A torrent of black flowed slowly across the endless white plains.
The pungent, real smell of animal dung permeated the air.
Lynn rode atop Winter's broad back.
Arya held his waist tightly. Her initial excitement had settled into quiet contemplation.
She looked down at the wildling phalanxes, neat as a chessboard, and the legions of giants and mammoths stretching to the horizon.
Suddenly, a scout on a garron galloped towards them, his face flushed with excitement.
"Two riders from the north, approaching us!"
Tormund sat on a tall warhorse. The beast looked somewhat comical beneath his massive frame.
He spat into the snow.
"Spies? I'll go break their legs!"
Ygritte, ever at Lynn's side, had already nocked an arrow.
Lynn narrowed his eyes.
The two figures were still distant black dots, but their riding posture was familiar.
"Wait. Friends."
As they drew closer, Arya let out a cry of surprise.
"Jon! It's Jon!"
It was indeed Jon Snow.
His handsome face was chapped by the wind, snowflakes dusting his black curls.
Beside him was another man with the unmistakable Stark look—taller, leaner.
Benjen Stark.
First Ranger of the Night's Watch.
They reined in their horses before the massive dragon, their mounts snorting nervously.
Benjen's eyes were wide, staring in shock at the sheer scale of the army.
He had seen Winter before, but his gaze lingered for a long time on the Frost Giant, which looked like a moving iceberg.
Jon dismounted, his movements stiff from cold and exhaustion.
"Lynn. Arya."
"Jon!"
Arya scrambled down from the dragon's back. Ignoring the knee-deep snow, she wanted to throw herself into her brother's arms.
But remembering she was now Lynn's wife, she forced herself to stop.
"Why are you here?" Lynn asked.
"Did the Wall fall?"
"Not yet," Jon's voice was weary. "But it is cracking."
"A horn sounded from the south two days ago. Lord Mormont says the Wall's magic is failing."
Jon looked straight into Lynn's eyes.
"I've come to fight."
Benjen dismounted as well.
"Me too."
"Starks must defend the North. I am a Stark first."
Jon unstrapped a heavy bundle from his saddle.
"Lord Commander Mormont... Jeor... he said this was more important."
"He said helping you is helping the Night's Watch."
He carefully handed two items to Lynn.
First, a strange branch.
Thick as a man's arm, unnaturally white, yet warm to the touch.
Red sap oozed like blood from the break.
Lynn could feel an ancient, vibrant power pulsing within it.
Second, a scroll made of black ice.
A sheet of translucent ice, thin as parchment but hard as diamond, radiating cold that penetrated even Lynn's moleskin gloves.
On the surface, lines of text seemed to wriggle in twisted runes.
At the top, the name "Lynn" was clearly visible.
"Dead men brought them," Jon explained in a low voice.
"A White Walker and several wights."
"They just... stood there, handed them over, and left."
The surrounding wildlings, including Tormund and Ygritte, instinctively stepped back at the mention of "dead men."
Only Lynn remained impassive.
He recognized the power in the branch.
Clearly, this was a "Blessed Item."
Like the ones he had asked Jon to find.
But this one... felt completely different.
Purer. Stronger.
This was a direct gift.
"The Night King is quite a generous... person," Lynn muttered to himself.
He looked at the branch in his hand. Now was not the time for hesitation; he needed every scrap of power he could get.
Lynn checked for traps. Finding none, he gripped the branch with both hands and, without hesitation, bit into it.
The taste was indescribable.
Sweet, full of the scent of earth, yet carrying an extreme cold.
The wood wasn't hard; it melted like snow in his mouth, turning into a majestic energy that washed through his limbs and bones.
A stinging pain spread through his body.
Every inch of muscle, every bone, every cell was being reshaped by this primal energy.
It was an agonizing yet exhilarating rebirth.
Then:
[Consumed Frost God's Treasure Tree (Fragment)]
[All Attributes +10]
[Consuming the complete Treasure Tree grants partial Authority of the Frost God]
"Something from the Great Other?"
Lynn clenched his fist.
He didn't care whose it was; power was power.
The world became unprecedentedly clear to Lynn's senses.
The wind was no longer noise but a language he could almost understand.
He felt his body become stronger, faster.
His thoughts became pure and swift.
The power surging beneath his skin was intoxicating.
[Name: Lynn]
[Strength: 22 (2%)]
[Agility: 21 (61%)]
[Constitution: 20 (0%)]
[Spirit: 36 (1%)]
Lynn felt he could effortlessly take down three Jaime Lannisters now, maybe more.
And increasing attributes after breaking the limit meant the combat power wasn't a simple addition!
No human could withstand a full-force strike from him!
Moreover, Spirit was Lynn's forte, and now it had broken through to 36 points!
He feared not even the Three-Eyed Raven could stand against him!
It seemed that when he had time, he could use his Greensight to see what the Raven was up to.
Then, Lynn turned his gaze to the ice scroll.
He carefully unrolled it, the runes glowing with a faint blue light.
It was an ancient language, neither Common nor Valyrian, but somehow he could read it.
The message was brief, but it chilled his heart and confirmed all his guesses.
"The Raven seeks new flesh."
"Do not give it to him. Kill the bird, and the Long Night ends naturally."
The Three-Eyed Raven.
The Night King wasn't just an ally of convenience; he was actively guiding Lynn, warning him.
The true enemy was the mastermind hiding in a cave north of the Wall, thinking he could manipulate everything.
The one who wanted to seize a new body—perhaps a Stark child or someone else—to continue his endless cycle.
"What does it say?"
Jon's curiosity outweighed his fear.
Lynn put away the scroll.
"It says we have a common enemy."
"We'll talk about it later."
"The Night King won't move against us for now."
However, Lynn didn't fully trust the Night King's words.
The Night King wanted the Three-Eyed Raven dead, but Lynn didn't want the Raven dead just yet.
Checks and balances were key.
Especially at this critical juncture.
---
Four days passed in a flash.
Lynn's army assembled outside Winterfell.
Robb Stark stood on a makeshift wooden platform with Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, and other Northern lords, awaiting his "ally."
He had expected a few thousand wildlings, maybe some giants.
He was prepared to welcome a poorly equipped, rough, undisciplined mob.
He was not prepared for this.
First came the sound.
A rumble that shook the earth, gradually growing into a thunderous roar.
Then, they saw the vanguard.
Wildling infantry clad not in ragged furs, but in standard full plate armor.
Their pikes formed a terrifying steel forest.
"By the Old Gods and the New..."
Rickard Karstark murmured, his hand unconsciously going to his sword hilt.
Then the giants.
Not one or two, but hundreds.
Some wore heavy armor, wielding warhammers as tall as two men.
Giant archers held bows made from entire trees.
The Greatjon's booming laugh caught in his throat, his jaw practically hitting the ground.
Then, the mammoths.
Fifty mammoths, draped in custom heavy armor, carrying giant knights wielding chain flails on their backs.
They were living siege engines, the raw power of nature clad in steel.
Finally... "It" appeared.
The Frost Giant.
Fifteen meters tall, a titan made of ice.
It walked at the very front of the army, a walking apocalypse.
Every tremor of the earth came from its heavy footsteps.
Every Northern lord, every battle-hardened soldier, felt a fear that stemmed from the depths of their souls.
This was not a creation of the mortal world; this was an avatar of the Winter God walking among men.
"Seven Hells," Wyman Manderly whispered.
His jowls quivered incessantly.
"What... what in the world is that?"
But for those with keen eyes, the true terror lay in the small squad behind the Frost Giant.
Jaime, watching from the sidelines, had already noticed something wrong with those "people."
Ten figures in black cloaks and hoods, moving with a perfect, unnatural synchronization.
They radiated absolute silence.
They were Lynn's personal guard, the first members of his "Winterguard Legion."
They were White Walkers, blue flames burning in their eyes, their dead flesh driven by Lynn's power.
"What are they? Lynn's secret weapon?"
Jaime muttered to himself, bewildered.
Robb looked at Lynn, who jumped leisurely from the dragon's back.
The balance of power hadn't just tilted.
The entire chessboard had been flipped over!
With such a force, winning? Too easy. It would be hard to lose on purpose!
He finally understood why Lynn was so confident.
The Greatjon was the first to snap out of it.
He let out a roar—not of fear, but of pure, unadulterated excitement.
"HA! HAHAHAHA! Now that's a bloody army!"
He slapped his thigh and bellowed.
"We'll stomp the Freys into paste!"
The other lords woke from their shock, erupting in laughter mixed with cheers and nervousness.
The fear was still there, but it was quickly replaced by an intoxicating emotion.
At least this unstoppable force was on their side.
---
The combined army of wildlings and Northmen numbered fully fifty thousand.
This was the largest force the North had assembled in a thousand years.
They marched south, leaving Winterfell far behind.
The march was swift until they reached the northern edge of the Neck, where they came to a complete halt.
Here, the world changed.
Crisp white snow gave way to a vast, stinking marshland.
The air became humid, filled with the sickening smell of rot and stagnation.
Twisted trees draped in moss rose from murky pools, their branches like skeletal fingers.
The ground was a trap of mud and quicksand, covered by a thin layer of green scum.
The massive army hesitated.
The problem was obvious.
How do you move fifty thousand men, tens of thousands of horses, and a legion of giants and mammoths through this?
It was impossible.
The Kingsroad was a narrow causeway, easily ambushed and liable to flood.
But even that was better than this.
Leaving the road for the swamp was basically suicide.
But taking the Kingsroad would expose them. To maintain surprise, they had to go through here.
Soldiers would be swallowed by the bog, beasts would sink in the mud.
The entire army would be bogged down for months, whittled away bit by bit.
Nothing seemed feasible!
"It's impossible to pass through here."
Looking at the gloomy swamp, Robb said.
For the first time, his face showed wavering.
"We'll lose half our men before we even see a Frey banner."
The Greatjon, usually optimistic, was uncharacteristically silent.
His brow was furrowed tight.
He couldn't think of any way to forge a path through this.
All eyes turned to Lynn.
Because Lynn had promised them.
He had a way to lead everyone across the swamp.
Lynn stood at the edge of the bog, foul mist curling around his boots.
The Frost Giant stood silently behind him, its cold aura contrasting sharply with the humid rot of the Neck.
The lords were anxious, the soldiers restless.
The army's high morale seemed to have dipped significantly.
Lynn showed no worry.
He simply looked calmly at the vast swamp that had swallowed countless armies.
Then, he turned to face the worried faces of Robb, Jon, and the lords.
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"Why the panic?"
"A swamp?"
Lynn spoke, a playful tone in his voice.
"You call this a problem?"
Then, Lynn raised a hand, palm facing the murky water before him.
The air temperature around him plummeted instantly.