Roose Bolton did not leave the castle. Instead, he received Corleone and his group in a small reception room.
The fire in the fireplace burned quietly, casting dancing shadows on everyone's faces.
Roose Bolton sat in the main seat. As he looked at this group, which could arguably be called the strangest combination in Westeros, a trace of confusion flashed across his pale face.
At the same time, he understood why Walton had worn such a strange expression when reporting to him.
A woman more muscular than a man, wearing mud-stained armor, ugly and flat-chested.
Beside her sat the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister.
This Kingsguard appeared quite wretched at the moment. Dirty, long golden hair stuck to his forehead. His once-handsome face was full of haggardness and fatigue. His right hand was missing from the wrist down, wrapped in gauze tied with a bow.
But despite his desolate state, at least his life was not in danger, which made Roose Bolton breathe a sigh of relief.
His gaze moved to the dark-skinned Dothraki warrior. Bolton recognized him as one of Vargo Hoat's men. Even while eating, the man's eyes constantly scanned the surroundings.
However, the most eye-catching one was the fourth person.
Roose Bolton's gaze finally rested on Corleone. The man's ragged clothes were no different from an ordinary farmer's, even stained with mud and blackened blood.
He sat there quietly, yet his posture was extraordinarily relaxed, even... carrying an elegance completely incongruous with his appearance.
This unique temperament made Bolton feel slightly uncomfortable, like a venomous snake hiding in the dark suddenly encountering one of its own kind, immediately raising its guard.
Even more bizarre was that this "farmer" was inexplicably shrouded in an indescribable, special aura.
That calm sense of control, as if he saw through everything, reminded Bolton of when he followed King Robert in the rebellion and saw Lord Tywin Lannister for the first time.
Too bizarre.
Bolton frowned slightly.
Even the gods couldn't explain why these four incongruous people had come together.
Inside the reception room, the atmosphere fell into silence for a time. Only the occasional crackle of firewood in the fireplace and another tooth-aching sound repeated.
Scritch-scratch~~~~
Scritch-scratch~~~
Jaime Lannister gripped a dinner knife tightly with his left hand, struggling against the aromatic roast beef in front of him.
However, the beef seemed very tough and unwilling to be eaten by the guest. The blade scraped against the porcelain plate, making a harsh and irritating sound.
He tried several times, his cheeks even flushing slightly from exertion. He began to grit his teeth, yet he still couldn't elegantly cut off a whole piece of meat. Instead, he splashed gravy onto the tablecloth.
The cutting sounds grew louder, instantly adding a touch of absurdity to the originally serious reception room.
"Enough."
After many repeated attempts, Brienne beside him really couldn't stand it anymore. She picked up a fork and firmly pinned down the piece of beef in Jaime's plate, providing him with a solid pivot point.
"Thank you, non-friend."
Jaime tilted his head very politely. His tone was bland, but he deliberately emphasized the last two words.
Clearly, he still held a grudge over Brienne's earlier declaration drawing a line between them.
However, thanks to her, he could finally eat smoothly.
Cutting off a small piece of beef and putting it into his mouth, the long-lost, tender, and juicy sensation blossomed on his taste buds. The simple seasoning of black pepper and salt mixed in—for a traveler who had gnawed on hard bread and salted meat for a long time, it was simply supreme delicacy.
Jaime couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly, savoring it carefully.
Refreshing.
His appearance of being totally immersed in the satisfaction of food made the coolly observing Roose Bolton even more puzzled.
This was definitely not the state a prisoner in an enemy camp should have, nor did he look like a cautious fugitive.
"If I remember correctly, Ser Jaime."
Finally, Roose couldn't help but remind him, "Theoretically, we should still be in a hostile state right now."
"Lord Edmure Tully has offered a huge bounty of one thousand Gold Dragons for your capture."
" Yet you not only swagger into Harrenhal but also enjoy the food I provide with such ease, as if you're on a picnic. Isn't that taking me a bit too lightly?"
Hearing this, Jaime didn't answer immediately. Instead, he speared a whole chunk of beef with his knife and began to tear at it directly with his mouth.
After all, if Corleone's plan failed, at least he should have a few good meals first.
"Are you going to take me back to Harrenhal to claim the reward, Lord Bolton?"
While chewing the beef in big bites, Jaime asked back, "If you want to do that, you can have someone tie us up right now."
"But I think the bounty of one thousand Gold Dragons might not be fully redeemable."
Saying this, he waved his right hand in front of Roose's eyes. "Look, your hostage is no longer intact."
These words were both a fact and a probe.
Jaime pretended to be nonchalant, but in reality, he was secretly observing the changes in the other's expression.
On the road, Corleone's instructions echoed in his mind:
"Remember, Jaime, Roose Bolton is an extremely utilitarian person. The more aggressive he appears, the more it shows he is weighing things in his heart, waiting for the highest bid."
"What he really wants to discuss isn't what he can get by handing you over to Robb Stark, but looking forward to getting greater benefits from your father."
Sure enough, Jaime's arrogant attitude didn't anger Roose.
He didn't even directly answer the question about the bounty. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, trying to add a hint of oppression to himself, and threatened:
"The pain of a severed hand doesn't seem to have dulled your sense of humor, Ser Jaime. Perhaps I could chop off your other hand too and send it to Robb Stark."
"I think he would be very happy to see this special 'gift.' After all, your nephew... or son, chopped off his father's head."
As soon as these words came out, even with Corleone's prior warning, Jaime still felt anger.
He gripped the small knife tightly and stabbed it onto the table with a thud, his emerald eyes staring viciously at Roose.
"Don't force me to cut out your tongue, Roose Bolton."
"Those guys from the Brave Companions were your subordinates, right? They cut off my hand. When I return to King's Landing, I can very well tell my father that all of this was at your instruction."
"Heh..."
Hearing this, Roose Bolton just smiled coldly. "I could also send your head back to King's Landing separately. I hope you'll still be able to talk nonsense in front of Lord Tywin then."
At these words, the atmosphere instantly became somewhat tense.
Walton behind Roose couldn't help but grip his sword hilt. Brienne and Iggo also tightened their grips on the small knives in their hands simultaneously.
Just as the tension between the two sides reached a breaking point, a voice sounded suddenly and appropriately.
"Please forgive Ser Jaime's loose tongue, Lord Bolton..."
"After all, you really can't ask someone who has just experienced a huge trauma to maintain too much rationality, can you?"
The voice wasn't loud, even somewhat low and husky. It flowed out slowly and clearly; every word seemed carefully considered, carrying heavy weight.
As the voice fell, Roose Bolton's gaze shifted sharply from Jaime to the "farmer" who had been sitting quietly aside, just finished his meal, and was elegantly wiping the corner of his mouth.
From the moment he entered, this person had shown a composure completely incongruous with his ragged clothes. But in Bolton's deeply ingrained hierarchy, this still couldn't change the other's lowly origin.
Why would a farmer dare to speak up at such a time, interrupting the conversation between him and Jaime?
He glared at Corleone, then looked at Jaime, only to see the latter speak nonchalantly as if relieved of a burden: "Please forgive me, I've been too tired recently."
"Please discuss the following matters with my personal advisor, Lord Vito Corleone. He has full authority to represent my intentions."
With that, he adopted a posture of "I'm too lazy to discuss these troublesome matters" and refocused on fighting the beef on his plate.
Personal advisor?
This term immediately gave Roose a sense of absurdity, almost thinking the Kingslayer had developed hysteria after suffering a huge blow.
A farmer could represent the eldest son of Casterly Rock with full authority?
What kind of joke was this!
His eyes were sharp as knives, seemingly wanting to peel back Corleone's ragged coat, certain the man was likely a charlatan.
However, under Roose's scrutinizing gaze, Corleone just finished his simple post-meal cleanup.
The white linen napkin was placed gently on the table. Every movement was methodical, precise as a ritual.
Then, he adjusted his posture slightly, performing a tactical lean-back into his chair.
Corleone's body sank into the broad shadow of the high-backed chair. The flickering firelight from the fireplace happened to illuminate only below his waist, while his upper body, especially his face, was mostly hidden in deep shadow.
Only those pitch-black eyes calmly observed the world outside.
The entire reception room seemed to fall silent suddenly. Roose felt his breathing actually hitch slightly!
He stared at the other in disbelief, shocked to discover that the presence radiating from the figure hidden in the shadows was climbing at an alarming speed, faintly suppressing him, the Lord of the Dreadfort, in return!
This was absolutely not something a farmer could possess!
This was an aura that could only be nurtured by occupying a high position for a long time!
Impossible!
Roose's heart was making waves of shock. After a triple exclamation of surprise, he still tried his best to maintain the calm on his face.
Only those pale pupils contracted slightly uncontrollably.
In the shadows, the corner of Corleone's mouth hidden in darkness curved up almost imperceptibly.
This was exactly the effect he wanted.
On the way to Harrenhal, he had unhesitatingly poured the Gold Dragons looted from the Brave Companions into the system and drawn a quite excellent skill.
— [Majesty Lv2]!