The ecstasy and triumph on Ramsay's face cracked inch by inch.
"Huh?"
The ten Blood Guards, who were supposed to be his last hope, his capital for turning the tables.
Were now staring at him quietly with "smiles" full of mockery and ridicule?
That wasn't a normal human smile.
It was a stiff, eerie grin pulled by cold, dead muscles.
In those eyes burning with blue flames, the previous dead silence was gone, replaced by a playful look of a cat toying with a mouse—exactly like Lynn's.
"No... how can this be..."
Ramsay instinctively took a step back, but tripped over the mangled "masterpiece" that was his father, falling pathetically into the pool of blood.
Warm, sticky blood soaked his tattered rags. The familiar scent of iron, once his favorite, now made him nauseous and dizzy.
It used to be the smell of power.
Now, it smelled of his own doom.
He was truly afraid.
"Move! I command you to move!"
Ramsay panicked completely, shouting orders frantically, using all his strength to scream and roar.
"Kill him! Kill Lynn!"
However, the ten dead men just watched him quietly, their "smiles" growing even more grotesque.
Like watching the clumsy final performance of a jester before his execution.
"Why..."
"Why?!"
Ramsay broke down completely.
He couldn't understand.
He clearly ordered one to smash the chair successfully! He successfully ordered them to flay Roose Bolton!
Why now... did they all betray him?!
He didn't understand!
"Because they were never yours to begin with."
Lynn's voice rang out in the dead silent hall.
He slowly rose from his armchair, meticulously adjusting his collar, then walked step by step toward Ramsay, who was collapsed in blood, devoid of hope.
"Reek, did you really think you could take anything from me?"
"I, Lynn, am the one who takes from others. No one takes from me."
Lynn squatted down, looking straight into Ramsay's despairing, confused eyes.
"I just... wanted to give you a little bit more hope before you died."
"I heard your mumbling, heard the mania in your heart. So, I let you command it to smash the chair, let you command them to flay Roose Bolton."
"I let you think you turned the tables, let you think you could be the new King in the North."
"Then..."
"You truly showed your ambition."
"You killed your own father."
A cruel smile appeared on Lynn's face.
"You smashed that hope yourself."
"Falling hard from the peak of your greatest triumph and madness."
"How does it feel, Reek... is it exquisite?"
Every word from Lynn was a dull knife gouging Ramsay's heart.
Flaying his last bit of pitiful dignity, along with his soul, until it was a bloody mess.
So...
It was a play from the beginning.
A play carefully orchestrated for him.
He, Ramsay Bolton, self-proclaimed master hunter, top artist.
In the end, he was just a clown on someone else's stage for amusement.
From start to finish, his every move, all his madness, all his triumph, all his hope and despair... were under Lynn's control.
"Ah... AHHH..."
Ramsay let out an inhuman wail.
Unable to bear the extreme humiliation and despair any longer, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted dead away.
"Weak mental fortitude."
Lynn gave his assessment and stood up.
He glanced at the ten Winter Wights still maintaining their eerie smiles, then at the pile of unrecognizable flesh on the floor.
Roose Bolton, the most insidious snake of the North, ended his life in the most ironic way, fitting his family tradition perfectly.
And House Bolton, the terror that had flayed men for thousands of years, would be wiped from the map of Westeros today.
"Guards."
Lynn signaled the surrounding soldiers.
"Clean this up first."
"Then drag this trash to the courtyard and wake him up with cold water."
"I want the whole of Winterfell to see the end of a traitor."
"By the way, tell Lord Ned he can march to take over the Dreadfort now."
"As fast as possible."
"I'll send these ten Winter Wights along."
Lynn hadn't forgotten those eerie warlocks. Ten Winter Wights, enhanced by necromancy and ice magic, were his assurance for taking the Dreadfort.
...
The courtyard of Winterfell was lit as bright as day by torches.
The icy north wind carried snowflakes, hitting everyone's faces.
All the soldiers, servants, and even some smallfolk who heard the news gathered here.
They watched silently as the figure was roughly tied to a wooden stake in the center of the yard.
In the freezing cold, a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head.
Ramsay jerked awake with a start.
The biting cold made him shiver violently and cleared his muddled brain somewhat.
He saw.
He saw the pairs of eyes around him filled with disgust, contempt, and schadenfreude.
He saw Ned Stark standing at the front of the crowd.
The honorable Warden of the North was looking at him with extreme revulsion.
He saw Roslin, the Frey girl, clutching Lynn's robe tightly, her face pale as if afraid to watch what came next.
He also saw... Myranda.
His once most loyal hound, now standing quietly behind Lynn.
Her face held no former charm, nor the coldness she used to show him.
Only calm.
A calm... after the dust settles.
As if looking at a dead man who had nothing to do with her.
For a treacherous, backstabbing house like Bolton, everyone felt contempt. No one tried to plead for Ramsay.
Everyone had seen Ramsay's beastly acts.
Now, there was nothing left to say.
Ramsay had to die!
Finally, Ramsay's gaze landed on the man walking slowly toward him.
Lynn.
The demon who had destroyed everything he had!
Ramsay's body began to tremble violently.
Not from cold, but from fear.
A soul-deep terror of death.
He was going to die!
"No... no..."
Ramsay was finally afraid.
He started struggling madly, screaming.
"I was wrong! Lord Lynn! I was wrong!"
"I am a dog! I am Reek! I won't do it again!"
"Please! Don't kill me! I'll do anything!"
"I can be your dog! I can do anything for you! I can flay all your enemies for you!"
However, Lynn just shook his head.
"Ramsay, from the moment you turned your coat, your end was destined to be death. I've kept you too long."
"It's time to send you down to keep Roose Bolton company."
"He must be lonely down there."
Lynn took a sword from a guard.
Not Valyrian steel, just a common Northern longsword.
The blade reflected a cold glint in the firelight.
"Lord Ned once told me,"
"In the North, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."
"I promised many people, and I promised myself."
"I would wipe the Dreadfort from the map of Westeros with my own hands."
"I would make the name Bolton a taboo more terrifying than Reyne."
"Now, it is time to fulfill my promise."
"Any last words, Ramsay?"
"Of course, whether you say them is up to you. Whether I fulfill them is up to me. This is just a formality, Ramsay."
With that, Lynn raised the longsword.
Seeing the bright blade, Ramsay's face went white as a sheet!
The pleading and fear in his eyes turned instantly into the most vicious malice and madness!
"Lynn! You bastard! You'll die a horrible death!"
"I'll be waiting for you in the Seven Hells! I will..."
His curse was cut short.
Squelch—!
A grim arc sliced through the night air.
A head rolled on the ground, the hideous, twisted expression still frozen on its face.
Warm blood sprayed like a fountain from Ramsay's severed neck, dying the surrounding snow a piercing scarlet.
The headless corpse twitched a few times on the stake, then went still.
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Everyone was stunned by this bloody, decisive scene.
They looked at the young man holding the sword, specks of blood on his clothes.
His expression remained calm.
As if he had just chopped a head of cabbage.
But the killing intent radiating from him, cold as winter, made everyone's skin crawl.
From today on, the North would have only one voice.
Lynn's voice.
Ned Stark looked at the headless corpse, then at Lynn, his grey eyes filled with exhaustion and relief.
He knew his era was truly over.
The North needed a stronger, colder king.
And Lynn was undoubtedly the best choice.
Lynn's gaze looked past the crowd, toward the vast, snow-covered northern lands.
Now, the North's internal troubles were solved. It was finally stable.
...
In the solar, the fire chased away the cold.
Lynn sat alone before the map, his finger tracing the outline of the North.
The entire North was now a solid block of iron.
As long as you have absolute power, everyone wants to sit down and talk nicely.
Lynn's gaze finally rested on the ten "Blood Guards" turned Winter Wights.
They hadn't followed Ned to flatten the Dreadfort yet. They stood silently on either side of the solar like the most loyal sentinels.
The chill of death radiating from them seemed to lower the room's temperature.
Lynn could feel the surging dark energy inside them.
Necromancy from the Shadow Lands.
This magic had an unimaginable boosting effect on undead creatures like wights.
If he could master this magic and apply it en masse to his future army of the dead...
A feverish glint flashed in Lynn's eyes.
He thought of Jaqen.
Judging by the time, he should be back from his mission soon.
Now, his goal was the forbidden knowledge of Valyria.
Which inevitably included records of necromancy and blood magic.
The House of Black and White, as the top assassin organization, likely had a collection richer than the Citadel.
Perhaps they still held some undestroyed unique tomes recording or even mastering this necromancy.
It seemed he would have to find a way to get this power from Jaqen when he returned.
But before that...
Lynn's gaze seemed to penetrate the walls of Winterfell, cross the vast Gift, and land on the Wall that spanned the world.
And beyond the Wall, the land covered in eternal ice and snow.
He could feel a pair of eyes watching him from there.
Eyes full of wisdom, and calculation.
The Three-Eyed Raven!
That old monster who had lived for who knows how long, watching Westeros from the shadows, trying to weave everything into his web of fate.
"Heh."
Lynn let out a light chuckle.
Since you like hiding behind the scenes, watching plays and plotting, I'll tear down your stage first.
Lynn stood up and walked to the window, looking at the moon hanging in the night sky.
"Hmm, it's time... to send Mr. Crow a surprise."
"I wonder what kind of expression he'll have when he sees his successor turned into one of my White Walkers."