Inside the room at Harrenhal, the air was filled with the mixed scent of old parchment and some light spice.
Walton stood trembling before the dark red desk, his head lowered so much it was almost buried in the collar of his chainmail.
A mud-stained coin purse lay on the smooth tabletop. Its mouth was slightly open, faintly revealing the Gold Dragons inside.
Roose Bolton didn't touch the purse; he didn't even look at it.
"You took Vito Corleone's money but let go of the person I wanted to kill."
His voice was very soft, yet it made Walton shudder immediately, cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead.
While terrified in his heart, his mind frantically raced, wondering which son of a bitch under him dared to betray him!
"Don't bother guessing, Walton."
Roose seemed to see through his heart, his eyes seemingly knowing everything. "No one can hide what I want to know from me."
"Whether in the Dreadfort or here."
He leaned back slightly into the high-backed chair, his pale fingers tapping gently on the armrest.
Boldly glancing from the corner of his eye, Walton's lips trembled as he tried to defend himself: "My lord... I..."
"Heh."
But just as he spoke, Roose chuckled lightly, as if recalling something amusing.
"Since you took his money and did his bidding, Walton."
"Then, go follow him!"
"Huh?!!"
Walton looked up sharply, his eyes filled with disbelief.
He fell to his knees with a thump, his voice even carrying a crying tone.
"My lord! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hide it from you!"
"I've followed you for over a decade, and my father served House Bolton all his life. Please, for the sake of..."
"I said..."
Before he could finish his pleading, Roose Bolton seemed tired of Walton's rambling. Raising his voice slightly, he said in a tone that brooked no question:
"I'm telling you, to go follow him!"
---
"So, you really came to follow me?"
Riding on a reasonably docile packhorse, Corleone looked a bit bumpy due to his unfamiliar horsemanship, and couldn't help teasing.
By the God's Eye, the autumn sun shone on the shimmering lake surface, reflecting Walton's stern face that looked constipated.
Hearing this, Walton's face turned livid. Gripping the reins tightly, he answered grumpily, "This is Lord Bolton's order."
"I must protect you all safely back to King's Landing, and... get the reward that belongs to him."
"Reward?"
Hearing this word, Corleone pulled the reins gently to slow the horse slightly, a flash of doubt in his eyes.
The agreement between him and Roose Bolton was mostly based on tacit understanding and potential future benefits, not involving any specific "reward."
"What reward?"
Corleone probed, but Walton just shook his head, frowning deeply: "My lord didn't specify."
"He only ordered me to go directly to Duke Tywin after reaching King's Landing."
This answer was vague. Corleone narrowed his eyes slightly.
Thinking about it, with Walton's character, it was unlikely he would lie. Then this behavior was worth pondering.
What did Roose Bolton mean by this move?
Sending a confidant along—was it surveillance?
Or did he have other intentions, wanting to establish a more direct connection with Tywin through escorting Jaime back?
With too little information, he couldn't figure out all the connections for now.
Beside him, Walton gritted his teeth and cursed in a low voice, "Damn it, if I find out which son of a bitch drank my wine, took my bonus, and dared to stab me in the back by informing!"
"When I return to the North, I swear I'll flay him naked and hang him on the Dreadfort walls for crows to peck his eyes!"
Watching his indignation, Corleone just shook his head slightly, a meaningful curve on his lips, without chiming in.
Such things were actually easy to deduce. Whoever gained the most benefit or cleared a potential trouble in this matter was most likely the mastermind.
But he didn't plan to enlighten Walton.
Let this muscle-brained Northerner guess slowly on his own.
After all, he still had issues he hadn't figured out himself.
"Watch that guy, Blood of my blood!"
Shaking his head and not dwelling on these matters, Corleone turned his gaze to the other side and raised his voice to remind, "Don't let him actually die!"
"My big business deal still relies on him as a stepping stone!"
"Yes, Blood of my blood!"
On Iggo's horse, the still unconscious Rorge was tied horizontally, bouncing along with the horse's movement like a sack of goods.
He responded in a deep voice, reaching out to check Rorge's ropes and give him some breathing room.
However, just then—
Wooo~~~~~~~
A dull and long horn sound suddenly came from the wooded road ahead to the side!
Followed by rapid and dense hoofbeats, approaching from afar, quickly becoming clearly audible!
Rumble~~~~
It sounded like there were many people; even the earth seemed to tremble slightly.
"Alert!"
Corleone's pupils contracted. Without time to think carefully, he shouted sternly immediately!
Even having lost his right hand, Jaime reacted fastest, instantly drawing his longsword.
Brienne rode to shield Corleone's side. The ridiculous long dress was long gone, replaced by her own armor. In an instant, sword and shield were in hand, appearing very elite.
Iggo abandoned loosening Rorge's bonds, also drawing his longsword, a low growl rising in his throat.
Even the unlucky-looking Walton instinctively drew his weapon, looking nervously toward the source of the sound.
This guy was somewhat reliable. Despite being full of resentment, he displayed the quality of a veteran at this moment, quickly forming a simple and effective triangular defensive formation with Brienne and Iggo, protecting Corleone in the center.
Their rapid reaction proved that although this temporary squad was small in number, each was an elite.
Everyone looked out vigilantly, staring dead at the direction of the road.
Just a few breaths later, a cavalry unit appeared from the depths of the shade as if out of thin air.
There were about twenty or thirty of them. They weren't charging at full speed, but their pace wasn't slow either. The distance between front and rear was kept very consistent, also appearing very elite.
The horses running in step brought a full sense of oppression, approaching straight towards Corleone and the others. Clearly, they had discovered their tracks long ago!
Corleone looked up, completely unable to determine if this group was friend or foe. He just reached into his tunic and squeezed the pass signed by Roose Bolton.
As the distance closed, his pupils suddenly contracted.
At the very front of the column, a tall banner struggled against the autumn wind, flapping loudly.
On a pitch-black background, like a bottomless cold night, was embroidered an incredibly striking...
White sunburst!