The door was gently pushed open.
The faint creak sounded especially clear in the silent room.
Lynn did not turn around.
He sat bare-chested on a low stool before the fireplace, letting the warm firelight lick his wounded skin.
The air smelled of herbs mingled with blood.
Arya slipped inside without a sound, then quickly closed the door.
She stood behind it, her small hands clutching the hem of her clothes, her gray eyes fixed unblinkingly on Lynn's back in the dim light.
More than a dozen purplish bruises crisscrossed his broad back.
The worst wound stretched from his left shoulder to his waist.
It had barely been held together with crude stitches.
Like an ugly centipede, it sprawled across his firm muscles.
A man of the Night's Watch wielding a warhammer had left it during the final bout that afternoon.
Arya's nose stung, and her eyes instantly reddened.
She hurried to Lynn's side and watched him dip a piece of linen into the dark ointment Aemon had given him, awkwardly smearing it over a wound beneath his ribs.
"You're an idiot!"
Arya's voice trembled with tears, anger, and anxiety.
Lynn paused in the middle of applying the ointment.
He turned and saw Arya biting her lip, stubbornly refusing to let her tears fall.
She looked like a little wolf that had been angered but did not know what to do.
Arya snatched Lynn's ointment and began applying it to his sword wounds.
"Why are you pushing yourself so hard?"
"You've already beaten them!"
"You've already proved yourself!"
Arya's voice grew louder, carrying a tremor even she had not noticed.
To her, Lynn was already the greatest hero in Westeros.
And he was clever, too.
Lynn had no need to prove anything to anyone.
Especially not to those foul-mouthed, bleary-eyed "Crows."
"Lynn, I'm a daughter of House Stark."
"If I say the word, Lord Commander Mormont will let you leave!"
"He swore allegiance to my father, to House Stark!"
Lynn said nothing, merely watching Arya in silence.
Firelight danced deep in his eyes, reflecting the girl's small face, filled with concern and hurt.
Lynn reached out to ruffle her hair.
But when he saw the ointment and blood covering his hand, he withdrew it.
"Arya."
Lynn's voice was gentle.
"I'm not doing this to prove anything."
He settled Arya onto the stool beside him, and they both turned toward the warm fireplace.
Lynn gazed through the dancing flames, as though looking somewhere far away.
"If I can't even get out of little Castle Black..."
Lynn paused.
"How will I ever return to Winterfell openly and honorably..."
"And marry you?"
The room fell utterly silent.
Only the pinewood in the fireplace gave off faint crackles as it burned.
Arya froze.
She stared blankly at Lynn's profile.
His sharply defined face looked utterly serious in the firelight.
To... marry... marry me?
Those words exploded like thunder inside Arya's little head.
She had imagined many possibilities.
She had thought Lynn was fighting for honor, for freedom, even to prove his abilities to Ned Stark.
But she had never imagined this.
Every drop of blood Lynn had shed in the courtyard, every new wound on his body, had been for her.
For a promise so distant, yet so solemn.
A sob burst from her lips.
Arya could no longer hold back and began crying aloud.
Tears streamed down her delicate cheeks like floodwaters bursting through a dam.
But this time, it was not out of concern.
Nor was it because she felt hurt.
It was an emotion that made her heart tremble fiercely, something she could not put into words.
She suddenly threw herself forward and hugged Lynn tightly from behind.
Her little arms held him with all her strength.
As though she wanted to press herself into his body.
She buried her face deep against Lynn's back.
Her hot tears soaked the bandages wrapped around him.
Lynn stiffened slightly.
The girl's embrace tugged at his wounds, sending a sharp stab of pain through him.
But he did not move.
He simply let her hold him, feeling her trembling and listening to her muffled sobs.
That was not Lynn's only goal.
It was merely the only one suitable to tell Arya.
In Westeros, where male chauvinism ran rampant, Arya had never heard anything like it.
She was almost overwhelmed with emotion.
A long time passed.
Arya's sobs gradually faded.
She let go and circled around from behind Lynn to stand before him.
Her eyes, swollen and red from crying, shone astonishingly bright in the firelight.
She rose onto her tiptoes, lifted her small hands, and clumsily wiped the tears from her face with her sleeves.
Then she spoke to Lynn in an utterly solemn voice.
"I'll wait for you."
After saying that, Arya suddenly noticed that there were other people in Lynn's room!
Two guards stood in the shadows, watching them with indescribable smiles.
Arya felt her cheeks grow hot.
She hastily covered her face, turned, and ran out of the room.
Leaving Lynn sitting quietly in the firelight.
He lowered his head and looked at his hands, covered in calluses from gripping a sword over and over.
The corners of his mouth slowly curved upward.
The night deepened.
The castle fell completely silent.
Only the wind remained, howling like ghosts.
Lynn lay in bed, breathing steadily, seemingly fast asleep.
A dark figure silently pushed the room's door open a crack.
A man dressed in black slipped inside as silently as a cat.
He held a dagger in his hand.
The dagger gleamed faintly white in the weak moonlight filtering through the window.
The shadow approached the bedside, step by step.
He watched the sleeping figure on the bed, a vicious glint of murderous intent flashing in his eyes.
He raised the dagger high.
Just as he was about to stab downward.
Two figures suddenly sprang from the shadows in the corner.
They were Stark guards.
They did not even make a sound.
A steel blade swept cleanly across the assassin's neck from behind.
Another sword pierced his heart from the side.
Shhk.
Warm blood gushed out.
The assassin's body froze.
He lowered his head in disbelief, staring at the sword tip protruding from his chest.
A rasping gurgle escaped his throat.
Then he collapsed limply.
The entire exchange was as swift as lightning.
The assassin had been given no chance to react.
On the bed.
Lynn slowly opened his eyes.
He sat up and looked at the corpse still twitching on the floor.
"Someone actually dared to try to assassinate me?"
Lynn found it a little unbelievable, too.
Just then.
A voice only Lynn could hear rang out in his mind.
[Your soldiers have killed 1 enemy. Experience points +2] [Current experience points: 2]
Lynn's body jolted.
His pupils shrank sharply in an instant.
He had not killed the man.
Torrhen and the others had.
That... could earn experience points too?
It was as though thunder had exploded inside Lynn's head.
He abruptly raised his head and looked at the two guards who had returned to the shadows.
He saw the unwavering loyalty in their eyes.
He recalled what Ned Stark had told him in Winterfell.
"This hundred-man company is yours to command."
"They answer to you alone."
So that was it.
As long as they were entirely his own men.
The enemies they killed would also count toward his experience points!
An indescribable surge of elation swept through Lynn's entire body.
The greatest limitation he had always faced had been broken.
He no longer needed to do everything himself.
He could build an army loyal to him.
An army... that could farm endless experience points for him!
Only from this moment onward did this world truly become interesting.
Before you continue