Eddard had meticulously investigated and discovered that the fallen comrade was Konn, an old subordinate he'd appointed as a squad leader. Konn was quick-witted, with a handsome face and captivating azure eyes that sparkled when he smiled.
Rumor had it that in the Twins, Konn had charmed two widows, enjoying more fun than his master ever did. Tragically, now he was dead.
What a pity. Eddard resolved to compensate Konn's family generously, knowing he couldn't bring the dead back to life.
"Young Master," a familiar voice called, pulling Eddard from his thoughts. He looked up to see Konn approaching, despite having disappeared from the system!
Konn's face was as handsome as ever, without visible injuries, and his demeanor unchanged. Yet, his azure eyes, once full of warmth, now held an infinite killing intent.
Damn it! Was this a ghost?
No!
Eddard quickly realized this wasn't a ghost. Ghosts in this world didn't look this good. If it were someone resurrected by the Others, their face would be stiff, and their eyes would emit blue light. They'd be easy to recognize.
If it were a specter, it wouldn't be human-shaped! Even if resurrected by the Lord of Light, R'hllor, something would be missing.
Could it be that Jaqen H'ghar, the Faceless Man, had been sent to kill him?!
Within an instant, Eddard considered this possibility, cursing inwardly. The cost must have been several hundred gold dragons!
Moreover, did the House of Black and White have a branch in Westeros? Could a ship from Braavos have reached the Twins in time?
As Eddard pondered these questions, his expression turned serious.
"Hm?"
"Konn," who had been intently watching Eddard, realized he'd been exposed. His steps quickened, his figure seeming to float like smoke. His arm flicked, and a cold glint darted toward Eddard's throat, only to be blocked by a swiftly raised battle-axe.
"Clang!"
The crisp sound of steel colliding was oddly satisfying as a thin rapier was deflected.
"Hiss?"
"Konn's" face changed drastically, gasping in surprise.
He had observed the Twins for days, personally choosing a disguise target close to the mark, even matching eye colors for foolproof success.
Yet, he was exposed and blocked with ease. He couldn't fathom where he'd slipped.
But there was no time for reflection.
After the failed strike, the assassin prepared to retreat, moving swiftly several meters away, adhering to an assassin's maxim: retreat a thousand miles after a failed strike.
As a devotee of the God of Many Faces, he preferred poisoning to close combat. The target was too cautious, never eating unknown food, leaving no opportunity.
Eddard watched the ghostly figure of the assassin, his left hand forming a virtual grip, a dark aura flashing in his eyes. The hand clenched, and the opponent grunted, collapsing.
[Weakness]
Eddard rushed forward, grasping the assassin's mouth, demanding, "Do you have any accomplices? Where are they?"
"Valar Morghulis."
He managed to utter, then his eyes bulged, losing luster.
Eddard checked for breath—none.
As someone versed in strange powers, Eddard knew the Faceless Men weren't fully controlled by [Weakness]. Even with limited body control, they could still end their lives, and holding their mouth couldn't stop the Many-Faced God's call.
"Damn it!"
Eddard cursed, uncharacteristically, then swung his battle-axe, severing the Faceless Man's neck.
He barely understood High Valyrian, but knew this phrase: "All men must die!"
There was a corresponding phrase, but Eddard wasn't in the mood to dwell on it.
The commotion finally drew the attention of nearby soldiers. They rushed over, weapons raised, eyes wary, though they spoke not a word.
Only Dita Kalander looked puzzled. Having served Eddard the longest, he knew his master wouldn't kill a comrade without reason.
"This is a Faceless Man in disguise. Konn is probably dead. Search the area for his body."
"Hurry, we need to return to the Twins as soon as possible!"
Eddard offered little explanation. After issuing commands, he fell into deep thought.
He had intended merely to toy with Old Frey.
Eddard's strength was thrice that of ordinary men, he knew various magic spells, and his warriors needed combat for leveling up, extra money, and increased loyalty.
If Old Frey was careless and exposed himself, Eddard would gladly seize the chance.
He hadn't expected Frey to hire the Faceless Men!
Eddard couldn't fathom such madness.
No longer intending to play, he planned to apply Weakness to Frey three times a day, in front of everyone.
Imagine being paralyzed during meals, sleep, or with a girl. The mental strain would be unbearable, especially for an old man.
Upon hearing his orders, the soldiers dispersed, especially Konn's comrades, who had noticed nothing amiss. Seeing their comrade dead, they searched diligently, feeling guilt.
After fifteen minutes:
"Found him."
Several soldiers returned with Konn's body. Eddard examined him closely. He wore only his undershirt, with a thin sword wound in his throat. The blood had congealed, a strange black-blue.
The thin sword was likely poisoned!
The Faceless Man's face had altered, sporting fierce black eyes and a hooked nose. In death, his mouth hung open, revealing yellow molars.
"Pah, these strange things."
Eddard spat at the corpse, waved a hand, and commanded, "Go!"
The forest would soon dispose of the bodies, gnawed clean by wolves, wild dogs, or other carnivorous creatures.
No special treatment was needed.
Meanwhile, the soldiers had gathered all the heads, each carrying two or three like lanterns, walking expressionlessly out of the forest.
Outside, Sir Lyman sat on his horse, anticipation on his face.
He had heard the fierce battle sounds, knowing his mission was accomplished, though the outcome was unclear.
His son, Black Walder, had gathered over one hundred and twenty bloodthirsty bandits in the forest, three times Eddard Karstark's number. There should have been no problem.
Moreover, his grandfather, Lord Walder, had hinted at teaming up with a powerful opponent for Young Master Eddard.
Though he didn't know who, it shouldn't disappoint.
In the forest, rustling sounds arose, and figures emerged from the gloom into sunlight.
Sir Lyman's eyes widened, his face stiffening, and his body swayed, nearly falling from his horse.
He saw House Karstark soldiers, blood-splattered, carrying grotesque heads, walking toward him like demons from hell!
"Seven Gods!"
Sir Lyman hastily closed his eyes, praying to the gods. Even in warm clothes, a bone-chilling cold emanated from his core.
For a moment, he couldn't remember whether to pray to the Father or the Mother.
Finally, he chose the Maiden, trembling.
"Maiden protect me, fill my mind with images of beautiful maidens to dispel this terrifying sight!"
He forgot the Maiden represented innocence and purity, guarding maidens' chastity—not an old whoremonger like him who'd seen countless women.
"Sir Lyman, what are you doing?"
Eddard's voice rang out. He looked at Lyman Frey, who sat on his horse, eyes closed, muttering, and trembling, a half-smile on his face.
"N-nothing."
Hearing the call, Lyman opened his eyes, fear in his gaze as he said, "Congratulations, Young Master Eddard, on eradicating the bandits! A great victory, a great victory!"
To hide his true thoughts, he forced a smile, looking worse than crying.
"Indeed, this is a joint victory for House Karstark and House Frey."
Eddard said meaningfully, "After this battle, I presume the bandits near the Twins have been swept away, and we can enjoy peace for a while. We've collected many heads, so Lord Frey will need to prepare a good amount of gold dragons."
"Naturally, that's natural."
Lyman Frey's tone was extremely stiff.