That deserter… No. He is not a deserter. The thought flashed through Robb Stark's mind. A deserter would never have eyes like that—he is a true warrior.
Lynn's chest heaved with ragged breaths, yet his grip on the sword remained steady. A bearded bandit leader let out a beastly roar, shattering the brief silence.
"What the hell are you all afraid of!" he shouted. "They're on horseback—we can't run! Fight them to the death!" "Charge! Take one down with us at least!"
Fear gave way to raw savagery, and the remaining bandits roared back to life. Some of them had sized up the situation: this black-cloaked figure was more dangerous, a tough nut to crack, but the constant fighting had pushed him to his limit. With two men ganging up on him, even the strongest warrior couldn't hold on for long.
Robb saw their intent, roaring as he tried to lead his men toward Lynn. "Stop them!"
Seeing Robb give orders, another group of bandits instantly recognized their leader. They wheeled around, launching a reckless flank attack on Robb and his men, forcing him to engage.
Lynn's eyes narrowed. So, he had drawn their attention—and why wouldn't he? Taking three lives cleanly was hard to ignore. He pressed his back against a thick pine tree, narrowing his focus to enemies from the front and side. With Robb and the others absorbing most of the bandits' fury, Lynn's pressure eased significantly.
One bandit charged first, swinging a long-handled axe down at Lynn's head with a whoosh of wind. Lynn did not meet the blow head-on. He slid sideways, pressing his body against the tree to narrowly dodge the axe blade. Wood chips flew as the axe bit deep into the trunk.
That's the opening! Lynn twisted his wrist, driving his sword upward from a tricky angle.
Splat!
The tip of the sword sliced clean through the bandit's unprotected throat. Blood sprayed forth, leaving a stark red streak on the pale tree bark.
[Bandit killed x1. Experience +1]
Before the body hit the ground, another bandit's scimitar swept in, targeting Lynn's midsection. Lynn twisted his torso, swinging his sword to parry.
Clang!
Metal clashed, sending sparks flying. At that exact moment, a third bandit lunged from the side—armed not with a proper weapon, but a sharpened wooden stake, aiming viciously for Lynn's ribs. There was no room to retreat.
In the nick of time—whoosh! A stray arrow cut through the air, piercing the stake-wielder's eye socket. His scream died abruptly. His body stiffened for a heartbeat, then crumpled to the ground.
Lynn's attention had been on the ambush, giving the scimitar-wielding bandit a chance to raise his blade again with a sneer. A flash of steel—Lynn dodged as best he could, but only managed to turn his body slightly. A searing pain erupted from his left shoulder. His cloak was torn open, flesh hanging raw, and blood instantly soaked half his body.
Lynn grunted, staggering backward. The agony seared his nerves, but it did not cloud his judgment—it stoked the savagery in his bones. Instead of retreating, he used the momentum of his stagger to surge forward, slamming his injured shoulder into the bandit's chest.
The bandit never expected such ferocity from a wounded man. Caught off guard, he stumbled back several steps. Lynn struck— a simple, brutal upward slash.
Rip!
Unprotected by armor, the blade sliced through the bandit's abdomen, upward through his chest. Organs and blood spilled onto the ground. The sneer froze on his face as he stared down at his gaping midsection, eyes filled with disbelief and despair.
[Bandit killed x1. Experience +1]
Aware of his injury, Lynn stopped pushing his luck and moved toward the edge of the battlefield.
"Roar!" Robb Stark's battle cry echoed. The young wolf had fought himself into a frenzy, his wolf's blood fully awakened. He abandoned the formal swordplay taught by his master; though young, every swing was brimming with power—broad, wild strikes that embodied the North's unyielding spirit.
One bandit lost an arm to his sword, screaming as he fell. Another was cut down, shield and all. Thanks to the ferocity of Lynn and Robb, the tide of battle shifted rapidly.
The bandit leader watched in rage, abandoning his fight with the Stark guards to flee. But his path crossed with Lynn, who was also edging toward the perimeter. Seeing Lynn wounded, the leader roared, swinging a blood-caked two-handed axe straight for him. Before he even drew near, a stench of blood and sweat filled the air. The axe blade whirled down with deadly force.
Lynn did not dodge. He was exhausted, and no amount of evasion could escape the reach of the long-handled weapon. He bent his knees slightly, sinking his center of gravity, and held his sword horizontally before him.
Bang!
A deafening crash. Lynn blocked with the thickest part of his sword, diverting the lethal blow to the side. The impact jarred his arms violently, reopening his shoulder wound and dimming his vision with pain.
The bandit leader's eyes flickered with surprise, then cruelty. He pressed down on the axe, trying to crush this stubborn foe. But Lynn had gotten what he wanted— the block had brought him close enough to strike.
Lynn suddenly released his left hand from the sword, spinning his body to the right. His right elbow shot forward like a cannonball, slamming into the leader's ribs.
Crack!
A crisp sound of breaking bone. The leader let out a pained grunt, his massive body freezing for a split second. At that moment, Robb arrived, determined not to let the leader escape. He drove his sword forward.
Squelch!
The sword plunged hilt-deep into the leader's chest. Fearing Robb would steal the kill, Lynn quickly picked up a fallen sword and drove it into the leader's eye socket.
[Bandit Leader killed x1. Experience +2]
The ferocity faded from the leader's eyes as life drained away. Lynn wrenched the sword free, and the tall bandit collapsed, lifeless.
"Two XP for the leader?" Lynn thought. "So stronger foes give more experience. Though he wasn't that powerful—otherwise, it would've been more than two." He wondered: how much experience would he get for killing a warrior like Jaime Lannister, or a wight, a White Walker, even the Night King?
"I could massacrate civilians to grind XP," he mused. "But without connections to cover me, I'd be hunted across all Westeros."
With their leader dead, the remaining bandits shattered completely. They dropped their weapons, fleeing in all directions—only to be cut down by the Stark guards' cold blades and Theon's fatal arrows.
The battle was over. Silence returned to the wood, broken only by the crackle of the campfire and the groans of wounded guards.
Lynn leaned against the battle-scarred pine tree, sliding slowly to the ground. His sword clattered into the snow. His entire body trembled—not from fear, but exhaustion. His shoulder still bleed, and his bruised ribs throbbed with every breath, threatening to make him faint. His vision blurred.
A pair of mud-and-snow caked boots stopped before him. Lynn forced his head up. It was Robb Stark. The young Young Wolf still bore the fire of battle on his face, but his blue eyes held complex emotions—shock, confusion, and a hint of admiration.
"You…" Robb opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked at the bodies around Lynn, then at his gruesome wound. No words could do the moment justice.
"Hollen!" Robb turned, shouting to a guard. "Get over here! Bandage him!"
Theon Greyjoy approached too, sheathing his bow and squatting down. Staring at the deep, bone-exposing gash on Lynn's shoulder, all trace of his earlier mockery was gone.
With blood and wounds, Lynn had earned the respect of Robb and Theon. Before his eyes, the blue system panel—visible only to him—floated quietly.
[Experience Points: 7]