After hearing all forty-two men give their names, Clay honestly remembered only a few. But that was not the point in itself. Reinforcing their relationship as subordinates was.
I speak, you listen, and then you act. But first, I have to make you feel that your efforts will lead somewhere.
By listening to their names rather than their family backgrounds, Clay conveyed a message: I don't care what you did before. You're all the same now, and I've remembered you. Work hard.
Standing nearby, Ser Marlon gave Clay a somewhat surprised look. He had thought Clay would not know what to say in front of so many people, but it seemed those two years traveling through Essos had indeed toughened him up.
Walking back from the last man to give his name, Clay returned to Ser Marlon's side and asked quietly:
"Ser, has anyone caught your eye? Any recommendations?"
Clay knew Ser Marlon had selected these men one by one, and he owed him thanks for that. But he did not know whether there was anyone among them Ser Marlon wanted him to choose, hence the question.
"No. Who you choose, and how many, is entirely up to you." Ser Marlon's words were hard as stone.
Clay shrugged slightly. Since he had said so, Clay had no particular concern about it.
He had originally decided to show his grandfather a couple of his witcher abilities today, but now someone had actually prepared the candidates for him ahead of time.
In that case, there was no hurry to assess their abilities and character first.
"Ser Marlon, could you fetch my grandfather? Sorry for the trouble."
"Just test them. The Earl will inspect them himself later."
Ser Marlon thought Clay was unsure of himself and wanted Earl Wyman to come and check his choices.
Clay waved a hand and said with a smile:
"No, it doesn't have much to do with them."
Without saying anything more, Ser Marlon nodded. He did not argue with Clay, but turned and left.
Clay was left alone on the field, with forty-two pairs of eyes fixed on him. For some reason, he remembered his own military training. He was probably little different now from his instructor back then.
These men were tall and short, sturdy and thin. While waiting for Earl Wyman, Clay had nothing else to do, so he might as well test his swordsmanship on them.
"Which of you is best with a sword?"
At his question, the Manderlys standing in formation exchanged glances, but not one moved.
This was somewhat unexpected. Clay had thought someone would step forward, but instead, everyone within his field of vision avoided his gaze.
An awkward silence fell, but Clay did not care. He understood their mindset very well. In truth, every one of them was itching for a chance to prove himself.
"Let me make this clear beforehand: I can't select all of you."
"What's more, I'm choosing a personal guard capable of charging enemy formations on horseback and wielding swords to kill. If you don't even have the courage to draw a sword, you shouldn't be here. Leave New Castle while you still can."
Their expressions changed somewhat at those words. When they first came here, they had only been told there would be a selection, but they knew nothing of its specifics.
Ser Marlon Manderly had told them nothing, but that was not really his fault, because he did not know Clay's criteria either.
Now, however, Clay's two remarks had given them a hint. It was like defining the scope of an examination, and the men suddenly found their motivation.
They did not keep Clay waiting long. Just as he finished counting the scales painted on the tail of the merman banner planted beside him, a voice rang out.
"My lord, I can use a sword!"
When Earl Wyman Manderly heard Ser Marlon's report, he turned the cup of Dorne Summer Red in his hand. He did not know what Clay wanted with him.
He had originally still harbored some reservations about Clay, but after the trip to Winterfell, he had resolved to groom him. In his own words, even if Clay never touched a drop, he would use all the fine wine in White Harbor to turn him into a drunkard.
With nothing else to do anyway, Earl Wyman settled into a cushioned chair, and several servants carried him toward the training yard.
When he arrived at the training yard, this was the scene that greeted him:
Clad only in half armor, Clay had his sword locked against that of a fully armored warrior, the two of them straining against each other through their crossed blades.
His grandson's opponent looked taller and more powerfully built than Clay. Encased in armor, his thick arms resembled two stone pillars, and the Earl could not help worrying about his grandson.
But Earl Wyman, who had once fought on the battlefield himself, soon realized that their strength was actually evenly matched. Clay even appeared more at ease.
The next instant, Clay suddenly forced his opponent's sword aside, using the momentum to execute a "winding" move. Before anyone could react, he had brought his sword point to the man's throat.
Clean and efficient!
That was Earl Wyman's immediate impression. Only a few breaths had passed between their weapons meeting and Clay's victory. Whether holding his sword steady in the bind or sweeping the other blade aside and attacking with astonishing speed, he had not wasted a single movement.
Earl Wyman noticed several youths from the Manderly cadet branches standing dejectedly at the edge of the field. With the shrewdness of age, he could tell at a glance that they must have been the earlier losers.
Noticing Earl Wyman, these cadet family members hurriedly bowed and called out loudly:
"My lord Earl!"
Alerted by their voices, Clay wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned around, nodding to his grandfather with a smile as he said:
"Grandfather, you're here."
This was no formal occasion. In his own home, he had no need to observe so many courtesies toward his grandfather. The cadet family members had no such freedom.
Seeing the head of the family arrive, the cadet family members looked at Clay's back with even more fervent gazes. Just now, with one sword and no one at his side, Clay had defeated ten of them in a short time without letting a single one of their blades touch him.
Though some of them were indeed poor swordsmen, they had all practiced with swords to some extent and knew very well that among those ten were men who truly knew how to wield one.
Yet their results had been no different from those who did not. Young Master Clay had defeated every one of them within three moves, either disarming them or striking a vital spot outright, as he had done to the last man.
Clay waved them away, signaling for them to leave. Those who understood quickly dragged away those still standing there foolishly, and soon they were all gone. Earl Wyman paid this no mind. He pulled over a wooden stump and sat down, stroked his chin full of grizzled whiskers, and asked with a smile:
"What is it, Clay? What did you call me here for?"
Though Clay's face was full of smiles from his recent victories, he was actually filled with nervousness at that moment, because he was about to reveal his greatest trump card to his grandfather, even if only a superficial part of it.
Before that, however, he intended to discuss something else first.
I'll do my best with the swordsmanship, but if it doesn't quite match your impressions, we may have looked at different reference material. After all, I've never actually practiced with a sword myself (laughs). As for that famous "New Year's bow" sword technique, I'll definitely write it in, but... um, not just yet. Also, the worst of the influenza A has passed, but I'm still terribly weak. It feels just like recovering from COVID, with my head all foggy. Please keep supporting me. I'll do my best to maintain the quality of the chapters, hehehe.