Perhaps the things he'd complained about before his transmigration were too genuine, moving some unseen entity. He hadn't arrived in the World of Ice and Fire empty-handed.
With a thought, a dark blue panel unfolded in his vision:
——
Witcher System (Level 1) Potions (Expand)
Bombs (Expand)
Equipment (Expand)
Mana Pool: 70 Unlocked Signs: None
Items (Drop-down)
——
After some time experimenting, he'd roughly grasped how the system worked.
This level 1 system was a dud. The recipes and blueprints in the equipment section were all empty. Only the potions section contained a Trial of the Grasses Potion for undergoing the Witcher mutation.
The recipe was as follows:
Forktail Dragon Spinal Fluid —> Dragon Bone (reusable) Griffin Toxin Gland —> Basilisk Toxin Gland Alghoul Tongue —> Adult Swamp Leech Dwarven Pine —> Sentinel Bark Plantain —> Wraith Grass
Mandrake Root —> Copperleaf
The system had already found Clay's world reasonable substitutes.
Clay, upon seeing the recipe, immediately spent all the gold dragons he'd brought from White Harbor, purchasing a Dragonbone Bow from a collector in Pentos.
This was the most difficult item to obtain. If he hadn't been the young master of White Harbor, acquiring a dragon bone, which had been out of circulation for over a hundred years, would have likely required him to pull off a daring heist in King's Landing.
By now, he had already acquired all the other ingredients, except for Sentinel Bark. Theoretically, this could only be found in Wolfwood, in the northwest of The North.
Having the materials wasn't enough. In the Witcher world, a mutation required the assistance of a Mage. Without magic to stabilize the body during the process, it was a death sentence.
In this world, Clay had traveled throughout the Free Cities, but he was unable to increase his initial 70 points of magic storage.
He'd also visited the Red Temple, but most of the people there were just charlatans who could only perform fire-breathing tricks.
He knew that when the Bleeding of the Stars occurred and the glass candles of the Citadel were lit once more, the world's magical power would revive. But he couldn't wait that long.
This northward journey had another goal: the largest Weirwood tree in the godswood of House Stark.
According to the system's notes, only when the magic pool reaches 100 can an 80% success rate be guaranteed.
Higher magic storage will gradually increase the success rate of avoiding negative effects during the mutation process.
Clay didn't want his little brother to be useless, nor did he want to be paralyzed.
He thought about it for a long time. In the original history, the unlucky current Hand of the King would soon die from poisoning, followed by the direwolves heading south. Once Robert died, a brutal war would immediately erupt.
Therefore, in the coming chaotic times, possessing powerful personal combat strength was practically the first choice for survival.
Forget about him, a Grandson of the Count. Just look at the tragic experiences of the children of the leader of The North, Duke Eddard, and you'd know that a title was completely useless and unreliable.
Besides, he had White Harbor as his backing, possessing the greatest wealth in The North. Who said the Trial of the Grasses Potion could only be used by himself? As long as the formula and magic issues were solved, believe it or not, give Clay some time, and he could pull out an entire Witcher army for the Seven Kingdoms. Time passed, and it was already afternoon.
A banging on the door interrupted Clay's reverie. He sat up from the bed, went to the chair, and sat down before speaking: "Come in."
The door creaked open, and a small head with light green hair peeked in, revealing two little fangs. A giggle escaped. "Clay, it's time for dinner. Sister told me to fetch you."
"I know the way," Clay said with a chuckle, shaking his head. He stood up, stretched, and followed his sister as they walked through the lavishly decorated corridors.
They soon arrived at the hall. Clay noticed that the servants had already set up a long table in the center, and the kitchen was preparing the meal.
Clay and Vera were early; the other family members hadn't arrived yet. Only the old butler was directing the servants as they bustled about.
Seeing the young master arrive, the old butler greeted him with a smile.
"Young Master Clay, you and Miss Vera are early. The banquet hasn't started yet. Why don't you take a stroll in the garden?"
When Clay saw that the banquet hadn't begun, he knew that his cousin, whom he hadn't seen in two years, wanted to speak with him. He didn't say anything, just nodded and followed Vera into the garden.
Leaning against the railing overlooking White Harbor, the gentle sea breeze caressed his face. The twinkling lights of White Harbor were a beautiful sight.
Clay looked at Vera, who seemed hesitant to speak, and patted her head, smiling gently. "What is it you want to tell me, Vera?"
"Uh... you could tell?"
Clay nodded with a smile. Vera pursed her lips, hesitating for a long time before finally saying, "Grandfather might ask you to go to Winterfell during dinner. Can I come with you?"
As she said this, Vera's light purple eyes were filled with hope.
"What would you do going to Winterfell with me?" Clay was a little confused.
"Just to take a look around. You know Grandfather's temper. He thinks we noble ladies should stay in the castle until we get married." Vera spoke with conviction.
A little stunned, in Clay's eyes, Vera was like a little bird trapped in a cage, flapping its wings and desperately trying to fly out.
Just as he was about to agree, the old butler's voice interrupted them: "Young Master, Miss, dinner is ready, the Count has asked you both to come."
Returning to the hall, after the efficient efforts of the Manderly family servants, a table with a decent-looking dinner had been set. The servants lit candles, making the entire Merling Hall appear even more grand and mysterious.
Count Wyman sat in the middle, flanked by two burly, bald men. The one on the right was Willis Manderly, the Count's eldest son, Clay's uncle. The man on the left, grinning at him, was Clay's father, Wendel Manderly.
"Sit down first, you two, you'll have plenty of time to chat after you've eaten," Count Wyman said, his face flushed with the candlelight, a smile playing on his lips.
Clay and Wilfred sat together, and they focused on the food in front of them after Count Wyman took his first bite of bread.
"Clay, get ready in the next couple of days. Take my personal letter and go to Winterfell to pay your respects to Duke Eddard," Count Wyman suddenly said.
Clay thought for a moment and understood Count Wyman's intention. The old man was using his presence to extinguish the flames of those who coveted White Harbor. As long as he visited Eddard Stark, no one, from any angle, would be eligible to inherit the title of Count of White Harbor before him after his uncle's passing.
"Yes, Grandfather," Clay replied quickly. Although the old man was more concerned with the stability of White Harbor, Clay had to show this attitude.
Just as he finished speaking, someone stomped hard on Clay's foot. Gritting his teeth, he looked at Vera, who was constantly winking at him. He forced a smile and said to Count Wyman:
"Grandfather, I want to take Vera with me to Winterfell..."
(End of chapter)