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Having carefully read every word of the letter, Clay's previously good mood had completely vanished.
The incident had occurred near the Neck, north of the Twins. The spies of the White Sea Guard in the Riverlands had received the news and immediately sent word to the Twins. Clay estimated that by now, a raven was likely already on its way to Wolf's Den in White Harbor.
The letter did not specify who the attackers were, which suggested that even the sender had received the information secondhand. But regardless of who was behind it, this was a grave matter.
A merchant caravan of over fifty people—such a large group would undoubtedly be transporting significant goods. Besides the laborers responsible for hauling the cargo, Clay knew his family's caravans well enough to be certain that at least half of the members were armed guards.
He still did not know exactly what kind of goods this particular caravan had been escorting, but given that the attack had happened at the Neck—a highly sensitive location—he had a bad feeling.
One of the key ingredients in the witchers' grass potion was sourced from the Neck. If it was merely an unfortunate encounter with bandits, then there was nothing to be done about it. But if someone had taken notice of the recent surge in procurement orders after his return to White Harbor… then this was no simple matter of bad luck.
Clay knew that his time at the Twins had come to an end. With such a serious incident unfolding, he—being the heir to White Harbor—had to set out north immediately to handle the situation.
"Young lord..." The captain of his guard looked equally grim. Their return journey did not involve crossing the Neck by land, but the route through the forest leading to the eastern coastline was still dangerously close to the area. And the fact that an entire White Harbor merchant caravan had been ambushed and wiped out left this seasoned soldier filled with fury.
"Wait. We need a clearer picture first. This is only first-hand information—we still know too little."
Clay set down his wine cup and rose from his chair, pacing the room with a furrowed brow. After a moment of thought, he turned to the captain and asked, "Based on your experience, if you were to attack a caravan like ours and achieve the results described in this letter, how many men would you need?"
The captain shook his head and responded in a low voice, "Young lord, that question isn't precise. It's difficult to answer because we don't even know who's behind this. Our caravan guards only wear light leather armor and carry swords as their primary weapons."
"If it were my cavalry conducting the assault, fifty men could end the battle in a single charge. But..."
"But that's impossible, isn't it?" Clay finished the thought for him.
Indeed, the Neck was a land of marshes and swamps. Other than House Reed at Greywater Watch, the only inhabitants were the crannogmen. The idea that a force of over fifty fully armored cavalrymen could somehow slip past numerous scouts and appear in the Neck unnoticed? That was pure nonsense.
Clay and his men had arrived via sea, but in the waters of the Bite, there were no significant military presences besides House Manderly.
Transporting fifty men along with their armor and weapons without anyone noticing? That was simply not possible.
Could it really have been mere bandits? Clay found it hard to believe. The Riverlands had always had its fair share of outlaws, but for them to completely annihilate a caravan of over fifty people? Given the equipment of most bandits, they would have needed at least a hundred men to accomplish such a feat.
Regardless, he had to go. This was all the information he could gather for now—he would have to investigate the rest in person.
"Yes, young lord. That is impossible. Then… what are your orders?"
The captain stood at attention, waiting silently for Clay's decision. He knew his young lord's temperament well—there was no way Clay would simply sit idly in the Twins after receiving such news.
"Gather every White Harbor guard currently in the Twins. By the time I return from my meeting with Lord Walder Frey, I want every single one of them assembled. Two hundred men—not a single one missing. I don't care if someone is in the middle of bedding a woman, you drag him back if you have to."
Clay's tone was sharp and commanding. Though young, he had been the heir to White Harbor for so long that authority naturally infused his words. The captain of the guard nodded without hesitation. After confirming the order, he turned to leave and carry it out.
Good news never travels far, but bad news spreads like wildfire. Clay was certain that House Frey, whose influence extended across the upper Green Fork, must have already received word of the attack. At this very moment, Lord Walder Frey was likely waiting for him to arrive.
After straightening his attire, Clay took two of his guards and left the Manderly residence, heading directly to the main stronghold of House Frey.
His steps were steady and composed. When he reached the gate of the fortress, he adjusted his expression and deliberately slowed his pace. In times like these, appearing impatient and flustered would only invite others to look down on him.
The Frey soldiers standing guard wore black armor emblazoned with the sigil of the Twin Towers. Upon seeing the mermaid emblem on Clay's armor, they immediately recognized him and stepped aside to grant him entry.
"Where is the lord? I need to see him at once."
Clay was not particularly familiar with anyone in the castle, so he had no choice but to direct his question to the guards at the gate.
However, before the soldier could respond, a somewhat familiar voice spoke up from behind him.
"Young lord Clay, allow me to take you to my father. There's no need to ask him."
Clay turned to see who it was and was momentarily stunned.
Aenys Frey.
What was he doing here?
The last time they had spoken—at the East Gate—their conversation had quickly soured, and Aenys Frey had stormed off in frustration. Clay had even laughed at his delusions back then. So why was he now going out of his way to greet him?
With a friendly smile, Aenys Frey strode up to Clay, casually patting his shoulder as he spoke.
"I had originally gone to your residence to find you, but the Manderlys told me you weren't there. I figured you'd be here instead."
Clay instinctively shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at Aenys. He wanted to know why this man had been looking for him in the first place—and more importantly, how he had been so sure that Clay would be here.
As if anticipating Clay's thoughts, Aenys continued leading him toward the staircase of the main keep. Without any preamble, he spoke softly.
"The ravens of House Frey are managed by me and our maester. Heh, my father would never entrust his life to an outsider."
There was no context to his words, yet Clay immediately understood their implications.
If Aenys was in charge of the ravens, then he had undoubtedly already learned of the massacre of the White Harbor caravan. The moment he failed to find Clay at the Manderly residence, he would have immediately realized that Clay must have come here to see Walder Frey.
And his words revealed something else—just like in his own household, the maester of House Frey had seemingly been sidelined as well. But unlike White Harbor, here it was purely a matter of Walder Frey's paranoia.
Clay's wariness grew.
A Frey who held partial control over a maester's duties… a Frey who could still smile warmly after being rejected… This was a man who deserved to be taken seriously.
And judging from the unreadable smirk on his face, Aenys Frey still hadn't given up.
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[Chapter End's]
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