The bloody scent in the woods was thinned somewhat by the biting wind. The bonfire still crackled, its light reflecting on the faces of the survivors. Guards were clearing the battlefield, piling bandit corpses together while tending to their injured comrades.
Hullen ran over with a medical kit. He tore open the blood-soaked clothes on Lynn's left shoulder. The wound was deep enough to expose bone, with flesh curled back—looking particularly gruesome under the dim firelight.
Hullen worked quickly, first flushing the wound with strong spirits. The piercing pain made Lynn's body tremble violently; he clenched his teeth, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
Theon Greyjoy walked over, putting away his usual frivolous demeanor. He looked at Lynn's pale face, then at the miserable corpses of the bandits around him.
"Didn't expect a runaway crow to have such sharp claws," Theon said. The mockery in his tone had faded significantly, replaced by a scrutiny mixed with surprise.
Lynn didn't have the strength to respond. His entire focus was on the blue panel visible only to him.
[Host: Lynn]
[Strength: 3 (Injured/Weakened)]
[Agility: 3 (Injured/Weakened)]
[Constitution: 3 (Injured/Weakened)]
[Skills: One-Handed Sword (Proficient) 18/100, Horsemanship (Beginner) 9/10, Unarmed Combat (Proficient) 84/100]
[Experience: 7]
The number "7" was the best reward for the life-and-death struggle Lynn had just endured. But the three bright red "Weakened" statuses on the panel were a constant reminder of his body's terrible condition.
The agonizing pain from his wounds and physical exhaustion made Lynn's consciousness swim. He needed to return to Winterfell and get treatment from Maester Luwin as soon as possible.
Experience points should prioritize attribute upgrades, Lynn thought. 3 points of Strength is just average. If I can use experience to boost it directly, I'll be invincible in no time! Put it all into Constitution!
[Note: Attribute points cannot be increased via Experience. Experience is limited to upgrading learned skills!]
[There are various ways to increase Attribute points; please explore on your own!]
Right, if I could just pump stats with XP, I'd be Superman in a few days. Lynn had thought he found a loophole, but testing it proved it didn't work.
Since that's the case, I'll just honestly upgrade my skills.
Lynn's gaze fell on the [Horsemanship (Beginner) 9/10] line. The road back was long. With his current physical condition, just the jolting on horseback would be enough to aggravate his injuries.
Without hesitation, Lynn mentally commanded, System, add 1 experience point to Horsemanship.
[Experience -1]
[Horsemanship 9/10 → 10/10. Level Up.]
[Congratulations Host, Horsemanship upgraded to (Proficient) 0/100]
A warm current suddenly flowed through Lynn's limbs. It wasn't the warmth of physical recovery, but a more profound sensation. Fragments of memory regarding horse riding flooded his mind: how to maintain balance, how to control the horse's turning with subtle leg pressure, how to sense the horse's mood... These skills felt innate, as if he had practiced them thousands of times until they were etched into his bones.
"Done," Hullen said steadily as he tied off the clean linen bandage. "Didn't hit the bone. You're lucky, otherwise you'd really be suffering."
Lynn nodded and, with the help of a guard, swayed as he stood up.
Robb led Lynn's garron over. "Can you still ride?"
The Young Wolf looked at Lynn. In his blue eyes, there was no longer just scrutiny, but a trace of concern.
Lynn nodded. He didn't speak, just took a deep breath, endured the sharp pain, and mounted the horse. This movement was much cleaner than when he had arrived.
As soon as he sat in the saddle, that marvelous feeling returned. He could clearly feel every muscle tremor of the horse beneath him and sense its slight unease from the smell of blood. Lynn instinctively squeezed the horse's belly lightly with his legs and gave the reins a subtle shake. The previously anxious garron miraculously quieted down and let out a gentle snort.
Surprise flashed through Robb's eyes, but he didn't ask further. "Let's head back."
The party regrouped and set off for Winterfell. This time, Lynn wasn't at the tail end. He rode beside Robb and Theon. It was a silent signal. Lynn had the highest kill count and had earned the right to ride at the front. Westeros respected martial prowess. Lynn had won their respect with sword and blood.
The night wind of the North was biting cold. Hooves crunched on the snow. Lynn's body rose and fell rhythmically with the horse. The improvement in his horsemanship allowed him to adapt to the bumps in the most energy-efficient way, relaxing his tense muscles and easing the pain in his shoulder.
"What did you do before?" Robb asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His gaze fell on Lynn's blood-stained longsword.
Lynn's swordsmanship had neither the elegance of a knight nor the structure of a master-at-arms. But every move was simple, direct, and lethal—techniques purely for killing enemies in the shortest time possible. It was indeed the style of the Night's Watch, very similar to his uncle Benjen's way.
"Before I wore the black, I was just a common man trying to survive," Lynn said, staring ahead, his voice slightly blurred by the wind. "I committed some crimes, so I joined the Watch."
Nowadays, the Night's Watch had long lost its former glory; most members were criminals, and going to the Wall was essentially exile.
"To survive, you have to learn something," Lynn added. The answer was ambiguous but reasonable.
Robb didn't press further. He silently picked up the pace.
On the distant horizon, the massive grey silhouette of Winterfell became clear under the starlight. When the party passed through the castle gates, torches were already blazing in the courtyard.
Ned Stark stood on the steps of the main keep, Maester Luwin behind him with a lantern. His face was as calm and majestic as the Northern night sky. His gaze swept over the party, over the bandit heads tied to the saddles, and over the wounded guards.
Finally, his eyes stopped on Lynn. The deserter, half his body stained red with blood, was sitting quietly on his horse, riding side-by-side with his eldest son.
Robb dismounted and walked quickly to his father, kneeling on one knee. "Father, the bandits have been completely cleared."
Ned nodded, helped his son up, and patted his shoulder. Though young, his eldest son could already share his burdens, which relieved him greatly. "You did well."
Ned looked past Robb to Lynn again. "He..."
"He fought bravely, Father," Robb interjected, a trace of youthful excitement in his tone. "He killed six bandits and protected our flank multiple times. He proved his loyalty with action."
The courtyard fell silent. All the guards looked at the young man still on his horse with complex expressions.
Ned Stark didn't speak. He just looked at Lynn, emotions churning in his grey eyes: suspicion, scrutiny, and a trace of imperceptible... recognition. Clearly, a cowardly deserter wouldn't fight with such disregard for death. He believed Lynn's story about the White Walkers a little more now.
After a long time, Ned finally spoke. "Maester Luwin. Take him for treatment."
"Yes, my Lord." Luwin walked down the steps with his lantern to Lynn's horse.
Lynn dismounted, stumbling slightly. After being tense for so long, arriving at a safe place let the weakness and exhaustion wash over him instantly.
Lynn handed the longsword back to a nearby guard, but Ned stopped him.
"No need to return it. Keep the sword; you've earned it."
As he followed Maester Luwin across the courtyard, Lynn could feel the gaze of the Warden of the North lingering on his back. He knew that from tonight on, he was no longer the prisoner who could be beheaded at any moment.
He had survived. But the crisis wasn't over yet. Lynn, Ned, and Maester Luwin were all waiting for the raven.