Jaime Lannister!
Eldest son of Lord Tywin, Kingsguard, Kingslayer, expert at... "colliding" with his sister...
Anyway, if that guy is truly the one-handed Jaime Lannister, then the one tied up with him is mostly likely "The Beauty," Brienne of Tarth.
And the leader of this knightly order...
"I am 'Steelshanks' Walton, my lord!"
The man straddling the zebra continued to speak with a grin. "Those loyal to the King in the North all know me. I am the captain of Lord Bolton's guard."
"Greetings, Ser Walton."
Hearing that the newcomer was on the same side as his own lord, the overseer relaxed his guard completely.
After all, the Kingslayer's signature golden hair was too conspicuous. Even covered in filth, it was unmistakable.
However, he still emphasized, "But regrettably, Ser, the apples are not yet ripe. However, we can provide you and your men with some food and water."
"Shadowcats have been prowling the area lately. Traveling by night might be unsafe. You'd best set off as soon as possible..."
The overseer was experienced. Having managed the estate for a landed knight for over a decade, he believed he could handle these outsiders well.
A bunch of northern barbarians coming south to fight; plucking a few feathers from a passing goose was expected. But as allies, they probably wouldn't go too far.
The war had been raging for over a year, and Ser Finn had been called by Lord Edmure to Riverrun. He had to guard the lord's property well.
Sure enough, upon hearing that they would provide food and water, a satisfied smile appeared on Ser "Walton's" face.
"Excellent!"
"I told you all, Ser Finn is a generous man! Tonight we rest here, and set off again tomorrow!"
He turned his head and shouted to the men behind him, eliciting a chorus of strange whoops and cheers.
The group excitedly moved toward the center of the farm, completely ignoring the overseer's darkening expression.
These unruly soldiers!
The overseer cursed inwardly. He had originally intended to give them some hard bread to send them on their way, but he didn't expect these guys to take an inch when given a mile and demand to stay overnight!
He wanted to stop them, but seeing the dozen fully armed men against his two guards...
Plus, the farm was surrounded by orchards and at least five miles from Ser Finn's castle. There was no time to call for reinforcements. He could only watch helplessly as they filed in.
"Go, escort Young Master Derek back to the castle first. Quietly. Do not let these Northerners spot you!"
"Damn it... I shouldn't have agreed to bring him to the farm today."
Gritting his teeth, the overseer turned his head and whispered instructions to a guard beside him.
Hearing this, the guard nodded and turned toward a wooden hut.
However, just as the column passed the three men, Corleone, from his high vantage point, saw the leader "Walton" suddenly raise his fist and make a gesture!
Something's wrong!
He isn't "Steelshanks" Walton!
Corleone struggled to recall the plot from his previous life, his eyes widening.
That guy is...
Before he could react, as the man's hand dropped, the group that had been marching forward peacefully suddenly drew their weapons. Without warning, they slashed at the overseer and the guard beside him!
It happened too fast. The impatient expression on the overseer's face didn't even have time to fade before his throat was slit alongside the guard's, and both slumped to the ground!
Simultaneously, the group scattered with practiced coordination.
The guard who had just run off heard the commotion behind him. The moment he turned around, a morningstar smashed his skull in.
The others rode into the orchard, wantonly hunting down all the working peasants!
"What are you doing, Vargo Hoat!"
This act immediately drew a furious roar from Brienne.
Overflowing with a sense of justice, she couldn't believe these people were deranged to this extent!
"He agreed to give you food and water! You both serve the King in the North! Why slaughter these innocent people..."
"Shut up, wench!"
Brienne's answer was a merciless fist to the face.
She fell from the horse, her already dirty armor gaining another layer of mud, dragging the bound Jaime down with her.
The man who had called himself Walton, now identified by Brienne as Vargo Hoat, dismounted. He raised his foot and kicked the two repeatedly, cursing non-stop:
"Damn wench! If your Lord father doesn't give me a mountain of sapphires for ransom, I'll have every soldier in Harrenhal line up to take a turn with you!"
He kicked them several times before stopping.
Remounting, he let his horse's hooves trample heavily over the overseer's corpse as he rode toward the orchard, laughing arrogantly.
"I am the Lord of Harrenhal! The Lord said he wants apples, so today he will eat those damn apples!"
---
Corleone, hanging from the tree, looked down. Shouts of killing and screams of agony echoed from the woods, filling him with anxiety.
Exactly as he remembered. That guy wasn't Roose Bolton's captain of the guard at all, but the leader of the notorious "Brave Companions"—Vargo Hoat!
And his subordinates were a band of heinous criminals!
Early in the War of the Five Kings, this guy was first hired by Lord Tywin Lannister, then betrayed his employer to pledge loyalty to the King in the North, Robb Stark, handing over Harrenhal and receiving the title of Lord of Harrenhal in return.
But as the saying goes, a dog can't stop eating shit!
Though he gained a title and lands, he remained a bandit to his core!
I'm done for. Targeted by this bunch, not a single person on this farm will be left alive, myself included!
Although the system skill was useful, it could only be used once every seven days, and there were over a dozen of them!
Just as Corleone was frantically thinking of a way out, Vargo Hoat plucked an apple from a tree. He had spotted him and was riding his zebra straight toward him!
Damn it...
He struggled constantly, but the ropes were tied too tight. He couldn't break free and could only watch helplessly as the man arrived in front of him.
"Look what I found!"
His tone was exaggerated as he looked up at Corleone, as if he had discovered something incredibly amusing. He shouted, "A roast suckling pig!"
Hearing this, two members of the Brave Companions rode over, circling Corleone slowly and eyeing him with interest.
"Looks like someone who made a mistake."
One of them teased, "Skin's fair enough, just a bit old. Otherwise, Utt would be very interested in this lad."
The other chimed in, "Save it. That freak Utt only likes fledglings. He won't even look at anyone over twelve. They say it's a habit he picked up when he was a Septon!"
Hearing this, the first man nodded and drew a dagger from his saddle. "Seems this lad is useless then. Better to just kill him."
He moved to strike, and Vargo Hoat showed no intention of stopping him.
Or rather, from the moment they attacked, they had planned to silence everyone.
Corleone was burning with anxiety. Just as he was about to risk it all—activate his skill and take one down with him—Vargo Hoat tilted his head, revealing the gauze-wrapped ear.
He reacted instantly, shouting:
"Wait... Wait!!!"
"I am a healer, my lord! I can treat your ear!"
But Vargo Hoat turned a deaf ear. In his view, Corleone was just struggling in the face of death.
He had seen it plenty over the years; people would say any desperate lie when facing the end.
Seeing the dagger getting closer, Corleone threw caution to the wind and yelled directly, "Your ear has started to fester! If you don't disinfect it, you'll have a high fever soon. It could kill you within two days!"
With Corleone's urgent shout, the dagger was mere inches away.
Just as he was about to activate his skill, a white flash passed before his eyes, followed by a clang. The attacker's dagger fell to the ground.
"You'd best not be lying to me, lad."
Vargo Hoat didn't sheathe his longsword. Instead, he grinned savagely and rode forward, pressing the sharp tip against Corleone's stomach. "Or else, I'll make Utt make an exception..."
"Of course, my lord!"
Corleone breathed a sigh of relief and immediately swore, "I swear by the Seven! If I cannot cure your ear, may I fall into the Seven Hells!"
"No need for oaths."
Vargo Hoat sheathed his blade, took a bite of the apple, and mumbled, "You fail, I send you to hell myself, thapphire! Hahaha!"
Laughing and chewing, juice ran down his beard from his mouth. Suddenly, his expression changed, and he violently spat the chewed pulp onto the ground.
"Pah!"
"It really ithn't fucking ripe!"