There was no skill description this time either, but its literal meaning was clear enough.
[Dignity Lv2].
Although it was another support skill that seemingly did not directly improve his fighting ability, leaving Corleone somewhat disappointed when deep down he craved more direct power, the improvement it brought was very real.
Presence was a mysterious thing, invisible and intangible, yet undeniably real.
It could often play a decisive role in negotiations and conversations, achieving results that might far surpass those of vast armies fighting on a battlefield.
Sometimes, a man could be penniless and dressed in rags, yet simply standing there could inspire an inexplicable trust, making those around him willingly follow him, even die for him.
That was the enormous advantage presence offered beyond material things, especially for Corleone, who currently had neither power nor connections.
The effects of [Dignity Lv2] were bringing about just such a remarkable transformation in him.
It did not create something out of nothing. Rather, it magnified and projected, in an unprecedented way, the qualities ingrained within him: the knowledge he had gained from modern society, the composure forged through trials of life and death, and the confidence to plan and direct events.
He still wore those ragged linen clothes stained with mud and dried blood, but in anyone's eyes, the steady sense of control radiating from within Corleone now seemed to surpass that of nobles propped up by fine clothes and titles. It even carried a composure that certain kings had never possessed.
This enormous inner change showed directly in his smallest gestures and words.
Now, Corleone's every word and action involuntarily inspired trust in those who heard him, making them consider the weight of what he said.
If he had possessed this [Dignity] while dealing with the Brave Companions earlier, many of his plans would surely have gone much more smoothly.
"Earl Bolton..."
Corleone paused briefly. Roose Bolton could even feel the gaze within the shadows seeming to pierce the darkness and fix firmly upon him.
There was no ferocity in that gaze, yet it brought Bolton, who was accustomed to being treated with reverence, fear, or flattery, an extremely faint sense of discomfort.
It was as though he had been insulted to his face, yet had no choice but to give the matter his utmost attention.
He could not help adjusting his posture, his expression growing focused as he listened intently to what the other man would say next.
"There is nothing I like more than making friends."
"Admittedly, you serve the King in the North and are indeed currently enemies with Ser Jaime, but I believe no one in this world would lightly reject friendship."
Corleone spoke steadily, enunciating every word:
"However, I also believe that true friendship comes neither from gifts nor from begging, but is born of an equal exchange, something both parties can clearly see and benefit from... shared interests."
"I do not deny that."
Roose regarded Corleone gravely, his tone serious. Clearly, he had truly begun to treat Corleone as an equal in their conversation.
In the rigid hierarchy of Westeros, an earl speaking to a farmer as an equal was almost inconceivable.
This was the effect [Dignity Lv2] had when applied to Corleone.
"So, my lord."
Corleone continued, "Ser Jaime and I did not come here to beg for your protection and mercy, but in the hope of discussing a 'friendship' that would be of great benefit to both of us."
"If you have no objection, I can explain how we might take the first step toward establishing this friendship."
He passed the question back, both as a gesture of respect and as a further probe.
Although, judging by the course of the original plot, this Earl of the Dreadfort had readily gone over to Tywin's side and acted with ruthless decisiveness, showing almost no consideration whatsoever.
But Corleone knew full well that Roose's ambitions were far from as simple as they appeared.
Sure enough, Roose Bolton did not answer immediately. Instead, he stared into the shadows shrouding Corleone, as though trying to see through the darkness and discover exactly what this farmer had in mind.
Unfortunately, the other man seemed entirely sure of himself, and Roose could discern nothing at all.
Only after a long while did Roose speak softly:
"I am all ears."
This was not merely a pleasantry, but a very clear signal.
It meant that "fair" negotiations between the two sides had officially begun, even if that fairness rested upon a complete imbalance of armed strength.
Yet through the power of his words and his own presence, Corleone had secured this opportunity for them to speak as equals.
Despite gaining this initial ground, Corleone's face, hidden in the shadows, remained expressionless. He merely raised one finger slowly.
"First, a 'gift' offered in all sincerity."
"A gift?"
Roose narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression full of interest.
"That's right, a gift."
Corleone repeated himself, explaining with certainty, "Vargo Hoat and his Brave Companions."
"They occupied Harrenhal and nominally served the King in the North, yet they plundered the Riverlands and flayed innocents, ruining your reputation."
"They were like leeches clinging to your robes, constantly sucking blood, liable to turn on you at any moment."
Roose countered, "But I rather like leeches."
Hearing this, Corleone knew he was telling the truth. After all, according to the original books, the man was extremely fond of "leech therapy."
As the name suggested, he would occasionally put leeches on his body to suck his blood, believing this could remove impurities from within him and ensure a long life.
"As a professional physician, my lord, I believe I must remind you."
Corleone's expression did not change as he answered calmly, "Occasionally using leeches to remove tainted blood from the body is indeed a good method, but... the danger is that one day they may grow strong and refuse to let go of your skin."
"When that happens, even if you have sufficient strength to remove them, you may lose a layer of skin in the process."
His reasoning was clear, and his tone remained that of a statement admitting no doubt.
"And through our efforts, these leeches have already been removed, clearing away a potential internal threat for you."
"That is the first 'gift' I have brought you."
Roose Bolton listened quietly, his pale fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.
Then he responded in his distinctively cold voice, "Oh?"
"By your account, I really ought to thank you properly, Master Corleone."
There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice, but he did not deny that the destruction of the Brave Companions benefited him. That, however, was as far as it went.
After all, a "gift" of this caliber was not enough to make him yield.
Corleone was not surprised in the slightest.
He paused briefly, then calmly raised a second finger. "Second, Earl Bolton, let us discuss the... cause you currently serve."
"The King in the North, Robb Stark."
Before you continue