Outside Winterfell, snow on the Kingsway began melting, roads muddy and treacherous.
Robb Stark personally escorted Lynn quite far.
He said little, only having men stuff over a dozen heavy coin purses into Lynn's wagon.
"The North isn't wealthy, but this is everything we can spare."
Robb's voice brooked no refusal.
"You'll need money on the road. Don't scrimp."
The purses felt extremely heavy—filled with golden dragons.
This wasn't merely money. This was Robb's—the entire North's—investment in him. Their goodwill.
"Alright, I accept!"
Lynn didn't decline, only looking solemnly into Robb's eyes.
"I await your safe return."
Robb nodded heavily, eyes full of complete trust.
No more words. Lynn turned his horse, leading his hundred guards south.
Hoofbeats gradually faded, disappearing at the road's end.
Crossing the North's snow line, the air's chill faded day by day.
When the column entered the Neck, damp, warm vapor hit their faces. This was Crannogman territory—swamps everywhere, ancient trees towering, roads appearing and disappearing in thick fog.
Those North-born men in the column—most seeing such scenery for the first time—seemed uneasy.
Lynn remained calm.
Through keen perception, he even detected those small figures hidden deep in swamps, vigilantly observing them with poison-tipped blowdarts.
Crannogmen.
Lynn paid no heed, only restraining his men to pass quickly without sideways glances.
These mysterious Stark bannermen wouldn't trouble columns flying direwolf banners.
Through the Neck lay the fertile Riverlands.
Earth's color changed from grey-black to emerald green. Frozen rivers became rushing waters.
Along the road, villages and towns gradually increased.
Southern customs utterly different from the North's roughness.
Men here no longer bearded strongmen. Women's clothing more colorful.
Air no longer smelled of pine needles and snow.
Instead—mixed with earth, livestock, and wheat fragrance.
Arya—like a bird freed from its cage—found everything novel.
One moment pointing at fishing boats on the river, shouting excitedly. Next moment pestering Lynn to buy honeycakes from roadside vendors.
Lynn rarely indulged her.
He spent most time immersed in his own world.
During daytime marches, he rode while mentally rehearsing Arthur Dayne's dual-wielding swordsmanship over and over.
Every movement, every power-exertion technique—disassembled and reassembled in his consciousness until becoming bodily instinct.
At night camps, he'd light an oil lamp, studying alone the Valyrian texts Maester Aemon left behind.
That ancient, complex language—under his 25 Spirit—no longer so obscure.
[Detecting your Night's Watch squad completed clearance mission...]
[Experience +21]
[Experience +15]
...
System notifications occasionally sounded in his mind.
The Wall's experience harvester—steadily providing growth nutrients according to his plan.
Lynn opened his attribute panel.
Name: Lynn
Strength: 9 (89%)
Agility: 8 (47%)
Constitution: 7 (38%)
Spirit: 25 (0%)
[One-Handed Sword (Expert) 852/1000]
[Light Sword (Master) 483/500]
[Dual Wielding - Arthur Dayne Style (Master) 21/100]
[Riding (Proficient) 57/100]
...
Remaining Experience: 588
A month's journey—accumulating considerable experience.
He'd decide how to use the remainder based on circumstances.
Could add to one-handed sword and light sword, or greensight and skinchanger—equally useful.
Physical training made strength, agility, and constitution progress bars grow slowly but steadily.
Dual wielding and riding also became increasingly proficient through daily practice.
And these—not even his greatest gains.
The column rested at an inn by the Trident River.
This was Westeros' traffic artery—merchants, sellswords, and messengers coming and going endlessly.
The inn's great hall—noisy and lively.
People talked most about the upcoming Hand's Tournament in King's Landing.
"Heard? The King's holding a tournament to celebrate Lord Eddard Stark becoming Hand!"
"The grandest in all Seven Kingdoms!"
"Prize money—forty thousand golden dragons!"
"Gods, never seen so much money in my life!"
"Lannisters will definitely participate. Lord Tywin's purse never stingy."
"And Highgarden's Knight of Flowers! Loras Tyrell!"
"His lance skills—unmatched under heaven!"
"Last year at Riverrun, he unhorsed Ser Jaime Lannister!"
"This'll be quite a show!"
Lynn sat alone in a corner, quietly drinking ale, taking in all discussions.
Hand's Tournament.
Of course he knew.
This wasn't merely celebration—but a stage for King's Landing's major powers to compete and show off.
His southern journey—besides protecting Ned and secretly planning—needed an identity.
An identity that would make those arrogant nobles look him in the eye. Give him qualification to play in this great game.
Merely being Mormont's envoy—far from enough.
After all, no matter what envoy—ultimately just a Night's Watchman. A despised existence.
He needed fame.
And the tournament—undoubtedly the fastest shortcut to fame.
Sword combat—Dark Sister unsuitable for exposure. Robert would die of rage.
But he still had Longclaw. More—Arthur Dayne's swordsmanship as foundation.
Plus this past month's constant strength training in the wagon—strength and agility reaching 9 and 8 respectively.
He was confident he'd lose to no one.
But to become famous in one battle, shock the Seven Kingdoms—the best stage was still the joust.
That was knightly glory. Nobles' most enthusiastic performance.
Lance skills...
Lynn's gaze flickered slightly.
To participate, must first obtain a knight's title. Otherwise only the melee.
Loras Tyrell.
That "Knight of Flowers" who—with miraculous lance skills—charmed countless maidens.
A thought clearly emerged in his mind.
If Arthur Dayne's swordsmanship could be "seen," why not Loras's riding skills?
Taking advantage of this month's complete Spirit recovery.
That very night, Lynn returned to the inn room, locking the door.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, Spirit concentrated like never before.
Greensight!
His consciousness again left his body, sinking into that river of light, shadow, and memory.
This time—his target crystal clear.
Loras Tyrell.
He constructed this keyword in his mind—like lighting a beacon in pitch-black deep sea.
Consciousness flew swiftly.
Riverlands scenery retreated beside him. King's Landing's silhouette flashed past.
Finally—a vast, boundless emerald plain appeared before his "eyes."
The Reach.
Highgarden's white marble castle—like a jewel in a garden—gleaming brilliantly in sunlight.
Lynn's consciousness passed through walls, directly locking onto the knight training grounds outside the castle.
He saw it.
A young knight in gorgeous silver armor, chest engraved with House Tyrell's golden rose, rode a magnificent white warhorse, charging again and again at training dummies.
Each charge—like a carefully choreographed dance.
Body and warhorse's rhythm perfectly unified. Lance in hand steady as rock.
At the instant of impact, his wrist made an extremely subtle flick.
This movement!
Made the lance tip tear through opponent's shield at a tricky angle, transmitting that massive impact force most efficiently, thus unhorsing the opponent.
This wasn't merely strength and courage—but a craft precise to the millimeter!
[Detecting host observing legendary horsemanship...]
[Attributes qualified. Analyzing "Knight of Flowers" Loras Tyrell's riding techniques...]
[Analysis complete!]
[Congratulations, host. New skill comprehended: Jousting (Beginner)]
[Congratulations, host. Your skill "Riding (Proficient)" gained massive insights. Proficiency greatly increased!]
Success!
Lynn's consciousness snapped back. Eyes opened.
He immediately opened the system, without hesitation.
[Consume 10 experience to raise "Jousting (Beginner)" to "Jousting (Proficient)"?]
"Yes."
[Consume 100 experience to raise "Jousting (Proficient)" to "Jousting (Master)"?]
"Yes!"
[Jousting (Master) 1/500]
Remaining Experience: 478
A massive information stream flooded his mind.
Loras Tyrell's training memories from childhood—thousands upon thousands—instantly imprinted in his brain.
If Loras knew, he'd probably die of rage.
At this moment—Lynn only needed a warhorse and lance to become another "Knight of Flowers."
Even—with strength and body control far exceeding ordinary people—he could do better.
Lynn slowly exhaled, suppressing inner turmoil.
He walked to the window, pushing it open.
Southern night wind exceptionally gentle, carrying grass and flower fragrance.
In the distance—the Kingsway like a black dragon, winding toward the continent's heart.
A month's monotonous journey nearing its end.
King's Landing—just ahead.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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