Chapter 1: I Became the "Know-Nothing" Snow
"You wretched dragon whore!"
"Ah…"
"Go to the Seven Hells!"
"Ah… help!"
Although the fire had already been extinguished, the air was still thick with the nauseating stench of burning flesh, and the curses and screams of the people of King's Landing had yet to subside.
Standing atop the city walls, Jon Snow's face was filled with pain and disappointment as he looked upon this hellish scene.
He glanced at his beloved Daenerys Targaryen, then looked back at the capital ravaged by dragonfire. The scar on his chest—long since healed—somehow began to throb with pain once more.
At this moment, Jon Snow's heart was in turmoil, but he knew he had to make a choice.
After struggling for a brief moment, he seemed to reach a resolution. With a determined gaze, he walked toward Daenerys Targaryen.
The newly crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms stood beside her fearsome dragon.
"I'm sorry."
A flash of cold steel.
The Valyrian steel sword Longclaw was thrust forward without hesitation, piercing Daenerys Targaryen's heart.
The beautiful queen stared at the man she loved in disbelief, her eyes filled with pain and confusion.
But before Jon Snow could react, Drogon's furious dragonfire erupted, instantly engulfing both of them, reducing everything to ash.
"No—!"
That horrifying scene, mixed with roaring flames and endless darkness, shattered amid piercing screams.
A sixteen-year-old boy suddenly sat upright in bed.
Everything returned to normal.
Knock, knock, knock…
Awooo—
Amid the knocking and the distant howl of a direwolf, an aging voice drifted in from outside the door.
"Jon, are you all right? Another nightmare?"
"I… I'm fine. I was just startled…"
Though his words sounded calm, his body was trembling violently, betraying the pain and inner struggle he was enduring.
Hearing nothing amiss in his voice, the person outside left quietly, footsteps fading down the corridor.
Hoo… hoo…
As his breathing gradually steadied, the boy finally calmed down. But after experiencing that terrifying dream and the violent fusion of memories flooding into his mind, he had no intention of going back to sleep.
He rose, lit the candle beside his bed, and began to dress.
As the candlelight spread, the small bedroom gradually came into view.
The old wooden door carved with the image of a weirwood stood only a few steps from the straw bed. A grey-black fireplace sat to the right, separated by a small bedside table. On the wooden floor lay a woolen rug embroidered with the sigil of House Stark—a grey direwolf on a white field.
Beside the rug stood a white direwolf, roughly the size of an adult hound, gazing at the boy with concern.
Its blood-red eyes were filled with worry, though for some reason, it also seemed faintly fearful of him.
"Come here, Ghost."
"Whimper…"
After hesitating briefly, the white direwolf caught the familiar scent of its master and padded over obediently.
Seeing Ghost's reaction, Jon Snow finally relaxed and reached out to scratch the direwolf's head, just as he remembered doing.
"Clearly holding the protagonist's script, yet ending up 'killing his wife for the greater good.' Jon Snow—this time, let me replace you and become the true protagonist."
Feeling the warmth of living flesh beneath his hand, Alex—a modern man from another world who now inhabited Jon Snow's body—slowly spoke.
Although Alex had only skimmed through that infamously botched television ending in his previous life, he still remembered the general trajectory of the story.
The current owner of this body possessed the most legitimate claim to the Iron Throne. Yet his present status was nothing more than a bastard of Winterfell. Being allowed to live at all was already the greatest mercy Eddard Stark could afford him.
Now, Jon Snow faced only two possible paths.
The first was to follow the original plot, enduring hardship until the day he became King in the North.
But there were far too many variables along that road. One wrong step, and a fake like him might die quietly, leaving no trace behind.
The second option was to find another way—leave early, grow stronger, and cling to the coattails of his so-called aunt once the dragons were born. With dragons and beauties alike, life would finally have something worth looking forward to.
Comparing the two, Jon Snow felt the second path was far more reliable.
Whether it was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch or King in the North, neither sounded as good as dragons and women.
"Why is it that everyone else who transmigrates gets some ridiculous cheat ability, while I get nothing?"
"Whimper…"
Ghost let out a soft whine, clearly sensing his master's frustration.
"All right, all right. Be good. Don't interrupt my thoughts. I'm fine."
Perhaps because he possessed the latent talent of a skinchanger, Jon Snow seemed to understand the concern behind Ghost's voice.
"Valar Morghulis."
For some reason, the phrase surfaced in his mind.
In this world—so similar to the medieval era of his previous life—anyone without extraordinary power could die at any moment.
Alex didn't know how he had become Jon Snow, but he dared not take unnecessary risks. He knew all too well that if he died again, there might not be another rebirth waiting for him.
After all, before his death, he had simply been at home playing a mobile game when lightning struck him out of nowhere.
"Ghost, tell me—how am I supposed to get to Essos? In a world where bloodline is everything, without dragons, I'll forever be nothing more than a bastard."
Alex muttered unconsciously as he vented his worries, though in the eyes of the world, he was still Jon Snow.
"System loading…"
"…Huh?"
"…Is this the legendary cheat?"
Just as Jon Snow was thinking about how to scrape together enough money to cross the Narrow Sea, a strange electronic voice echoed in his mind.
"System update successful. Loading modules…"
"Unknown error detected."
"Staff Caster module error."
"Elemental Caster module error."
"System re-retrieving… please wait…"
"Emblem System successfully activated."
Name: Jon Snow (Aegon Targaryen)
Class: Dragon Lord (Sealed), Skinchanger, Swordsman, Knight
Equipped Weapon: Iron Sword
Strength: 5
Skill: 5
Speed: 6
Defense: 3
Magic: 2
Weapon Level: LV2
Items: Vulnerary, Antitoxin
Soul Energy: 500
"Are you… my cheat?"
The flood of information left Jon Snow dizzy, and after processing it all, he asked tentatively.
No response.
"System?"
"Cheat?"
After trying repeatedly—out loud and in his thoughts—the system remained silent.
"Vulnerary? Antitoxin? When did I get these? And that iron sword—where is it?"
As he wondered, a black dot suddenly appeared before his eyes.
At first, he thought it was just exhaustion.
But no matter how much he rubbed his eyes, it didn't disappear.
Guessing it might be some kind of storage space, Jon Snow reached toward it.
As his hand entered, three items appeared in his awareness: a black iron longsword, and two glass bottles—one yellow, one silver-grey.
After experimenting, he learned their functions.
The longsword could be used without dulling, but it would shatter after striking enemies fifty times.
The Vulnerary could heal severe wounds so long as no limbs were missing, but it could only be used five times.
The Antitoxin could cure poison—an incredible treasure in this low-magic world—yet it could only be used three times.
Clang—clang—clang…
As bells rang in the distance, the first light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the old wooden window.
Jon Snow knew time was running out.
King Robert Baratheon was already on his way north.
That meant the plot had officially begun.
In the original story, Jon Snow would soon head to the Wall, beginning his long, bitter, yet legendary life.
But now—
If certain events never happened… how would the future change?
House Stark was Jon Snow's foundation—and his greatest support in claiming the Iron Throne.
With knowledge of the future in hand, Jon Snow made his decision.
This time, he would change everything.
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