This abrupt voice made everyone freeze and look towards the source.
They saw Corleone standing not far away, arms crossed, shaking his head slightly, with a look of extreme heartache and regret on his face, as if he had lost hundreds of millions.
"What do you mean, what a pity?"
This aroused the dissatisfaction of the guard, who immediately frowned and scolded: "This mad dog killed so many of our men. Falling into our hands is a gift from the Old Gods!"
"Watch your status, Doctor. Don't think that just because you saved Hogg, you can speak loudly in front of me!"
"Continue!"
With that, he waved his hand, signaling his subordinates to proceed.
However, Corleone didn't choose to stop there. Instead, he kept his arms crossed, constantly making "tsk tsk tsk~~~~~" sounds.
"Screw you!"
Annoyed, the guard turned his head to look at Corleone, drew his sword, and threatened: "You better fucking explain clearly. If the answer doesn't satisfy me, I guarantee you'll go to hell before this wild dog!"
Hearing this, Corleone just shrugged, making no comment on his words.
He didn't even spare him a glance, pacing forward leisurely until he stopped just a few steps away from the Hound.
"I've heard of this guy. Sandor Clegane, Lord Tywin Lannister's hound."
"It's said this guy killed someone when he was twelve. He once served as a Kingsguard for King Joffrey Baratheon and contributed significantly during the Battle of the Blackwater."
"Later, he was stripped of his Kingsguard duties for publicly insulting the king and deserting."
"I am not a deserter!"
Hearing Corleone recount his past so familiarly, the Hound spat angrily: "At the Blackwater, I killed more enemies than anyone! I was just tired of dying for those so-called 'big shots'!"
"I gave up that white cloak, which was dirtier than dog shit, myself!"
The Hound's roar echoed through the forest, but the Northern soldiers merely looked on coldly.
After all, they had also lost their lord and companions, not to mention that no one present was soft-hearted.
"We have no interest in hearing your bullshit tragic history, traitor!"
The guard spat on the Hound, then turned to urge Corleone: "Hurry up, kid. Don't let me hear another piece of nonsense from your mouth. My patience is limited!"
This urging seemed to work; Corleone stopped keeping them in suspense.
"I said, what a pity."
He repeated, emphasizing his tone, and looked around at the Northern soldiers: "Haven't you heard? Just a while ago, at the tourney held by the late King Robert to welcome Lord Eddard Stark."
"This Lord Sandor Clegane... was the champion!"
Having said that, Corleone paused, silently observing everyone's reaction.
Seeing the soldiers all looked confused, he thought to himself, These Northerners are truly stubborn fools. Can't they figure out such a simple logic?
Since that was the case, Corleone had to spell it out.
"If I remember correctly."
"The prize for the jousting champion... was a full forty thousand Gold Dragons!"
Boom!!!
"How much?"
"Forty thousand Gold Dragons! How many times would you have to visit the Red Mill to spend that!"
"I heard that old guy Tywin Lannister's chamber pot is made of gold. If I had that much money, I'd definitely change my saddle to gold!"
"Nonsense, I clearly heard that the shit Tywin shits is gold!"
As Corleone's words fell, a huge commotion immediately erupted among the Northern soldiers.
After all, the figure of forty thousand Gold Dragons was simply beyond any of their imaginations.
You must know, disregarding soldier quality, that was enough money to raise an army of ten thousand, or even buy the entire Karhold with change to spare!
Men die for wealth, birds die for food.
In a split second, the light of greed flickered in every pair of eyes.
All the soldiers, including the guard, began breathing heavily, staring straight at Sandor as if they wanted to swallow him alive.
"Hand over the money, Hound!"
While roaring, he roughly searched the Hound, tearing open his worn leather armor, digging into every pocket that could hide money. Naturally, he found nothing.
Aside from bloodstains and mud, not even a copper penny could be found on the Hound.
"Ragg, you fool!"
"Do you know how much forty thousand Gold Dragons is? Who could carry that much money on them!"
"So this guy spent it all?"
"Bullshit!" another soldier shouted. "How long has it been since the tourney? Not even a year!"
"Forty thousand Gold Dragons! Even if he bathed in it every day, he couldn't spend it all!"
"That's right!"
Hearing this, the guard named Ragg slapped his forehead: "This bastard must have hidden the gold! Hidden in a place only he knows!"
This incredibly correct conclusion instantly won everyone's approval.
Fists, feet, scabbards, and even picked-up wooden sticks began to rain down densely on the Hound.
"Speak! Where is the gold hidden!"
"Speak quickly, or I'll flay you!"
"Beat him! Beat him until he talks!"
Facing this torture devoid of any technical skill, the Hound clenched his teeth, choosing not to speak even if beaten to death.
He did win, and he did possess a huge fortune, but all of it was robbed by that son of a bitch Beric Dondarrion who deserved the Seven Hells!
All property was confiscated, leaving him only his horse, armor, and weapons, causing the Hound to go hungry for two days straight. This was the real reason his combat power plummeted today, leading to his capture by these trash.
But could he say it?
Admit to this bunch of Northern bastards that he, the terrifying "Hound," not only had his money robbed but was so hungry he couldn't beat them, and finally got hung up and tortured like a wild dog?
This was more unbearable than killing him!
As for him beating Dondarrion in a trial by combat?
Please, who would believe that?
There was probably no one more stubborn than the Hound once he made up his mind, except maybe a certain one-handed guy.
He let these guys beat him, just refusing to speak.
The fire in those ugly eyes didn't extinguish; instead, it burned even more fiercely due to this stubbornness and pride.
The beating continued. The soldiers became increasingly agitated as they failed to get an answer.
Seeing that if this continued, the Hound might really be beaten to death, Arya Stark, who had been tied up and thrown aside, couldn't take it anymore.
"His life can only be taken by me!"
She gritted her teeth, giving herself an excuse to help him. However, just as Arya was about to speak up, that hateful doctor's voice sounded again.
"Stop! Don't beat him anymore!"
"If you keep beating him like this, even if you kill him, you won't get a single copper."
This shout slightly awakened the crowd that was gradually descending into madness. They paused and looked at him in confusion.
"Haven't you figured it out yet?"
Corleone walked forward slowly, his finger pointing steadily at Arya Stark curled up on the ground, speaking as if it were obvious: "Why would a loyal dog of House Lannister be with the sister of the King in the North?"
"Obviously, this girl is quite important to him!"
Saying this, a sinister smile appeared on Corleone's face: "We don't need to waste energy torturing this tough-boned Hound anymore. We just need to..."
"Properly 'take care' of this Lady Stark right in front of him!"