The returning column stretched into a long black line along the Kingsway.
Due to Lynn's presence, Jon hadn't entrusted Tyrion to visit Bran.
So after learning Lynn would return to Winterfell, Tyrion departed first.
Lynn's dragon was hidden well—Tyrion completely unaware.
He only knew Lynn possessed a dragon egg.
In winter, the North's roads were harder to traverse than ever.
Snow blanketed the earth, cold wind slicing like knives across every face.
But the column's atmosphere—exceptionally high-spirited.
Lynn rode at the very front, his hundred men following closely.
After counting the Night's Watch as allies, killing hostile creatures also granted experience. After consideration, Lynn decided to bring them—just in case.
Each man radiated the killing aura only battle-hardened elites possess.
A commander who could slay White Walkers, find dragon eggs, and make even the Lord Commander bow—deserved their complete loyalty.
Arya rode her docile little mare, staying close to Lynn's side.
She no longer chattered like on the journey north. Her small face held composure beyond her years.
She simply gazed unblinking at Lynn's profile with those bright grey eyes—as if she could never see enough.
Winter's three little heads poked out from the thick fur wrappings in Lynn's arms.
They curiously surveyed this ice-and-snow world, occasionally releasing faint hisses.
Lynn spent most of his time silent.
He studied the Valyrian language texts Maester Aemon left behind, over and over.
These ancient parchment books recorded languages and histories long forgotten by the world.
Lynn's Spirit far exceeded ordinary people—his learning ability terrifyingly strong. In just days of travel, he could already stumble through simple phrases.
"Dracarys..." (Dragonflame)
Lynn silently recited the word.
Winter in his arms—the right blood-red-eyed head—suddenly lifted excitedly.
It spat a small puff of black smoke at the sky, carrying a few weak sparks.
Though still only a hatchling, spitting only harmless black smoke.
But genuinely making the motion of breathing dragonflame.
It worked!
Ecstasy surged through Lynn's heart.
This wasn't merely a word.
This was a command.
Someday, it would grow into a true dragon.
Using all-consuming dragonflame to sweep away every obstacle in his path.
The column camped beneath an abandoned watchtower.
Campfires rose, dispelling some chill.
Soldiers sat together, roasting rations, talking and laughing quietly.
Lynn didn't join them.
He walked alone to the watchtower's top.
He sat cross-legged, placing Longclaw and Dark Sister—both Valyrian steel swords—across his knees.
He closed his eyes.
Surrounding noise gradually faded.
His consciousness began rising infinitely, leaving his body, merging into this heaven and earth's pulse.
Greensight.
He'd try that sensation again.
This time—his target more specific.
Arthur Dayne.
"Sword of the Morning."
Legendary—Westeros' strongest knight in history.
Lynn concentrated, silently reciting that name over and over in his mind.
His consciousness traversed the endless river of time.
Countless fragmented images, countless chaotic sounds flashed past his ears.
He saw dragons spewing flames above Harrenhal.
He saw the First Men and Children of the Forest signing pacts at the Isle of Faces.
He even saw a white-haired Valyrian riding a dragon, first setting foot on Westeros.
These—the continent's deepest memory imprints.
Lynn forcibly extracted his consciousness from these grand historical scrolls.
He knew—with his current Spirit, he couldn't yet glimpse such distant pasts.
He needed a closer, clearer anchor.
The Tower of Joy.
Where Ned Stark and Arthur Dayne fought their final battle.
The moment this thought emerged, Lynn's consciousness instantly found direction.
Surrounding scenery became clear.
The North's ice and snow receded, replaced by Dorne's red earth scorched by blazing sun.
A solitary round tower stood among crimson mountains.
Tower of Joy.
Lynn's consciousness—like an invisible ghost—passed through the tower's stone walls.
He saw it.
In a sunlit courtyard—
A man in silver-white armor, helmet decorated with white wings, stood quietly.
In his hands—two longswords.
One—forged from meteorite iron, emitting faint milky-white glow—the legendary sword "Dawn."
The other—an ordinary knight's longsword.
He wore no helmet. Silver-gold hair fluttered slightly in Dorne's dry hot wind.
That handsome face forever carried a trace of melancholy, yet eyes calm as deep water.
Arthur Dayne.
He wasn't dueling anyone.
Just practicing swordsmanship.
One man. Two swords.
His movements—not fast.
Could even be called slow.
But every motion filled with rhythm and beauty.
Left hand's longsword parrying. Right hand's "Dawn" thrusting.
Body rotating. Both swords like flowing light, tracing perfect arcs in the air.
Pure swordsmanship.
A technique perfectly fusing strength, speed, skill, and balance!
Lynn's consciousness completely immersed.
Only those two swords' trajectories remained in his mind.
He greedily absorbed every motion of Arthur Dayne's, every power-exertion detail, every center-of-gravity shift.
[Detecting host observing legendary swordsmanship...]
[Attributes qualified. Analyzing "Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne's combat techniques...]
[Analysis complete!]
[Congratulations, host. New skill comprehended: Dual Wielding (Beginner)]
[Congratulations, host. Your skill "One-Handed Sword (Expert)" gained massive insights. Proficiency greatly increased!]
[Congratulations, host. Your skill "Light Sword (Master)" gained massive insights. Proficiency greatly increased!]
A series of system notifications exploded in Lynn's mind.
A massive information stream instantly flooded his consciousness.
The essence of Arthur Dayne's swordsmanship!
Lynn's eyes snapped open.
He still sat atop the watchtower, two Valyrian steel swords across his knees.
Night wind cold. Starry sky brilliant.
As if nothing happened.
But Lynn knew—everything had changed.
He slowly stood.
Left hand—gripped Dark Sister.
Right hand—gripped Longclaw.
He closed his eyes. In his mind, Arthur Dayne's figure emerged again.
Lynn's body moved.
His dual swords—under cold moonlight—traced two intersecting silver trajectories.
Parry. Rotate. Thrust. Sweep...
Movements he'd never learned, yet familiar as if practiced a thousand times.
He was no longer Lynn.
In this moment—he became that legendary "Sword of the Morning."
One set complete.
Lynn lowered his swords, chest rising and falling slightly.
Unprecedented powerful sensation filled his limbs.
He looked at the dual swords in his hands.
An even crazier, bolder idea took root in his heart.
What if... what if he used this method to "see" every legendary figure who left their mark on Westeros history?
Learn their techniques. Steal their knowledge. Penetrate their secrets...
What would he become?
A monster embodying all legends?
Lynn's lips curled upward uncontrollably.
Finally becoming suppressed low laughter.
He opened his attribute panel.
Name: Lynn
Strength: 7 (21%)
Agility: 6 (24%)
Constitution: 6 (2%)
Spirit: 25 (0%)
[One-Handed Sword (Expert) 852/1000]
[Light Sword (Master) 483/500]
[Dual Wielding - Arthur Dayne Style (Beginner) 1/10]
[Riding (Proficient) 1/100]
[Unarmed Combat (Master) 0/500]
[Archery (Proficient) 0/100]
[Herbalism (Proficient) 0/100]
[Ice Magic (Master) 192/500]
[Greensight (Beginner) 1/10]
[Skinchanger (Beginner) 1/10]
Remaining Experience: 301(from Night's Watch wildling clearance)
Seeing that brand-new skill and greatly increased proficiencies, Lynn's mood soared.
He had ample experience. This world now held no secrets from him.
He could completely forge himself into a monster proficient in everything!
Only—Spirit limitations remained a shortcoming, requiring time for self-recovery.
If only he could rapidly restore Spirit...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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