The moment Corleone finished speaking, an exceptionally tall and broad-shouldered Northman stepped forward from among the gathered soldiers. As he removed his slightly loose helmet, a weathered, hard-lined face was revealed—stern, rugged, and marked by years of battle. Four soldiers followed closely behind him, forming a faint but unmistakable division within the troop.
Corleone's lips curved in a subtle, knowing smile.
His earlier provocation had not been random. With the help of Insight Lv.1, Corleone had already noticed that this particular group of Karstark soldiers was not unified. Whether during previous fighting, during moments of rest, or even just now while watching the coerced interrogation, there were always a handful—three to five men—who subconsciously kept their distance from the main group.
Their expressions were cold, and within their eyes flickered an almost imperceptible disdain.
And earlier, when Corleone suggested using Arya to threaten The Hound, those same men had reacted with clear disgust and outrage.
Disagreement meant division—and division could be exploited.
"Let us see, then."
The tall soldier's booming voice echoed through the forest clearing as he swept his gaze around and barked with mocking contempt, "What grand deeds are the proud soldiers of House Karstark accomplishing today?"
"Ganging up to torment an unarmed little girl?"
His tone was laced with scorn, and the surrounding soldiers stiffened. Reg immediately stepped up upon hearing this, blocking the tall soldier's path with a tense expression.
"Stop, Halson!" Reg snapped. "We are interrogating them about the whereabouts of the gold dragons!"
He jabbed a finger at Corleone. "If you want a share, then watch quietly. If you're too stupid to take money when it's offered, don't stand here pointing fingers!"
But Halson only sneered, his voice dripping disdain.
"How very clever of you, Reg. You'd raise a hand against a defenseless girl simply because a stranger spun some nonsense and waved the promise of treasure under your nose?"
He gestured toward Arya.
"Look carefully! That girl is Arya Stark—the younger sister of the King in the North. The blood of House Stark runs in her veins. For ten thousand years the Starks ruled the North, and every Northman honors them!"
His voice hardened into a cutting accusation.
"And you dare place your filthy hands upon her?"
"You truly have no shame!"
Color flooded Reg's face, and his bravado collapsed under the weight of the words. His tongue stumbled clumsily as he tried to salvage his dignity.
"Y-You… I'm doing this for the brothers! How is this bullying? What do you know of honor, or gold dragons, or—!"
But his flustered rambling only made the tension worse, and an awkward silence settled over the woods. The wind rustled through branches overhead, as if embarrassed on his behalf.
Halson curled his lip, ready to press his advantage further—but before he could, another voice cut through the standoff. This one was cold and gloomy, tinged with threat.
"You certainly put on a grand display, Halson."
Halson turned his head and saw that Stao, who had been tending to the wounded Hogg, had approached unnoticed. He stepped forward and stood face-to-face with Halson, matching his height and imposing presence.
"So, you think you're impressive just because you shout louder than the others?" Stao said darkly. "What then—if we made you Captain of the Guard of Caho City later, would you dare look down on House Karstark itself?"
Stao's voice dropped further, every word sharpened.
"Do not forget, Halson—you swore allegiance to the Sunburst, not the Direwolf of Winterfell."
His expression twisted with bitterness.
"What did the Stark family ever give us? That damned bastard king personally took Lord Rickard's head!"
Halson narrowed his eyes, but he did not back down. His voice rang firm and unwavering.
"I have not forgotten. I dare not forget the vengeance owed to Lord Rickard—not even for a moment!"
But then he shifted, and his tone changed.
"If you seek revenge against the kingslayer, I will follow. If you wish to use Miss Stark to force Robb Stark to confess his wrongdoing, I can look the other way!"
"But under my watch, to insult and torture a little girl—a Stark—with such despicable methods?"
His voice thundered.
"That is something I cannot and will not tolerate!"
"The honor of the warriors of Caho City cannot be stained!"
Stao laughed coldly, the sound harsh and mocking.
"Honor? Ever since we marched south from Caho City, you kept stopping the brothers from taking spoils, insisting that killing a few worthless commoners wasn't honorable."
He waved a dismissive hand.
"It was only a little money, so I endured it."
Suddenly his tone sharpened—like steel scraping stone.
"But today, these forty thousand gold dragons determine our future livelihood—and the means to avenge ourselves! With that fortune, I could buy a vast estate. I could even obtain a noble title—an Earl's title!"
"I am taking that gold, Halson. Not even the Seven Gods can stop me!"
Seeing Stao's greed laid bare, Halson straightened and met his gaze with fierce condemnation.
"I saw through you long ago, Harag Stao."
"You claim to seek vengeance for Lord Rickard, but in truth, all you care about is wealth!"
Clang!
Stao's patience snapped. He drew his sword in a flash, pointing the gleaming blade directly at Halson's chest.
"Would you like to test whether the edge of my sword is sharp?"
Halson's answer was immediate.
"My sword is not dull either!"
His longsword hissed from its sheath, and the two men stood locked in a deadly stare.
Tension spiked like a drawn bowstring.
Behind Stao, soldiers drew their weapons, the forest filling with the metallic hiss of steel leaving scabbards. Reg raised his blade, his face tight with agitation.
Behind Halson, his four loyal men drew their swords without hesitation, forming a smaller but resolute line. Though outnumbered, their morale was unwavering.
The air froze.
Cold moonlight glinted on raised steel, painting sharp reflections across strained faces. Each side poised to strike, ready for bloodshed.
But Corleone noticed it—the flicker.
A momentary tremor of uncertainty in Stao's eyes.
He isn't going to fight.
Corleone shook his head slightly, a little disappointed, though not surprised. They were currently south of Harrenhal—Lannister patrols could appear at any time. Unless Stao was a complete fool, he would not risk internal slaughter here.
"Stop!"
Though a part of him regretted the lost spectacle, Corleone stepped forward and spoke calmly.
"This has nothing to do with you, you shameless fellow!" Halson snapped, shooting him a glare. "Say one more word, and I'll cut you down eventually!"
Stao also glared, though relief flickered behind his eyes.
Corleone merely shrugged, unbothered.
"I simply wanted to say that I have a method that satisfies both sides."
"What method?" Stao demanded immediately—far too quickly. He sheathed his blade at once, seizing the opportunity to retreat from the brink.
Corleone kept his tone even.
"Let me return to my camp. In my satchel, I have certain preparations—special concoctions capable of prying open even the tightest mouth."
He nodded toward The Hound.
"In other words, I can extract the truth from him alone, without laying a single finger on Miss Stark."
Then he turned his gaze meaningfully between them.
"This way, Captain Stao gets the wealth he desires… and Lord Halson upholds honor, while not hindering his comrades from acquiring their rightful spoils."
Silence fell—deep and heavy.
The proposal struck precisely where it needed to.
Faces softened. Shoulders eased. Greed and righteousness both found room to breathe.
Especially for Stao.
Since Lord Rickard's death, Stao had painstakingly gathered authority within the unit, savoring the taste of command. With a dignified retreat now offered, he would not allow the troop to fracture.
And Halson—he had made his stand, defended honor, and prevented abuse. He did not wish for fratricide either.
"If I see you attempt to lay hands on Miss Stark again," Halson growled, "you know the consequences!"
With that final warning, he turned and led his men back to where they had been seated. The tension eased instantly.
Stao exhaled—his escape secured.
"Doctor, well done!" Stao declared, clapping Corleone heavily on the shoulder. "Your mind is sharper than Maester Vael's!"
Without waiting for a reply, he waved at Reg.
"You—take four men and escort him back to fetch the medicine! Now!"
"Yes, Boss!" Reg answered eagerly.
Corleone nodded, satisfied. He turned to leave—only to be halted once more by Stao's voice, now edged with suspicion.
"Wait—Doctor."
Corleone paused and slowly turned, arranging his features into just the right degree of puzzled innocence.
Stao narrowed his eyes, studying him closely.
"Why are you doing all this? What exactly is your motive?"
A crucial question.
Answer poorly, and everything unraveled.
But Corleone smiled.
A soft laugh escaped him, and his previous calm shifted into something else—something pragmatic, calculating, and undeniably believable.
"I forgot to tell you, Captain Stao," he said lightly. "I am a man who enjoys business."
"Whether it's treating Hogg, or solving your problems, I am willing to help…"
"But I never work for free."
He held Stao's gaze, letting the hook sink deep.
"If I discover the whereabouts of those forty thousand gold dragons, then the two hundred gold dragons you promised earlier will not be enough."
He let the silence stretch.
"You'll have to pay more."