Spring, 298 AC. Winterfell.
As a transmigrator, Jon Snow had been successfully coasting through life for as long as he could remember.
The "blessings" of his previous life had taught him a valuable lesson: making the right choice is far more important than working hard.
And right now, as a member of House Stark—even if only as a bastard in name—he was living a life far more comfortable than his old one. After all, the older generation had already shed their blood at the Trident, so it was only natural for the younger generation to sit back and enjoy the peace.
Although he wasn't a hardcore lore expert on Game of Thrones, he had suffered through the trainwreck that was Season 8.
Therefore, he figured as long as he went with the flow and maintained his "I know nothing" persona, he could safely ride out this corrupt noble life until the end.
However, just as Jon's mind started to wander, the sharp whistle of a weapon cutting through the air snapped him back to reality.
Hearing the noise, Jon instinctively raised his arm to block. Immediately, his wrist went numb.
Even though the iron practice swords were dull, the sheer weight behind the blow left Jon feeling completely overpowered.
Opposite him, the sparring guard seized the advantage. Raising his longsword high with both hands, he brought it down again with full force.
In that split second, Jon didn't dodge. Instead, his sword thrust upward at a tricky angle, aiming straight for his opponent's throat.
If nothing changed, Jon might land the stab, but his own skull would be split open by the guard's heavy strike.
CLANG!
Three swords locked together. The Master-at-Arms of Winterfell had intervened just in time, putting an end to the mutually assured destruction.
---
The swords parted, and the sparring session was effectively over.
But before Jon could even thank Ser Rodrik, a voice—sounding utterly exasperated—rang out in his head.
[Trash. Absolute trash. You just needed to level your blade and execute a simple slide-dodge to break his guard. You have wasted years of training...]
[Furthermore, as long as you remain here, life-threatening situations like this will never cease!]
[To this end, the Intelligent "Rise and Grind" System is dedicated to serving you. Simply activate authentication to easily neutralize all crises.]
[Additionally, based on the Host's current poor performance, the System has automatically synergized your growth metrics and customized a "One-Click Auto-Pilot" mode. We will help you avoid development pitfalls, eliminate unexpected variables, help you get that promotion, get rich, marry the highborn beauty of your dreams, and reach the pinnacle of life!]
[Activate System? (YES / NO)]
Jon was already used to the nagging voice in his head. Who asked for this to be his transmigration perk?
Although this thing called itself the "Intelligent Rise and Grind System," in Jon's opinion, it was nothing more than a chatty narrator. Even if its nonsense was true, it didn't help his main goal.
Looking at the flashing "YES" and "NO" prompts, the transmigrator hesitated for a moment before deciding not to activate it.
The reason was simple: it conflicted with his character arc.
According to Jon's script, maintaining the status quo and being a stoic slacker was the optimal strategy. It was the philosophy that fit him best.
On the other hand, look at all those "try-hards" and overachievers in the Game of Thrones universe—who knew when they'd get killed off early?
Therefore, staying low was the foundation of survival!
Besides, this "Rise and Grind" System sounded incredibly sketchy just by the name. If it messed up the known plotlines, how was he supposed to safely hide in the background?
The unknown represented trouble, and if there was one thing a transmigrator hated, it was getting stuck in the middle of trouble.
Dismissing the interface, Jon decided to shelve the dispute and stick to the safe, stable plot.
He then noticed that Lord Stark and his wife were standing on the gallery overlooking the training yard. He wasn't sure how long they had been there.
Seeing Lord Eddard's arrival, his "Jon Snow instincts" immediately picked up on several distinct gazes falling upon him.
When Eddard looked at him, his eyes held obvious concern and pride, mixed with a vague, indescribable guilt, though it was all masked by a gentle smile. Conversely, when he looked at Robb, his expression was filled with stern authority and stoicism.
As for Lady Catelyn, her gaze was complicated—filled with loathing and wariness, as if she were looking at a troublesome thief she couldn't legally get rid of.
The other glances were mixed. Robb looked indifferent; Arya and Bran looked eager to jump in and play.
But mostly, it was like Sansa's gaze—polite and distant.
Only his sparring partner from a moment ago held a trace of hostility in his eyes. While Jon remained alert, he noticed the embroidered trout on the man's chest.
Obviously, the guy was a household guard from Riverrun who had come up with the marriage party.
Taking it all in, Jon decisively chose to excuse himself, leaving the "happy family" to their bonding while he retreated to his room.
Just as the System had warned, as long as he didn't die, the castle would always spawn someone who wanted him dead.
All because he was a Snow.
Although people didn't say it out loud, and Lord Eddard tried to treat him fairly, prejudice was like a mountain crushing down on Jon Snow's head.
Fortunately, the transmigrator didn't get discouraged. In fact, he cared even less.
But to Catelyn and those loyal to Robb, this attitude looked like arrogance—fearlessness born of privilege—which only made them more suspicious.
After all, compared to other bastards, Jon enjoyed a life on par with Robb and the trueborn children, clearly showing Lord Eddard's favoritism.
Even his birth mother was a subject of constant speculation.
There were rumors that Jon's mother was Ashara Dayne, a noblewoman of extreme beauty and the sister of the Sword of the Morning.
If that were true, given Lord Eddard's current bias, there was a real chance that when the King arrived, the highborn bastard Snow might actually be legitimized as a Stark, thereby threatening Robb's inheritance!
Because of this rumor, Jon's current situation was becoming increasingly dangerous. He could die in an "accident" any day now.
According to his original plan, he just needed to swear his oath to the Night's Watch, and this fog of suspicion would disperse.
So, before the King arrived, he had to be cautious to ensure he could safely head North, go to Castle Black, get stabbed a few times, and just chill.
Then, he would wait for the other idiots to beat the living hell out of each other in the War of the Five Kings. Only then would he assess the situation, devise a strategy, activate the system, and win from a thousand miles away!
However, the moment that thought flashed through his mind, the mechanical voice suddenly chirped with joy.
[Keyword detected. System "ACTIVATED."]
[Thank you for binding the Intelligent Rise and Grind System. The Old Gods and the New have opened their doors to you. You will change the world. Please ride the tide, work hard, and rewrite your known destiny...]
Hearing the System tell him to "work hard," Jon subconsciously muttered:
"Work hard my ass. Who wants to stand up and grind when you can just lie do—"
But in the next second, he realized something.
"Huh? Wait? HEY?! Who said I wanted to activate it? You damn rogue malware..."
Before Jon could report this as blatant fraud, the interface screen twisted violently. Then, looking like it had caught a virus, it began popping up dialogue boxes one after another, flashing so brightly Jon could barely keep his eyes open.