[Chapter Size: 2108 Words.]

Jon Snow POV

Somewhere on North.

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The brightness of the space around me gradually faded, leaving me enveloped only by silence and the endless snow of the sky. Before me stretched majestic mountains, gentle hills, slender trees, and some dense forests, but there was no sign of civilization in the vicinity. I hadn't breathed this familiar air for years, and the atmosphere stirred long-buried memories of my childhood in Winterfell. However, I had never left the confines of Winterfell, so I found myself disoriented as to which part of the North I was in at this moment.

As I assessed my own condition, I realized I was shirtless, wearing only pants and unarmed. Upon returning to this world, I was compelled to abandon all my possessions in Skyrim; at least the Daedric Princes had the decency not to leave me completely naked when sent here. I fixed my gaze on the highest point and decided to make my way there, seeking guidance from the altitude. It was a small 300-meter cliff, and not knowing exactly how to start the climb, I improvised using the nearby rocks. I wondered about the impression I would make on any observer in Westeros encountering a shirtless man climbing rocks in the heart of the northern cold. My resistance to the cold was about 50% as a Nord and a Stark—not that all Westerosi Nords were like that, but I gained this ability as soon as I entered Skyrim. Despite this resistance, I invoked a skin spell to mitigate the impact of the frigid environment, which left me quite comfortable.

The climb took about 20 minutes, but I felt no fatigue. In fact, I experienced an unusual excitement; it was good to be back in a place you haven't set foot in for over a decade, although I knew that nothing would be as it once was. My enemies, whether my uncle, his ally on the throne, or all those who participated in the plot that led to my father's death and consequently my mother's, as well as the horrible death of my half-siblings, would have something to say, and I would collect from them with interest. Their fate would be sealed once I set foot on this soil again. Revenge was a debt that I, at least, should honor on behalf of those who lost their lives to others' ambitions, no matter the chaos I would create on this continent.

Upon reaching the summit, I was engulfed by a scene that took my breath away. Before me stretched mountain ranges reaching kilometric heights, lush forests, winding rivers, and an endless expanse of snow covering all horizons. Amazed, I couldn't help but reflect on how far I was from my point of origin. "At least I'm still in the north," I murmured to myself. My vision, enhanced by experiences in Skyrim, far surpassed that of an ordinary human. I sought to discern details in the vastness around me, observing the wildlife blending into the landscape. However, what caught my attention was a faint smoke rising among the trees; someone or a group was camping. Without hesitation, I charted a course to the location, about 4 kilometers away, eager for my first encounter after my return.

As I walked, I summoned four spectral wolves to scour the area. I was a conjuration and alteration expert, a powerful archmage feared not only in Skyrim but throughout Tamriel for my mastery of these schools, among my other specialties.

For an hour, I leisurely traversed the semi-nude ice, barely feeling the temperature thanks to the spell I had cast. My natural and spell-enhanced resistance to the cold, coupled with my fiery temperament, made the walk more comfortable. At that moment, I allowed myself a brief reflection on my own memories of who I used to be and who I am now. Recalling the time when I was a shy and quiet child, I realized that over a decade of adventures had shaped my personality. Today, I considered myself an arrogant person, constantly seeking battles and challenges, whether against humans, monsters, dragons, demons, or even gods. Adapting to the blood-boiling fights over the years elevated my instincts to a new level. I now walked without excessive concerns for my surroundings, my wolves patrolling the area, and my body naturally alert to any surprises that might launch against me.

After another twenty minutes of walking into the forest, I came across a group of people gathered around a campfire. From their attire and appearance, I identified them as wildlings beyond the Wall, the savage people and raiders I had heard so much about in Winterfell during my childhood. Memories of old Nan's dark tales crossed my mind, and a smile formed on my lips. I asked myself: What would that woman say if she saw what I witnessed during the twelve years I spent in Skyrim?

I entered the field of view of my future "friends" without hesitation, walking as if such an encounter were the most natural thing in the world. It didn't take long for the first person to notice me, their surprised expression alerting the other thirteen wild companions present.

The group quickly brandished their weapons, keeping a safe distance. I stopped walking and crossed my arms, a slight smile adorning my face as I looked at each of them. It was evident how cautious they were, understandably surprised to encounter a shirtless, barefoot, unarmed man dressed only in pants in the midst of that inhospitable landscape. However, my presence did not convey the typical image of a "beggar" in the snow. Besides appearing comfortable in that icy climate, I stood out with my two meters of height, athletic definition, bright purple eyes, and a face that would make any woman want to spend a night with me in her bed. I maintained confidence, facing the threat posed by more than a dozen people as if it were a passing breeze.

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"Hello," I simply pronounced, accompanying the greeting with a friendly smile.

"Who are you, stranger?" One of them, gathering courage, growled the question.

"Me? I'm just a man lost in this frozen land; can you tell me where I am?" I inquired curiously, seeking information.

"Don't lie to me, southerner. You don't look like one of the Free Folk! You must be a crow!" Another grunted, expressing distrust. I was surprised at how quickly hostility manifested, even considering the stories that had circulated for over a decade.

"What mood is this? I'm just asking a question; is your people so fanatical?" I raised my eyebrows, questioning the intensity of the reaction.

"We shouldn't answer any questions from a crow! Take him, let's flay him alive and deliver his head to Mance." The first, consumed by anger, expressed the desire to kill me immediately. 'I just asked a question,' I reflected. "What a grumpy bunch..." I muttered.

Two individuals advanced towards me, armed and with ropes in hand to restrain me. In these circumstances, I couldn't help but wish I had mastery over destruction magic. Not because I needed it, but because I imagined the shock it would cause if I conjured fireballs and lightning—a fun thought that permeated my mind. However, as a true son of Skyrim from the North, I grew indifferent to the arcane arts and always preferred an axe or sword. Although I became an archmage in the schools of alteration and conjuration out of necessity many years later, my Thu'um, a destructive force, was my primary skill in destruction, even though I didn't consider it literal arcane magic. I had used this ability to defeat many magic practitioners, including the detestable Thalmor, who considered themselves superior to all other races. I massacred them like ants during my travels across the continent, and it was no surprise that I was their most hated being, prompting them to send assassins after me for years. It was fun facing the brave ones who wanted to kill the fearsome Dragonborn.

As the two approached, my patience wore thin in the face of their confidence to restrain and kill me, merely because they outnumbered me? What irritated me more was the arrogance some people displayed in my presence. "More arrogant than I am?" I smiled as I pondered that thought. Without hesitation, I delivered a punch to the neck of the nearest man with my left hand. The sound of the impact, breaking his neck, echoed throughout the small wild camp, and he fell immediately to the ground, his death swift.

The other wildling nearby froze momentarily, as did the rest of the group, all shocked by what had just occurred. However, this state of shock lasted only a few seconds. The man rose to his feet from beside his dead friend and brandished his axe with the intention to kill me. Unfortunately for him, when he swung the blow, the result was not what he expected. I grabbed his arm with my free hand, delivered a precise kick to the groin, forcing him to kneel with the sound of breaking eggs. His hand released the axe, and in the next moment, his skull was crushed by the weapon after another move.

Their companions were too far away to offer immediate help, but by killing the first one, another sixteen wildlings were already charging towards me, determined to annihilate me. If any of them were archers, anger obscured any thought of attacking from a distance, and they all ran frantically into melee confrontation. The crowd advanced towards me with ferocity.

As the group surged toward me, I took a few steps back, skillfully dodging and repelling the relentless attacks. Though I did my best, wielding a single small axe against all the wildlings was a fun challenge, even for the Dragonborn. The speed of the fight eluded my control, and in this situation, I resorted to an action I never imagined executing on my first day since returning to this world.

I stepped back, keeping a cautious distance from my enemies who persisted in their pursuit, shouting and cursing at me. In that moment, I managed to take down three more amid the chaos of clashing weapons, but such an achievement only further inflamed the small crowd as they realized they had failed to annihilate me. Taking a deep breath and raising my voice to the maximum, I declared:

"[- FUS RO DAH!!]"

The thunder of my voice resonated throughout the forest, blue energy emanating from my words. I witnessed nine bodies being thrown like dolls, along with nearby trees and the inert bodies I had eliminated earlier. The force of the shockwave sent them airborne, some colliding with tree branches, others crashing against trunks, pieces of wood, and rocks, while some crawled across the ground, raising dust and snow in the process. The grandeur of the impact echoed in nature, a demonstration of the power that I, the Dragonborn, possessed.

Some managed to escape the attack area, but with a whistle, the last four in shock were swiftly taken by surprise as spectral wolves clamped onto their necks after emerging from the forest, waiting for my command.

I didn't need to check to confirm that most of the wildlings had perished under the overwhelming impact of my shout. As the dust settled, two minutes later, I walked the path carved in the middle of the white Northern snow, ignoring the men dying from the wolves. Amidst groans and the sound of someone spitting blood, I realized that only four still breathed. However, two of them were beyond saving. I picked up a bronze sword from the ground and, with the intention of easing their suffering, put an end to the agony of those two.

I approached the two survivors, whose broken bones bore witness to the brutality of the conflict. Arrogance and anger were replaced by fear and horror when I altered the landscape of the small area with just three words spoken in a language unknown to them—the language of dragons. The men trembled before the imminent threat, an understandable reaction, as they knew their lives were about to end. However, I sought to extract as much information as possible before concluding this situation.

"I heard you mention someone named Mance. Where can I find him?" I inquired, smiling, as I watched them with piercing eyes. The fear stamped on their faces was palpable, and I was determined to gather all necessary information before bringing this episode to a close.