Corleone When I opened the door of the Prime Minister's Tower, the first gray ray of dawn was seeping out from the eastern sky.
He stood inside the threshold, paused for half a second, adjusted his breathing, and pulled down the visor of his helmet, letting the cold metal fit against his skin.
Then step outside.
The early morning chill hit my face, mixed with the salty smell of the sea breeze.
His eyes swept across the front of the Prime Minister's Tower.
Four corpses were lying in a pool of blood in different postures.
The blood has solidified a little, and the dark red color is particularly dazzling on the gray-white stone slab.
Under the gradually brightening sky, those pools of blood looked like some kind of weird abstract painting, depicting the scrawling and haste of death.
Corleone's footsteps did not stop at all.
He walked down the steps, where there was a path leading to the White Sword Tower, a common route for the changing of the guard of the Kingsguard.
But he couldn't get there.
Because there were footsteps coming from the front.
More than one person.
Four Lannister Knightss wearing bright red armor appeared in front. They were obviously a team changing shifts and were preparing to go to the Prime Minister's Tower to take over the positions of the four corpses.
The team suddenly stopped when they were twenty steps away from Corleone.
Tybert's hand instantly pressed on the hilt of the sword, and the three companions behind him also reacted at the same time and entered a battle preparation posture.
"Stop!"
Hearing this, Corleone stopped.
"Faceguard."
Tybert took three steps forward, his hand still pressed on the hilt of the sword. "Take off your visor, Ser."
This is standard procedure.
When an abnormal situation is discovered, the captain of the guard has the right to ask any unknown person to identify himself, even if the person is wearing the White Armor of the Kingsguard.
But Corleone didn't follow the instructions, but took a step forward.
"Are you questioning me?"
Not an answer, but a rhetorical question.
There was undisguised displeasure in his tone, conveying a condescending tone.
"There's blood on your armor."
"I need an explanation, Ser."
Tybert did not flinch at all, but his voice became softer. Even the three knights behind him seemed to have initial trust in Corleone's identity.
After all, this aloof demeanor fits their stereotype of the Kingsguard.
"Explanation?"
Corleone's voice suddenly rose in pitch and came out through the visor. "I'm the fucking Kingsguard. Who are you? How dare you ask me to explain!!"
This scolding echoed in the square in the early morning, startling several pigeons on the nearby eaves and flying into the sky.
"I would like to ask you!"
"Where were you people who were supposed to be guarding the Prime Minister's Tower just now!"
Corleone pointed at the opponent's nose and cursed, causing Tybert to frown and quickly explained, "We are a shift team, and we have just arrived at work now...
,"Arrived? Ha!" Corleone interrupted him rudely, with a sharp and harsh laugh, "By the time you arrive, the Prime Minister will be dead!"
As soon as these words came out, Tybert and the soldiers behind him froze at the same time.
"You... what did you say?"
"I said, the Prime Minister's Tower was attacked just now!"
Corleone's voice became louder and faster, as if reciting a thrilling fight. "Four assassins took advantage of the darkest time before dawn, killed the original guards, and then tried to rush into the Prime Minister's Tower!"
He pointed to the blood stains on his armor.
"I just happened to be patrolling nearby. I heard some noise and came over. A fight started right here!"
"I killed three, and the last one escaped."
Corleone paused for a moment, breathing heavily through the mask, as if he had just experienced a fierce battle.
"The Prime Minister was shaken, but not injured."
"He ordered me to report to the king immediately, and at the same time dispatch more guards to blockade the Red Keep and search for the escaped assassins."
As he said that, he took another step forward and said in a very cold voice, "And you."
"Not only am I late, but here I am being stopped by a Kingsguard member who just saved the Prime Minister's life and is about to carry out an emergency order!"
"Tell me, Tybert·Hesban Ser...
When Corleone read out this name, Tybert's body visibly shook.
"Are you doubting me, or are you stalling for time so that the escaped assassin has more opportunities to sneak out of the Red Keep?"
The air solidified.
Tybert stood on the same spot, his hand still pressed on the hilt of the sword, but the strength had relaxed a lot.
His brain seemed to be working rapidly, analyzing the situation in front of him.
The Kingsguard covered in blood, assassins attack the Hand's Tower.
This statement can explain everything, but...
But why didn't I hear any alarms?
Why didn't nearby patrols respond?
Why did the Kingsguard pursue alone instead of calling for backup immediately?
What's more important...
Tybert's eyes fell on Corleone's empty scabbard.
Tybert spoke slowly, his tone still wary, but less hostile. "Where is your sword, Ser?"
"I defended the Prime Minister, idiot!"
Corleone answered quickly, almost without thinking, "I don't have time to explain to you losers. The Prime Minister's order is to report to the king immediately."
Quite a reasonable explanation.
But... it doesn't seem entirely reasonable.
"Ser." At this time, a young knight behind Tybert couldn't help but speak, with doubt in his voice. "You said you killed three assassins, then their bodies...
"Shut up."
But before he finished speaking, Tybert suddenly shouted.
The knight was startled and immediately fell silent.
Tybert took two steps forward, and now he was close enough to Corleone, so close that he could smell the smell of blood coming from the opponent's armor, and could also see the line of darkness behind the eye slits of the mask.
"You're right."
He narrowed his eyes slightly, released the hand holding the sword, and lowered his head sincerely. "We failed in our duty and came too late."
As soon as these words came out, the knights behind Tybert looked at each other, but no one dared to speak anymore.
"Your Majesty, Prime Minister... are you really okay?" Tybert asked, with appropriate concern in his voice, but also seemed to reveal a hint of disappointment.
"Frightened, but nothing serious." This low-level attitude made the "Kingsguard" soften his voice a little and explained, "He needs to be quiet now and needs to be protected by the most trusted guards, so I suggest you."
As he spoke, he paused, and his tone became solemn, with a hint of command, "Bring people into the Prime Minister's Tower immediately, confirm safety, and then guard outside, no one is allowed to enter!"
"Understood!"
As soon as these words came out, Tabor immediately straightened his back and answered loudly, then stepped aside to get out of the way. "Please go and report quickly, leave it to me."
Hearing this, Corleone nodded, walked past several people and walked away.
But when he passed by Tybert, he meaningfully nodded and praised the old knight who had served Lannister for decades, "You did a good job, Tybert Ser."
Tybert stood where he was, not looking back.
Listen to the footsteps getting further away behind you, and the regular sound of leather boots on the stone slabs, until the sound disappears behind the arch at the other end of the square.
"Ser?" The young knight couldn't help but frown and asked cautiously, "Do we really believe him? He didn't even take off his visor...
"Did you see the blood on his armor?"
"I saw it...
"Did you hear what he said?" Tybert turned around and glanced at the three subordinates. "The Prime Minister was attacked, he saved the Prime Minister, and now he is going to report the emergency to the King."
"In this case, should we question a member of the Kingsguard here, or should we immediately enter the Hand's Tower and confirm the Hand's safety?"
Hearing this, the knights fell silent.
Tybert waved his hand decisively. "Let's go, let's protect the Prime Minister!"
At the same time, the top floor of the Prime Minister Tower, the bedroom.
Tywin Lannister still stood there, standing in the middle of the room, holding the Longsword that was supposed to pierce Corleone's throat.
The sword is very heavy.
It wasn't heavy in a physical sense, but it seemed to be weighing on his heart, making him unable to even breathe.
Because no matter how much Tywin recalled, analyzed, or tried to explain rationally, the scene that just happened could not be incorporated into the worldview he had constructed over the past sixty years.
Yes, he tried hard.
Use all your strength.
The tip of the sword is pressed against Corleone's throat. There is no armor protection at that position. With Tywin's strength and the sharpness of the blade, it should be as easy as cutting through butter with a hot knife.
But the sword didn't move forward at all.
No, to be more precise, the sword moved forward, but Corleone's skin did not break.
The tip of the sword seemed to be pressed against an invisible wall. No matter how hard Tywin tried, he could not break through that seemingly fragile barrier.
In the end, Tywin even held the sword with both hands and put his whole body weight on it.
The blade of the sword began to bend, making a subtle, tooth-grinding metal groan. This degree of bending was close to the limit.
But Corleone's throat didn't even have a trace of red marks.
At that moment, Tywin saw Corleone's eyes. There was no pride, no ridicule, or even nervousness in those eyes.
That look... was so calm that it even reminded Tywin of the statue of the Seven Gods in Baelor Great Sept.
Then, Corleone spoke, "Now you understand, Lord Tywin."
"Killing me is not a choice you can make easily, not because of politics, not because of the consequences, but because... you can't do it."
"At least we can't do it now."
After saying that, Corleone stretched out two fingers, gently pinched the tip of the sword, and moved the sword away from his throat.
Recalling this, Tywin's fingers tightened unconsciously.
He lowered his head and looked at the sword in his hand.
The blade of the sword shone with a cold light in the gradually brightening morning light, and the fine carvings on the sword's spine were clearly visible. It was obviously a good sword.
But now, this dead thing seemed to be laughing at him.
After being stunned for a long time, Tywin suddenly slowly raised his left hand, stretched out his index finger, and lightly touched the tip of the sword.
A stinging pain came.
He looked down and saw a small prick on his fingertip, and bright red blood seeped out, which looked particularly dazzling in the morning light.
The blood is real.
The pain is real.
The sharpness of the sword is also real.
Then why...
Why couldn't it go in just now?
Tywin stared at the drop of blood on his fingertips, watching it slowly grow in size. Finally, it could no longer withstand the gravity and dripped onto the carpet, spreading out into a small dark red stain.
The stinging pain continued, reminding him that this was all a real physical world, not a dream or hallucination.
But what was that scene just now?
Witchcraft?
Magic?
Or is it some kind of... technology from across the Narrow Sea that he can't understand?
No.
Tywin shook his head and shook the thought out of his mind.
He has met assassins from Braavos, informants from Lys, merchants from Pentos.
They may have sophisticated disguises, poisons, and conspiracies, but they never have this... this ability to completely ignore reality.
Vito·Corleone..
Who are you?
This question echoed repeatedly in Tywin's mind, beating on the walls of his rationality like a bell.
For sixty years, he has used power, gold, and the weaknesses of human nature that can be predicted and exploited to rule the Seven Kingdoms, pushing the Lannister family to unprecedented heights.
And now, a Farmer climbed out of the mud and demonstrated a truth in front of him in the most brutal way.
Some things are beyond your understanding.
Some rules you never really master.
The shake brought about by this knowledge makes Tywin more uneasy than any political threat or military failure!
Because this means that he has constructed a lifelong worldview that may have fundamental flaws.
"My Lion..
At this moment, a soft voice came from the bedside, interrupting Tywin's thoughts.
It turned out that Xue Yi had woken up at some point, or in other words, she had been awake all along, but she just didn't dare to speak out because of fear.
Now seeing Tywin standing alone with his sword in a daze, she mustered up the courage to get up from the bed, step on the cold floor with her bare feet, and walk towards him.
The woman was only wearing that thin silk petticoat, and the candlelight shone through her body, outlining her young and plump curves.
Her movements were cautious, with a sense of deliberate seduction after training.
"Are you okay?"
Shae asked softly, walking behind Tywin, wrapping her soft arms around his waist, and pressing her cheek against the back of his crimson nightgown. "You look very tired..."
The voice is delicate, with just the right amount of concern and dependence.
This is the skill she learned in the brothel, and it is also the reason why she can stay with Tyrion for so long and now climb into the Prime Minister's bed.
She thinks she knows how to make a man feel needed, comforted, and admired.
But this time, the trick didn't work.
Tywin's body was as stiff as stone.
He didn't respond to her hug, or even look back. He just stood there, the hand holding the sword still clenched, and the blood on his fingertips was still slowly seeping out.
Xue Yi noticed something unusual.
She stepped away slightly, turned to Tywin, and looked up at his face.
"Sir?" Xue Yi's voice began to tremble a little.
Hearing this, Tywin finally moved.
He slowly lowered his head and looked at Xue Yi, his eyes sliding from her eyes to her lips to her exposed neck.
The skin there is fair and the blood vessels are faintly visible under the skin, pulsing slightly with the heartbeat.
So fragile.
So easy to destroy.
"Kneel down," Tywin said, his voice eerily calm.
Shae was stunned for a moment, but her instinct of obedience made her do as she was told. She slowly knelt down in front of Tywin and looked up at him, with confusion and a hint of growing fear in her eyes.
Tywin raised his left hand, the finger that had just been pricked by the tip of the sword, and gently stroked Shae's cheek.
The blood stains left a dark red mark on her fair skin.
Then, he moved his hand to the back of her neck and held it.
Xue Yi's body trembled slightly, but she didn't resist. She didn't dare. She just looked at Tywin with her big eyes and opened her lips lightly, thinking that the other person was asking her to get into work now.
It's just that Tywin didn't have any idea of favoring this young body, and instead held the sword tightly in his right hand.
He looked down at Xue Yi's throat, looking at that fragile and unprotected part, just like Corleone's throat just now.
Phew...
The tip of the sword pierced the skin easily.
It was very easy, as easy as piercing a layer of silk. The resistance was so weak that it was almost negligible. Then the sword edge continued to advance, entering the muscles, cutting off the blood vessels, and penetrating the trachea.
Xue Yi's body suddenly tensed up.
She opened her mouth and wanted to scream, but all she could make was a "whoosh" sound.
Blood gushed out from the corners of his mouth, dripped down his chin, and dyed the silk petticoat on his chest red.
The young prostitute's eyes were still open, looking at Tywin, her eyes changing from fear to confusion, and finally turned into an empty and unbelievable blankness.
She never understood why until her death.
Tywin did not draw his sword immediately.
He just watched like that, watching the life flow out of this young body, watching the light in those eyes gradually extinguishing, watching the blood smearing on the carpet, growing bigger and bigger.
The whole process only takes about five seconds.
But it felt like an hour had passed to Tywin.
Finally, he slowly drew back his sword.
The sword brought out a string of blood beads, drew an arc in the air, and sprinkled on the carpet, blending with the previous blood stains.
Xue Yi's body fell limply, lying on her side on the ground. Her eyes were still open, but she had lost all her energy.
Tywin looked down at the sword in his hand.
The tip of the sword dripped blood.
The blade of the sword is dyed red.
Everything is in line with his knowledge and the laws of operation of this world.
So just now...
What exactly was that scene that happened to Corleone just now?
Tywin exhaled slowly.
The breath condensed into white mist in the cold morning air, and then dissipated.
Then he walked to the window and opened it.
The cold morning wind rushed in, blowing away the smell of blood in the room and ruffling the hem of his crimson nightgown.
In the distance, King's Landing is waking up.
A new day has begun.
And he needs time to observe and figure out what secrets Farmer hides.
And before that...
After being stunned for a moment, Tywin turned around, walked to the desk, picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write the first order of the day, "Adam·Malbrand Ser, before sunset today, all gold-robed troops will withdraw from Flea Bottom..."
The pen tip slid across the parchment paper, making a soft rustling sound.
Outside the window, the sun has not fully risen, and the hazy sunlight shines into the Red Fort.
Light and shadow, life and death, commitment and betrayal, reason and the unknown...