Asael Florent's blade slashed directly toward Corleone's neck.
This strike held nothing back; with over thirty years of knightly training, he was certain that against an unarmed, unarmored commoner, this blow would not miss!
The longsword whistled through the air. Asael could almost see the tip sinking into flesh and hear the heretic's wails as he collapsed to the ground.
Faced with this sudden turn of events, Stannis leaned forward slightly, his hand gripping the armrest.
Logic told him that Corleone could not die like this, at least not before he had solved the siege of Storm's End. Moreover, executing a man so without cause did not align with the justice he had always upheld.
But on the other hand, at some point, he had grown accustomed to relying on Melisandre's prophecies and magic, accustomed to purifying everything with fire!
Sitting in his chair, Stannis wanted to speak, but for a moment his throat tightened, and he failed to shout a command to stop.
That single moment of hesitation was an eternity for a skilled warrior like Asael—long enough to strike down someone like Corleone several times over.
At the same time, Corleone's peripheral vision was locked firmly on Stannis.
The King of Dragonstone did not move.
He did not stop it, or rather, showed no obvious inclination to stop it.
Heh...
I lowered myself to talk to you for so long, and yet for some ethereal 'prophecy,' you're going to let your subordinate kill me?
You really think I'm easy to push around!
With such weak resolve, it's no wonder that when you raised your banners, Stannis, everyone preferred to follow Renly over you. No wonder you'll never sit on the Iron Throne in your life!
With that thought, Corleone's gaze locked onto Asael's descending longsword.
He didn't try to dodge completely; at such close range against a knight attacking with full force, that was nearly impossible.
Corleone simply took a step back and to the side, then twisted his body slightly and tilted his head, letting the sword tip that should have struck his neck graze the skin of his side-neck instead.
Because his certain-kill strike missed, Asael's body lunged forward with momentum, exposing a fleeting opening.
At that exact moment, Corleone moved.
He didn't retreat; instead, meeting the opponent's forward momentum, he pivoted on his left foot and kicked hard behind Asael's left knee joint!
"Ugh!" Asael let out a muffled groan as his left leg buckled uncontrollably. He pitched forward, his knee slamming heavily onto the stone floor with a dull thud.
For Corleone, long before his duel with the Mountain, he had spent ten thousand Golden Dragons to raise [Basic Swordsmanship]
to Lv4.
During the fight with the Mountain, he also gained a rough understanding of where his current swordsmanship stood.
It was likely a bit stronger than Jaime's before he lost his right hand. If supplemented by [Insight Lv3], [Surgery], and [Majesty Iv3], he might reach an even higher level.
However, it remained to be seen if he could achieve a feat like Barristan Selmy's—taking an enemy general's head from the midst of ten thousand soldiers.
After all, such things were purely a matter of the right time, place, and people; none could be missing. Even if Barristan were returned to the War of the Ninepenny Kings and told to do it again, he likely wouldn't be certain of success himself.
But to deal with a mere Asael Florent, it was more than enough!
Now the only question was, where to get a sword?
The answer was right in front of him!
Asael's body was forced into a kneel, his sword still in hand, but his posture was ruined.
At the same time, Corleone's right hand lunged fiercely beneath Asael's sword arm, his thumb pressing against the back of the hand while his four fingers clamped down hard on the pressure points inside the wrist!
Simultaneously, he balled his left hand into a fist and struck the outside of the elbow joint!
Bang!
Asael felt a surge of sharp pain in his right hand accompanied by a sour numbness; his fingers involuntarily released the hilt.
By the time he recovered his senses, the fine steel longsword had already changed masters.
Everything happened in a flash; from Asael drawing his sword to his kneeling and losing it, only two or three breaths had passed.
Corleone, sword in hand, did not pause for a second.
He didn't even adjust his grip; using the forward momentum of his body as he seized the blade, he drove the tip downward, stabbing fiercely into the left side of the kneeling Asael's neck!
"Pshh!"
The sharp blade pierced through flesh, severing tendons and ultimately puncturing the carotid artery.
The angle was terrifyingly precise; under the professional guidance of [Surgery], the protection of armor was practically non-existent.
The longsword completely bypassed the upper rim of the gorget, entering the most vulnerable part of the human body with a proficiency no less than that of the most sought-after butcher during the New Year.
Life force drained away rapidly along with the hot blood gushing from the side of his neck.
Asael's body jerked stiffly, his eyes widening instantly. He seemed to want to turn his head to see who had delivered the fatal blow, but as he opened his mouth, only bloody froth emerged, and a wheezing sound came from his throat.
Then, that fanatical gaze quickly dimmed. His burly frame collapsed forward, hitting the ground. Blood quickly spread beneath him, mixing indistinguishably with the urine left behind when his brother Allister was dragged away.
Silence.
A deathly silence.
The expressions on the guards' faces froze.
They looked at Asael's corpse on the ground, then at Corleone standing beside it, holding the dripping longsword with utter composure—his breathing not even slightly disturbed. Their minds went blank.
Who was that?
Ser Asael Florent, Castellan of Dragonstone, a veteran knight whose martial skills were theoretically in the top five on the island.
He was in full armor and had taken the initiative to strike down an unarmed... envoy?
Yet in such a seemingly simple task, before everyone's eyes, his weapon had been snatched and his throat pierced by a single sword thrust?
The entire process was clean, efficient, and chillingly professional.
From start to finish, Asael never had a chance to resist. Aside from shouting "For the Lord of Light" before striking, he hadn't made another sound.
Too brutal!
This wasn't a duel; this was a damn execution!
Schwing!!
Bang!!!
After the brief silence, the knights present all drew their blades in unison, glaring at Corleone.
The guards at the door also seemed to hear the commotion and burst through the room.
In an instant, over ten gleaming longswords and spears pointed at Corleone from all directions, surrounding him in the center as roars erupted one after another.
"Drop the sword! Scum!"
"Kneel! Now!"
"Damned Lannister dog, you dare murder Ser Florent!"
Suddenly, Corleone was the target of a thousand accusations.
However, he ignored the forest of blades around him, not even bothering with a defensive stance. He casually let the blood-stained sword hang down, the tip pointing diagonally at the floor as blood slid down the blade and dripped onto the stone.
He ignored the guards, his gaze passing through their angry, tense faces to land directly on Stannis not far away.
Their eyes met in the air. Stannis was surprised to find that this Lannister envoy had not only killed someone in his presence but lacked even a hint of fear or apology in his eyes.
Those calm, dark pupils seemed to be warning him not to act rashly, or else 'I guarantee you will die before me!'
After a brief silent warning, Corleone scanned the room.
The aura of [Majesty Iv3] fell upon everyone, making them all feel a sense of pure pressure.
"I... am Vito Corleone!"
He spoke, his voice booming, momentarily drowning out the guards' shouting.
"I was trained by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister! I was also trained by Brienne of Tarth of the Rainbow Guard!"
"You can go to King's Landing and ask around. Just a few days ago, at the The Hall of Order, how many eyes watched as I beat the Mountain, Gregor Clegane—that tallest and strongest monster in The Seven Kingdoms—until he knelt and begged for mercy, then I personally cut out that filthy tongue of his!"
As soon as these words were spoken, several guards couldn't help but gasp.
The Mountain?
Defeated by him, and had his tongue cut out?
If this were true...
Corleone took in the panic in their expressions and very crisply performed a sword flourish, flicking the blood off the blade.
Then, his cold gaze swept over everyone around him, and his voice rose sharply, filled with naked threat: "I'm telling you, boys!"
"Just because of you cowards who lost the war and are cowering on Dragonstone having to eat seaweed to survive—even if I were unarmored, even if you all wore that useless scrap metal..."
As he spoke, his sword tip pointed in turn at the nearest guards, his eyes sharp as knives: "I could cut you down one by one, like slicing cheese on a dinner table!"
"If you want to try, come at me!"
A man's reputation precedes him.
Asael's corpse was still warm on the floor, and coupled with the news of the Mountain's crushing defeat...
The guards looked at each other. Although their weapons still pointed at Corleone, for a moment, no one dared to step forward.
But just as Corleone had the scene under control...
"Kill him!"
Melisandre's voice rang out again, more urgent and unquestionable than before.
Everyone turned to look. Her gaze was locked onto Corleone's sword hand, her crimson eyes full of restless anxiety.
Too fast, too efficient.
This extraordinary swordsmanship was so similar in temperament to the black-handed knight she had seen in her fire visions, the one who had precisely beheaded Stannis on the icy plains!
"The enemies of the Lord of Light are masters of disguise. The martial prowess he displays is the very proof of his heresy!"
She pointed at Corleone, her voice carrying a strong inflammatory tone: "For His Majesty Stannis, for the Lord of Light, I demand you eliminate this blasphemer immediately!"
"For the Lord of Light!!"
Two young knights, already fanatical in their faith, were instantly ignited by Melisandre's words.
They exchanged a look, roared, and raised their longswords, charging together toward Corleone in the center!
Blades cut through the air, a pincer attack from left and right.
Facing the incoming blades of the two fanatics, Corleone instinctively wanted to strike back, but at that moment, his peripheral vision caught something, and he lowered the blade he was about to raise.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
Such behavior made the expressions on the two young knights' faces increasingly ferocious and fanatical.
In their eyes, the "blasphemer" before them was clearly intimidated by the might of the Lord of Light and their own momentum, standing frozen, and thus could only wait for death!
Mother, following the Lord of Light really is the right path!
The Lord of Light... is mighty!
"For the Lord of Light!"
"Die, heretic!"
The holy teachings of fire purifying everything echoed in their minds; they seemed to see sacred flames igniting on their swords, completely burning this sinful person before them to ashes!
They even began to fantasize that after they beheaded the heretic, the red priestess would cast her gaze upon them, thereby earning the King's appreciation, and henceforth becoming the sword of faith, the favorites of the Lord of Light!
Thinking this, the two felt their steps were lighter than usual, their strength endless.
This must be the blessing of the Lord of Light!
However, just as the two were but a few steps away from Corleone.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Rapid and heavy footsteps rang out.
The two knights were stunned by the commotion and couldn't help but turn their heads to look.
They saw a sturdy figure sprinting across the long stone table, then leaping into the air, landing directly between them and Corleone!
The hem of his dark gray wool cloak flared up, revealing the simple chainmail and leather underneath.
The newcomer's face was somewhat blurred by the rapid movement, but those deep-set dark blue eyes, along with the iconic flaming heart stag sigil, all revealed his identity.
Stannis Baratheon!
Their King!
"Your Maj..."
The knight on the left only managed to utter a blurred syllable; before he could react, he felt a flash of sword light before his eyes, and a chill spread across his chest.
He lowered his head and saw a blade without any ornate decoration thrust straight in, piercing his heart.
The hilt was held in the King's hand.
Stannis was expressionless, not even glancing at the knight again. He twisted his wrist, cleanly pulling out his longsword, bringing with it a spray of hot blood mist.
The light in the knight's eyes quickly extinguished, and his body slumped down limply.
The knight on the right was completely stunned, his mind a blank slate.
He even forgot to attack, simply freezing in place, watching his companion fall, watching the King's blood-stained sword turn toward him.
However, Stannis did not give him any time to react.
As he pulled out his sword, he kicked hard with his left foot against the outside of the right knight's knee. The knight let out a miserable shriek, lost all balance, and fell heavily to the ground, his longsword flying from his hand.
He struggled to crawl up, only to see the King step forward, the blood-stained longsword raised high, aimed at his chest.
The shadow of death completely enveloped him.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, spare me!"
The knight was scared out of his wits, waving his hands frantically in front of him as if that could block the sharp blade, tears and snot streaming down his face, the previous fanaticism completely vanished: "We were all obeying the will of the Lord of Light, wishing to eliminate the heretic and protect Your Majesty!"
"We... we were just about to fight to the death, why does Your Majesty..."
Stannis looked down at him, his eyes devoid of anger, just as bottomless as always.
He spoke, his voice not loud, yet it entered everyone's ears with absolute clarity: "What were you planning... to do to my guest?"
Stannis emphasized the word "guest" heavily.
In the common laws of Westeros, anyone acknowledged by the host, or who has consumed salt and bread under their roof, shall enjoy guest rights.
During the subsequent stay, neither party may harm the other.
Violators would break sacred laws, believed to be intolerable to both the Old Gods and the New, as is the case in the doctrines of both the Old Gods and the Faith of the Seven.
Now that Stannis had acknowledged Corleone's status as a guest, it meant he must guarantee his safety on Dragonstone.
And those who struck at Corleone would, of course, receive the "just" execution of the King of Dragonstone!
Before Stannis had finished speaking, the raised longsword thrust down without hesitation!
"No!!!"
The knight waved his arms in despair, attempting to block, but it was futile.
"Squelch!"
The longsword pierced the leather armor, penetrated the chest cavity, and nailed him firmly to the stone floor.
The knight's body convulsed violently a few times, a wheezing, gasping sound coming from his throat, and finally, he gave a sharp jerk and went completely still.
Blood spread across the floor once again.
Dead silence.
Even worse than when Corleone killed Asael earlier.
All the guards, including those who had been ready to draw swords just a moment ago, all stood frozen in place as if turned to stone.
The weapons in their hands hung limply; their eyes were wide with disbelief as they looked at their King, and then at the two corpses on the ground that were still twitching slightly.
The King... killed his own guards with his own hands?
Why?
Immense confusion and horror overwhelmed everyone.
Stannis slowly withdrew his longsword, the blade grating against bone with a teeth-gritting sound.
He shook the blood droplets from the sword, then raised his head and swept his gaze around.
Wherever that gaze swept, all the guards subconsciously lowered their heads or averted their eyes, not daring to meet his look.
The air seemed to have solidified, leaving only the heavy smell of blood and the crackling sound of the burning flames.
"Next time."
Stannis's voice carried an unquestionable tone: "Before I give the order, I do not wish to see anyone take action on their own."
"Yes! Your Majesty!"
The guards snapped out of their daze and responded in unison.
They quickly sheathed their swords and stepped back, holding their spears, clearing a space, their postures respectful, no longer daring to be the slightest bit offensive.
Their movements were crisp, powerful, and uniform, proving that this personal guard of Stannis was by no means a disorganized rabble.
Stannis nodded slightly, seemingly satisfied with this re-established order.
Then, his gaze passed over the crowd and rested on Melisandre.
The red priestess stood there, her expression unclear in the shadows, but her body was clearly tense.
Stannis's decisiveness in killing just now, and the cold look he cast at her at this moment, all conveyed a clear signal.
"Do not forget, woman."
Indeed, in front of everyone, Stannis warned Melisandre, enunciating each word clearly: "I am the King."
This sentence was both a reaffirmation of royal power and a reminder to the priestess of who held the final power of judgment, and whose will was the supreme law of Dragonstone.
Faith could assist royal power, but it must never override it, let alone replace the King in making life-and-death decisions.
Melisandre's body trembled slightly, and she looked deeply at Stannis, her eyes complex and unreadable.
There was shock, confusion, the anger of being offended, and perhaps a trace of deeper confusion regarding prophecy and reality.
But in the end, all emotions were suppressed by her reason, turning into outward obedience.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
She bowed slightly, her red hair falling down, obscuring part of her face.
"Your will is the manifestation of the Lord of Light's will in this world."
Upon hearing this, Stannis nodded slightly with satisfaction; regardless, this woman had ultimately acknowledged the supremacy of royal power, at least on the surface.
Stannis did not pay her any more attention, as if that warning just now was enough.
He turned around and looked at Corleone, who had been standing quietly in place, like a bystander.
The sword in Corleone's hand had long since been lowered, and no expression could be seen on his face, as if the conflict and bloodshed just now were all an illusion.
"Our business is not yet finished, Ser Corleone."
Stannis looked at him for a long time before speaking slowly, his voice a bit hoarser than before: "Please return to your guest room to rest; I will have someone send clean water and food."
As he spoke, he made a concise gesture to Corleone, signaling for him to leave.
There was no apology for the previous conflict, nor any explanation, just a very blunt, direct way of letting this matter pass, blood for blood, an eye for an eye.
Perhaps any other lord in The Seven Kingdoms would not have handled it this way, not even Eddard Stark.
But this is Stannis Baratheon.
In his dictionary, there was never any such thing as apologizing or admitting fault.
Perhaps in Stannis's view, he was a born King, he had a responsibility to save thousands of subjects, and everything he did was for this kingdom, to uphold the laws of the kingdom.
But Corleone knew clearly that when he chose to use magic to assassinate his own younger brother Renly, when he chose to use the blood of the innocent to fight against powerful enemies.
That "just" and "upright" Stannis Baratheon had long since ceased to exist.
Furthermore, he, Vito Corleone, was a man who always repaid grudges; even though for him, business could sometimes supersede personal grievances, Corleone remembered very clearly the matter of Stannis allowing Asael to attack him earlier.
Thinking he could just settle this matter by killing two guards?
Heh...
After Stannis lost his due value, he would know that it was not only the North that never forgets.
On the surface, Corleone nodded slightly, seemingly having no objections to Stannis's handling of the matter.
He threw the longsword he had taken from Asael, now stained with blood, onto the ground very casually, and then nodded slightly to signal.
"As you wish, my lord."
Upon hearing this, Stannis glanced at him and did not express any further opinion.
He just swept his gaze over the bloodstains on the floor, then glanced at the shaken guards, and added like a true monarch.
"Carry the bodies out."
"Too many people have died today