Cley had little interest in the upcoming banquet about to commence, and the only thing that intrigued him was probably the delectable food that would be served. Although Winterfell's material conditions were somewhat inferior to those of White Harbor, the kitchen's quality was surprisingly excellent. Of course, it might be related to Cley's daily indulgence in fish back in White Harbor.
Originally seated near the main table, Cley, eager to make an early exit, had barely taken a few bites before he loaded up his plate and left for the long table near the main gate, where guards had gathered.
"Cley, why are you here?" Jon Snow, usually a man of few words, spoke amidst the crowd. The lad, currently exuding the scent of alcohol, looked at Cley with somewhat blurry eyes.
"No choice. I can't understand the jokes of the lordlings. Sitting there makes me feel like a fool," Cley shrugged, gesturing toward the seat he had just vacated.
"Indeed, you can leave. Look at Robb, sitting there looking like he's about to crush the fork," Jon pointed to Robb, who seemed unusually tense across from the queen at the main table, downing a large gulp of wine with a twisted mouth. Duke Eddard rarely allowed his children to drink, but today, no one seemed to be reining him in. Cley picked up a well-roasted, fragrant chicken wing from the table and tossed it to the white direwolf, White Spirit, curled under the table. This ice-white wolf, named White Spirit, had become acquainted with Cley over the past few days.
The interaction flowed smoothly, with the wolf catching the wing mid-air and settling at Cley's feet to devour it. Cley quite liked this white wolf, and White Spirit showed no resistance to Cley's petting. Amid Jon's envious gaze, Cley grew more enthusiastic, and White Spirit purred contentedly on the floor.
"Is this your wolf, young man?" someone behind Cley asked. Cley looked up, hearing Jon's response, "Uncle Benjen!"
Knowing who had arrived, Cley stood up and turned to face the tall Night's Watch ranger behind him. "No, this is Jon's wolf. Take a seat; I'll go outside for a walk. It's not dignified to vomit after drinking too much."
Seizing the chance, Cley left his seat. The chief outrider, emanating an air of snow and storm, didn't recognize Cley at all, treating him as a common guard. He nodded faintly and sat down to chat with Jon.
Slipping out of the hall, feigning a drunken state, Cley quickly returned to his room. He splashed a small basin of cold water from the jug on his face to sober up. Picking up a small bundle of clothing, Cley opened the door and walked nonchalantly in the direction of the Godswood.
As expected, Cley's guess was correct. The Stark family placed great importance on the king's security. Duke Eddard had pulled most of the guards to the vicinity of the Winterfell Great Hall. Along the way, where there used to be sentries, now there was no one.
Reaching the entrance of the Godswood, even from a distance, Cley finally spotted two Stark guards clad in armor. However, only these two remained, and they were entirely absorbed in devouring their rolled-up pancakes, their attention completely focused.
A perfect opportunity! Cley immediately circumvented the entrance. With the Godswood wall on the Winterfell side being relatively low, and the night being dark and windy, it was the perfect time for some... No, it was the perfect time for scaling the wall. Very smoothly, under the weakest defense conditions of the Godswood, Cley scaled the wall and entered. As his feet touched the soft ground of the Godswood, a faint odor of decay instantly infiltrated his nostrils.
It was the smell produced by layers of fallen leaves piled together. Although it was still midsummer, massive leaf fall was not a good sign. Early...
Though it was still summer, the Stark family saying went: "Winter is coming..." The surroundings turned pitch-black, with thick, robust black tree trunks occupying most of the sight. High above, slender branches were densely piled, obscuring most of the scarce moonlight. Cley cautiously moved forward, aware that not paying attention could lead to tripping over the protruding tree roots on the ground.
It was too dark here and too quiet. Cley couldn't shake off the feeling that in this pitch-black and viscous darkness, eyes were staring at him—watching him continuously...
Cley somewhat understood why the people who once lived here would develop such an obscure and cryptic belief in the Old Gods. In this environment, people always sought hope in anything, and the clearly defined deities could not satisfy their...
A short distance, Cley walked for almost half an hour, traversing what seemed like endless leaves. Finally, Cley saw the ancient fish weir standing quietly in the dark, cold pool water.
It's strange. This tree, possibly the largest in the North, has no other vegetation around it. Klay speculates that it might be because the Stark family has cleared the surrounding trees. After all, it's a place the lord often visits, and it should be spacious.
Moonlight shines down, making the tall Yulian wood trunk gleam silver. The once deep red leaves are forced to bow and turn black in the night.
Taking a deep breath, Klay takes a step forward, wondering if his magic pool can be replenished. It's a gamble!
Ignoring the eerie face on the trunk that looks creepy in the moonlight, Klay finally reaches the heart tree. In a trance, he feels like the face is staring at him, but at this moment, he can't care less.
He takes off the finely crafted leather gloves and places his hands on the trunk.
The next second...
A huge and intricate force rushes into Klay's unprepared body. The force is too violent, like a raging bull, almost making Klay lose consciousness.
Thoughts flicker, and an illusory dark blue system unfolds before his eyes. Klay clenches his teeth, bloodshot eyes staring fixedly at the number behind the magic pool.
"75..." The number doesn't move.
But the next moment, it changes to 76, then 77, and keeps getting faster!
In the daze of Klay's mind, the number has already surpassed 100 and is increasing at an even faster rate.
His ears are filled with a resonant sound, and Klay can't hear the faint noises of the giant heart tree's thousands of leaves moving in the wind. After a few breaths, Klay's magic pool has accumulated over 150 points of magic. This is already twice the magic storage he had when he first acquired the system, enough to push the success rate of grass trials to the limit and exempt two negative effects. Klay wants to stop, but he finds that he can't. His hands seem to be firmly pressed against the trunk, almost merging with the heart tree.
Magic continues to pour in, and the greedy magic pool seems limitless. However, Klay's body is about to give in. A strange sense of blockage fills his entire body. Klay breathes heavily, but the oxygen entering his lungs crawls like a turtle. He's like a person drowning, his face slowly turning pale.
"Open."
A beautiful language not from this world rushes out of Klay's mouth. With a moment of clarity, Klay uses all his strength to smash his head against the trunk.
Amidst the rustling of tree leaves, there's first a heavy muffled sound, followed by the sound of a body falling to the ground.
Klay, lying on the ground, pants heavily, looking at the conspicuous number behind the magic pool, revealing a row of white teeth.
Meanwhile, in a deep cave beyond the Wall, a pair of blood-red eyes suddenly opens in the darkness, emitting a silent roar of anger. Just now, in the largest eye of the North, he was actually injured by someone! Invisible sound waves spread, and countless crows gathered in the cave take flight into the dark night sky, heading south with one target – Winterfell!