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Lynn retracted his dagger.
Warm blood splattered on the back of his hand, but he paid it no mind.
He merely wiped it casually on the corpse's clothes.
The camp was filled with a strange mixture of blood, a burnt smell, and pine needles.
The Northern soldiers had already untied the ropes of the survivors.
The merchants were sprawled on the ground, their bodies trembling violently from fear and cold.
They looked at the bodies strewn across the ground, then at Lynn, their eyes filled with reverence.
The leading fat merchant was the one Lynn had saved earlier.
He struggled, dragging a broken leg, and crawled before Lynn.
"My Lord!"
Tears and snot streamed down his face as he kowtowed, his head hitting the muddy, blood-stained ground.
"You saved all of us!"
"My life, my everything, is yours!"
He pulled a heavy coin purse from his bosom and held it high above his head.
"These are all my savings."
"Please, you must accept it!"
Lynn's gaze swept over the coin purse, then returned to the merchant's face, which was filled with the relief of having survived a calamity.
"I accept your gratitude."
Lynn's voice was calm and unruffled.
He did not take the coin purse, but instead said to Toren behind him,
"Assess their losses."
"Compensate them from the plunder of these bandits."
"Any remaining plunder will be used as military funds."
The merchants were stunned.
Toren was also momentarily stunned, but he immediately responded loudly,
"Yes, My Lord!"
Lynn bent down and helped the merchant to his feet.
"In the North, under the Stark banner, no one can act with impunity."
"Clearing out banditry is our duty."
After speaking, Lynn no longer looked at the merchants, turning and walking out of the camp.
Jon silently followed behind him, not saying a word.
The night wind blew, lifting the black hem of Lynn's clothes.
A hint of admiration flickered in Jon's eyes... When Lynn led the team back to the encampment, a sliver of dawn had already appeared in the sky.
Arya was the first to rush out of the tent.
She immediately saw the startled merchants and the extra carriages in the team.
"Lynn!"
She ran to Lynn's horse, looking up with her small face, her eyes sparkling.
"Did you rescue all of them?"
"What about those bad guys?"
"Did you kill all of them?"
Lynn dismounted, rubbing her head.
"Yes."
"The problem is solved."
Arya's face glowed with admiration.
In her eyes, this was what a hero should do.
Jon also walked over.
His gaze was complex.
He watched Lynn and Arya's intimate actions, and his lips moved.
He seemed to want to say something, but ultimately chose silence.
He and Lynn were actually similar.
One was a bastard, and the other's status was vastly different from Arya's.
He hoped from the bottom of his heart that Lynn could turn the tide.
"Splendid."
A voice with a hint of playfulness sounded.
Tyrion Lannister swayed out of his tent, holding a wine cup.
His dwarf body cast a short shadow in the morning light.
"I heard about it, a standard Northern justice."
"Swift, thorough, leaving no future trouble."
Tyrion walked up to Lynn.
His mismatched eyes, one black and one green, of different sizes, gleamed with the wisdom that saw through everything.
"But I'm very curious."
"Why did you choose to personally act, killing them one by one?"
"Wouldn't it be less effort to leave such things to your subordinates?"
Lynn met Tyrion's gaze.
"In the North, a Lord must personally carry out executions."
"This is a Northern tradition."
Tyrion laughed.
"Ned Stark's tradition, I understand."
"But you are not a Lord, Lynn."
"You are just a... nameless warrior."
Tyrion took a sip of wine, the smile on his lips growing wider.
"Are you doing this to intimidate your subordinates?"
"Or is it to... enjoy the process?"
Lynn did not answer.
He just looked at Tyrion calmly.
The two stared at each other for a moment.
Tyrion shrugged, being the first to avert his gaze.
"Alright, pretend I didn't ask."
"An interesting puzzle is worth the time to solve."
Tyrion turned and staggered back to his tent.
They traveled for another day.
Night fell once more.
The campfires burned brightly.
The soldiers conversed in low voices, while the merchants gathered, praying for their deceased companions.
Lynn intended to send these merchants to the nearest castle.
Doing so was not entirely thankless.
These merchants, traveling throughout Westeros, could, to a certain extent, expand Lynn's influence.
Although at present, this influence was still imperceptible.
Lynn found Benjen Stark.
The First Ranger was sitting alone by the fire, carefully wiping his longbow.
The bowstring was made of yew wood, ancient and tough, with intricate patterns carved into it, clearly having accompanied him for many years.
Every Ranger had a bow.
"Lord Benjen."
Lynn sat opposite him.
Benjen looked up, his weathered grey eyes appearing particularly sharp in the firelight.
"Something the matter?"
"I wish to learn archery from you."
Lynn got straight to the point.
Benjen paused in his action of wiping the bowstring.
He looked at Lynn, seemingly a little surprised.
"The sword is a knight's weapon."
"The bow and arrow are a Ranger's weapon."
"However, since you wish to learn, there is no reason for me to refuse."
Benjen's voice was deep and powerful.
He had witnessed Lynn's battles.
This young man was decisive, brave, and calm enough.
He was good material for a Ranger.
"Watch closely."
Benjen stood up, took his longbow, and casually nocked an arrow.
He didn't aim at anything, simply drew the bowstring.
The bowstring was drawn to a full moon.
The muscles in his arm bulged, yet he was as steady as a rock.
"Your shoulder, your arm, your back, must be in a straight line."
"Use your back to draw the string, not your arm."
"Feel that power, from your feet, all the way to your fingertips."
Benjen released the bowstring.
The arrow, with a piercing whistle, shot into the distant darkness, disappearing without a trace.
Lynn stood up, imitating him, and picked up a spare bow.
He adjusted his posture according to Benjen's instructions.
Once.
Twice.
He tirelessly repeated the motion of drawing the bow, feeling the subtle changes in every muscle of his body.
Every archer was a strongman.
If one were to truly treat them as weaklings in close combat, that would be a grave mistake.
In fact, to some extent, the strength and endurance of these archers were far superior to those of normal warriors!
Sweat began to drip from Lynn's forehead.
His arms started to ache, but he paid it no mind.
In Lynn's mind, there were only Benjen's every word, every detail.
[Successfully comprehended a new skill through diligent practice, master's guidance, and meeting strength attribute requirements]
[Archery (Beginner) 1 / 10]
A barely perceptible arc curved on Lynn's lips.
It was done.
But he quickly felt a sense of dissatisfaction.
He looked around.
Jon's swordsmanship was good, but it overlapped with his own.
Toren and the Guards, too, only possessed ordinary sword skills.
What these people could teach him was too little.
He needed more experience, more skills.
He needed to go to a wider world.
The Wall was just the beginning.
The next day.
The team continued north.
The Kingsroad stretched across the boundless snowy plains like a grey scar.
By midday.
The scout responsible for reconnaissance in front galloped back.
"My Lord!"
"A team has been spotted ahead!"
"They are also flying the Night's Watch banner!"
Benjen's eyebrows raised, and he spurred his horse forward.
Lynn followed him.
Soon, a black-clad team appeared on the horizon.
There were about thirty of them, travel-worn.
Leading them was a tall, resolute-faced middle-aged man.
"Yoren!"
Benjen recognized the other man and shouted loudly.
The man named Yoren also saw Benjen, a surprised expression appearing on his face.
The two teams converged in the middle of the snow.
"Benjen!"
Yoren dismounted and gave Benjen a bear hug.
"I never expected to run into you here!"
"I thought you had already returned to Castle Black."
Yoren was a recruiter for the Night's Watch, responsible for escorting criminals who were about to become members of the Night's Watch.
"I'm taking my nephew to the Wall."
Benjen pointed to Jon.
Yoren's gaze lingered on Jon for a moment.
He seemed a little surprised, but still nodded.
Then, his gaze swept over Lynn, Arya, and the hundred Northern elites.
"This is..."
Yoren's face was filled with confusion, and a hint of imperceptible distance.
Clearly, he recognized Lynn.
The man rumored to be a deserter at Castle Black.
"Lord Stark is going to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King."
Benjen explained simply.
"This is the guard he assigned to Lynn, specifically to escort Arya north."
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