Gendry stared at the open cell door, his feet rooted to the spot like they'd been nailed down.
He had never imagined freedom would arrive like this.
It came too suddenly, too violently, thick with the stench of blood. Not far away, the dead soldier's throat still gurgled, pumping red onto the stone.
He was a blacksmith. He was used to fire and the steady rhythm of hammer on steel, to building things, not destroying them.
"Time doesn't wait, bastard."
Corleone's voice yanked him back to reality. That calm tone felt completely out of place amid the chaos.
Gendry lifted his head and looked at the strange man in front of him.
He had called himself a Lannister envoy, bringing gifts and plans for Stannis. Now he had smashed into the dungeon, killed the guard, and thrown the door wide with zero emotion in his eyes.
Guess I'd better get used to this bloody world fast, Gendry thought. He sucked in a breath and stepped out.
"You're the little shit who led the enemy here!"
A furious roar exploded from the next cell. Gendry spun around to see Davos lunging against the bars, finger stabbing toward Corleone like a dagger.
Firelight danced across the smuggler's weathered face, every wrinkle twisted with rage.
"I knew it! You were never a Lannister envoy!"
"First you come to 'negotiate,' lulling us to sleep, then the fleet slips in under cover of night. This whole thing was your plot! You bastards never understood honor!"
The logic sounded solid. Even Gendry took an instinctive half-step back, shooting Corleone a fresh look of suspicion.
Yeah. Corleone had landed on Dragonstone in broad daylight, and the night attack started the same evening. What were the odds?
But Corleone just tilted his head and rolled his eyes at Davos, like his patience for stupidity had finally snapped.
"Use the brain in your skull, Ser."
His voice carried a trace of irritation, as if the answer was so obvious it didn't deserve words. "If this was my scheme, do you really think I'd set foot on this island myself, risking Stannis chopping my head off at any second?"
"Even if there were dragons here, it wouldn't be worth the gamble, you fool!"
He snapped the insult without hesitation, then glanced at Gendry. "And what exactly do I gain if Stannis loses?"
"What I want is a living king who owes me a favor—one I can do business with anytime—not a pile of rubble being trampled by Lannister boots!"
"If Tywin wins, the glory goes to his army and his commanders. I'm just a nameless messenger who almost got killed by mistake. Which side's interests are bigger? Isn't it obvious?"
Gendry's expression softened. He was clearly half-convinced.
Davos's face stayed tight. His knuckles were white on the bars.
"Then… what the hell is really going on?"
Fists clenched until the bones cracked. Both men stared at Corleone, Gendry's eyes wide with desperate curiosity.
Corleone sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. Why don't you two get it yet?
"Simple. The sky is blue, gold is yellow, and the human heart is black."
"And me? I got sold out by that old bastard Tywin."
"He sent me here on purpose—used my head to lower Stannis's guard, make him think King's Landing was still hesitating, still probing, still looking for a way out that didn't involve war."
"Then, while your attention was glued to me, the shiny little chess piece, he launched the full fleet assault under cover of night."
Corleone spoke without a shred of betrayed anger, like he was discussing the weather.
He even sounded almost admiring. "Not only did he lull Stannis into dropping his guard, he also got rid of me in the process. That's fucking… inhuman."
The dungeon went quiet except for the distant clash of steel.
Davos lowered his head, accepting it.
Gendry stared at Corleone, feeling his entire view of the world tilt violently.
He had joined the Brotherhood Without Banners only to be sold for coin. Then the red woman had tricked him into her bed and taken his virginity… only to use his blood for her spells.
Every time he had burned with the fire of betrayal, wanting to scream, to smash something.
But this man knew he had been played as a discarded pawn, trapped in a death trap, and he was terrifyingly calm.
"You were betrayed," Gendry blurted. "How the hell are you not angry?"
Corleone looked at him like he'd asked the stupidest question in the world, then the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Angry?"
"Anger is an expensive emotion, kid. It burns away your reason, blinds you, and leaves you chewing on already-swallowed shit when you should be figuring out how to stay alive."
He took one small step forward. The firelight cut sharper lines across his young face, already marked by hardship, but his eyes were clear as glass.
"This world—especially the corner we're standing in—is a slaughterhouse where everyone sells everyone else."
"Loyalty has a price. Oaths have cracks. The brother who fought beside you yesterday might be the one sliding a knife between your ribs tomorrow."
"As for me and Tywin Lannister, our partnership was never that solid. He uses me to do the dirty work the Lannisters can't be seen doing. I borrow his name and resources to reach my own goals."
"Mutual exploitation. That's all it ever was."
Corleone spread his hands with a casual shrug. "I just didn't expect him to go this hard this time. No exit ramp left at all."
"With Tywin's style, when he moves, it's for the kill. If I'm right, the fleet surrounding Dragonstone right now belongs to House Redwyne. Stannis is finished."
He said it lightly, but the weight behind the words was crushing.
Stannis's defeat meant Dragonstone would fall. The last legitimate Baratheon power would be wiped out. And everyone in this dungeon—including Gendry, the bastard carrying King Robert's blood—might not live to see tomorrow.
Gendry felt a reluctant spark of respect. He had thought his own betrayals were tragic enough, but here was a man who could calculate life and death with ice-cold precision.
Corleone's calm made every angry outburst Gendry had ever had feel childish.
"You coming or not?"
Corleone's voice cut through his daze. "Clock's ticking, kid."
Gendry snapped back to himself and stepped forward, survival instinct crushing every other thought.
Still, his eyes drifted to the Onion Knight in the next cell.
Davos sat on the floor, head down, staring at the four severed finger bones scattered in front of him. Firelight painted half his face. No expression.
"Ser…" Gendry whispered.
Davos had been one of the few who never looked at him like he was dirt. He had once risked everything to help him escape this place.
Davos finally raised his head. He looked at Gendry first—complicated eyes—then at Corleone. He studied that calm face for a long moment, as if making one final calculation.
The air felt thick. Outside, the sounds of battle grew louder.
"East side of the dungeon," Davos said suddenly, voice rough but clear. "Go in, take the third left at every fork. At the end it looks like a dead-end wall, but there's an old drainage tunnel behind it. Hasn't been used in years. Not many know about it."
"It runs out under the cliff to the reef beach. At low tide you can climb down the rocks. I keep a small boat there. Maybe you two can sail away."
Corleone raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected help from the loyal Onion Knight, and he certainly hadn't planned on offering any in return.
He nodded once.
"Thank you."
"Take the boy. He doesn't belong here." Davos turned away, shoulders hunched and lonely.
Corleone didn't waste another second.
"Stay close," he told Gendry, then yanked open the heavy dungeon door.
The corridor was pure chaos—shouts, running feet, the ring of steel.
Corleone stepped over the dead guard, then immediately dropped to one knee, pulled the longsword from the corpse's belt, tested its weight, and shoved it into Gendry's hands.
The hilt was cold. Heavy. Gendry's fingers closed around it.
"Know how to use it?" Corleone asked.
"No."
Gendry had forged plenty of blades for lords, but he had never swung one in anger.
"No problem." Corleone didn't sound disappointed. "Grip it tight. Stay behind me. Don't fall behind."
"Somebody rushes you, don't overthink it. Swing like you're hammering steel. Horizontal, vertical, whatever feels right. Hesitate and you die."
Gendry nodded hard, both hands locked on the hilt. The cold metal gave him a sliver of courage.
Corleone glanced back into the dungeon one last time, eyes lingering on Davos's turned back. Then he stepped through the doorway.
Just as his left foot crossed the threshold, he flicked something back into the cell.
A soft ding.
It landed right at Davos's feet.
Davos looked down. An iron key lay there in the firelight.
He stared at it for a long time. No expression. Just a slightly faster rise and fall of his chest.
Finally he reached out, picked it up, stood, walked to the cell door, and turned the key.
Click.
The door swung open. Davos stepped out into the free air that smelled of smoke and blood.
He looked once in the direction Corleone and Gendry had gone, then turned back inside. He crouched, carefully gathered the four finger bones one by one, as gently as if they were jewels.
From his coat's inner pocket he pulled a clean piece of linen, wrapped them carefully, tucked the bundle away, and patted the pocket.
Then he strode out without looking back.
The corridor outside was a madhouse.
Shouts came from every direction. Gendry had never been this close to real battle. His skin prickled. His sword hand shook.
Corleone moved fast. Gendry stumbled after him, but something felt wrong.
"Ser, are we going the wrong way? Davos said—"
"I know what he said."
Corleone didn't slow down or turn around. "That path's an option. Then what, kid? Jump off a cliff into freezing water?"
He slipped through an archway, checked the empty side passage, kept moving. "Even if his precious boat is still there, do you know how to sail?"
Gendry opened his mouth, then shook his head.
"Exactly." Corleone clapped once. "I don't either."
"We might get it floating, but we'd never make it go where we want. No food, no water, no charts. Two lives on a tiny boat and an unpredictable sea, praying the wind takes us to shore?"
He pushed open a half-closed door and waved Gendry through. "I never—and I mean never—bet my life on luck."
"Luck's a whore. Sweet one day, drags your corpse to the bottom the next. The only thing you can count on is this."
He tapped his temple.
Gendry understood. Corleone wanted control, not to drift and hope.
It felt risky, but Gendry shut his mouth and followed, gripping the sword tighter.
He was just an apprentice blacksmith. He was used to taking orders. And ever since he'd met Corleone, he'd felt this man was the smartest person he'd ever seen.
Following a smart man couldn't be wrong.
The next stretch proved it.
Corleone moved through the unfamiliar castle like he had a map burned into his skull. He chose the right turns before they even reached the forks, avoiding the main passages and the loudest fighting.
He would freeze before an intersection, signal Gendry to be quiet, and seconds later footsteps and clashing steel would echo exactly where they would have walked.
Twice they nearly ran straight into patrols, but Corleone spotted them in time and pulled them into shadows.
Unbelievable.
It was like the man could see the future.
Gendry had no way of knowing—and never would—that in this world some people had something called a "cheat." With [Insight Lv3] active, Corleone's senses were simply sharper than normal. Spotting danger early was just Tuesday.
The smooth escape started to loosen Gendry's nerves. He even began to trust blindly.
Stick with Corleone and everything turns out fine.
He was starting to zone out when Corleone's voice snapped like a whip.
"Stay sharp, Gendry!"
The man ahead stopped without warning. He didn't turn around, but his tone was deadly serious.
"The easy part's over."
Gendry froze, sword up, eyes darting.
They stood in the middle of a wide stone corridor. Nothing looked wrong.
Then footsteps pounded from both ends at once.
Two groups appeared simultaneously—seven or eight men each.
Ahead: Stannis's soldiers in chain and leather, stag crests on their chests. They looked battered, armor bloodied. Leading them was a middle-aged knight in a half-helm with a fresh cut on his cheek.
Behind them: another seven or eight, but their gear was uniform and high quality—deep purple armor, grape clusters embroidered across the breastplates.
"Redwyne," Corleone murmured.
Gendry's stomach dropped. The famous Redwyne fleet from the Arbor. Two hundred ships strong.
Both groups wanted the same intersection. Both spotted the other at the same moment. Swords cleared scabbards. Crossbows came up.
A standoff.
And Corleone and Gendry were trapped right in the middle.
The Stannis knight frowned and barked, "You two! Which side are you on?"
Gendry's mouth went dry. He glanced at Corleone and almost blurted, "He's Lan—"
"We're Davos Ser's men, my lord!" Corleone cut in fast, stepping in front of Gendry. "King Stannis sent us to count the emergency grain from King's Landing. Then these bastards attacked and we got separated from the main force!"
The knight's suspicion eased. Davos's people made sense. The ragged, terrified-looking kid beside this calm man fit the picture.
"Get over here. Now. Stay clear of those bastards."
Corleone didn't hesitate. He grabbed Gendry and pushed through the Stannis soldiers, who opened a path for the two "non-combatants."
Gendry's heart was still hammering as they reached the back of the line. He stared at Corleone with pure awe.
That lie was perfect. Seamless.
But the men in front of them were Lannister allies. Now they were standing with Stannis?
Why?
No time to wonder. The two groups were closing in.
"Kill the traitors!"
The knight's roar shook the corridor.
"Leave none alive!" the Redwyne officer shouted at the same time.
Steel met steel. Blades bit flesh. Screams filled the air.
Firelight flashed on swinging weapons, painting wild shadows on the stone.
Gendry's blood surged. He raised his sword.
A hand clamped on his shoulder.
"What are you doing?"
He turned. Corleone's calm eyes met his.
"Helping!"
"Helping?" Corleone looked at him like he was an idiot. "Have you actually started thinking you're one of Stannis's men?"
Gendry remembered—he was a prisoner, not a soldier.
"Then… what do we—"
"Watch."
Corleone let go and stepped in front of him. "This is their fight, not ours."
Gendry swallowed and waited.
The knight fought like a demon, cutting down two Redwyne men in seconds.
But his soldiers were exhausted and out-equipped. One by one they fell under disciplined Redwyne steel.
The last Stannis soldier took three spears at once and dropped.
Only the knight remained, back to the wall, armor cracked, blood everywhere, chest heaving.
Four Redwyne soldiers advanced, the cold-faced officer in front.
The knight's sword hand trembled, but he held steady.
Corleone moved.
The knight's eyes lit up—then he shouted, "Fool! Stay back! Get to the basement under the stonemason's tower! Take Lady Shireen and run!"
Corleone ignored him completely. His gaze was locked on the Redwyne officer.
The officer raised a hand, halting his men. He studied Corleone, sensing danger.
The knight tried to rise but took another slash across the thigh and dropped to one knee, gasping.
Three blades thrust toward him.
At the last instant a blur cut in.
The officer barely got his sword up. The impact numbed his entire arm; his blade nearly flew away.
The other three soldiers turned on Corleone.
He moved like he had eyes everywhere—sidestep, hilt to throat, spinning slash.
Two dropped dead before they hit the ground.
The officer and the last man roared and charged.
Corleone dropped low, drove his sword up through the soldier's jaw and out the back of his skull.
The officer's blade was still coming down. Corleone parried, twisted, and the edge kissed the officer's neck in a clean, almost gentle draw.
Blood fountained.
The officer clutched his throat, eyes wide with disbelief, then collapsed.
Ten seconds. Four men dead.
The corridor went silent.
The knight stared, panting, unable to process what he had just seen.
Corleone flicked blood from his sword and walked over.
"You… why didn't you help sooner?" the knight rasped.
Corleone extended a hand. "Save the questions. Stand up. If you still want to do your duty and get Lady Shireen out of here."
The name hit like a spark. The knight's eyes cleared. He looked at the bodies, then at Corleone, and made his choice.
He used his sword as a crutch and pushed to his feet, blood still running down his leg.
"…Follow me."
He limped toward the far end of the corridor, dragging his wounded leg.