Urswyck's pupils contracted sharply.
Clutching the dagger, he quickly glanced around before lowering his voice.
"What exactly are you trying to say, Doctor... Vito Corleone."
Meeting his hostile gaze, Corleone hid nothing and stated bluntly, "I feel you are being undervalued, my lord."
"Undervalued?"
Urswyck narrowed his eyes, clearly piqued by this statement.
"Yes, undervalued."
Corleone took a step forward, his voice low but clear and powerful. "I heard that the Brave Companions followed Commander Vargo Hoat across the sea from the Free Cities to Westeros, capturing the massive Harrenhal for Lord Tywin Lannister."
"However, Vargo Hoat turned coat for the title of Lord of Harrenhal, betraying the Lannister garrison and opening the gates to the Northern army."
Urswyck grunted, tacitly acknowledging this.
These events had spread throughout the Riverlands; it was no surprise Corleone knew.
As a member of the Brave Companions, Urswyck didn't care about betraying an employer. In fact, Vargo's defection was largely instigated by the veteran members like him.
After all, they were mercenaries, not knights. They didn't need to adhere to bullshit chivalry—only profit drove them.
"Forgive my bluntness, my lord."
Corleone continued, his voice magnetic. "The dirty work, the hard work, the dangerous work—the brothers did it all together, right?"
"But when Lord Roose Bolton handed out rewards, all the benefits fell solely on Vargo Hoat!"
His tone suddenly sharpened.
"'Lord of Harrenhal.' What a beautiful title!"
"It represents the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms and vast, fertile lands!"
"And what about you?"
Half of Corleone's face was hidden in shadow as he whispered incessantly like a devil in Urswyck's ear.
"You, my lord, the deputy commander of the Brave Companions, and those old brothers who risked life and limb with him—what did you get?"
"A few empty words of praise? Or just continuing like this, finding 'fun' by torturing a child on a broken-down farm?"
"Is this fair?"
These words were like a knife, cutting precisely into the most unbalanced part of Urswyck's heart.
His face darkened, and his grip on the knife tightened, but he didn't refute.
Seeing Urswyck wavering, Corleone immediately poured oil on the fire. "To tell you the truth, my lord, our Count Vargo Hoat... his good days are numbered!"
"What do you mean?"
Hearing this, Urswyck's eyelid twitched, and he asked calmly, "Wasn't the surgery very successful?"
"Of course, the surgery was indeed very successful."
Looking straight into Urswyck's sharp gaze, Corleone smiled confidently. "My skills are absolutely unparalleled."
"Then why do you say..."
"He was already running a fever before I operated!"
Corleone answered methodically and calmly, "I removed most of the rotting flesh and delayed death. However, this is like putting out an open flame while the embers still burn underground."
"I have to say, his medical knowledge is practically zero. Not only did he forcibly press the severed ear back, causing severe infection, but he also drank heavily while running a fever. This is simply suicide!"
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower but filled with the authority of his medical identity.
"By tomorrow at the latest, the high fever will return with a vengeance. He will burn up, start talking nonsense, and this process will continuously drain his vitality, leaving him extremely weak."
"But given Commander Vargo's tenacious physique, he might hold on until Harrenhal. There's a maester left by Lord Bolton there, and that doctor named Qyburn, right?"
"If they take over, Vargo might be pulled back from the brink of death!"
"We absolutely cannot let him see Qyburn!"
Hearing this, Urswyck roared almost instinctively.
"Exactly!"
Corleone nodded in affirmation and smoothly proposed a solution. "We must let this end 'naturally' on the road."
"And I can precisely control this process. For example, by using something a little... unclean on his wound, unbeknownst to anyone."
"He will suffer from persistent high fever like a truly critically wounded man, and finally, on some night, pass away peacefully in his sleep."
"Everyone will simply think he succumbed to his injuries. No one will suspect us, because this is the natural progression of such a wound."
"But there is one problem that must be solved."
"What problem?"
Urswyck's breathing quickened slightly, and he pressed unceremoniously, clearly tempted by Corleone's proposal.
"The fever."
Corleone spat out the word again.
"When Commander Vargo realizes his temperature is rising and his mind is clouding, even if he doesn't suspect me of foul play, he will think the surgery failed."
"At that point, the first thing he's likely to do is have someone twist my head off."
Saying this, he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't want to die."
"And once I die, no one can precisely control his death process, and all our plans will come to naught."
Hearing this, Urswyck frowned at first.
Honestly, he didn't give a damn about Corleone's life, but he really needed the man's cooperation right now.
He had to admit, Corleone's move was brilliant. By voluntarily exposing his vulnerability, he didn't make Urswyck think he was incompetent. Instead, it made Urswyck feel he was thorough and tied their interests even tighter together.
Corleone's life and death were directly related to the realization of Urswyck's ambition.
"I understand."
Sure enough, after hesitating for only a moment, Urswyck nodded heavily, a conspiratorial, ferocious smile appearing on his face. "Before that guy rots completely, no one can touch you."
"After all, the team can't go without a doctor, can it?"
Receiving the guarantee, Corleone nodded with satisfaction.
As he said before, he would make Urswyck an offer he couldn't refuse.
For an ambitious deputy commander, what offer could he not refuse?
Naturally, killing the old commander and taking the position himself!
"Commander Vargo Hoat will die of a high fever within three days. As for you, my lord..."
Seeing the time was right, Corleone smiled.
He lowered his voice, speaking word by word. "Instead of bringing his corpse back to Harrenhal, you have a better choice. A shortcut to the pinnacle of power."
"The Kingslayer!"
Hearing this name, Urswyck's eyes widened instantly, looking at Corleone in disbelief.
However, this new doctor simply continued to loyally paint a grand blueprint for him.
"Remember, it was Vargo Hoat who cut off his right hand, not you, Urswyck!"
"You can take this 'goodwill' and go directly to Lord Tywin Lannister!"
"Think about it. For Lord Tywin, who just lost his son's hand, this is a huge favor. Once his army retakes Harrenhal, whose head do you think the title of Earl will fall on?"
As Corleone's words fell, this grand plan of betrayal exploded in Urswyck's mind.
The risk was huge, but the reward was unprecedented!
Directly allying with the Warden of the West to truly secure Harrenhal!
He stared at Corleone, as if seeing this seemingly frail young man clearly for the first time. After a long while, he slowly said, "You are a crazy bastard, Vito Corleone."
"But we betrayed Lord Tywin not long ago to join the King in the North. Will the Duke believe our loyalty?"
"I need some time to think about it carefully."
"Of course, my lord! Caution is a virtue. Such a major decision naturally requires careful consideration."
Hearing this, Corleone changed his previous stance and stopped pushing.
Pushing too hard would only arouse suspicion.
He had already given a proposal Urswyck couldn't refuse, a golden ladder leading to the seat of the Lord of Harrenhal, or even higher.
The seed had been planted, ambition ignited. More persuasion would only trigger vigilance or backfire.
The two were silent for a long time, each thinking about their future. After a good while, Urswyck suddenly spoke.
"Vito Corleone."
His voice returned to its previous coldness, but he couldn't hide the heat in his heart.
Raising the dagger, he pointed casually at the bound Derek with the tip. "You said so much just now, but I haven't received any guarantee."
"So..."
"Prove your resolve to me. Right now."
"Use the 'control' and 'efficiency' you just taught me to send this damn fat pig on his way. Let me see your technique!"
Hearing this, Corleone's face remained calm, without a ripple.
He had expected this moment.
In this dog-eat-dog world, in a group composed of thugs and careerists, nothing built trust better than getting blood on one's hands together.
"Learning is everywhere, my lord."
Corleone took the dagger, walked step by step toward Derek tied to the tree, and stood still.
The firelight cast flickering shadows on his face, his eyes indifferent as water.
It was strange. For his first time killing someone, he felt no psychological burden at all. It was just like the first time he held a scalpel, when even his mentor praised his mental fortitude.
"It's just business, Young Master Derek."
He repeated, "In a transaction, someone always has to pay the price."
The moment his voice fell, Corleone moved.
He didn't choose the heart or throat. Instead, with a flick of his wrist, the dagger plunged precisely into the tiny gap between Derek's left carotid artery and trachea.
Squelch!
Derek's fat body stiffened violently. His mouth gaped wide, but no sound came out, only a large amount of warm blood gushing from the wound on the side of his neck!
His pupils dilated rapidly in the firelight. After a few violent convulsions, the fat head drooped weakly.
The whole process took only a few seconds from strike to finish. Clean and neat, hardly more difficult than killing a chicken.
Turning around, he calmly handed the dagger back to Urswyck. Corleone's face still held no superfluous expression, appearing extremely professional.
Taking the dagger, which was still warm, Urswyck looked curiously at the bottomless black eyes reflecting the firelight.
The corners of his mouth slowly widened into a hideous grin of satisfaction and appreciation, as if happy to have found one of his own kind.
"Very good, Vito Corleone."
"Welcome to... the Game of Thrones!"