A huge question mark formed in Clay's mind when he heard the name.
Petyr Baelish!
Littlefinger?
It only took a second for Clay to realize who the name referred to.
This famous schemer from Game of Thrones, why would he send someone to kill him?
To be honest, Clay had a strange emotion in his heart, one that he didn't quite know how to describe. Saying he was flattered was definitely wrong, but it was close.
Wait, that's not right. Robert didn't bring Littlefinger with him when he went north to Winterfell.
The assassin wouldn't kill him just because he was the heir to White Harbor. It must be because of his conflict with the Lannisters.
But how did Littlefinger know about this? Littlefinger sent an assassin to sneak into the prison to kill him from so far away?
And what kind of message delivery is this?
Two days have passed since the events, how is this so fast? That's a round trip!
As far as Clay knew, the training of ravens in the South had always been superior to the North. The well-fed, plump ravens from Winterfell took a whole day to flap their way to White Harbor.
Based on the distance, if it really was a raven, and considering the travel time, this raven was at least twice as fast as the ones in White Harbor.
For some reason, Clay's mind conjured up an image of a bodybuilder raven, all muscles. Frankly, it was an eyesore…
Shaking off the thought, Clay decided not to speculate further. It was better to ask directly.
"How does Petyr contact you?"
"Raven." The assassin uttered the word with no warmth, stiff and wooden.
So it really was a raven? Honestly, this refreshed Clay's understanding of the creature. If used properly in war, the information gap could really take off.
But he didn't want to dwell on these details, which were temporarily meaningless. What he wanted to know was, why did Littlefinger want to kill him?
The Axii Sign's powerful magic was indeed overwhelmingly effective against ordinary people, but Clay quickly realized that the assassin before him was merely a killer carrying out orders. As for why he was supposed to kill Clay, the assassin didn't know.
Clay hit him with another Axii. He then ordered the assassin to lie face down on the ground, not wanting the man's ugly face to ruin his mood.
"Can't get anything out of him, what do I do now?" Clay muttered to himself in the silent cell.
Clay couldn't kill him here. Though it would be easy for Clay to do so, and he could even command the assassin to slit his own throat, either Clay's death or the assassin's death would achieve Littlefinger's goal.
If Clay died, the Queen would have to face the furious Duke Stark and the King, who couldn't possibly ignore the matter. The Queen wouldn't be deposed because of Clay's death, but she would completely tear up the last shred of decency with the Northern nobles.
The Queen knew very well that she hadn't sent the assassin, and she might even suspect the Stark family of orchestrating the whole thing.
If the assassin died, his mere existence could achieve the above effects, except that Clay would still be alive. So, from the looks of it, regardless of the outcome, the goal of driving a wedge between the Stark and Lannister families had already been achieved.
Truly insidious!
Thinking this, Clay asked:
"Was that stupid Lannister also your arrangement?"
"…Our job was just to lead him there." Clay understood, even though the voice was muffled from being face-down.
There was nothing more to ask for the moment. The assassin was still sprawled on the ground, intimately acquainted with the cold prison floor.
Clay was now pondering how to clean up this mess. He couldn't exactly resurrect the guy. What was he supposed to do?
The candlelight burned silently, crystal-clear wax dripping down. Time flowed slowly. Clay habitually cast an Axii Sign. Just as he finished, his hand froze in mid-air.
Right, I can't kill him, but I can make him leave on his own!
The thought suddenly clicked. The more Clay thought about it, the more reliable it seemed. Once he had a complete plan, he ordered the dust-covered assassin to stand up, his voice serious and clear.
"Remember, you have killed Clay Manderly. You leave now, immediately report this to your master Petyr, and cease any further investigation into information related to Clay."
"Yes, I remember." The assassin replied mechanically.
The duration of the Axii Sign was limited. Although it was a cognitive alteration, it was only temporary. Clay only needed him to send the message to Littlefinger.
Consider this: Once he sent the message to Littlefinger, as long as he didn't actually see Clay, he wouldn't suspect anything. People don't actively deny what they believe.
Even if the assassin discovered Clay wasn't dead, what could he do?
Send another letter to Littlefinger, saying, "Sorry, Master, the guy I killed earlier is still alive. Just you wait, I'll kill him again."
Unless this assassin was an idiot, he wouldn't do that. Such a move would be seen as outright betrayal by Littlefinger, or a sign that the sender wasn't a sane person.
Tools that lose their value or betray their purpose should be discarded or destroyed immediately. Littlefinger surely understood the importance of cutting losses.
So, as long as the assassin wanted to live a bit longer, perhaps even make it across the Narrow Sea, he had to assume Clay was dead. He'd have to pretend he didn't see anything...
There were three of them in the king's retinue, but only he had received the assassination order. This was why Clay dared to act as he did.
The assassin, looking like he'd been stunned, staggered away, utterly dejected. Before leaving, he even closed the door for Clay and returned the key to the unconscious jailer's belt. His service was quite thorough.
Reviewing the situation, Clay realized he'd become a pawn in Littlefinger's scheme to stir up conflict between the Stark and Lannister families, which annoyed him immensely.
He also realized his own skills were still lacking. He only sensed something was amiss when it was almost too late. The situation had spiraled out of control, and he'd been thrown into a cell by a simple trick.
Even thousands of miles away, Clay could feel the coldness behind Littlefinger's sly smile.
Now that things had come to this, although Clay was a pawn, the pawn was standing right in the center of the game, even though it was a very unfavorable position.
Having entered the game so haphazardly, Clay didn't intend to stay in prison anymore. The information here was blocked, and everything was too passive.
Clay wondered if Bran had seen the Queen and her brother's antics. He was curious.
The second son of the direwolf family being crippled wasn't a big deal when Robb was still around, but when Robb met with an accident, the master of the North was this young cripple.
The Ironborn dared to openly march their troops hundreds of miles into Winterfell, which had a lot to do with this. In this world, a healthy and strong male heir was very important.
Countless blood and fire had taught the many lords and nobles of Westeros that only a master who could wield a sword could keep evil neighbors at bay.
(End of chapter)