The wintry gale, swirling with fine snowflakes, swept across the leaden sky of the North. The air hung heavy with the dry, biting chill of the storm, cutting to the bone.
Lynn's cheek was pressed hard against a rough, moss-covered wooden stake, the cold seeping through his skin to freeze his marrow. A sharp, icy tingle crept up the back of his neck—a harbinger of impending death. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw legs clad in thick leather and fur, forming a silent circle that enclosed the execution ground.
Heavy breaths rose and fell in unison, mingling with the faint scrape of chainmail, each sound sharp in the hush. A deep, authoritative voice, devoid of any warmth, rang out slowly, each word crashing into Lynn's chest like a weighty stone.
"In the name of Robert I of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
Lynn's pupils contracted violently. That voice, those words—he struggled to lift his head, but two powerful hands clamped down on his shoulders, pinning him firmly to the execution block, rendering him immobile.
"I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, pronounce judgment here."
Eddard Stark! Jumbled fragments of memory surged over Lynn like a breached flood, overwhelming his senses. He should have been sharing an intimate moment with his junior sister-disciple—how had he ended up here?
A foreign set of memories flooded in: a black cloak, the icy Wall of Beyond the Wall, and beyond it, eyes blazing with blue flame. He had become a deserter of the Night's Watch.
"…I sentence you to death."
Eddard Stark's words fell, sealing Lynn's fate. The pressure on his shoulders eased, and he heard the shrill, resonant sound of metal leaving its scabbard—a long, clear ring carrying the resolve to sever all.
This Valyrian steel greatsword, named Ice, was enchanted with magic and runes. Wider than a man's palm and taller than Robb when stood upright, it glowed as dark as smoke. Ordinary weapons could not kill White Walkers, but Valyrian steel could—making it invaluable beyond measure. Yet its forging techniques had long been lost; all existing Valyrian steel weapons were held by noble houses, each with its own story.
Lynn's heart thundered in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs. No! I can't die like this!
Just as Ice was raised high, a cold, mechanical voice exploded in Lynn's mind.
[Detecting host's strong desire to survive…]
[Enemy Kill System activated!]
[Newbie Gift Pack: One free newbie protection right granted!]
[Host: Lynn]
[Strength: 3 (Weakened)]
[Agility: 4 (Weakened)]
[Constitution: 2 (Weakened)]
Reference standard: Average healthy adult has 3 in all attributes.
[Skills: None]
[Experience Points: 0]
[XP Note: Earn XP by killing enemies; the amount depends on the opponent's strength (minimum 1 XP for ordinary humans). XP can increase skill proficiency.]
[Attribute Note: Attributes can be improved through training, blessed items, and other means. The maximum limit for attributes improved by training is 10; there is no upper limit for attributes gained through other methods.]
[Attribute Value Explanation: Represents absolute strength doubled, regardless of weight—pure maximum exertion capacity. For example, an ordinary person with 3 Strength can lift 120 kg; the host with 6 Strength can lift 240 kg.]
Lynn's consciousness faltered for a moment. A system? But his pitiful stat sheet snuffed out the glimmer of hope he'd just felt. With this frail body, he could barely crawl off the execution block, let alone resist.
He could clearly sense the legendary Valyrian steel sword Ice being raised high, descending toward his neck—even Eddard struggled to wield such a massive blade!
No time to think! Lynn summoned all his strength, squeezing a hoarse shout from his dry throat.
"The Old Gods have guided me!"
His ragged, shrill voice cut through the heavy silence of the execution ground. Everyone froze. The descending sword wavered, slashing into the wood beside Lynn's head. The cold wind stirred by the blade's edge prickled his skin, and he swallowed hard, catching a whiff of Ice's icy Valyrian steel scent. He'd come inches from being hacked down by Eddard—luckily, the lord had diverted the sword just in time.
"Nonsense!" A young, frivolous voice rang out, dripping with undisguised mockery. "You'll say anything to save your skin?"
Even without turning, Lynn knew the speaker was Theon Greyjoy—not yet the only eunuch of the Iron Islands… well, not for now.
Eddard Stark said nothing. He stood motionless, holding the greatsword, his figure like a silent statue beneath the gloomy sky. But that paused blade was Lynn's chance.
Lynn forced himself to calm, his mind racing faster than ever. Eddard Stark—a man who valued honor and duty above life itself. He abided by ancient traditions. The Starks still carried the blood of the First Men; he believed the one who pronounced a death sentence must wield the blade. To take a life, one should at least look the victim in the eye and hear their last words. If that was impossible, perhaps the man did not deserve to die. He was a man of unwavering justice.
Lying to him would be suicide; begging for mercy, a fool's errand. The only way to survive was to pit his "duty" against his "tradition."
"My lord," Lynn's voice softened, steadying into a calm, clear tone. "I am a deserter. I broke my oath, and by law, I deserve death."
The words stunned the crowd again. Theon's face twisted in confusion—no one expected a man fighting for his life to confess his crimes so readily. A faint flicker of emotion crossed Eddard Stark's deep grey eyes.
"But I did not desert out of cowardice," Lynn continued, his pace measured but firm. "I fled because I received a vision from the Old Gods. Everything I did was to bring back a message—safely."
Lynn turned his head, straining to look up at the tall figure. "The Old Gods showed me. Beyond the Wall, something has woken. They ride dead horses, their eyes like burning sapphires, freezing everything in their path!"
"White Walkers—they are not a story, my lord. They are real!"
Lynn did not describe vivid scenes; he merely voiced the deepest fear from the original host's memories, in the most straightforward terms—the bone-deep cold, the suffocating silence, the indescribable ancient evil.
The execution ground fell deathly quiet, broken only by the wail of the wind. Behind Eddard, Robb Stark's young face was etched with shock and unease, his hand tightening unconsciously around his sword hilt.
"My lord, he's spreading lies!" Theon tried to shatter the eerie stillness. "How could the Old Gods ever guide a man like him?"
Eddard Stark remained silent. He stared into Lynn's eyes—no cunning of a liar, only the terror of a man who'd cheated death, and an unshakable… certainty?
Lynn knew this was the decisive moment. He held Eddard's gaze, speaking each word slowly and deliberately. "I can see the future—not just the White Walkers, but other things yet to come. Killing me would be easy, my lord. One swing of your greatsword. But with me, you'll cut down the warning of the Long Night."
"You are the Warden of the North. Your duty is to defend these lands, to protect the Seven Kingdoms from wildlings and the dead. A deserter's life… against the safety of the entire North. Which weighs more? I leave it to you to decide."
"If you do not believe me, I will give you a prophecy—right now."
Lynn fell silent, staring unblinkingly at Eddard Stark. Time stretched on, each second an agony. He could hear his own thunderous heartbeat.
At last, Eddard spoke. "What did you see?"
Lynn replied at once. "On your journey back, you will find a dead direwolf. If you do not—my lord, you may behead me on the spot. I will not utter a single complaint."
The sound of metal sliding back into its scabbard echoed. Lynn's shoulders slumped in relief.
"Take him back," Eddard's voice remained deep, tinged with an undeniable weariness. "Keep him under strict guard."
Two guards stepped forward at once, yanking Lynn roughly to his feet. Waves of exhaustion washed over him, his legs buckling beneath him as he stumbled through the crowd. Before being led away, he glanced back.
Eddard Stark was still watching him—his grey eyes a mix of scrutiny and doubt, emotions too complex to decipher. But Lynn knew he was safe, for now. He had clawed out a chance to live, right from under the Warden of the North's sword.
Kneeling on the ground, Lynn trembled—from the cold, and from lingering fear. Before his eyes, the blue system panel, visible only to him, hovered silently. An uncontrollable smile tugged at the corners of his lips.