on his face. Long enough that Lynn could hear his own heartbeat slamming in his chest.
"Jory." Ned called his captain's name.
"Give him a sword."
Jory hesitated. Then bowed. "Yes, my lord."
Ned's eyes returned to Lynn. "You ride with Robb's group."
"Don't disappoint me."
He turned and strode away.
In Lynn's vision, the blue panel seemed to glow brighter.
[Name: Lynn]
[Strength: 5 (Average adult: 3)]
[Agility: 5 (Average adult: 3)]
[Constitution: 5 (Average adult: 3)]
One night's restâhis body fully restored to peak condition.
Among old Night's Watch veterans, these stats were solid. Above average.
Killing banditsâcommon men who barely knew how to hold weapons?
Easy.
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