Leo expected death to be the end.
The moment the car hit him—lights, metal, pain—everything went dark.
But instead of fading into nothing, he felt himself being pulled, like his soul was hooked and dragged across a vast distance. No body, no senses, just motion.
Until suddenly—
Cold.
Blinding white.
Snow.
He opened his eyes, gasping as icy air filled his lungs. He lay on the ground in a forest blanketed with frost. Pine trees towered overhead. His breath fogged the air.
He sat up—and froze.
His left arm was metal.
Silver. Perfectly smooth. Vibranium.
His right hand touched his armor: black tactical plates, reinforced straps, combat boots.
The Winter Soldier's Endgame uniform.
He looked at a reflection in the ice—long hair, blue eyes, and a face that wasn't his.
But inside it?
His soul.
Leo had been soul transmigrated into the Winter Soldier's body.
Before he could panic, a soft digital tone echoed in his mind.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED – MARKET MODULE ACTIVATED]
A translucent screen appeared:
Gold Coins → Food / Ammo / Clothing / Rations / Melee Weapons
Guns = 10,000 gold dragons
Ammo = extremely expensive
Blades = 5–10 gold
Weather gear = 10–100
Ration packs = 1 gold
Leo checked his pockets.
Zero gold.
"Fantastic. New world, new body, same financial problems."
MEMORIES WITHOUT EMOTION
His new mind carried two sets of memories:
Leo's memories
Winter Soldier memories
But he only had the skills, not the emotions.
He remembered how Bucky fought, killed, survived, stitched wounds, hunted, and tracked. He remembered how to make weapons from wood and steel, which plants healed, which poisoned, and which sustained.
But Bucky's trauma?
Gone.
Only the knowledge remained.
A perfect soldier's skills without the guilt.
Leo wasn't a kind man, but he wasn't a bully. He didn't attack the weak or helpless.
But if someone pushed him?
They'd regret it, badly.
He also remembered everything he knew about Game of Thrones. Not a superfan, but enough: the Starks, the Wall, the White Walkers, Daenerys, dragons.
He didn't know every minor village or landmark, which made navigating the North almost impossible.
And his system map only worked if he knew the name of a place.
WINTER SOLDIER BODY DETAILS
The body he now inhabited was a weapon.
Strength
His vibranium arm could destroy iron.
His enhanced muscles tore through trees and boulders.
Punching felt effortless—dangerously effortless.
Speed
Reflexes like a hunting wolf.
Sprinting across snow left barely any trace behind.
He could dodge before consciously deciding to move.
Durability
Cold barely bothered him.
He could take blunt impacts without feeling much pain.
Cuts healed faster than normal.
Combat Programming
He didn't just remember techniques—he performed them instinctively.
His hands moved on their own in dangerous situations.
TESTING REALITY
For hours he punched ice, threw rocks, sprinted through the forest, and tried to wake up.
But the chill, the pain of cold air, the taste of snow—everything was real.
He had truly been soul transmigrated into the Winter Soldier within the world of Game of Thrones, nine months before the first episode.
"Great. Couldn't be a cozy fantasy world with hot springs, huh?"
Leo liked attractive women, sure—curvy, cute, or medium build—but right now he was focusing on survival.
THE FREE FOLK ATTACK
After hours of wandering, he heard crunching footsteps.
Ten men emerged from behind snow-covered rocks—Free Folk, and the worst kind. Greasy hair, rusted axes, torn furs, terrible hygiene.
One stepped forward.
"Nice armor, crow lover. Drop it."
Leo sighed.
"Bad decision."
They charged.
He moved.
A blur of strength, precision, and cold instinct.
His metal arm smashed an axe apart.
A punch to the gut sent a man into a tree.
A throat strike dropped another.
He swept two off their feet, broke another's wrist, and slammed one into the snow so hard it cratered.
Seconds later, ten bodies lay scattered across the clearing.
Leo stood there, breathing lightly.
No guilt.
No remorse.
No shaking.
Winter Soldier memories had done their job.
He looted the bodies—11 gold coins, furs, and some dried meat.
Not much.
But enough.
THE QUESTION
He stared into the endless northern forest.
Nine months until the story began.
One superhuman body.
One mysterious system.
One dangerous world.
And zero idea where to go.
"Alright," he muttered. "What's the smart move?" here