Time rewound five minutes.
Corleone leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, shadows swallowing most of his body.
[Insight lv1] sharpened his perception, letting him roughly grasp everything happening not far away.
When Urswyck was called over by Vargo, Corleone immediately sensed something was off.
He never underestimated anyone. As Corleone himself believed, women and children could afford carelessness, but men could not. In a world where human lives were cheaper than grass, a single misstep could mean death.
So every word, every action, had to be cautious. Careful. Careful again.
He had thought Vargo would lose patience and strike the traitor immediately, but now it seemed the man was not entirely stupid.
After a brief moment of thought, Corleone took a deep breath and stepped steadily out of the shadows.
Waiting passively and leaving his fate to others?
Only an idiot would do that.
If there was no opportunity, then… create one.
Plan B, activate!
As he walked forward, the timid, cringing look of a farmer had already vanished from Corleone's face, replaced by absolute calm.
He went straight toward Zollo the Fat, who was gnawing on roasted meat by the campfire, and held out his hand.
"Give me a roasted lamb leg."
His voice was not loud, but it carried unquestionable confidence.
Zollo looked up. The greasy fat on his face froze in shock, as if he doubted his own ears.
He recognized this farmer doctor who had survived on sheer luck. The captain's wounds needed treating, sure, but that did not mean this nobody could get arrogant.
Seeing the seriousness on Corleone's face, Zollo let out an undisguised sneer.
"The lamb leg's for Captain Vargo, kid."
As he spoke, he casually grabbed a half-burnt lamb's head from the nearby rack, charred black and nearly meatless, and tossed it at Corleone's feet.
"That's all there is. Take it and get lost."
Corleone did not even glance at the lamb's head. His eyes stayed locked on Zollo's face as he raised his voice slightly and repeated himself.
"I… want… a roasted lamb leg!"
The tone, openly provocative, immediately drew the attention of several Brave Companions nearby. Conversations stopped. They turned to watch with interest.
A lowly farmer daring to provoke Zollo?
Had he lost his mind?
As expected, Corleone's hard stance sent Zollo into instant rage. He sprang to his feet, his right hand going straight to his sword hilt.
"Are you fucking looking for death?"
"I'll say it one last time. There's only the lamb's head. Keep yapping, and I'll chop you up and roast you too!"
Spittle nearly sprayed onto Corleone's face. Yet to everyone's astonishment, the farmer did not retreat. Instead, he met Zollo head-on.
"I'm eating lamb leg today, no matter what!"
"Fuck!"
Zollo was completely enraged now and was about to teach this ungrateful bastard a lesson.
Then a faster black shadow lunged in from behind.
Bang!
A leather-booted foot slammed into Corleone's waist, sending him crashing hard into the mud.
It was Iggo!
"I've put up with you for a long time, quack!"
The burly Dothraki warrior stood between Corleone and Zollo, his face twisted with fury as he spat curses.
"You didn't treat Captain Vargo properly at all. Now his wound's infected and he's burning with fever. It's all your fault, you damned butcher!"
"And now you want to steal the captain's lamb leg?"
"I'll kill you!"
In full view of everyone, Iggo drew the fine steel longsword Vargo had gifted him and raised it high, ready to strike.
The sudden turn of events even stunned Zollo.
Wait. I'm the one being provoked. Why are you reacting harder than me?
"Don't be impulsive, Iggo!"
Though Zollo was furious too, he still had some sense left. Seeing Iggo about to swing, he stepped forward instinctively, reaching out to stop him.
"The captain's wound still needs this kid…"
His words cut off abruptly.
Because the sword that seemed to be slashing at Corleone suddenly changed direction halfway through and plunged straight into Zollo's unguarded throat.
"Uh…"
Zollo's eyes bulged wide, filled with utter confusion.
He tried to speak, but no sound came from his throat. He could only stare in disbelief at Iggo, unable to understand why the blade had pierced him instead.
Iggo's face was expressionless. He twisted his wrist and yanked the sword free.
Warm blood sprayed violently from Zollo's throat, and his body collapsed limply to the ground.
It all happened too fast. So fast that no one could react.
Singing, laughter, the clink of cups, all vanished.
Everyone stared, dumbfounded. Iggo, the captain's most trusted guard, had just killed Zollo, the captain's right-hand man.
Then, in the dead silence, Iggo raised his blood-dripping sword high and roared with all his strength, a shout destined to ignite the entire night.
"LONG LIVE THE BRAVE COMPANIONS!!!"
...
The shout echoed through the forest like a spark tossed into gunpowder.
Rorge and Biter reacted first. Wild joy exploded across their faces.
It worked!
By The Seven, even the strongest one, Iggo, had been turned. The deputy captain really was a fucking genius!
Victory was ours!
On the other side, Timeon, Pyg, Togg Joth, and the other veterans whom Vargo had secretly informed were utterly confused.
The slogan was right, but why had Iggo killed one of their own?
Had the plan changed, or…
They had no time to think further.
The moment Iggo's shout ended, Rorge, Biter, and the others had already drawn their weapons under his lead and charged straight at them.
Instinct for survival made them draw their swords in a panic.
Clang!
The clash of steel completely shattered the fragile peace the Brave Companions had maintained on the surface.
Those who had been neutral and clueless were now completely stunned.
They were fighting!
Why?
They did not know what was happening, but…
Iggo had shouted "LONG LIVE THE BRAVE COMPANIONS"!
And he was the captain's most trusted guard. If he had drawn his sword, then it had to mean that Timeon and Pyg's group were the traitors!
"Follow Iggo!"
"Kill the traitors!"
More voices joined in, and more men rushed into the fray.
The melee spread like a plague. In the chaos, blind obedience became the norm.
They could not even tell who the traitors were. Driven purely by instinct, they followed the strongest warrior, swinging their weapons at anyone who looked suspicious, or simply moved a beat too slow.
The camp became a battlefield.
Wails, furious roars, and the clash of blades wove together into a symphony of death.
Firelight leapt, illuminating twisted, crazed faces as warm blood splattered everywhere.
And now, beneath an oak tree far from the campfire.
When the words "LONG LIVE THE BRAVE COMPANIONS" reached them, Vargo Hoat and Urswyck both stiffened at the same time.
The forced smiles on their faces shattered instantly, replaced by the fury of betrayal.
"You damned bastard…"
Vargo's face turned pale as he instinctively reached for the sword at his waist. His movement was a fraction too slow, weakened by his condition.
"Dog!"
Urswyck, who had remained alert the entire time, reacted even faster. The moment he heard the slogan, he was convinced Vargo had been deceiving him and meant to strike first.
He roared, his hand already resting on the hilt surging with strength as the blade left its sheath and stabbed straight at Vargo's heart.
But Vargo was a warrior who had subdued even Dothraki. His reaction was lightning fast. He threw himself backward, barely avoiding the fatal blow.
It was ugly, but the sword tip only tore through the leather armor on his chest.
"Traitor!" Vargo bellowed as he finally drew his weapon, a heavy broadsword. It was not as fine as the one he had given Iggo, but it excelled at brutal chopping.
In the darkness of the clearing, the two launched into a fight to the death.
Sword light flashed, figures crossed. Every collision carried all their strength. Vargo's power and experience were still there, but the high fever had drained his stamina, making his movements sluggish and unsteady.
He panted heavily. Each breath felt like needles stabbing his lungs. Sweat mixed with blood and ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. The broadsword in his hands felt as heavy as a mountain.
Urswyck, on the other hand, moved like a slick eel. He never met Vargo head-on, using his familiarity with Vargo's swordsmanship to dodge and circle, steadily wearing down what little strength Vargo had left.
"Is that all you've got, Vargo Hoat?"
A bloodied gash marked Urswyck's face, but his eyes burned with excitement as he mocked him.
"Where's the might of the Lord of Harrenhal? Show it to me!"
As he spoke, he seized the moment after one of Vargo's exhausting swings, ducked low, and charged forward, slamming his shoulder hard into Vargo's chest.
"Urgh!"
Vargo grunted. His already unstable footing gave out completely. He staggered back and fell, the broadsword slipping from his grasp and landing in the mud a few steps away.
Seeing this, Urswyck lunged in excitement. He did not expect Vargo, as he fell, to kick out viciously, smashing into Urswyck's wrist and sending his sword flying as well.
Seizing the chance, Vargo rolled over and pinned Urswyck beneath him. His hands clamped around Urswyck's throat as he lowered his head, opened his mouth, and revealed yellowed, blackened teeth, biting savagely at Urswyck's face.
"Ahhhh!!!"
Urswyck screamed in agony as a chunk of flesh was torn away.
The pain drove him into frenzy. He curled his fingers and dug them hard into Vargo's ear, into the festering, pus-filled wound.
Squelch…
Foul pus, blood, and rotten flesh were ripped out. Vargo let out an even more horrific scream, his entire body convulsing from the nerve-searing pain.
In the mud, the two men who once stood at the very top of the Brave Companions now fought like beasts battling for mating rights, using the most primal and ugliest means to seize the right to live.
Swordsmanship, honor, dignity, all vanished in that moment.
Only naked instinct remained.
And meanwhile, the mastermind behind it all had already climbed unnoticed into a crooked tree, quietly admiring the chaos below with a satisfied smile.
"Heh… been picking apples for over ten years. Finally paid off."