From a hired knight to a master of Game of Thrones

Night fell, carrying the scent of frost.

At the entrance of Seven City.

A group of Seven City soldiers slowly approached, holding two Bolton knights captive.

"Scum, Seven City doesn't welcome you!"

The soldier untied the leather ropes binding the Bolton knights and kicked them hard in the back.

The two disheveled Bolton knights fell to the ground in the mud.

boom!

Their bruised and haggard faces looked even more disheveled.

The splashed mud smeared into their eyes, blurring their vision.

"Damn it!"

The two Bolton knights cursed inwardly:

"Just wait, when Lord Luce flattens this place, all those bastards who tormented and humiliated us."

"We'll skin you alive and hang your skins on the city walls!"

A chilling resentment surged within their chests.

They were Bolton knights, under the command of the Skinners. When had they ever suffered such humiliation?

In the northern lands, who doesn't fear them?

The two gritted their teeth and used their arms to prop themselves up.

The frosty wind grew stronger, whipping fine snowflakes that stung my face.

The two Bolton knights helped each other up, gritted their teeth, and stumbled as they mounted their horses.

Before long, their figures gradually shrank into two black dots in the night and frosty mist.

A secluded location outside Seven City.

"Let's go, buddy, let's go kill someone."

Don Quixote tightened the reins after he saw the two Bolton knights leave Seven's City a distance away.

Then he rode leisurely behind the two Bolton knights.

The North is currently relatively peaceful, and the conflict between the Bolton and Stark families was resolved several years ago.

Don Quixote guessed that Count Seven would not provoke trouble.

They'll most likely teach those two Bolton knights a lesson and then release them.

Don Quixote was not satisfied with this outcome.

Many years ago, he secretly decided that if he had the chance, he must completely eradicate the Bolton family.

They wouldn't even spare a single dog!

He has never forgotten the blood feud of this lifetime!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The two Bolton knights were not fast; they must have been exhausted by the Seven soldiers.

Occasionally, a few low curses could be heard, but they were quickly dispersed by the frosty wind.

"This location is good enough; it's suitable for dumping the body and burying the bones."

Don Quixote glanced at the tributary of the Whiteblade River not far away, steadied himself, and then instantly accelerated.

Before long, Don Quixote rode up to the two Bolton knights and smiled slightly:

Are you planning how to skin me alive?

"What a pity, the chance is gone. I really feel sorry for you!"

Before he could finish speaking, Don Quixote had already drawn his sword.

A cold glint flashed in the night.

puff!

The cold blade pierced the throat of a Bolton knight.

Blood spurted out and splashed onto the cold, muddy ground.

The knight didn't even have time to scream before he fell straight off his horse, twitched twice, and died.

Another Bolton knight was terrified, his face turning deathly pale. He tried to turn his horse around and flee, shouting:

"The Bolton family won't let you get away with this!!"

"Heh, what a coincidence, I won't let the Bolton family off the hook either!"

Don Quixote gave him no chance to escape, and his horse suddenly accelerated.

He swung his longsword horizontally with his right hand, the blade grazing the knight's neck.

Another line of blood bloomed, and the knight's body stiffened for a moment before he fell heavily to the ground, his eyes filled with fear and resentment.

Slurp!

The two Bolton knights' horses neighed loudly, clearly frightened.

Don Quixote used the flat of his sword to strike the two horses, driving them away, and then dismounted.

Don Quixote gently stroked the mane of the stocky mountain horse:

"Hey buddy, wait a minute."

Then he threw the two corpses, along with their chainmail, into a tributary of the White Blade River a few meters away.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Windsor Cottage.

Private bathhouse.

In the steaming mist.

"Ah~"

Adele gasped softly.

Another half hour of messing around.

"Adele, let's take a bath together."

Don Quixote simply scooped up the girl next to him and carried her into the hot tub.

"Yes, sir," the girl replied obediently.

Don Quixote stroked it as he quietly pondered:

"As my physique has become stronger step by step, the blood apple has almost no effect."

"The enhancement effect of the Knight's Basic Breathing Technique has also been greatly reduced."

"Ugh, I enjoyed the immediate pleasure, but this spasm is really torturous."

"We still need to find new employment missions to obtain powerful special mission rewards or more money!"

"I don't know if my idea will work. I'll try it out when the time is right."

Three months later.

Name: Don Quixote

[Identity: Knight]

【Spirit: 1.98】

[Qi and Blood: 2.13]

Don Quixote was sitting at the table, bored and lost in thought.

As his Qi and Blood value exceeded 2, the Blood Apple lost all its effect.

For him, the magical blood apple that could directly enhance the body's physique was now just a special fruit with a very long shelf life.

Oh, it's quite effective at filling your stomach.

Similarly, mastering the basic breathing technique of the knight requires a long period of practice to achieve any results.

Just then, Elise, who hadn't been to the Iron Axe Tavern for several days, suddenly arrived.

She approached Don Quixote, her eyes red, and said:

"Don Quixote, my mother...she's dead!"

"How could this happen so suddenly..."

Upon hearing this, Don Quixote immediately regained his senses and said with a serious expression:

"Miss Elise, please accept my condolences!"

One day later.

The funeral has ended.

Elise gazed sadly ahead.

"Miss Iris, you should rest for a few days," Don Quixote said gently.

"I'm guarding the Iron Axe Tavern, nothing will happen."

"I'll only feel worse at home."

Elise said while drinking:

"Don Quixote, tell me, what is death, really?"

"I have no idea."

Don Quixote pondered for a moment and shook his head, saying:

"However, I heard a wise man say this elsewhere."

"Death must be beautiful, lying under the soft brown soil, with grass swaying overhead, listening to the silence."

"No yesterday, no tomorrow, forget time, forgive life, rest in peace."

"Well said, sir knight," a gentle voice suddenly called out, and soon a lady approached the two of them.

"Whose words are these, wise man's, remarks?"

"Really?" Elise murmured to herself.

"Is death really beautiful? Will my mother be lonely?"

Don Quixote turned his head in confusion as he watched a lady dressed as a noblewoman from the North approach.

Her face was simple and unassuming, and her figure was full but not bloated.

She had a healthy blush on her face, and her hair was tied back at the nape of her neck with a leather cord.

Her eyes were bright and clear.

The woman looked down at Elise and said gently:

"Elise, the Old Gods will guide Lady Vera's soul back to the Heart Tree! The Old Gods will protect Lady Vera!"

Elise seemed to only then notice the woman's presence, looked up, and greeted her dejectedly:

"Sister Qiao Lier, you're back."

"Yes, I just got back from Winterfell," Jolie sighed.

"I heard about your mother's situation. Sir Colin said you were here, so I wanted to come and see you."

...Jolie? Jolie Seven?

An idea flashed through Don Quixote's mind.

Jolie and Elise had a good relationship and whispered to each other for a long time.

Of course, most of the time it was Qiao Lier who was gently comforting her.

Before she knew it, Elise had fallen asleep on the table.

Qiao Lier took off her thick gray wool robe and covered Elise with it.

Then he looked up at Don Quixote and whispered:

"I am Jolie Seven."

Don Quixote also introduced himself in a low voice:

"Hello, Miss Jolie, I am Don Quixote."

"I've heard Elise mention you before," Jolie nodded and smiled.

"Oh, right, you haven't answered my question yet, Don Quixote."

"Oh, oh," Don Quixote smiled.

"He was Oscar Wilde, and he lived in a place far from the North."

……

PS: (Please recommend and read this!)