Killing the Heart
The woman looked at the High Sparrow blankly, not understanding what he meant.
"Take off your clothes!"
The High Sparrow did not speak; instead, the deputy beside him shouted coldly and loudly, "Shed that prostitute's attire and take off the filthy silk you traded your flesh for."
"Expose your sinful body and welcome purification!"
At these words, the woman's face instantly turned deathly pale.
She looked around and saw hundreds of pairs of eyes—curious, disdainful, numb, expectant...
Her hands, clutching the child, trembled uncontrollably. She raised her head, and what met her eyes was the High Sparrow's face, still filled with compassion for the world.
"Shedding filth is the first step to washing away sin."
He spoke calmly, yet his voice was filled with an air of absolute authority. "Only by first erasing the evil upon you can the filth flowing in her blood be cleared."
These merciless words shattered the woman's final line of defense.
Trembling, she gently placed the semi-conscious child on a relatively clean stone slab nearby, then stood up, her fingers reaching for the dress's ties.
The silk dress slid down. It was a motion she had performed a thousand times, but this was the first time she had done so under the gaze of hundreds.
The late autumn wind blew across the square, and goosebumps rose on her naked body.
Her figure was good, with well-defined curves and no signs of malnutrition; it seemed her business was usually quite good. However, there were visible scars on her chest and lower body, proving that this trade was by no means easy.
She hugged her chest with both hands, lowering her head as her long hair fell to cover her face, yet it could not hide her trembling.
"Look at everyone!"
Then, the deputy barked again, "Raise your head! Look at the eyes that have been polluted by your sins!"
The woman obediently and with difficulty raised her head, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Now."
Only then did the High Sparrow look her in the eye, his peaceful voice rising again. "Speak your sins, every single one."
"I will listen, they will listen, and so will the Gods."
The woman, on the verge of collapse, merely opened her mouth mechanically, but not a single sound came from her throat.
"Speak!"
Someone in the crowd suddenly shouted. It was unclear who it was, but under their lead, more and more people began to urge her on, their faces taking on expressions of excitement. "We're all waiting!"
"Speak up!"
"Repent!"
"For your child!"
Humans are conformists; the initial curiosity and disdain gradually transformed into collective pressure.
The very few who might have pitied her also began to shout amidst the wave of the crowd, as if doing so would prove they were "purer."
Under such pressure, the woman finally spoke submissively, "I... I am a prostitute...
"
"I took clients at the Red Sparrow Nest... with men... I..."
She truly could not go on and could only weep.
"Not enough."
The deputy shook his head, his voice growing colder. "Such a perfunctory description will not earn God's forgiveness!"
"Be specific about how many times, exactly what kind of men, and how much money was taken."
"Every detail is a measure of sin; you must measure it clearly to know how much repentance is needed to offset it!"
At these words, Corleone felt Iggo move beside him.
"I want to kill him right now, blood of my blood."
Pure killing intent leaked from Iggo's voice. "That damned Sheep-man, he actually dares to call such a joyful thing a sin!"
Hearing this, Corleone couldn't help but glance at him.
Your train of thought... is indeed quite peculiar.
Now, under the deputy's repeated coercion, the woman had more or less accepted reality and began to recount the most sordid details.
The surrounding people listened with increasing relish; in their similarly miserable lives, the downfall and shame of others seemed to have become a form of entertainment.
Finally, when she reached the fifth "client," the deputy raised his hand to stop her.
"Enough."
"Now, for the second step of purification."
Then he turned to the crowd and said loudly, "The Seven teach us to loathe sin. Use your spit to wash away the filth on her body."
The crowd hesitated.
But the deputy ignored them and was the first to spit.
With a leader, there came a second and a third.
More and more people joined in, even some women participated; perhaps they felt that by doing so, they could draw a clear line between themselves and this "fallen one."
The woman stood in place, eyes closed, her body trembling violently.
She didn't reach out to wipe it away, just silently endured.
But people seemed to grow more emboldened, with many even stepping forward to push and slap her, until a fist struck the woman, making her collapse to her knees.
The deputy watched all this with satisfaction, his heart filled with a twisted sense of pleasure.
The High Sparrow remained calm, his compassionate face showing no change. Only when the crowd's emotions were mostly spent did he call out loudly.
"Enough."
The High Sparrow was authority itself; all the people's actions stopped abruptly as they scattered, leaving only the disheveled woman lying in the middle of the crowd.
Then she raised her head, and a bowl of steaming decoction came into view. "You may now pray for a blessing for your child."
"In light of your sincere repentance."
The woman's expression was already numb, but a spark of light flashed in her eyes the moment she saw the medicine, as if she had found salvation in that instant.
She laboriously raised her hand, about to take it...
"She doesn't need a gift."
A voice suddenly rang out, breaking this incredibly "pious" moment.
The woman's movements froze, and then everyone's gaze turned toward the source of the voice.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, walking at a steady pace.
A dark gray hooded robe wrapped the leader from head to toe, the shadows obscuring the upper half of his face and revealing only a cold, hard jaw.
With his steps, the hem of the robe swayed back and forth with crisp efficiency.
Most unsettling was the invisible pressure he seemed to radiate; as he passed, everyone involuntarily took half a step back, as if he weren't walking into the square, but the square was automatically making room for him.
The High Sparrow's usually peaceful eyes narrowed slightly; this man had only just appeared, yet he made the Sparrow, who had practiced asceticism for many years, feel a hint of threat.
The woman kneeling on the ground didn't know what was happening, only that the medicine carrying her hope was gone, and she opened her mouth in despair.
She didn't dare look up, only seeing a pair of boots stop in front of her.
Then, a warm piece of fabric fell onto her shoulders.
"Stand up."
The voice wasn't loud, but it was cold, firm, and clear.
The woman looked up blankly, and a pair of pitch-black eyes met hers.
"Don't kneel."
Having spoken, he looked at her no longer, but continued forward, heading straight for the High Sparrow.
"Halt!"
Only then did the deputy react, pointing at Corleone and shouting sharply, "Who permitted you to interrupt the judgment of the Seven?"
Corleone's steps paused as he faced the terrace.
"I am a doctor."
He looked at the High Sparrow, who returned the gaze. The corners of Corleone's mouth curled up slightly. "Not a fraud."
"Arrogance!" The deputy's face instantly flushed. "You dare to desecrate..."
"
"That child has pneumonia."
Corleone raised his voice, interrupting him. "Or bronchitis, but given the suprasternal and intercostal retractions when she breathes, I lean towards pneumonia."
"The cause could be a bacterial infection, or a viral infection combined with a bacterial one, but it is definitely not..."
"...so-called sin."
His voice spread to every corner of the square; with every professional term he spoke, the deputy's face grew uglier.
The people looked at each other; they didn't understand, but they could feel that what this suddenly appearing man said sounded... impressive.
"What nonsense are you talking?"
The deputy, incensed, pointed at Corleone and barked, "This is the Seven's..."
"
"The Seven do not treat illnesses."
But Corleone interrupted him again, turning to the crowd. "The Seven do not formulate medicine, they do not auscultate, and they do not determine the type of infection."
"What heals are knowledge and medicine. This child does not need her mother to be publicly humiliated, does not need to be spat upon, and does not need to hear a bunch of... nonsense about sin!"
As soon as these words were spoken, a commotion immediately broke out among the crowd.
Some began to whisper to one each other, but no one dared to be the first to voice an opinion because they were just commoners... no, they weren't even commoners.
And while the clothes on Corleone and the other man didn't look luxurious, their unusual aura seemed to signal at every moment—I am not to be trifled with!
Seeing the prestige he had worked so hard to build begin to waver, the High Sparrow finally couldn't sit still any longer.
He stared at Corleone and spoke tentatively, "Who are you?"
Just then, a cloud happened to drift by, obscuring the sunlight, and was then quickly blown away by the wind.
The sunlight poured down once more, exposing part of Corleone's body completely to the light, while the other side remained shrouded in shadow.
Half light, half darkness.
In that moment of interlacing light and shadow, he spoke:
"
...Vito Corleone."
The moment those words came out, the High Sparrow's pupils constricted slightly.
He had heard this name; a new boss rumored to be circulating in Flea Bottom these past few days, who had established an underground organization called the "Mafia."
But rumors were one thing, and seeing the person with his own eyes was quite another.
And... why would this guy come looking for him?
"Uncle Al Capone...
"
Just then, a faint, almost inaudible voice sounded from the crowd; it was Little Tommy.
The boy looked at Corleone in disbelief, as if he couldn't possibly reconcile the man before him with the famous Vito Corleone of Flea Bottom.
But Corleone just grinned at him, then shouted loudly, "You heard correctly, my name... is Vito Corleone!"
"From today onwards, the Place of Order in Flea Bottom will open a free congee kitchen and clinic!"
"The Mafia will provide food and medical care for everyone in need. No kneeling, no confession, no stripping off your clothes, and certainly no drinking that... poison that makes you hallucinate!"
As he spoke, he pointed to the vat of brown medicinal soup. "That's right, that's not a gift from the gods at all; it's an addictive poison that destroys the body!"
As soon as this was said, an uproar immediately erupted in Fisherman's Square.
"Poison?"
"That's impossible, right?"
"But... I felt great after drinking it...
"
"He said it was a hallucination...
"
"Free food? And they can help treat our illnesses? Is it true?"
People looked at the vat of medicine in disbelief, their voices of discussion no longer suppressed.
Seeing this, the High Sparrow's expression finally changed.
Regardless of who the opponent was, it was clear that the system he had painstakingly built was being dismantled by this man who had suddenly appeared.
The other party was clearly here to cause trouble.
"Expel these blasphemers!"
He knew very well how to recover the situation; without any intention of attempting to debate, he directly gave the order to the Faith Protectors.
The dozen or so Faith Protectors around them moved immediately, clubs falling from their wide sleeves into their hands as they closed in on Corleone and his companion.
Facing the encirclement of a dozen people, Corleone didn't panic in the slightest, instead continuing to call out loudly, "Become Corleone's friend or his enemy, stand or kneel—the choice is yours."
"But the opportunity... comes only once!"
Immediately after, he gave Iggo a look.
The Dothraki Warrior's mouth split into a grin, revealing a heartfelt smile.
Finally... he could start the slaughter!
He didn't shrink back, but instead took the initiative to charge into the crowd, stubbornly taking at least two wooden clubs swung at him before drawing a short sword from his lower back.
Puchi!
One strike, a throat slit open.
Immediately followed by a backhand thrust, piercing through the lung of a person behind him.
Then he pulled it out, raised it high above his head, and hacked down with force, directly splitting someone's head halfway open, the exposed cheekbone glaringly white in the sunlight.
"Roar!!!!"
Beating his chest with force, this long-suppressed Dothraki Warrior took down three people in an instant!
On the other side, if Iggo's fighting style was wide and sweeping, then Corleone's was as precise as performing Surgery.
The trajectory of the short sword in his hand was almost invisible. Enemies lunged, fell, lunged again, and fell again without any wasted movement.
He didn't need to hack off necks; he simply pierced between the ribs to cause a pneumothorax, and the enemy would suffocate and collapse.
He didn't need to hack off limbs; he just severed the ulnar or radial nerves, and the hand was useless.
Achilles tendons, arteries...
[Basic Swordsmanship Lv3] + [Insight Lv3] + [Surgery Lv3] made his every move flawless, accurately seizing all openings and hitting the most vulnerable parts of the human body.
It was a slaughter akin to an anatomical experiment; every fallen enemy was twitching, yet they were all alive.
They screamed, yet could clearly feel their lives slipping away.
By the time the fifth enemy fell, the blood on his short sword was even less than what was splattered on Iggo.
From the first Faith Protector charging over to the last one attempting to flee having his spine kicked broken by Iggo, less than half a minute had passed.
Ten or so people, all fallen.
"Awooohhh"~~~
Iggo was covered in blood, his chest heaving, eyes burning with the excitement after slaughter as he let out a series of strange cries.
This was a habit of the Dothraki after hunting.
But suddenly, he glimpsed the High Sparrow, escorted by a few people, walking quickly toward an alleyway.
"He's running!"
Iggo let out an angry roar, threw his short sword forward to impale one person, and then moved to give chase.
But immediately, five or six Faith Protectors threw themselves forward desperately to block him.
Perhaps their faith was too devout, or perhaps they knew they were finished, but if the High Sparrow could escape, at least their families might be taken care of.
"Argh!!!"
He roared angrily at the sky, then smashed a fist into the head of a lunging enemy, snatched a club, and began a wild beating.
But with this delay, the High Sparrow's figure had already vanished into the depths of the alley.
At this point, Corleone finished off the last Faith Protector entangling him, then stepped forward quickly, killing the people surrounding Iggo in a few moves.
"We can't catch him."
Seeing Iggo about to chase, he shook his head. "They know this place better than we do."
But Corleone didn't seem to feel any regret; instead, he patted him on the shoulder and said something Iggo didn't understand: "It's okay."
"Let the bullets... fly for a while longer."
Hearing this, Iggo frustratedly threw the club to the ground and turned around, his blood-red eyes fixing on the person still standing on the platform.
The High Sparrow's deputy.
This fellow seemed to have wet himself from fear, his legs trembling uncontrollably; the High Sparrow hadn't taken him along when retreating.
"The Seven Gods will punish you...
"
Seeing Iggo staring at him with bloodshot eyes, he slumped onto the ground, cursing in utter terror, "You... you blasphemers... your souls will eternally fall..."
Iggo didn't let him finish.
He snatched the short sword from Corleone's hand, leaped onto the terrace, grabbed the guy's hair, and dragged him to the edge of the wooden platform.
The short sword fell straight down, piercing the chest and then slicing upwards, prying the ribs apart.
The deputy's scream lasted for less than a second.
Iggo's hand reached into the opened chest cavity, groped around for a moment, and then violently ripped out a... heart!
A bloody, warm heart, even still beating in his hand!
The square was already in a state of chaos.
The crowd scattered and fled, but many didn't run far, instead watching from a safe distance.
At this moment, seeing Iggo's actions, everyone's eyes widened and they held their breath; the square was as silent as the grave.
Then, under everyone's gaze, Iggo held up the heart, turned back, and seeing Corleone looking at him with a very strange expression, he scratched his head—smearing blood all over it—and asked in confusion:
"What's wrong, blood of my blood?"
"Didn't you tell me to 'kill the person and take the heart'?"
...