Blood was gurgling from the wound, and standing opposite him, clutching a dagger, was a burly man.
He wore loose silk robes, open at the front to reveal a lean, bronze chest. His long black hair fell casually over his shoulders, and his narrow dark eyes added a touch of malice to his handsome face, making him look like a viper coiled and ready to strike.
At first glance, Corleone confirmed the man's identity; he was the primary target of this visit to Silk Street.
Prince of Dorne, the Red Viper, the God of War who never plays it safe—ever since ancient times, spearmen have had Rank E Luck.
Oberyn Martell!
Seeing this, Petyr hurried forward. Although he championed chaos, allowing the Prince of Dorne to kill a Lannister knight on his own turf would undoubtedly bring him trouble.
"By the Seven, what on earth happened here? Your Highness, why such fury?"
However, Oberyn didn't even look at him properly. He merely stared playfully at the twitching, agonized knight, his thick Dornish accent dripping with sarcasm: "I thought this was just a place to find pleasure, Petyr Baelish."
"But I didn't expect that even Lannister vermin could strut in and out of here, polluting the air."
Hearing this, Petyr's mouth twitched twice. He suppressed his displeasure and explained, "Alas, Your Highness, you are truly making things difficult for me."
"A brothel opens its doors for business, and gold coins aren't engraved with family crests. As long as they can pay the price, my girls will naturally follow their professional ethics. It is so for you, and naturally so for other guests."
"If this knight has accidentally offended you, I apologize on his behalf. With your status, why let his filthy blood stain your hands?"
"Why should I apologize to this damned Dornish bastard!"
The knight whose palm was pinned was clearly a brute. Intense pain and rage had robbed him of his reason, and he began to insult both Oberyn and Petyr with foul language.
"Fuck, go to hell..."
However, Oberyn didn't get angry but laughed instead, giving the wrist holding the dagger a slight twist.
"AAAAAH!!!!" An even more shrill scream echoed through the room.
"Fool! A total and utter fool!"
Petyr cursed inwardly. Due to the victory at the Battle of the Blackwater, the Lannisters had been extremely arrogant and overbearing in the city lately.
But look at your status—you're just a knight, yet you dare to provoke the Prince of Dorne to his face.
Can't you see I'm trying to give you an out!
Oberyn admired the other man's expression, twisted by pain, the smile on his face growing wider: "Scream... I love that sound. Wherever Lannisters are found, I'm never in a good mood."
"The stench on you is something I can smell even back in Dorne."
At that moment, a calm voice rang out, sounding completely out of place in the tense atmosphere: "An adult male has about five to six liters of blood in his body. Based on the current rate of bleeding from his wound, his blood pressure will drop to a critical point within ten to fifteen minutes."
"Then comes blurred consciousness, organ failure, and then, like a fish out of water, he'll die on this expensive table."
Hearing this, Oberyn looked up to see Corleone strolling forward slowly, calmly observing the wound, his tone as flat as if he were stating experimental data.
He looked up in surprise, his gaze meeting eyes of the same color as his own.
"You are very professional."
Oberyn spoke, a hint of curiosity flashing in his viper-like eyes: "I once studied at The Citadel and earned six maester's links, but I only dabbled in this kind of knowledge during my time with the Second Sons in Essos."
"What is your name?"
"Vito Corleone, Your Highness." Meeting his gaze, Corleone said composedly, "I am a doctor."
"If I am not mistaken, you must be here on behalf of your brother, Prince Doran, to attend the royal wedding."
He continued, while calmly reaching out his right hand to rest it on the pommel of the dagger: "With all due respect, a Lannister knight dying by your blade on the busiest Silk Street in King's Landing—I think that would make things complicated."
"You have great ambitions, Highness. Why waste precious time on an insignificant person? It will only bring unnecessary trouble upon yourself."
These words caused Oberyn's tense expression to soften slightly.
He looked at Corleone, seemingly weighing the pros and cons.
"He's right, Oberyn."
Just then, a woman's voice sounded from behind him.
The woman speaking was not a peerless beauty, but she possessed a rich exotic flair that made her exceptionally sultry and eye-catching.
Ellaria Sand, the paramour of Prince Oberyn.
In the open-minded culture of Dorne, people often chose not to go through the formality of marriage; a steady paramour held a status no different from a wife.
Take Ellaria, for example. Although she and Oberyn shared no marital title, they were effectively spouses, and she had already borne him four daughters, giving her a certain degree of influence even within House Martell.
Seeing Ellaria also offering counsel, the combative glint in Oberyn's eyes finally faded, and he slowly released his grip on the dagger.
Corleone took the opportunity to pull the dagger out. The movement seemed natural, but the moment he withdrew the blade, the tip "coincidentally" sliced through the tendon at the base of the knight's thumb.
After a faint tearing sound, the knight screamed again, his palm instantly becoming limp and powerless.
This subtle little action naturally did not escape Oberyn's experienced eyes.
The corner of his mouth curled up imperceptibly. Far from being angry, he grew even more interested in this mysterious and unpredictable man.
Just then, a flurry of footsteps sounded, and a squad of Gold Cloaks from the City Watch burst in, clearly drawn by the commotion.
"Lord Petyr, this is..."
The captain in the lead looked at the scene and inquired respectfully of Petyr.
Even though he was no longer the kingdom's master of coin, most of the Gold Cloaks knew very well that Petyr Baelish remained one of the most powerful figures in King's Landing.
He once controlled the kingdom's purse strings, and his influence reached everywhere. He could easily bestow wealth or make someone disappear without a trace.
"Oh, you've arrived just in time, Captain Jeff."
With the matter properly handled, Littlefinger's face was once again covered in his trademark, breezy smile.
He pointed to the knight kneeling on the floor, who was still groaning in pain, and said nonchalantly, "This brave knight simply had a few too many and accidentally injured himself while playing 'Blade Dance'."
"Since you're here, please take him to see a maester. Find the best one, and put all the expenses on my tab."
Hearing this, Jeff understood.
Blade Dance was a gambling game widely popular among mercenaries.
The participant would spread their palm flat on a wooden table and use a dagger to stab repeatedly between their fingers as quickly as possible.
The game was meant to show off courage and precision, and it often involved high stakes.
Any minor mistake could cost a finger, but it was precisely this extreme danger of walking on the edge of a blade that gave it a unique thrill, making it highly esteemed in certain circles.
However, it was obvious that even the stupidest mercenary wouldn't wound the center of their palm in a Blade Dance; at most, they'd slice off a finger.
Furthermore, under normal circumstances, knights valued their status too much to participate in such a game.
But since Petyr had spoken, Jeff didn't ask further. After all, he didn't need to know the truth; he only needed to execute orders.
"Yes, my lord."
He nodded in agreement and then waved to his subordinates.
"Take him out."
Two Gold Cloaks immediately stepped forward, flanking the still-groaning knight and dragging him from the scene.
As soon as the Gold Cloaks left, Ellaria Sand stepped forward impatiently, her arms wrapping around Oberyn's neck like water snakes as she passionately offered him a kiss.
Oberyn responded fiercely, and they began to make out as if no one else were there.
One had to admit, Dornishmen were indeed uninhibited.
As a brothel owner, Petyr seemed long accustomed to this. His smile remained as he bowed slightly to the two: "Highness, I am truly sorry for disturbing your pleasure."
"Allow me to arrange a more comfortable and clean room for you, and call for several girls to dispel the previous unpleasantness. I hope this makes up for your loss tonight."
With that, he prepared to turn and leave.
But he found that Corleone, beside him, was still standing firmly in place, with no intention of leaving with him.
"My lord?"
Petyr asked in confusion.
At this point, Oberyn, who was entangled with Ellaria, took a moment from his busy schedule to glance at Corleone.
A hint of playfulness flickered in his narrow black eyes. He raised an eyebrow and teased, "What, reluctant to leave, Vito Corleone?"
"Want to join us? It's fine, I don't mind. As long as they're good-looking enough, I can accept either a man or a woman."
As he spoke, he grinned, revealing dull yellow teeth.
This overly blunt invitation made Corleone's mouth twitch slightly.
Although his predecessor had seen much, and the knowledge granted by [Bedchamber Skills Lv3] meant he was no stranger to the affairs of men and women—one could even say he was an expert—this Dornish style of putting it all out in the open still gave him a bit of a culture shock.
However, Corleone quickly regained his composure: "Thank you for your generous offer, Highness, but I am not overly keen on this path."
"In my view, the so-called 'interest' between a man and a woman often begins with 'embarrassment' and ends with 'boredom'."
Hearing this, Oberyn was momentarily stunned, as if he had heard some novel theory.
Then he let out a disdainful snort. Far from feeling offended, he acted as if to prove his own point correct, pulling Ellaria forward almost out of spite.
He casually pulled aside the already flimsy silk on her shoulder, revealing her lithe, leopard-like body.
"Boredom?"
Oberyn pointed at Ellaria, his tone full of provocation: "Look closely at this wonderful body, this fiery vitality. You tell me, this is 'boredom'?"
This almost barbaric display left Corleone speechless.
He realized that discussing love and passion with a Dornish person who believed in living for the moment was like playing a lute to a cow.
Ignoring the seductive sight, Corleone's gaze fell calmly on Oberyn's face: "Your paramour is extraordinarily charming, Highness. I do not deny that."
"But for me, I only care about business."
"Business?" Oberyn's eyes gradually became serious, his interest seemingly piqued by the statement.
"Correct." Corleone nodded firmly, looking straight ahead as if Ellaria did not exist.
He took a composed step forward, pulled over a chair, and sat firmly opposite Oberyn. He lightly folded his hands on his knees, his gaze honest and deep: "I believe we can be friends who are valuable to each other, Highness."
"And now, I wish to discuss a business deal with you that can realize the 'value' of both our parties."