A plain, unadorned longsword was brought before Lynn.
Its hilt was wrapped in rough leather, and the crossguard was a simple cruciform, devoid of any superfluous decoration.
This was a standard issue guard's longsword.
Heavy, sturdy, and thoroughly practical.
Lynn reached out, his fingertips touching the cold hilt.
In that instant, a strange warm current surged from his palm, instantly spreading throughout his body, as if something long-sealed had awakened deep within his bloodline.
Fragments of memories that were not his own surged forth again.
This time, they were not about the fear of white walkers.
Instead, they were countless days and nights spent swinging a sword against the wind and snow on the Wall.
They were the feeling of a blade cutting through flesh and muscle when battling Wildlings.
They were the monotonous and stern reprimands of Alliser Thorne.
"Hold steady, you good-for-nothing!"
"Your sword is your life!"
These instincts, belonging to the original owner and ingrained in his bones, completely merged with Lynn's soul at this moment!
"Synchronizing original owner's combat memories..."
"Synchronization complete!"
"Congratulations, Host, you have acquired a new skill: One-handed sword (Proficient) 18/100"
"Congratulations, Host, you have acquired a new skill: Riding (Beginner) 9/10"
"Congratulations, Host, you have acquired a new skill: Unarmed Combat (Proficient) 84/100"
Lynn's gaze changed.
If before, his eyes burned with the flame of survival.
Then now, beyond that flame, there was an added layer of steely sharpness.
Lynn curled his fingers, firmly gripping the sword hilt.
The longsword in his hand no longer felt like an inanimate object, but rather an extension of his body.
"Let's go."
Robb Stark's voice reached him.
The young The Young Wolf had already mounted his warhorse.
He glanced at Lynn, his eyes still filled with scrutiny.
Lynn said nothing, deftly swinging himself onto a spare pony.
A group of over twenty people soon rode out of Winterfell's castle gates.
The cold wind howled across the plains.
The procession left a long trail of hoofprints on the snow-covered ground.
Theon Greyjoy rode his horse closer to Robb.
He glanced back at Lynn, who was trailing at the end of the group, a mocking smirk playing on his lips.
"Robb, do you really trust this fellow?"
"A deserter who broke his Night's Watch oath, now claiming he wants to fight for the North."
"Don't you find it ridiculous?"
Robb looked straight ahead, his young face showing little emotion.
"Father told me to watch him."
"That's enough."
Theon shrugged.
"Alright, I just hope he doesn't hold us back."
"Otherwise, I wouldn't mind helping Lord Eddard enforce the law ahead of time."
Their conversation was quiet.
But in the wind, it still drifted intermittently into Lynn's ears.
Lynn didn't care.
He simply quietly felt the weight of the longsword in his hand, and the slowly recovering strength within him.
He knew that words were powerful, but swords and blood could earn more respect.
The group traveled eastward along a tributary of the White Knife.
The scent of blood in the air grew thicker as they ventured deeper.
Finally, at the edge of a burned forest, they saw the wreckage of an attacked merchant caravan.
Several carriages lay overturned, goods scattered everywhere, and the ground was stained mottled black and red with snow and congealed blood.
Several bodies lay stiffly in the snow, their faces still frozen in pre-death terror. Crows circled above the corpses, cawing hoarsely.
"They haven't been gone long."
An experienced veteran examined the wagon tracks and reported to Robb.
"No more than half a day."
Robb's face darkened, and he tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
"Pursue!"
The group set off again, hooves thudding dully as they trampled over the blood-soaked snow.
After pursuing for several more miles.
From a sparse grove of trees ahead, the crackling of a bonfire and crude laughter could vaguely be heard.
Robb raised his hand, signaling the group to halt.
Everyone immediately dismounted, moving silently.
"Hullen, take five men and flank them from the left."
Robb lowered his voice, calmly assigning tasks.
"Theon, your archery is good. Find high ground and cover us."
"The rest of you, follow me."
He looked at Lynn last.
"You, stick close to me. Don't wander off."
This was both a command and a warning.
Lynn nodded, drawing the longsword from his waist.
The blade slid from its sheath with a clear, ringing hum.
The cold glint of the steel reflected Lynn's calm eyes.
He had long been resolved.
To live better, he had to kill!
The group stealthily entered the woods, pushing aside the last clump of bushes that blocked their view.
In an open space not far ahead, a dozen or so ragged bandits were gathered around a bonfire, tearing at roasted meat and guzzling stolen ale.
Their weapons were carelessly strewn beside them, their faces filled with the indulgence and triumph of their recent plunder.
Robb's eyes flashed with a fierce glint, and he raised his sword.
"For the North!"
A roar, like a clap of thunder from a clear sky!
Robb charged out first, followed closely by the Stark guardsmen, who let out earth-shattering battle cries.
The bandits instantly fell into disarray, frantically grabbing their weapons. Some even choked on their ale, coughing violently.
Theon's arrows, too, whistled through the air at this moment, precisely piercing a bandit's neck.
The battle erupted instantly.
Lynn's breathing was steady, his heart thumping powerfully in his chest.
He didn't roar like the others, but instead focused all his attention on the chaotic battlefield before him.
These bandits were just ordinary people armed with weapons.
One bandit noticed Lynn.
This bandit was tall and burly, his face scarred. Seeing Lynn's tattered black clothes and pale complexion, a hint of disdain flashed in his eyes.
A soft target.
He grinned ferociously, raising the short-handled axe in his hand and chopping down hard towards Lynn's head!
The wind howled.
Lynn's body reacted faster than his brain.
After dodging the axe blade with a sidestep.
Now!
Lynn did not retreat; instead, he took a step forward, his center of gravity suddenly sinking.
The longsword in his hand thrust upwards from an unexpected angle.
The proficient One-handed sword skill was Lynn's instinct at this moment.
There were no flashy moves, only the simplest, most lethal thrust.
"Pfft!"
A soft sound.
The sword tip precisely pierced his throat.
The bandit's ferocious grin instantly froze, and the disdain in his eyes turned into extreme terror.
He tried to make a sound, but only a gurgling, leaking noise escaped his throat.
Blood streamed down the blade, its warm touch covering Lynn's hand.
"Killed bandit x1, experience +1"
Lynn felt no discomfort whatsoever; on the contrary, he felt a thrill.
Without a moment's hesitation, he violently pulled out the longsword.
Warm blood sprayed out, and the tall bandit, like a severed log, crashed to the ground.
All of this happened in a flash, and the battle cries around him seemed to fade into the distance.
Lynn wiped his hand, which had become slippery with blood, on his clothes. At this moment, only life and death remained in his eyes.
Two more bandits discovered their companion's death and charged from the left and right, roaring.
A scimitar and a wooden club, carried by ill winds, sealed all of Lynn's escape routes.
Lynn took a deep breath.
He shifted his footwork, twisting his body to avoid the fatal scimitar.
At the same time, he parried outwards with his longsword.
Lynn precisely blocked the wooden club aimed at his head.
Lynn flicked his wrist, and the longsword slid down the wooden club.
The club had no crossguard.
"Ah!"
A piercing shriek. The club-wielding bandit's palm was cleanly severed by Lynn, and the wooden club fell to the ground.
Blood spurted.
Before the other bandit could react, Lynn had already closed in.
His movements were utterly efficient, a clean, swift horizontal slash, the longsword cutting through the air.
The bandit's eyes only had time to reflect a flash of brilliant sword light.
The next moment.
His world spun upside down.
"Killed bandit x1, experience +1"
"Killed bandit x1, experience +1"
Lynn then backhanded his sword, piercing the heart of the bandit with the severed wrist, ending his suffering.
In just a few breaths, Lynn had killed three men.
He stood, sword in hand.
At this moment, Lynn was splattered with warm blood.
The surrounding bandits were stunned by Lynn's decisive combat. They instinctively took a step back, their eyes filled with fear as they looked at Lynn.
Not far away, Robb Stark, who had just cut down an enemy with his own sword, also witnessed this scene.
His young face was filled with shock.
This deserter...
He had killed three enemies so quickly?