Corleone's voice carried far across the wind-swept hilltop, reaching the chaotic battlefield below with surprising clarity. His tone was calm, steady, and deliberate—exactly the kind of voice that drew attention even in the midst of panic and steel.
As expected, several Northern soldiers reacted immediately. They followed the direction of the sound, urging their horses up the rise and forming a loose semicircle around Corleone and his companions. Dust rose beneath their hooves, and the metallic clatter of armor echoed sharply across the high ground.
Harag Stao was the first to arrive. His gray eyes narrowed suspiciously as they fixed on Corleone. His massive warhammer remained clenched in his fist, its head still stained with blood from the skirmish below. Even so, his expression wavered between doubt and desperate hope.
"Hey! You!" he barked, his voice rough from exertion.
"You just said you were… a doctor?"
The disbelief in his tone was impossible to miss. A man holding a warhammer did not easily trust—especially not on a battlefield. But the sight of Hogg, gravely wounded and slipping toward death, forced Stao to approach despite his uncertainty. This stranger might be the only chance to save his man.
Corleone straightened his back, though it was not naturally imposing. His posture was lifted by the subtle influence of [Dignity Lv2], making him seem composed and self-assured. He raised his chin and met Stao's gaze directly, wearing the expression of a professional who was used to being listened to.
"I already said before," Corleone replied steadily, "that I am a doctor."
Then, with just the right amount of emphasis, he added:
"And I am the best doctor in the entire Riverlands."
Stao's brows furrowed. His gaze flicked toward Jaime—still cloaked and, in the Northerners' minds, labeled a cursed "plague ghost." He recalled that Corleone had indeed claimed to be a doctor earlier. And right now, Hogg's life was slipping away by the heartbeat.
He could not afford to hesitate.
"Fine! Come with me then, Doctor!" Stao snapped. Raising his warhammer, he pointed downhill and ordered brusquely, "My man is severely wounded and needs immediate treatment!"
Corleone reacted exactly as he intended to—hesitating. His eyes drifted toward Jaime, standing quietly beside him beneath the cloak.
"But… Young Master Derick's illness…" Corleone stammered, lowering his voice anxiously. "He cannot be left unattended. I must—"
"Don't you dare worry about that damn plague ghost!" Stao snarled, cutting him off. His patience vanished, replaced by frustration and fear. "Let him wait to die on his own!"
Then, in a sudden flare of aggression, he raised his warhammer and pointed it directly at Jaime.
"Or I'll smash him right here and now so you can free up your hands to save my man! You choose!"
Steel hissed in the air as several Northern soldiers drew their longswords. Blades flashed in the sunlight, cold and merciless, all aimed at Jaime's chest.
Corleone froze, acting perfectly terrified. His shoulders sagged, and his expression collapsed into reluctant submission.
"Since… since that is the case," he said with defeated resignation, "then I will go with you."
But Stao was not finished.
Just as the horses were about to move, he shouted sharply, "Stop!"
The group halted. Stao turned his wary stare toward Brienne and the others.
"Only the doctor comes with us!" he demanded. "Your companions must stay right where they are!"
Brienne reacted instantly.
"That is impossible!" she snapped, stepping forward. Her towering form blocked Corleone like a living fortress.
"Corleone is our… the only doctor in our party! I will not let him walk into danger alone!"
Her voice thundered with authority, but beneath it was something else—protectiveness. Not just of Corleone, but of Arya as well.
Following her lead, Yigo and Worton drew their weapons, steel gleaming as tension crackled through the air. The two groups stood poised for violence, breaths sharp and eyes locked.
Stao, surprisingly, did not rage. Instead, he gave a crooked grin, revealing uneven yellowed teeth.
"Good! It seems your doctor must be truly skilled," he said mockingly, "if you're all so terrified to part with him."
After a moment of thought, he relented—partially.
"You can follow," he said gruffly, "but you stay half a league away and stand guard! When my man is cured, I will return your precious doctor!"
He lifted his warhammer meaningfully.
"Otherwise…"
There was no need to finish the sentence.
Corleone recognized the limit. Pushing further would only provoke violence. Better to retreat strategically and keep control.
"Alright. We will do as Captain Stao says," he agreed calmly.
He turned to Brienne and the others and instructed:
"Stay here and do not move. I will return once I have treated the wounded."
Then, looking directly at Jaime beneath the cloak, he added with deliberate emphasis:
"Remember—absolutely give Young Master Derick his medicine on time."
Their eyes met. A silent understanding passed between them.
Corleone mounted his horse and rode with Stao's men without hesitation.
They moved fast. Within ten breaths, they reached the wounded man.
Hogg lay pale and motionless, his skin the color of old parchment. A soldier pressed his hands desperately against the base of Hogg's thigh, but blood still pulsed through his fingers in bright red jets.
Corleone dropped to his knees and examined the wound with practiced efficiency.
[Insight Lv1] and [Surgery Lv2] sharpened his perception.
The cut was deep, on the inner thigh. The blood was bright and spurting rhythmically—blood pushed by the heartbeat.
An artery.
A dangerous one.
If he wasn't treated immediately, he would be dead within minutes.
But the cut itself was not too large. The blood loss, while severe, was not yet fatal.
He could be saved.
A strange twist of luck—terrible for Hogg, but extremely useful for Corleone. This injury gave him the perfect excuse to infiltrate the Northern unit.
"How is he?" Stao demanded, kneeling anxiously beside Hogg.
"It's tricky," Corleone replied, frowning with grave professionalism. "He has severed a major artery. The blood is flowing too quickly."
Stao didn't understand anatomy, but he understood the panic of a dying soldier. He grabbed Corleone's shoulder, voice trembling.
"Save him, Doctor! You must save him! If you save Hogg, I will return your gold dragons—no, double them!"
Corleone lifted his head slowly, letting a confident, meaningful smile spread across his lips.
He's desperate. Perfect.
He opened his medical bag, catching a glimpse of The Hound nearby—bound, hands tied, hoisted by a rope as a prisoner.
Then he retrieved a hemostat, a needle, and surgical thread. His movements were fast and precise.
"Don't worry, Captain Stao," Corleone said with calm assurance.
"Without my permission, not even the Stranger will take his life."
He looked around at the shocked, hopeful soldiers and declared boldly:
"After all, I am the best doctor in the entire Riverlands. Of all the patients I've treated… there has never been a single bad review."