[Blood Contract Points +5]
A cloud of red mist, more than half again the size of what an ordinary person would produce, flowed into Robb's body. It restored his stamina and healed his injuries to some degree.
Although he and Ilyn had made some noise in the shack earlier, this was Flea Bottom, a poor and chaotic neighborhood. Even if Ilyn had had a tongue to call for help, Robb doubted any of the neighbors would have come to investigate.
So Robb didn't leave right away. Instead, he bent down, picked up Ice, and examined it closely.
Forged from Valyrian steel, Ice gleamed coldly in the candlelight. Just looking at it, a person could tell it was razor-sharp.
The blade was wider than a man's palm, with a blood groove running down its center to the tip. The crossguard at the end of the blade was as dark as smoke, and the hilt was unadorned.
The whole sword gave the impression of a plain, unassuming weapon made for killing!
Ice deserved to be called the sword of the Stark lord. Eddard had always kept it safe and never let his children fool around with it.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Robb gripped Ice in his right hand and swung it hard a few times. He could wield it one-handed, but given his height, he found it easier to use with both hands.
Robb picked up Ice's new scabbard and slid the sword inside.
Before, Ice had always been kept in a scabbard wrapped in animal fur and carried by a servant.
Now Ilyn had replaced it with a leather scabbard wrapped in black cloth, making it easier to carry.
With his business taken care of, Robb tossed aside his dark blue robe, now reeking of liquor, and rummaged through the place