My name is Vito Corleone

Corleone really had spoken too soon.

When he pulled away the gauze over Vargo Hoat's ear, the sight before him left his head buzzing.

It was... pretty ridiculous.

Just how ridiculous?

Put it this way: his ear looked as though some beast had bitten and torn it clean off, yet he had forcibly stuck it back on and fucking wrapped it tight in gauze!

Looking at the badly infected remnant of the ear, blackened and oozing pus, Corleone's stomach churned, but he still drew on his solid professional knowledge to assess it.

The blood supply to the torn-off auricular cartilage had been almost completely severed. Forcing it back into place would only turn it into a necrotic foreign body pressed against the wound, perfectly blocking the drainage of pus and creating a sealed bacterial culture dish!

A classic case of post-traumatic tissue necrosis complicated by severe infection!

This was practically a textbook example of improper treatment, with consequences far worse than simply losing an ear!

Wasn't this asking to die?

Although Corleone wished this brutal bastard would die sooner rather than later, if he really did die, Corleone probably wouldn't live much longer either.

After all, the gleaming blades of the man's subordinates were waving right before his eyes!

"What are you standing around for? Get to work, boy!"

Seeing Corleone still hesitating to begin, the skinny man waving a short blade beside him visibly lost patience and snapped at him to hurry.

From their earlier conversation, Corleone had learned that this man was called Urswyck, the deputy commander of the Brave Companions.

"My lord."

Corleone forced himself to calm down and explained steadily, "The situation is very serious. The ear you pressed back into place has already died. It and all the rotten flesh must be completely removed at once. Otherwise, the infection will enter your bloodstream and cause a high fever..."

"Whore!!!"

Before Corleone could finish, Vargo angrily pointed at Brienne beside him and cursed, "You damned whore! You bit off my ear! I'll cut off your ears and shove them up your ugly cunt!"

"Heh..."

Brienne showed no fear at Vargo's threat and sneered, "This is a maiden's punishment for a man who tries to violate her chastity."

Her mockery infuriated Vargo further. He stood up and unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks on her.

Faced with his companion's treatment, Jaime remained motionless beside her, his head still hanging, with no telling what he was thinking.

At this sight, Corleone inferred what might have happened earlier between Brienne and Vargo and couldn't help reflecting on it.

The commander of the Brave Companions really was hungry enough to eat anything.

But it seemed he hadn't succeeded. Otherwise, given Vargo's character, Brienne probably wouldn't still be wearing armor.

No, it would make more sense for her to be wearing nothing at all.

After beating her for a while, Vargo's anger subsided considerably. He turned back and sat down squarely in front of Corleone, staring hard at him as he threatened, "You'd better know what you're doing, boy!"

"Rest assured, my lord. I'm confident."

Corleone gave his solemn assurance, but inwardly he had no confidence at all.

Eight years in a combined undergraduate and master's program, followed by rotations during residency-he had participated in debridement and suturing and worked as an assistant, but independently handling infection and tissue adhesion of this severity, under such terrible surgical conditions...

Never mind him; even his supervisor would probably have been stumped.

"I need hot water!"

Still, whether he could cure this man didn't matter. What mattered was bluffing his way through this and making sure he survived first.

Without standing on ceremony, he turned and loudly ordered several members of the Brave Companions, "Boiling-hot water, clean cloth boiled in that water, salt, honey, an oil lamp, and a sharp knife or dagger!"

"Some spiderwebs or clean moss would be best, too!"

Corleone's sudden orders left them bewildered. Yet, looking at his men as they were about to lose their tempers, Vargo grinned. "Do as he says!"

"The way this boy talks reminds me of Qyburn."

About half an hour later.

Inside the wooden house, only a continuous sizzling and crunching could be heard.

Fully focused, Corleone held a red-hot blade and swiftly cut away the rotten flesh around Vargo's ear.

It wasn't an ideal tool, but it provided basic sterilization and hemostasis.

The knife severed the adhered fibers while cauterizing blood vessels. He worked with extreme care, making sure not to tear the area at the base of the outer ear where the blood vessels were densest and cause massive bleeding.

Because if anything went wrong during the operation, the two members of the Brave Companions beside him would absolutely hack him to pieces.

Vargo Hoat lay motionless as he underwent surgery.

Of course, this wasn't because he was particularly tough. Rather, from the very start of the operation, he had kept drinking because he couldn't bear the pain, until he finally drank himself unconscious.

If his supervisor had seen a patient drinking heavily during surgery, he would have flayed Corleone alive.

But in these surroundings, even the principles of asepsis were out of the question. No one could demand that Corleone do better.

Time ticked by, and at last a large piece of tissue, including the dead ear and the surrounding rotten flesh, was fully excised, exposing a relatively fresh wound beneath.

Not daring to rest, Corleone immediately performed a second rinse with hot saline, then applied honey and bandaged it.

Under these medical conditions, high-proof distilled alcohol was simply unobtainable, so he could only settle for the next best thing. Fortunately, the farm had plenty of honey.

Its high sugar content could draw moisture out of bacteria and inhibit their growth, making survival difficult for most bacteria. Corleone had performed similar experiments in his previous life.

Once the bandaging was finished, he was mentally exhausted. His legs gave way, and he sat straight down on the floor.

He had independently completed a difficult debridement under terrible conditions, but Corleone felt no joy.

After all, debridement was only the first step.

Would the wound heal properly after this?

Would a Pseudomonas aeruginosa infection develop?

Would he get tetanus?

In a world without antibiotics, he simply couldn't guarantee whether the patient would develop a postoperative infection.

Of course, at least for now, the operation appeared highly successful. His own life should be safe.

As for whether Vargo Hoat would develop a high fever in a few days and angrily have him, the doctor, beheaded as an offering to heaven...

Corleone couldn't worry about all that. After all, he had no intention of staying with these vicious bastards for long.

Thinking this, he instinctively touched the gold dragon in his pocket.

"Pretty deft hands you've got, boy!"

Just then, a large hand landed on Corleone's shoulder.

Deputy Commander Urswyck leaned closer with a grin, his eyes a sickly bloodshot red. Corleone could even make out the strange, dark-blue veins bulging on the back of his hand.

"Looks like the operation was quite a success, doesn't it?"

At that, Corleone smiled along and agreed, "It looks that way, my lord!"

But to his surprise, the smile on Urswyck's face instantly froze, turning vicious, and he seized Corleone by the throat!

The man was immensely strong. His grip kept tightening, choking Corleone until he could distinctly feel the shadow of death.

All he could do was clutch the gold dragon in his pocket with his right hand, ready to start the gamble of fate at any moment.

"Let him go, Urswyck. We still need the boy to treat the chief's wound!"

Fortunately, the burly man beside them spoke up in time.

He had many scars and wore bells in his hair. Seeing Urswyck turn a deaf ear, he immediately drew the curved blade at his waist and threatened, "Let go!"

"Heh..."

At that, Urswyck glanced at him and released Corleone with a sneer.

"What a loyal wild dog you are, Yego."

"Back in that stinking Dothraki sea of grass of yours, if you'd been this loyal to your leader, you wouldn't have been hunted down and forced to flee to Westeros, would you?"

Faced with Urswyck's taunts, the warrior named Yego said nothing, merely raising his head and staring at him.

They stared at each other for a moment. Finding it dull, Urswyck sneered again. "Stay here and keep licking your master's boots, Dothraki dog."

"I'm going out to find some fun!"

With that, he turned and left the wooden house.

Corleone clutched his throat, coughing dryly, when a large hand suddenly appeared before him.

He looked up, grasped Yego's outstretched arm, and stood.

"You cured Vargo. Urswyck is very unhappy. He thought you'd kill Commander Vargo with your treatment."

The Dothraki explained bluntly to Corleone, "He's wanted to be commander for a long time."

"So that's it."

Hearing this, Corleone nodded without saying anything more, but firmly committed the information to memory.

It seemed the Brave Companions weren't entirely united either. Perhaps he could use their infighting to make something happen.

"Thank you."

"Dothraki never say thank you."

In response to Corleone's sincere thanks, Yego said stiffly, "Until we return to Harrenhal and old Qyburn takes over Vargo's treatment, you must keep him alive."

"Otherwise, I'll kill you myself."

"Don't worry. You just saved my life. I'm certain we can become friends." Corleone nodded and said with a smile:

"I never refuse a friend's conditions."

"I believe in friendship, and I'm willing to be the first to show mine."

Yego looked somewhat surprised by Corleone's answer.

He had spent more than a decade roaming Westeros, and such refined phrases were something he had only ever heard from noble lords.

With a Dothraki's straightforward way of thinking, Yego felt he truly couldn't understand the scrawny farmer before him. Yet he also instinctively sensed that Corleone was fundamentally different from those who had been slaughtered earlier.

After a moment's thought, Yego picked up a wheat cake from the table beside him and handed it over.

"Eat, Westerosi."

As he spoke, he pointed at Jaime, who was tied up with Brienne in the corner.

"Once you've eaten your fill, if you still have the energy, you can examine that man's wounds."

"Vargo won't let us treat him because he offended him."

"Then why are you..."

Seeing the puzzlement in Corleone's eyes, Yego continued, "But his father is Lord Tywin Lannister. People say even the lord's shit is gold."

"I don't want a lump of shit, but if it's gold, no one can refuse it. So he can't die."

"Among the Dothraki, men who lose an arm rarely survive."

As he spoke, he looked Corleone straight in the eyes. "Can you do it? Make sure he doesn't die on our way back to Harrenhal?"

Hearing this, Corleone looked at the wheat cake in his hand, took a large bite, and then grinned. "I told you, I never refuse a friend's requests."

"But I won't force my friendship on someone who thinks I'm insignificant, either. When the day comes that I need your help, I hope you'll lend a hand without hesitation, my friend."

"Your name is Yego, right?"

"Remember, my name is Corleone."

"Vito Corleone."