The principles of the Dothraki

By the time Rorge escorted Corleone back near the wooden cabin, it was almost midnight.

His conversation with Urswyck had lasted a long time, most of which Corleone had spent teaching that pervert about human anatomy.

The distribution of blood vessels, the paths of nerves, the layers of muscle, the weak points of bones-these technical terms had opened a door to a new world for Urswyck.

He had been a pervert all his life, yet he had never even known there was so much to human anatomy!

Under Corleone's systematic analysis, the torture methods he had once taken such pride in seemed so crude.

If Urswyck had possessed the ambitions of a certain ruthless chancellor with a taste for other men's wives, he probably would have immediately displayed his personal charm and recruited this "talent," Corleone.

Of course, that was impossible.

However ruthless, vicious, and cruel that fellow might be, he was only the second-in-command of a band of brigands.

Still, thanks to Corleone's way with words, Urswyck had soon come to regard him as one of his own kind, and Corleone had gained a few benefits as well.

Feeling the weight of the ten gold dragons in his pocket, Corleone could not help reflecting on it.

He had earned his first pot of gold in this world sooner than he had imagined.

He had to admit that Urswyck clearly knew a thing or two about buying loyalty. At least he was not stingy.

As Urswyck put it, Corleone had already shown his resolve by personally killing the knight's son, and he needed to make sure Corleone would always remain on his side.

In this world, shared interests were always the sturdy rope that bound two complete strangers tightly together.

Ten gold dragons.

That was no small sum. In peacetime, that money could almost fully equip a genuine knight, including armor, a horse, and weapons.

Even now, with the war having raged for over a year and prices soaring, ten gold dragons were enough to support a family of five for more than half a year, which gave some indication of Urswyck's generosity.

After all, even after Jaime Lannister-the captive who could be called the richest heir in the Seven Kingdoms-escaped, the duke of Riverrun had offered a bounty of only a thousand gold dragons.

Top up and start the draw!

As he walked, Corleone opened the system panel.

Though he had never seen so much money in this life, he still poured every gold dragon into the system without hesitation.

After all, the most important thing now was to increase his strength. Only by staying alive could he earn more wealth, then use that money to feed the system in an endless cycle.

At present, apart from [Surgery lv2], Corleone had no skills of his own. Under these circumstances, even though his gold dragons were only enough for a single lv1 skill draw, it was still crucial.

As he repeated the command silently, the ten gold dragons inside his clothes inexplicably vanished in an instant. Immediately afterward, the system's wheel began spinning wildly.

[Ding~~~ Skill acquired: Insight lv1]

There was no explanation, only a solitary line of small text hovering before his eyes, just like his [Surgery lv2].

It seemed that, in the system's view, these low-level skills did not even deserve the space it would take to introduce them.

Corleone frowned at first.

After all, in his current circumstances, it would have been best to draw a skill that could immediately improve his fighting ability.

Something like "swordsmanship" or "hand-to-hand combat."

By comparison, a support skill like [Insight] seemed a little lacking.

Yet just as he felt a faint pang of regret, a cool current flowed into his consciousness, and Corleone abruptly realized that the world seemed to have become somewhat... different?

He turned his head slightly, and Rorge's ferocious face came into view.

Unfocused. His eyes keep straying toward his companions drinking by the distant fire. He seems distracted.

There's an extremely slight lack of coordination in his left leg when he walks. Probably an old injury...

In barely two seconds, details he had never noticed before were naturally analyzed.

So that's how it works...

Corleone's eyes lit up, and he understood at once.

This skill could hardly have been better suited to his current circumstances!

"Go inside yourself, doctor."

Sure enough, when they reached the cabin, Rorge did not personally escort him inside as before. Instead, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and spoke with an air of affected heartiness.

"Deputy Commander Urswyck said you're one of us Brave Companions now. If I get hurt in the future, I'll be counting on you to patch me up properly!"

"But there's something I should warn you about."

As he spoke, he jerked his chin toward the cabin, his expression somewhat disdainful. "That Dothraki savage isn't easy to get along with. The commander trusts no one but him."

"Don't do anything that makes him uncomfortable. If he tries anything with you, shout. Fang and I will rush straight in to help."

With that, he paid Corleone no further attention and strode off toward his distant companions. It looked as though he had been craving a drink for a long time.

This fellow... must have guessed something.

Watching him leave, Corleone silently considered the matter.

This seemingly burly, rough-looking man was remarkably perceptive. Perhaps he had guessed something of the plans between Corleone and Urswyck, but had not exposed them, and had even made a point of offering a warning.

Interesting.

Corleone narrowed his eyes. In these troubled times, it seemed he really could not underestimate anyone who had survived the war.

He pushed open the cabin door. Before he could step inside, a sturdy figure appeared before him.

"You were gone a long time."

The Dothraki's tone was somewhat hostile, his eyes full of suspicion.

"Yeah, I took a shit while I was at it."

Corleone spread his hands and shrugged, looking utterly unconcerned. "I was strung up for ages, then had to perform two operations back-to-back. I was about to burst."

At that, the suspicion in Yego's eyes did not entirely fade, but he still stepped halfway aside and gestured for Corleone to enter.

He glanced behind Corleone and asked, "Where did Rorge go? He was supposed to guard Commander Vargo with me."

"He went drinking."

Corleone entered the cabin and, with feigned casualness, took off his ragged clothes and shoes, exposing a body covered in whip marks, and tossed them aside.

The movement was small, but its meaning was clear.

It was as though he were saying, "Look, I'm not carrying any weapons."

Only then did he sit down on the pile of hay, his posture relaxed. He even rubbed his shoulders wearily, like a craftsman who had just finished a grueling job.

"He said that with you guarding this place, everyone could get a good rest tonight. You wouldn't need his help."

"Looks like both the commander and Rorge trust you a great deal, Yego."

The words seemed to be a simple retelling, but were actually a small attempt to sow discord and test his reaction.

Sure enough, Yego snorted.

The Dothraki revered martial prowess. Being talked about behind his back like this could hardly feel pleasant.

Still, he did not question Corleone any further. After all, the attitude Corleone now displayed left him completely unguarded against Yego.

Corleone looked around.

Vargo Hoat was still asleep in the most comfortable spot in the middle of the room, with hay and rags piled beneath him to make a soft, dry bed. His face looked unusually flushed in the flickering firelight, he reeked of alcohol, and his snores shook the room.

Jaime and Brienne had been taken away by another member of the Brave Companions before Corleone left. After all, Yego alone could not watch several people at once.

Seeing Corleone already sprawled carelessly on the hay, seemingly without the slightest intention of checking Vargo's injury, Yego frowned and walked over to him.

"It's time to change the commander's bandages, Vi... Vito Corleone."

"You said yourself they had to be changed every two hours."

"Ah... has it been that long?"

Only then did Corleone reluctantly open his eyes a fraction, looking utterly exhausted.

Still, he said nothing. He patted his backside, got up, and walked unsteadily toward Vargo, who was still fast asleep.

After making a show of examining him for a while, Corleone suddenly remarked, "What a tough man. To think he can still sleep so comfortably with such a serious injury."

"Yes."

The simple-minded Yego suspected nothing and merely agreed. "Commander Vargo is a worthy khal. Since we started following him, we've never lost a battle."

At that, Corleone merely glanced at him, neither denying it nor agreeing.

Given Vargo Hoat's character, of course the Brave Companions never lost battles. Their enemies were all carefully selected weaklings.

Corleone kept his hands moving, carefully beginning to unwrap the bandages.

He did not look back, but the properties of [Insight] allowed him to see Yego's expression clearly out of the corner of his eye.

It was not absolute loyalty, but the Dothraki's deep-rooted insistence on following the strong.

Corleone smiled and continued probing. "They say there was once an invincible khal in the Dothraki Sea named Drogo. He had more than forty thousand Dothraki warriors under him and was said to be the strongest in history."

"But later, he fell from his horse because of an infected wound, and his followers fell apart as a result."

"That's right. I heard about that too."

Yego seemed to have gone a long time without anyone to talk to as well. He readily joined the conversation, speaking with a thick Dothraki accent. "He was Khal Bharbo's son. They say his braid reached his thighs, and he never lost a single fight."

Corleone pursed his lips. "But unfortunately, he died, didn't he?"

"Even the mightiest eagle cannot escape its fate of falling."

"That's right." Yego nodded and answered as though it were only natural. "That's why his khalasar scattered like a herd of frightened wild horses, to be divided among new strong men."

"These are the principles of us Dothraki. When a lion falls, the hyenas feast on its corpse, and a new lion king is born in blood and fire."

Silently listening to this cold philosophy of survival, Corleone quietly observed Yego's reaction, then deftly unwrapped the bandages, exposing the wound beneath.

Earlier, he had cleaned the wound thoroughly. Now, however, a faint, ominous yellow-green trace had appeared along the edge of what remained of the outer ear, and the surrounding skin was redder and more swollen than before.

The corners of Corleone's mouth lifted slightly, and he spoke clearly. "Unfortunately, Yego."

"I think you need to start looking for a new khal to follow."

"Because our esteemed Earl Vargo Hoat doesn't have long to live!"