The Brave Companions

Jaime Lannister!

Lord Tywin's eldest son, a knight of the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer, an expert at banging his older sister...

In short, if that fellow really was Jaime Lannister with one hand cut off, then the person tied to him was most likely Brienne "the Beauty" of Tarth.

And the leader of this band of knights...

"My name is Walton 'Steelshanks,' my lord!"

The man astride the zebra continued with a smile, "Everyone who serves the King in the North knows me. I'm Lord Bolton's Captain of the Guard."

"Greetings, Ser Walton."

Only after hearing that the man was on the same side as his own lord did the steward let his guard down completely.

After all, the Kingslayer's signature golden hair was far too conspicuous. Even covered in mud, it was perfectly recognizable.

Still, he stressed, "Unfortunately, ser, the apples aren't ripe yet, but we can provide some food and water for you and your men."

"There have been Shadowcats prowling nearby lately. Traveling at night might not be safe, so you'd best set off as soon as possible..."

The steward was very experienced. Having managed a landed knight's estate for more than a decade, he believed he could handle these outsiders well enough.

A bunch of northern savages marching south to war were bound to take whatever they could get, but as allies, they probably wouldn't go too far.

The war had been going on for over a year, and Ser Finn had also been summoned to Riverrun by Lord Edmure. He had to safeguard his lord's property.

Sure enough, when he heard that they could provide food and water, Ser "Walton" gave a satisfied smile.

"Excellent!"

"I told you Ser Finn was a very generous man. We'll rest here tonight and set off tomorrow!"

He turned and shouted to the men behind him, drawing a chorus of strange cries in agreement.

The party headed excitedly toward the center of the farm, paying no attention to the steward's increasingly dark expression.

These damned thugs!

The steward cursed inwardly. He had only intended to give them some hard bread and send them on their way, but he hadn't expected these fellows to seize the opportunity and decide to spend the night indoors!

He wanted to stop them, but every one of the dozen or so men was fully armed, while he had only two guards with him.

Besides, orchards surrounded the farm, and Ser Finn's castle was at least five miles away. There was no time to call for help, so he could only watch them file in.

"Go, escort young master Derek back to the castle first. Quietly-don't let these northerners notice!"

"Damn it... I should never have agreed to bring him to the farm today."

Gritting his teeth, the steward turned his head and gave one of the guards beside him instructions in a low voice.

The guard nodded, then turned and headed toward a wooden house.

But just as the party passed the steward and his two guards, Corleone, high above them, noticed "Walton" suddenly raise his fist in a signal!

No!

He wasn't Walton 'Steelshanks'!

Corleone struggled to recall the plot he had watched in his previous life, and his eyes suddenly widened.

That fellow was...

Before he could react, the man lowered his hand, and the party that had been proceeding so peaceably suddenly drew their weapons and slashed at the steward and his guard without warning!

It happened so suddenly that the impatient expression hadn't even left the steward's face before he and the guard had their throats slit and fell to the ground!

At the same time, the party swiftly scattered in perfect coordination.

The guard who had just run off heard the commotion behind him. The instant he turned his head, a flanged mace smashed his skull.

The others rode into the orchards, wantonly hunting down all the farmhands at work!

"What are you doing, Vargo Hoat!"

Their actions immediately drew an enraged shout from Brienne.

With her overwhelming sense of justice, she simply couldn't believe these men could be so utterly depraved!

"He already agreed to give you food and water! You both serve the King in the North! Why are you slaughtering these innocent people..."

"Shut up, bitch!"

Brienne's answer was a merciless punch to the face.

She fell from her horse to the ground, her already filthy armor once again smeared with mud, dragging Jaime, who was tied to her, down as well.

The man who had called himself Walton, now named Vargo Hoat by Brienne, also dismounted and began kicking the pair over and over, cursing incessantly:

"You damned bitch! If that lord father of yours doesn't give me mountains of sapphires as ransom, I'll have every soldier in Harrenhal line up and have a turn with you!"

Only after several kicks did he stop.

He mounted again and rode toward the orchard, his horse's hooves trampling heavily over the steward's corpse as he burst into arrogant laughter.

"I'm the Lord of Harrenhal! When his lordship says he wants apples, he's damn well going to get those apples today!"

Hanging from the tree, Corleone watched what was happening below. Shouts of killing and screams kept coming from the orchard, and he was frantic.

Just as he remembered, that fellow wasn't Roose Bolton's Captain of the Guard at all, but Vargo Hoat, leader of the notorious Brave Companions!

And his men were all vicious, ruthless bandits!

Early in the War of the Five Kings, the man had first been taken into Lord Tywin Lannister's service, then betrayed his employer and switched his allegiance to Robb Stark, the King in the North. He had surrendered Harrenhal and been made its lord as a result.

But as the saying went, a dog never stopped eating shit!

Though he had gained a title and lands, he was still a bandit through and through!

It was over. With these men targeting the farm, they definitely wouldn't leave a single person alive, himself included!

That system skill was useful, certainly, but it could only be used once every seven days, and there were more than a dozen of them!

Just as Corleone was anxiously considering how to escape this predicament, Vargo Hoat plucked an apple from a tree, spotted him, and rode straight toward him on his zebra!

Damn it...

He struggled constantly, but the ropes around his hands were far too tight to break free. He could only watch as the man came up before him.

"Look what I found!"

His tone was exaggerated as he tilted his head up at Corleone, as though he had discovered something terribly amusing, and announced, "A roast suckling pig!"

Hearing him, two nearby Brave Companions also rode over, circling slowly around Corleone and studying him with interest.

"Looks like someone who's been in trouble."

One of them teased, "His skin's fairly fair and clean, but he's a little too old. Otherwise, Utt would certainly be very interested in this boy."

The other chimed in, "Forget it. That freak Utt only likes little ones. He can't even be bothered to look at anyone over twelve. They say it's a habit he picked up when he was a septon!"

The first man nodded and drew a dagger from his saddle. "Looks like this boy's no use. Might as well kill him."

As he spoke, he moved forward to do it, and neither Vargo Hoat nor the other man showed any intention of stopping him.

Or rather, they had planned to silence every witness from the moment they began.

Corleone was frantic. Just as he prepared to stake everything on a desperate attempt, activating his skill to kill one of them first, Vargo Hoat tilted his head, exposing his bandaged ear.

He reacted immediately and shouted:

"W-wait!!!"

"I'm a healer, my lord! I can treat your ear!"

But Vargo Hoat turned a deaf ear. To him, Corleone was merely making a final, desperate attempt to escape death.

When faced with death, people would tell any despicable lie. He had seen plenty of it over the years.

Seeing the dagger draw closer and closer, Corleone threw caution aside and shouted bluntly, "Your ear has already started oozing pus! If you don't disinfect it, you'll definitely develop a high fever, and it could kill you within two days!"

As Corleone cried out urgently, the dagger was already inches away.

Just as he was about to activate his skill, a flash of white swept before his eyes. Then, with a clang, his would-be killer's dagger fell to the ground.

"You'd better not be lying to me, boy."

Vargo Hoat didn't withdraw his longsword. Instead, he rode forward with a vicious grin and pressed its sharp point against Corleone's belly, threatening, "Otherwise, I'll make Utt make an exception..."

"Of course, my lord!"

Only then did Corleone breathe a sigh of relief, immediately promising solemnly, "I swear by the Seven, if I fail to heal your ear, may I fall into the Seven Hells!"

"No need for oaths."

Vargo Hoat sheathed his sword, took a bite of the apple, and said indistinctly, "You fail, and I'll send you to hell myself. Hahaha!"

Laughing, he chewed a couple of times, juice running from his mouth down his beard. His expression suddenly changed, and he spat the mangled pulp hard onto the ground.

"Pah!"

"It really isn't fucking ripe!"