The long, agonizing night finally passed, giving way to a pale, grey morning.
By midday, the weather in Mole's Town had settled. The temperature was actually colder than the day before, freezing the mud into solid, treacherous ridges, but the heavy snowy winds and blizzards had stopped. The sky was clear enough for the townsfolk to resume their usual daily activities, their muffled voices carrying through the crisp winter air.
The heavy wooden door of the secluded hut swung open, and Serena stepped inside. She quickly closed it behind her to trap the heat, shaking a light dusting of frost from her thick cloak.
"Everything is arranged," Serena announced, her voice calm and businesslike. "It is time. Let's go."
From the dark corner of the room near the hearth, a man slowly stood up. He leaned heavily on a crooked wooden walking stick, his joints popping loudly.
If anyone from Mole's Town had walked into the hut at that exact moment, they would never have recognized the man standing there. The rich, arrogant, and overwhelmingly fat Lord Gared was completely gone. In his place stood a broken, pathetic beggar.
"Sweeties," Serena said softly, walking over to inspect their handiwork. "Have you finished the makeup? Is there anything else we need to add?"
Lyra, who was standing on her tiptoes next to the man, clapped her small hands cheerfully. "No, Mother! 'Uncle' is perfectly good to go now. I used my hands to feel his face and his stomach. I sense that he has really changed in almost every aspect you mentioned. It's unbelievable!"
Yoriichi, standing a few paces back with his arms crossed, simply nodded. "Hmm. That is right. His gait is uneven, and his center of gravity has shifted. The disguise is clear."
Lyra had thoroughly enjoyed helping to apply the dirt, ash, and smelly ointments to the man's face. Gared, on the other hand, didn't know whether to scream in anguish, cry, or laugh hysterically. He felt like a painted joker in a cheap mummer's farce, but the pain radiating through his entire body reminded him this was a matter of life and death.
His night had been absolute, unfiltered hell.
True to her word, the madwoman had taken her skinning knife and dragged it diagonally across his left cheek. It wasn't a deep, lethal cut, but it was a long, bloody slash that would leave a nasty scar. He had screamed in pain, but that was only the beginning.
Then came the physical exercise. It felt like pure torture. Under Yoriichi's merciless supervision, Gared was forced to do squats, push-ups, and run in place near the roaring fire while wearing three layers of heavy wool. He was a fat man who hadn't exercised in a decade; his heart felt like it was going to explode. He had collapsed in exhaustion three separate times.
But he didn't get to sleep. Every time he passed out, the six-year-old demon boy would step forward and strike a specific, hidden nerve on Gared's neck or arm. The agonizing jolt of pain woke him up instantly, forcing him to keep moving. It was a demonic, relentless method.
By sunrise, Gared had sweated out what felt like twenty pounds of water and bloat. His limbs were shaking uncontrollably, his body screaming for rest. Serena had then wrapped a thick, coarse rope tightly around his stomach, pulling it so hard his ribs bruised, compressing his remaining gut. Finally, she had made him swallow a spoonful of dry ash and practice shouting until his vocal cords were completely raw and stiff.
Serena walked around him in a slow circle, inspecting the disguise.
Early that morning, while Gared suffered, Serena had gone out into the town. She had casually strolled through the market, tracking the activities of the Night's Watch guards and ensuring the town was operating normally. Nobody suspected a thing. She had then waited near the Kingsroad until she spotted Maeve, the friendly farmer's wife who regularly bought supplies from her.
Serena had politely asked Maeve for a favor—a ride in the back of her husband's enclosed turnip carriage for a "poor, sick friend" who needed to travel south. Maeve, respecting Serena deeply, had agreed without hesitation.
Before returning, Serena had grabbed a pile of abandoned, unwashed clothes from the junk crates at The Black Cache. They smelled terribly of stale sweat, cheap ale, and wet dog.
Gared was wearing them now. Combined with the coarse horsehair mustache, the leather eye patch over his right eye, and his freshly scarred cheek, he looked like a miserable war veteran who had lost everything.
"Perfect," Serena declared, tossing him a ragged, oversized brown cloak. "Put this on. Keep your head down, hunch your shoulders, and drag your right leg exactly like I broke it yesterday. You are no longer Lord Gared. You are Yorick, a poor beggar going South for his failing lungs."
Gared caught the cloak, his hands trembling. "Y-yes, my lady," he rasped. His voice sounded like two stones grinding together. The vocal damage was entirely convincing.
"Let's move," Serena ordered.
Gared slowly hobbled out the door, groaning as the biting cold hit his sweaty, aching body. Serena and the twins followed right behind him.
But as they stepped into the snow, Yoriichi suddenly paused. His crimson eyes scanned the dense, terrifying tree line of the Wolfswood just a few dozen yards to their left.
"Mother," Yoriichi said quietly. "Let him run over the forest line first. Just for a moment."
Serena looked at her son, her brilliant mind instantly grasping his tactical logic. If Glendon or Bowen Marsh eventually realized Gared was missing, they wouldn't just use their eyes. They would use the Watch's hunting hounds.
Serena nodded approvingly. She turned to Gared and pointed a firm finger toward the dark trees. "Run into the forest, Yorick. Go fifty paces deep, rub your hands on the pine needles, and come back stepping in your exact same footprints."