Chapter 347

Aegor swallowed hard.

Bran had just repeated, word for word, the whispered remark Roose Bolton had made to him at Deepwood Motte that night. Honestly... even though Aegor had mentally prepared for this, it was still unsettling. Not entirely in a bad way, though—at least now he didn’t have to fake his shock; his genuine reaction sufficed.

Of course, he was only startled, not guilty. He hadn’t conspired with the Lord of the Dreadfort to overthrow the Starks, so there was nothing for him to feel nervous about. Whether it was that cryptic phrase, “Opportunities are for those who prepare,” or the gratitude Bran expressed for Aegor’s care toward the Stark family, it was all part of the same effort—Bran proving he could see everything.

But Aegor didn’t need proof. He knew more about the powers of a greenseer than anyone else alive—aside from the greenseer themselves.

“Very well, then…” The Lord Commander feigned unease, swallowing again as he assumed a stern, serious expression. “In that case, Lord Bran, could you tell me where the White Walkers are now and what schemes they’re plotting?”

“We’ll get to that later. First, we have a more personal matter to address.”

The boy straightened in his chair, his face—previously emotionless—taking on an air of gravity. Seeing this, Aegor instinctively tensed, straightening his back, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword.

Rationally, he knew that if the greenseer wanted him dead, they wouldn’t resort to something as crude as face-to-face combat. But the instincts of a soldier were hard to suppress.

“I don’t know where you came from, who sent you, or what your purpose is,” Bran began, his youthful voice carrying a maturity far beyond his years. “I’m curious about the mechanism and principles of how you suddenly appeared in this world, but now isn’t the time for such research. I’d like to believe you’re a hero sent by the heavens to save mankind, but in some stories, I am the heavens. And no one knows better than I that there are no gods.

“One thing about you, however, is clear—something you probably can’t explain to me either. You know far more than you should, possessing knowledge far beyond the scope of this world.” Bran’s tone turned razor-sharp. “So, Lord Commander, so mysterious, wise, and learned, riddle me this: If I, who command Brandon Stark’s crippled body, retain all of Brandon Stark’s memories and feelings, and still love my family and friends as much as he once did… am I still Brandon Stark?”

…

What? This conversation had shifted from military intelligence to philosophical debate? Aegor had indeed been wondering if the person before him was still Bran, but surely the greenseer couldn’t read his mind… right?

Aegor suddenly recalled a classic question: Was it Zhuang Zhou dreaming of a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming of Zhuang Zhou?

Wait—this was ridiculous. Planning a strategy against the army of the dead was headache enough. He wasn’t going to let himself get sucked into such mental gymnastics. But just as he was about to brush off the topic, a realization struck him: Bran wasn’t actually asking him to solve the riddle. This was a veiled warning—or perhaps a display of dominance. Aegor couldn’t prove Bran wasn’t Bran. In fact, by some definitions, Bran was still Bran.

Whether the former greenseer had consumed Bran’s mind, or Bran had inherited the greenseer’s memories, or a mix of both, who could say? The truth didn’t matter now. What mattered was harnessing this power to win the war of ice and fire.

As Aegor’s expression shifted subtly—his thoughts betrayed by a flicker of surprise—Bran gave a faint, knowing smile. Conversing with clever people always saved time.

“I’m not looking for your answer,” Bran said calmly. “I just want you to understand: I stand with the living—that is, with the Night’s Watch. You can trust me.”

…

This conversation was moving far faster than Aegor had anticipated. He worked hard to conceal his inner turmoil. He had planned to feign ignorance, to keep his identity as a transmigrator hidden. But Bran had torn through the façade, laying it all bare without hesitation.

Bran’s actions defied every prediction Aegor had made. Unsure how to respond, he simply nodded and murmured an acknowledgment, continuing to study the boy. Trust had to be earned through actions, not words. Aegor West had climbed from the lowest ranks to his current position, not through naïve idealism but through pragmatism and careful judgment.

“You can take your time to think about it once you return. For now, let’s return to the earlier topic.” Bran sank back into his chair, his energy seemingly drained. His pale face regained its listless look, and his voice carried a faint rasp. “The wildlings’ wargs—those under your command now—you should know a thing or two about them, yes?”

The abrupt shift in subject caught Aegor off-guard, but he quickly adjusted. “I know a little. Wargs possess a natural talent for using magic to control animals for tasks like scouting, carrying loads, and attacking.”

“Almost entirely correct,” Bran replied, casting a faintly approving glance at him. “As for your earlier question about the White Walkers, I’ve been keeping an eye on them. It used to be easy to satisfy my curiosity: They were scattered across the Haunted Forest and the Lands of Always Winter, each combing their assigned areas for usable corpses and slaughtering the living to swell their ranks. That’s why they delayed their assault on the Wall. But once they began to gather… things became more complicated.”

The boy sighed like an old man, pausing for a long moment as if regaining his strength before continuing. “To understand this, you must first grasp how I perceive the world. I can see everything, but that doesn’t mean I immediately know everything. To learn the truth about something, I must either know when and where it happened and trace it back using magic—or, like a warg, possess a living creature and follow the target closely.

“But once the White Walkers consolidated their forces and began moving south, I noticed a figure among them—a leader or a ‘king,’ as the stories say. The Night King. He has the ability to counter my surveillance. Whether I possess an animal or gaze upon them through magic, he detects and disrupts me. Worse still, he can strike back, causing devastating harm to my body and mind.

“After several painful encounters, I can only offer a rough estimate of their direction. I no longer dare to attempt precise tracking.”

…

Aegor had long suspected the limits of the greenseer’s supposed omniscience. Weirwoods functioned like a vast surveillance network, recording everything within their range, past and present, in meticulous detail. The greenseer’s ability was essentially accessing and retrieving these recordings.

However, even with such extraordinary abilities, the human brain had its limits. The greenseer was like a lone worker monitoring a wall of countless screens, bombarded with an overwhelming volume of information but only able to process a small fraction of it.

Bran could dig deep into any topic he focused on, but without prior knowledge or a connection to a subject, he had no starting point.

The greenseer’s power was formidable yet fundamentally constrained. It was not true omniscience but conditional “omnivision.”

Aegor nodded slightly, outwardly casual but inwardly calculating. Even a casual remark from someone like Bran could reveal an enormous amount. Bran’s explanation confirmed Aegor’s theories: the greenseer’s abilities were not all-encompassing but tied to specific parameters.

“Very well, Greenseer,” Aegor said at last. “Your insights are still far beyond ours. If you don’t mind, could you estimate where the White Walkers are now and what they’re doing?”