Patrick makes his move when he returns to the estate.

Breweries, distilleries, storage facilities.
All of them are guarded by territorial troops, but in the shadows a short distance away, there are men, men who are just curious to see what's going on.
If they were outside the grounds, it wouldn't be a problem, but since they were well beyond the walls, there was a problem.

I approached him from behind and punched him in the side as hard as I could.
I kicked him in the stomach as he crouched in agony, then turned him onto his back and kneed him in the face.

This is usually enough to demoralize him and send him into a straightjacket.

He is handed over to the local army and stuffed into a prison cell, where he is dealt with again by the next interloper.

On the day he returned to King's Landing, there were 137 spies in the prison.
All of them had been interrogated by Patrick, of course.
The faces of the interrogated spies are a bit gaunt.
Perhaps they hadn't eaten enough, or perhaps they were simply frightened of Patrick.

Patrick heads for King's Landing with the spies crammed into a wagon escorted by his army.

A short distance before King's Landing, Patrick stopped the group, tied them up one by one with ropes, and then lassoed them together.

Patrick leads the way on horseback, flanked by his army of spies.
When they arrived at the gates of the capital, the gatekeeper in charge of security for the day saluted Patrick.

'Commander Patrick, who are these men?
He asks,
'They're rats from my territory, I was hoping their owners would take them in.
He replied with a cold smile.

Seeing his face, the soldier almost sank to his knees, but managed to hold on.

'Reaper's smile, scary!

He said in a whisper,
'I hear you, Captain Jayjay of the Third Army. I'm looking forward to the next training!
Patrick said to me.

'Heeey!　Please, forgive me!　Please!
Captain Jayjay apologized on his knees,
'Come on.
Patrick walks away from the gate.
'I think I might be dead. I mean, do you even remember my name?
Captain Jayjay looks resigned, his face pale and sighing.

The group walked down the main street. Slowly, just to make an example.
The commoners are looking on, wondering what's going on.
One of them, probably a spy, sees the faces of his comrades, turns bloodthirsty, and runs off somewhere.

The group headed for the nobleman's quarter, where the residences of the nobility lined the streets.