In The Witch's mind, there was no doubt, Gregor was the true prophet.
Lord Tywin, however, was unaware.
But after probing Gregor's magic, it became clear: aside from foretelling the future, Gregor had no other magical abilities.
And that was exactly as it should be. Since the Seven Gods had granted Gregor an extraordinary, unique physique and unmatched strength, along with his grand prophetic powers, that alone was more than enough. If Gregor were also a master of other magical arts, he would be a god among men.
No one can be blessed with endless luck or limitless power. The Seven Gods would never concentrate every ability in just one person.
Lord Tywin fully believed The Witch's words, and it came down to one thing: details.
The Witch had spoken with precise detail.
The night before, The Witch had been persuaded by Gregor and accepted his 'Great Prophecy' about the future because of those details. Then, she secretly tested him with a magical potion for lies. The potion showed no abnormal reaction, the prophecy had passed her test.
She hadn't slept all night, yet her spirit remained remarkably sharp.
She and her great-granddaughter's husband, Gregor, had made a quiet deal: he would secretly assist her with the most important mission of her life, to have Jeyne Westerling unknowingly become her apprentice and inherit her magical legacy. Jeyne currently only helped her grandmother with trivial tasks, unaware of her true intentions.
The conversation she was about to have with Lord Tywin that morning had already been foreseen the night before.
Although she wasn't a "Great Prophet" capable of predicting the entire world's fate, The Witch could easily see snapshots of near-future events and people. Through blood, she could glimpse major life or death moments and critical turning points.
Of course, whether she chose to reveal all, part, or none of what she saw depended entirely on her own judgment and will.
When Lord Tywin finally stepped out of The Witch's chamber, lunchtime had long passed.
Neither the Lord nor The Witch had eaten breakfast or lunch.
No one dared to disturb their conversation.
The Lord looked remarkably well.
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The Lord sat at the window-facing dining table, eating breakfast and lunch together.
His eyes gazed out across the now doubled Clegane training grounds, where a lithe young woman practiced horseback archery.
This was Gregor's adopted daughter, Julie Clegane.
Over the past two months, through daily grueling training, Julie's body had grown stronger, taller, now carrying the grace of a mature young woman.
She had acquired a rough edge, swearing freely among the brothers.
Spending time with these rough soldiers, Julie was hardly becoming a refined lady.
Julie galloped past a wall with three targets mounted on it, each with a bright red bullseye.
At full gallop, she drew and released an arrow, thwip!, straight into the center of the first target.
The Maesters, knights, and instructors standing near Lord Tywin watched her practice intently.
To them, Julie's archery was average.
First, her horse's speed wasn't a full charge; second, the targets were stationary. On a battlefield, enemies moved constantly.
Tywin's five centurions of the cavalry guard could all shoot three consecutive arrows into the bullseye while riding at full charge, no problem.
The maester, stewards, knights, and centurions all watched Julie without any special impression.
Julie circled back around the targets and shot again, another bullseye.
Though her archery and horsemanship were average, she trained relentlessly.
After emptying her quiver, every arrow had found the mark.
She rode to the targets, dismounted, withdrew her arrows, and placed them back in the quiver.
"Do any of you see anything unusual?" Lord Tywins gaze pinned his courtiers like nails.
No one answered.
Everyone saw nothing remarkable: the girl's riding and shooting were standard, her diligence obvious, but she lacked mastery.
Julie noticed the group watching her but paid no mind, continuing her practice.
This time, her horse galloped at the same pace, but she fired two arrows in quick succession, hitting the bullseye on two separate targets.
This was Julie's daily routine after patrol: archery training.
Gregor had ordered her to shoot at least 150 arrows daily, but Julie pushed herself to 300.
Her goals were precision first, speed second, and rapid-fire third.
Shooting consecutive arrows from a galloping horse was extremely difficult.
Gregor demanded she practice on the training ground every day unless she had a special mission.
The only secret to becoming a master archer was relentless repetition, building muscle memory and accuracy over countless shots.
Julie took her father's advice seriously, training horseback archery repeatedly until her bow arm could barely move.
After watching Julie's second round of rapid-fire shooting, Lord Tywin pointed at her with his chopsticks.
"Ser Boros Blount."
"Yes, my lord!"
"Do you see anything remarkable about Julie?"
Boros Blount focused on Julie's performance once more, then shook his head.
"My lord, I see no difference between Lady Julie's archery and our own."
Outside the training ground walls, the sounds of Clegane cavalry charging drills rang out.
Though fewer than a hundred riders, their training was meticulous and relentless.
These soldiers received the highest pay in the West, training from dawn till dusk, thanks to Gregor's largesse, which the Western nobility mocked endlessly.
Only a fool would pay a gold dragon a month to each soldier. Clegane's hundred cavalry salaries equaled the pay for three hundred regular soldiers.
Without a doubt, Gregor was that fool.
But given Gregor's brutal and ruthless reputation, no one dared mock him to his face.
Having eaten his fill, Lord Tywin put down his chopsticks.
"Send for Lady Julie."
A centurion saluted and hurried off.
Soon Julie galloped up to the window beneath the dining hall.
Mounted, she sat tall and straight like a spear, eyes sharp. Though shorter than Lord Tywin, she showed no fear in his presence.
"Lady Julie, is your right shoulder covered with soft armor?" the Lord asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"Why do you wear soft armor on your right shoulder when the rest of your armor is heavy?"
"My lord, I'm small and weak. Father ordered me to train in heavy armor to strengthen my muscles and bones. But the weight on my right shoulder makes it hard to raise my arm to shoot arrows. So he designed this light soft armor for my right shoulder, reducing the weight so I can train through an entire quiver without stopping."
Lord Tywinnodded.
"Maester, reward Lady Julie with one gold dragon."
"Yes, my lord." The maester's mind stirred. Lord Tywinrarely rewarded common soldiers with gold dragons. Why now? It certainly wasn't out of sudden kindness. Lord Tywins heart was as hard as iron.
Julie thanked Lord Tywin, then, with permission, spurred her horse and resumed training.
"Ser Boros Blount."
"Yes, my lord."
"I order you to return to Casterly Rock immediately. Command the stewards to replace all two thousand of the castle's guard right shoulder armors with lightweight soft armor. Issue a call for conscription within the castle's lands to train a two-thousand-strong archery corps. Their right shoulder armor must be the lightest soft armor available."
"Yes, my lord!" Boros Blount saluted and left for Casterly Rock.
"Centurions, after returning to Casterly Rock, replace the right shoulder armor of all five hundred cavalry guards with lightweight soft armor."
"Yes, my lord!" The five centurions bowed in unison.
"Maester, send ravens to all corners of the Westerlands. Every house's soldiers must train daily in battlefield drills and skirmishes. All professional soldiers, infantry, cavalry, and archers alike, must wear only lightweight soft armor on their right shoulder."
"Yes, my lord. I will attend to it immediately."
The right arm is not just for drawing arrows, it wields swords and spears as well.
On the battlefield, every ounce of lightness on the right shoulder means faster movement, and that means a greater chance of victory.
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