Sword Saint Starting Today!

Robb and Luwin agreed that it made perfect sense.

What if Jon failed?

Just imagining the other side knocking Jon down, then hauling him before Robb...

Winterfell would be utterly humiliated.

Granted, Jon's Swordsmanship was quite good, but that was all.

He might be a capable fighter, perhaps even an expert at best, but he was still far from being able to overwhelm every challenger.

Yet Jon assured Robb:

"Robb! I guarantee that no one in the entire North is my match."

"Pfft—"

Before Jon could finish, Theon let out a disdainful sneer.

Jon ignored him and continued.

"How about this? We'll be more thorough the first time. Pick a suitable target first—a 'soft persimmon' to squeeze. Based on my performance, you can decide whether we should go after those powerful fellows who are jumping the highest."

Though they also felt that Jon's claim of being "unmatched in the North" was somewhat exaggerated...

Seeing no better option, Robb nodded in agreement. He said he would assign Jon two dozen skilled men—twenty-four in total.

After the small meeting ended, Jon left with Theon.

Halfway there, Theon suddenly asked:

"Are you confident?"

"About what?"

"I mean, do you really think you can defeat those lords by force?"

Rather than answering directly, Jon smiled and said:

"Theon, I actually think highly of you."

"What... what do you mean?"

"You're very persuasive. Many times, words are more powerful than swords."

"Is... is that so?"

Theon spoke with some uncertainty. As though embarrassed, he instinctively raised a hand to scratch his head.

Seeing him like that, Jon recalled the famous scene where Theon's Winterfell speech ended with him being knocked down by a single blow.

Theon was not a bad person by nature, and Jon had no desire to make an enemy of him.

"I have a proposal. If my plan succeeds, you must agree to one condition: help me persuade someone."

"Who?"

"I'll tell you after I win."

"Fine, I promise!" Theon raised his head, looking exactly like a proud rooster.

Watching Theon look pleased yet still somewhat restrained, Jon found it rather amusing.

Young people were the most vulnerable to flattery.

After all, before crossing over, Jon had used the same trick to fool others into doing more work.

Of course, he was not the kind of person who only made empty promises. If you drew them a feast but never gave them any meat, they would catch on sooner or later.

Still, using promises to motivate people was nothing shameful.

After parting with Theon, Jon immediately activated his golden finger, intending to test its limits.

Give me some points!

Jon spent one upgrade point and added it to Swordsmanship, which was already at the purple rank.

The next instant, purple turned to gold. All his past experiences from training and sparring erupted in Jon's mind.

His body frantically absorbed the essence of those past experiences, casting away the old and creating the new.

Jon felt that, in Swordsmanship alone, he could now handle the combined assault of at least five versions of his former self.

He was confident he could defeat "five of himself" within ten minutes!

Beyond the improvement in Swordsmanship, Jon could clearly feel a considerable increase in the condition of his muscles, bones, and physique.

His body was more nimble, and his steps lighter.

He placed a hand on his sword hilt, feeling as though it were a part of his own body!

He even had enough leeway to wield another sword in his left hand.

He felt that even the Kingsguard at the king's side were probably no more than this.

Of course, the Sword of the Morning was excluded for the time being.

Jon looked at the trait before him and said expectantly:

"If a gold trait is already this powerful, then what about something even higher?"

Looking at the two upgrade points he had left, he thought that this was no time to be stingy.

He had to handle this matter flawlessly.

Prepare for the worst!

Having made up his mind, Jon decided to invest all his remaining upgrade points into Swordsmanship.

With another upgrade point added, the golden trait changed once more, turning from gold to red. Even the trait itself changed.

"Red! Sword Saint!"

Within an exquisite courtyard, a red banner bearing the image of a flayed man hung upside down, snapping fiercely in the North wind.

This was where Roose Bolton, Earl of the Dreadfort, was staying.

As for where the original owner had gone, that was not important.

Inside the room, a pale man with scarcely any wrinkles was placing leeches on his arm.

The leeches greedily sucked Lord Bolton's blood.

Before long, every leech had swollen round, while a faint look of pleasure appeared on Roose Bolton's face.

He deftly removed the leeches from his body.

Roose Bolton favored bloodletting therapy. Because he enjoyed having leeches suck his blood, people also called him the "Leech Lord."

"Ramsay."

"My lord."

At that moment, a young man of average height entered from outside.

Though somewhat restrained, he bore a five-tenths resemblance to Roose Bolton.

Ramsay Snow was Roose Bolton's bastard son.

His mother was the wife of a miller.

More than a decade ago, Roose Bolton had perhaps gone to the miller's home to shelter from the rain, and then everything happened.

Yes, it was that absurd.

In a place where the right of the first night had been abolished less than two hundred years ago, it was not a major matter.

It was not until Roose Bolton's eldest son and sole heir died of illness that he remembered he had such a bastard son.

So he brought him to his side to cultivate him.

"My lord, are we still going to see Robb today?" Ramsay asked, his tone deferential to the extreme.

He practically wished he could lower himself into the dirt.

"Of course we are. No matter what, we must secure command of the army!" After saying that, Roose Bolton looked at Ramsay and asked, "Ramsay, how long do you think this war will last? Or rather, do you think we will fight all the way to King's Landing?"

Ramsay thought for a moment before answering:

"My lord, since we are going to rescue Lord Eddard, then... I suppose we will?"

Roose Bolton was dissatisfied with Ramsay's answer.

But remembering that this bastard had only been at his side for a short time, he patiently explained:

"No. This war will end very soon. At its core, this war began only because our duke failed to reach an agreement with the Lannisters in King's Landing.

"At most, we will fight one or two battles, suffer a few thousand casualties, and then return."

"A few thousand..." Ramsay murmured, stunned by how lightly Roose Bolton spoke of "a few thousand."

Looking at this inexperienced bastard, Roose Bolton shook his head again.

He was certain this war would not last long, which meant there would likely not be many opportunities to earn merit.

Therefore, he absolutely had to fight for command of the army!

"Come. Let us see Robb again..."

When the Bolton father and son left Robb's place, Robb could not help sending someone to urge Jon, asking when he intended to act.

Jon did not waste any time. Taking Theon and several Winterfell guards, he headed straight for an obscure baron's domain.

They had only arrived two months ago, yet there had already been more than ten incidents of oppressing the common people!

With no powerful backer yet acting so arrogantly, Jon decided to make an example of this fellow!