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Time slowed.
Ragnar Bloodaxe's body went rigid. His crimson eyes bulged, disbelieving, as he looked down at the blade through his chest.
Numbness exploded from the wound, flooding his body, ripping away control.
"Poi...son?"
"Ghh... ghh..."
Ragnar opened his mouth to roar. Only blood-flecked air came out. His prideâhis bear-like strengthâfelt fragile.
Lynn's eyes turned vicious. He twisted his wrist.
The sword ground through warm flesh, pulverizing Ragnar's heart.
"AAAGH!"
A short, shrill scream. The light in Ragnar's eyes died.
Lynn yanked the blade free. Hot blood fountained out, drenching his hand.
Ragnar's tower-like frame swayed. ThenâCRASHâhe toppled backward, slamming into snow.
[Wildling Chieftain killed x1. Experience +5.]
Five points for a chieftain. Stronger enemies = more XP.
Lynn's hand tingled. He frowned at the blood. The poison's too strongâeven the blood has paralytic effects. Reduced concentration, but still potent. Poison needs ranged weapons.
Now he understood Aemon's "double-edged sword" warning. The toxin didn't remove painâonly control. Brutal.
He wiped his hand clean and scanned the area.
Wildlings who'd seen their strongest leader butchered like livestock lost all will to fight.
"The chieftain's dead!"
"Ragnar's dead!"
A despairing shriek in the wildling tongue. Morale shattered instantly.
Wildlings dropped weapons, fleeing like panicked beasts.
"Don't let them escape!" Lynn's voice cracked like thunder.
Walking XP. And mortal enemies of the Watch. No mercy.
Torren and Harvey's squads closed from both flanks. Archers emerged, nocking arrows, targeting fleeing backs.
A hunt. A slaughter.
Demoralized wildlings stood no chance against well-armed, high-morale Northmen.
The battle ended quickly. The valley held only corpses and a few captives.
Blood thickened the air.
"My Lord!" Torren rushed over, face alight with excitement and worship. "We won! Total victory!"
"Casualties?"
"Five light wounds. No deaths!" Pride filled Torren's voice.
Lord Lynn is incredible. Hundred men, near-zero losses, wiped out five hundred wildlings. Armor advantage, yesâbut still a legendary victory.
Every guard looked at Lynn with reverence. True worship of strength.
[Your soldiers killed wildlings x527. Experience +612.]
"Upgrade Single-Handed Sword to next tier. Rest into Light Sword."
[500 XP consumed. Single-Handed Sword (Proficient) â (Expert) 0/1000.]
[Remaining XP: 160.]
[160 XP consumed. Light Sword (Proficient) 160/500.]
Combat insights flooded Lynn's mind. Thousands of life-or-death duels. His understanding of swordplay leapt from "skilled application" to "complete mastery."
Force transmission. Angle selection. Timing. All became instinct.
This is Expert level.
"Clean the battlefield. Collect weapons and valuables."
Guards questioned captives. The wildlings only glared with hatred, trying to bite.
"Forget it. If we bring them back, Mormont will execute them anyway. Ask questions. No torture. Then give them a quick death."
No choice. They're enemies. Mormont's orders are clear. Release them = treason. Leak word = execution.
Ancestral pride kept wildlings from kneeling to southern kings. Millennia of bloodshed. Hatred doesn't dissolve easily.
Not yet. Without the White Walkers pressing them, they won't seek peace. When the dead march, reconciliation becomes possible. Giants with tree trunks would be unstoppable alliesâbut not now.
Soon, Lynn gained 44 more XP.
Guards scoured the camp excitedly. Lynn entered the bearskin tent.
A foul stench hit him. How long since Ragnar bathed?
Furs littered the floor. Human skulls piled in a cornerâtrophies. Dead brothers of the Watch.
Lynn searched carefully. A chieftain's tent should have treasures.
His eyes caught a wooden chest by the bedâancient, inlaid with twisted metal runes.
He pried it open with his dagger.
No gold. No Frostheart Grass. Just a human-skin map and several black stone-like objects.
Lynn picked up the stones. Cold. Light. Smooth as glass.
Dragonglass!
His heart skipped. White Walker killer. As valuable as Valyrian steel in the Long Night.
He pocketed them carefully, then unrolled the map.
Crudely drawnâcharcoal and red liquid. The Haunted Forest and surroundings. Mostly illegible.
But at the center: a red eye symbol. Beside it, ancient First Men script.
I can't read it. But it's important. This is why Ragnar's tribe was here. They were searching for this place.
"My Lord!" Torren called from outside. "We found something!"
Lynn tucked the map away and stepped out.
Guards clustered around a half-burned tent, murmuring.
Lynn approached. Inside the ruinsâcorpses.
But wrong. Their eyes glowed an eerie, sapphire blue.
In the flickering firelight, those eyes stared blankly at the grey sky.
~~~~ââ~~~~~~~~ââ~~~~
The story isn't over...
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