Reborn as Jon Snow with God System

The Clone's Legacy

The winds howled over the battlements of Winterfell, a reminder of the harsh northern weather and the equally unyielding life it shaped. The year 290 AC marked a turning point for the North, though few realized it at the time. It was the year Lord Eddard Stark returned victorious from the Greyjoy Rebellion, bringing with him a boy named Theon Greyjoy, a ward taken to ensure the loyalty of House Greyjoy to the Iron Throne. Yet for all the political consequences that decision carried, it was another event that would be remembered in whispers and songs across the Seven Kingdoms: the departure of Jon Snow.

The Boy in the Training Yard

Jon Snow stood by the training yard, his dark gray eyes scanning the scene. Robb Stark, his half-brother—or so everyone believed—was sparring with Ser Rodrik Cassel, his sword strikes earnest but lacking finesse. Ned Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and the man Jon called Father, watched Robb with a mixture of pride and sternness, offering advice when necessary.

Jon had watched his family with quiet detachment for years. In truth, he was not truly one of them. He was a modified, advanced clone of Jon Snow, created through a process few could even imagine. For six months, Jon had secretly overseen the establishment of Winter's Haven, a thriving kingdom beyond the Wall, built with the memories and skills imprinted in him. Every detail of its progress reached him through a unique bond he shared with his creation. It was a sanctuary unlike any other, a kingdom that could rival the Seven Kingdoms in time.

Yet Jon knew he couldn't remain in Winterfell. His departure was necessary to lend credibility to the legend he intended to forge. A boy blessed by the gods couldn't possibly remain in Winterfell while simultaneously building a kingdom beyond the Wall. Today would mark the beginning of his journey.

When Robb's sparring session ended, Jon stepped forward, catching his father's attention. "Father," he said with a smile, "may I spar with you?"

Ned turned, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. Jon's words were unexpected, but the boy's calm confidence intrigued him. "You wish to spar with me?"

"Yes, Father," Jon said. Without waiting for an answer, he picked up two wooden swords, one in each hand, and took a stance. His movements were precise and deliberate, his posture reminiscent of a seasoned warrior.

Ned narrowed his eyes. "Two swords?" He couldn't hide his curiosity. Few men in the realm could wield two blades effectively. The image stirred memories of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who had wielded two swords with unmatched grace. "Very well, Jon. Show me what you've learned."

The crowd that had gathered to watch Robb quickly turned their attention to the unexpected duel between Lord Stark and his bastard son. As the two squared off, whispers filled the air. Jon, though only seven years old, exuded a confidence that belied his years.

"Begin," said Ser Rodrik, stepping aside.

The Wooden Duel

Jon moved first, his speed startling. He darted forward, his twin swords striking in rapid succession. Ned, caught off guard, barely managed to parry the strikes. Each blow was precise, each movement deliberate.

The crowd watched in stunned silence. Jon wasn't relying on brute strength; his strikes were calculated, his movements fluid and refined. It was as if he had been trained by the greatest masters of the Seven Kingdoms.

Ned, though still in his prime and considered one of the strongest men in the North, found himself on the defensive. His thoughts flashed back to the Tower of Joy, to the duel with Ser Arthur Dayne. He had felt this same helplessness then, overwhelmed by the sheer skill of his opponent.

Five minutes passed, and the duel ended with Jon disarming Ned in a swift, decisive move. The training yard fell silent, the crowd too shocked to speak. Even Ser Rodrik, a seasoned knight, stared at Jon as if seeing a ghost.

Ned picked himself up, his expression a mixture of pride and disbelief. "Jon," he said, his voice steady despite his astonishment, "where did you learn this?"

Jon grinned, lowering his swords. "I practiced while you were away, Father. The two-sword style is something I've developed on my own."

Ned shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You've developed it on your own? You truly are blessed by the gods."

A Dangerous Request

As the crowd dispersed, Jon approached his father once more. "Father, I have a request," he said, his tone serious.

"What is it, Jon?" Ned asked.

"I wish to spar with you again," Jon said, "but this time with real swords."

Ned frowned. "Real swords? That's dangerous, Jon. You're skilled, but accidents happen."

Jon nodded. "I understand, Father. But I trust you, and I trust myself. I want to experience the thrill of a true fight."

Ned hesitated. The idea of using real swords against a boy, even one as talented as Jon, felt wrong. But there was something in Jon's eyes—a determination that reminded him of the best warriors he had ever known. Reluctantly, he agreed.

The Duel of Steel

The next day, a large crowd gathered in the training yard, word of the duel spreading like wildfire. Ned stood with Ice, his Valyrian steel greatsword, while Jon approached with two swords he had forged himself. Though not Valyrian steel, they were finely crafted, a testament to Jon's ingenuity.

Ser Rodrik stepped forward. "This is a sparring match," he reminded them. "Not a fight to the death. Do you both understand?"

Ned nodded, and so did Jon.

"Begin!"

The clash of steel echoed through the yard. Jon moved with the same speed and precision as before, his twin blades striking from unexpected angles. Ned, despite his experience, found himself struggling to keep up. Jon's movements were an advanced, refined version of Ser Arthur Dayne's dual-wielding technique, a style few had ever seen.

For ten minutes, the duel raged. The crowd watched in awe, their cheers and gasps punctuating the clang of swords. Finally, Jon executed a breathtaking maneuver, disarming Ned with a fluid combination of strikes. Ice fell to the ground, and Jon pointed one of his swords at his father's chest.

The training yard fell silent once more. Ned stared at Jon, his chest heaving. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. "You've bested me," he said. "I've fought many warriors, but none like you. You're truly remarkable, Jon."

The Farewell

That evening, Jon approached Ned in his solar. "Father," he said, his tone somber. "I've made a decision. I wish to leave Winterfell."

Ned frowned, his expression clouded with concern. "Leave? Why, Jon? This is your home."

Jon took a deep breath. "I feel a calling, Father. Something greater than myself. I believe the gods have blessed me with these skills for a reason, and I must find out what it is."

Ned studied Jon's face, seeing the determination in his eyes. "You're still a boy," he said softly. "But I won't stand in your way if this is truly what you want."

Jon nodded. "It is. And I promise, Father, I will make you proud."

Catelyn's Protest

As Jon left, Catelyn Stark stepped into the solar, her face pale with disbelief. "How could you let him go?" she demanded. "He's only seven years old, Ned. The world beyond Winterfell is cruel. How could you do this to your own son?"

Ned sighed. "I offered to send him with guards, Cat. I even offered to send him to a lord's household to learn, as Robert and I did with Jon Arryn. But he refused. He's determined, and I fear he would have left even if I forbade him."

"He's a child!" Catelyn exclaimed. "A talented one, perhaps, but still a child."

Ned placed a hand on her shoulder. "I understand your concern, Cat. But Jon… he's not like other children. He's stronger than most men, smarter than most lords, and blessed by the gods. I believe in him."

Catelyn's expression softened, though worry still clouded her eyes. "I wish I could believe as you do, Ned. But I can't shake the feeling that we're sending him to his doom."

Don't worry cat he bested me in a dual, do you think except 2 or 3 warrior, anyone can defeat me. He showed extremely calm nature in extreme fight, and he is the smartest person in the north and I believe in him.

The Departure

The next morning, as the sun rose over Winterfell, Jon stood at the gates, his twin swords strapped to his back. A crowd had gathered to see him off, their whispers filling the cold morning air.

Jon turned to Ned, who placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go with the gods, Jon," he said. "And know that Winterfell will always be your home."

Jon nodded, his expression resolute. "Thank you, Father. I'll make you proud."

With that, Jon Snow departed, leaving behind a family that loved him and a legacy that had only just begun. In time, the North would speak of the boy blessed by the gods, destined for greatness. And though none knew where his journey would lead, they knew he would change the world forever.