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Torren and the guards crowded around Lynn, panicking. They watched his skin flush crimson, veins bulging like earthworms beneath the surface. Heat radiated from him like a furnace.
"My Lord! Are you alright? Should we find Maester Aemon?"
Torren's face dripped sweat.
"I'm fine."
Lynn opened his eyes slowly. A terrifying gleam flashed in their depths.
"My Lord, you..." Torren stared, bewildered, as Lynn returned to normal.
Lynn didn't answer. He stood and walked to a dead pine that would take two men to encircle. He inhaled deeply, clenched his fist, and punched.
BOOM.
A tooth-aching thud. Lynn withdrew his fist. A shallow imprint marked the trunk, cracks spiderwebbing outward.
One attribute point makes this much difference.
Torren and the guards' eyes nearly popped out. What the hell?
They were elite Northmen. Strong. But even their hardest punch would barely scratch bark. Lynn's blow had shattered wood.
And days ago, he wasn't this powerful in the yard. Did he hold back?
Their awe deepened.
Lynn flexed, feeling the surging power. His mood soared.
[Strength: 6 (28%)]
One herb shattered his bottleneck and added a third of the progress bar. The Haunted Forest is a treasure trove.
Too bad Aemon said repeated doses lost effectiveness. But he could use it on loyal men. Stronger soldiers = more XP. Win-win.
"Clean this up. We move on."
Excitement edged his voice.
"My Lord, we're... going deeper?" Torren hesitated. "We're thirty miles into the Haunted Forest. Further in, we'll hit wildling tribes."
"Perfect." Lynn grinnedâa smile more dangerous than any beast.
"My Lord, butâ"
"No buts, Torren." Lynn clapped his shoulder. The force made Torren stumble. Lynn caught him, embarrassed.
"We're here to hunt. Hunters go after big game. These scraps don't even fill the gaps in our teeth."
Lynn's gaze pierced the forest depthsâa starving wolf scenting blood.
Torren swallowed, seeing the mad battle-lust in Lynn's eyes. He didn't know what just happened, but his lord was stronger than ever.
"Yes, my Lord!"
He turned and roared at the guards. "What are you standing around for?! Pack up! Move out!"
The column rode on. Lynn felt power coursing through him. The Frostheart Grass exceeded expectations. If there's one, there's more. I'll find them all.
He'd grow stronger than anyone. So would his men. Only then could he control his fateânot be a pawn for nobles and kings.
After ten more miles, dusk fell. Light dimmed. Tree shadows twisted like ghosts.
A scout galloped back. "My Lord!" His face mixed tension and excitement. "Big discovery ahead!"
Lynn's brow lifted. "Speak."
"Five miles ahead. A valley. There's... a wildling tribe! Huge. At least a hundred tents!"
Everyone's breath caught. A hundred tents meant three to five hundred wildlings. Over two hundred fighters.
Lynn had a hundred men. Even well-trained, well-armed Northmen faced two-to-one odds on enemy ground. Suicide.
"My Lord?" Torren's voice was cautious. "Should we... retreat? Report to Lord Commander Mormont? Get reinforcements?"
This was beyond a hundred-man squad. Charging in was death.
The guards looked at Lynn. They weren't cowards, but they didn't want to die pointlessly.
"Retreat?" Lynn laughed. His gaze swept each face. "Why retreat? Torren, what are we?"
Torren blinked. "We're Lord Stark's guard. Northern soldiers."
"No." Lynn shook his head. "We're hunters. Those wildlings are prey. Are you afraid?"
Silence. But their white-knuckled grips and tense bodies said everything.
"Good. Fear is smart when facing double your numbers. But rememberâwe're different. They're savages with rocks and bones. We?" Lynn gestured at their armor and steel. "We're warriors from the civilized world. Sharp weapons. Strong armor. Discipline. And brains."
He tapped his temple. His confidence was infectious. Fear ebbed.
"My Lord, you mean...?"
"We don't fight head-on. We use our heads. Now, dismount. Follow me."
Lynn left horses with guards and led Torren and squad leaders toward the valley. They climbed a ridge, hiding in black pines, and looked down.
The sight made them gasp.
Hundreds of crude tentsâhide and boneâfilled the valley. Countless fires burned, smoke billowing. Wildlingsâmen, women, childrenâcrowded around. Butchering game. Sharpening weapons. Kids chasing through snow.
The valley was a chaotic anthill. Shouts, laughter, crying echoed.
"Gods..." A young guard's voice shook. "At least five hundred..."
"More." Lynn's gaze fixed on the largest tent at the valley's centerâstitched from whole bearskin, a beast skull hanging at the entrance. Massive wildlings with blood-red tattoos stood guard, spears in hand.
The chieftain's dwelling.
"A mid-sized tribe. Their leader's no fool to feed this many."
Lynn's mind raced. Five hundred wildlings. If I kill them all... how much XP?
His heart pounded. Huge risk. Huge reward. I'm taking this tribe.
They were enemies anyway. No mercy. Turn them into experience.
"My Lord, what now?" Torren asked.
"Wait."
"Wait?"
"For dark." Lynn scanned the valley's terrain. One narrow exit. Steep walls on both sides. Easy to defend, hard to attack. But alsoâa perfect trap.
"Torren, do these things immediately."
He lowered his voice. "First, archers prep all poison arrows. Double the toxin. Use everything.
Second, send a team to the exit. Set traps. Pits. Spikes. Snares. Whatever you can think of. More is better. Hidden is better.
Third, everyone eats well. Rest up."
Lynn's eyes gleamed in the dark. "Tonight, we're going big."
~~~~ââ~~~~~~~~ââ~~~~
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