The scout's report froze the warmth of the camp.
Bandits. Slaughter. Under the banner of House Stark.
It was a slap in the face of the Direwolf.
Lynn stood, brushing snow from his cloak.
"Jon, stay here. Guard Arya."
Jon nodded, hand going to his sword. "Be careful."
"Torren," Lynn called to the captain of the guard. "Twenty men. With me."
They rode into the night, following the scout's tracks. The air grew thick with the metallic tang of blood.
Soon, they found the caravan.
Wagons were overturned like dead beetles. A horse lay stiff in the mud, one eye staring blankly at the moon. The cargo was gone.
And the bodies.
Guards lay scattered, hacked apart. Their faces were frozen masks of terror.
Lynn dismounted and walked through the carnage. He touched a pool of blood. Tacky, but not dry.
"My Lord! A survivor!"
A soldier pulled a fat merchant from beneath a shattered axle. His leg was twisted at a sickening angle.
Lynn offered him a waterskin. The man drank greedily, coughing.
"Bandits..." he wheezed. "Took everyone... North... into the woods..."
His eyes were wide with remembered horror. "They... they enjoy it."
Lynn stood up. His face was a mask of stone.
This wasn't just a raid. It was an opportunity.
"Find their trail," Lynn ordered.
Back at camp, the soldiers were restless. The news of the atrocity had spread. Northern blood ran hot when honor was stained.
"Give the order, My Lord!" Torren growled, his hand white-knuckled on his hilt. "We'll mount their heads on pikes!"
Lynn looked at his men.
"Mount up. All of you."
He pulled Torren aside, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Listen to me, Torren. When we find them... don't kill them."
Torren blinked. "My Lord?"
"Break their arms. Break their legs. Hamstring them. But leave them breathing."
Lynn's eyes were cold, devoid of mercy.
"I'll finish them. Personally."
Torren stared at him, confused but obedient. "As you command."
Nearby, Tyrion Lannister watched from the shadows of his tent, a cup of wine in hand.
Curious, the Imp thought. Why the personal touch? Is it vengeance? Or something else?
He sipped his wine. This Lynn... he's a puzzle.
The bandit camp was a scene from a nightmare.
Deep in the woods, a bonfire roared. Drunken laughter echoed through the trees.
But it was the background that chilled the blood.
Captives were tied to trees. Stripped naked. Burned with brands. Fingers bent back until they snapped.
A woman hung from a branch, her golden hair matted with blood, her body twitching faintly.
The bandits were taking turns with hot irons, laughing at the screams.
It wasn't robbery. It was sport.
Lynn raised his hand.
Fifty swords slid from their scabbards. SHING.
He dropped his hand.
"Kill."
The charge was a thunderclap.
The bandits, drunk and stupid, didn't stand a chance.
It wasn't a battle. It was a butchery.
But the Stark soldiers remembered their orders. They struck with pommels, with the flats of their blades, with armored boots.
CRACK.
A knee shattered.
THUD.
A ribcage caved in.
Within minutes, the camp was silent save for the moans of the broken men writhing on the ground. Not one was dead.
Lynn walked into the circle of firelight.
He ignored the rescued captives for a moment. He walked to the first bandit, a man clutching a shattered elbow.
The man looked up, terror dawning in his eyes.
Lynn drew the Catspaw Dagger. The Valyrian steel rippled in the firelight.
Experience delivery.
He grabbed the man by the hair.
SHUNK.
The blade slid into the neck like it was butter. Hot blood sprayed over Lynn's hand.
[Enemy Killed: 1. EXP +1]
[Current EXP: 8]
Lynn moved to the next.
He was efficient. Mechanical.
Slash.
[Enemy Killed: 1. EXP +1]
[Current EXP: 9]
Jon Snow had ridden up to the edge of the clearing. He watched Lynn move from body to body.
There was no anger in Lynn's face. No pleasure. Just work.
It terrified Jon.
It was like watching a butcher dress a deer.
Stab.
[Enemy Killed: 1. EXP +1]
[Current EXP: 10]
...
When the last bandit gurgled his final breath, Lynn straightened up. He wiped the dragonbone dagger on a dead man's tunic.
He checked his internal interface.
[Total EXP: 25]
Time to upgrade.
He dumped 9 points into Light Weapons, pushing it from Novice to Skilled.
He dumped the remaining 16 points into One-Handed Swords.
[EXP -9. Light Weapons (Novice) 1 -> 10. LEVEL UP: Skilled]
[EXP -16. One-Handed Swords (Skilled) 18 -> 34]
Name: Lynn
Strength: 5 (Normal)
Agility: 5 (Normal)
Constitution: 5 (Normal)
Skills:
One-Handed Swords (Skilled): 34/100
Light Weapons (Skilled): 1/100
Riding (Skilled): 1/100
Unarmed Combat (Skilled): 84/100
Remaining EXP: 0
Lynn sheathed his dagger. He felt the knowledge settle into his muscles. The dagger felt lighter, more like an extension of his hand.
He turned to his men, his face splashed with blood, looking like a demon from the old tales.
"Cut the captives down," he ordered calmly. "Give them cloaks. Give them food."
"We move at dawn."
--------
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