Hearing this, Corleone's face darkened.
Truly a bunch of unreasonable guys, completely devoid of rationality.
He squeezed his fist, then pulled out a pouch from his tunic. The pleasant sound of coins clinking inside made the eyes of several Northern soldiers light up.
He tossed it to Stole, his tone carrying just the right amount of weakness: "We are just pitiful people wishing to reach Duskendale safely, away from the war, my lord."
"There are one hundred Gold Dragons here. Consider it our toll."
Saying this, Corleone smiled sincerely.
Bribery was the key to smooth passage in chaotic times. For him, possessing a system, Gold Dragons were precious, but if he lost his life, no amount of Gold Dragons would matter.
Moreover, as long as he kept his life and reached King's Landing smoothly, the bathtub full of Gold Dragons promised by Jaime was still waiting for him.
On the other side, Stole caught the pouch with one hand and weighed it.
He scoffed, stuffing it into his tunic without looking, but showed no intention of leaving.
Raising the war hammer in his hand again, this time his target was very clear, pointing straight at Jaime: "You are sincere, but that's not what I want!"
"That guy hiding his head and tail—take off that shame cloth for me! Now!"
As soon as these words came out, Corleone gritted his teeth.
Damn Northerner, so rude!
Those were all my Gold Dragons!
Forcing himself to stay calm, his brain working frantically, Corleone took a deep breath, deployed [Majesty Lv2], and instantly assumed an incredibly professional, serious expression.
"No! My lord, absolutely not!"
His tone was urgent, his words amplified by the aura: "He has a very serious disease. He must be wrapped tightly; otherwise, it's contagious!"
"Bullshit!"
Despite the Majesty enhancement, the distance between them was still too great, barely affecting Stole.
"I fought from Karhold to the Riverlands, never heard of a disease needing wrapping like this! Don't fucking fool me!"
"It's true!"
Seeing he still didn't believe, Corleone's pupils contracted slightly, then he firmly uttered a hair-raising name:
"It's Greyscale!"
"Greyscale?"
"What's that?"
As soon as these words came out, the Northern cavalry quieted down instantly, whispering among themselves. The name didn't sound like anything good.
Beside Stole, an older soldier suddenly spoke up: "Captain... I... I think I heard my uncle who sails ships mention this disease!"
"He said he saw it in Essos. People with it have skin turning hard like bark and stone. Even chopping off the infected part is useless!"
Saying this, he swallowed, a clear look of dread on his face. "Let's go. It's not worth catching something that just makes you wait for death!"
"Exactly."
Seeing someone finally "recognized the goods," Corleone hurriedly struck while the iron was hot. "This disease comes from beyond the Rhoyne, extremely bizarre."
"Once infected, the skin turns like gray rock, slowly losing sensation, eventually spreading over the whole body. There is no cure. Patients can only watch helplessly as they turn into stone statues, waiting for death in pain!"
His eyes were gloomy, his tone eerie: "Anyone who gets close... might be infected. But he is Ser Finn's eldest son; we can't abandon him."
With the subordinate's confirmation and Corleone's embellishment, a trace of wavering finally appeared on Stole's face.
Instinct told him there was likely something wrong with the person under the cloak, but he dared not gamble. If it really was that terrible plague...
He stared dead at the motionless gray cloak, as if trying to pierce it with his gaze.
After a stalemate for a long while, he squeezed out an extremely ugly smile and pulled his horse around.
"Hmph! Damn bad luck!"
He spat, cursing foully: "Wasting my time for a plague ghost!"
"Let's go, let's go find that incestuous beast who fucks his own sister!"
"Heard that bastard sitting on the Iron Throne is also a bastard of the Kingslayer and the whore queen, hahahaha!"
"House Lion? More like House Cursed. Must have done too many wicked things for the gods to punish them by birthing a half-man demon!"
While turning around, Stole used extremely vicious and obscene language to wantonly insult House Lannister, getting more excited as he spoke.
"I bet Tywin Lannister's wife was eaten alive by that demon, starting from below!"
"Hahaha!!!!"
The filth became more and more unbearable. Listening to this, alarms rang loudly in Corleone's heart!
Damn it!!
He knew Jaime too well, especially when it involved his beloved sister, his dead mother, and that complicated brother.
These words were tantamount to branding his soul and dignity repeatedly with a red-hot iron!
Don't be impulsive...
Corleone chanted inwardly, his heart almost jumping out of his throat.
His muscles were tense all over. He even signaled Iggo and Brienne with his eyes to be ready to deal with Jaime's outburst at any moment.
However, contrary to Corleone's expectation, apart from a tremble when hearing his mother insulted, there was no other reaction from under the gray cloak.
Harrag Stole cursed until his mouth was dry, only to find the other party unresponsive.
Feeling bored, he finally glared viciously at the cloak and waved his hand resentfully: "Go!"
Leading his men, cursing all the way, he turned his horse around and rode along the lake road, gradually moving away until finally disappearing around the bend of the woods.
Only when the dust raised by the cavalry settled completely, leaving only the sound of wind and waves lapping the shore, did the tense atmosphere gradually relax.
Under everyone's gaze, the gray hood was slowly lifted by a hand with distinct knuckles.
Bright golden hair was exposed to the air again, like sunlight piercing dark clouds.
Jaime turned his head to look at the still frowning Corleone. There was no expected rage on his face; instead, he appeared unusually calm.
"What?"
"Did you think I would pounce like a dog whose tail was stepped on, and then get us all killed along with that fool Rickard Karstark?"
Jaime chuckled lightly and teased, "I am Jaime Lannister. My life is much nobler than theirs."
Hearing this, Corleone smiled and shook his head.
Wonder who dared to charge a dragon single-handedly with a spear.
Although that hasn't happened yet.
"Just watch, Vito."
Jaime paused, his gaze cast in the direction those people left, a determined fire finally igniting in his eyes.
"When we return to King's Landing, I will use my methods to make that foul-mouthed Harrag Stole pay for every word he said today."
"Don't forget."
"A Lannister always pays his debts!"
Hearing him say this, Corleone was stunned first, then a genuinely appreciative smile appeared on his face.
He clearly felt that the person before him had changed from the irritable "Kingslayer" of his youth.
The pain of the severed hand and the hardships along the way were like a cruel carving knife, shaving away some of his sharp edges, but also settling something more dangerous and steadfast.
Corleone smiled and nodded, saying sincerely:
"You've matured, Jaime."
Hearing this, Jaime raised an eyebrow, seeming to want to respond to this evaluation with his usual sarcasm.
However, before he could speak—
Rumble!
A sudden, more chaotic and urgent sound of hoofbeats, accompanied by hoarse, exhausted roars, came again from the direction where the Karstark party had just disappeared!
"Catch that damn dog!!"
"Take back Arya Stark!!!!"