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Hearing the na, a big question mark popped up in Clay's mind.
Petyr Baelish!
Littlefinger?
It only took him a second to figure out who that na referred to.
Why would the famous scher from Ga of Thrones send soone to kill him?
Honestly, Clay couldn't quite describe the odd emotions he was feeling. To say he was flattered would be inaccurate, but it was sowhat close to that.
Wait a minute—sothing didn't add up. When Robert traveled north to Winterfell, he hadn't brought Littlefinger along.
The assassin wouldn't target him just because he was the heir to White Harbor; it had to be connected to the conflict he'd had with the Lannisters.
But how did Littlefinger know about that? And how could he send an assassin to infiltrate the prison from so far away?
Moreover, what kind of communication thod did he use?
It had only been two days since the incident occurred. That wasn't enough ti for a ssage to make a round trip!
From what Clay knew, ravens trained in the south were generally superior to those in the north. Even the well-fed and well-trained ravens of White Harbor would take a full day to fly from Winterfell to White Harbor.
By that estimation, if the ssage had truly been sent by raven, this one would have to be twice as fast as the ravens from White Harbor.
For so reason, the image of a raven with bulging muscles, like a bodybuilder, suddenly popped into Clay's mind. To be honest, it was quite disturbing...
Shaking off the thought, Clay decided not to waste ti speculating and instead asked directly.
"How did Petyr communicate with you?"
"Raven," the assassin answered coldly, his voice stiff and emotionless.
So it really was a raven? Seriously? This revelation changed Clay's perception of these creatures entirely. If used properly in warfare, such swift communication could create a decisive advantage by exploiting information asymtry.
But right now, he didn't want to get bogged down in those irrelevant details. What he really wanted to know was why Littlefinger wanted him dead.
The powerful Axii Sign worked wonders against ordinary people, but Clay quickly realized that the assassin was just a hired killer following orders. As for the reasons behind his mission, the man had no clue.
After casting Axii on him again, Clay ordered the assassin to lie face-down on the ground. He didn't want the man's ugly face ruining his mood.
"Can't get anything out of him. What should I do next?" Clay murmured to himself in the silence of the prison cell.
Clay couldn't kill the assassin—not here, not now. Even though it would be easy for him, he could even order the assassin to slit his own throat, either his death or the assassin's would still serve Littlefinger's purpose.
If Clay died, the Queen would have to face the wrath of Lord Stark and an infuriated King Robert, whose pride would also be deeply wounded. While the Queen wouldn't be deposed because of Clay's death, it would utterly ruin her relationship with the northern lords.
The Queen knew she hadn't sent the assassin and might even suspect the Starks of staging the incident themselves.
On the other hand, if the assassin died, his very existence would still achieve the sa outco—creating a rift between House Stark and House Lannister. The only difference would be that Clay survived.
In any case, Littlefinger's goal of sowing discord had already been accomplished.
How cunning!
Thinking this through, Clay asked, "Was that foolish Lannister also part of your plan?"
"...Our job was rely to guide him to the right place," the assassin replied, his voice muffled from lying on the floor, but still comprehensible.
There wasn't much else to ask. The assassin remained lying on the cold stone floor, his face pressed against it.
Now Clay had to figure out how to clean up this ss. He couldn't just make the man disappear into thin air—so what should he do?
The candlelight flickered silently, and drops of lted wax fell one by one. Ti flowed by as Clay instinctively cast another Axii Sign. Just as he finished the spell, his hand froze mid-air.
Wait a minute. He couldn't kill the assassin, but he could let him leave!
The idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seed. Once he had refined the plan in his mind, he commanded the assassin, now covered in dust, to stand. In a stern, clear voice, he instructed:
"Rember, you've already killed Clay Manderly. Leave imdiately, report this to your master Petyr, and do not investigate anything related to further."
"Yes, I understand," the assassin responded chanically.
The Witcher Axii Sign's effects were temporary. While it allowed for cognitive manipulation, it wasn't permanent. Clay only needed the man to deliver the ssage to Littlefinger.
Once the assassin reported back, he wouldn't suspect anything unless he actually saw Clay alive. People don't usually question their own assumptions.
Even if, by so chance, the assassin discovered Clay was still alive, what could he do?
Send another ssage to Littlefinger, saying, "Sorry, master, the person I killed sohow ca back to life. Let kill him again for you"?
Unless the assassin was a fool, he wouldn't dare do that. Such actions would make him look like a traitor or an incompetent tool in Littlefinger's eyes.
And tools that are either unreliable or disloyal are discarded without hesitation. Littlefinger certainly understood the importance of cutting losses.
So, if the assassin wanted to live a little longer—maybe flee across the Narrow Sea—he had no choice but to accept Clay's "Death." Even if he saw Clay, he'd have to act as though he hadn't.
There were three assassins in the King's entourage, but only this one had been assigned the task of killing Clay. That was why Clay dared to take this approach.
In a daze, the assassin staggered out of the cell, moving like a puppet. Before leaving, he even closed the door for Clay and returned the key to the unconscious jailer's belt. His service was remarkably considerate.
Reviewing the entire incident, Clay realized he had unknowingly beco a pawn in Littlefinger's sche to pit House Stark against House Lannister. The thought left him deeply displeased and irritated.
At the sa ti, he recognized his own shortcomings. He had only begun to sense that sothing was amiss when the situation had already spiraled out of control. One small sche had been enough to land him in a prison cell.
Even from thousands of miles away, Clay could almost feel the chill behind Littlefinger's sly smile.
But the deed was done. Though Clay was a pawn, he now stood at the center of the ga—albeit in a precarious position.
The situation being what it was, Clay knew he couldn't afford to stay in the prison any longer. It was too isolated, leaving him blind to everything happening outside.
He wondered whether Bran had seen the Queen's affair with her brother yet. Clay was curious.
If the Stark family's second son beca a cripple, it wouldn't be a big deal while Robb was still alive. But if sothing happened to Robb, the North's ruler would be a young, disabled boy.
The Ironborn dared to march hundreds of miles and seize Winterfell largely because of this. In this world, a strong, healthy male heir was crucial.
Through blood and fire, countless lords and nobles of Westeros had learned one simple truth: Only a Lord who could wield a sword could keep his enemies at bay.
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[Chapter End's]
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