The flames were still roaring, and the wails of Allister Florent seemed to linger in the air.
The King of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon, stared intently at Corleone, his gaze cold and sharp, as if he would have him burned alive just like Allister the next second should any issue arise in his answer.
Despite bearing such a gaze, Corleone's expression remained calm and composed.
He knew Stannis was putting on an act, merely waiting for an explanation that could persuade him to accept the deal.
And Corleone was indeed prepared.
He did not need to boast, for facts speak louder than words.
As Corleone had previously stated, he had prepared three gifts for Stannis upon this visit to Dragonstone.
The first, bringing back the "traitor" Davos and Gendry, demonstrated Corleone's respect.
The second, ten thousand pounds of wheat, enough to alleviate the pressing hunger but not enough to let Stannis rest easy, showcased Corleone's strength.
Now, it was the third, a condition that Stannis would be unable to refuse.
Corleone did not speak immediately.
He simply lowered his head, slowly withdrew a thicker roll of parchment from his robes, and had a guard present it to Stannis.
"Please allow me to present the third gift, my lord."
Stannis unfurled the parchment.
There was no text on it, only a very finely drawn map—a map of the southern reaches of Westeros.
From King's Landing to the Dornish Marches, from the Shield Islands to Shipbreaker Bay.
And at the spot near Shipbreaker Bay, it was heavily circled in a deep red line, with dense annotations marked upon it.
Upon seeing that familiar castle, Stannis's breathing noticeably quickened.
It was his home.
Yet now, Lord Mace Tyrell was leading tens of thousands of Highgarden troops, surrounding it as tightly as an iron barrel.
"Storm's End." Stannis spoke the name, his voice revealing a trace of anger and helplessness.
"Yes, Storm's End."
Corleone took up the thread, stepping forward two paces: "Lord Tyrell and Lord Mathis Rowan are camped beneath the walls with forty thousand men, and their fleet has blockaded Shipbreaker Bay."
"The castellan you appointed, Ser Gilbert Farring, is a capable commander, but Storm's End has less than three months of supplies; therefore, if I were Mace Tyrell, taking this castle would only be a matter of time."
Stannis knew all this intelligence, but hearing it recounted so calmly by Corleone still felt as painful as being cut by a dull blade.
"So what is your third gift?"
Stannis's voice suppressed his fury: "A map telling me my home is falling?"
"Or are you suggesting I use more of my gold dragons to buy food, just to feed a castle I am locked out of, where I cannot even ship a single ear of wheat inside?"
"No."
Under Stannis's questioning, Corleone shook his head and calmly stated: "The gift I spoke of... is a method to lift the siege of Storm's End!"
Dead silence.
Once these words were spoken, the entire hall fell into a hush.
Even Asael Florent, who had been watching the flames burn with a fanatical expression, widened his eyes, his face written with the word "absurd."
Everyone knew that under the siege of forty thousand men from The Reach, the situation Storm's End faced now was absolutely more dire than when Stannis himself had been besieged.
Yet this fellow boasted that he could directly lift the siege of Storm's End?
What a joke!
"Lift the siege?"
Making such wild claims, even Stannis couldn't help but sneer, his mouth twitching slightly: "Do you intend to single-handedly hack your way through forty thousand men of The Reach, or can you summon krakens to overturn the Redwyne fleet?"
"War does not necessarily only take place on the battlefield, my lord."
Facing Stannis's skepticism, Corleone's tone remained steady: "Why does Mace Tyrell besiege Storm's End?"
"Certainly not to occupy it; after all, the strategic value of Storm's End to Highgarden is very limited."
"He is executing the orders of the hand of the king to contain the last of the Baratheon forces, and at the same time... to secure a queen's crown for his daughter Margaery."
This explanation was not novel, and Stannis raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying it, though he did not mock him further, as if wanting to see what fresh advice this fellow before him could offer regarding the siege of Storm's End.
"Forgive my frankness, my lord, but House Tyrell is wealthy and powerful, yet they seem to lack just a little... luck."
As he spoke, Corleone raised his right thumb and index finger with a small gap, making a gesture indicating a tiny amount.
"More than a decade ago, when your brother raised his banners in rebellion and the Targaryen rule was crumbling, House Tyrell chose to remain loyal to the The Mad King."
"At that time, Lord Mace Tyrell led the majority of The Reach's armies and besieged Storm's End for nearly a year."
"Nearly a year of famine; you must have a deep impression of it, my lord."
Upon hearing this, Stannis frowned slightly.
He certainly remembered; those were among the darkest days he had ever experienced in his life.
Storm's End had been besieged by Mace Tyrell's ground forces for a full year, while the fleet of Paxter Redwyne of The Arbor blockaded the castle from the sea.
Not a single grain of rice could be brought into the city; the people ate all the food, then began to eat rats, and everything else edible in the castle, and after that...
The Onion Knight arrived.
"Then, the The Mad King died by the sword of Jaime Lannister, and King's Landing fell."
Corleone continued to narrate, seemingly very familiar with this history: "Lord Mace Tyrell surrendered to Lord Eddard Stark, thus preserving his house, lands, and the majority of his army."
"That was a smart decision."
Corleone smiled and continued: "And at the beginning of this war, the clever Lord Mace once again steadfastly supported your brother Renly, who proclaimed himself king; Lord Mace even married his daughter Margaery to him."
"Although they switched sides quite quickly after Renly's death, immediately aligning with the Lannisters, for Lord Mace..."
He spread his hands in a helpless gesture: "He has once again ended up standing beneath the walls of Storm's End."
"History is a circle, my lord, and House Tyrell seems to always be pushed by fate back to the same starting point, facing the same castle, fighting the same siege that they themselves do not know why they are waging."
Upon hearing this, Stannis's fingers tapped slowly on the armrest of his chair.
"Fate?" he murmured softly.
"Yes, House Tyrell is always accustomed to betting everything on the side that appears strongest before the situation becomes clear."
Corleone smiled and spoke eloquently, his voice becoming more forceful: "But this time, it is different."
"Mace Tyrell is a good lord, but he is by no means a capable commander; he lacks the courage to lead his crew through thick fog."
"If, while he is laboriously besieging Storm's End and consuming Highgarden's gold dragons to feed forty thousand men, his daughter's position as queen suddenly becomes less secure, what do you think he would do?"
Once these words were spoken, Stannis's breathing immediately became rapid.
Everything Corleone said was so logical and highly actionable; if it could truly be done, then Mace Tyrell would very likely choose to lead his army back to King's Landing at the first opportunity!
After all, back then, he was held up in the The Riverlands by Storm's End, leading to the failure of the subsequent war, and House Tyrell gained nothing.
With Mace Tyrell's indecisive and hesitant personality, he would never allow such a thing to happen again—this was an inevitable choice based on human weakness and political calculation.
As long as it is handled well, the siege of Storm's End can be resolved quickly; at that point, he would at least not have to be trapped on this isolated island and could return to his ancestral lands to choose a slow and steady path!
This was absolutely a condition Stannis could not refuse!
Joy gradually overcame suspicion, but just as he leaned forward slightly, preparing to ask further about the specific details.
"No!!!"
A shrill scream erupted from Melisandre's throat, drawing everyone's attention.
Stannis frowned and looked over, only to see her crimson eyes reflecting the roaring flames, staring at the direction in the courtyard where Allister Florent had previously been sacrificed to the fire.
The fire was raging, doused with fish oil, crackling, and the rising black smoke twisted in the sea breeze of Dragonstone.
"My lady..."
"Lady Melisandre..."
Stannis couldn't help but call out in a low voice, but Melisandre's eyes at this moment had no focus, completely vacant, merely reflecting the flames that had burned Allister, dancing.
At the core of the leaping flames, something else seemed to begin to emerge...
Vast white snow; on a pale plain paved with frost and bones, the banner of the crowned stag snapped in the cold wind.
A figure stood on the summit of a mountain made of corpses, a flaming sword held high, the shouts of victory seemingly able to tear through the Long Night.
This was the scene from the prophecy.
It was the great victory of humanity against the Long Night!
Yet at this moment, a black horse, as if leaping out from the shadows themselves, its hooves trampling on ice and bone.
The knight on horseback, armor covered in frost and snow, his face very blurred in the snowstorm, impossible to see clearly, the longsword in his hand reflecting the last faint glimmer of fire from the victor's sword.
The sword flashed, and a head flew from its shoulders.
The banner of the crowned stag slowly toppled, submerged in the filthy slush.
The knight reined in his horse and turned.
A corner of his tattered cloak rose behind him, the sigil of a black, open-fingered hand whistling away into the ice and snow!
Boom!!!
The vision vanished.
The flames surged high, then suddenly dimmed, leaving only the charred remains of Allister and choking smoke.
But the final frozen image—splattered blood, the fallen banner, the mark of the black hand—seemed to be nailed into Melisandre's soul.
She stood where she was, motionless.
The sea breeze blew her red hair and the hem of her robes, but she could not feel it.
The prophecy of the Lord of Light... Stannis wins, yet is immediately killed?
If Stannis is truly the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, the legendary hero destined by prophecy to lead humanity against the Long Night and achieve final victory...
How could he be beheaded at the moment of victory?
No.
She immediately extinguished this thought.
The revelation of the Lord of Light cannot be wrong, the flames do not lie; Stannis must be Azor Ahai!
Then, where is the problem?
Her vacant pupils contracted, looking at the man in the center of the hall—Vito Corleone.
No, to be precise, looking at his chest.
It is that badge!
The hand in the darkness!
The flames did not provide a clear face, only the sigil.
But the time, place, and person—everything was too coincidental.
This man appearing on Dragonstone at this moment, bringing seemingly enticing help, is it precisely to lead Stannis onto that path of "victory equals death"?
"My lady... Lady Melisandre!"
Just then, Stannis's call beside her finally startled her awake.
"Er... Your Grace."
Melisandre hurriedly bowed, resuming her mysterious and majestic demeanor.
But her loss of composure just now was seen by everyone.
"What happened?"
Stannis looked at her, his brow slightly furrowed: "You have never seemed like that before; what exactly did you see?"
Upon hearing this, Melisandre did not answer immediately.
She could not tell Stannis the entirety of the vision; she couldn't exactly tell him: "Hey! Your Grace, good news! The flames show you will achieve a great victory, and then immediately be beheaded by this fellow!"
What would that make Stannis think?
He would question all of her prophecies, question the authenticity of his holy mission.
The already fragile pillar of faith on Dragonstone would collapse in an instant.
She also couldn't say: "I am really sorry, I might have made a mistake, perhaps you are not Azor Ahai."
Therefore, she must take action.
By the authority of the Red Priestess, in the name of eliminating a potential threat, before everything becomes irreversible.
Having made up her mind, Melisandre did not look at Corleone, but stared straight at Stannis, saying in a tone as if stating a fact: "The flames of the Lord of Light, amidst the embers of purifying the traitor, have given me a new warning."
"Oh?" Stannis leaned forward slightly.
Regarding the revelations of the flames, he always held a complex attitude, somewhere between dependence and doubt.
"The flames reveal..."
Under everyone's gaze, Melisandre pointed her finger at Corleone: "This man before us, his path, exists in fundamental conflict with the holy path the Lord of Light has paved for Your Grace."
"The so-called help he brings is filled with worldly calculations and shadowy tricks, which will stain the purity of the mission and lead Your Grace astray!"
She spoke vaguely, not mentioning the ice plains, the beheading, or the black hand sigil.
Merely characterizing it as a "conflict of paths" and "staining the mission."
Facing this accusation that came out of thin air, Corleone frowned slightly.
Damn it, did I provoke you?
Melisandre's baseless accusation made Stannis somewhat skeptical, and he questioned her: "Is what you say true?"
"Sir Corleone has provided a method to resolve the dilemma of Storm's End; we can consider it carefully. Is it not too early to draw a conclusion now?"
"No, Your Grace."
Melisandre's voice suddenly became firm, even carrying a hint of indisputability: "Some contamination begins from the very first contact."
"The flames' warning is clear and urgent; this man is a huge variable, a blemish on the holy path."
After saying this, she no longer looked at Stannis, but directly commanded Asael Florent: "Ser Asael."
"You serve the Lord of Light, you yearn for a pure world; now, the Lord of Light tells you through my voice to eliminate this variable."
"Use your sword to fulfill your oath to the one true god in this world!"
Her order was direct and crisp; for a fanatical believer like Asael, this was the highest command.
Upon hearing this, Asael did not hesitate at all, not even asking for Stannis's opinion.
Clang!!!
The longsword was drawn cleanly and swiftly, the cold blade slashing straight toward Corleone, Asael's low roar echoing throughout the entire hall.
"For the Lord of Light!"