"Robb, can you tell me what you're holding?" Duke Eddard's face was stern.
This was truly unexpected. It was just like the scene where kids get caught doing something wrong by their parents.
Clay glanced at Robb, who would one day become the King in the North. He was completely stunned, his lips pursed, unable to say a word. And he was still clutching that bottle of wine.
Besides Clay, these two from the Stark Family were well-behaved children, both looking down as if admitting their mistakes.
Duke Eddard didn't want to deal with these two troublemakers. He had something else to do. He moved aside slightly, and Clay saw his grandfather's broad figure.
"Uh... Grandpa?" Clay hadn't expected his grandfather to arrive so quickly.
He knew why Count Wyman had come. To be honest, he had already exceeded his goals for this trip to Winterfell.
First, through Duke Eddard, Clay's identity as the heir to White Harbor had been recognized by the nobles. Second, he had completed the Witcher's Trial of the Grasses, and by chance, he had also successfully completed the Witcher mutation, although the process wasn't pleasant.
Furthermore, Clay had been in Winterfell for so many days, and being of noble birth himself, he had gotten to know the younger generation of the Stark Family.
Although he possessed the Witcher system, which theoretically allowed him to quickly expand his influence, it would take time. At this juncture, it was very necessary to befriend the Stark Family.
In truth, he had no choice. His background dictated that he must firmly support the wolf pack at this stage. As for the future, well, he'd see.
Of course, there were also downsides. Littlefinger had played him, and although he'd minimized the consequences with his actions, his sister's reputation had still been damaged. She wouldn't be getting married for a year or two, but that suited Vera just fine, as she didn't want to get married anyway.
Moreover, regardless of the vast and mysterious magic within the Weirwood, or the Threads of Magic on Bran that would give anyone trypophobia, this seemingly peaceful northern capital was actually filled with a rich scent of magic.
Clay had planned to find an opportunity these past two days to investigate the source of Bran's Threads of Magic. To be honest, he had some suspicions, but he couldn't confirm them.
But now, the sudden appearance of his grandfather had completely disrupted his plans. He could only try to see Bran again before he left.
This wasn't Clay being a saint. From his perspective, he had to figure out the source of the magic, otherwise he wouldn't feel comfortable using it to cultivate Witchers in the future.
"Ha, you little rascal, you've certainly been busy. I just asked you to come to Winterfell, and look at what you've done!" Count Wyman was actually quite pleased with Clay's actions, but since he'd caused Duke Eddard a lot of trouble, he had to scold Clay a little.
"Alright, Wyman, Clay did this for the honor of the Manderly Family, you don't need to be so harsh." Duke Eddard waved his hand, stopping Count Wyman. He took one of them by a hand and led Jon and Robb, who were wearing long faces, out of the dungeon.
After they left, only Clay and Count Wyman, grandfather and grandson, remained in the dungeon.
They stared at each other for a while, and then Clay and Count Wyman laughed at the same time.
"Well done. You're better than your father. Back then, your father and I followed Duke Eddard into King's Landing after the Lannisters captured it. Those bastards were raping women and plundering property to an unbearable degree. Our White Harbor soldiers tried to stop them, and they were just thrown into the Flea Bottom."
As he said these words, Count Wyman's eyes were filled with memories, but clearly, it wasn't a pleasant memory. He paused and continued,
"Your father had already drawn his sword, but in the end, he didn't have the guts to kill under that golden and red Roaring Lion banner. You're stronger than us, that's good!"
The old count patted his grandson's back hard. Clay could hear that the Lannisters' actions in King's Landing were truly detestable, leaving no good impression on these northern nobles.
At this moment, the hastily arrived Captain of the Guard, Hosta, saw Count Wyman. Without any hesitation, he pulled out the longsword from his waist, placed it on the ground, and knelt on one knee, lowering his head and saying nothing.
"Hmph." Looking at this negligent Captain of the Guard, Count Wyman snorted coldly, but it wasn't appropriate to deal with his servants here. He directly ordered:
"Get up, and take your men to fetch Vera from the main keep. Bring her directly to the guard I brought with me."
Decisively, Hosta picked up his sword from the ground and strode away, just as he had arrived. The head of the house hadn't punished him, which was already a good thing; he couldn't ask for more.
"Let's not waste time here, let's go." Count Wyman straightened up, his large hand grabbing Clay's arm, intending to leave.
Clay hesitated. He couldn't see the future, and he couldn't predict when he would return. It was even possible that the master of this place would be someone else when he came back.
He could only do what he could, Clay sighed inwardly. He said to his grandfather:
"Before we go, I need to meet with Robb and the others from the Stark Family."
Hearing this, Count Wyman paused, frowned, and turned to look at Clay, waiting for him to continue.
"I consider myself a friend of the Stark Family boys now. It doesn't feel right to leave just like this. Besides, Grandpa, you brought me to Winterfell with the intention of having me befriend them, didn't you?"
"You certainly don't mince words. Looks like you've done well?"
"Yes." There was no need to deny it. The grandfather in front of him was aligned with his interests in every way, so he naturally spoke his mind.
"Then go. I'll wait for you outside the city. Remember, don't cause any more trouble."
Duke Eddard readily agreed to Clay's request to see his brother Robb before leaving. He was a man of deep feeling himself and naturally admired Clay's actions.
Thus, in the great hall of Winterfell, Clay met the unlucky Jon and Robb again, as well as Bran, who was still a child. As for the youngest Rickon Stark, there was no need for Clay to see him.
He shared a bear hug with Robb and Jon. Drinking together made them brothers, a law of men that applied in any time and space.
But Clay's real target wasn't those two unlucky guys. His peripheral vision was fixed on Bran. Or, to be precise, the Threads of Magic that were wrapped tightly around Bran.
Before embracing the somewhat timid Bran, Clay quietly opened his system and activated his Magic Pool.
The moment his hands touched those invisible threads, Clay immediately saw that the bundle of threads seemed to have found a starting point. They surged into his body along the point of contact between his back and Bran's.
Instantly, Clay's eyes narrowed. Because he was very familiar with the feeling of this magic. He had experienced this feeling in one other place: The Weirwood! Damn, I've caught the flu.
....
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