Two days later
The backyard of the Place of Order.
Two figures holding swords crisscrossed back and forth on the open ground, the crisp sound of metal clashing ringing out incessantly.
If Jaime or Brienne were here, their jaws would likely drop in shock.
Less than a month ago, Corleone could only clumsily hack at wooden stakes with a sword. Now, he was actually trading blows back and forth with a fierce dothraki elite warrior, and even... faintly holding the upper hand!
Corleone's sword moves weren't flashy, but they were exceptionally sharp and efficient.
The longsword in his hand seemed to have eyes of its own, always able to precisely parry every one of Yigo's attacks. He could even predict the trajectory of the next move in advance through the opponent's footwork and subtle muscle tremors.
As the frequency of the blade collisions increased, Yigo's breathing grew heavier, and beads of sweat rolled down his bronze skin.
His attacks were wide and sweeping, and his sword speed was startlingly fast, yet he remained unable to break through Corleone's defense.
Finally, after nearly dozens of high-speed offensive and defensive exchanges, Corleone caught a tiny opening in Yigo's strike and flicked his blade upward!
Clang!
The longsword flew out of his hand at the sound, spinning through the air and hitting the distant stone ground with a series of clattering noises.
Yigo stumbled back two steps, hands propped on his knees, chest heaving violently. He looked at Corleone, whose breath was only slightly quickened, with eyes full of unbelievable shock.
"Your progress... is simply too fast, my blood of blood!"
He instinctively growled in dothraki, his tone revealing a hint of heartfelt awe: "In less than a month... you can actually defeat me... even the most talented warrior on the grasslands couldn't do it!"
Speaking, Yigo straightened up and shook his head, his eyes suddenly becoming exceptionally fanatical: "As expected of a warrior blessed by the Great Stallion, you... you will become the Stallion Who Mounts the World!"
Who are you calling that!?
Corleone sheathed his blade. He had originally shown a satisfied smile, but hearing Yigo use such a metaphor, he couldn't help but roll his eyes.
The Stallion Who Mounts the World...
Wasn't that the damn son of Daenerys and Khal Drogo?
He died in the womb before he was even born. Mount the world my ass! Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey!
However, he didn't bother to explain. Was he supposed to tell this uneducated fellow that he had a cheat?
He probably wouldn't understand anyway.
Shaking his head, Corleone checked his system panel while walking out.
Hmm...
Tyrion's ten thousand Gold Dragons had truly solved his urgent need. Although he didn't know where that guy got so much money in such a short time, well, he was a Lannister; there was nothing to be surprised about.
Suddenly wealthy, Corleone gave a grand wave of his hand and leveled up all his skills to Lv3.
Speaking of which, the system was indeed powerful. [Insight Lv3], [Basic Swordsmanship Lv3], and [Surgery Lv3]—these skills actually produced a chemical reaction when combined.
When dueling others, he could not only judge the next move through the opponent's actions but also use his superb medical knowledge to choose the best angle for his sword to achieve maximum damage.
If he hadn't been concerned about accidentally hurting Yigo, he'd had at least several opportunities just now to kill the man outright.
He estimated that with his current level of swordsmanship, he might not yet be on par with the world-famous "Barristan the Bold" Barristan, or the already deceased "Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne.
But with the synergy of several skills, defeating most knights whose swordsmanship wasn't top-tier was more than enough.
Except...
With a slight thought, Corleone glanced at the skill bar that only he could see.
When his gaze swept over a certain skill, the corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably twice.
[Bed Tactics Lv3].
Sweet mother of...
At that time, having suddenly received so many Gold Dragons, he had performed a draw with the mindset of testing his luck. He didn't expect the system to give him such an outrageous "surprise."
But when Corleone prepared to draw the next one, he received a system prompt: [Host's current authority: can possess a maximum of five skills simultaneously (excluding unranked skills)].
To obtain other skills, he would have to raise one of them to Lv5 or obtain another chance to draw an unranked skill.
As for how to obtain those... the system didn't say.
Damn it, retarded system!
Corleone cursed inwardly, completely forgetting how he had called it "godfather" before.
Fine, five it is. Anyway, it's pretty much enough for now.
He comforted himself in his heart.
Might as well make do with it; it's not like I can divorce the thing.
"Let's go, let's see how things are outside." Corleone put away his thoughts and gave Yigo an instruction, and the two then walked out side by side.
Inside the hall, it was now a scene of a busy construction site.
The original dilapidated decorations were cleared away, and sturdier stone and timber were being hauled in.
Rorger's raspy voice echoed through the area. Like a true foreman, his noseless face was extremely excited as he ferociously directed the workers. His efficiency was surprisingly high.
Who knew this guy was a natural-born civil engineering talent.
Corleone didn't disturb him, only casting an appreciative glance before quietly passing through the busy crowd.
When he stepped out of the heavy gates of the "Place of Order," the morning sunlight happened to spill onto the newly leveled streets of Flea Bottom.
"Lord Corleone!"
"Good day, Lord Corleone!"
"My Lord!"
Along the way, many members of the "Cleaning Crew" patrolling with cloth strips tied around their arms, as well as some residents who had come out early to set up stalls, stopped their work one after another to greet him respectfully.
Under his explicit prohibition, Flea Bottom was no longer allowed to sell things like brown broth.
Although this move harmed the interests of some and led to a few voices of resistance, they were almost all suppressed after late-night "visits" by Rorger and his men.
However, Corleone vaguely sensed that there was still a group of people who weren't completely convinced and were just lying low in the shadows.
But he was in no hurry. He patiently waited for those fellows to lose their cool and show their heads so he could wipe them all out in one go.
Thinking this over, Corleone kept nodding slightly, responding to people's greetings.
His gaze calmly swept across the quietly changing streetscape. Filth was being cleared, chaos was being curbed, and a crude but vital new order was stubbornly taking root in this land.
"Where are we going, my blood of blood?"
As they were about to step out of Flea Bottom, Yigo asked in a low voice beside him.
Hearing this, Corleone looked up ahead and grinned: "After being busy for so long, it's time for us to enjoy ourselves."
"
...Let's go visit a brothel!"
Silk Street.
The air here was completely different from Flea Bottom. It was thick and cloying, filled with various cheap perfumes, powders,
aged wine, and the faint scent of heather.
Exquisite lanterns emitted an ambiguous glow even during the day. As soon as they stepped in, many scantily clad professional women came into view.
Their faces were full of smiles. Some stood behind ornately decorated balconies and window frames, giggling and waving, while others stood directly on the street, unscrupulously using their eyes and body language to solicit customers, with no intention of hiding whatsoever.
The wicked Middle Ages...
Although his predecessor had similar experiences, for Corleone, this was a groundbreaking first time.
Fortunately, the flesh trade wasn't illegal in Westeros. Although it was his first time stepping into such a place, he didn't have much of a psychological burden.
A man's gotta see the world, after all.
Walking among these flowers and birds, Corleone's agile steps constantly dodged the arms reaching out, maintaining a posture of passing through a thousand blossoms without a single leaf sticking to him.
Compared to him, Yigo appeared much more uninhibited.
Not only were his eyes glued to them, but he also reached out to give a squeeze from time to time. If Corleone hadn't kept moving, Yigo probably wouldn't have been able to resist being pulled inside for a grand performance.
Seeing this, Corleone couldn't help but tease: "What, I thought you only had eyes for women like Brienne who can slay beasts with their bare hands."
Yigo snapped back to his senses, licked his dry lips, swallowed hard, and answered very honestly: "Mating with a big woman can produce stronger children."
"But if it's just for pleasure, these soft women look pretty good too."
Speaking, he even made a crude metaphor: "The women on the grasslands are healthy and strong, like sleek mares, while these... are like juicy peaches."
Hearing this answer full of dothraki utilitarian philosophy, Corleone couldn't help but laugh out loud, drawing even more fervent gazes from the surrounding women.
After all, although Yigo looked a bit fierce, his newly bought outfit wasn't cheap.
The women of Silk Street were battle-hardened; they had at least this much discernment.
Yigo, on the other hand, was getting a bit impatient from their flirting. Seeing that Corleone just kept walking forward without intending to stop, he couldn't help but ask again: "Where exactly are we going, my blood of blood?"
"Aren't there... plenty right here?"
This eager look made Corleone roll his eyes at him: "Don't be in such a rush, my blood of blood."
He slowed his pace, his gaze scanning those beautifully decorated but slightly tacky porches: "How can these peripheral goods be worthy of our status?"
"Remember, we aren't beggars who will take just anything. Today, you and I are the most distinguished guests on this street."
Speaking, Corleone gave a grand wave of his hand and deliberately announced with bravado: "If we're going to do this, we're going for the best!"
This heroic declaration immediately caused the surrounding people to look over.
As the words fell, the two of them happened to stop in front of an exceptionally grand building.
This building was three stories high, its outer walls built of smooth white stone, and its windows were made of colored leaded glass depicting elegant pastoral scenery rather than explicit erotic scenes.
There were no heavily made-up women soliciting business at the door, only two well-dressed guards who looked very elite at a glance.
An ebony sign hung under the porch, with its name engraved in elegant script—Hummingbird.