Lady Brienne

"...Exquisite."

Roose Bolton remained silent for a long time before finally speaking slowly and offering that assessment.

He leaned forward, studying Corleone as though reassessing this young man in his ragged farmer's clothes.

After looking at him for over a full minute, Roose drew a slight breath. An exceedingly rare expression appeared on his pale face, one that could almost be called "appreciation."

"Vito Corleone, you possess a dangerous and fascinating mind."

It could be said that the Earl of the Dreadfort had never praised anyone so highly. There was even a trace of... greed in his eyes as he looked at Corleone.

Yes, greed.

If someone like this could serve House Bolton, staying by his side to offer counsel...

"What do you want?"

The greed in his eyes vanished in a flash. When Roose spoke, there was even a hint of negotiation in his tone. "As this is a business transaction, I imagine you have already decided what payment you require beyond the pass I promised you."

"What do you want, Vito Corleone?"

He repeated Corleone's name once more and pressed on. "Gold? Or land?"

"If you wish, I can set aside a tract within the Dreadfort's lands and grant you a title."

"Perhaps... something greater still, in the future."

Roose tapped the tabletop, his words full of temptation, both testing him and trying to recruit him.

Meeting his gaze, Corleone sat fully upright.

The aura of [Dignity Lv2] radiated without restraint at that moment, his powerful composure and confidence making it seem as though he were the master here.

He smiled faintly, without a trace of flattery or smugness, and simply said, "I'd like..."

"A hot bath first."

Early morning.

Before the sunlight had fully dispersed the chill, monotonous thuds were already echoing across Harrenhal's training yard.

Thud... thud...

Corleone gripped an iron longsword in both hands, hacking at the hardwood post before him again and again.

He had long since shed his distinctive ragged linen clothes and changed into a fitted set of leather armor. Though he still looked thin, his bearing was already utterly different from that of the farmer who had lain dying beneath the apple tree.

Sweat trickled down his temples, his chest heaving.

The Dothraki warrior stood silently to one side with his arms folded, occasionally issuing brief instructions in halting Westerosi:

"Twist your waist!"

"Lower your wrists, as though you're holding down the reins on horseback."

Yego made it sound simple, yet Corleone found every swing exhausting.

But he could hardly demand clearer explanations from Yego. After all, the man was... in a sense, illiterate.

He could only grit his teeth and work to adjust, feeling the force travel from the soles of his feet through to the blade with each swing, trying to find the correct way to exert it.

The training continued for quite some time. Only when both palms were numb and aching from the impacts, with a dull pain between his thumbs and forefingers, did he have to stop, leaning on his sword and panting.

With a slight shift of his thoughts, the system panel appeared before his eyes.

[Name: Corleone]

[Class: Doctor]

[Skills: Surgery lv2, Dignity lv2, Insight lv1]

[Unranked skills: Fate Wheel]

[Available skill draws: 0 (can be topped up)]

Nothing had changed.

The skill entries he longed for, such as [Basic Swordsmanship] or [One-Handed Weapon Mastery], had not shown so much as a shadow.

"Phew..."

He let out a long breath and shook his head, forcing himself to calm down.

"Let's take a break."

He said it to Yego, while also reminding himself that haste made waste.

Despite his urgent desire for martial strength, and despite the hundred or so Gold Dragons looted from the Brave Companions still sitting in his pockets, he could not pin all his hopes on that unpredictable lottery system.

As for drawing a skill...

With his entire repertoire consisting of support skills, Corleone truly could not be sure what the system would draw next. If he got something like [Baking] or [Wine Appreciation] again, he really would have no tears left to cry.

Saving his spare Gold Dragons, learning a combat skill himself through grueling practice, and then using Gold Dragons to improve it was undoubtedly the safer choice.

He walked over to the feeding trough beside the stables and sat down, taking the waterskin Yego handed him and gulping down a few mouthfuls of cool water.

"Blood of My Blood." Wiping the corner of his mouth, he looked up at the warrior from the grasslands beside him, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

"In your opinion, if I keep training like this, how long will it take before I can defeat a well-trained soldier head-on?"

Yego was silent for a moment, his dark face showing no attempt to soften his answer. "It will be difficult."

The Dothraki warrior truly had no gift for words, much less flattery. He merely answered honestly in his deep, muffled voice, "You have some talent for fighting, and keen eyes, Blood of My Blood."

"But... your body has already finished developing. Your strength is poor, your muscles have no memory, and your sinews and bones lack resilience."

"Among the Dothraki, boys usually have to mount horses and take part in fighting and hunting at ten."

"Ten..."

Corleone repeated the word under his breath. He knew Yego had already put it quite tactfully, but he still felt somewhat helpless.

At that age in his previous life, he had still been worrying about the entrance exams from elementary to middle school. Yet children in this world were already holding sharp blades, struggling to survive amid blood and fire.

"You really don't have to push yourself like this, Blood of My Blood."

Seeing the exhaustion Corleone could hardly conceal, Yego could not help adding, "The gods have granted you an immortal body. Not even an Arakh can harm you in the slightest. On the battlefield, you are already invincible."

At that, Corleone merely answered with an inscrutable little smile and offered no explanation.

He knew Yego was referring to the earlier "Fate's Gambit," when he had taken the man's full-force slash without suffering a scratch.

That power, which transcended the rules, had seared itself deep into the Dothraki warrior's mind, leaving him utterly convinced that his "Blood of My Blood" bore the gods' favor.

Ultimately, however, Corleone had no way to explain to Yego the rule of absolute defense once every seven days. He could only let the man imagine him as some sort of being impervious to blades and spears.

Sometimes, maintaining an air of mystery was itself a kind of power.

"Let's keep going!"

After resting a while, Corleone felt the soreness in his arms ease slightly. He slapped his knees and stood abruptly, tossing the empty waterskin to Yego as determination returned to his eyes.

To hell with it. I don't need to train my swordsmanship to Jaime's or Brienne's level. As long as I reach the introductory level of lv1, I can definitely raise it beyond everyone else's.

Don't forget, I've got cheats!

"No food today until I've swung three hundred times!"

He gave a low shout to encourage himself, then returned to the wooden post and once again gripped the heavy iron longsword in both hands.

Just as Corleone adjusted his breathing and resumed striking the training post, footsteps sounded behind him, drawing closer.

"You're applying force in the wrong sequence."

"The force begins with your feet pushing against the ground, travels to your waist and hips, then the twist carries that momentum to your shoulders and back. Only then do your arms follow through with the swing!"

Corleone stopped short and turned in surprise.

There stood Brienne a short distance behind him, tall and powerfully built as a bear.

Her face still wore its customary stern expression. Yet, utterly at odds with that sternness, she was actually wearing a pale blue lady's gown adorned with delicate embroidery!

The dress had clearly been intended for some petite noble girl. On Brienne, it was suffocatingly tight, the sleeves far too short and exposing her sturdy forearms. The hem hung awkwardly at mid-calf, leaving her enormous feet completely exposed.

She looked... like a mammoth forcibly stuffed into a piece of exquisite porcelain, an absurdly comical sight.

Corleone stared for two seconds, then the corners of his mouth rose uncontrollably. Struggling to hold back his laughter, he teased, "Where did Roose Bolton find a dress like that? He really must have gone to some trouble. Hahaha..."

At his words, Brienne's cheeks actually flushed slightly, which made it even harder for Corleone to contain his laughter.

This woman, who had never even furrowed her brow while fighting on the battlefield, was actually embarrassed.