"Beautiful!"
Although still displeased with Corleone's status as a "Lannister lackey," Oberyn Martell couldn't help but let out a whistle at the courage and skill he displayed.
He clapped his hands softly, the sound exceptionally clear in the silent room.
"A doctor accustomed to holding a scalpel handles a killing tool just as deftly."
"I'm starting to find you a bit interesting, Vito Corleone."
As he spoke, Oberyn turned his head and glanced nonchalantly at Petyr standing in the corner.
"Come and be our referee, Baelish. This is your place, after all; it's only fitting that you bear witness."
"By the Seven, Your Highness, the Prince!"
Petyr gave an exaggerated cry, spreading his hands and moving forward two steps as if helpless. "You really are..."
"As everyone knows, I have always disliked the sight of blood. Just the thought of such a scene makes my fragile heart uneasy."
"But since it is your request, how could I dare to refuse?"
However, his performance was wasted.
None of the people present spared a second glance at his utterly hypocritical face.
Oberyn's gaze fell back on Corleone. Licking his dry lips, he spoke with the excitement of a viper that had spotted its prey: "So, do you go first, or do I?"
Corleone spread his right hand expressionlessly and replied as if it were only natural, "Your Highness has come from afar as a guest and is the initiator of this 'game.' Naturally, I invite you to go first."
"It's also a good chance for a beginner like me to properly learn the rules of Blade Dance."
Hearing him call himself a beginner, Oberyn grinned immediately and reached out to take the dagger.
However, just as his fingertips were about to touch the cold hilt, Corleone's voice rang out again: "Wait a moment!"
"What, are you afraid?"
Seeing Oberyn cast a questioning look his way, Corleone merely curled his lips into a provocative arc. "No, no..."
"I just wanted to say, since we are already standing by the gambling table, we might as well bet even bigger."
"Bigger?"
Oberyn's thick eyebrows shot up, his face a mix of offense and extreme exhilaration.
He truly couldn't understand where this fellow, who hadn't even figured out the rules yet, got such astonishing confidence.
"What do you want?"
Meeting his gaze, Corleone spoke clearly, word by word: "It's simple."
"If I lose, not just my right hand—if you wish, you may take this head of mine back to Sunspear as a trophy."
He paused, his gaze suddenly becoming sharp: "But if I win..."
"Win against me?"
Oberyn laughed arrogantly. "I cannot lose!"
Looking at his boastful manner, Corleone's tone remained flat: "Don't say 'impossible.' Nothing is impossible."
"Especially at a gambling table, no one can predict what will happen in the next second."
At those words, Oberyn's laughter stopped abruptly.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, revealing a dangerous look. Clearly, Corleone's almost blind confidence had thoroughly provoked his competitive spirit.
He wanted to see what kind of price this man could offer.
"Fine!"
"Since you're betting your head against me, then I shall put up the same stake!"
"No!"
As soon as he said this, Ellaria, who was nearby, couldn't help but cry out in alarm. She grabbed Oberyn's arm worriedly: "Oberyn! This is madness!"
She had thought the stakes between the two were just what they had agreed upon earlier, but for some reason, the conversation had become more and more absurd, turning into a wager on their lives!
However, Oberyn, already riled up by the provocation, would not listen to her warnings.
He violently shook off Ellaria's hand, his face flushed with extreme arrogance, and growled: "Let go of me!"
"When have I ever lost? I cannot possibly lose!"
Like an enraged beast, he stared fixedly at Corleone. "I swear by the name of House Martell—now, shut your mouth and let us begin!"
"As you wish."
Corleone spread his palms and said no more.
The air in the room seemed to suddenly freeze. The candlelight elongated their shadows, and everyone held their breath.
Regardless of who was the Prince of Dorne or the Royal Intelligence Officer, sitting face-to-face now were only two gamblers who had put their lives on the table!
Swish!
Oberyn was the first to reach out. His long, powerful fingers lightly gripped the dagger's hilt. Then, he spread the five fingers of his left hand and pressed them steadily onto the tabletop.
"Watch closely, Corleone."
As he spoke, the dagger whistled through the air, grazing his skin to plunge precisely into the wood between his thumb and index finger.
Then between the index and middle fingers, the middle and ring fingers, and the ring and pinky fingers.
"The charm of 'Blade Dance' lies in its progression."
Oberyn chuckled. From beginning to end, his gaze never moved to his own palm; instead, he stared fixedly at Corleone, appearing completely unperturbed.
"One round is a complete cycle."
"From the outside of the palm to the inside, every position that could injure a finger must be accounted for. One round requires at least ten stabs, covering the area around all five fingers."
As he spoke, the speed of the dagger's descent quietly accelerated during his explanation.
The cold, glinting blade wove and jumped between his fingers, constantly stabbing in and pulling out. His movements were as fluid as if he had practiced them thousands of times, each landing point precise to the millimeter.
"In Essos, I once served in the Second Sons and played this game with no fewer than twenty men."
He continued, his voice steady. It synchronized eerily with the sound of the dagger falling faster and faster, projecting an increasing sense of pressure.
"Do you know what it feels like when sharp steel slices the skin over the knuckle and severs those thin tendons?"
"It's as if a part of your body has lost its connection to you."
"Once severed, even the best Maester cannot restore it to its former state. Your finger will dangle forever, like a useless strip of meat."
He described it so minutely and calmly, as if explaining the cooking process of a dish.
Clearly, the The Red Viper of Dorne knew exactly what kind of psychological tactics to use to assault an opponent's mental defenses and awaken the most primal human fears of pain and mutilation.
Thud!
The final strike plunged into the tabletop right against the outer skin of his pinky finger.
The force was so great that the hilt hummed.
The entire round of "Blade Dance" finished so quickly it seemed only a few heartbeats had passed.
Immediately after, Oberyn raised his left hand, fingers outstretched, and waved it gently before Corleone's eyes.
"As you can see, Vito Corleone."
"This is the hand of the finest mercenary in Essos."
"After more than twenty games of Blade Dance, it remains perfectly intact."
As his voice fell, Ellaria let out a sigh of relief, while all the pressure shifted onto Corleone.
A faint, inadvertent smile appeared on Petyr's face. "Your turn, Lord Corleone."
Hearing this, Corleone's face still showed no emotional fluctuation.
He simply adjusted his collar slowly, then extended his own left hand, fingers likewise spread and pressed steadily onto the tabletop. At the same time, he finally picked up the dagger.
He weighed it, feeling its center of gravity. His fingertips brushed over the cold edge with a movement as gentle as if he were touching a lover's cheek.
"Very fair."
Corleone spoke without a hint of a tremor, as if Oberyn's intimidation just now was merely a breeze blowing outside the window.
Then, his movements began.
The first strike.
It plunged between his thumb and index finger. The landing point and angle were identical to how Oberyn had started, as precise as if measured with a ruler, though the speed was not fast.
Then the second strike, the third...
He followed the sequence and path Oberyn had demonstrated with strict precision.
What was even more alarming was that, like Oberyn, he never once looked down at his hand as it risked the blade's edge!
Those pitch-black eyes were as calm as water, looking indifferently at Oberyn as if in provocation.
Seeing this, the disdain on Oberyn's face slightly receded, replaced by a growing seriousness.
Such precise control did not look like a novice at all.
"Although this is my first time playing this game..."
Even as he spoke, Corleone's movements did not stop, echoing Oberyn's earlier behavior.
His voice and the rhythm of the falling dagger complemented each other, forming a peculiar cadence. He was meticulously imitating the other man's every move.
"But you should know, as I've said, I am a doctor."
As he spoke, Corleone's speed increased, gradually catching up to the rhythm of the latter half of Oberyn's first round.
Yet his tone remained steady, as if he were speaking at an academic symposium. "To me, daggers and scalpels are essentially no different."
"They are both tools, extensions of the will, and means to solve a problem."
The dagger fell again, right against the junction of his ring finger and pinky, the blade nearly grazing the skin.
But Corleone's speech was clear and logical, creating a stark contrast with his perilous actions.
"When performing surgery, you cannot always hope to have sophisticated surgical instruments with you. You must use whatever is at hand."
"A dagger, a longsword, even a sharp piece of broken glass."
As his words grew sharper, his movements became faster and faster. The cold light of the dagger almost wove a net that shrouded his fingers.
"Your knowledge of human anatomy is very familiar; that is indeed admirable."
Corleone suddenly changed the subject: "That's good. it shows your erudition and your deep understanding of danger."
Thud!
As his voice fell, a strike plunged into the outer side of his pinky.
First round, complete!
Seeing this, Oberyn intended to reach for the dagger, but to his astonished eyes, Corleone did not stop.
Instead... he unhesitatingly began a second round!
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
"However."
Corleone continued to speak. The afterimages of the dagger almost merged into one, creating a whistling wind that showed its speed was highly unusual.
He even had the leisure to lean forward slightly, his eyes almost level with Oberyn's face.
"You overlooked one point."
"You use it to intimidate your opponent and break their will, but you didn't consider that when a blade is about to touch the skin, the human body itself makes instinctive reactions that are beyond conscious control."
Watching the dagger in Corleone's hand fall continuously like a butterfly flitting through flowers, its speed increasing until even Oberyn's eyes could not keep up, his face began to turn incredibly solemn.
This speed... it had already surpassed his limits!
While speaking, Corleone had already finished the second round and even started a third and fourth. The dagger in his hand did not pause for a moment, and its speed only grew faster!
Yet he kept staring into Oberyn's eyes, never sparing even a single glance at his own palm!
[Surgical Mastery lv3], [Insight lv3], and [Basic Swordplay lv3]—the effects they brought together were far more than a simple addition of skills!
"When the pain signals from a sharp object enter the spinal cord and brain, they instantly trigger a series of defense mechanisms."
.
"This tremor, born of biological instinct, is enough to make an otherwise precise blade deviate from its intended path. Even half a millimeter is enough to cause catastrophic consequences."
"And I..."
He continued, and before Oberyn's shocked eyes, Corleone's speed surged again!
And for the first time, his voice displayed absolute confidence in his own professional field!
"As a doctor, my daily work involves dealing with these 'instinctive reactions.'"
"My stability comes not just from the strength of my wrists and the dexterity of my fingers, but from knowing when and how pain will strike, and how the muscles will respond."
"So, I can reduce its impact to... the absolute minimum before it even happens!"
As his voice fell, Corleone's final strike was delivered!
It was so fast that it left only a silver afterimage in the retinas of the three onlookers!
Thud!!
The dagger was nailed deep into the tabletop. The hilt vibrated violently, emitting a continuous hum that testified to the force and speed of that final blow.
The entire room instantly fell into absolute silence.
Only after completing all this did Corleone slowly raise his left hand, just as Oberyn had done before.
His five fingers were outstretched, every one of them intact. The skin was smooth, without even the slightest red mark.
"See, Prince Oberyn."
"This is the hand of the finest doctor in the Seven Kingdoms."
He paused, looking directly into Oberyn's pitch-black eyes with a grin. "And it is perfectly intact."