The news brought by the scout instantly froze the warmth that had just risen in the camp.
For such a thing to happen on Northern soil, under the banner of House Stark, was no different from a slap across the face of the Direwolf.
Lynn stood up, brushing the snow from his clothes.
"Jon, take some men and stay here to protect Arya. The rest of you, with me."
Jon nodded. "Be careful."
Lynn took twenty of the most elite armored cavalry and followed the scout, disappearing into the vast night.
Hooves pounded against the snow, making a dull, heavy sound. The air was filled with a faint scent of blood. The closer they got, the thicker the smell became.
Finally, they spotted the ambushed caravan.
Several clumsy wagons were stuck at odd angles in the mud. The axle of one had snapped, and the carriage had toppled completely onto its side.
The draft horses lay in pools of blood, their carcasses stiff, eyes wide open, reflecting the pitch-black night sky.
The caravan's cargo was long gone.
Several bodies lay scattered around the wagons. They were the caravan guards. Their deaths had been brutal; their bodies were covered in knife wounds, terror frozen on their faces.
Lynn dismounted and walked slowly into the mess. He crouched down, touching a spot of blood on the ground with his finger. It had already congealed. The battle had happened some time ago.
"My Lord, we have a survivor here!"
A soldier found a curled-up figure under the overturned carriage.
It was a merchant. His large, portly body was wedged between the carriage and the ground, one leg twisted at an unnatural angle. His breathing was shallow, his lips a deathly shade of grey from blood loss.
Lynn walked over and held a waterskin to the man's lips. The merchant drank greedily, a sliver of life finally returning to his cloudy eyes.
"Bandits..."
"They... they took everyone..."
"Went... went into the woods to the north..."
Extreme terror surfaced on the merchant's face.
Lynn stood up, his expression terrifyingly grim. Since he was riding with the Starks now, naturally, he couldn't sit idly by when something like this happened. His men were watching.
Such brutality could not be tolerated on Northern soil. This was a direct provocation against House Stark.
"Find their tracks."
Lynn gave the order.
The soldiers immediately spread out, carefully searching every inch of the surrounding ground. Soon, on the snow leading to the northern woods, they found a trail of messy footprints and drag marks.
Lynn returned to the camp and briefly explained the situation.
Anger ignited on the faces of every soldier. For such savage looting to occur in the land they protected was a trampling of their honor as Northmen.
"Give the order, my Lord!"
The cavalry captain, a burly man named Torren, gripped the hilt of his sword. "We'll hang those bastards' heads from the walls of Winterfell!"
Lynn's gaze swept over everyone. "Gather the men. We leave immediately."
He walked aside and gave a low order to Captain Torren.
"Listen, Torren. When we find them, do not kill them directly."
Torren paused. "My Lord?"
"Break their arms, or their legs. Just make sure they lose the ability to fight back."
Lynn's voice was kept very low, audible only to the two of them. "I want to end their lives myself. One by one."
Torren looked at Lynn, confusion filling his rough eyes. But he didn't ask questions. In the North, obeying orders was a warrior's duty.
"As you command, my Lord."
Not far away, Tyrion Lannister took it all in. Leaning against his tent, holding a cup of wine, his short shadow was stretched long by the firelight.
This order from Lynn was strange. Executing enemies personally. It was very much in Ned's style.
But the motivation? Strange.
The corners of Tyrion's mouth curled into a playful smile. Things were getting more and more interesting.
---
The light in the woods was dim. The withered branches and leaves under the snow made a crisp crunch when stepped on.
Lynn led fifty cavalrymen through the forest. The smell of blood and a nauseating burnt stench grew stronger.
Finally, in the center of a clearing, they saw the bandit camp.
The bonfire was burning high, casting ghostly shadows on the surrounding trees. A dozen bandits sat around the fire, laughing loudly and drinking stolen wine.
Behind them, tied to several large trees, was a sight that froze the blood of every Northern soldier.
The abducted caravan members were stripped naked and bound to the tree trunks. Some had charred brands burned onto their skin with hot irons. Others had their fingers snapped back one by one, hanging limply.
A woman was hung from a branch, her blonde hair matted with blood and filth, her body still twitching slightly.
The bandits seemed to enjoy this torture. Occasionally, they would pick up a red-hot iron rod and walk toward the pitiful captives, laughing like beasts at their shrill screams.
This wasn't just looting. This was pure evil, taking pleasure in the torment of others.
Lynn raised his hand.
Behind him, the soldiers slowly drew their longswords. The blades reflected a cold glint in the forest moonlight.
Lynn's hand chopped down sharply.
"Kill!"
With a low roar, fifty Northern elites charged on horseback toward the camp.
The bandits, paralyzed by alcohol and revelry, were completely caught off guard. Only when the first bandit had a sword put through his throat did the others react.
The battle wasn't so much a fight as a slaughter. The anger accumulated in the guards' chests erupted completely in this moment.
But they still strictly followed Lynn's order. Using the pommels of their swords, the shafts of their hammers, their fists and boots. The difference between full plate armor and unarmored targets allowed the guards to easily hold back.
Crack!
The sound of breaking bones was exceptionally clear amidst the screams.
One bandit's arm was smashed, and he rolled on the ground clutching it. Another had his knee shattered by a kick, falling to his knees, unable to stand again.
In less than a moment, all the bandits lay on the ground. They wailed and struggled, but not a single one was dead.
The battle was over.
Lynn walked quickly into the camp. He didn't look at the rescued merchants but walked straight to a bandit still writhing on the ground.
The bandit looked at him in terror, trying to scoot backward.
Lynn drew the Valyrian steel dagger from his waist. The dragonbone hilt felt cold to the touch.
Schluk.
The dagger cleanly sank into the bandit's neck. Blood gushed out. The bandit's body convulsed, and in less than a minute, he was silent.
> [Enemy Killed: 1. Experience +1]
> [Current Experience: 8]
Expressionless, Lynn walked to the next one. He was like a tireless farmer harvesting ripe crops in his field.
Hand raised. Blade falls.
> [Enemy Killed: 1. Experience +1]
> [Current Experience: 9]
Jon stood at the edge of the camp, watching this scene.
He watched Lynn use that dagger to end life after life.
No anger. No pity. Not even a trace of emotion. It felt like he was dealing with a trivial chore.
Jon felt a chill shoot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his skull. He had witnessed executions before. But killing so many people at once... this was a first for Jon.
In the camp, only the dull sound of the dagger piercing flesh and the final gasps of the bandits remained.
> [Enemy Killed: 1. Experience +1]
> [Current Experience: 10]
When the last bandit fell in a pool of blood, Lynn finally straightened up slowly.
His total accumulated experience had now reached 25.
Upgrade Light Sword to Proficient, and put the rest into One-Handed Sword.
> [Experience -9. Light Sword (Beginner) 1 → 10. Level Up.]
> [Experience -16. One-Handed Sword (Proficient) 18 → 34.]
Name: Lynn
Strength: 5 (Normal)
Agility: 5 (Normal)
Constitution: 5 (Normal)
[One-Handed Sword (Proficient) 34/100]
[Light Sword (Proficient) 1/100]
[Horsemanship (Proficient) 1/100]
[Unarmed Combat (Proficient) 84/100]
Remaining Experience: 0