Ned Stark did a good job; it seems he has thoroughly purged the rebels from The Dreadfort.
Without three thousand soldiers, The Dreadfort is an empty shell, and Roose Bolton and Ramsay Bolton will no longer be potential threats.
Lynn felt no great disturbance in his heart; everything was within his calculations.
Having transmigrated, he was well aware of these characters' personalities.
Ramsay Bolton, that madman, seeing Robb's great victory and the rout of the Vale army, and having deserted himself, the only way out he could think of was to take Winterfell directly while the North was empty and seize hostages.
This was a choice he was bound to make given his personality.
As for himself, he used his Faceless Man skill to create a human skin mask belonging to Ned, and continuously showed his face during the march, especially in front of the Bastard of Bolton.
The real Ned Stark, on the other hand, was his booby trap set in Winterfell, just waiting for the Bastard of Bolton to fall right into it.
But... Lynn always felt something was off.
He knew Ned's personality very well.
Even with his repeated admonitions, given Ned's sense of honor, at most he would behead the rebel leaders and imprison the accomplices.
Over nine thousand experience points meant the deaths of nearly three thousand people.
Would Ned... really order the slaughter of three thousand surrendered Northern soldiers?
A hint of curiosity arose in Lynn's heart.
After his mental strength broke through thirty-six points, he hadn't truly used his Greensight yet.
This was a good opportunity to see what exactly happened in Winterfell.
And to also see how far Ned Stark, the Warden of the North, had grown under his influence.
"You all wait for me here."
Lynn instructed Arya and Jon beside him, then walked alone into the depths of the dense forest.
He closed his eyes.
The entire world instantly receded from his perception.
The sound of the wind, the chirping of insects, Arya's worried gaze... all vanished.
His consciousness seemed to transform into an invisible electric current, crossing mountains and rivers, and instantly arrived at the distant North.
Blood.
A Sky full of blood.
He saw the brief but brutal battle beneath Winterfell.
He saw Ramsay Bolton's ridiculous madness, and his final pathetic state, like a stray dog.
He saw Ned Stark's merciless judgment.
"Fire arrows."
Arrows rained down, flesh and blood splattering.
That wasn't a battle; it was an execution.
From Lynn's perspective, Ned's face was hidden in the shadow of his helmet, his expression unclear.
But he could feel the struggle and pain that this old wolf, who held honor as life, endured in his heart when giving that order.
Yet, he still did it.
For the North, for House Stark.
He personally buried the old, principled Ned Stark.
A hint of relief emerged in Lynn's heart.
Good.
This was the ally he wanted.
A king in the north who understood how to weigh pros and cons, who knew how to use ruthless methods to protect his homeland.
Not an old-fashioned stickler for honor who was indecisive in everything.
However, just as Lynn was about to cut off the vision link.
His "gaze" inadvertently swept over Ramsay Bolton, who was being dragged back from the battlefield by soldiers.
The madman was bound in chains, thrown into the Snow like a dead dog.
His body was trembling, but he was still cursing with the vilest, most malicious language.
Normally, Lynn would have no interest in the wailing of such a defeated dog.
But this time, by some strange impulse, he focused his "hearing" on him.
And then, he heard it.
He heard the filthy words that instantly froze his blood.
"...When I get out, I'm going to capture all the women of your House Stark!"
"That Catelyn, I'll make her sing for me all night, while she sings, she'll watch me flay her daughter Sansa!"
"And that Lynn!"
"What is he!"
"A bastard from Beyond the Wall! Why can he marry a princess like Myrcella!"
"Myrcella... hehe... what a beautiful name, what beautiful golden hair... when I catch her, I'll lock her in a dog cage and let my The Hound lick her every day!"
"I'll make her bear me a litter of bastards!"
"Then I'll flay her skin and make it into my most beautiful saddle!"
"And his women!"
"That red-haired wildling woman, that little Stark girl... I want them all!"
"I'll make them line up to serve me!"
"I'll make them know who the true master of the North is!"
A pathological flush appeared on Rams's face.
His voice became shrill with excitement, spittle flying.
He was completely immersed in his dirty and perverted fantasies.
Boom!
In an instant, in the depths of the dense forest in The Riverlands, with Lynn at the center, the surrounding air temperature plummeted to freezing!
A visible layer of white frost spread wildly in all directions!
The green buds that had just emerged on the branches instantly withered, froze, and turned into ice dust.
Insects hibernating in the soil, before they could even feel the breath of spring, were eternally frozen in their dreams.
"Lynn!"
Arya was the first to feel this unusual chill.
She rushed into the dense forest with her sword, only to see a terrifying sight.
Around Lynn's body, a tangible deep blue cold aura swirled.
His hair and eyebrows were covered in a fine layer of ice crystals.
"Lynn! What's wrong with you?!"
Arya rushed over, wanting to grab his hand, but was forced back by an invisible cold aura.
The cold was bone-chilling, as if it could freeze the soul.
Jon and Benjen also followed, equally stunned into silence by the scene before them.
"Don't go over!"
Benjen pulled back Arya, who was still trying to approach.
"His current state is very wrong!"
Lynn's consciousness remained in Winterfell.
He "watched" Rams's face, twisted by lewd fantasies, and listened to every word that came out of his mouth.
Killing intent.
A pure, extreme killing intent, unlike anything he had ever felt, erupted in his chest like a volcano!
He had been through many battles and killed many enemies.
Whether they were knights on the battlefield or scheming nobles, in his eyes, they were merely pawns on a chessboard, stumbling blocks on the path to victory.
Killing them was just killing them.
But Ramsay Bolton was different.
He had touched Lynn's reverse scale, something Lynn would absolutely not allow anyone to defile.
His women.
Myrcella, Arya, Ygritte... they were his weaknesses, and the softest, purest sanctuary in his heart that needed protection the most.
And now, a bug, a maggot not even worthy of being called a human, dared to use his filthy mind to fantasize about and desecrate them!
Lynn's gaze fell on another person.
The woman named Myranda.
She had also been captured and was currently confined in another cage next to Rams.
She didn't curse or cry.
She merely looked at the insane Rams, who refused to accept defeat, with a gaze mixed with adoration, obsession, and heartache.
As if the Bastard of Bolton wasn't a prisoner, but a king whose crown was merely tarnished.
Loyalty?
What excellent loyalty!
However, the object of your loyalty needs to change!
Lynn's consciousness slowly withdrew from the Greensight.
When he opened his eyes again, two faint blue flames burned in the depths of his black pupils.
The surrounding cold, capable of freezing everything, instantly receded and vanished without a trace.
As if everything just now had been an illusion.
"I'm fine."
Lynn's voice was terrifyingly calm.
"Just... saw something interesting."
He turned around and looked at Arya's small face, which was full of worry.
"Don't worry."
His movements were gentle.
But Arya felt that what she touched was not her husband's warm hand, but a block of ice that had not melted for ten thousand years.
She knew that something had completely enraged Lynn.
"Ned has dealt with the rebels at The Dreadfort."
Lynn calmly stated the facts.
"Ramsay Bolton was captured alive."
"That's great!"
A hint of joy appeared on Jon's face.
But Lynn's next words instantly froze the smile on his face.
"Originally, I intended for Ned to behead him directly and then burn The Dreadfort to the ground, and that would be the end of it."
"But now, I've changed my mind."
"Killing him directly would be too easy for him."
Lynn's gaze became profound and cruel.
He likes to manipulate people's hearts, likes to see others suffer, doesn't he?
He thinks that woman named Myranda is most loyal to him, doesn't he?
Then I will make him watch with his own eyes how his most loyal dog slowly transforms into my shape.
I will keep him alive, make him watch clearly, watch everything he cherishes betray him, and how I take it all away.
Then, little by little, torture him to death.
Lynn did not continue the topic.
Some things, he knew himself, were enough.
There was no need to tell everyone.
He, Lynn, was not a saint; he had his own joys and angers; he was first and foremost a living person, not a soulless machine!
He knew that dealing with Rams was something for after taking The Riverlands.
Now, he must convert all his fury into the strength to crush his enemies.
"Tormund! Ygritte! Mance Rayder!"
Lynn's voice echoed throughout the camp.
Soon, the red-haired Giantbane, and the Fire-Kissed born with a longbow, as well as several other most elite wildling leaders, all gathered before Lynn.
A huge map was spread out in the clearing in the forest.
"My brothers,"
Lynn's gaze swept over everyone.
"We have successfully passed through The Neck."
"That foolish woman, Lysa Arryn, is now gathering all the forces of the Vale and waiting for us at The Bloody Gate."
"Hahaha! Then let's go smash that broken gate!"
Tormund rubbed his hands excitedly.
"It's a good chance for my big guy to stretch his muscles!"
He was referring to the Frost Giant, who was now quietly sitting at the edge of the dense forest, like an iceberg.
"No."
Lynn shook his head, and everyone's gaze focused on him.
"Attacking The Bloody Gate is also a decoy."
"What?"
Tormund was stunned.
All the wildling leaders were stunned.
They had traveled thousands of miles, risking great danger to cross The Neck, wasn't it to surprise The Bloody Gate and catch the Vale off guard?
How could even this now become a decoy?
Then what was their true target?
Lynn's finger landed heavily on a point on the map.
A place no one expected.
Not The Bloody Gate, not Milkwater Gate, nor any sturdy fortress in the Vale.
But the castle at the highest point of the Mountains of the Moon, like a hawk's nest, suspended on a cliff.
The Eyrie.
"This... this is impossible!"
Benjen Stark cried out.
"The Eyrie is built on a cliff thousands of feet high!"
"There is only one dangerous mountain path that can be used, and there are three castles along the way!"
"Sky, Snow, and Milkwater Gate!"
"To take it, unless we can grow wings!"
A confident smile appeared on Lynn's face.
"Don't we just happen to have one with wings?"
Lynn looked up at Winter, who was resting nearby, covering her body with her wings.
"Winter can take us up."
"But... but how many people can one dragon carry?"
Jon still thought the plan was too crazy.
"Although The Eyrie doesn't have many defenders, it can't be taken by just a few dozen people!"
"A few dozen people?"
Lynn's gaze fell on the ten black-robed "people."
"Don't worry, not a few dozen."
"The eleven of us are enough."
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