CHAPTER 109
With a heavy heart, Garon bid farewell to Bran.
As he walked toward Winterfell's training yard, he continued pondering everything that had happened the previous night.
"What Bran said is probably true, but what exactly do the old gods want?"
"And that experience last night…"
A trace of unease surfaced whenever he thought about the strange changes within his soul.
Garon did not trust the old gods.
To be more precise, he did not trust any god.
He only trusted himself.
Even if the blessing of the old gods truly granted protection from the influence and manipulation of other divine beings.
"The protection of the old gods..."
Garon sighed softly.
"Since I can't avoid it, I'll accept it for now."
"Besides, with this blessing, Melisandre's magic shouldn't be able to affect me so easily."
To claim the Iron Throne, Stannis Baratheon was an enemy he would inevitably have to confront.
Yet Stannis was accompanied by Melisandre.
In Garon's eyes, the Red Priestess, with her strange powers and devotion to R'hllor, was far more troublesome than an army of ten thousand men.
By this time, Garon had emerged from the guest chambers and arrived at the training yard.
"My Lord, the troops are assembled and ready to depart. Mihawk has already set out for the White Knife Crossing."
Ron, who had been organizing the soldiers, immediately jogged over to report.
However, the moment he approached, he noticed something different.
Garon seemed even more imposing than yesterday.
Particularly when those crimson eyes settled upon him.
For a brief instant, Ron felt an inexplicable sense of awe.
"Oh?"
"Perhaps I simply slept well."
Garon paid little attention to it and casually brushed the matter aside before walking past Ron and inspecting the assembled forces.
As his gaze swept across the yard, he noticed Clay Cerwyn standing on the right side alongside more than two hundred surviving men from House Cerwyn.
"Clay, why are you here as well?"
Garon frowned slightly and asked.
In last night's arrangements, he had only agreed to allow the surviving Cerwyn soldiers to join the campaign.
Clay himself had not been included.
But Clay's eyes burned with the flames of vengeance.
"Lord Garon, Seagard is not my home, but Sevon is!"
"How can I stay hidden in Winterfell while doing nothing?"
"I want revenge!"
After a moment of thought, Garon nodded.
"Clay, you may accompany me."
"But everything must be done according to my orders."
Clay immediately nodded.
"Yes!"
"Every man from House Cerwyn will obey your commands, my lord!"
Seeing this, Garon accepted the reins from a stableboy and mounted his horse.
"All troops, advance!"
With Garon's order, one thousand soldiers streamed out through Winterfell's gate.
On the battlements, Sansa, Jon Snow, and Maester Luwin watched them depart.
Once the last of the soldiers had passed beyond the walls, Garon turned back and nodded toward Jon.
Then he spurred his horse forward, leading the column toward Sevon.
Jon watched from atop the walls while the gates were shut once more.
Only after the army disappeared into the distance did he accompany Sansa back toward the inner keep.
Meanwhile, Garon silently led his army onward.
After departing in the morning, the thousand-man force finally approached the wilderness north of Sevon shortly after midday.
As the outline of the castle gradually emerged, an uneasy feeling rose within Garon's heart.
"It's too quiet."
He immediately signaled for the army to halt and raised his spyglass toward the distant fortress.
"How does it look?"
Ron rode up beside him and asked.
Garon handed over the spyglass.
"Euron has most likely already left."
Ron looked through it and instantly frowned.
The kraken banners were gone.
No guards patrolled the walls.
Only silence remained.
Carried by the cold wind was a faint smell of ashes and decay.
"Damn Ironborn!"
Ron cursed angrily.
Through the lens, he could see dozens of blackened corpses hanging from Sevon's battlements.
"Spread the cavalry out and remain alert."
"Send a small detachment into the city first. Once they confirm it is clear, we will enter."
Garon knew Euron Greyjoy's cruel nature all too well.
He had already guessed that Sevon had become a living hell.
Sure enough.
When the scouting party returned, every rider wore a pale expression.
One soldier still had traces of vomit on the corner of his mouth.
"My Lord..."
The captain of the ten-man detachment swallowed hard before speaking.
"Inside the city... there are no enemies."
"There is only... ruin."
Seeing their expressions, Garon's heart sank.
"All troops, enter the city."
"Maintain formation and stay vigilant."
Cracking his whip lightly, Garon led the army forward.
Half an hour later, the sight before them left everyone speechless.
Sevon could no longer be called a castle.
It resembled a giant tomb.
Collapsed buildings lay everywhere.
The courtyards and passageways were littered with unburied corpses.
Soldiers.
Farmers.
Women.
Children.
Many had clearly suffered torture before death.
Frozen blood covered the ground in dark crimson sheets.
The stench of decay filled the air.
Even the smithy and kitchens had been deliberately destroyed.
There was no food.
No valuables.
Not even intact furniture remained.
Before departing, Euron had destroyed everything he could not carry away.
All he left behind was death and despair.
"No..."
Clay Cerwyn stared in disbelief.
He could hardly recognize the home where he had spent his entire life.
A wounded cry escaped his throat.
He dismounted and stumbled through the ruins, staring at every familiar place now reduced to horror.
His home had become a living nightmare.
Entering the ruined hall, he saw shattered furnishings everywhere.
The banners of House Cerwyn had been torn apart and trampled beneath countless feet.
Tables and chairs had been broken apart and burned.
"Father... I'm sorry..."
"My home... is gone..."
Clay muttered.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
His face became pale.
His breathing grew ragged.
He looked as though he might collapse from grief and rage.
Then a strong hand landed on his shoulder.
It was Garon.
Garon offered no empty comfort.
His eyes swept over the devastation.
Within them burned the same hatred.
"Clay Cerwyn."
Clay slowly looked up.
His eyes were unfocused.
"Remember all of this."
Garon's voice was calm.
Yet every word carried tremendous weight.
"Crow's Eye left this behind because he wants us to fear him."
"But fear can destroy a man."
"It can also forge one."
His grip tightened slightly.
The pain helped clear Clay's mind.
"Do you want revenge for Sevon?"
"True revenge."
"The kind that makes Euron Greyjoy pay for every drop of blood spilled here."
"Do you want it?"
Clay's eyes finally regained focus.
A nearly fanatical fire ignited within them.
"I do!"
"I want Euron to repay every blood debt!"
"Then cast aside your tears and weakness!"
Garon's voice thundered through the ruined hall.
"Your father still fights in service to King Robb."
"You are now Lord Cerwyn."
"These dead people were your people."
"They are your responsibility."
"Take up your sword."
"Wash away this humiliation with the blood of Euron Greyjoy and the Ironborn!"
His words struck Clay like a hammer.
The flames of vengeance within him could no longer be restrained.
Yet amid his fury, Clay also realized a simple truth.
House Cerwyn alone could never achieve revenge.
"Giant Bear Slayer..."
"He will help me."
Thinking this, Clay bowed deeply.
"You are right, Lord Garon."
"From this day onward, House Cerwyn will obey your commands."
"Please allow me to follow you and complete my revenge."
A trace of satisfaction appeared in Garon's eyes.
He helped the young lord to his feet.
"The North remembers."
"King Robb entrusted me with protecting the North."
"I will do everything in my power to wipe the Ironborn from these lands."
"Now go and do what must be done."
He pointed outside.
"Gather the bodies."
"Count the losses."
"Summon every surviving Cerwyn retainer."
"Revenge requires strength."
"And it also requires patience."
Clay nodded heavily.
Then he turned and left to carry out Garon's orders.
"House Cerwyn is mine now."
Garon watched his retreating figure.
A faint smile touched his lips.
The current Lord Cerwyn was already becoming useful to him.
The distance between usefulness and absolute loyalty was nothing more than a matter of vengeance.