I owe you a favor, Lord Corleone

"Your wrists!"

"I said, keep your wrists steady!"

Seemingly trying to hide her embarrassment, Brienne ignored Corleone's teasing entirely, strode forward, and snatched the longsword from his hands without a word of argument.

Although the lady's gown clung tightly to her muscular frame and looked thoroughly ridiculous, the moment the sword entered her hand, her entire bearing changed.

Under the two men's gazes, she settled her weight firmly, turning her waist and hips slightly to drive her shoulders and arms into the swing.

"Watch closely!" she said sharply. Her movements were not showy, but they possessed the simple beauty of strength.

The sword in her hand seemed to come alive, whistling through the air with every swing. Cleaves, cuts, thrusts, rising slashes-precise and fluid!

The marks her blade left on the wooden post were beyond comparison with Corleone's earlier efforts. Her strength flowed as one, as though power traveled from the earth through her body and into the blade without the slightest loss.

Compared with her flowing demonstration, someone's earlier clumsy hacking suddenly looked as laughable as a child waving a stick.

A woman had outclassed him, but Corleone felt no embarrassment.

After all, he knew perfectly well that this woman was no ordinary figure. In a sense, Brienne's swordsmanship had almost reached the pinnacle of what a woman could achieve.

Indeed, aside from that small handful of elite knights who had devoted years to the art, there were probably few men who could match her.

Corleone stood to one side, holding his breath and concentrating on watching.

The senses granted by his [Insight lv1] skill allowed him to keenly discern the fundamental difference between Brienne and himself.

Put simply, it was how much the core contributed to generating force, and that fluidity running through every movement.

A few minutes later, she finished demonstrating a simple but highly practical set of basic moves.

Brienne's breathing had not even faltered. She casually tossed the sword back to Corleone with an entirely natural motion.

"The Dothraki are accustomed to curved blades. They excel at slashing and mounted skirmishing."

She turned toward Yego, who had been watching silently, and explained calmly, "A sword, especially a knight's longsword like this, requires more disciplined footwork and techniques for generating force."

"I'm not questioning your teaching, but if someone learning swordsmanship gets the basics of generating force wrong and develops a habit, correcting it later will be harder than learning from scratch."

"If he wants to become a true knight, then the enemies he faces in the future will certainly be wearing armor, not unarmed farmers or wild beasts."

Her interference had initially brought a trace of displeasure to Yego's dark face, but this reasonable explanation gradually dispelled it.

He folded his arms and grunted, giving his tacit agreement.

On the Dothraki Sea, they were invincible with curved blades on horseback. But Yego had lived in Westeros for more than a decade and naturally knew how disadvantaged those blades were against iron armor.

Having caught the sword, Corleone paid no attention to their exchange, nor did he immediately begin practicing.

He stood where he was with his eyes closed, carefully recalling every detail of Brienne's demonstration. Only after a long while did he open them.

Gripping the sword tightly in both hands, he swung again, deliberately imitating that feeling.

At first, his movements remained awkward, the transmission of force clumsy and strained. But after several attempts, Corleone distinctly felt the rotation of his waist beginning to drive his arms. His swinging blade seemed to gain a measure of weight and ferocity, no longer as weak and insubstantial as before.

Brienne did not interrupt. She simply watched him practice over and over, a hint of appreciation appearing in her blue eyes from time to time.

For a farmer, Corleone's aptitude for swordsmanship was indeed remarkable.

Although he could not compare with her younger self, he could still be considered exceptionally gifted compared with some mediocre people.

Of course, given her talent, few men could match her either.

After all, at sixteen, Brienne had defeated Ser Humfrey Wagstaff herself and broken three of his ribs.

It was just that Corleone had started learning the longsword too late to achieve anything great in his lifetime. Still, if he practiced diligently, perhaps he could become a competent knight one day.

As she made this assessment inwardly, she suddenly noticed keenly that the Dothraki beside her seemed to be looking at her differently than before.

Brienne followed the feeling and looked over. Was some sort of flame burning in his eyes?

Was he out of his mind?

That openly burning gaze made her somewhat uncomfortable. She hesitated to speak, but kept her attention on Corleone's movements instead of reacting.

"Huff-hah-"

The sun climbed higher. Only when its light had dispersed the thick morning mist did Corleone finally stop.

He had pushed himself so hard during his very first training session that, once he relaxed, his arms felt sore and heavy as lead. Even raising them was extraordinarily difficult.

With a clang, the sword slipped from his hands and hit the ground. Corleone promptly plopped down without a shred of dignity.

Only then did he realize that sweat had long since soaked through his leather armor and the lining beneath it.

He gulped down air, his chest heaving violently.

Only after quite a while did he raise his head and give Brienne a tired but sincere smile. "Thank you, Lady Brienne."

"Your guidance was extremely... crucial."

Brienne stood there, her tall figure casting a long shadow in the morning light.

She watched Corleone quietly. His bedraggled appearance and clear eyes seemed to soften even the features of this habitually stern woman of Tarth.

She shook her head, her voice low and solemn. "This is nothing remarkable, Lord... Corleone."

"Anyone who has received a knight's training could give you guidance like this."

"I originally thought you wouldn't last long, but your perseverance is admirable. Keep training, and I believe you'll accomplish great things one day."

"Hahaha!"

Hearing Brienne's praise seemed to put Corleone in an excellent mood. Even his exhaustion eased considerably.

He raised his eyebrows at Yego. "Did you hear that, Blood of My Blood? I have quite a future in swordsmanship."

Yego shrugged at that, offering no opinion.

In this relaxed atmosphere, Brienne first smiled knowingly, only for her expression to turn serious again.

A complicated emotion flickered through her blue eyes, as though she were weighing her words. After a moment's thought, she resolutely straightened her back and said solemnly, "I'm sorry, Lord Corleone."

"I... misjudged you earlier."

The words came with some difficulty, but they were perfectly clear. "Ser Jaime told me that you paid an enormous price to persuade Roose Bolton to release me. You even gave up the gold, title, and lands he promised you."

As she spoke, the tall woman stepped forward and, with solemn ceremony, bowed deeply to Corleone where he sat on the ground.

"You are a person of noble character. Please accept my apology for my earlier misunderstanding and offense."

The scene looked rather strange.

A powerfully built woman in an ill-fitting gown was bowing in apology to a thin man sitting on the ground, drenched in sweat.

Looking at her solemn manner, Corleone made no attempt to demur. Instead, he broke into a radiant grin.

He neither accepted immediately nor offered false modesty. Remaining seated on the ground, he looked up at her, his voice calm but firm. "Call me Vito. Vito Corleone."

"Never apologize, Brienne. Rather than apologies, those remedies after the fact, I prefer to think everything through beforehand."

Those meaningful words sent a tremor through Brienne.

She raised her head and looked at the frail man before her. For the first time, she felt that his clear eyes seemed always to conceal an admirable wisdom.

"What's past is past. Never look back."

Corleone adjusted his seated posture so that his exhausted self looked a little less slovenly.

"And don't dwell on your mistakes. Four of us came here, so naturally, all four of us will leave together."

"I told you, Brienne. Corleone never abandons a friend."

He paused, his gaze passing over Brienne and then Yego beside her. His voice grew deep and significant. "I always spare no effort to help my friends. Likewise, when I and my future family need help, I hope my friends will spare no effort to lend me a hand."

"One day, though perhaps that day will never come."

As he spoke, Corleone extended his right hand toward Brienne. Its skin had split slightly from gripping the sword for so long, and his eyes were bright and candid.

Brienne looked at his outstretched hand and froze for a moment.

She remembered her earlier declaration to Jaime that they were "not friends," then her groundless accusations against Corleone in the receiving room. Another trace of guilt crossed her heart.

But at that moment, there was no calculation in Corleone's smile, no arrogance of someone expecting repayment for a kindness, only complete and utter openness.

This made Brienne feel all the more that she had truly judged a noble man by her own petty standards.

She hesitated no longer. Reaching out with a hand far larger than Corleone's, she firmly gripped his wrist and, with a slight exertion, pulled the exhausted man to his feet.

"I owe you a favor, Lord Corleone."

She said softly, "In the name of the Warrior."

"Neigh!"

Just as Corleone was preparing to rest for a while and return to his room for another hot bath, hurried hoofbeats approached.

They turned to look and saw a transformed Jaime sitting astride a horse, holding the reins in his left hand.

There was no trace of his earlier dejection now. His stubble had been cleanly shaved, and his long golden hair fell to his shoulders, lending him a dashing air. Apart from his right hand, which remained wrapped in bandages and resembled a certain round blue robot cat, he perfectly matched the image of an ideal knight in the songs of bards.

"Well, hello, ladies!"

Seeing Corleone and Brienne shaking hands and making peace, Jaime whistled and raised an eyebrow teasingly. "I must say, your taste in clothing is utterly disappointing!"

"Hurry up and pack. It's time we set off!"

"Once we reach King's Landing, I'll have the court tailors at the Red Keep make you a few proper new outfits!"