Robb and Luwin listened and thought it made a lot of sense.
What if Jon messed up?
The thought of the opponent defeating Jon and then dragging him before Robb.
In that case, Winterfell would lose face.
Admittedly, Jon's swordsmanship was quite good, but that was the extent of it.
He might be a good fighter, at most an expert, but to truly dominate, he was still far from enough.
However, Jon assured Robb:
"Robb! I promise you, no one in the entire North is my match."
"Hmph—"
Before Jon could finish speaking, he heard Theon let out a disdainful sneer.
But Jon ignored him and continued:
"How about this, for the first time, we prepare more thoroughly. Let's pick a suitable target first, a 'soft persimmon' to squeeze. You can also decide whether to deal with those powerful and high-flying guys based on my performance."
Although they also thought Jon's claim of 'unrivalled in the North' was a bit exaggerated.
Seeing no better alternative, Robb nodded in agreement. He said he would send Jon two dozen good men (24 people).
After the small meeting, Jon and Theon left together.
Halfway there, Theon suddenly asked:
"Are you confident?"
"What?"
"I mean, do you really think you can defeat those lords by force?"
Jon didn't answer his question directly. Instead, he smiled and said:
"Theon, actually, I think highly of you."
"What... what do you mean?"
"You are very persuasive. Many times, words are more powerful than swords."
"Is... is that so?"
Theon spoke with a hint of insecurity, as if embarrassed, instinctively reaching to scratch his head.
Watching him, Jon recalled the famous scene of his 'Winterfell speech ending with him being knocked out by a single blow'.
Theon's nature wasn't bad, and Jon didn't want to be his enemy.
"I have a proposal. If my plan succeeds, you must agree to one condition: help me persuade someone."
"Who?"
"I'll tell you after I win."
"Alright, I agree!" Theon tilted his head back, looking like a proud rooster.
Seeing Theon happy yet somewhat reserved, Jon found it amusing.
Young people, after all, are most susceptible to flattery.
After all, before his transmigration, Jon used to trick others into working harder this way.
Of course, he wasn't the kind of person who only made empty promises. If you only drew cakes without giving meat, people would realize it sooner or later.
But using promises to boost morale wasn't anything shady.
After leaving Theon, Jon immediately activated his golden finger, preparing to test its limits.
Add some for me!
Jon spent one upgrade point, adding it to his already purple-grade swordsmanship.
The next moment, purple transformed into gold. All the training and sparring experience from the past now erupted in Jon's mind.
His body furiously absorbed the essence from past experiences and innovated.
Jon felt that, in terms of swordsmanship alone, he could now simultaneously deal with the combined attacks of at least five past versions of himself.
He was confident he could defeat 'five versions of himself' within ten minutes!
In addition to the improvement in swordsmanship, Jon clearly felt a significant enhancement in his physique and bone structure.
His movements were more agile, his steps lighter.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, feeling as if it were a part of his body!
He even had enough leeway to use another sword in his left hand.
He felt that the Kingsguard around the King were probably nothing more than this?
Of course, the Sword of the Morning was temporarily not included in this category.
Jon looked at the entry before him and spoke with some anticipation:
"A golden entry is already this powerful, what about a higher level?"
He looked at the two upgrade points he had left, thinking now was not the time to be stingy.
He had to do this perfectly.
Assume the worst of the enemy!
Having made up his mind, Jon decided to invest all his remaining upgrade points into swordsmanship.
As another upgrade point was added, the golden entry changed again, from gold to red, and even the entry itself transformed.
"Red! Sword Saint!"
...In an exquisite courtyard, the red banner of the flayed man flapped in the strong north wind.
This was where the Earl of Dreadfort, Roose Bolton, was staying.
As for where the original owner went, that wasn't important.
Inside the room, a pale-faced man with few wrinkles was placing blood leeches on his arm.
These leeches greedily sucked the blood of the Lord Bolton.
A short while later, the leeches were all plump and round, yet a hint of pleasure appeared on Roose Bolton's face.
He skillfully removed the leeches from his body.
Roose Bolton advocated bloodletting, and because he liked to use blood leeches to suck his own blood, he was also known as 'Lord Leech'.
"Ramsay."
"My Lord."
At this moment, a young man of medium height walked in from outside.
Though somewhat reserved, he bore a five-point resemblance to Roose Bolton.
Ramsay Snow was Roose Bolton's bastard son.
His mother was the wife of a miller.
Over a decade ago, Roose Bolton had perhaps sought shelter from the rain at the miller's home, and then everything happened.
Yes, it was that abstract.
In this place where the right of the first night had only been abolished for less than two hundred years, this was not a big deal.
It wasn't until Roose Bolton's eldest and only legitimate son died of illness that he remembered he had such a bastard son.
So he brought him by his side to raise him.
"My Lord, are we still going to see Robb today?" Ramsay asked, his words filled with utmost respect.
He even wished he could bow his body to the ground.
"Of course we are going. No matter what, we must gain command of the army!" After speaking, Roose Bolton looked at Ramsay and asked:
"Ramsay, how long do you think this war will last? Or rather, do you think we will fight all the way to King's Landing?"
Ramsay thought for a moment and said:
"My Lord, since we are going to rescue Lord Eddard, then I suppose we will?"
Roose Bolton was not satisfied with Ramsay's answer.
But remembering that this bastard son had only been with him for a short time, he patiently explained to him:
"No, this war will end very quickly. Ultimately, this war is nothing more than our Lord Duke failing to reach an agreement with the Lannisters in King's Landing.
We will fight at most one or two battles, suffer a few thousand casualties, and then it will be time to return."
"A few thousand people..." Ramsay repeated to himself, shocked by Roose Bolton's casual mention of 'a few thousand people'.
Looking at this unworldly bastard son, Roose Bolton shook his head again.
He was certain that this war would not last long, so opportunities to gain merit would likely not be many.
Therefore, he absolutely had to secure command of the army!
"Let's go, let's go see Robb again..."
When the Bolton father and son left Robb, Robb couldn't help but urge his men to ask Jon when he planned to act.
And Jon didn't waste time. He took Theon and some Winterfell guards directly to the territory of an obscure baron.
He had only been here for two months, and there had already been more than ten incidents of oppressing the common people!
With no strong backing and still so arrogant, Jon decided to make an example of this fellow!