Cold.
So cold!
Arthur Snow tightened his worn gray fur cloak and slowly walked his black pony, Zephyr, along the dirt road from Winterfell to Wolfswood.
The North's biting wind cut across his cheeks like a knife; even in summer, it was still bone-chillingly cold.
"Walking alone in such a sparsely populated primeval forest is truly eerie," he muttered, his violet eyes scanning his surroundings.
Wolfswood was mostly oak and sentinel trees, tall and gloomy, with faint light filtering through the branches, making the entire forest appear even more profound.
This dirt road connecting Winterfell to Wolfswood was so rarely traveled because the game and trees in the forest were the property of the noble lords.
Unauthorized logging or hunting was punishable as theft.
Commoners would not risk being mistaken for poachers by coming here.
Poachers who were caught usually had a finger joint chopped off, and sometimes an entire hand.
The judgment and sentencing depended entirely on the mood of the noble lords at the time.
After walking along the dirt road for about half an hour, Arthur's path was blocked by a small stream.
He released the reins, allowing Zephyr, who was laden with several bulging sacks and some iron farm tools, to drink and rest, while he himself took out his waterskin to fill it.
The stream water was crystal clear; after filling his waterskin, Arthur cupped a few handfuls of water to wash his face, and the icy cold water made him shiver.
Wiping the water from his face with his sleeve, Arthur examined his clear reflection in the water.
He had short dark brown hair, a very fair and tender face with a hint of baby fat, full of youthful vitality.
His violet eyes were unforgettable to anyone who saw them.
More than his appearance, Arthur felt that the emblem on the chest of his tunic should be more striking—it was a silver-gray direwolf sewn with silk thread.
The direwolf was the sigil of House Stark!
Winterfell was the ancestral castle of House Stark, located in the center of the North, built upon natural hot springs.
Whenever the Stark family motto, "winter is coming," truly arrived, Winter Town outside Winterfell was always packed with people from all over the North coming to winter there, as it had been for thousands of years.
As a publicly acknowledged bastard of House Stark, Arthur Snow naturally had no concerns like the commoners, but he wasn't here in Wolfswood for hunting either.
After a short rest, Arthur led Zephyr along the stream deeper into Wolfswood; his destination was a peach grove.
It was a peach grove that could still bloom and bear fruit in the cold, low-temperature environment of the North!
This peach grove, which should not have appeared in the North, came into existence because of him, Arthur Snow—or more precisely, a card from his Three Kingdoms Kill system.
[Peach Garden Oath]: Guarantees the survival of peach trees within a specified half-league radius and accelerates their growth. (The harsher the environment, the slower the peach trees grow.)
After walking a bit more on the muddy path, Arthur pulled a large peach from his pocket.
The peach in Arthur's hand was enormous; even in the fertile Riverlands, renowned for its abundance among the many productive territories in the South, it would be impossible to produce a peach this large.
Arthur ate as he walked; the peach was juicy, sweet, and delicious.
Besides being tasty, this peach also had a special effect.
[Peach]: Eating a materialized peach can strengthen one's physique, accelerate the replenishment of vital energy and stamina, and heal internal injuries.
After just two bites, Arthur felt a warm current rise from his stomach, instantly dispelling the chill in his body.
It was much like the feeling of stepping into hot water when soaking one's feet in winter, where the accumulated cold and dampness in the body seemed to evaporate.
Actually, Arthur was not born in the cold North, but in the southernmost part of the continent, the hot, arid, mostly desert land of Dorne.
Arthur was brought to Winterfell in the North by the current Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, when he was an infant, along with another bastard, Jon Snow.
Jon Snow was the publicly acknowledged bastard of Lord Eddard Stark.
did not take their father's surname, instead using a regional surname.
The surname "Snow" was the common surname for bastards in the North, while in other places, such as Dorne in the southernmost part of the continent, bastards were all surnamed "Sand."
Whether Sand or Snow, bastards had a very low social status in Westeros.
People generally believed that bastards were the product of desire and lies, that they grew faster than other children, and that wantonness and betrayal flowed in their blood.
As a transmigrator, Arthur Snow had lived in this world of Ice and Fire for nine years.
Both the TV series and novels he had watched and read in his previous life, and his nine years of living in the North, allowed him to comprehensively understand the people's way of life, culture, and class system here.
Precisely because he understood these things, Arthur was very grateful to have his current identity as a Stark bastard.
Although bastards had low social status and were often discriminated against or even despised, compared to commoners who had no surname, went hungry, and had many rights controlled by their lords, it was much better.
Take Dreadfort, not far from Winterfell, for example. Lord Roose Bolton of Dreadfort saw a miller's wife while hunting.
So he decided to exercise the long-forbidden "right of the first night." He hanged the miller and took the miller's wife under his dangling corpse.
Afterward, he told the miller's relatives that the miller had failed to send someone to Dreadfort to notify him and obtain his permission when he got married, and that he was merely exercising his belated lord's right.
In the North, this was not an isolated case; House Amber, staunch supporters of House Stark, known for their tall stature and rumored giant blood, were also said to have consistently practiced this barbaric right.
In the North, where the Old Gods were primarily worshipped, commoners who suffered injustice could only rely on the Old Gods' protection or beg the noble lords, who held the power of judgment, for fairness and mercy.
If it was the noble lords themselves who committed the unjust acts... then that was another matter entirely.
Most commoners were illiterate, but if they could speak and come to Winterfell to plead their case,
Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, who was extremely strict about honor, would, after a thorough investigation, render an impartial and just judgment, and would personally execute his judgment with "Ice," the valyrian steel sword passed down through the Stark family for a thousand years.
To personally execute a death sentence was a tradition of House Stark.
Compared to the harsh and wild North, the South of the kingdom was warm, rich, and fertile.
However, every family has its own troubles.
Not long ago, news came from the South that Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands had rebelled and crowned himself king. The Ironborn burned the fleet at Lannisport and plundered the rich southern ports and coastal lands.
The Ironborn, who had once submitted to the king, under the leadership of King Balon, resumed their old ways, acquiring wealth through warfare and plunder instead of purchase, which the Ironborn called "paying the iron price."
Arthur recalled the outcome of this war; according to the original story's trajectory, King Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands would be defeated by King Robert Baratheon, forced to kneel and surrender, and offer his son as a hostage.
Balon Greyjoy wanted both to restore the old ways of raiding and to declare himself king independent of the kingdom, creating too many enemies for himself in a short time, so his failure was already predetermined.
Arthur pondered it for a while and then felt it wasn't strange, fitting his stereotype of the Ironborn being more inclined to use swords than brains.
"Thump, thump, thump…"
Just as Arthur was fumbling in his pocket, preparing to put away the peach pit after finishing the peach, he heard the sound of hooves from behind him.
Arthur reacted quickly, his body tensing slightly, his hand already gripping the dagger at his waist.
He looked in the direction of the sound, and when he saw who it was, Arthur slowly exhaled a turbid breath and released his grip on the dagger:
"Jon, weren't you still practicing swordplay with Robb? How did you get here so quickly?"
"You know, Father answered the king's call and led troops to the Iron Islands to fight."
His cousin, Jon Snow, was half a year younger than him, but despite his youth, he was very skilled at horsemanship. He quickly reached Arthur, agilely dismounted, and replied:
"This morning, many people came to petition, and Lady Catelyn called Robb to observe in the council chamber, to teach him how to be a lord and govern the people."
Jon gasped for breath: "I... I didn't want to stay there."
Jon Snow resembled Lord Eddard in appearance, with a long face, dark brown hair, and gray eyes—a very typical Stark look.
The heir to Winterfell, Robb Stark, on the other hand, inherited more of his mother Catelyn Tully's appearance, with the Tully family's red hair and blue eyes.
"Governing the people? At our age, what do we understand about governing? It's more practical to read more books."
Arthur shook his head. He understood why Jon didn't want to stay there, and he also understood Lady Catelyn's obvious intention, which was simply to assert Winterfell's sovereignty.
Although bastards had no inheritance rights, their mere existence still posed a certain threat to the legitimate heir and his descendants.
"No matter how delicious a peach is, you have to wait patiently for it to ripen before eating it."
As he spoke, Arthur put the peach pit into his pocket, which already contained several other similar peach pits:
"My first batch of peach wine should be ready. As we agreed before, I can let you drink until you're drunk."
Jon, hearing this, put on a serious long face, much like his father, Lord Eddard Stark, and said:
"Even if bastards grow quickly, we shouldn't be drinking heavily at our age.
I didn't come for the wine!"
As he spoke, Jon's originally serious expression couldn't hold. He rubbed his hands together incessantly across his chest, and a hint of a fawning smile appeared on his long face:
"Arthur, I want a sword, a real sword! Can you forge one for me?
Father said I don't even have a sword, so he can't take me to fight on the Iron Islands.
Those adults also mocked me, saying I'm a child who hasn't even grown all his hair, and doesn't understand anything."
They're right, you really don't understand anything, Arthur thought, watching Jon rub his hands like a fly, putting on a docile act.
yet, let alone swing one; just holding it in position is very difficult."
"He's telling the truth."
The two walked side by side. Jon was half a year younger than him, and perhaps hadn't reached puberty yet. Jon was slender and agile, about the same height as his pony, while Arthur was a full head taller than Jon, and several times larger in build.
"Jon, I can forge you a real sword later, but having a real sword doesn't mean anything. I know you like listening to Old Nan's stories, especially the one about the young dragonlord conquering Dorne."
Arthur looked at Jon seriously and said:
"The heroes in stories are always wonderful, brave, and full of honor, but life is not a story, and war is not a game. If you keep thinking that way, one day you will…"
Arthur originally wanted to say, "one day you will be greatly disappointed," but remembering Jon's background, the words changed into:
"One day you will have unexpected gains."
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