After taking action with the coat of arms, Galin looked around and saw excited and even cruel expressions on the faces of many of his companions, as if the coat of arms was a medal for a grand and dangerous game they were participating in together.
A strong man with missing front teeth chuckled, and another man with fresh scratches on his face licked his lips, with a violent light flashing in his eyes.
Andrey quietly looked at the Black Gate sigil shaking in the firelight. The cold iron patterns and leaping flames were reflected in the dark pupils, and there was still no expression on his face.
The suffocating silence lasted for more than ten breaths, only the campfire crackled unwillingly.
Then, Andrey flipped his wrist, and Longsword slid silently into the leather scabbard on the ground, so fast that no one could see the movement.
The deadly coolness on Galin's neck also disappeared.
He picked up a piece of soft suede placed next to the grindstone and began to slowly and carefully wipe the sword hilt Gauntlet, as if the fatal threat at that moment had never happened.
"The sword is sharpened."
Putting the spotless Longsword back on his waist, with smooth and natural movements, Andrey casually patted the grass clippings and dust stained on his clothes and pants, and glanced coldly at the pale and frightened Gai Lin, as well as his companions beside the fire who had their own thoughts.
Finally, he threw himself into the bottomless dark jungle outside the camp.
"I'm leaving."
There was no parting emotion in his tone. "We must get to the ford of the Blackwater River before dawn. There will be a boat there to meet us."
"Please clean up this place as soon as possible and evacuate in sequence according to the original plan that we repeatedly confirmed before departure."
"Remember to meet at the agreed place and prepare for our follow-up actions before it's too late."
After saying that, he no longer looked at anyone, turned around neatly, and took steps to merge into the thick darkness.
Early morning.
Morning mist wraps around the hills on the northeast edge of the Kingswood.
Corleone reined in the reins and glanced at the forest clearing in front of him that Oliver Chested described as a "bandit's nest".
Empty.
Extraordinarily empty.
There were no bonfire embers, no discarded debris, no accumulation of horse manure, and even the ground looked too "natural", as if it had been cleaned deliberately.
Oliver Ser's face quickly changed from rosy and hopeful to a little embarrassed.
He wanted to defend himself, but several meaningless grunts came out of his throat.
"Ser, I swear... they are indeed here, many of my hunters have seen them...
, but as he spoke later, his voice became smaller and smaller, and finally he almost turned to talking to himself, his eyes evasive, and he did not dare to look at Corleone.
However, Corleone did not blame him, but just made a gesture, and the Dothraki Warrior Yego jumped off the horse.
He did not search aimlessly with his eyes like others, but squatted down, put his palms flat on the ground, and closed his eyes.
After a while, Yego opened his eyes, his dark brown pupils shrank, then he stood up and began to move in the open space with a strange rhythm.
Sometimes I lean over and smell the soil, sometimes my fingertips brush against the tiny scratches on the tree trunks, and sometimes I listen to the difference in the sounds of the wind passing through vegetation of different densities.
This is the tracking technique of prairie hunters, which is completely different from the hunting method of southern nobles who rely on hounds and footprints.
The Dothraki believe that the land remembers everything, the wind speaks everything, and only the keenest hunters can understand nature's secret language.
"Here."
Not long after, Yego stopped next to a seemingly ordinary Mossy Ground, and said in a low voice, "At least twenty people, staying for more than half a month."
As he spoke, he gently pushed aside the surface moss with the toes of his boots, revealing the hardened and discolored soil underneath after being repeatedly stepped on. "They were very careful. They buried the bonfire pit and swept away most of the garbage before leaving, but the smell is still there, and the indentations of the footprints have not been completely eliminated."
After saying that, Yego walked towards Thicket at the edge of the clearing and pushed aside the tangled branches.
The scene behind made Oliver take a breath of air.
It was a small depression, apparently used as a makeshift toilet, and was filthy and infested with flies.
What's even more disgusting is that among the tangled grass at the edge of the depression, there are several pieces of filthy tattered clothing, including coarse woolen coats, patched trousers, and leather boots with worn soles.
Apparently they are all worn by poor hunters or Farmer.
"They took the victim's clothes," Corleone dismounted and walked closer to check, calmly analyzing. "But not for wearing."
"Is it for disguise, or is it simply predatory?"
Yego didn't answer, just shook his head and pointed deeper into the depression.
There, the color of the soil was obviously different and it looked like it had been freshly turned.
Several Black Hand Mafia members stepped forward and started digging with the short knives they carried.
Soon, the first body was exposed.
Then came the second, third... Finally, eight half-rotten corpses were hastily buried at the edge of this filthy place, like discarded garbage.
The deceased were all men. The causes of death were different. Their throats were cut, their hearts were stabbed, and their heads were crushed by heavy objects.
But the proficient Surgery Corleone saw that they all had one thing in common, that is, their wounds showed cruel and excessive abuse.
The one who had his throat cut, the wound on his neck was so deep that his spine was almost severed, the one who had his chest pierced, there were more than a dozen holes in his body, the one who had his head smashed, his entire face turned into a blur of flesh and blood.
"This is not robbery and murder." Corleone squatted next to a corpse and put on leather gloves to check the wounds. "This is massacre, just for fun."
He was very calm, but Oliver beside him had collapsed to the ground, covering his face and not daring to look anymore.
The two Chelsted Castle followers he brought also looked pale and were trembling all over.
The tracking of Yego continues.
As if being led by invisible clues, he left the corpse pit and walked toward the edge of the dense forest in the northeast.
There was a lush clump of ferns with leaves as wide as an umbrella cover. Yego stopped beside the fern clump, squatted down, and carefully opened the layers of leaves.
Then, he was stunned for a moment.
"The blood of my blood."
Yego's voice had a rare hint of solemnity. He stood up slowly, turned around, and spread his palms. There was an iron coat of arms lying in his palms.
The coat of arms is not large, the edges have become rounded due to long-term friction, and the surface is stained with mud and dew.
But under the gradually brightening morning light, the pattern engraved in the center was dazzlingly clear.
A closed black gate.
Corleone took the coat of arms, the cold metal touch came from his fingertips, and his pupils shrank slightly.
"Eron Wood..
Having read a lot of books, he whispered the name, and the knowledge in his mind quickly surged.
Eron Wood family.
One of the most powerful families in Dorne, second only to the Martell family.
Their city of residence, Eron Wood City, is the last gateway to protect the Stone Road, so it has the title of "Guardian of the Stone Road".
Since the time of the ancestors, the Eron Wood family has established its own rule in Mountain Valley and Green Hills near Stone Road. They have taken the titles of "Noble of Blood", "Lord of Green Hills", High King of Dorne and "Lord of Stone Road".
The mountains form natural barriers to protect these fertile lands, and there are also different mineral deposits and timber in their territories, making the Eron Wood family the richest and most powerful royal family in Dorne.
At its most powerful, Eron Wood even ruled half of Dorne!
Although the Martell family later took over Dorne with force and Eron Wood had to surrender, their power was not weaker than it was back then.
Moreover, this family is naturally rebellious and has never given up the idea of replacing the Martell family. Even after Dorne was merged under the rule of the Targaryen dynasty, it participated in the Blackfire Rebellion three times!
It can be said that the relationship between the Eron Wood family and the Martell family that rules Sunspear is complicated. They are loyal to each other on the surface, but they often violate them secretly.
This situation eased slightly until Prince Doran Martell sent his eldest son Quentin to Eron Wood Earl as his adopted son more than ten years ago.
And now, a group of "robbers" with Eron Wood crest and cruel methods appear in the barren hills on the edge of the king's territory?
They massacred the local poor, but did not commit any crime against Chelsted Castle qiu, who was close at hand and had weak defenses?
Unreasonable.
This is so unreasonable.
Corleone grasped the coat of arms fiercely, his thoughts jumped rapidly, and suddenly, a bohemian face appeared in his mind.
Speaking of Eron Wood's most likely target... Oberyn!
When that boy was sixteen, he had an affair with Edgar Eron Wood Earl's mistress, and was caught and raped in bed by Earl. Later, the two started a duel.
Due to the prince's background and age, the duel was agreed to stop at the sight of bloodshed, and both men were injured.
But a few days later, Edgar Earl died of a festered wound, so people thought Oberyn had put poison on the sword.
For this reason, Oberyn had to run away to Nine Free Cities. Later, his brother, Prince Doran, and it was for this reason that he gave Quentin to Edgar Earl's grandson, now Eron Wood City Earl Anders, as his adopted son, in an attempt to ease the relationship between the two families.
Is this... planning to take revenge?
No, after all these years, it would have been easier to send someone to assassinate him. And why do they think it would be easier to do it in King's Landing than in Dorne?
"Yego." Corleone's voice suddenly became sharp. "There is still time in the direction they left."
Yego has already returned to tracking status.
He half-knelt on the ground, his fingertips touched a vague footprint that was almost covered with fallen leaves, and then raised his head and sniffed the air. "Towards the northeast, I should have just walked last night."
At night?
Hearing this, Corleone frowned. He only decided to come to Chelsted Castle yesterday afternoon. Although he didn't deliberately keep it secret, it would take time for word to spread to this remote hilly area.
Is it a coincidence?
Or does the other party have an spy?
No, now is not the time to delve into it.
"Oliver Ser." Corleone turned to the lord who was still slumped on the ground, and his tone was unquestionable. "Take people back to Chelsted Castle immediately, close the door tightly, no one is allowed in or out, and maintain the highest level of vigilance until we come back."
"Yego, lead the people to chase them. These people are not bandits. Lead the way. Everyone, mount up!"
"Then you..." Oliver looked up blankly.
Corleone turned over and mounted, his movements clean and neat.
He carefully put the Black Gate sigil in his arms. "I will return to King's Landing!"
Following Corleone's command, the eleven riders were like arrows, piercing deeper into the mist of the hills in the direction indicated by Yego.
The sound of horse hooves echoed in the quiet morning forest, startling a flock of birds.
Oliver stood there blankly, looking at their disappearing figures, feeling cold all over.
He originally just wanted to get back the robbed prey and let the people survive the winter.
The bandit is gone, he should be happy.
But now, it seemed that he had unintentionally opened a corner of a gorgeous curtain and caught a glimpse of the huge, dark, but bloody stage behind it.
Is it a good thing or a bad thing?
At the same time, King's Landing, Silk Street.
Outside the luxurious suite of the "Hummingbird" brothel, two Dornish guards stood on both sides of the carved wooden door.
They wore lightweight studded leather armor and wore Scimitar belts. Their postures were still standard, but most of the sharpness in their eyes had been worn away by the long wait.
There was a faint sound inside the door: a woman's smile, the collision of wine, and Oberyn Martell's unique, lazy and magnetic voice.
The prince was in high spirits and was reciting something loudly, which might be a poem or a vulgar ditty made up on the spur of the moment.
During this period, there was laughter from Ellaria·Shad and the prostitutes.
Karen moved her stiff neck slightly, the leather neck brace made a slight friction sound, and glanced at Marlos beside him.
He is a little older and has a shallow scar on his cheek, which was left as a souvenir when he suppressed bandits on the Dorne border many years ago.
The boy beside him is younger, from a village near Eron Wood City. He was selected into the Prince's Guard three years ago because of his good swordsmanship.
At this time, Marlos was trying hard to open his eyes wide to fight against the sleepiness, but his eyelids still drooped disobediently.
This kind of errand... Karen sighed inwardly.
It is easier than marching in the desert, safer than fighting on the battlefield, but more demanding on one's endurance than both combined.
You have to stand sober, listening to the continuous singing and dancing inside the door, and smelling the occasional aroma of food and wine, but you can't relax at all.
Because the person inside is Oberyn Martell, the "Red Viper" who has made countless enemies, the Prince of Dorne, and is also their master.
On the edge of the carpet at the other end of the corridor, a leather-bound Booklet was carelessly discarded there.
There were dark red wine stains on the cover, which soaked some of the pages, causing Booklet to bulge and deform slightly.
If someone picks it up and looks through it, they will find that it contains detailed records of the fighting habits, possible weaknesses, and physiological structure speculation of a certain giant Warrior.
This is a "gift" sent by Corleone before.
Now it lies there, as if the Prince of Dorne will never need this Booklet.
Not long after, footsteps were heard from the direction of the stairs.
Karen and Marlos instantly cheered up, put their hands on the handle of the knife instinctively, and leaned forward slightly.
But when they saw who was coming clearly, their postures relaxed a little, and they just maintained the necessary courtesy vigilance.
It's Damon Sand.
He was once a squire of Prince Oberyn, and was later made a knight by the prince himself.
Damon is very handsome, with a strong chin, sky blue eyes and light sandy brown hair. His beard is cut very short, and he has a well-placed smile on his face, but at the same time there is a trace of pride belonging to a talented swordsman.
The young knight walked lightly up the corridor on the third floor, followed by a knight covered in armor and wearing a giant barrel-shaped helmet.
"Karen, Marlos," Damon stopped in front of the door and accurately called the two people's names with a gentle voice, "His Royal Highness is still having fun?"