Chapter 6: The Game of Power
Urswyck's pupils shrank sharply.
Gripping the dagger, he swiftly glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice.
"What exactly are you trying to say, doctor… Odin?"
Meeting his hostile gaze, Odin didn't dodge or soften his words. He answered frankly:
"I'm saying this on your behalf, my lord—you've been shortchanged."
"Shortchanged?"
Urswyck narrowed his eyes. The word clearly struck a nerve.
"Yes. Shortchanged."
Odin took a step forward. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried unmistakable force.
"I've heard that the Brave Companions followed Captain Vargo Hoat all the way from the Free Cities to Westeros, and under Lord Tywin Lannister, you helped seize the immense fortress of Harrenhal."
"But when the time came, Vargo Hoat switched sides for the title of Lord of Harrenhal, sold out the Lannister garrison, and opened the gates to the Northern army instead."
Urswyck snorted, neither confirming nor denying it.
Those events were common knowledge throughout the Riverlands. It was hardly surprising that Odin knew.
As a member of the Brave Companions, Urswyck felt no shame about betraying an employer. In fact, Vargo's defection had been encouraged by several of the old hands—including Urswyck himself.
They were sellswords, not knights. Honor was worthless. Only profit mattered.
"With all due respect, my lord,"
Odin continued, his voice smooth and compelling,
"the dirty work, the hard work, the dangerous work—you all did it together. Isn't that right?"
"But when Lord Roose Bolton handed out rewards, every single benefit fell into Vargo Hoat's lap alone."
His tone shifted abruptly, sharpening like a drawn blade.
"Lord of Harrenhal. What a beautiful title."
"It represents the greatest castle in the Seven Kingdoms—and a vast, fertile domain."
"And you?"
Half of Odin's face sank into shadow as he leaned closer, whispering into Urswyck's ear like a devil.
"You, my lord—the deputy commander of the Brave Companions—and those brothers who bled and fought beside you… what did you get?"
"A few empty words of praise?"
"Or nights like this—seeking amusement in a miserable farm, torturing a child to feel something?"
"Is that fair?"
The words cut like a knife, sliding precisely into the most unbalanced corner of Urswyck's heart.
His face darkened. The hand holding the dagger tightened—but he didn't refute a single word.
Seeing the hesitation take root, Odin immediately pressed the advantage.
"To be honest with you, my lord, Lord Vargo Hoat's good days are nearly over."
"What do you mean?"
Urswyck's eyelid twitched. He asked casually, masking his tension.
"Wasn't the surgery a success?"
"Of course it was."
Odin met his sharp gaze and smiled with confidence.
"My technique is second to none."
"Then why would you say—"
"He already had a fever before I ever touched him."
Odin replied calmly, methodically.
"I removed most of the necrotic tissue and delayed death. But that's like extinguishing visible flames while the embers underground keep burning."
"Frankly speaking, his medical knowledge is nonexistent. Forcing a torn ear back into place caused severe infection—and then he drank heavily while already feverish. That's practically suicide."
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice further, the authority of a physician unmistakable.
"At the latest by tomorrow, the fever will return—stronger than before. His body will burn, he'll start babbling nonsense. The process will steadily drain his vitality, leaving him extremely weak."
"But with Vargo's stubborn constitution, he might still manage to hold on until Harrenhal."
"And there—Bolton's maester will be waiting. Along with that physician named Qyburn, correct?"
"If they take over, Vargo could very well be dragged back from the clutches of death."
"We cannot let him see Qyburn!"
The words burst out of Urswyck almost instinctively.
"Exactly."
Odin nodded immediately, then laid out the solution.
"We must make sure this ends naturally on the road."
"And I can precisely control that process."
"For example, introducing something… less than clean into his wound. Quietly. Invisibly."
"He'll suffer a persistent, worsening fever like any truly grievously wounded man—and then, one night, he'll simply pass away in his sleep."
"No one will suspect a thing."
"They'll all believe he died of his injuries, because that's exactly how the condition should progress."
"But there's one problem we must address."
"What problem?"
Urswyck's breathing quickened as he pressed the question, unable to hide his eagerness now.
"The fever."
Odin repeated the word slowly.
"When Captain Vargo realizes his temperature is rising and his mind is growing cloudy—even if he doesn't suspect me of foul play—he'll assume the surgery failed."
"And the first thing he's likely to do…"
"…is have my head twisted off my shoulders."
As he spoke, Odin spread his hands, adopting a posture of helpless candor.
"I don't want to die."
"And if I die, no one will be able to precisely control the timing of his death. Every plan we've discussed will fall apart."
Urswyck frowned.
To be honest, he didn't care in the slightest whether Odin lived or died—but right now, he truly needed the man's cooperation.
It had to be said: this move was exquisitely calculated.
By openly exposing his own vulnerability, Odin didn't make himself seem weak. On the contrary, it made Urswyck see him as cautious, far-sighted—and, more importantly, it bound their interests tightly together.
Odin's life and death now directly determined whether Urswyck's ambitions could be realized.
"I understand."
Sure enough, after only a moment's hesitation, Urswyck nodded heavily. A knowing, vicious smile spread across his face.
"Before that bastard finishes rotting away, no one will lay a finger on you."
"After all, a company can't do without its doctor, can it?"
Only then did Odin nod in satisfaction.
Just as he had said—he would offer Urswyck something he could not refuse.
And for an ambitious deputy commander, what could possibly be more irresistible?
Killing the captain—and taking his place.
"Captain Vargo Hoat will die of high fever within three days."
Odin smiled, sensing the moment was right.
"As for you, my lord…"
He lowered his voice, enunciating each word clearly.
"Compared to dragging his corpse back to Harrenhal, you have a better choice."
"A shortcut—straight to the summit of power."
"The Kingslayer."
The instant the name was spoken, Urswyck's eyes flew wide open as he stared at Odin in disbelief.
Yet the newly arrived doctor continued, loyal and methodical, painting him a grand vision.
"Remember this—Vargo Hoat was the one who cut off Jaime Lannister's right hand."
"Not you, Urswyck."
"You can carry this 'goodwill' directly to Lord Tywin Lannister."
"Think about it. To a father whose son has just lost his sword hand, this would be a debt beyond measure."
"And when Lannister forces retake Harrenhal…"
"Who do you think that title of Lord will fall to?"
As Odin finished speaking, the enormity of the betrayal detonated in Urswyck's mind.
The risk was immense—but the reward was unprecedented.
An alliance with the Lion of the West.
A truly secure claim over Harrenhal.
He stared at Odin as though seeing him clearly for the first time, this seemingly frail young man.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"You're insane, Odin."
"But we betrayed Lord Tywin not long ago and swore ourselves to the King in the North. Will that Lannister truly believe in our loyalty?"
"I need time to think."
"Of course, my lord."
Odin immediately changed his posture, no longer pressing the issue.
"Caution is a virtue. A decision of this magnitude deserves careful thought."
He knew better than to push further. Too much pressure would only provoke suspicion.
The offer had already been made—an offer Urswyck could not refuse. A golden staircase leading to Harrenhal's seat… perhaps even higher.
The seed had been planted.
Ambition had been ignited.
Any more persuasion would only invite resistance.
They fell into a long silence, each contemplating his own future.
After a while, Urswyck suddenly spoke.
"Odin."
His voice returned to its former coldness, though the fire within it was unmistakable.
He raised the dagger and casually pointed its tip at Derek, still bound to the tree.
"You've said a great deal—but I've received no guarantee."
"So…"
"Prove your resolve. Right now."
"Use the 'control' and 'efficiency' you just taught me."
"Send this damned fat pig on his way, and let me see your craft."
Odin's face remained perfectly calm.
He had anticipated this moment.
In a world where the strong devour the weak—in a band made up of thugs and would-be kings—nothing built trust faster than shared blood on one's hands.
"Learning is everywhere, my lord."
Taking the dagger, Odin walked step by step toward Derek and stopped.
Firelight cast wavering shadows across his face. His eyes were as still as water.
Strangely enough, for someone killing another human being for the first time, he felt no burden at all—just like the first time he'd held a scalpel, when even his mentor had praised his composure.
"This is just a transaction, Young Lord Derek."
He repeated calmly.
"In every deal, someone has to pay the price."
The instant the words left his mouth, Odin moved.
He didn't aim for the heart or the throat.
With a flick of his wrist, the dagger slid precisely into the narrow gap between Derek's left carotid artery and his windpipe.
Pshhk—
Derek's obese body stiffened violently. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out—only a torrent of warm blood bursting from the wound in his neck.
His pupils rapidly lost focus in the firelight. After a few convulsions, the heavy head slumped forward, lifeless.
From start to finish, the act took only seconds—clean, efficient, no harder than slaughtering livestock.
Turning around, Odin calmly handed the dagger back to Urswyck. His expression hadn't changed in the slightest—cool, professional.
Urswyck took the still-warm blade, then studied the pair of pitch-black eyes before him, deep and unfathomable in the firelight.
Slowly, his mouth split into a grin—feral, satisfied, and full of appreciation.
As if he had finally found his own kind.
"Very good, Odin."
"Welcome to this…"
"…Game of Power."