Ygritte stood hands on hips. Voice wild.
The surrounding wildlings erupted in laughter and whistles.
They genuinely liked this fiery redhead.
But make her leader?
That was more like a funny joke.
"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE!"
"I, Tormund, am the FIRST to disagree!"
A thunderous roar exploded.
Tormund's massive frame pushed through the crowd like an angry brown bear. His signature red beard bristled with agitation. A thick finger nearly poked Ygritte's nose.
"HER? As boss?"
Tormund glared at Lynn. Expression screaming "Are you brain-damaged?"
"Lynn, she's just a little girl! Doria told me—she hasn't even grown hair yet! Saw it with her own eyes! You absolutely cannot give such an important mission to her!"
"My arrow can pierce your left ball at a hundred paces, Tormund."
Gods knew why she still hadn't grown hair at her age, but Ygritte fired back fearlessly.
"Want to test if this little girl's arrows are hard enough?"
"I'm a Free Folk leader! I've wrestled giants! I've climbed the Wall!" Tormund pounded his barrel chest. Made dull thump-thump sounds.
"You want this red squirrel to lead us? She'd probably chase a real squirrel and lead everyone straight into a swamp!"
"At least I know what a swamp IS!"
Ygritte shot back sharply.
"Unlike some idiot who sees a she-bear and thinks it's a pretty woman—just because she's hairy!"
BOOM!
The crowd exploded in earth-shaking laughter.
Tormund's rugged face instantly turned liver-colored.
His romantic affair with the she-bear Sheila was a wound that would never heal.
But he genuinely did prefer hairy partners.
Myrcella stood aside. Still wearing Lynn's thick bearskin cloak. She watched this crude argument. Green eyes filled with curiosity.
In King's Landing, noble conflicts were poison needles under silk gloves and daggers behind smiles.
Here, everything was primal, direct, full of savage vitality.
"Enough."
Lynn's voice instantly extinguished their brewing fight. The entire camp fell silent.
After all, the King-Beyond-the-Wall's face had to be respected.
"Tormund."
Lynn turned to the big man. Slight smile.
Tormund turned. Looked at Lynn. Face full of grievance. Like a child denied candy.
"Lynn, you can't do this to me. This is fucking unfair!"
"Who said it's unfair?"
Lynn walked to Tormund's side. Patted his thick shoulder. Pulled him aside. Lowered his voice mysteriously.
"Letting her play bandit leader is just theater for those Southern fools. Acting isn't real fighting. What's the fun in that?"
"As for why I didn't include you—it's because I have a more important, more secret mission for you."
"You misunderstood my good intentions. Not giving you this task is fake—wanting you for something MORE important is real!"
"More important mission?"
Tormund's eyes blazed instantly. His little grievance evaporated immediately.
"Of course. I, Lynn, never lie."
Joking aside, when it came to serious matters, Lynn's expression turned grave.
Seeing Lynn's serious face, Tormund began listening carefully.
"Only you, Tormund—my most trusted brother—can handle this. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't even offer them this mission!"
This sentence precisely hit Tormund's sweet spot. He immediately puffed out his chest. Pounded it loudly.
"Speak, Lynn! What's the mission? Even if it's fucking a mother dragon's ass, I'll get it done!"
Lynn choked on that crude comparison. Then pulled out a parchment from his coat.
"I need you to lead your best scouts to find some things."
Lynn sketched on the parchment—not words, but drawings wildlings could understand.
"First, a tree. When you boil its branches, the liquid dries into something very elastic. Can stretch far. I've seen plenty of this stuff at the Wall. Not hard to find. Used for repairing tools."
Of course, this wasn't a species from his previous world. This cold-resistant thing resembled rubber. Lynn had seen Maester Aemon use it. Might substitute for rubber.
"Its sap is very useful to me. The trunk can also build ships. I need you to collect lots."
"Second, sugar beets. Probably not in the North. Check if they exist here. If not, forget it—I have alternatives."
"Third, find unwaxed fruits. Like raisins, apples, or blueberries. The kind without surface coating."
"Also special clay. I need to make large pottery jars..."
Lynn explained the basic materials in the simplest, most direct way.
Tormund listened in bewilderment. He had no idea what Lynn wanted these strange things for.
Rubber? Is that edible tree sap?
"Lynn, these things... are they for war?"
Tormund scratched his head. Completely confused.
"More important than war."
Lynn's expression was inscrutable.
"It'll give us endless food during the coming Long Night."
Endless food?
Tormund's breathing instantly grew heavy. For wildlings, no promise was more tempting!
"I understand!"
Tormund slapped his thigh hard. Face showed sudden realization.
He didn't know what Lynn was doing. But he knew: This was definitely something beyond his comprehension—but explosively awesome!
"Don't worry, Lynn!"
Tormund's back straightened. As if shouldering his entire people's future.
"I promise—even if I have to flip the entire North upside down, I'll find these things!"
With that, he turned energetically. Began gathering his most capable warriors to depart immediately.
Watching Tormund's pumped-up retreating figure, Lynn smiled with satisfaction.
Wildlings weren't complicated. Aside from comprehension issues, they were quite capable.
With Tormund handled, Ygritte's "rebel leader" position was secure.
She looked smugly at the wildlings who'd dared mock her earlier. Chin raised high. Like a victorious rooster.
Lynn's gaze swept over the giants hauling heavy loads. About 300 giants total.
Lynn was thinking: These giants were excellent siege troops. Once he had money, he'd equip them with full armor and proper weapons.
Just then—
A wildling scout from the southern watch rode in frantically.
"King! South! A huge caravan from the south!"
The scout dismounted. Face tinged with panic.
"Red flags with golden lions!"
Lannister?
Every wildling's face changed. Instinctively gripped weapons tighter.
Only Lynn remained calm. He knew: Cersei's "dowry" had arrived.
Though the caravan left early, reaching the Gift still took over half a month. Arriving this quickly meant Tywin shipped from nearby locations.
Showed Tywin's regard for Lynn. Cersei's work seemed very effective...
At Lynn's signal, the camp gates slowly opened.
Soon, an endless caravan—escorted by hundreds of Lannister guards in red cloaks and fine leather armor—slowly entered the Gift.
Wheels crunched through snow. Made crunch-crunch sounds.
Every cart was packed full.
First: sacks and sacks of grain. White flour made wildling children want to lick it. Their families pulled them back.
Next: neatly stacked weapons and armor. Casterly Rock's fine steel swords gleamed coldly in Northern sunlight. Brand-new plate and chainmail made wildling warriors—wearing only ragged furs—stare wide-eyed.
Behind that: massive quantities of cloth, salt, iron tools, equipment... Even several carts of Dornish red wine for noble enjoyment.
All the wildlings stared dumbly at this massive caravan. They'd never seen so many supplies in their lives!
Especially iron! Beyond the Wall, iron was reserved for the finest wildling warriors! This caravan had countless iron goods!
They naively believed: this was richer than all Seven Kingdoms' lords' treasuries combined!
Myrcella stood behind Lynn. Watched those golden lion banners flutter. Green eyes shimmered with complex emotions.
She understood clearly: For Tywin Lannister—who valued wealth like life, family honor above all—to willingly send such massive wealth to Lynn was extraordinarily rare.
What methods did this man use?
Night.
The Gift lit fires more vigorous than ever. Wildlings ate newly distributed grain. Devoured white bread, drank ale. The entire camp drowned in carnival.
Lynn's tent was the largest and warmest in camp. Thick bearskin carpets—three layers deep—completely blocked ground cold. The tent itself: one massive elephant hide. Could withstand any severe cold.
Central brazier burned highest-quality charcoal. Not a wisp of smoke.
Lynn sat at his desk. By candlelight, refined the fake "rebellion" action plan.
He needed to ensure this performance looked real enough. Give Catelyn sufficient reason to stay North. Without actually harming innocents or alienating House Stark and Northern lords.
Also, his experience points remained untouched. He remembered his deal with the Three-Eyed Raven.
If he found a new body, he'd gain Music Magic and Nature Magic.
He should invest all experience in Green Sight. Would help him scout suitable candidates faster.
After all, Nature Magic promoted plant growth. Could prepare deeper for the coming Long Night.
Just then—
The tent flap lifted slightly. A fiery red head peeked in.
"Lynn... are you asleep?"
Ygritte.
She wore only a thin linen nightgown. Clutched a thick fur blanket.
"What is it?"
Lynn looked at her.
"I... I'm cold."
Ygritte's voice was mosquito-quiet. Face flushed unnaturally.
The excuse was laughably clumsy. Her tent was equally warm.
Because all wildlings knew Lynn's relationship with her was unusual. Her tent—like Myrcella's—received highest specifications.
Under Ygritte's thin clothing, her curvaceous figure was faintly visible. Her skin even bore a fine sheen of sweat.
Cold? Who's she kidding?
Lynn watched her leisurely.
"And?"
"I... can I sleep with you?"
Ygritte finally mustered courage. Stated her purpose. She clutched the blanket. Like a fox caught stealing food. Stood there awkwardly.
"My tent really isn't as warm as yours."
Fearing Lynn's refusal, Ygritte quickly added.
Lynn looked at her. Suddenly smiled.
He didn't speak. Just walked to his bed. Lifted the fur covers. Patted the empty half.
Ygritte's eyes blazed. She practically cheered as she pounced. Like a swallow returning to nest. Nimbly dove into Lynn's covers.
Instantly enveloped in warmth.
Ygritte curled up like a kitten beside Lynn. Pillowed her head on his arm. Felt his strong, steady heartbeat.
The tent was quiet. Only the brazier's soft crackling.
Ygritte didn't sleep. She kept her blue eyes open. Stared unblinking at Lynn's chiseled profile.
"Lynn."
Ygritte suddenly spoke.
"Mm?"
"Myrcella... will she sleep with you too?"
Lynn's body stiffened slightly.
"Why do you ask?"
"I saw."
Ygritte's voice carried barely detectable sourness.
"On the dragon's back. You gave her your cloak."
"She was freezing." Lynn said.
"I was cold too!" Ygritte protested indignantly.
Lynn sighed. Didn't know how to explain to this uniquely-wired wildling girl.
"She's different from us, Ygritte."
"How's she different? Same head, two legs?"
"How to put it... she's more... fragile. Not as tough as us."
"Bullshit fragile!"
Ygritte suddenly sat up from the covers. Her breathtaking curves flickered in dim candlelight.
"She's doing it on purpose! She's pretending to be pitiful to make you feel sorry for her! She tricked you, Lynn! You idiot! You don't understand anything!"
Lynn watched her puffed-up appearance. Caught between amusement and exasperation.
He reached out. Pulled the bristling wildcat back into the covers. Held her tightly.
"Alright, stop fussing."
The warm chest, strong arms gradually calmed Ygritte's struggles.
She buried her face in Lynn's chest. Mumbled sullenly:
"I don't care. Anyway, you can only sleep with ME. If you dare sleep with Myrcella, I'll... I'll shoot an arrow through her ass!"
Lynn's mouth twitched involuntarily.
"Aren't you and Myrcella good friends?"
Ygritte muttered: "This is different... I don't want her to marry you..."
Lynn looked down at this wildling girl—crude-mouthed yet adorably domineering—in his arms. Felt helpless.
"Sleep now. You have heavy duties tomorrow."
Lynn gently patted Ygritte's back. Like soothing a wronged pet.
Ygritte nuzzled into him. Found a more comfortable position. Breathing gradually steadied.
Just as Lynn thought she'd fallen asleep—
"Lynn..."
The person in his arms murmured dreamily.
"Can you... possess my body again? I want it..."
[END CHAPTER 205]
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