Reborn as Jon Snow with God System

Jon Snow moved swiftly through the vast white expanse of the North, racing toward a camp of 670 wildlings. His body was a blur in the snow, the chakra surging through his legs giving him inhuman speed. Behind him lay the camp of 120 wildlings who had already chosen to follow him. He left them with enough food to sustain them for a month, though many had begged to accompany him. They feared for his safety—what was one man against 670 survivors?

Jon had waved away their concerns. "You've seen what I can do. Even 670 will not be enough to stop me."

Now, the cold wind whipped at his face as he sprinted. What should have been a day's journey, Jon intended to finish in minutes. He left behind a trail of churned snow, kicking up clouds of frost in his wake. Soon, the silhouettes of tents came into view on the horizon.

It was a large camp, spread out like a wounded beast licking its wounds. This group had once been 1,500 strong, but a devastating battle had reduced their numbers to 670. And, like the first group Jon had gathered, they consisted mostly of children, women, and injured men. Jon saw potential in them—especially the children. He could shape them into warriors and train them to fight for the kingdom he intended to build.

Jon didn't slow as he approached the camp. The wildlings saw a figure moving toward them at impossible speed and grabbed their weapons in alarm. A group of thirty warriors gathered at the edge of the camp, ready to defend their people from whatever threat was coming.

"Is that a man or a beast?" one of them muttered, gripping his axe tighter.

As Jon came within striking range, the warriors braced for impact. But just before reaching them, Jon slowed and raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I've come to talk," he called out, his voice clear over the howling wind.

The wildlings narrowed their eyes. They had never seen a man move like this—fast as a winter storm. "Who the hell are you?" one demanded. "And what do you want with us?"

Jon smiled, though his stance remained calm and ready. "I'm not here to fight. I'm Jon Snow, and I've come to offer you something you won't get from anyone else."

The wildlings didn't lower their weapons. Suspicion and fear were etched into their faces. "Why should we listen to an outsider? You could be some kind of freak… or worse, one of the dead."

Before Jon could respond, four men broke from the group and charged, axes raised. Their faces were twisted with rage and desperation. Jon, without a hint of fear, unsheathed his twin swords. In the North, metal was a rare commodity, and seeing not one but *two* swords in the hands of a stranger was shocking.

Jon sidestepped the first attacker with ease, his blade a blur as he shattered the man's axe into splinters. Another swung wildly, only for Jon to parry and send the weapon flying from his hand. Within moments, the four men were on the ground, disarmed and groaning from the force of Jon's kicks. He hadn't killed them—only disabled them with swift precision.

The watching wildlings stood frozen in disbelief. No ordinary man could have taken down four fighters so easily. They whispered among themselves, glancing uneasily at Jon's twin swords.

Then, three women raised their bows and loosed arrows. Jon's response was immediate. His twin blades moved with inhuman speed, slicing the arrows mid-flight before they could reach him. The archers, startled but determined, kept firing—arrow after arrow, shot with impressive skill.

Jon didn't flinch. He cut down every arrow with precision, moving as if the wind itself guided his strikes. In less than a minute, more than thirty arrows lay broken at his feet. The archers lowered their bows, horror spreading across their faces.

"How can this be?" one woman whispered, her voice trembling.

Before anyone could react further, a red-haired man stormed forward, wielding a massive axe. His movements were fierce and fast, far quicker than Jon had expected. Jon dodged the man's strikes, impressed by the speed and skill of his attacks. This warrior, Jon realized, could stand toe-to-toe with a knight.

The red-haired man grinned as he swung again. "You've got some moves, stranger."

Jon sidestepped the attack and delivered a powerful kick, but the man twisted in the air, narrowly avoiding the blow. Jon's eyes widened with curiosity—this man was no ordinary wildling.

"Not bad," Jon said with a smirk. "What's your name?"

The red-haired warrior grinned fiercely. "Tormund Giantsbane."

Jon's heart skipped a beat. He knew this man—Tormund, the one of the future leader of the free folk with his group of people, until he joined Mance to fight against the crows, and cross the wall. But here, Tormund was younger, wilder, and just as fearless.

The duel continued for a few more moments before Jon decided to end it. With a sudden burst of speed, he kicked Tormund square in the chest, sending him flying backward. Tormund hit the ground with a grunt but quickly scrambled to his feet, still grinning.

Jon sheathed his swords. "I'm not here to fight," he said again, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I've come to make you an offer."

The thirty warriors, now nursing bruises and shattered weapons, stood aside as Jon stepped deeper into the camp. Hundreds of wildlings gathered to listen, their expressions a mix of fear, suspicion, and curiosity.

"My name is Jon Snow," he announced. "I offer you a chance to join me in building a kingdom beyond the Wall—a kingdom where no one starves, where every child grows strong, and where survival isn't a daily battle."

The crowd murmured, skeptical but intrigued.

"You've seen my strength," Jon continued. "And I tell you now: I wield the power of the gods. With that power, I will reshape the land and make it fertile. None of you will ever go hungry again."

The wildlings were silent, weighing his words. Life beyond the Wall was harsh, and promises of food and safety sounded too good to be true.

After a tense moment, Tormund stepped forward, his grin replaced by a serious expression. "You're strong, I'll give you that. But strength isn't enough. If you can't lead us, we'll walk away."

Jon nodded. "Fair enough. But I promise, you won't regret following me."

With the group's cautious agreement, Jon led them outside the camp. As they watched, he placed his hands on the frozen ground and channeled his chakra.

The earth trembled, and within moments, hundreds of apple trees burst from the snow-covered soil, their branches heavy with ripe, red apples. The white landscape transformed into a lush orchard, the scent of sweet fruit filling the air.

The wildlings stared in disbelief. Some fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the miracle before them.

"He must be a god," one man whispered.

"No," Jon said, raising his voice. "I am not a god. I am a man blessed by the gods—and I will use that blessing to build a future for all of us."

The wildlings hesitated, still grappling with what they had witnessed. Then, slowly, they began plucking apples from the trees, biting into the sweet fruit with tears in their eyes.

Tormund chuckled. "Well, you've got my attention."

Jon smiled. "Good. Now let's build a kingdom."

The wildlings followed Jon, hope rekindled in their hearts. For the first time in a long while, they believed. And with Jon Snow leading them, they knew that survival was no longer their only option—there was a future worth fighting for.