Game of Thrones

Urswyck's pupils suddenly contracted.

Dagger in hand, he quickly turned to survey his surroundings before lowering his voice.

"What exactly are you trying to say, doctor... Vito Corleone?"

Meeting his hostile gaze, Corleone concealed nothing and said frankly, "I feel you've been shortchanged, my lord."

"Shortchanged?"

Urswyck narrowed his eyes, clearly intrigued by the word.

"Yes, shortchanged."

Corleone stepped forward, his voice quiet but clear and forceful. "I heard that the Brave Companions followed Captain Vargo Hoat all the way from the Free Cities to Westeros and captured the enormous castle of Harrenhal for Lord Tywin Lannister."

"Yet Vargo Hoat switched sides for the title of Earl of Harrenhal, betraying the Lannister garrison and opening Harrenhal's gates to the northern army instead."

Urswyck grunted in tacit acknowledgment.

These events had spread throughout the Riverlands, so it was hardly surprising that Corleone knew about them.

As a member of the Brave Companions, Urswyck cared nothing about betraying their employer. In fact, Vargo's defection had largely been instigated by him and several other veteran members.

They were mercenaries, after all, not knights. They had no need for that bullshit about honor and chivalry. Only profit could move them.

"Forgive my bluntness, my lord."

Corleone continued, his voice resonant. "The dirty work, the hard work, the dangerous work-the brothers all did it together, didn't they?"

"But when Lord Roose Bolton handed out rewards for your service, every benefit went to Vargo Hoat alone!"

His words took a turn, his tone suddenly sharpening.

"'Earl of Harrenhal.' What a wonderful title!"

"It means the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, and a vast stretch of fertile land!"

"And what about you?"

Half of Corleone's face fell into shadow as he whispered ceaselessly into Urswyck's ear like a devil.

"You, my lord, the deputy commander of the Brave Companions, and all those old comrades who risked their lives alongside him-what did you get?"

"A few empty words of praise? Or do you simply carry on as you are now, seeking amusement by torturing a child to death on some wretched farm?"

"Is that fair?"

Those words were like a knife, gouging with unerring precision at the deepest source of Urswyck's resentment.

His expression darkened and his grip on the knife tightened, but he did not argue.

Seeing him begin to waver, Corleone immediately added fuel to the fire. "To tell you the truth, my lord, the good days are nearly over for our Earl Vargo Hoat!"

"What do you mean?"

Urswyck's eyelid twitched at this, but he asked without betraying anything further, "Wasn't the operation a success?"

"Of course. The operation was indeed a success."

Looking straight into Urswyck's piercing eyes, Corleone smiled confidently. "My skills are absolutely without equal."

"Then why do you say..."

"He had already developed a fever before I even began operating!"

Corleone answered calmly and methodically, "I removed most of the dead tissue and delayed his death. But it's like putting out an open fire while the embers beneath the ground are still burning."

"I have to say, he knows next to nothing about basic medicine. Not only did he forcibly press his severed ear back into place, causing a severe infection, he even drank heavily while he had a fever. That was practically suicide!"

He stepped closer and lowered his voice further, though it carried all the authority of his position as a doctor.

"By tomorrow at the latest, the high fever will return, worse than before. His whole body will burn, and he'll begin to babble. The process will keep draining his vitality, leaving him extremely weak."

"But with Captain Vargo's hardy constitution, he may well hold on until Harrenhal. There's a maester there whom Lord Bolton left behind, as well as that doctor named Qyburn, correct?"

"If they take over, they may very well pull Vargo back from death's grasp!"

"He must never reach Qyburn!"

Urswyck roared almost instinctively.

"Exactly!"

Corleone immediately nodded in agreement and seized the opportunity to propose a solution. "We must let all of this come to a 'natural' end on the road."

"And I can control the process precisely. For instance, I could put something not quite clean on his wound without anyone knowing."

"He'll suffer a persistent high fever, just as a truly gravely wounded man would, and finally pass away peacefully in his sleep one night."

"Everyone will simply think he died of his wounds. No one will suspect us, because that is the natural progression of his injuries."

"But there is one problem we must resolve."

"What problem?"

Urswyck's breathing had even quickened. He pressed for an answer without ceremony, clearly deeply tempted by Corleone's proposal.

"The fever."

Corleone repeated the word.

"When Captain Vargo discovers his temperature rising and his mind beginning to cloud, even if he doesn't suspect me of tampering with his treatment, he'll believe the operation failed."

"When that happens, the very first thing he does may well be ordering someone to twist my head off."

As he spoke, he spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't want to die."

"And once I'm dead, no one will be able to control the course of his death precisely. All our plans will come to nothing."

At this, Urswyck first frowned deeply.

In truth, he did not care in the slightest whether Corleone lived or died. Yet he did very much need his cooperation now.

Corleone's move was undeniably clever. He had willingly exposed his own vulnerability, which would not make Urswyck think him incompetent, but rather thorough in his thinking, while binding their interests even more closely together.

Corleone's survival had a direct bearing on whether Urswyck could realize his ambitions.

"I understand."

Sure enough, after only a moment's hesitation, Urswyck nodded firmly, a savage smile of unspoken understanding appearing on his face. "Until that fellow has rotted away completely, no one will touch you."

"After all, the company can't go without a doctor, can it?"

Only after receiving his assurance did Corleone nod in satisfaction.

Just as he had said before, he would offer Urswyck something he could not refuse.

What offer could an ambitious deputy commander never refuse?

Killing the old commander and taking his place, of course!

"Captain Vargo Hoat will die of a high fever within three days. As for you, my lord..."

Seeing that the moment was right, Corleone smiled.

He lowered his voice and said each word distinctly. "You have a better option than taking his corpse back to Harrenhal. A shortcut to the pinnacle of power."

"The Kingslayer!"

At that name, Urswyck's eyes widened instantly, and he stared at Corleone in disbelief.

Yet the newly arrived doctor merely continued loyally painting a grand vision for him.

"Remember, Vargo Hoat cut off his right hand, not you, Urswyck!"

"You could take this token of 'goodwill' straight to Lord Tywin Lannister and join him!"

"Think about it. To Lord Tywin, whose son has just lost his right hand, this would be an enormous favor. Once his army retakes Harrenhal, who do you think will receive that title of Earl?"

As Corleone finished speaking, this grand scheme of betrayal exploded in Urswyck's mind.

The risks were enormous, but the rewards were unprecedented!

An alliance directly with the king of the Westerlands, and a truly secure hold on Harrenhal!

He stared hard at Corleone, as though seeing this seemingly frail young man clearly for the first time. Only after a long while did he slowly speak. "You're a madman, Vito Corleone."

"But we only recently betrayed Lord Tywin and joined the King in the North. Will his lordship believe in our loyalty?"

"I need some time to think this over."

"Of course, my lord! Caution is a virtue. A decision this important naturally requires careful thought."

At this, Corleone changed his earlier approach and did not continue trying to sway him.

Pushing too hard would only arouse his suspicions.

He had already offered Urswyck a proposal he could not refuse, a golden stairway to the seat of the Earl of Harrenhal, or even higher.

The seed had been planted and his ambition kindled. Further persuasion would only provoke wariness and might even backfire.

Both men remained silent for a long time, each considering his own future. Only after quite a while did Urswyck abruptly speak.

"Vito Corleone."

His voice had regained its earlier chill, but it could not conceal the heat within him.

Raising the dagger, he casually pointed its tip toward the bound Derek. "You've said so much, but I have no guarantees."

"So..."

"Prove your resolve to me. Right now."

"Use that 'control' and 'efficiency' you just taught me to send this damned fat pig on his way. Let me see your technique!"

Corleone's face remained utterly calm, without the slightest ripple.

He had anticipated this moment long ago.

In this world where the strong preyed on the weak, within this company of thugs and ambitious men, nothing earned trust better than bloodying their hands together.

"There are opportunities to learn everywhere, my lord."

Corleone took the dagger, walked step by step toward Derek, who was tied to the tree, and stopped before him.

The firelight cast wavering shadows over his face, his gaze as indifferent as still water.

Strangely, though this was his first attempt at killing someone, he felt not the slightest psychological burden. It was just like the first time he had held a scalpel, when even his mentor had praised his mental composure.

"This is only business, young master Derek."

He repeated once more, "In a transaction, someone always has to pay the price."

The instant the words left his lips, Corleone moved.

He chose neither the heart nor the throat. Instead, with a turn of his wrist, he drove the dagger precisely into the tiny gap between Derek's left carotid artery and his windpipe.

Shhk!

Derek's fat body suddenly stiffened. His mouth opened wide, but no sound came out. Only great quantities of warm blood gushed from the wound in the side of his neck!

His pupils rapidly lost focus in the firelight. His body convulsed violently several times, and then his fat head drooped limply.

The entire process, from the strike to the end, took only a few seconds. Clean and efficient, it was hardly more difficult than killing a chicken.

Turning around, Corleone calmly handed the dagger back to Urswyck. His face still bore no unnecessary expression, making him look thoroughly professional.

Taking the dagger, which still retained a trace of warmth, Urswyck curiously studied the pair of fathomless black eyes before him in the firelight.

The corners of his mouth slowly spread into a savage smile of satisfaction and appreciation, as happy as though he had found one of his own kind.

"Very good, Vito Corleone."

"Welcome to this... game of thrones!"