13 Chapter 13

Most of all, my magical abilities have improved. This could be influenced by my lineage, or perhaps training at this age is simply more effective. The enhancement of my physical abilities has also proven useful, particularly in dexterity; all aspects, from flexibility to speed, have improved phenomenally. I no longer feel as weakened. Although my stamina is still lacking, I hope it will improve with age. I've decided not to use the free attribute points I received from leveling up just yet, as who knows what the future may hold.

Tun has finally become the apex predator of Wolf Forest, having thoroughly explored it. As he tells me in the evenings, he is so fast and blends so seamlessly with the darkness that people fail to notice him. He discovered that there is an object in Winterfell that emits strong magic, stronger than the castle's own substantial magical defenses, which I noticed a month after receiving the Arsenal. Initially, I didn't understand what it was that surrounded me, but everything fell into place after meeting Brandon the Builder, my ancestor who clearly had a deep understanding of these matters. It appears that only the inner part of the castle is magically protected; perhaps by the time of its completion, they had lost the knowledge of applying such defenses, a skill known to a distant ancestor from the Era of Heroes.

However, Tun's magical senses are less developed—or rather, they are differently attuned. While I sense magic over a large area, Tun's senses are much sharper, allowing him to better discern the origins of different magical energies. According to him, there are at least two distinct types of magic in Winterfell. The second source feels stronger, but it reaches my senses already diluted, making it indistinguishable from the general background.

This has piqued my curiosity, and upon my arrival in Winterfell, I will have to investigate its origin. Interestingly, in White Harbor, magic was faintly present near the fountain and more so in the sea. I discovered I could not inhabit marine life—something deep within the sea prevented me. After one such failed attempt, I ceased trying to enter the fish, sensing that another attempt might be my last.

Inside the fountain was a tiny object that created a magical source, but I was unable to locate it; delving into the fountain was beyond my capabilities, even though I once swam there with Robb and the girls. Surprisingly, we got along well and became great friends, even after their initial crush on Robb subsided.

It's sad to think that we will have to say goodbye to them. After all, in just five months, we will join Lord Umber in his lands. I must admit, my affection for the Manderly family has grown after so many months under their care. Wendall's swearing mixed with orders, Wyman's jokes, and fun days with the boys and girls from the harbor—all of it formed a wonderful bond, and these memories will stay with me forever, becoming almost a second childhood despite the many responsibilities.

After 5 months

Today, Lord Umber and his men arrived. He was more gruff and blunt than Lord Manderly. Big Jon Umber was practically the embodiment of his house's emblem—a massive man cloaked in fur, taller even than Walder, and more belligerent than Mikken's kindest pupil.

Our first meeting was quite intriguing. At first glance, he remarked:

"Huh! Are these pups to be raised by me? Hmm... Perhaps something useful will come out of you," and he began to feast.

Robb was practically seething with righteous indignation, which in my old world would have been termed a "Fart Explosion." I barely managed to divert young Stark's attention to prevent him from doing something rash.

Two weeks later, we were en route to Last Hearth, as Lord Umber dislikes delays. Saying goodbye to the Manderly family was highly emotional. I had grown attached to Wyman Manderly's family, and I hope his advice and experience will serve me well in the future.

Our journey was uneventful until we reached Winterfell, where we stopped briefly before the new recruits joined us on our way to the Night's Watch.

The road took us near Lonely Hills, an area where we might have encountered a wolf pack, but Tun quickly resolved that issue before we even arrived. His assistance was invaluable, if only those around me knew...

A month after leaving Winterfell, we reached Last Hearth. One of the oldest castles in Westeros, the Umbers trace their lineage back to the Age of Heroes when these lands were called royal. The architecture resembled that of Winterfell—massive, practical towers in the same gray tones. The castle was awe-inspiring, yet it did not exude the immense magical aura of Winterfell.

The first week was spent getting acquainted with the residents and staff of the castle. Hother and Mors Umber were particularly intriguing, both venerable in age. However, Mors is a tall and robust old man with a ruddy face and a shaggy white beard. He wraps himself in a massive white hide, sporting a bear's head as a hood. He alternates between wearing a stained white leather eyepatch and a fake eye made of dragonglass to replace his lost eye. His temperament is notably volatile, and he is often seen inebriated. Mors has a peculiar story about his eye—Old Nan told us a humorous tale of how a crow once mistook Mors for dead and pecked at his eye, prompting the irate Umber to clutch the crow in his fist and bite off its head. Since then, he has been dubbed Raven Meat.

Hother, on the other hand, is an old and gaunt man with sharp flinty eyes and a frosty expression. His white beard only adds to his stern demeanor. Among the servants, whispers circulate about why he's nicknamed "Hother Death to Whores." It is said that during his time in Old Town, where his father sent him to train as a maester, a prostitute tried to rob him. In response, Hother allegedly killed the prostitute, earning his grim moniker. The exact details remain murky, as Hother himself never speaks of the incident. Rumors suggest the victim was male, though such tales are only believed when told under the influence of strong drink. Nevertheless, Hother's pursuit of the ladies at court tells a different story.

Having lived here for over four months, I've come to understand the stark contrasts between White Harbor, led by the Manderly House, and the Umber stronghold. The former retains a hint of southern elegance in their lifestyle, whereas the Umbers embody the quintessential northern temperament—direct and fierce.

Surprisingly, during all four months, there has not been a single wildling attack, even though this castle is the northernmost stronghold, excluding those of the Night's Watch. Given the boldness of the wildlings who once kidnapped Mors's daughter, my surprise is understandable. Mors's animosity towards the wildlings has only intensified over the years.

The castle also teems with children from both Mors and Big Jon Umber. Initially, Robb and I were overwhelmed by the sheer number of them, but we quickly adapted. Most were older than us, though there were two girls and one boy our age. Robb and I found common ground with the boy quite easily, but connecting with the girls proved more challenging.

Our training under Jon Umber commenced swiftly, emphasizing what he likes to call the "True Northerner" way of life. The curriculum covered our region's history, combat techniques, and hunting skills. Beyond that, we also learned about the Umber lands, rich in valuable ship pines and oaks. The Umber people primarily reside east of the Highway but drive their sheep flocks to the western meadows of the Northern Mountains in the summer.

The Northern Mountains, a range in the northwestern part of the North, are frequently targeted by wildling raids, while coastal areas occasionally face Ironborn attacks. However, since the Greyjoy Rebellion, the latter have been absent from this region.

As days turned into nights and weeks into months, the anticipated wildling raid finally occurred six months into our stay. Mors Umber eagerly volunteered to lead the defending squad, with Robb and I pledged to assist the veteran warrior. Big Jon Umber remarked:

"You youngsters have not yet felt the full brunt of the North. These wildlings will give you a taste of what it truly means to be Northern."

We had no choice but to accept Lord Umber's stark assessment. The squad, comprising 20 members including Robb and myself, was quickly assembled and fully armed. One notable development was Robb's emergence as a formidable spear warrior, though he still couldn't match my skills—though the gap between us had narrowed significantly. Frequent sparring sessions with Mors and Jon Umber revealed my own combat strengths.

Jon Umber, impressed by how I bested almost all his guards, challenged me personally. Battling him was daunting; his strength and endurance seemed almost superhuman. My suspicion is that the Umber bloodline carries a trace of giant ancestry, given their unusual size and strength.

Mors, observing my victories, decided to test his mettle against me as well. Despite his age, he was a formidable opponent. However, exploiting his slightly dulled reflexes, I managed to wear him down after a grueling 20-minute duel. Panting, he exclaimed:

"Gods! Clever bastard... If only I were younger…"

"You surprised me with your prowess at such a young age…"

"Hahahahaha, I like you! Perhaps we can make a true Northerner out of you yet."

I simply nodded at his praise, which only spurred him to train me even harder. My losses against ordinary guards increased as I began facing multiple opponents. Now, I can't say with certainty that I can defeat two or three grown men who are novices with the sword. But it should be noted that I withheld my magical skills; using them, I could likely overcome at least ten. Nonetheless, gaining experience without magic is essential.

Shaking off any distraction, I refocused on the impending battle against the wildlings. Tun had already briefed me on their numbers and their primitive armaments. If what they possessed could even be called weaponry, the confrontation should be swift and decisive, even without celestial intervention.