Greetings from Clay Manderly

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Clay and his five companions moved through the shadows of the Twin's buildings. No one recognized them. The dirt and ash smeared across Clay's face concealed most of his features, hiding the usual pale complexion that marked him as a highborn.

Of course, there were people within the Twins who would remember his face, but who would ever associate the noble Clay Manderly with the mud-stained, dust-covered Frey soldiers sneaking through the city at night?

"Eren, what do we do next?"

Christen Manderly—no, at this moment, he was Mogus Rivers—leaned in close and whispered to the young man now known as Eren Darr.

Clay, satisfied with his companion's performance, pretended to be crude and casual. He slung an arm over Christen's shoulder and spoke in a low voice.

"We move quickly through the river's central guard tower. The western side isn't under our control, so there's no point worrying about it right now."

Their small squad weaved through the layers of shadows, crossing alleys and narrow paths as Clay continued with quiet determination.

"Once we reach the eastern bank, I will take Christen and find a chance to infiltrate the Frey family's main keep. The four of you will head for the east wall and observe the situation at the city gates."

"Get inside, use the Axii Sign wisely. When you see chaos erupting at the Frey family's main keep, that will be your signal. I will do what I can to lure some of the gate guards away. As for the rest, I will leave them to you."

"If their numbers are too great, don't be reckless. Use the Quen's Shield properly. Protect yourselves and hold the line until reinforcements arrive."

That was all the command he gave. There was no need to make things more complicated. Clay had complete faith in the Witcher squad he had trained with his own hands. This was their first battle on Westerosi soil, and he was certain they would carve out a name for themselves.

Around them, Frey soldiers lay resting in the corners of buildings, exhausted and sprawled on the cold stone ground. It was no surprise. Summoning four thousand men to cram into the small city of the Twins inevitably led to such disarray.

Almost everyone knew of Lord Walder Frey's methods. Because of that, the night in the fortress was eerily quiet. There were no screams, no moans, none of the disturbing sounds one might expect under such circumstances.

The only exception lay in the stronghold's few brothels. For those establishments, business had never been better than during these chaotic days.

Clay pushed aside a drunken Frey soldier, and at last, he and his team crossed the long bridge spanning the Green Fork River. They arrived at the eastern castle, a place Clay knew all too well.

He raised his head and gazed at the main keep of House Frey, situated at the center of the eastern castle. It remained dark and silent, only a few lights flickering within.

Lord Walder Frey clearly had great faith in his walls, fully convinced that the ten thousand troops of the North could do nothing to breach them.

Too much confidence, my late lord frey.

Clay sneered silently to himself and walked toward the Frey family's inner stronghold, where voices could still faintly be heard in the night air.

This was different from before. When he had last been here, he could move about freely as Clay Manderly. Now, he was just another nameless Frey soldier, summoned from some backwater village. There was no way he could stroll into the keep unchallenged.

He needed to wait for the right opportunity—either that or until the middle of the night, when the guards would be at their most relaxed.

As he entertained such thoughts, Clay continued to stroll around, pretending to be a patrolling guard alongside Christen. The other four had already silently moved toward the city gate.

In front of the Frey main keep, a crowd of people were busy transporting supplies. Most of them were ordinary citizens from the Twins, conscripted to haul military provisions and food.

No one expected Lord Walder Frey to reward them for their efforts. That lofty old lord had never spared a thought for the common folk. Their fate, in truth, rested in the hands of a single young Frey, the man in charge of this task.

Being forced to work this late at night probably meant he was some unfortunate soul with neither power nor influence, Clay thought to himself.

And yet, something felt off. He had the strange sensation that someone in that crowd was watching him. The gaze was faint, nearly imperceptible, but his instincts picked up on it.

Though Clay himself could not be sure, there were indeed people in the crowd who were stirred by great shock.

Anty Rivers, the overseer of the White Sea Guard's operations in the Twins, was currently disguised as a simple laborer, quietly monitoring the Frey soldiers and their movements.

The two "guards" who kept circling the same area drew his attention. Based on his instinct as a spy, he knew they were not on a routine patrol. They had another purpose entirely.

Have I just come across fellow agents?

Anty's mind raced. He had a fair idea of whose eyes were still active in the Twins. Normally, they stayed out of each other's way, never crossing lines or risking exposure.

But this was too good an opportunity to ignore. If he could memorize these people's appearances, and later confirm their identities, he would gain valuable leverage for future operations.

Seizing a chance, Anty picked up a sack of grain and deliberately took a longer path that led him closer to the two men who were chatting and laughing like careless soldiers.

But the moment he saw one of their faces, he froze inside.

That face—there was no mistaking it. Was that not Lord Clay himself?

Before Clay could turn his head and notice him, Anty bowed quickly and kept his gaze low. He could not afford to reveal any recognition. He could not risk giving away any suspicion or attempt to communicate.

They brushed past each other. As they did, Anty heard Clay and Christen speaking.

Though they were exchanging crude jokes, Anty felt no doubt in his heart. He would recognize that voice anywhere. It belonged to none other than his young lord, Clay Manderly.

Recalling Clay's height and hair color only confirmed it further. Anty's breath quickened.

Disguise. Appearance. Voice. Height. Hair. All signs pointed to one truth. That Frey soldier he had just passed was Lord Clay in disguise.

And the first emotion that rose in Anty Rivers's chest was not joy—but anger.

The young lord was supposed to be with the main host of the army. What madness had led to him sneaking into the Twins with only a handful of men?

What on earth were the northern lords doing? How could they let the young lord come here and take such a dangerous risk himself?

He dared not imagine what might happen if Lord Clay were caught in this fortress, with Frey banners still flying and tensions running high.

That would be a disaster that could cost them dearly, possibly even lives.

The only reason Anty had not rushed forward to confront Clay was the absence of the red gemstone trident ring, the symbol of the White Sea Guard's highest command, on the young lord's hand.

But this was understandable. Disguised as an ordinary soldier, there was no way he would wear a ring that only nobles were allowed to possess.

After setting down the grain sack, Anty recalled the order his commander had given him back at the Wolf's Den in White Harbor. Only now did he fully understand—Lord Clay had entered the castle with a purpose, and that purpose was the fortress gate.

There was no more time to blame the Northern nobles for their negligence now. The White Sea Guard's agents in the Twins had to be mobilized immediately. They must become the blade that struck true for their commander.

At the moment, they were surrounded by people, so it was impossible to speak directly with the commander. If he wanted to catch Clay's attention, he had no choice but to show his face clearly and hope that the commander's memory would not fail him.

After waiting for a while, Anty Rivers found the right moment and passed by again using the same route as before. This time, however, he held his head high and walked with confidence.

Clay had been focused on observing the Frey family's buildings and soldiers, so he hadn't noticed the laborers hauling supplies. However, just because he hadn't noticed once didn't mean he wouldn't the second time.

When he raised his torch and caught sight of Anty Rivers' face in the flickering light, Clay paused for only a heartbeat before immediately recognizing him.

As they passed one another again, Clay inconspicuously gave Anty Rivers a light tap on the waist.

Then, he spoke softly, delivering the phrase that instantly set Anty Rivers' heart at ease. The commander said to him:

"No Currents Mightier."

Though the words were spoken in barely more than a whisper, they allowed Anty Rivers to fully relax. The two of them shared a silent understanding and continued with their work until the middle of the night.

Once the Frey overseer had left, the laborers scattered like startled birds, fleeing faster than anyone else.

Clay turned and beckoned toward Anty Rivers, who had been watching him closely.

The latter immediately straightened and followed without hesitation.

They found a secluded spot where no one was around. Clay gave a sly chuckle and said:

"Anty Rivers, I really didn't expect to see you here. Honestly, I hadn't factored your group into this operation. But once things started moving, I figured you'd step up on your own."

However, there was no joy on Anty Rivers' face. Looking at the commander dressed in a full set of Frey soldier armor, he frowned with worry and asked,

"My lord, why did you not remain with the main army? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

Clay knew what he was about to say, but he didn't have time for that now. He raised a hand to signal him to stop, then said firmly,

"That's enough. I know better than you how risky this mission is. But I'm already here, and it's too late for regrets."

Now that he had made contact with the White Sea Guard, things would go much more smoothly. Clay immediately began issuing orders.

"Anty Rivers, gather all your available forces and move them near the East Gate. Hide your weapons and wait for the gate guards to be drawn into the fortress. The moment they move, launch an attack."

"Remember, your goal is to secure the gate at all costs. I've already arranged for the family's cavalry to charge the castle. Once we begin our assault from inside, they will storm the Twins from outside."

As if remembering something, Clay gave him another reminder.

"Near the gate, I have four men already in position. Watch closely. They'll probably make the first move before you do. They're dressed as Frey soldiers, just like me. Do not attack them."

Anty Rivers understood now. The entire plan, a coordinated assault from both inside and outside the castle, had clearly been arranged long in advance. He gave a firm nod at once.

"Understood, my lord. I will make sure my men do not harm them."

But the moment he spoke those words, both Clay and the ever-silent Christen, who had been standing beside him, showed an indescribable expression.

Clay sighed, patted the brave and loyal officer who served as the White Sea Guard's local overseer in the Twins, and said with a meaningful look:

"I'm not worried about them getting hurt. What concerns me is that if your men dare raise their swords against them, they might end up dying in a very unpleasant way."

"…?"

Anty Rivers was bewildered. What did that mean? Was the commander implying that dozens of his men wouldn't be able to handle just four?

He was not convinced. Deep down, he felt indignant, even a little insulted. It was as if Clay was underestimating both him and the entire White Sea Guard.

But Clay had no time to concern himself with what Anty Rivers thought. He simply continued issuing his orders.

"Go now. Make the preparations. Don't worry about what I'm doing."

Sensing the worry in Anty Rivers' eyes, Clay grinned and said,

"Relax. Your young lord has a tough life to kill. Not even the Old or New Gods could take me if they tried—I swear it."

With that, he gave Anty Rivers a firm push, sending him from the shadows into the light, signaling that it was time to move.

Clay himself, accompanied by Christen, turned and headed straight back to the main keep of House Frey.

…

Clay was intimately familiar with the layout of the keep, having visited it many times before. He had waited until the middle of the night to act, knowing that earlier there had simply been too many people around and the risk of discovery had been too great.

But now, the Northern army had been camped outside the castle all day without making any moves. The Frey soldiers, tense and alert throughout the day, had finally started to grow lax.

At the gate, only two men stood guard. There were supposed to be four, but Clay's keen witcher's ears told him that the snores coming from the guardhouse were deep and heavy.

Now was the time.

He exchanged a glance with Christen, and the two of them crept toward the gate under cover of darkness.

Before the two Frey guards could react, they were both struck in the face by Axii Signs.

"You never saw me go upstairs. You've been standing here the whole time," Clay said to one of them.

He hadn't planned to kill anyone. It wasn't due to mercy or sentimentality, but rather because blood and corpses would be far too obvious a signal in a place like this.

Then Clay asked, "Are Lord Walder Frey and Ser Aenys Frey both in the main hall?"

The guards might not have known their exact locations, but as gatekeepers, they would certainly know whether they had left or not.

The Frey soldier gave a stiff nod, indicating that both men were still inside.

That made things much easier. Clay would not have to scour the entire Twins in search of them.

They moved silently through the halls. Along the way, whether it was a drowsy maid or anyone else who might pose a threat to their objective, all were dealt with in the same manner—a swift Axii Sign to the face. This method was only viable under the cover of night, when the halls were mostly empty. During the day, even if he managed to cast the Sign successfully, a single witness would render the effort meaningless.

Through careful questioning, Clay and Christen finally confirmed the whereabouts of Aenys Frey. The man, now over fifty years old, was staying in his private chamber.

"Christen, stay at the door. If anyone approaches and you cannot handle them on your own, alert me immediately."

Clay gave the instruction calmly. The closer they were to success, the more cautious he became. It was often at the final moment that plans unraveled and everything collapsed.

Christen nodded firmly. This entire operation, from sneaking into the fortress to infiltrating the keep, was a thrilling experience unlike anything he had ever known. To him, every step following Lord Clay was filled with tension, but also admiration. As he watched Clay's back disappearing into the dim corridor, his heart swelled with awe and respect.

Clay reached the door. Though it was locked, this posed no obstacle for him. With barely a sound, he skillfully unlocked it.

He pushed the door open gently. The room was not entirely dark. From the windowsill, tucked away from the draft, flickered a solitary candle casting soft, wavering light.

He approached the bed and pulled aside the delicate canopy curtain.

Without hesitation, he struck down with the hilt of his blade, knocking out a young woman he did not recognize. Judging by her appearance, Clay figured she was probably young enough to be Aenys Frey's granddaughter.

Then he turned to the sleeping old noble and, without a word, raised his sword hilt and brought it down sharply onto the man's forehead.

The impact jolted Aenys Frey awake. He opened his eyes, dazed and groggy, staring at Clay who stood at the window. For a full five seconds, he sat frozen, unable to comprehend what was happening. Just as he was about to scream, a cold dagger pressed tightly against his throat, cutting off all sound.

The flickering candlelight lit up the intruder's face. It was only then that Aenys Frey, who had once spent time with this young man, finally recognized him.

His eyes widened in shock, his expression filled with disbelief. Clay Manderly? Why was he here? Could it be that the Northern army had launched a surprise attack in the dead of night?

His mind became a muddled mess of fear and confusion.

Then he heard the young man's voice for the first time.

"Lord Aenys Frey, it is a pleasure. Clay Manderly is most delighted to see you again, since our farewell at the Neck."

Upon hearing those words, a chill swept across Aenys Frey's spine. He could swear, never in his life had a simple greeting filled him with such sheer dread.

His mouth went dry. He wanted to speak, to say something—anything—but not a sound came out.

Clay, however, had no interest in hearing meaningless words.

"Lord Aenys Frey, the Manderlys sends its regards."

A green rune flickered into the air.

In that instant, Aenys Frey's consciousness froze.

He was no longer himself.

..

..

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[Chapter End's]

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