The the Dreadfort was a solid fortress, with towering walls and sharp, sawtooth battlements.
It sat near a volcanic crater, using magma and hot springs to heat the castle.
They said the castle still contained horrific torture chambers—and a special room dedicated to collecting the flayed skins of enemies…
The carriage came to a stop. Outside, Sir Wendel tapped lightly on the door and said in a low voice:
"Lord Domeric, we've arrived."
As Wendel opened the door, Domeric stepped down from the carriage.
Domeric was about to march beyond the Wall to punish the wildlings—yet his bargain-basement father, Roose Bolton, had urgently summoned him.
Lonely Mountain was less than a day's journey from the Dreadfort. Domeric had no real excuse to refuse, so he had come to meet this bargain-basement father.
On the main gatehouse, the banner of House Bolton fluttered—on a pale pink field, a flayed man…
Guards and servants were already out to greet him. Under Wendel's direction, a few wagons behind were guided through the Dreadfort's rear gate…
Domeric passed through the castle gates and immediately saw a tall man approaching—Igor Gryn, the Earl's captain of the guard and trusted retainer.
He had once been a hedge knight from across the Narrow Sea.
Captain Igor had followed Earl Roose through half a lifetime of war, even fighting beside him during the Robert's Rebellion—including the Battle of the Trident—and had earned no small number of merits.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, still carrying a fierce look. Though already nearing middle age, his waist was ramrod-straight, like a fine blade hidden in its scabbard—seemingly harmless, but once drawn, impossible to look at directly.
Facing Domeric, the heir of the Dreadfort, Igor—despite being Roose's foremost confidant—still strode up at once, dropped to one knee, and performed the formal salute of a house retainer. The dozen elite soldiers behind him also took a knee in unison.
Domeric smiled and quickly helped his bargain-father's chief confidant back to his feet with both hands.
[Secrets-Delving System Triggered!]
Igor Gryn
Identity: Earl Roose's Captain of the Guard, landed knight
Title: None
Strength: 60
Agility: 65
Spirit: 65
Combat Index: 190
Note: Target is not in a state of fear; you cannot窥探 his secrets.
A combat index of 190—it went up again. Domeric couldn't help being stunned.
Half a year without seeing him, and Captain Igor's combat index had risen by five.
Most swordsmen in the North—once they passed thirty and got dragged down by household affairs—tended to decline.
But this Captain Igor was the opposite. He was already in his forties, yet he seemed to grow stronger year by year.
"Young master, you're back," Igor said as he rose. He smiled faintly. "The road must have been hard. Lord Bolton is waiting for you in the study. Please go to him at once."
Domeric nodded. "Uncle Igor, half a year and you look even sharper. Your skill's improved again. Next year at the harvest tourney, if House Bolton has you competing, we'll steal the show…"
Igor only gave a light smile and said nothing.
He had followed Earl Roose for twenty years—he'd seen every kind of storm. He was steady to the bone. He merely gestured, guiding Domeric toward the Dreadfort's inner keep.
Along the way, Domeric knew Igor wasn't talkative, so he didn't force conversation—only glanced casually at the castle furnishings.
Half a year away, and the place did seem more luxurious. Servants moved about with smiles on their faces. Seeing the young heir returning after months away, they all hurried to bow and salute.
"The castle's changed quite a bit," Domeric remarked offhandedly.
To his surprise, the taciturn captain actually answered:
"It has. In recent years, Lonely Mountain has grown stronger and stronger, bringing enormous profits to the house every month. You've never forgotten to send coin to Lord Bolton… thanks to you, young master, even the castle's vault has been renovated."
"Hah. As it should be." Domeric laughed and said no more.
At the door to the study, Igor stopped. He looked Domeric over one more time, the corner of his mouth lifting into a gentle smile—then turned and left.
Domeric took a deep breath, pushed open the study door, and walked in.
Earl Roose's study wasn't large, and it was quiet. It looked as if there were no guards at all—yet Domeric knew this was practically the most heavily defended place in the entire Dreadfort.
A noble house that had endured thousands of years in the North naturally had a different kind of foundation.
That loud, obvious style—three steps a post, five steps a sentry—was the behavior of upstarts, putting everything in plain sight.
Here, you saw no soldiers stationed outside the study, but Domeric knew that Earl Roose—after a lifetime of war—kept certain dark forces on hand: assassins and killers with formidable martial skill.
And the reason Igor enjoyed such absolute trust was because those hidden blades were under Igor's command.
Without Earl Roose's order, no one could enter this study.
If someone trespassed, they'd lose their head before they even reached the courtyard.
Shaking off those stray thoughts, Domeric stepped farther in—and saw his father: Roose Bolton.
The current head of House Bolton sat behind his desk with a quill in hand. A chill hung over his stern face as he frowned, studying a letter whose contents Domeric couldn't see.
Domeric walked up to the desk in silence. He stood with hands lowered at his sides, obedient and proper, saying nothing.
A moment later, Earl Roose finally seemed to return to himself. He scribbled a few lines on the letter, set down the quill, and lifted his head.
His expression was calm as he looked at Domeric—his gaze flat, neither pleased nor angry, as if no emotion existed in him at all.
Domeric raised his own head and met his father's eyes with the same calm.
Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort.
He was of average build, not strong. His looks were decent, with little trace of time. He was clean-shaven. The most striking thing was his eyes—so pale they were uncanny: darker than milk, lighter than stone.
His skin was pallid, likely from his habit of using leeches to draw blood.
"Regular leeching is the secret to a long life. A man should often purge himself of bad blood."
That was a saying Earl Roose liked to repeat—hence the mocking nickname: "Lord Leech."
In Domeric's eyes, this bargain-father looked refined and gentle on the surface, but was cold, calculating, and merciless at heart.
He always spoke softly and never raised his voice, forcing the listener to concentrate to catch every word.
…
Earl Roose spoke slowly.
"Hm. You've returned."
Domeric drew a deep breath.
"Yes. I've returned… Father."
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🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
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