Sir Blackfish heard what the old knight said and immediately turned to Robb, saying, "This is very dangerous. Once we enter the castle, we'll let him do as he pleases—whether it's locking you up or killing you and handing you over to Tywin, it's up to his mood."
Theon Greyjoy also sensed something was amiss but remained silent, knowing he had to follow Robb's lead in such matters.
Robb felt unconcerned in his heart. Most of the time, he fought alone. Not to mention the small city of Luanhe, even the grand capital could be brought to ruin by one man and one sword.
You might not be able to defeat all four thousand guards in Luanhe City, but once you decide to leave, no one can stop you.
Robb nodded to the old knight. "Lead the way," he said.
The old knight's eyes shone with admiration. "As you command, my lord."
As they made their way into the city, Robb struck up a conversation with the old knight. "I haven't asked your name yet. Are you Marquis Frey's son?"
The old knight replied politely, "I am Stevron Frey, your lord. I am but an insignificant knight under my father. I have more than twenty brothers. I am not certain if my father has any other illegitimate children or daughters."
Robb exclaimed, "Lord Frey is truly old and formidable. With Lord Frey's grandsons and great-grandsons, he could assemble an army. By the way, do you have a son?"
Stevron Frey's smile turned wry. "My grandson was born five years ago."
Robb's expression turned regretful. "I heard you are the eldest son of Earl Frey, which is quite rare. How can there be an heir to a lord with a history spanning more than sixty years?"
Stevron Frey's face changed slightly, as if Robb had touched on a painful topic, and he became taciturn.
Before long, Robb met Marquis Walder Frey in the drawing room of Luanhe City.
Ninety years old, he resembled a shriveled pink weasel. His head was bald, covered in age spots. Due to gout, he could not stand without support. A pale, thin sixteen-year-old girl walked in beside his stretcher.
The living room was filled with members of the Frey family, including sons, grandsons, illegitimate children, and some older great-grandchildren, numbering at least fifty.
A pear blossom pressed against a crabapple tree, and a long-lost poem came to Robb's mind.
The old man sat on the lord's throne, eyeing Robb suspiciously. "You are Robb Stark. You appear much younger than I expected. Hehe, you're just a young lad. But you're quite brave. I thought someone as noble as you wouldn't come to visit an old man like me."
"Father," Ser Stevron reproached, "have you forgotten? Lord Robb is here at your invitation."
"Am I asking you? If I'm not dead, you're not Marquis Frey. Do I look like a corpse? I don't need to listen to your lectures."
"Father, is this how you treat guests?" another son chimed in.
"Even my illegitimate son dares to lecture me?" Marquis Walder's expression darkened. "You all deserve to die. I can say whatever I want. I have entertained three kings in my life, not to mention a queen. Do you think I need you to teach me 'hospitality'? When I first planted seeds in your mother, she was still tending sheep."
His sons blushed at the rebuke and fell silent.
Robb replied truthfully, "I didn't expect you to be such a bitter old man, otherwise, I wouldn't have come to see you."
The old weasel was furious. "What are you saying? You little brat who hasn't even grown facial hair yet, do you think this is Winterfell, surrounded by lords who indulge your whims? As long as I desire it, I can have someone slit your throat whenever I please. You…"
Marquis Frey stopped abruptly before finishing his curse, his face turning red with fear.
Robb looked on with interest. "Go on, why have you gone silent?"
As he spoke, Robb raised the dagger in his hand, its cold metal pressed against Marquis Frey's neck, causing a thin red line to appear.
None of Marquis Frey's heirs saw clearly how Robb had appeared next to him. They only perceived a blur, with Robb's figure disappearing and reappearing.
The Hound's pace, a combat technique for swiftly closing in on the enemy.
Marquis Frey's sons nervously rose to their feet, drawing their swords and aiming them at Robb, fearing to provoke him further.
The old man was so frightened that he ignored the wound on his neck and yelled, "You damned fools, lower your swords! Can't you see I'm under his control?!"
Robb observed them with amusement. "Your sons and grandsons seem eager for your demise at my hands. It seems we must speak in private."
The old weasel shouted desperately, "What are you waiting for? Why haven't you left yet? The same goes for you, you wretched woman! Out, out, out!"
His sons, grandsons, daughters, illegitimate children, and grandchildren filed out of the hall. Robb noticed someone hesitating, unsure whether to attack him or Marquis Frey.
Once everyone had departed, Marquis Frey immediately pleaded for mercy. "Honorable Lord Robb, your father is imprisoned, and sooner or later, you will be the Warden of the North. Bargaining with a lowly marquis like me is undoubtedly beneath you. It's a poor deal at best."
Robb laughed, lowering the knife from Marquis Frey's neck. He then extended his hand to help him up before tossing him to the ground. "I rather liked your defiant attitude just now."
Marquis Frey lay battered on the ground, contemplating whether he should seize the opportunity to escape and summon the guards to kill Robb. But glancing at his feeble legs, he silently abandoned the idea.
He couldn't guarantee that he would outlive his opponent.
"You can't simply kill me without cause and attack a nobleman. No one will continue to follow you. Do you wish to become the second Mad King?" Marquis Frey struggled to his feet, "And whatever your intentions, by killing me alone, my sons—though they may wish me dead—will turn against you!"
Marquis Frey was right; such were the rules of the noble game in Westeros.
Robb regarded him, his expression amused. "I never intended to kill you. I merely came to negotiate terms, but your tongue proved too sharp. I simply wanted to teach you a lesson."
Relieved at the assurance of his safety, Marquis Frey glared at Robb with malice.