What is that?
Lynn's consciousness was ripped from his body by an irresistible force and flung into absolute nothingness.
No light, no sound, no time.
Then, a Will descended.
Cold, immense, carrying an utter loathing for all living things.
Like a mountain forged of ten-thousand-year-old ice, it crushed down mercilessly upon Lynn's tiny consciousness.
The Night King? Or the so-called Great Other?
That was the only thought remaining in Lynn's mind.
This altar, this dragon egg—it was a trap from start to finish!
His touch had awakened this terrifying existence that had slumbered for who knows how many years!
Hmmmmm—
Lynn felt his very soul trembling violently.
As if at any second, it would be torn to shreds by that frozen will.
Countless terrifying visions began to surface before his eyes.
An endless army of the dead marching across the frozen sea, stepping over the crumbled ruins of the Wall.
Winterfell reduced to rubble amidst the frost.
The giant weirwood tree he had seen, now frozen into a pale statue.
King's Landing shrouded in eternal night, the spires of the Red Keep hung with icicles.
On the Iron Throne sat a figure wearing a crown of ice crystals, eyes burning with blue fire.
All of Westeros turned into a dead, silent tundra.
All life, all warmth, all hope—erased completely.
Only the serenity of eternal death remained.
"No..."
Lynn's consciousness struggled frantically, but he could make no sound.
He wanted to fight back.
But he found his will was laughably fragile before this god-like power.
That cold will was seeping into his soul bit by bit, freezing his thoughts, grinding away his memories.
He felt himself being assimilated.
The longing for warmth, the attachment to life—all were dissipating rapidly.
Replacing them was a yearning for death, a surrender to eternal silence.
This way... doesn't seem so bad.
No worries, no pain, no struggle.
Everything returns to nothingness.
Dying in a hellhole like this... what a disgrace for a transmigrator.
Lynn's consciousness began to blur, almost ready to give up resistance.
Just then.
A stubborn little face suddenly flashed in his mind. Those grey eyes filled with reliance and admiration for him.
And Daenerys, Margaery, the Red Woman...
No!
I can't just give up like this!
I still have to become the ruler of this world!
I'm a fucking transmigrator!
How can I die like a coward here!
A primal desire for survival exploded!
Like a spark thrown into the deep sea, Lynn's consciousness, on the verge of being extinguished, reignited into a raging fire!
He began to recall frantically.
Recalling everything from his past life.
Skyscrapers, busy traffic, online games, movies, delicious food...
Recalling everything since he came to this world.
The execution block at Winterfell, Ned Stark's complex gaze, the bloody fight with the bandits, the deception at Castle Black, and... that Valyrian steel sword he had just obtained!
These memories, these emotions, these unique imprints belonging to the individual "Lynn," gathered into a powerful torrent of spirit, beginning to frantically resist the erosion of that cold will!
"I don't care who the fuck you are!"
"Get out of my head!"
Lynn let out a silent roar within his mental world.
That cold will seemed angered by Lynn's fierce resistance.
It stopped trying to assimilate him and turned to pure destruction!
A pressure more terrifying, more massive, swept over him like a tsunami.
Lynn's consciousness was like a small boat about to capsize before this power.
Is this... the end?
Just as Lynn's consciousness was about to be crushed completely.
Inside the cave.
Everyone watched in horror at what was unfolding before them.
Their commander, Lord Lynn.
Ever since he touched the stone egg, he had remained frozen in that posture, motionless.
His face had first flushed red, then turned pale as paper.
His body was trembling violently.
A layer of visible white frost was spreading at an alarming speed from the arm touching the stone egg, covering his entire body.
"My Lord!"
"My Lord, what's wrong?"
Torren and Jason shouted anxiously, trying to step forward and pull Lynn away.
But as soon as they got close, they were forced back by an invisible wave of cold.
The cold was bone-piercing, as if it could freeze a man's blood.
"Quick! Get help! Bring all the oil and torches!"
Torren roared at the guards behind him.
But it was too late.
The frost had already reached Lynn's neck and was about to cover his entire head.
Lynn's body was turning into an ice sculpture!
Despair appeared on everyone's face.
Arya was pale with fright, standing frozen in place, tears welling in her eyes.
Just then.
Nymeria, who had been quietly staying by Arya's feet, suddenly let out a low growl.
The direwolf seemed to sense her master's bone-deep fear, and the deadly chill radiating from Lynn.
This direwolf, who usually only fetched mole-skin gloves, suddenly leaped forward. She darted behind Lynn and clamped her jaws onto the hilt of the longsword at his waist!
Longclaw!
The Valyrian steel sword forged with dragonflame and magic!
Nymeria bit down on the wolf's head pommel and pulled hard!
Clang—!
A clear ring of steel!
The sword was drawn half a foot from its scabbard. The dark ripples on the blade began to flow with a faint, blood-red light.
A power equally ancient, equally strong, but filled with heat and life, erupted from the blade!
That power slammed violently against the cold will filling the cave!