"Literally speaking... it is... no, even literally, it's not explained that way."
Looking at Iggo's honest and simple appearance, Corleone fell silent for a few seconds. Then he laughed, a smile tinged with a hint of helplessness and a touch of relief.
"Fine, you win."
He shook his head and turned around to face the terrified, bewildered, and shocked faces in the square.
"Remember today!"
"Vito Corleone of the Mafia brought you justice, not a god!"
"I'll repeat it once more: kneel and drink poison, or stand and eat clean bread. The choice is yours!"
"Now... all of you, get the hell home, unless you want to be hauled off by the Gold Cloaks to take the fall!"
Hearing him say this, the crowd began to slowly disperse, though many looked back with every few steps.
They looked at the eviscerated corpse on the platform, at the Dothraki eating the heart, and at... the man who remained calm while standing in a pool of blood.
Vito Corleone.
They would remember this name, at least for now.
Corleone walked over to the woman.
She was lucky; she hadn't been caught in the crossfire of the earlier battle and was huddled on the ground wrapped in a cloak, clutching her child.
"Come with me."
"Your child can still be saved."
The woman looked at him, tears welling up again, and then nodded blankly as she followed behind him.
Iggo jumped down from the terrace, flicked the blood off his short sword, and kept spitting: "Tastes bad, tastes fucking awful."
"Don't eat it next time," Corleone said.
"You said to kill the person and destroy their heart."
Iggo said righteously, "The heart's been dug out; how would I know if it's destroyed if I don't take a bite?"
Hearing this, Corleone took a deep breath, clenched his fist, and then let go.
"When you have time, you're going to learn to read."
"Study? Study my..."
Iggo wanted to argue back, but Corleone's glare choked the words back down.
Two men, a woman, and a child—this strange group crossed the blood-scented Fisherman's Square and headed toward Flea Bottom.
Behind them, the deputy's hollow chest cavity faced the sky like a mouth screaming silently, still piously calling for the descent of the Seven.
Deeper in the alleys, the High Sparrow stopped in a hidden corner and looked back toward the square.
His eyes, which had been incredibly peaceful for over a decade, were now burning with fire.
As if sensing something, Corleone glanced back at the alley's location. He didn't speak, but simply grinned happily.
In this life, you have to do what you say you'll do.
If you say you'll kill the person and destroy their heart, then you must kill the person and destroy their heart.
Of course, not in the way Iggo did, but in the true sense of the phrase...
To kill the body and break the spirit!
King's Landing at noon was like a giant steamer; even in late autumn, it felt somewhat sweltering.
But Brienne, wearing heavy armor, seemed not to feel the heat at all. Her armored boots made dull thuds on the stone road, matching her mood.
Terrible.
Ser Loras Tyrell was a good man; he believed her account of Renly's death and released her.
What worried her was Sansa Stark; the girl's state of mind was very wrong.
When Brienne found Sansa and mentioned Lady Catelyn and her promise to return her to her mother, Sansa only shook her head slightly.
"I am to marry Ser Loras," she said, her expression appearing joyful at the time as she offered a small smile. "We will go to Highgarden. There is no winter in Highgarden."
But when her beheaded father was mentioned, Sansa's tone was as calm as if she were discussing yesterday's weather.
"Father committed treason," she said, her blue eyes showing no ripples of emotion. "King Joffrey is the lawful sovereign."
This mechanical submissiveness made Brienne feel a bit creeped out.
Breathing the air of King's Landing, Brienne's mood grew increasingly heavy.
Free at last.
But so what?
Renly was dead, Arya had been taken by The Hound, and Sansa refused to leave.
The mission entrusted to her by Lady Catelyn was as good as a failure.
Standing in the square outside Red Keep, Brienne once again felt utterly lost.
Where should she go?
Back to Tarth?
She had no desire to marry under her father's prodding or to face kinsmen who would never understand her.
"Go find Corleone."
Jaime's voice echoed in her ears. "He'll find something for you to do. At least he won't let you get so bored that you join a convent."
As if possessed, Brienne stepped into Flea Bottom.
"Have you heard?"
"That Corleone killed seven septons at Fisherman's Square the day before yesterday!"
"What do you mean seven? I heard it was seventy!"
"Bullshit, it was clearly seven hundred! The blood stained the Blackwater Rush red!"
Many people were gossiping, buzzing in Brienne's ears like flies.
She had a fiery temper and immediately grabbed a man by the collar without a word, demanding, "Why are you speaking ill of Corleone!"
"I... I'm not making it up!"
The man was terrified; he had never seen a woman taller and stronger than a man, and wearing armor to boot.
"My cousin saw it with his own eyes! That demon beside him dug out a septon's heart and ate it raw! You can ask anyone else if you don't believe me!"
Hearing this, Brienne gave him a suspicious glare before finally releasing him and continuing forward indignantly.
But the further in she went, the deeper her brow furrowed.
Because with every alley she passed, the versions she heard became more exaggerated.
Stories of Corleone forcing fishermen to pay protection money and cutting off the fingers of those who didn't; of providing people with bewitched bread that turned them into his slaves after eating it.
Some even claimed that Corleone had cracked open an infant's skull to suck the marrow in front of everyone!
What a load of horseshit!
Brienne shook her head repeatedly, knowing these rumors were likely gross exaggerations.
Corleone was cold, shrewd, and unscrupulous, but he was nothing like the cruel, violent madman they described.
But...
What if?
What if power had corrupted him and he truly had committed some of those crimes?
The more she thought about it, the more afraid she became, and Brienne couldn't help but quicken her pace.
She almost ran through the last few maze-like alleys, finally stopping in front of a three-story stone building.
The Place of Order.
Looking at the words on the sign and the high-flying black hand flag, Brienne took a deep breath.
She seemed to hear chaotic noises from inside: men's roars, children's screams, and... the clanging of metal?
Without hesitation, she decisively pushed the door open and entered.
What met her eyes was a very spacious hall, large enough to hold hundreds of people simultaneously.
Nearly a hundred simple wooden beds were arranged in three rows, each occupied. At least a dozen people wearing robes and maester's chains were busily moving about.
To the left, Brienne's gaze was drawn to a little girl about four or five years old.
She sat on a bed, her eyes bright. A needle was inserted into the back of her left hand, and transparent liquid dripped from a high glass bottle, flowing into her body through a soft tube made of some special material.
Sensing Brienne was looking at her, the little girl actually grinned and gave her an innocent smile.
"Hold him down! Rorge, have you not fucking eaten today?!"
Just then, a familiar voice came from behind a curtain; it was Corleone.
"He's biting me! This little brat is biting me! How about we just knock him out with a brick!"
"Idiot! Then let him bite, don't let go! This kid has already taken too much medicine; any more and he'll turn into an idiot!"
Clang! Clang!
Then came a series of heart-wrenching screams, sounding like they came from a child.
Blood rushed to Brienne's head.
Though she didn't know exactly what Corleone was doing, combined with the rumors she'd heard—persecuting children, torture, abuse!
Corleone!
Her right hand went to her sword hilt, then released it as she decisively stepped forward and pulled back the curtain: "Stop!"
The scene before her made Brienne freeze instantly.
Beside a heavy oak surgical table, Rorge and his men were leaning over, pinning down a violently struggling young boy.
The boy was about eight or nine, skin and bones, and his right leg was horribly twisted from the ankle down.
Corleone's left hand was pressed firmly against the base of the boy's thigh, while his right hand held a sharp scalpel, the blade hovering over that necrotic ankle.
Hearing Brienne's shout, everyone looked up at her.
Seeing her, Corleone also turned his head in confusion.
"Haha! Brienne, excellent!"
He laughed out loud with joy and quickly shouted to Brienne, "Quick, come help me hold him down!"
"This kid has some real strength; Rorge's about to lose his grip!"
"So... you've come to join me?"
After finishing the surgery, Corleone asked Brienne while washing the blood from his hands.
"Jaime said you had things for me to do."
She looked at the black blood and pus splashed on Corleone's surgical gown, then at Little Tommy being carried out by Rorge, and suddenly bowed: "I'm sorry, Corleone, I just..."
"Heard those rumors?"
To Brienne's surprise, Corleone guessed exactly what she was going to say and waved it off dismissively.
"You know about them, then why..."
"Come with me."
Corleone didn't answer immediately, but instead led the way out of the operating room.
He went to the little girl on the IV and patted her head. "This is Lisa. Pneumonia, high fever for five days."
"If I hadn't borrowed these things from that old geezer Pycelle, she would have been dead last night."
As he spoke, Corleone asked gently, "Where's your mother?"
The little girl nuzzled his hand affectionately, her throat still very raspy: "She went to work."
"...At the soup kitchen."
Corleone smiled, then pointed to the boy who had just fainted from the pain. "Little Tommy. He broke his leg earlier, but those septons only gave him hallucinogens mixed with poison."
"He couldn't feel the pain, but it also delayed treatment."
"As you saw, the ankle joint was completely necrotic, the bone almost rotten. If the foot wasn't amputated, he would have lost his life."
"And I couldn't give him any medicine because he'd already taken too much before. I couldn't control the dosage; it would have damaged his brain and turned him into an idiot even if he was cured."
"And then there's old shoemaker Hal's wife, Reil's daughter..."
He kept pointing to the patients on the beds, knowing each of their names by heart, and those he pointed to bowed sincerely to Corleone in greeting.
"In the past three months, that fellow called the High Sparrow has 'comforted' at least twenty children who could have been saved with his 'god-given' gifts."
"He calls it 'the mercy of the Seven,' but I call it murder."
Brienne fell silent. She thought of everything she had heard along the way—persecuting septons, digging out hearts, demons—it turned out... they were all rumors!
"What do you need me to do?" she finally asked, her expression becoming firm. "I can help you round up all those people spreading rumors. Jaime gave me this; I cannot fail him!"
As she spoke, she patted the 'Oathkeeper' at her waist.
Hearing this, Corleone only smiled. "Sometimes when a mouse appears in your house, don't be in a hurry to swat it to death. Instead, give it some treats."
"Wait until it goes back to its nest and tells its whole family that there's food here and it's very safe..."
"Then we can catch them all in one sweep."
As he spoke, Corleone pushed open a window and looked out at the clean street, spreading his hands suggestively. "Welcome to the Place of Order, Lady Brienne."
"Here, good people sometimes have to learn to do a bit of 'bad stuff'."
He paused and looked back into her eyes. "Are you willing?
more chapter available in p@tréøñ(Atoki_29)