◉◉◉◉◉
Jimmy suddenly remembered something. "Ned, you'll be on your own today, There's bread and cured meat here."
After finishing changing Ned's bandages, he continued, "I need to head out for a bit. That's how it is."
He turned toward the massive wolf at his side. "Horus, let's go, We're making a trip to King's Landing."
"W–wait!" Ned tried to stop him, but the words came too late.
He could tell Jimmy held no ill will toward him. Jimmy had saved his life, that much was certain. But he had no intention of involving himself further in Ned's cause.
The book on statecraft lay open beside him. Every page reeked of manipulation, deception, and ruthless calculation. After coming so close to death, Ned had finally begun to understand the necessity of thinking beyond honor alone.
Though he despised the schemes within its pages, he studied them carefully.
Not to use them against others. But to ensure he would never fall victim to them again.
This time, as he reflected on his mistakes, the truth was painfully clear. If he had taken Robert's heirs and returned north the moment he sensed danger, consolidated his forces, and proclaimed Robert's decree from the safety of Winterfell…
He let out a bitter sigh.
Jimmy had been right. He had been dealt a winning hand and still managed to lose everything.
Enough of that.
His gaze fell to the war board.
How had Jimmy managed to defeat Tywin Lannister using nothing but Northern forces?
What cards did the old lion still hold in reserve?
War was not won through hope alone.
And deep down, Ned knew. If he commanded the Northern army the same way he had just done on the board, Jimmy would have a counter ready. And the result would be absolute ruin.
No.
He had to figure it out.
Because Jimmy had made him a promise. If Ned could win even once, Jimmy would deliver a message for him.
…
Jimmy exhaled slowly.
Before him stood a crumbling courtyard surrounded by broken stone walls. At its center sat a small, weathered shack.
It was hard to believe this was the residence of Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice.
Jimmy tilted his head, listening.
The slow, steady rhythm of breathing. The calm, measured beat of a sleeping heart.
He was inside.
Jimmy vaulted silently over the wall.
Ping!
A sharp, metallic sound rang out beneath his foot.
Inside the shack, the breathing abruptly stopped.
Damn it.
He had been careless. Nearly invisible threads, thin as spider silk, stretched across the courtyard.
A warning trap.
Of course. A man in Ilyn Payne's position would never leave himself unguarded.
Fine.
Boom.
Jimmy abandoned stealth entirely and smashed straight through the door.
Why bother with subtlety? Today, he would take advantage of one simple fact.
Ilyn Payne could not scream.
Once, he had served as Tywin Lannister's captain of the guard during his tenure as Hand of the King. But the Mad King had his tongue torn out, leaving him permanently mute.
This place was isolated. No witnesses. No voice to call for help.
Jimmy raised his blade and struck.
Technique?
He didn't need a technique to kill this man.
The faster it ended, the faster he could go home.
In the blink of an eye, steel met steel.
Crack.
Jimmy's blade sheared through Payne's sword and arm in a single, brutal arc.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
Payne staggered back, his expression twisted in shock and pain, his remaining hand scrambling desperately for anything that might turn the tide.
Jimmy didn't give him the chance.
Whoosh.
One clean strike.
The blade fell.
Ilyn Payne, executioner of countless men, had spent his life delivering death.
Now, at last, death had come for him.
Jimmy's expression was dark.
He had gotten cocky.
He had even toyed with the man like a cat playing with its prey. And the result…
Damn it!
Ilyn Payne might have lost his tongue, but Jimmy hadn't expected him to pull a silver whistle from around his neck and blow it with everything he had.
Jimmy could already hear movement in the distance. Guards were converging on the location.
He glanced around the shack, then stepped over to the wall. Propped there was Ice, the massive greatsword nearly as tall as a man. Jimmy picked it up and stored it inside the Horadric Cube, preparing to leave.
Then, just before departing, he casually kicked Payne's bed.
Thud.
A hidden compartment split open, revealing a chest beneath.
Jimmy grinned.
He grabbed the chest, then leapt high into the air, landing cleanly on Horus's back. The great wolf surged forward, and within seconds, both rider and beast vanished into the night.
…
By dawn, Jimmy had returned to the island.
When he entered the house, Ned was already awake, seated with a book in hand. He looked up, immediately noticing Jimmy's sour expression.
"Didn't go as smoothly as planned?"
Jimmy sat down and took a long drink of water.
"He couldn't speak," Jimmy said flatly. "But the bastard had a silver whistle hidden around his neck."
Ned thought for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"Jimmy, he was the King's Justice. Plenty of people wanted him dead. He lived in isolation. There's no way he wouldn't have precautions."
He shook his head, smiling faintly.
"If he hadn't, even seven lives wouldn't have been enough to save him. No matter. There's always next time."
"Next time?" Jimmy snorted. "When I decide someone dies, there is no next time. I'm just annoyed he managed to pull one over on me."
He raised his hand.
"Look. Your family's sword. Ice."
Then he lifted the chest and gave it a shake.
"And his personal stash."
Inside, the sound of coins clinked together. But there was something else mixed in as well.
…
Ned's gaze fell upon Ice.
His hand reached out slowly, fingers brushing along the familiar steel. The weight of it. The presence of it.
A piece of his house. Returned.
Emotion flickered across his face.
Jimmy, meanwhile, barely spared it a glance.
He had already tested the blade. It was sharp, yes, but nothing extraordinary by his standards. Not compared to his old blade, Cloudrend. And certainly not compared to the reforged version now infused with vibranium.
He was certain of it. If he extended his claws and struck with full force, Ice would shatter into pieces.
Its only true value lay in its ability to kill White Walkers.
But even that didn't impress him.
Both his blades could accomplish the same. They were forged with materials far rarer, including fragments of Smaug's bones. When he swung them, sparks and embers flickered along the edge.
And since arriving in Westeros, that fiery presence had grown stronger. It felt as though the weapon itself stood on the verge of igniting at any moment.
As for Valyrian steel, Jimmy understood its secret.
Its strength did not come from the metal alone, but from the enchantments woven into it. Remove it from the laws of Westeros, and those enchantments would weaken, perhaps vanish entirely.
Outside this world, it might be nothing more than an ordinary blade.
Ned watched Jimmy eagerly rubbing his hands together, far more interested in the chest than in the legendary sword beside him.
A quiet realization settled over him.
What a noble knight.
"Let's see how much he managed to hoard," Jimmy said eagerly.
Ned examined the chest carefully. His eyes fell on the lock.
Valyrian steel.
He frowned.
"This lock alone makes it clear he was hiding something significant. Valyrian steel locks are extremely difficult to open."
Before he could finish, Jimmy flipped the chest over.
With a smooth motion, he drew Cloudrend.
Slice. Slice.
Metal parted cleanly under the blade.
In seconds, Jimmy had cut the entire bottom off the chest.
Ned stared in stunned silence.
Jimmy grinned.
"You're too honest, Ned."
He tilted the chest, letting its contents spill free.
"If what you want is inside, why bother with the lock?"
He shrugged casually.
"I never needed the box."
◉◉◉◉◉
~Support with 200 PowerStones = 1 Bonus Chapter
◉◉◉◉◉
For early access to advanced chapters on P-atreon:
P-atreon/iamxeno
(Just remove the - hyphen to access Patreon normally)
Thank you so much for your support and for reading!