Chapter 7

After the war, Craggy Rock City looked as if it had been abandoned for decades; it was already dilapidated, now it appeared even more shattered and ruined, combined with the scars of battle, making it even more desolate. The sky was overcast with dark clouds, corpses lay everywhere on the ground—some Westerlin, some northerners. And all around were painful groans, together they spoke of the cruelty and reality of the battle.

Northern Border soldiers, braving a light drizzle, orderly gathered corpses and treated the wounded. In the distance another group dug trenches, too many corpses needed burial. Countess Xibeier of Westerlin felt they should dig pits and bury the bodies far from the castle, not just randomly find a spot outside the castle walls. These northerners didn't treat the dead Westerlin soldiers as anything; the pits were shallow, a few soldiers tossed the corpses in one by one, hastily buried—perhaps forest wolves and dogs could easily dig them up.

She thought a plague would break out next spring.

She was the wife of Gavin Westerlin, the Count of Westerlin, Countess Xibeier Spade.

Maintaining a castle is no easy feat for a noblewoman, even less so in wartime. But I am not a noblewoman; I am merely a merchant's daughter—wisdom is my armor, magic is my spear.

She watched her brother and her brother's children speared to death with a spear, then fall from the city wall, ultimately buried together with all the other fallen soldiers in the pit. The brutal battle had ended; the dead were gone, the living grieved—this was precisely the moment for wisdom to shine. She had a husband to save, a family to uphold, children to protect.

Her husband Gavin Westerlin had already become a prisoner in a glorious battle belonging to the wolves; according to what she heard from a servant of the Frey household, he is still imprisoned in Hai Jiang City. After this failed defense of the city, all his children, together with herself, have also become captives. Fortunately, the victors conducted themselves with grace and did not imprison the castle's lords; they are still allowed to move within the designated area, but that's all. Although the castle has fallen, they have not surrendered to the invaders. Although a certain bear-woman told her that if she surrendered to the Young Wolf Lord and swore fealty, her husband Gavin and his children would be released immediately. But she remembers the price of betraying the lord of the Western Border—the lingering spirits of old friends from the Reyas and Tabeck families still wail in the rain; so close that whenever it rains she can hear the ghosts' low moans and wails.

One day, will anyone hear of Westerlin? Will anyone hear of Spade? As the foothold of the Western Border and the Riverlands, if the two houses go to war, any fate befalling Westerlin would not be surprising, nor would it startle her. The only thing she cannot be certain of is whether the Westerlin family, which has existed since ancient times, can continue to survive after this battle. Aside from her husband, Westerlin has few other branches left. Though she has borne many children, they are not mature enough to survive this winter of beasts devouring each other. She is their wings.

The morning mist lifted, and from Long Rock Fort one could see the Northern Border allied forces' encampments scattered haphazardly. Are they intending to garrison here long-term? That won't do! Let them swiftly attack Golden Tooth Harbor and Lannisport—just get out of here. This castle does not belong to northerners.

She had heard the bear-woman mention that the Young Wolf Lord wanted to leave quickly and immediately attack other Western Border castles, but he himself had suffered a minor wound during the assault on Westerlin, and his retainers feared his condition would worsen; together they rejected his request to continue marching and strongly advised him to recuperate here until his wound healed. That is why they have continued to stay. She and the Young Wolf Lord shared the same expectation, but neither succeeded. She can only wait in the castle for them to depart.

As the castellan's countess, most Northern Border nobles treat her with proper aristocratic etiquette, and the Young Wolf Lord Robb Stark also shows her respectful courtesy and distance—this is good; she never worries that this boy will commit atrocities, unlike Tywin Lannister. What she has always worried about are his ordinary soldiers.

Whenever she stepped out of the stone keep, the guards watching her would always flash either lecherous or infatuated smiles; she could sense their thoughts and their blatant disrespect, so she could only tell herself to stay strong, pretend nothing was visible, as if she were still the mistress of the castle. She still remembered what happened the day after she was placed under supervision. A soldier boldly tailed her after she left the stone keep; when she noticed, she could do nothing, hoping he would take the hint and leave, but he kept following. Finally she could bear it no longer, turned and shouted angrily at him, as if nothing had happened. She knew it was useless and didn't expect it to help; the soldier's tailing didn't worry her—she was used to such looks. But the soldier's following words filled her with fear: "My lady, if you need anything at all, just come find me, anything goes, as long as you let me cop a feel—top or bottom, your choice." He chuckled, repeatedly emphasizing that a single feel would do, just one time. The soldier's boldness frightened her.

Now their supplies have not been reduced; the guards routinely provide them with bread, cheese, ham, persimmons, and apples. When her young son felt unwell, she asked for honey, which was promptly supplied. But she does not know whether, if after some time the Northerners discover a food shortage, they will still guarantee their provisions, or whether soldiers might start using their own bread to entice her. If the castellan's lady is to suffer such treatment, what about her daughters and maidservants? Would they too fall victim at once?

I am the lady of the castle; I must find a way to change the situation. Wisdom is my armor, magic is my spear.

She considered many methods, but each was rejected. She had no choice but to secretly pray to the nameless deity—a spirit her grandmother brought from the distant East, possessing real power. As long as an offering is made, it is willing to do the small things the Seven Gods deign not to answer. She has used it only twice. Once, to fulfill her father's wish, she seduced the son of the Westerlin count, enabling the Spade family to rise from merchant household to proper nobility. Everyone knows Westerlin is an ancient, noble house of Westerlin; they have intermarried with the Kings of the Rock for thousands of years, countless queens have emerged from this castle, and countless princesses have spent their lives here—this is an absolutely enviable legacy for the Spade family. For this goal she prayed to the spirit. After a shrill cry, she offered fresh blood to the spirit, adorning trees with blood‑stained casings, nearly vomiting… The spirit answered her, and she succeeded in making Gavin Westerlin, son of Westerlin, fall in love with her, to the point of forsaking his engagement to Golden Tooth and breaking with his father. Afterward she made herself forget everything that had happened, settling down with her husband. But soon she realized her husband was deeply worried about the aftermath of the family rift, which had genuinely affected their feelings. She had to reclaim her memories.

The second time was even darker and terrifying; she hardly dared to recall it. For her beloved husband, to merge her bloodline into this ancient surname, for his father's newly founded little family, and to salvage their feelings, she used black magic to take away Gavin's father, Gavin's brother Lawrence Westerlin, and all his sons and daughters—solely so that her Gavin could become the Count of Westerlin. The magic worked extremely well; they died one after another during that year's flu season. Gavin became Count of Westerlin, and she became Countess of Westerlin.

She did not know what the offerings had undergone. After the magic, the people who were sacrifices resembled wind‑dried mummies, making various grotesque, painful expressions in the ship's hold. She dared not examine them closely, and set them ablaze. Only days later did she hear rumors from riverside fishermen that on that night the long river emitted a terrifying, anguished shriek.

The countess also did not gain her respect. She was never allowed to enter Casterly Rock, and Tywin Lannister never came here to inspect his vassals. Gavin once thought it was Tywin's oversight, but she knew Tywin never held the Spades in esteem, or perhaps he simply despised them utterly. She had often considered using black magic to retaliate against those who provoked her, but her desire for revenge never overcame her fear. It was not only fear of the gruesome sight, but also fear of that inexplicable sweet fascination within her heart.

Wisdom cannot solve her current troubles, nor her worries. If so, magic is my spear.

She merely prayed to the unknown god, resolved to pray only, without making any offering.

The next day, she and her brother Robb were summoned into the main keep, Stonefort, occupied by the Young Wolf Lord. The furnishings of Stonefort had changed; the hall was filled with banners from various families—a white snowfield with a sprinting ice‑field wolf, the banner of the Northern Border; a crimson field bearing a brown‑haired roaring giant, merely the sigil of House Amber. There were many, many other designs—some from the Northern Border, some from the Riverlands. She wondered whether, over thousands of years, this hall had ever hosted so many coats of arms from foreign houses.

The Young Wolf Lord wore a bronze sword‑shaped crown, his thick brown beard covering his face; he is quite young, and whether he pretends to be stern and mature or not, this likeness, combined with his past victorious battles, adds to his dignity. Standing beside him are his retainers, clad more in mail than plate; compared to the old lords of the Western Border, they look outright barbaric. Indeed, the western lords have long mocked northerners as barbarians.

"Lady Countess, Sir Robb, we know there is a great road connecting Westerlin and Golden Tooth, but this march route is not ours to choose; I hope you can give us any clues about other possible routes, or anyone who might know this information—servants, merchants." The Young Wolf Lord's words were solemn and polite, as he deliberately maintained dignity. But this is somewhat superfluous, for the countess feels that with the snarling ice‑field wolf threatening beside him, no one would slight him, yet he utterly fails to grasp the power of that ice‑field wolf.

The countess glanced at the Young Wolf Lord, who seemed a little absent‑minded.

"Haha, Your Majesty, this lady's looking at you!" said a man over two meters tall, his voice booming, his beard denser than anyone else's, making him look even more savage.

The countess kept her smile, wearing the mask, "Your Majesty, I am merely an ignorant woman. I know nothing of battle, I have never heard of the routes you mention, nor do I know who would understand them." She feigned hesitation, glancing at Sir Robb beside her, "But since you have sought counsel, I hope my brother can answer you. If you have other needs—pouring your wine, changing your sheets, boiling water, binding your wounds—I could perhaps arrange them for you."

"Hey, only a madman would let you touch wounds!" the giant interjected again.

"If so, my lady, please step out first; let your brother Sir Robb remain." said the woman whose chest bore an embroidered upright black bear, while the king nodded in agreement.

She turned and gave the Northern Border king two looks, then left Stonefort. Waiting for her brother to return, she could not hold back: "Brother, we must kneel and submit to the wolves." She lowered her voice, hoping no one else would hear, and also hoping her brother Robb Spade would not overreact.

"Are you mad? Have you forgotten Tywin…"

"Am I mad? What nonsense is this?" "I haven't forgotten!" she whispered, "Of course I remember. But if we let the wolf pups run rampant here, pillaging and occupying, Westerlin will have nothing left—don't you know the veins of ore are exhausted, the stores will run out? When winter comes, perhaps we'll be the first nobles to starve to death; even if we survive winter, come spring we lack the funds and manpower to sow. This summer in Westerlos has already lasted a full ten years, ten years—know that our savings will be carted off by the northerners. And what length of winter will correspond to ten years of summer? Moreover, once the wolves depart, the walls and barbicans will be destroyed… In short, if we do not surrender, the family will surely go bankrupt. And don't forget, the Spade family has already sunk too much into this place; if Westerlin is destroyed, Spade will gain nothing."

"Can't we not surrender?" he said anxiously, "No money—we can borrow from Casterly Rock; you think we've fallen to this state for what reason!"

"Just a pretense!" she did not want to go into detail with her brother. The Young Wolf Lord's domineering curse on his forehead is terrifying; his fate has been laid bare ahead of time and sealed, how to resolve it already predetermined, and his death omen foreshadows his tragic end and utter failure. If we could add a small weight to his loss to lever huge gains, why not?

I understand magic, I see through it—this is all for family and children.

"A pretense?" he grasped her meaning and gestured for her to continue.

The countess still recalled her grandfather and father's efforts to obtain noble status, likewise remembered the ridicule she endured after becoming Countess of Westerlin, and likewise remembered how her daughter was rejected by Ser Kevan Lannister of the Lannister family: "Now, feigning surrender to the Young Wolf Lord is a good opportunity. I have a way to make Lord Tywin forgive, even praise, our 'mistake,' and perhaps also enable the Spades to become fully fledged nobles of the Western Border."

"I don't like your wording—this is our Spade!"

"Of course."

"You probably ought to convince my nephew—he is the true heir of Westerlin."

"My son isn't someone who can keep a secret," she sighed, "he's an honest, good boy who should never be mixed up in these dirty matters—that's why I came to you."

"Secret? Heh, you dote on him too much, turning him into a simpleton—aside from laughing, he's hopelessly naive everywhere. Fine, let the Spades handle the dirt and empty fame; honor shall belong to you great Westerlins."

"Honor, not empty fame." That is the Westerlin clan motto; perhaps the Spades' clan motto could be reversed: "Empty fame, not honor," the countess thought, her father's family being in dire need of empty fame.

I need not involve my son in the plot.

"Since I am the acting castellan of Westerlin appointed by your husband, I will handle the surrender. Even if we ultimately fail, perhaps Lord Tywin will not blame Westerlin—and that is what you had in mind, right?" Her brother Robb Spade is a valiant man, yet not lacking in wit, bearing the shrewdness of a merchant; his broken nose and sturdy frame do a good job concealing that.

"When have I ever thought that? As long as we report the feigned surrender to Tywin, we won't fail. To be able to send him word, we must retake the castle and the ravens; to gain his trust, we should explain our plan to him and help him overthrow Robb Stark."

"You've been sharp since childhood; otherwise Gavin wouldn't have fallen for you. Let me hear—what exactly is the plan?" Robb smiled. She liked this trait in her brother: he meets any novel idea with openness, utterly unlike the old‑fashioned nobles.

"Gavin once told everyone that Lord Tywin thought the Freys would never open the crossing to the Starks, because the Lannisters and Freys are linked by marriage."

"But our Lord Tywin is clearly mistaken—his sister married the Frey's second son, who has no inheritance rights, and moreover he went so far as to call the Freys 'thieves'; the Lord of the River Crossing will not forget that, nor will he consider it better than 'belated.'" Robb sneered coldly, envying and resenting the nobles.

"I hope you can still be like that in front of Tywin." The countess ignored him; this trait has previously caused her many troubles, she is all too used to it, and he is past the age when he could be corrected—"but you're right, Tywin was wrong this time: the Freys opened the crossing to the Starks, and…"

"... which led to his precious son being seized in a surprise attack, and indirectly caused me to be caught off guard, letting the wolf pups take Westerlin. Golden Lion, heh, sometimes it's just for show." Robb sneered coldly, envying and resenting the nobles.

"I don't know where you get your courage." "But it's still a lion, the lion that has held the Western Border for a thousand years." The countess emphasized, "The Freys opened the crossing to the Starks, and Robb Stark promised his daughter to them; otherwise you'd think how could Frey folk serve as the Young Wolf Lord's retainers? Tywin's error lay in not realizing that the northern wolf pups can also use marriage. Tywin doesn't know that sending a sister cannot compare to someone else giving a crown; moreover, his sister is already long in the tooth, grown fat as a dog, and still flaunts herself about, everywhere trying to prove her husband foolish."

"You really understand. That Gina bitch is indeed arrogant—ha, she weighs more than double her Frey husband." He wiped his smile, "Are you this time going to wrestle men from the Freys?" Robb is a smart fellow, but the countess feels that sometimes this brother of hers is just too savage.

"Poach men? She wouldn't use such a vulgar word." "As long as we break this marriage, cutting the enemy's wings for Tywin, he will not only pardon our betrayal but also reward our loyalty."

"A Spade family beauty plot? Too bad we Spades have no beauties left." He rubbed his temples, looking weary, "Ah, don't get upset at my saying this—just because you once secured Gavin doesn't mean you can now snag an ice‑field wolf."

"You idiot." "When did I ever say I wanted you to do it?" she raised her voice.

"Jane?" He confirmed with a glance, receiving affirmation, then looked somewhat angry, "Have you gone mad?"

"You've already asked me that. I'm certain I'm not crazy—does this answer satisfy you?"

"Fine, just say it all at once—don't make me guess."

"As long as you stay quiet." "Our father poured his heart and soul into establishing his fledgling family, yet in the end it was I who secured his position—I was the one who got Gavin to break his engagement to Golden Tooth. My Jane will surely make that boy renounce his betrothal to the Freys, and once successful, not only will the Spade family earn great merit, but Westerlin will also be safe and sound."

"The Young Wolf Lord and young Gavin are somewhat alike, but Jane cannot compare to you—she is merely a simple little girl, lacking any woman's wit."

What captures men is women's magic.

Hahaha, magic. You think the northern lad hasn't seen a woman? He abandoned his engagement and allies, choosing a child who just grew up? If he had half his father's regard for honor, he wouldn't have chosen Jian Ni or her magic. Luo Fu's voice was too loud, so the Countess had to hit him to signal him to lower his voice.

Magic is my spear. "You're wrong, Luo Fu. It's genuine magic, have you forgotten our grandmother?" She is the family's taboo, an incurable madwoman; everyone thinks this bloodline tainted his family's purity, but she possesses mysterious energy.

"You? I must warn you, this is base witchcraft, and witchcraft is a sword without a hilt; abuse will inevitably reap what you sow. Do you know why she was banished?" He seemed like a righteous gentleman, truly laughable.

"If witchcraft can exchange for a castle, a title, and a queen, what price couldn't be paid?" Moreover, the price is paid by others.

"Witchcraft cannot exchange for genuine reality—maggot steak, ice-snow treasure sword, urine gold—it can weave anything you want for you, but it's all empty and meaningless. I thought you should have understood long ago."

It's you who doesn't understand. "A castle is a castle, a title is a title, a queen is a queen. How could it not be real?" If it weren't real, I shouldn't be the Countess.

"Hmph, a ruined castle, a cursed title, and a widowed queen." Luo Fu muttered resentfully.

"You think I'm willing? We are the Si Pai Se; empty fame is what we seek. As for the widow, the royal widow deflowered by the king is a suitable match for the second son of the second son of Kaiyan Cheng." The Countess could feel her own anger. How could the legitimate daughter not be worthy of his second son?

Damn it! If you're willing, go ahead and do it! But I warn you, I will absolutely not participate in evil schemes. This

Where in this world is there a just scheme? "Just surrender." Jian Ni, Jian Ni—this was originally the queen's name.

They spent a day discussing the manner and plan of surrender in detail, refusing to let the surrender appear sudden. After feigning discussion of the surrender terms and finally reaching agreement, they had their status restored.

She took back Jian Ni's room and her jewelry box, dismissed the maids, personally bathed and dressed her daughter in beautiful attire that displayed youthful vigor. Jian Ni was a compassionate girl, with a sweet voice and an attractive appearance, but this was a boring facade; a facade could attract mortals and kings, but it was insufficient to overturn perception, insufficient to capture the spirit. To make up for this, she put an archaic jade bracelet on her, engraved with ancient totems and mysterious characters, and secretly smeared her daughter's blood on it; a flash of brightness vanished, perceptible only to her.

Jian Ni became even more beautiful, like a gentle light, calm and warm.

"Do you think the young lady is beautiful?" the Countess asked Jie Yi. Jie Yi was a gentle little girl, her childish voice not yet faded, small and lovable; everyone liked her very much, and after the confinement ended she was very happy.

"Mm, truly beautiful." She fluttered around Jian Ni like a little deer, chirping.

The Countess pushed open the house's window; sunlight streamed in, her head of soft golden hair shining, more splendid than Jian Ni's chestnut hair, and even more striking were her gem-like sparkling blue eyes. In the sunlight, the girl smiled even more cutely, revealing her missing teeth, like an angel.

Don't blame me; I cannot leave Qiaoyan Cheng, and I cannot find a suitable candidate.

Hey, is there any flower milk left? I really can't stand the shrill cries of cute girls.