Chapter 1 commander
In the North of Westeros, the feudal domain of House Stark, the terrain was relatively flat and the land fertile. However, due to its proximity to Beyond the Wall, it was affected by the frigid air currents from the Land of Always Winter further north of the Wall. As a result, the temperature in the North remained consistently low. Yet, with the Long Summer in full swing, the biting cold winds barely made an impact.
Outside Winterfell lay an extensive forest. Stretching north beyond Last Hearth and near the Gift, westward covering all of Deepwood Motte and extending to the Bay of Ice, and southward reaching the mountains near Torrhen’s Square, this vast woodland was known as the Wolfswood.
Owing to its immense size, the Wolfswood teemed with countless animals, providing ample sustenance for the humans who dwelled within it. Of course, there were times when humans themselves became prey for the carnivores that inhabited the forest.
Between Winterfell and Last Hearth, there was also a large lake called Long Lake.
Near Long Lake, numerous villages were scattered, and none had a better geographical location than those situated between the lake and the Kingsroad. Among these villages, Ram Village was the most prosperous.
Ram Village had a total population of over a hundred, with more than thirty able-bodied men alone—making it a village with considerable martial strength.
The entire village was located on the banks of Long Lake; one side of the village abutted the lake, and the houses were densely arranged in a semicircular pattern. The outer edge of this semicircle was enclosed by an earthen wall two to three meters high, with a pair of wooden gates in the exact center of the wall. The whole village thus formed a small stockade. It was easily accessible: to the west lay the Kingsroad, to the east Long Lake, and a pier had been built on the side near the lake. The wooden bridge of the pier extended dozens of meters into Long Lake, and seven or eight wooden boats were moored on either side of the bridge.
The boats had narrow hulls, with both bow and stern raised high. Their holds were shallow, and a tall mast stood upright in the middle of each hull—though the sails were currently furled. Anyone familiar with Western TV series would surely exclaim “Viking longships!” upon seeing these vessels. With a shallow draft, they were perfectly suited for speeding across the water.
It was nearly noon, and the gates of Ram Village stood wide open. On the open ground between the Kingsroad and the village, a group of women used farming tools to dig up the earth beneath their feet, yanking out whole vines, while children following behind picked up plump potatoes and stuffed them into baskets on the ground. Even the discarded vines were not wasted: a group of elderly villagers gathered them up and carried them into the stockade, where others chopped them into chaff with a hay cutter to feed the livestock in the pens.
In the dense woods on the other side of the Kingsroad, outside the stockade, a group of able-bodied men were hard at work. Tall, sturdy fellows swung large axes, felling trees in the forest one after another. The fallen trees were processed on the spot: two tall men lifted sections of timber onto a frame, then used long saws to split the wood into long planks. Finally, ox carts hauled these planks back to Ram Village and stacked them in the warehouse.
Deeper in the forest, over a dozen robust hunters—clad in leather armor, wielding yew longbows, carrying quivers on their backs, and with short swords at their waists—advanced slowly, accompanied by hunting dogs. They constantly scanned their surroundings for any sign of prey.
Leading this group was a man nearly two meters tall, with short brown hair, whose build was as imposing as a mountain. The longbow in his hand was also a yew one, with a noticeably broader and thicker bow stave. Even in the North, where people generally had a height advantage, his stature stood out; only Greatjon and Youngjon Umber of House Umber could match him in size.
As the hunters pressed on, they gradually ventured deeper into the forest. The hunting dogs, catching the scent of animals in the air, grew increasingly excited. Studying the animal tracks on the ground, the burly leader could tell they belonged to a herd of reindeer—and a large one at that. He glanced back to signal his companions, then quickened his pace.
After about another ten minutes, the leading 壮汉 came to a halt. He scooped up a handful of fine soil from the ground and tossed it into the air, gauging the direction of the wind. The wind was favorable; the hunters were downwind. Just a few dozen meters ahead of them was the reindeer herd.
At the burly leader’s wave, the dozen or so hunters crept forward silently, forming a long line. They drew their arrows one by one, pulled their bows taut, and took aim at the reindeer herd ahead. The leader, meanwhile, pulled several arrows from his quiver and stuck them into the ground before him, with two more tucked between his left fingers. He too drew his bow, an arrow nocked and ready.
The moment the leader released his arrow, the other hunters loosed theirs in quick succession, all aimed at the reindeer herd ahead. After firing the first arrow, the burly man did not pause—he quickly nocked and released again, sending several more arrows flying in rapid succession, each finding its mark.
As the arrows flew, the hunting dogs beside the hunters sprang forward in a flash, pouncing toward the reindeer that had fallen to the ground, struck by arrows.
“Awoooooo...”
At the sight of the fallen prey scattered across the ground, the hunters let out excited howls. Their feet moved just as quickly—they rushed over, drew the short swords at their waists, and finished off any reindeer still struggling.
“Owen, we’ve bagged twenty-one reindeer this time. Their hides are all pretty intact. Once we tan them properly back home, we can sell them for a good price again,” a man in his thirties, with a scruffy beard, said as he approached the burly leader after counting the prey.
“Jon, tell them to get the prey packed up quickly. We need to get back to the village before noon, and set off in the afternoon. It′s been raining a lot lately, so the water levels in Long Lake and the White Knife have risen quite a bit. If we take the boats, leaving this afternoon, we′ll drift downstream and reach White Harbor by no later than the morning of the day after tomorrow,” Owen said to Jon before him.
“Right away, Village Chief!” Jon replied, performing a knight′s salute—though his version of the salute looked rather comical.
“Open the interface!” Owen muttered silently to himself once Jon had left.
Host Name: Owen Reed
Talent: Mountain
Warrior Level: Level 1
Personal Attributes: Strength 7, Constitution 7, Agility 6
Skill Attributes: Swordsmanship Level 1, Archery Level 1, Repel Level 1, Shield Wall Level 1
Passive Skill: Grounded (When using a shield, can resist impacts and critical hits, preventing being knocked down)
Weapons & Equipment: Viking Sword, Yew Longbow, Warhammer, Large Shield, Bucket Helmet, Chainmail, Scale Armor
Note: Maximum level is 3; maximum personal attribute value is 10. Each level up increases Strength, Constitution, and Agility.
“Still no change... Could it be that I can only gain experience to level up through combat?” Owen wondered silently to himself.
Owen Reed was a transmigrator—his soul had crossed over from another world. Before the transmigration, he had been playing a small game called Bad North. He was in the middle of commanding a commander named “Mountain” in the game, massacring Viking raiders storming the island. Overjoyed at achieving a 1v10 victory, he had kicked his computer host in excitement, got electrocuted, and died. His soul then crossed into the world of Game of Thrones, becoming a villager in the territory of House Stark in the North.
Fortunately, this villager had a name and a background: his grandfather had once been a guardsman of the Old Wolf (Lord Rickard Stark). The grandfather had accompanied the Old Wolf to King′s Landing to meet the Mad King [Aerys II Targaryen], only to never return—sacrificing his life in that ill-fated trip. The original owner′s father had died fighting to overthrow the rule of House Targaryen, leaving behind only a widow and her child. Three years ago, the original owner′s mother had passed away, and it was at that moment that the protagonist′s soul had transmigrated into this body. Coincidentally, Winterfell had sent some silver stags [the basic silver currency in Westeros] to the original owner as support around that time. Using this “first bucket of gold,” Owen had started his “venture”: he gathered the villagers to help build a boat, relied on the initial hunting skill granted by the system, and gradually accumulated some gold dragons [the high-value gold currency in Westeros] to purchase a full set of equipment for himself.
