He really understood me!

Corleone walked toward the edge of the camp with his medical bag, and the two Brave Companions standing guard immediately stopped him warily.

"Commander Vargo's orders."

Before they could ask, Corleone raised his head and haughtily borrowed Vargo's authority. "I'm here to treat the Kingslayer's injuries. If he dies on the way to Harrenhal, you won't get a single gold dragon."

At that, the two guards exchanged a glance and reluctantly stepped aside, looking thoroughly displeased with Corleone.

Fuck, what was a farmer acting so high and mighty for?

If it weren't for Commander Vargo's orders, I'd kill you right now!

Under their gazes, Corleone swaggered over to Jaime and crouched down, beginning to unwrap the bandages and treat the mangled stump of his wrist.

"The treatment worked. At least the rot hasn't spread much farther, but the dead tissue needs to be surgically removed as soon as possible, or I'm afraid you could lose the entire arm."

His voice was neither loud nor soft, just enough for the two guards to hear clearly. His tone was thoroughly professional, his manner strictly businesslike.

Jaime kept his head lowered, his voice deliberately weary. "And what if you save it? Will it let me hold a sword again and swing it the way I used to?"

As he spoke, he raised his eyelids, a hint of inquiry flashing in his green eyes.

Corleone worked deftly, his words carrying a pointed meaning. "At least a clean wound won't give you a raging fever at midnight and leave you... dead before dawn!"

Jaime's green eyes narrowed slightly at those words.

Yet he did not answer immediately. Instead, he scoffed again, his tone probing and mocking. "Even if you heal my wound, I won't thank you, boy."

"And perhaps once my father pays the ransom, I'll immediately ask Roose Bolton to cut off your head?"

"Casterly Rock's gold may not buy revenge for my severed hand, but it's enough to buy an insignificant... peasant healer like you, to let me vent my anger."

"Let me guess. How many gold dragons would make the Earl of the Dreadfort give the word? Five hundred? A thousand?"

Corleone kept working as he listened to Jaime's mockery.

The man was plainly warning him that cooperating with him might not end well.

Yet Corleone knew Jaime's character all too well, perhaps even better than his father, Lord Tywin, did.

He looked up, calmly meeting Jaime's probing, sardonic gaze. His voice was gentle, yet held a strange certainty:

"A lion may be forced by its circumstances to roll in the mud and soil its golden fur."

"It may have to bite intruders to death to protect its den, and it may even bear the blame in order to prevent a far more terrible catastrophe."

"But I've never heard of a proud lion willingly forsaking an oath it swore itself. If that day truly came, it would never be because of the lion's own baseness or greed."

"It would have to be because... it faced some higher choice that left it no other way, something even more important than its own honor!"

At those words, Jaime froze completely.

Corleone's words were like an impossibly precise scalpel, slicing straight through the deepest scar, the one he least wanted touched.

Over the years, the name "Kingslayer" had spread throughout Westeros. No one had ever interpreted his actions back then from such an angle, not even Eddard Stark, renowned for his "fairness" and "integrity"!

He understood me...

He really understood me!

An indescribable surge of anguish and comfort instantly shattered the wall of anger, humiliation, and self-abandonment in Jaime's heart.

He stared blankly at the lowborn peasant healer before him, opening his mouth without managing a single word.

Seeing Jaime frozen, Brienne beside him was utterly puzzled.

With her simple way of thinking, all she had heard was the two discussing strange subjects involving "wounds" and "lions," and she could connect them to nothing concrete.

She was not alone. The two guards nearby were equally baffled, completely unaware of any deeper meaning in their conversation.

Just then, Urswyck's roar came from nearby, breaking the brief silence.

"Hey, you two! Timon! Pagg!"

"Are you both fucking blind? Can't you see everyone's fucking exhausted, like they've screwed their way through an entire brothel? Get your asses over here and push the wagon!"

The two guards flinched at his shouting and said awkwardly, "But... the Kingslayer and this woman..."

"I'll watch them for you!"

Without a speck of mud on his clothes, Urswyck strode over, cursing. "Fuck, a bunch of useless bastards. These Brave Companions would fall apart sooner or later without me!"

Seeing his angry expression, neither dared say more, and they hurried toward the wagon stuck in the mire.

Taking the guards' place, Urswyck folded his arms and swept a gloomy gaze over Corleone and Jaime.

Suddenly, without warning, he raised a foot and kicked Corleone in the shoulder, sending him staggering. "Stop dawdling. Get over here. I cut my hand pushing the wagon just now. Take a proper look at it!"

With that, he walked over to a tree and sat down.

Corleone deftly finished bandaging Jaime, raised his eyebrows at him, and cast a meaningful glance toward Urswyck. "Tonight, Ser Jaime," he said quietly.

"Remember to remind me to change your dressing."

Corleone picked up his medical bag and walked toward Urswyck beneath the tree.

His face showed no anger at being kicked. He calmly crouched before the man, opened his medical bag, and took out a clean cloth and a waterskin, as though he really intended to treat the nonexistent wound.

"Your 'treatment' seems to have worked a little. That fellow was swaying badly in the saddle."

Urswyck scanned their surroundings warily, keeping his voice extremely low and barely moving his lips.

"But that's not enough. It would be best if he met the Stranger before daybreak!"

He seemed extremely anxious.

Corleone dampened the cloth and wiped Urswyck's smooth, clean palm, saying quietly, "He doesn't trust me anymore.

"Just now, he ordered that Dothraki to slit my throat. I can't get near him again, let alone try anything else."

"Damn it!"

Urswyck cursed, frowning as he ordered viciously, "Think of something!"

"Find another chance before daybreak and try one last time, even if you have to put something in his waterskin or food!"

"If it really won't work..."

A vicious gleam flashed in his eyes, and he finally gritted his teeth. "Then we'll strike early. We can't wait any longer!"

"We absolutely cannot let Vargo return to Harrenhal alive!"

Urswyck continued his analysis on his own. Seeing Corleone remain silent, he assumed he agreed with his proposal.

"You!"

He thought for a moment, glancing at Yego guarding Vargo nearby, and his lips curled cruelly. "Once the fighting starts, find a way to get close and kill that Dothraki savage!"

"He's Vargo's most loyal dog. He has to be the first to go!"

"Me?"

"Kill him?"

At that, Corleone pointed at his own nose in disbelief.

Are you fucking kidding me?

His arms are thicker than my thighs!

"What, you don't want to?"

Seeing Corleone's strong reaction, Urswyck sneered. "Since you took ten gold dragons from me, you'd better prove your worth. Otherwise... I'll kill you first, right now!"

Heh.

Seeing Urswyck's forceful attitude, Corleone sneered inwardly.

This fellow certainly knew how to scheme.

He was clearly sending him on an almost certainly fatal mission, but whether it succeeded or failed, Urswyck could easily eliminate two potential obstacles-Yego and Corleone himself.

Yet Corleone let nothing show on his face. He even frowned slightly, displaying just the right amount of reluctance, and answered quietly, "Since you've decided, I can try... but please help me if things get desperate."

Corleone's obedience pleased Urswyck greatly, and a twisted smile squeezed onto his gloomy face.

He abruptly pulled his hand back and deliberately cursed loudly. "Get lost! Clumsy bastard, you can't even treat a little scratch!"

Corleone silently packed his things, stood, and left.

Yet Urswyck, grinning smugly and viciously, failed to notice that his commander was staring straight at him from nearby with an exceedingly dangerous gaze.

Clearly, the entire "interaction" between the two had been witnessed.