Ever since returning from Winterfell, Clay seemed to have become incredibly busy. This afternoon, he was scheduled to patrol the harbor district with Sir Marlon.
Unlike King's Landing, a simple patrol in White Harbor didn't risk losing one's life. In the decades Count Wyman had ruled, he'd established a very comprehensive monitoring system here.
There was even a military force similar to the Gold Cloaks of King's Landing, though on a much smaller scale.
However, for safety's sake, Sir Marlon still held Count Wyman's order and mobilized a fifty-man contingent of the White Harbor Guard to protect Clay, which dashed Clay's hopes of experiencing the life of the common folk.
After lunch, Clay had eaten his fill of delicious seafood and roasted meat. He hadn't even rested for two minutes before Sir Marlon pulled him out of the castle.
The New Keep, located on a high hill, was itself situated within the city. Therefore, after Clay and his entourage passed through the inner castle walls, they easily entered the bustling outer city of White Harbor.
Just as they reached Fish King Square, Clay had wanted to stroll around the lively plaza. Unexpectedly, as he was about to urge his horse forward, he saw a guard galloping over, whispering into Sir Marlon's ear.
Sir Marlon listened calmly to the guard's words, then turned to Clay. With just that one look, Clay had a premonition that his plan to tour the harbor today was probably ruined.
Sure enough, his intuition was spot on, because the next second, Sir Marlon's voice rang out:
"Clay, Count Wyman has informed you that the candidates have been selected. They are now assembled in the New Keep training grounds. The Count requests your immediate return to the New Keep."
His old man hadn't told Sir Marlon what this group was for, only to increase the screening efforts and reject anyone disloyal or overly active.
The old knight didn't know why it had to be so strict. After the initial screening, the remaining selection was done by the old man himself, without his involvement. Being completely loyal to the old man, he naturally didn't ask anything further.
"Alright, then the patrol this afternoon?" Clay's meaning was clear.
"Yes, you go. I'll take care of it for you. However, there were supposed to be two this week, so this one is cancelled, and we'll add an extra one on the weekend."
Riding a horse, with half of the twenty-five guards assigned to him following, Clay returned to the New Keep. The city gate guards under the Merman Banner saw their young master returning and eagerly opened the city gates, not asking a single extra question, and eagerly grabbing Clay's horse's reins.
Clay, who had gotten used to this these days, just nodded to the guard, whose name he couldn't remember, and led his guards towards the training grounds.
On the vast, empty training ground, the number of people standing here was half of what it was last time, only twenty.
Seeing Clay appear, these people immediately stood at attention. The twenty-two candidates who had disappeared sent them a clear signal: this young master Clay had much higher standards than most.
Clay circled them, and was quite satisfied. At least there were no excessively tall or short people. Both would affect their ability to move, and in the work they would be doing, the slightest lack of mobility could be fatal.
He waved his hand, signaling the White Harbor Guard who had followed him to go rest. Clay no longer needed them to stand behind him and act as a show of force. The guards, who had been wearing armor and running around with the young master, breathed a sigh of relief. After saluting Clay's back, they left.
When the last guard had disappeared from sight, only Clay and these remaining Manderly branch members were left on the training ground. Clay began with a question: "Do you know what you were chosen for?"
After a long pause, someone cautiously answered, "To become your personal guards, like the Kingsguard protecting His Majesty the King."
Clay immediately looked at the Manderly branch member who had spoken. The sudden gaze made the young man shrink his neck, not daring to continue looking at Clay.
But Clay didn't let him go. He walked directly over and, without giving him time to prepare, asked, "Then what do you think is most important for you as my personal guard?"
Actually, Clay's tone wasn't harsh, but it still scared the young man quite a bit. He was instantly silenced, lowering his head and standing in place.
Seeing no one answered, Clay directly gave his answer, poking his forehead with one hand and saying seriously:
"I don't doubt your loyalty. I trust Sir Marlon's judgment, but what I need from you is your brains. In other words, I want you to think."
Knowing that these people definitely didn't understand, Clay continued: "My personal guards need to be able to assess situations on the battlefield themselves, not just a bunch of dummies who only execute my orders. If that's all I wanted, I could hire a group of people in this city for a few copper stars. What would I need you for?"
He felt more and more like he was lecturing them, but Clay couldn't help it. The commoners of this era had a deep-seated reverence for the noble lords, even if their ancestors had once been core members of the Manderly family like Clay.
If Clay spoke to them in a gentle tone, they wouldn't take it seriously and it wouldn't have any effect.
"Do you understand?!" Clay shouted at them, and at first only one or two voices answered, so softly that they couldn't be heard at all.
"Answer me! Do you understand?!"
After several times, Clay finally heard a uniform roar:
"Understood!"
"Good! I know you lot can't read, but that's alright. From now on, you're all enlisted in the White Harbor Guard. Besides your daily training, I expect each of you to write at least one letter within a month."
"I'll test you personally after a month. Those who pass, stay. Those who fail or cheat, get out. I don't want you here!"
Watching them exchange confused glances, their faces etched with difficulty, Clay knew it was unreasonable to expect a group of honest farmers to learn basic writing in a month. However, what Clay wanted was their ability to learn.
In Clay's plan, those who could endure and achieve something would become the first Witchers. Their role on the battlefield would be as vanguards, capable of acting as a hundred or even more men under the right conditions.
Sword skills and physical fitness were important, of course, but first and foremost, Clay needed minds that could think for themselves. Rigid, inflexible minds would be a liability in the rear, and once they lost their organization, their thoughts would be the death of them.
Better to have too few than too many, Clay thought. Even if he couldn't get enough recruits, he had to guarantee quality. As the future of Westeros's first Witcher group, Clay Manderly's personal guard could not be staffed with mediocre individuals.
I'll fix any typos later. Just wanted to get this out!
....
Fully Completed English PDF of this fan-fic on my Patreon shop if you want to support and own the full fan-fic in one go. Just grab the PDF and binge the entire story from start to finish!
Patreon.com/AniFic