Outside the Place of Order, the night wind swept through, picking up a heavy scent of blood and dust, fluttering Corleone's blood-stained hem and grey-white cloak.
The sigil of the pitch-black palm stood out even more prominently against the backdrop of firelight and dark red bloodstains.
Silence fell over the entire scene; after Gregor Clegane collapsed, his faint gasps were barely audible.
People's gazes first lingered on Corleone's terrifyingly calm figure, then shifted in unison toward another person.
Tywin Lannister.
The Hand of the King's pace remained steady and unhurried, no different from a casual stroll in a courtyard, as if he were oblivious to the scene of carnage before him.
He stepped down the final stair and arrived at the center of the mess.
Though his expression remained blank, everyone could see that the Old Lion's green eyes were filled with a chilling coldness at this moment.
He didn't even spare a glance at Gregor Clegane lying in a pool of blood, but simply stared coldly at Corleone, who stood before him holding his sword.
"You killed him."
Tywin spoke in a steady voice without any obvious fluctuation; it was neither a harsh interrogation nor a reprimand.
It was more like a statement of fact, yet beneath that flatness, everyone present felt as if they heard a lion's roar.
Upon hearing this, Corleone sheathed his blade with a clean, swift motion.
He then pressed his right fist to his chest and bowed slightly, his voice clear and steady: "I did not, Hand of the King."
He raised his head, his gaze meeting Tywin's scrutinizing eyes with composure.
"I merely gave him a necessary lesson."
"Given that Ser Clegane lost control tonight, causing serious insult and damage to your reputation, the order of the banquet, and my friends."
"I severed his tongue. As a loyal hound of the House Lannister, I believe a dog that cannot bark will only bite more fiercely in the future."
Corleone's words were logically sound and gave Tywin plenty of face.
As he spoke, he paused and added, "Of course, the intense pain and blood loss need to be handled promptly."
Hearing Corleone's explanation, Tywin's eyebrow twitched.
"A dog that cannot bark..."
97
He repeated the phrase, seemingly finding it quite interesting: "Your reasoning is sound, Sir Corleone. A dog that cannot bark often does bite more fiercely at times."
Tywin spoke very calmly, appearing not at all angry that Corleone had been too heavy-handed.
His gaze fell back onto Gregor Clegane; the massive body was still convulsing unconsciously, blood flowing out in streams, making for a gruesome scene.
He was silent for a moment, seemingly assessing the severity of the injuries, before looking back at Corleone and asking, "Are you certain Ser Clegane... is still alive?"
"Please trust me, my lord."
Meeting his gaze, Corleone answered with professional confidence, "As is well known, I am first and foremost a doctor."
"The incision's primary damage is limited to the tongue and some facial muscles and nerves. While the blood loss is considerable, it did not hit the carotid artery. For a man of Ser Clegane's size, this amount of bleeding is not yet fatal."
"As for his palm..."
"9"
Saying this, Corleone pointed to Gregor Clegane's left hand, which only had two fingers remaining. "Although that strike severed three of his fingers, it was not his sword-hand, the right hand. It won't have much impact on Ser Clegane's combat effectiveness."
"With Ser Clegane's physique and vitality, as long as he receives timely and correct treatment, the probability of him surviving and recovering most of his combat power is... very high."
These words were spoken with clear reasoning, demonstrating high professional skill. Corleone even added, "Of course, if the Hand of the King requires it, I can personally perform the follow-up treatment for him."
"But as you know, professional medical services are usually not free..."
"
As soon as these words were uttered, many people present, including some knights accustomed to bloodshed, felt a chill run down their spines.
Too brutal...
This Vito Corleone not only knew the human anatomy so well, but he even had the nerve to try and make money from the injuries he himself had inflicted!
One must absolutely never offend this fellow in the future!
Tywin, meanwhile, stared at Corleone for a long time in silence.
Initially, he had tacitly allowed or even encouraged Gregor Clegane's provocation, with the intent to pressure and test Corleone.
After all, this man had risen too quickly in Flea Bottom, and his methods were far too "flexible."
He needed to see how this "hand in the darkness" would react when faced with pure violence and direct humiliation, where his bottom line was, and how much value he could demonstrate.
In Tywin's anticipation, Corleone might have relied on cleverness or used the power of Jaime and others to handle the crisis.
He even thought Corleone might mobilize his subordinates to incite the commoners of Flea Bottom to help him, just as he had done the day before on Saltpans Street.
But he never expected that Corleone would not retreat an inch; instead, he used upright swordsmanship to crush Gregor Clegane head-on and severely wound him at the end!
The act was ruthless, but it was indeed very clean.
So clean that Tywin couldn't find much to criticize on the surface.
After all, Gregor Clegane had provoked him first. According to the custom for resolving conflicts between Westerosi knights, even if Corleone had killed him, it would have been justifiable.
Yet Corleone had stayed his hand and refrained from killing, even providing a "professional" guarantee of survival.
Unable to speak ever again, this would undoubtedly turn Gregor Clegane into a complete laughingstock.
But... this was definitely not the behavior of an obedient black hand.
Was he showing off his martial prowess, or was he demonstrating that he could provide more value than Gregor Clegane?
"You must be very tired as well, Sir Corleone."
After thinking for a while, Tywin's voice returned to its usual tone.
No matter what Corleone's intentions were, as the Hand of the King, the Old Lion had absolute confidence in keeping him under control.
Because he was Tywin Lannister; it was as simple as that.
Having said that, he no longer looked at Corleone and instead gave orders to those behind him: "Carry Ser Clegane to the Red Keep and hand him over to Grand Maester Pycelle."
"Tell him to do his utmost to treat him. I want Ser Clegane alive."
"Yes, my lord!"
Several Lannister knights in crimson armor stepped forward. Two tried to lift Gregor Clegane, but the weight of that body plus the full plate armor was truly staggering.
Two more joined in before they could barely shoulder him, moving with heavy steps toward the carriage parked not far away.
Blood was still dripping from Gregor Clegane's severed tongue, dragging a scarlet trail along the stone road.
Tywin then faced the crowd again, delivering his final verdict in a clear voice: "Ser Gregor Clegane was drunk and disorderly, intentionally causing trouble and disrupting the banquet. His conduct was not only contrary to the way of a knight but also failed the trust the House Lannister placed in him."
"It seems that campaigning in the The Riverlands for so long against fragile opponents has made him forget his identity and the rules I have set."
As he spoke, Tywin glanced at Corleone, as if saying, "Do not forget your own identity."
Corleone bowed again, his attitude very respectful.
Seeing this, Tywin nodded and continued, "He has already paid a heavy price tonight for his arrogance and loss of control."
"I hope this matter ends here. Any subsequent private provocations or retaliations will be regarded as open defiance of the Hand of the King's orders."
As soon as the Hand finished speaking, Corleone immediately and tactfully chimed in, "Of course, my lord!"
"Your ruling is just and wise. I have no objection; everything shall be governed by your will."
His performance was perfect, completely accepting the tone Tywin had set.
"Very well."
Seeing Corleone being so cooperative, Tywin nodded slightly again. "Tomorrow morning, remember to come to the Tower of the Hand."
"We need to discuss in detail the specific plans for the expansion of Flea Bottom, the budget, and the support required."
"Bring your proposal."
"I will not fail your expectations, my lord."
The boss wanted to see a presentation; this was normal. Corleone immediately nodded in agreement, as the expansion plan for Flea Bottom was crucial to his future development.
Tywin said no more, taking one last look at the guests who were as quiet as cicadas in winter. Wherever his gaze landed, almost no one dared to meet his eyes.
Except for a certain Red Viper from Dorne, whose eyes were incredibly cold as he stared fixedly at him, but unusually, he did not speak.
Glancing at Oberyn, Tywin turned and, surrounded by his red-armored guards, walked toward his carriage without looking back.
The carriage slowly drove away, disappearing into the night toward the Red Keep.
From beginning to end, he had no verbal exchange or even eye contact with his possibly injured eldest son.
Perhaps Tywin was using this method to let Jaime know that without his right hand, he could no longer fulfill his duties as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, hoping he would realize this and give up sooner.
Watching her father's departing back, Cersei then looked at Corleone standing composed in the center, her heart filled with a mixture of emotions.
This fellow had won again, and won so beautifully.
But this victory only made her feel more uneasy and... resentful.
The stronger he became, the harder he would be to control.
She bit her lip, lifted her skirts, and without even saying goodbye, chose to get into her carriage and follow hastily after her father.
Immediately after, Olenna, supported by Margaery, walked slowly with her cane to Corleone's side.
"Tsk, tsk, boy." The old woman squinted, sizing him up. "Tonight you really... opened my eyes."
"Such beautiful swordsmanship; it's as if I'm seeing Ser Arthur Dayne swinging his blade on the tourney grounds many years ago."
"Oh, right, what was that sword called again?"
"Dawn." Facing such high praise from the Queen of Thorns, Corleone bowed modestly. "You flatter me, My Lady. I have merely been practicing aimlessly with Lady Brienne for two months; I am far from being compared to Ser Arthur."
"To reach such a level in two months—the knights of The Seven Kingdoms might as well go jump into the Blackwater Rush."
Olenna gave a soft snort of disbelief but cautioned, "But you'd better be careful, child. You cut out the tongue of that beast tonight."
"Once that dog recovers, he will surely bite back."
"Then I'll smash every tooth in his mouth."
"Oh ho ho... such an energetic young man."
After a few pleasantries, Olenna left with her granddaughter.
As an elder, even though she remained wise, her body felt the toll of the years, and it was time for her to rest.
Yet despite the farce involving the Mountain, most of the guests did not leave; instead, after the initial shock, they became even more excited.
Witnessing one of The Seven Kingdoms' most feared monsters having his tongue cut out in public was more captivating than any song, dance, or play.
As Corleone loudly announced, "Let the music continue, and let the dancing resume," the guests immediately broke into a chorus of agreement and praise, and the crowd began to flow back into the Place of Order.
Many people bowed slightly or nodded in greeting as they passed Corleone, the contempt in their eyes long replaced by awe.
Corleone stood in place, watching the flow of people with a calm gaze.
Then, Rorge appeared silently at his side, lowering his voice to a whisper only the two of them could hear to report quickly: "Ser."
"Iggo has been checked. Two broken ribs, some internal bleeding, and his lung might have been slightly punctured by a bone fragment—he's coughing up some bloody froth. But I've given him preliminary treatment according to the methods you taught us before; he's out of danger for now."
Corleone nodded.
Iggo's injuries were within his expectations. The force of the Mountain's punch was terrifying; it was a testament to Iggo's strong constitution that he wasn't killed outright.
After a pause, Rorge continued, "Also, as you ordered, our men have been watching the street corners since dark. Aside from essential personnel, not a single commoner from Flea Bottom was allowed out to watch the excitement tonight."
"So, besides Iggo being... a bit unlucky, our own people suffered no other losses."
Hearing this, Corleone nodded again in affirmation.
Although he had gained the recognition and even the affection of the Flea Bottom residents, and their support was useful, the time was not yet right.
After all, before truly controlling absolute power or obtaining a more stable official status, involving the commoners of Flea Bottom in a conflict with the nobility too early would be foolish and dangerous.
They were the foundation of his rule and his future potential, not cannon fodder to be consumed at will.
Moreover, Corleone had almost achieved his goal for today.
The Mountain was a recognized symbol of violence. Defeating him head-on tonight was equivalent to announcing to all factions in King's Landing: I, Vito Corleone, have the strength to defend my territory and rules; I am not just a schemer, but a man of real power with military might.
From the start of the conflict to its end, he had always prioritized order and rules, and finally, very "sensibly," returned the final authority of disposal to Tywin.
Defeating the Mountain was not the goal; maintaining order was.
This method of handling the situation placed him on the moral and regulatory high ground, rationalizing and legitimizing his violence, making it easier for the nobility to accept.
As for Tywin's reaction, Corleone saw it clearly.
The Old Lion was terrifyingly calm; he wasn't angry at the Mountain's defeat because it proved that this "hand in the darkness" he had chosen was strong enough.
He didn't immediately shower Corleone with rewards either, as rising too quickly would break the balance.
He handled the conflict with a "strictly business" attitude, maintaining a facade of justice while giving Corleone room to continue his work, all within the framework Tywin himself had established.
After tonight, Tywin saw Corleone's value, but he also saw the potential threat he posed.
The game that followed would be more subtle and more dangerous.
He needed to develop his forces faster, truly turning Flea Bottom into a monolithic stronghold, while also beginning to broaden other paths.
"Well done."
After thinking for a moment, Corleone praised Rorge and then instructed him: "Have someone clean up the entrance, wash away the blood with water, and repair the broken stones."
6
"Then, go tell the kitchen to add another cask of The Arbor's golden wine to every table."
"Yes, Ser." Rorge took the order and quickly withdrew to make arrangements.
Just then, a slightly flippant voice sounded at Corleone's side: "Tsk, tsk. I thought you only had some skill in the 'Blade Dance' game; I didn't expect you to play with a longsword so beautifully as well."
Without turning around, Corleone knew who it was.
He slowly turned to face Prince Oberyn Martell. The Prince had already put away his poisoned scimitar and approached him.
That handsome yet sinister face wore a playful smile, but deep within his dark eyes flickered a hint of admiration mixed with regret.
"To live in this world, one must learn a few more skills to survive, Prince."
Corleone responded flatly, "Swordsmanship and medicine are just some of the more practical types. Not only that, I can even climb trees to pick apples."
"Haha!" Hearing this, Oberyn grinned. "Well said."
"I am curious, though..." Seeing his boisterous manner, Corleone raised an eyebrow. "You were so impulsive regarding the Mountain earlier, so why didn't you say a word when you saw Tywin Lannister?"
At the mention of Tywin's name, a look of ferocity flashed in Oberyn's eyes—an unforgettable hatred.
But he quickly suppressed it, glanced at Corleone, and explained with rare patience, "Seeing you teach that damned dog a lesson yourself was more satisfying to me than killing him."
"I can tell you're not one of the Lannisters' men—at least, your ambitions don't stop there."
"My vengeance is my business, but tonight, you are the protagonist."
These words were spoken lightly, but their sincerity surprised Corleone slightly. After a moment of silence, he offered a rare quip: "How surprising. The Red Viper of Dorne has actually started considering others?"
"I've heard that you once stole someone's mistress and then killed the man with a poisoned blade."
Hearing this, Oberyn was not annoyed; instead, he looked as happy as if he were hearing a compliment. He boasted triumphantly, "Hahaha!"
"I must say, that woman was indeed quite... moist!"
He commented without reservation, then looked at Corleone seriously. "But that was for women and for fun. Some things, some hatreds, are worth waiting for a more suitable opportunity."
The two looked at each other for a moment and then suddenly burst into low laughter at the same time.
There wasn't much joy in the laughter, but rather a sense of mutual recognition.
"So, Prince,"
Watching the nobles stream back into the hall, Corleone suppressed his smile and said casually, "The wine tonight is quite good. Are you interested in staying for a few more drinks?"
But to his invitation, Oberyn shook his head. "No."
"Drinking with Lannisters, even just under the same roof, makes the wine turn sour."
He paused and glanced meaningfully behind him.
Corleone followed his gaze and saw Jaime and Brienne walking side by side.
Looking at Jaime, whose golden hair was streaked with white, Oberyn's expression was complex.
He hated all Lannisters, except for a certain dwarf who existed as Tywin's shame.
As for Jaime... although there was no interaction between the two, it didn't stop Oberyn from hating him as part of the Lannister whole.
After a moment of silence, his gaze finally fell back on Corleone, his voice carrying a hint of regret: "It's just a pity that I wasn't the one to personally wring that mad dog's head off."
Corleone patted his arm, his tone calm but carrying a strange certainty: "Don't worry, there will be a chance."
"But remember, when that day truly comes, you will owe me another favor."
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