I checked the System logs, and my stomach dropped.
Konn was gone. His slot in my [Troop List] was empty, replaced by a greyed-out notification: [Unit Deceased: Konn (Northern Soldier)].
Konn had been one of my best. He was quick-witted, handsome, and had a smile that could talk the clothes off a tavern widow, literally. He'd apparently been enjoying the Twins more than I had. And now, he was just another name for the compensation list. I couldn't bring people back from the dead; I could only pay for their funerals.
"Young Master."
A familiar voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up and froze.
Konn was walking toward me.
He had the same handsome face, the same easy stride, and not a single scratch on his armor. He was smiling that same familiar smile, but as he got closer, I looked at his eyes. Those azure eyes were usually full of life and mischief. Now, they were cold, flat, and filled with a singular, infinite killing intent.
Is this a ghost? I wondered for a split second. No. Ghosts in this world aren't that pretty. A wight would have glowing blue eyes and a stiff gait. A specter wouldn't even be physical.
Then the realization hit me like a physical blow. A Faceless Man.
Someone had spent a literal fortune, hundreds, maybe thousands of gold dragons to hire the House of Black and White to take me off the board.
You really went for it, didn't you, Walder? I thought, my jaw tightening. Either you or the Leech.
"Konn" noticed the change in my expression immediately. He realized his cover was blown. In an instant, his casual walk turned into a blur of motion. Even in chainmail, he moved like smoke.
A thin, needle-like rapier whipped out from his sleeve, striking toward my throat like a bolt of lightning.
CLANG.
I caught the blade on the head of my battle-axe. The steel hummed from the impact.
"Hiss..." the assassin gasped, his eyes wide with shock.
He'd probably spent days watching me, choosing Konn because we were close. He'd even matched the eye color perfectly. He didn't know I had a System that told me the exact second a heart stopped beating.
He tried to retreat, he was fast, practicing the assassin's creed of disappearing after a failed strike. He preferred poison, but I was too careful with my food. This was his last resort, and it had failed.
"Not today," I growled.
I reached out with my left hand, eyes flashing with a dark, elemental aura. I visualized a grip tightening around his lungs.
[Intermediate Magic: Weakness cast.]
The assassin grunted, his knees buckling. He hit the muddy forest floor with a wet thud, his limbs suddenly as heavy as lead. He could still breathe, but that was about it.
I rushed forward, pinning his head to the dirt and grabbing his jaw. "Who sent you? Are there others?"
"Valar Morghulis," he managed to choke out through the dirt.
His eyes bulged, the light fading in an instant. I felt his pulse stop. Even under the effects of [Weakness], he had a way to trigger a quick death. He'd chosen the God of Many Faces over my interrogation.
"Gods damn it!" I roared.
I didn't wait for him to wake up. I swung my axe and took his head off in one clean stroke. I didn't care about the phrase or its response. All men must die? Sure. But he was first.
My soldiers swarmed the area, weapons drawn, looking for the threat. They hadn't seen the magic, just their master killing one of their own.
"That wasn't Konn," I said, my voice echoing through the trees. "It was an assassin in his skin. Find the real Konn. Now!"
I didn't need to explain further. Dita Calandre looked at the headless body and gave me a grim nod. He'd been with me long enough to know I didn't murder my men for fun.
Fifteen minutes later, they found him. Konn's body was hidden in a hollow log, stripped to his undershirt. There was a single, tiny puncture wound in his neck, the blood congealed into a sickly black-blue. Poison.
I looked back at the assassin's head. With the magic gone, the "Konn" face began to sag and shift. The skin tightened, the nose hooked, and the teeth yellowed. It was a stranger's face now.
"Pah. Creepy bastards," I spat. "Pack it up. We're heading back to the Twins."
I was done playing with Walder Frey. If he wanted to hire supernatural killers, I was going to show him what a real nightmare looked like. I wasn't going to kill him yet, I was going to use [Weakness] on him every time he tried to eat, sleep, or take a piss. I'd paralyze him three times a day until his heart gave out from pure terror.
We emerged from the forest an hour later, carrying a hundred heads like a row of gruesome lanterns.
Ser Lyman Frey was still sitting his horse in the clearing, looking bored and expectant. He'd heard the fighting and assumed I was dead, drowned by the hundred-and-twenty bandits his son, Black Walder, had "lured" into the woods.
When he saw us, he nearly fell off his saddle.
He saw forty Karstark soldiers, drenched in blood, expressionless, carrying the trophies of a massacre. To a soft man like Lyman, we looked like demons crawling out of a pit.
"Seven Gods!" Lyman squeaked, closing his eyes and trembling. He started whispering prayers to the Maiden, probably the only one whose name he could remember in a panic.
"Ser Lyman," I called out, my voice smooth as silk. "Something wrong?"
Lyman opened one eye, his face a pale, sweating mess. "N-nothing, Young Master! Congratulations! A great victory! Truly... a triumph for our houses!"
He tried to smile, but it looked like a death mask.
"Indeed," I said, leaning in close so he could smell the copper of the blood on my armor. "The bandits are gone. Your grandfather is going to need a lot of gold to pay for these. Tell him I'm coming for my dragons."
"Naturally," Lyman stammered. "Naturally."
I watched him kick his horse into a frantic trot toward the castle. He was terrified. Good. Fear is the only language a Frey understands.