Chapter 16

Alright. I took you guys' advice. I have edited this chapter and added nearly a thousand more words to it. I also removed the part where the assassin stupidly reveals himself by lagging. Tell me if this plays out better.

Anything else I can improve?

Also, thanks to Zirael, Dakeyras, Axtergram-something and others for your advice. It helps improve the fic. Next chapter, MC also gets chewed out for his stupidity and begins the slow process of improving on his actions.

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"Gods bless you, Lord Herald. You saved my son's life." An old woman prayed.

"Thank ye, Herald. I dun thought I was a goner." The son sniffled as he bowed in gratitude.

I wiped his tears and patted his shoudler.

"They already have. It is by their gift of healing that I am able to serve." I humbly replied.

It had been a couple of weeks since I had come to Winterfell and my reputation had already spread throughout the area, even to some rather remote villages by word of mouth.

The woman picked out a few apples from her pouch and handed them to me, "We do not have much to give but please accept our offerings."

"You needn't have. I ask nothing of you. Keep them."

"No, Lord Herald. Our way is the old way. I would anger the gods if I cannae even pay small respects to Lord Herald after you healed his broken arm."

"If you insist." I took one apple and handed the rest back to her, "But one is more than enough."

She made to object but I just gestured behind her at the other people looking to visit and she nodded.

Bowing low she and her son got up from the barrels I was using as seats in the corner of the keep by the Godswood and left, letting the next person come forward.

The man looked like a merchant, his clothes were a cut above the rest. When I had first seen him queue up, I half expected him to throw a tantrum and swing his weight around to cut in line. But it looks like he was a smart man. He had been focused on me, eagle eyed the whole time, analyzing me like a commodity.

Once his turn came around he stepped forward and sat down opposite me.

"Where are you injured? Is it an inside or outside ailment?" I asked out of courtesy even as I extended a hand to him, to give me his own.

It was a routine I set in healing people. With each person I practiced three of my spells together.

First, I cast Trace on their bodies to understand their problem. Trace as it's name suggests works on the concept of tracking, tracing and following a logical path in relation to an existence. It was a spell for structural analysis that gathers all the information about the existence in question, including their make, structure, internal mechanism, flaws and durability and at it's height of mastery, even the history and legend of it's very existence like a magical version of psychometry, allowing a master of this spell to see into the target's past and present, even share senses and memories if needed. Yeah, Fate spells are all just that broken and overpowered. You just need to put in a hell of a lot of effort into them to master their concepts.

Then, I cast a Healing at the part of their body that was injured.

And finally, I used Transmutation to curl a single hair on their head into a different number between 0 and 9.

After all, why let these willing guinea pigs go to waste?

I was going to milk all the experience I could from them.

I looked at the man, expecting either an answer or his hand but he seemed intent on talking first.

"It's nothing much. Just a sprain. I worked the abacus a bit too hard." He smiled genially, presenting his hand, but kept it just out of my hands.

Oh. he's just here to waste my time.

A merchant who wants to makes a connection and then bank on it later?

Let's heal him quickly and get on with it.

I went to grab his hand but just before I could, as if he had predicted it, he smoothly moved his hand away in a natural motion. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch of coins and gently placed them on the upright barrel between us.

Was that a coincidence or...?

Silently, I cast Reinforcement on myself and checked my bounded field again. I had set it up around the barrels, extending scarcely a few meters in either direction just to be safe.

Since the last time, when Bran hid in the Godswood and escaped my sight, I had also modified it to keep out people who had ill intentions towards me and to have a constant radar on all presences around me.

The radar didn't show anything abnormal and since the man was in here, he can't have ill intentions.

Maybe he's just extra skeevy?

I relaxed.

"This is a token of my appreciation, Lord Herald." He gently slid the bag towards me, "Please accept it."

I glanced at the bag and then back at the man and shook my head.

"There is no need for such a thing. Especially before I have even had the chance to heal you. If you would give me your hand...."

Sheesh, I have better things to do. Get on with it man.

"Of course." He finally put his hand in mine and I grabbed it, pressing a finger to his nerves to pretend like I was doing something medical and cast Trace. In truth I could cast Trace from just a touch, anywhere, anytime, but it pays to play the part.

The Trace spell spread out from my fingers and ran through the course of his body with a soft glow. Then, the information came pouring in.

His muscles, his organs, his bones, his faces....his...faces?!

A chill ran down my spine and a terrifying thought crept into my mind as it took all I had to keep a straight face.

That's a faceless man!

No wonder I couldn't spit him. He has no ill intentions because all intentionality is beaten out of them during their training.

Killing me is probably like chopping vegetables or cleanih his room for him. Just a chore. No wonder I couldn't sense it!

He wouldn't kill me right here, would he now?

No. There was a crowd of people behind him and guards all around us that Lord Stark had placed to surveil me. Killing me here would reveal his presence and while he could just disappear into the crowd, something this blatant didn't seem like their modus operandi.

"Is something the matter?" He asked.

"No. It's just cold around here." I smiled back at him with as much innocence as I could muster, "Oh you mean the- right. I was just wondering why you would come here with such a minor injury? You would have been fine even without, and there are others in more dire need of my help."

If there was one thing I was confident in, it was my acting. And right now, I needed to make sure he doesn't know that I know about him.

Still, I held my silent guard up and didn't waste another moment thinking of all the whats and hows as I cast a Healing on him, all senses brought to full alert. Any suspicious movement from me would catch his attention and alarm him. I can't have that happen. If he gets alarmed he will kill me, all logic be damned. And I'll have to reveal more than just healing. That's going to raise questions and suspicions.

"Ah, this feels so much better." He rubbed his wrist expressively, "A merchant's hands are his livelihood, Lord Herald. Every moment, I spend recovering is a coin not earned. It is why I just had to visit you." He looked down at the pouch again and then back at me.

"Are you sure I cannot convince you to accept my gratitude?"

"You already have. Your gratitude is enough. There is no need for coin." I waved him off.

No way I'm touching those coins. Even more so now that I know they belong to an assassin. They could be laced with a contact poison. Shit, he could be laced with a contact poison!

[He is.] PK answered and cast a quiet Healing on me.

[The bag too, probably.]

Thanks.

Right now all I could think of was how to get out of this pickle safely and without revealing my other spells.

The assassin is probably just scouting this place right now. He'll likely move in for the kill later. Even this healing session is to gauge my reactions and strength to calculate his chances of success and strategize about his means.

So all I need to do is send him away quickly and then go hunt him down once he's away, catching him by surprise.

"If that is all..." I gestured to him to go away as politely as I could and he nodded.

Go away already, leatherface! I screamed internally.

"Certainly. But if you could spare me a moment later, I wish to talk to you about something that would bring salvation to a lot more lives than this." And here comes the set up for an assassination attempt.

Not buying it.

"I am sorry but I am not interested in any mercantile ventures. I just wish to serve the old gods in peace." I smiled and gently let him down.

"As you wish then, Lord Herald." He nodded and walked away.

As soon as he was out of sight, I lost track of him completely, even the tracker I had put on him disappearing as his existence changed.

He had changed faces again and it seemed it brought like a complete change in his existence with each use. My tracker was based on Trace and only catalogued one identity at a time, given my relative inexperience with the spell.

No wonder he got away.

Dammit!

I need to put up a bigger barrier around Winterfell and this time, add a better tracker function too. Things like this cannot continue to happen.

I seethed within as I put on a smile and greeted the next man before me.

On the off chance that he doesn't know that I know or if someone else is watching, I cannot give any impression that something or anything happened here just now, at all. I need to keep in the role.

With that thought, I turned to the next person before me.

"And what ailment brings you here?...."

.

Later in the day, I paced about in my room, rubbing my temple.

"Why is that faceless man here?"

[To kill you obviously.]

"Ah, there you are." I noted the presence of the suspiciously silent ring.

[I didn't say anything earlier at the risk of exposing you to the assassin.]

"I figured." I shrugged, "Appreciate it."

[So what do we do about the assassin? He's going to kill you, you know?]

"Yes, but why here and now? I thought I had another two weeks before they got here.

After all, wouldn't it make more sense to come here hiding in the king's retinue. It would give them a larger crowd to blend in, multiple identities to fall back to.

Why risk it now? Unless....of course. All the gods here are precogs. They can see the future. They must know what I plan to do when the king arrives in Winterfell and they want to stop me. Or at least the Many Faced God does.

Then it's simple. I just need to kill the assassin before they kill me.

The only problem - how do I find out who the assassin is?"

My mind raced a mile a minute to figure the whole situation out as PK chirped up.

[I sense a mystery in the making!]

"Indeed, my dear Watson."

[Hold on, why do you get to be Sherlock?]

"Because I'm awesome? Oh and also because I already figured it out."

[Already?]

"Well, almost figured it out. See there are a few ways we could go about it.

The first is where I use Trace on everybody, one by one, but that would require me to touch everyone in Winterfell. And Trace isn't exactly the most stealthy spell.

This way is the most obvious but also the most time consuming. Too time consuming. The assassin will probably gut me before I get even a tenth of the way through. Or escape, if he hasn't already."

[Not doing that then.] PK noted, [What if, I Trace-d the entirety of Winterfell in one fell swoop?]

"No. I thought of it too but it's not worth it. Not only is it too visible and would raise questions I'd rather not have to answer, even if I succeeded in it, somehow, it would be so much information, my brain would melt. I just can't process that much data."

[Yeah. You can't. But I can.]

"I know. But can you supply the mana that would be required for a spell so big? I certainly can't. I don't have enough magic capacity."

[There's always the Kaleidoscope. The multidimensional refraction phenomenon gives any user of the Kaleidoscope infinite mana by tapping into parallel worlds.]

"Except I can't use the Kaleidoscope yet and you can't pull mana by yourself. So that plan is out too."

[Then what? You said you figured it out.]

"I did. And here's the solution. We'll just have to do this the old fashioned way."

I smiled and put on my hat and coat.

"Good old noir detective work."

[I do love a good mystery. Let's crack this case Watson!]

"Very smooth." I rolled my eyes and chuckled at PK's unsubtle attempt at being the Sherlock.

"But there can only be one Watson."

[And that's you.] PK laughed.

"Sure. I'll let you delude yourself." I smirked and left the room for my first destination.

.

I walked across the early evening bustle of Winterfell, Reinforcement perpetually cast on me, just in case and observed everyone passing by.

The assassin had yet to make any attempts at my life but I wasn't going to let my guard down even a little bit.

[Maybe he didn't come here for you? What if he's just someone posted here, to handle this sector of the world as his own hunting grounds, and you just happened to find him by a fluke.]

Could be. But either way, I'll feel safer with the assassin decapitated.

[So how do you plan on capturing him? Will you even be able to?]

Assassins aren't used to being stalked and hunted. Their job is in the shadows, to be the hunter, and with those shapeshifting skills I doubt he has been under the pressure of being the prey.

I will find him, don't worry.

Now the question is where he's hiding. As a faceless man he must have at least two more identities in Winterfell, other than the merchant, if he's confident enough to kill me and escape.

Now if he was anything like Jaqen Hghar, he'd have at least one identity be that of a guard or something, making escape easier, if only by way of access to the parapets on the walls that he could jump out of if I locked down the castle.

But knowing their kind, they must have done their research. After all, he did come to me for a healing session trying to probe at my abilities. He must have also heard then, how I healed that soldier earlier. So logically, if he were to try to escape, he'd transform into a soldier as a last resort. It's what I'd do in his shoes. Keep me on my toes.

Then if he's not a soldier, which identity would he assume? Which one would I assume, were I in his shoes?

It'd have to be an identity that had ease of access to several parts of the castle, one that was fairly low key, such that no one would look twice at them, and finally, something that could grant her access to the kitchen, for easy poisoning.

So a servant? A cook?

No. If they were being really careful, if they know I can tell them apart by a touch it'd have to be an identity I wouldn't be so casual about touching, especially if I wanted to keep my reputation.

A maid! A kitchen maid or female cook.

One of those. That'd be it. It's what Arya did in the show.

Yeah. Let's start there.

I circled past all ways in and out of the keep, silently placing bounded fields everywhere to keep him from escaping as I took the long, long way to the study.

I knocked lightly on the open door.

"Maester Luwin, could I ask for a moment of your time?"

"You could. You could ask for much more after you convinced Bran to finally sit through his lessons. I am grateful." The old maester laughed, putting down his pen as he turned to me, "How may I help you Lord Herald?"

I smiled.

"Glad I could be of help, Maester." I nodded, leaning against the door, "I was wondering, have you hired any new maids for the castle recently? Or recruited any sellswords? Anyone new in the castle that wasn't there say, three weeks ago. Even a new merchant perhaps?"

"Only you, I can say. We cannot afford much more."

"I see." I thought for a moment before bowing lightly to the Maester, "Thank you. I'll leave you to it then."

If there are no new people in the castle, then that means the assassin had to have taken the face of someone here. That means there's a dead body in Winterfell, hidden somewhere out of sight, whose face has been stolen. So if I found the body, I could get an idea of who it was that had been replaced.

And the body wasn't going to be found lying around just anywhere.

It'd have to be hidden some place no one visits and has a convenient place to hide bodies. There's only one place like that in Winterfell.

The crypt!

I walked over to the crypt, hypnotizing the guards to let me pass and brought out my phone's flashlight as I descended underground.

The crypt was where the Starks buried their dead, burnt and ashen, with sword and needle. It had many alcoves for storing these urns and even many intact bodies that were buried instead of being cremated.

The place was cold and dark and dry, with statues of Stark ancestors lining the walls and halls below, looking over the dead with a stoic resolve. On the walls, scenes of battle and conquest, were carved alongside the legends of Bran The Builder and some other noteworthy Starks of history, in intricate detail. It was fascinating, a subject of study soemday when I am older. But for now I had better things to do.

The crypt itself was a fair bit larger than one would think, but it was to be expected. It held 8000 years of Stark ashes and corpses. Just a rough count showed over 30k urns and hundreds of stone coffins entombed below the castle, as I walked their ranks, searching for any signs of disturbance.

It didn't take long to find out signs of movement. In the thick dust, faint as they were, lay footsteps of the assassin, leading all around the crypt.

Following them, led me to three coffins. All of them looked undisturbed but I could spot the difference with a look. In this dry crypt they were the only ones that had condensation on them. It was very little and would disappear soon if there wasn't any source for it. Something most wouldn't notice or chalk up to it being a crypt.

It was clever of him. But not clever enough.

Using Reinforcement, I gently lifted the cover from the coffins and observed the victims.

Naked and faceless.

One was a stocky woman, about 5'4. She had cuts and burns on her fingers, and calluses on her palms. Likely from washing and cleaning, cutting up vegetables and tending to the flames.

A kitchen worker. Maid or assistant chef.

Another was a well built man of 5'8 with a distinct musculature around his arms. his hands had callused around the edges of the palm, likely from years of spear use. A soldier.

The final corpse was, of course, of the merchant. I could recognise the hands and jawline.l from this morning.

So, that means I was right. He is hiding as a maid. Or a soldier.

Given it was almost time for dinner though, he was unlikely to be the soldier. A maid would have an easier time poisoning my food. So logically, he should be at the kitchens.

Let's start there then.

Standing on the castle wall overlooking the kitchens, I observed the traffic in an out for any suspicious movement.

Now if he was in the kitchen under an assumed identity, and as a woman, was he a cook, or a maid?

Strictly speaking, he would have better chances of assassinating me as a maid, with their freedom of movement, access to the food to be served, and how little attention was paid to them compared to the cooks. But, there was the off chance he knew how to cook and found it easier that way.

Hmm.... nah. It has to be a maid. Even if they knew how to cook, it's easier to alter the food after it's made and this way they'd conserve their energy too.

But just which one? I can't just go in there and start accusing random maids of being a faceless man. Not only would it alert him, it would also label me as a crazy man.

Wait.....

If he is hiding as a maid, wouldn't he have needed a face?

[Unless he was using one he already had, if he had been placed here long ago as a sleeper agent.]

True. But I'm willing to bet it's a new thing. He seemed a bit too jumpy to have it all figured out from way back. This was a rush job.

"There you are." Just then a voice called out to me.

I turned around with a alarmed whirl, only to find Robb coming over.

"You nearly scared me out of my boots." I laughed nervously, patting his shoulder, silently casting Trace on him. Thankfully he wasn't the assassin.

I wasn't particularly worried about the assassin taking the identity of a Stark anyways but it pays to be careful with their sort. These people practiced old magic. They believed in the inherent value of king's blood and relative values of life. It's why they charged different prices for different people. Not to mention they had that rule about one life per calling. He'd avoid killing more if he could. Even that maid killing hypothesis I had was only being considered because this seemed to have been ordered by their god himself. Regardless, he'd keep the body count as low as possible, if only out of habit.

"Come. It is time for supper. And Bran can't sit easy waiting for you to finish Luke and Leia's tale."

"Only Bran, eh?" I asked with a chuckle. I had been mending relations with the Starks over the past few weeks, building rapport via story nights.

And it had worked wonders, seeing even Robb being so friendly.

"I never said he was only one." He replied with a cheeky grin, "Arya is excited too. So come on now. Before the food gets cold."

I laughed a little and shook my head.

"No. You go ahead. I'll be there in a while." I returned my gaze to the kitchens, eyeing every maid that walked about with caution, scrutinizing every last detail of their behaviour. After a good half hour, I had managed to narrow it down to two maids with the body type I had observed but I wasn't sure which was which. One was dark eyed with sallow cheeks and a stocky figure she hid with a thick layer of clothes while the other was a slightly stocky woman with a nondescript face, the kind that could blend in with a crowd and disappear. Honestly, I was leaning towards her being the one.

"Oh, did a maid catch your fancy?" He asked, with a teasing smile.

"Something like that." I deflected, and waved him off as I saw one of the two suspects, the stocky one, sneak a glance my way and make her way out of the pantry in haste.

Got you now, sucker!

Immediately I jumped down from the wall, landing before her.

"You there. Hold it." I grabbed her hand, casting a Trace to check. If she was the assassin, I could just Transmute her heart to stone or shatter her bones into shrapnel with Shatterpoint.

The only reason I didn't do that at the plaza earlier was because I didn't want to reveal my powers and I didn't want to associate his death with my touch. It would ruin three weeks worth of rep work.

"Lord Herald, this...." She blushed, acting coy.

And the Trace revealed she wasn't the assassin.

Then...?

I whirled around, scanning the kitchen through the open door, looking for the other woman, only to find she had disappeared.

Shit!

Fine then. I'll just have to force your hand. Smoke that rat out!

"Robb!" I called out, "Lock the castle down. Close all doors. Call up the guards. No one goes in or out of the castle."

"What?" Robb looked confused as I dashed after the woman who had escaped.

"Just do it! Now!" I ordered with urgency.

Robb didn't ask any further and ran off to do the same as I turned the corner, scanning the crowds on the other side of the kitchen. But the assassin was gone.

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And here's the chappy for the day, longer as promised.

3382 words!

Tell me how was the chappy?

MC finds out that he has a special guest. And the hunt for the faceless man ensues.

Next chapter, smoke, ash and Decapitation!

Epic battle, maybe?

Haven't decided the middle part yet.

Will see about that.

Thanks for reading.

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See ya!