3 Journey to Winterfell 1

[A/N: I just realized that I didn't add Miyamoto's life experience in his powers, which is a problem for my future plans regarding this fanfic so now he also has his life experience.]

~~Previously, in the life of the Samurai, our MC got transmigrated to G.O.T. ~~

3rd Person P.O.V.—

He panted heavily, beads of sweat trickling down his brow. An hour had already passed since he set out on his journey towards the East, and the road ahead seemed endless, stretching for hundreds of miles, or so it felt. It was a complaint uttered through sheer exhaustion and the weight of the path he had chosen.

Yet, as he continued his trek, he couldn't help but marvel at the incredible state of his body. A sense of contentment filled him as he reminisced about the impromptu exercise routines he'd undertaken along the way. Push-ups and crunches executed with ease while hanging from tree branches, scattered amidst the wilderness. His own physical prowess astounded him.

"Indeed." He mused to himself, "Miyamoto is even greater than the legends suggest. The tales of his legendary battle against seventy adversaries, a feat many dismissed as mere rumor, now felt more real than ever. His brilliance wasn't confined to the battlefield alone; he was a masterful strategist. With every step, he felt as though he had inherited not only Miyamoto's swordsmanship but also his hunting skills, archery precision, and survival instincts, among other invaluable lessons. They were all his now, a treasure trove of skills acquired from the past."

He couldn't contain his happiness, and it erupted in joyous laughter that echoed through the quiet expanse. "HAHAHAHA" he laughed, caught in a moment of euphoria.

But then, a growl came from his stomach, a reminder of the emptiness within. "Ah, damn it! I haven't had any food all morning." He muttered to himself. Determination filled his eyes as he scanned the surroundings. 'It's time to employ these newfound skills and hunt for food.' He thought, ready to put his abilities to the test in the quest for food.

In the heart of this dense forest, he held the conviction that a bountiful feast awaited him amidst the wild. Boars, deers, elks, and rabbits—nature's larder was plentiful. All he needed was a keen eye and a dash of cunning to locate his prize. Drawing on his honed survival instincts and sharp hunting prowess, he soon set his sights on a deer, contentedly grazing on tender grass.

Moving with the grace of a seasoned predator, he stalked his quarry. Yet, as he closed in, the creature's untamed instincts kicked in, sending it bolting for cover. Lacking a bow, he had to improvise. With a burst of adrenaline-fueled determination, he charged after the deer, matching its breakneck pace of 60 miles per hour.

His katana gleamed in the dappled forest light, poised for action. However, fate intervened as a stout tree intervened in their deadly dance. But he didn't falter. In a swift, daring maneuver, he hurled his trusty katana, the blade finding its mark, piercing the deer's hind leg, forcing it to crumple to the ground.

With a rush of purpose, he closed in, pinning the injured animal with a powerful leg. Retrieving his katana, he ended the creature's struggle with a single, precise strike, severing its head from its body. "Finally," he muttered, a fierce sense of satisfaction washing over him. "Now all that's left is to cook it. If only I had a lighter, though. Sigh."

Determined to conquer even the fireless woods, he scoured the area, gathering dry wood for a makeshift campfire. Soon, the flickering flames danced to life. He cut a choice piece of meat from his quarry and began grilling it over the crackling blaze. "They say deer meat's something special. Always heard about it, but never tasted it," he mused, saliva pooling in his mouth.

Time passed slowly, marked by the rhythm of chewing. "Munch! Munch! This meat, it's surprisingly delicious... just a pinch of seasoning, and it'd be perfection," he remarked between bites. After savoring every last morsel, he glanced toward the lifeless deer, a sigh escaping his lips. "Wish I had a bag, then I wouldn't have to worry about food for the day."

Disheartened by the cruel reality of unmet wishes, he departed from his makeshift campsite, knowing that in the wilderness, one must take what they can and dream of feasts yet to come.