"Cough! Cough! Cough!"
After a violent fit of coughing, Eddard felt an unbearable itch in his chest, as if his flesh and blood were beginning to recover.
He opened his eyes, and his pupils widened sharply.
"Where is this?"
"Transmigrated?"
"Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have jumped in to save that kid who ran in front of the dump truck!"
Before him lay a dim forest. On the grass and around tree roots, broken corpses littered the ground, and wounded soldiers groaned, arrows stuck in their bodies. Blood pooled into small streams that trickled toward lower ground.
Damaged armor and chipped weapons were scattered everywhere.
The clash of steel and the roars of warriors echoed through the air.
Eddard turned toward the sound.
Not far away, a group of warriors clad in golden-red armor was charging fiercely, slicing through the ranks of black-armored soldiers at the cost of their own lives.
Leading the charge was a golden-haired knight in full golden plate armor, a bright red cloak billowing behind him. His movements were swift and deadly, his golden longsword flashing as he advanced through the enemy ranks with ease.
His target was a red-haired youth wielding a sword and shield.
Eddard's eyes remained locked on the golden-armored knight.
The man looked like some over-privileged noble brat, stomping down on a dozen peasants!
He was decked out in full golden plate armor bearing the lion sigil. Even his sword looked gold!
Even if it was just gold-plated, it was still a glaring display of a pompous, gold-drenched lifestyle!
Meanwhile, the black-armored soldiers around him, wielding all kinds of weapons, struck fiercely at the golden knight, aiming to stop him from reaching the red-haired youth.
But the knight moved with agility, his sword a blur of golden afterimages. As he deflected attacks, he seized any opening for a brutal counter.
A tall, muscular, brown-haired warrior was the next to fall—his hand severed by a swift strike, followed by a deadly slash to the throat.
Blood sprayed as the man collapsed, clutching his neck. His wide eyes met Eddard's, filled with confusion and fear.
On the man's chest was a white sunburst.
He wasn't the only one to die. Screams filled the air as golden-red clashed with black, lives lost with every heartbeat.
"What the hell is this place?"
"Who am I supposed to help?"
Eddard's brow furrowed. Just as he tried to stand up, a pair of hands suddenly grabbed him from the side.
He had been so focused on the fight, he hadn't noticed anyone approaching.
Reacting on pure instinct, he threw a punch—his leather-gloved fist landing squarely on the bridge of the other person's nose.
"Ouch!"
A young, pitiful voice cried out. "Young Master?! Why'd you hit me?!"
Eddard looked down to see a brown-haired youth in hardened leather armor holding his face in pain.
Young Master?
Without thinking further, Eddard dragged the youth behind a large tree and demanded, "Who are you? Where is this place!?"
If the kid called him "Young Master," that was probably a good sign.
"Huh?"
The boy—Abel Qashtak—froze, eyes wide with fear. "I'm your retainer! This is the Haunted Forest, near Riverrun!"
Then, seeing Eddard's still-confused expression, he emphasized again, "Abel Qashtak. Your distant cousin. Your retainer."
Abel came from a collateral branch of the Karstark family. His grandfather, Alf Qashtak, had failed to inherit the title of Earl of Karhold, leaving their branch with a lower status.
Before this battle, Abel had been entrusted with the task of serving the second son of the Earl—Eddard—a respectable assignment from Rickard Karstark himself.
Eddard blinked, thoughts racing.
Young Master... Eddard Karstark? White sunburst...
A Song of Ice and Fire?!
Is this Westeros? Am I a Northman?
Wait… I'm not Eddard Stark, am I?!
Is being named Eddard just a cheat code here?
Which battle is this—Robert's Rebellion?
Eddard's heart pounded as he looked back at Abel, his voice trembling. "Then who am I?"
Abel's eyes filled with panic. Just minutes ago, he had seen Jaime Lannister kick his Young Master into a tree, knocking him unconscious.
Rickard Karstark had already lost one son—Toren Karstark. If the second one ended up brain-damaged too…
Abel couldn't imagine what punishment awaited him.
He swallowed hard and answered, "You are Eddard Karstark, second son of Rickard Karstark, Earl of Karhold."
Eddard Karstark.
Not Eddard Stark.
Tch. Eddard clicked his tongue in disappointment. Winterfell suddenly felt so far away.
Still, the name rang a bell.
As someone who loved cold steel fantasy, Eddard had read A Song of Ice and Fire and watched Game of Thrones. Old Man Martin hadn't even finished the books before he transmigrated.
Even if he finished later, I probably won't live to read it.
He didn't know which bored god or alien AI had dropped him into this world as some kind of joke or experiment.
What do you want from me?!
Neither Cersei nor Daenerys is my type!
One's insane. The other… also insane.
You want me to unify Westeros and fight the Night King or something?!
He quickly shook off the thought and refocused on the present.
If this was the Haunted Forest near Riverrun, the timeline was clear: the War of the Five Kings had begun, and the Young Wolf had just captured the Kingslayer.
And he, Eddard Karstark, was Robb Stark's personal bodyguard.
In the books, he was barely a footnote, just background to highlight Robb and Jaime.
His end was summed up in a single sentence.
> "He forgot where he put his sword... His sword first cut off Toren's hand, split Daryn's head, and then was forgotten on Eddard Karstark's neck."
Robb and Catelyn had been talking about Jaime Lannister.
Instinctively, Eddard touched his neck.
Still intact. No sword there.
He must've transmigrated just before the original Eddard died.
If not, he'd already be dead by now, thanks to House Karstark's hot-blooded ways.
As a personal bodyguard, he'd likely have charged straight in with a battle-axe, roaring a war cry, dying for honor.
Eddard's mind was now crystal clear.
Whether he wanted to become a lord, king, Night King-slayer, or just raise some coin and flirt with Daenerys on another continent—
For now, he had to play his role. Eddard Karstark. And he had to do it well.
Otherwise, his stubborn father would ruin the whole family.
His current duty was to protect Robb Stark in battle.
Avoiding combat would only bring dishonor. In the North, that was a death sentence.
Eddard knew himself well. He'd trained a little in swordplay, participated in a few small tournaments—but up against the Kingslayer?
No chance.
Still, he could hack away at some of the lesser Westerlands soldiers for show.
He looked at Abel, who still stood trembling with fear.
"It's fine. I remember everything now," Eddard said. "Don't worry. I won't tell my father, and none of this is your fault."
He bent down and picked up a battle-axe.
The handle was black wood, weathered and oiled. The axe head gleamed white with a razor-sharp edge.
Perfectly balanced. Made for him.
"Abel, follow me. Get ready to charge."
"Yes, Young Master!"
> [System Detection: A warrior is willing to pledge loyalty to the Host. Lord System Activated.]
> Identity: Son of an Earl — Troop Slots: 0 / 5
> Current Controlled Territory: None
> Functions:
> Absolute Loyalty: Displays warrior loyalty status from Abysmal to Excellent. Reasons for loyalty shifts are listed.
Excellent: Will die for you.
Good: Fully supports you.
Normal: Will serve you.
Very Poor: Has grudges.
Abysmal: About to betray you. Deal with them.
> Rank Advancement: Warriors gain XP from battle. As they level up, they gain Strength, Constitution, and Agility.
> Current Troop Type: Northmen
Descendant of the First Men (+10% STR, +5% CON)
Northman Soldier (+20% STR, +10% CON)
Ice Warrior (+40% STR, +20% CON, Cold Resistance)
Bloodthirsty Wolfguard (+70% STR, +30% CON, High Cold Resistance)
Winter Retainer (+100% STR, +50% CON, Maximum Cold Resistance)
> Lord-Vassal Unity: Vassals' strength boosts the Lord based on loyalty (0%, 0%, 1%, 5%, 10%).
> Currently Available for Recruitment: Abel Qashtak
Surprise perks, huh?
Eddard glanced at the grateful Abel. Accept.
> [Abel Qashtak]
Loyalty: Good
Reasons:
1. Assigned by Earl Rickard
2. Distant relative
3. You promised to protect his job
Power surged into Eddard's body. Even the axe felt lighter in his hands.
What a pleasant surprise.
He twirled the axe in his grip, ready to charge into the fight—
But it was no longer necessary.
From awakening to recruitment, only a couple minutes had passed.
And in that time, Jaime Lannister had nearly reached Robb Stark.
He'd killed the only son of the Earl of Hornwood and broken Robb's shield with two crushing blows.
Robb struggled to hold the line, his skill far below the Kingslayer's.
Then, Theon Greyjoy leaped in, engaging Jaime in fierce combat.
Meanwhile, a rider charged through the trees, swinging a massive silver greatsword.
With a mighty clash, Jaime's sword was sent flying as he crashed to the ground.
Theon tackled him, pinning him down, and Lord Jon Umber appeared, slamming the hilt of his sword into Jaime's head.
The Kingslayer fell, unconscious.
The rider turned his horse around—an older man with haggard features and white hair.
Rickard Karstark.
He had come too late to save one son—but just in time to avenge him.