Reborn as Jon Snow with God System

He had sent his ten wood clones beyond the Wall, each imbued with the unique power of Hashirama, a power that allowed him to control wood, to scout for good land and uncover the mysteries of the North.

Jon knew his future lay beyond the Wall, in the desolate lands that many feared. It was there that he would build his kingdom—strong, scientific, and advanced. He had no desire to rule over a stone-age kingdom, where travel was slow, and roads were mere muddy paths. The people of Westeros relied on horses and walked barefoot over rough terrain. Jon would change that. He envisioned a future where his kingdom would thrive, where cycles or even engines would carry his people over well-paved roads. But those plans would take time, and time was something he had plenty of.

For now, Jon focused on the present, and today, that meant food.

The system within him had gifted him with something special: the culinary template of Joichiro Saiba, the greatest chef from another world. Jon had decided to use his newfound skill to surprise his family, to offer something that could possibly bridge the distance between him and Lady Catelyn Stark, who harbored conflicted feelings toward him. Perhaps this dish could bring warmth to the cold relationship with his stepmother. His brother Robb, ever competitive and sometimes envious, would surely marvel at his talent. His sister Sansa, though young and dreaming of fairy-tale princes, might find joy in a meal made by her bastard brother.

With a clear plan in mind, Jon headed into Winterfell's market, where vendors huddled under thick furs, selling their goods in the biting cold. Jon had enough coin to buy what he needed. He gathered venison, rich and gamey, hunted from the surrounding woods. He picked up root vegetables—turnips, carrots, and parsnips—plucked from the hard Northern soil. Leeks, onions, and mushrooms rounded out his collection. He also secured herbs like rosemary and thyme from Winterfell's herbal gardens, barley for texture, and salt from the Shivering Sea.

As he returned to the kitchens, his heart raced. He wasn't just preparing a meal; he was crafting an experience.

The kitchen bustled with cooks preparing the evening meal, but Jon quickly ordered them all to sit and watch. They were confused, even amused. How could a seven-year-old boy cook anything beyond porridge? Still, they obeyed, curiosity piqued. They gathered around him, eyes on the young boy who seemed so confident.

Jon began his work. The cooks watched in awe as he moved with precision and purpose. His knife sliced through the vegetables with ease, turning them into perfect, even pieces. He browned the venison to a golden crust, the smell wafting through the room, mingling with the earthy aroma of herbs. He added the meat to a large pot, letting it simmer in a rich bone broth made from wild game bones. Slowly, he layered in the vegetables, mushrooms, and barley, the stew thickening with every minute that passed.

The smell was intoxicating.

Word spread through the castle, and soon, Jon's brother Robb appeared at the doorway, eyes wide with disbelief. Sansa, always curious and looking for adventure, followed closely behind. They both stared in silence as their brother worked. Even Lady Catelyn made an appearance, though she quickly left, assuming it was just a childish game. But the servants and cooks remained, mesmerized by Jon's skill.

As the stew simmered, Jon couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. He knew the dish was perfect—the hearty flavors of the North, combined with his world-class culinary technique, would create something unforgettable.

Finally, the stew was ready: **Winterfell Hearth Stew**. Jon gave the order for it to be served in the Great Hall. He instructed the servants to ladle the stew into wooden bowls and present it to the family. The cooks were hesitant at first, still unsure if this meal, prepared by a child, could be worthy of such attention. But after tasting a spoonful themselves, their hesitation vanished. They whispered among themselves, praising Jon, calling him blessed by the gods.

In the Great Hall, Robb and Sansa took their first bites, eyes widening in astonishment. Robb, always competitive, looked at Jon with a mix of admiration and disbelief.

"How... how did you do this?" Robb asked, forgetting his usual jealousy.

Sansa, her dreamlike fantasies of knights and princes momentarily set aside, giggled with delight. "Jon, this is amazing! You're like a magician with food!"

Even the servants couldn't help but whisper their awe. One of the older cooks, who had seen countless meals come through Winterfell's kitchen, shook his head in disbelief. "This... this is the food of the gods."

Jon smiled, though he wanted his bitchy stepmother's approval, I really don't need her approval for anything, but I am bored here after training and what is better to try my luck on impressing this stupid women. Lady Catelyn had not yet tasted the dish. But as the night went on, she too heard the murmurs of praise and, in her chambers, decided to sample a bowl. The stew was warm, comforting, and filled with layers of flavor she had never expected from a child. Though she would never admit it aloud, Jon had created something truly remarkable, and for the first time, she found it difficult to hold onto her coldness toward him.

As the meal ended, Jon knew that he had achieved something beyond just a good meal. He had made a connection, not just with the servants and his siblings, but perhaps even with Lady Catelyn. It was a small step, but in the harsh world of Winterfell, small victories mattered.

The future was uncertain, but for now, Jon had won the night with a simple, hearty stew, proving to everyone that he was more than just a bastard. He was Jon Snow, a boy with the potential to change everything.