Author: A little white whale

After emerging from the walls of the Wolf's Lair, Clay, riding on horseback, took a breath of the cold northern air.

"Sir, I don't like them at all. These people always feel weird."

The speaker was a young guard riding a horse beside him. Clay didn't mind his talk. He knew in his heart that he would probably come to this place many times in the future.

Most people in the North believe in the old gods, but the Manderly family who migrated from the Reach have maintained their belief in the Seven Gods, but only they themselves know whether this belief is pious or not.

The Mandalay family does not interfere with the beliefs of its people, so in this city, the beliefs of the old and new gods coexist.

There is a very ancient sacred forest outside the wolf's den, but the only weirwood tree in it has long since lost most of its leaves and looks withered and decayed.

This is probably a heart tree that is older than Wolf's Den, and has witnessed the ups and downs, rise and fall of countless families in Wolf's Den.

Clay had been to that tree and touched its trunk, but to his disappointment, the magic power contained in it was very little, and it did not increase his magic pool at all.

As a descendant of the Mandalay family, especially an heir, it is inappropriate to repeatedly go to the godswood that represents the faith of the old gods.

Originally, Clay had no reason to go in again, but when he saw Sir Bartimus limping into the woods on crutches, he changed his mind.

Asking the guards to wait where they were, Clay followed and walked in.

The forest is not big, but Clay comes in very rarely, and there is always no one here. In the deep woods, Clay can only rely on his demon hunter senses to trace the footprints on the ground.

After twists and turns, Clay finally found the half-withered ancient heart tree in the northeast corner of the godswood, and Sir Bartimus standing quietly under the tree.

Seeing Clay coming from a distance, Sir Bartimus twitched his lips and smiled.

"Sir, do you believe in the Old Gods?"

Clay crossed the shallow puddle surrounding the godswood, and came to him under the gaze of the old knight.

"Yes, I have stood under the heart tree and prayed to them for decades. I am used to it."

The tone was still light, neither sad nor happy, just stating a simple fact.

Clay noticed that there was a black bottle stuck on the ground at the feet of the old knight, and he didn't know what it contained.

Seemingly noticing Clay's eyes, the old knight leaned against the trunk of the Heart Tree and slowly slid down. He threw away his crutch, flicked his finger on the mouth of the bottle, and said calmly:

"When I exchanged a leg for your grandfather's life on the battlefield, he gave it to me, along with this castle. He said that when I rested my position, I would drink this bottle of wine with him.

"

Clay was stunned. He didn't know that this bottle of wine that didn't sell well actually had such a story.

"and you……"

The old knight waved his hand, pulled out a sour grass leaf that was swaying in the wind from the ground, put it in his mouth and chewed it slowly, taking the time to answer Clay's question:

"I did think about it once, drinking this drink with Grandpa You and my comrades back then, but unfortunately, until now, your grandpa and I are the only ones alive back then. If I drink with him, I have to

It’s not worth thinking about them.”

The old knight's tone was as calm as a lake, but Clay could taste a strong sense of depression in it.

Grandpa is already over sixty years old, and the Sir Bartimus in front of him is pretty much the same. As nobles, they can get good rest and nutritional intake, while those ordinary people, with this level of medical care, come off the battlefield.

, it is difficult to live to be sixty years old.

"Come on, have a taste, and Gods bless it, I hope it doesn't turn into a bottle of vinegar."

The old knight took out the dagger from his breast pocket and inserted it into the cork of the bottle.

With a "pop" sound, the mildewed cork was pulled out, and a faint aroma of wine was caught by Clay's sensitive sense of smell. Clay knew that this bottle of old wine was lucky to have maintained its original appearance.

"It's just ordinary ale. What is the young master's drinking habit?"

The old jazz handed the bottle to Clay, who did not refuse and took the bottle that was engraved with traces of time.

Following the old man, Clay was naturally infected by him and drank a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just the most ordinary ale, even in terms of quality, it was a bit inferior.

But it doesn't matter, he didn't come here to taste wine today.

The two drank one mouthful after another. After a while, Sir Bartimus, who was drunk with alcohol, began to talk more.

With his old palms stroking the equally old tree trunk, Sir Bartimus said to Clay:

"Boy, I don't object to you making the entire White Sea Guard live a better life, but please remember never to let yourself be too lenient."

The old knight drained the small amount of wine in one breath, took a long breath, and continued what he had just said:

"I know what you did in Winterfell. It's good. Only those who can see blood can control this White Sea Guard. But, then again, although they are members of the Mandalay family, at any time,

Never give your trust to any of them."

"You are a smart man and know what I am talking about. If we can infiltrate other nobles, can you guarantee that those guys will not send people with golden dragons to run into White Harbor to tempt and infiltrate us?"

"Those five people, I can guarantee their loyalty for the time being, but the same cannot be said for the people below. Let me teach you a way. If you believe half of the information summarized below, there will basically be nothing wrong with it.

Big mistake."

Digesting these valuable experiences and information, Clay knew that most of what the old knight in front of him said was right. This game of power was full of betrayal and deceit.

Therefore, the best strategy is to believe everyone and no one.

Their topic changed a lot. The old knight boasted to him about his and his father's performance on the battlefield during the Usurper's War, and how powerful his northern army was.

In the end, the old knight swayed away. Although his steps were staggering, his back was still straight. His old man only asked him to step down as the commander of the White Sea Guards, but a large piece of land nearby still belonged to him.

He picked up the water from the puddle and washed his face. The cold feeling dispelled the little drunkenness. Clay stood up holding on to the old tree trunk and patted the dust off his body with both hands.

Just when he was about to leave, a harsh crow stopped him in his tracks.

He raised his head and saw a huge jet-black crow standing on his finger, staring straight at him with a pair of dark yellow eyes, the crow's eyes shining with the light of wisdom.

No need to think about it, Clay knew who it was. The demon hunter's senses were fully activated. Sure enough, this huge crow was reverberating with a faint magic power. He recognized this kind of magic power.

The three-eyed crow is here!
Chapter completed!