"What is this..." Even Earl Wyman, who had experienced the brutality of the battlefield, remained silent for a long time before he managed to ask.
Clay understood his shock. After all, to the vast majority of ordinary people in this world, magic was something that existed only in legends. In the hundred-odd years since the dragons had died out, magic had vanished entirely.
The once-glorious priests of the Red God had been reduced to clowns performing fire-breathing tricks, while the White Walkers, servants of the Great Other, were cut off by the Wall of Ice, leaving everyone oblivious to their existence.
In such times, someone with magical abilities was either a hero out of an epic or a wizard to be feared and loathed.
"Magic. A Sign that can create flames."
Clay saw his old man staring fixedly at him with those two bull-like eyes. He knew he had to give the old man a reasonable explanation.
But what could he say? He could hardly start explaining what the Witcher world was, what witchers were, and so on. That would probably get him taken for a madman.
So, much as he disliked it, he had to bluff. He had to make something up.
"While traveling in Essos, I obtained a damaged old book of parchment. It was written in High Valyrian, and I couldn't understand it."
"At first, I thought it might contain a record of some treasure or something, so I deliberately divided each page into several pieces and gave them separately to slaves who knew Valyrian that I had gathered. But after compiling their translations, I discovered that it was actually a tome the ancient dragonlords of Valyria had used to create powerful warriors."
"It recorded a method for mutating ordinary people into powerful warriors, and this is only part of what those warriors can do."
Clay raised the left hand he had just used to cast the Sign and waved it gently.
Earl Wyman's mind raced. Reluctant though he was, he had to find any holes in Clay's account. He had a responsibility to House Manderly. He was the head of House Manderly first, and Clay's grandfather second.
After carefully turning Clay's description over in his mind many times, Earl Wyman found no holes. During his own travels across the Narrow Sea to several great trading city-states, he had indeed heard that the dragonlords of ancient Valyria had once used magic on a vast scale.
Slaves who knew Valyrian made sense as well. Although he had never heard of any such powerful warriors, Valyria's once-dazzling, godlike civilization could indeed have produced unexpected things.
Over the past few decades, he had occasionally heard of objects imbued with magic emerging from the ruins in the Smoking Sea. He simply had never imagined that his own grandson would obtain one, then have the audacity to use it on himself first.
Looking at the grandson before him, who bore some resemblance to himself, Earl Wyman hesitated. As a believer in the Seven, he found it hard to accept his heir becoming entangled with magic that ran counter to their teachings. From the family's perspective, however, it was an entirely different matter.
Breathing heavily, Earl Wyman asked his grandson:
"Where is that tome now?"
As he asked the question, Earl Wyman knew Clay had persuaded him. In truth, it was not Clay-he had persuaded himself.
"I already destroyed the original. I memorized all its contents."
Clay pointed to his forehead, then added:
"This is why I asked you to come here today. I want to secretly train a force like this within the family."
The dagger was revealed at the end of the map. After laying so much groundwork, Clay finally stated his purpose.
"Warriors like me can do far more in battle than ordinary people."
"Defense!" Clay cast the Quen Sign, simultaneously drawing the longsword at his waist and tossing it into the air.
Under Earl Wyman's shocked gaze, the falling longsword struck the top of Clay's head. But with a piercing clang, it bounced away and fell to the ground.
"Slow!" They were very close. Clay took two steps forward and cast a Yrden Sign beneath the old man's feet. Earl Wyman immediately felt as though his feet had been filled with lead, making every step a struggle.
"Impact!" Clay sent an Aard Sign toward the wooden rack full of weapons. A dull thud was followed by the sounds of the rack shattering and weapons flying through the air and clattering to the ground.
"Confusion!" As the old man's eyes grew ever brighter, Clay cast the Axii Sign on a nearby horse that had been frightened by the Signs. An inverted triangular rune flashed and vanished. The horse, which had just reared up, immediately grew docile. It barely reacted even when Clay drew a dagger and cut its skin.
Clay stopped. This sequence of Signs had exhausted the magic stored in his Signs, and he needed to rest for a while. Yet Earl Wyman, standing beside him, looked at him as though he were a priceless treasure.
As a veteran of the battlefield, he knew all too well what it would mean if warriors like these could be mass-produced.
He could imagine that creating such warriors would be enormously expensive. But that did not matter. With White Harbor behind it, House Manderly had gold dragons to spare.
A squad like this might not accomplish much amid a sea of soldiers, but its members' terrifying individual capabilities would be a nightmare on the battlefield.
While two armies confronted and fought each other at the front, there would be far too much this squad could do.
They could kill sentries in small-scale clashes and burn grain stores, directly forcing the main force at the front to retreat. Given the level of military organization in this world, the slightest wavering of morale could bring it all crashing down.
They could also carry out assassinations. Dishonorable though it was, it was indeed a necessary measure in extraordinary times. With the Axii Sign's ability, they could quietly approach a target, strike unerringly, then flee a thousand miles away.
And the very existence of such a squad would force the opposing commander to adjust his deployments, such as assigning more troops to guard supply routes and water sources, posting more guards to protect important figures, and so on.
This would greatly reduce the number of soldiers the enemy could send to the main battlefield without any direct confrontation.
These ideas had taken shape in the Earl of White Harbor's mind after Clay finished his demonstration. More importantly, White Harbor held a monopoly on the creation of such warriors.
This was a treasure of incalculable value!
That was Earl Wyman's judgment. He had to assess these warriors' abilities thoroughly to determine exactly how many gold dragons to invest. But one thing was certain: in the days to come, White Harbor would form the first such squad in all of Westeros.
"You're certain you haven't revealed this ability to anyone, are you?"
Hearing those words, Clay knew he had won. The old man was definitely tempted.
He shook his head firmly:
"No. I'm certain."
"Good..." Letting out a long breath, the old man looked at this grandson who always managed to surprise him, feeling even more satisfied.
House Manderly had never been known for its military prowess. But now, Earl Wyman wanted to change that impression.
With his family's support secured, the protagonist's plan had finally gotten underway.