After waiting a while longer in the interrogation room and seeing that Reek had been almost completely drained of information, Maester Qyburn took some written confessions to Gendry's room.
In the quiet room, Gendry had been waiting for some time.
"Did he confess everything?" Gendry asked Qyburn.
"Yes, My Lord. Reek said a lot; he isn't a sworn Bolton retainer after all, so his mouth isn't so tight," Qyburn replied.
"And those sworn Bolton retainers?"
"No need to ask. Those men are all Roose's personnel; they aren't privy to Ramsay's affairs. Besides, their mouths are very tight; they were chosen by Roose." Gendry felt those sworn retainers were of little significance. Those men, like Roose, were probably all sullen and calm. And these men only obeyed Roose, having no connection to Ramsay whatsoever.
"Let me hear about Ramsay's 'good deeds'."
"Kinslaying, rape, murder, flaying... every single one is cruel," Qyburn said slowly, then handed over Reek's confession.
Gendry looked at Reek's confession; these things were indeed unsettling. Roose was a cruel man, but The Bastard of Bolton was sadistically cruel.
Though flaying was a tradition of House Bolton, this tradition had been forbidden for centuries. Ramsay's obsession with flaying stemmed from his hatred of his bastard status and his eagerness to brand himself a Bolton.
"The right of the first night, murder—these Northerners truly are lawless," Gendry said. Roose had killed a miller for a woman and cut out the tongue of the miller's brother to prevent him from going to Winterfell and spreading rumors that might reach House Stark's ears. As for Ramsay, he was an even more extreme pervert.
"The North has always been harsh and sparsely populated; the King's word doesn't reach such distant places. House Bolton and House Umber perhaps all have such cruel customs. As for House Stark, House Stark can only turn a blind eye. Dorne is the same; customs are hard to change," Qyburn said silently.
According to the reality of the North, it's normal for them to have a centrifugal force and desire to separate in the future.
After all, in the history of the North, secession and independence are traditions, and now that there are no dragons, if the Northerners truly secede, there is a basis for it. The barbarians of the North have always been incompatible with Southerners.
"Are the lives of lords truly so much more valuable than those of servants? There should be one King, one law, one country," Gendry mused.
The feudal system is also very cruel. Nobles, high-ranking lords—lords trample on the rights of servants, and the rise and fall of nations always bring suffering to the common people. Even House Stark, how far does their honor extend? Perhaps only to some territories, not all. Was Eddard not hypocritical? Not really, because he was a great noble after all.
"Have Reek explain everything clearly, and then he has no more reason to live." Gendry's words decided Reek's fate; such a perverted person alive was just a waste of food.
"As for Ramsay, I'll go see our guest." Gendry stood up and went with Qyburn to Ramsay's room. A living Ramsay inflicted more harm on House Bolton than a dead one, constantly drawing hatred towards House Bolton.
"You've been startled, Ramsay," Gendry said, pushing open Ramsay's door. The Dothraki Unsullied outside Ramsay's door also entered the room. The Dothraki Unsullied wore bronze helmets and carried shortswords and shields.
Ramsay looked at Gendry; he hated the young warrior before him.
The plump Ramsay was indeed uncomfortable to look at, with a fleshy body, lips like a large worm, and long black hair.
"You, what do you want to do?" Ramsay saw the tall men and became somewhat incoherent.
The tall Dothraki Unsullied, the tall Gendry. Ramsay felt like he was just an insect in the shadows; his strength had originated from the protection of The Dreadfort, not from himself.
"Why don't you listen to what your good servant has to say?" Gendry asked.
Ramsay's wet, thick lips tightened; Reek had indeed told everything.
"Kinslaying, murder, rape, flaying. Ramsay Snow. For every one of your vile deeds, I can kill you," Gendry said. Every word he spoke was important, and Ramsay heard him clearly.
"Where is my Reek?" Ramsay asked, facing his fate. He didn't care about anything else; he hated being called Snow the most.
"Reek will be executed by me," Gendry said with a smile.
Ramsay gasped, then picked up his wooden stool and began to furiously smash it towards Gendry. Ramsay had not received specialized training; his martial arts were just chaotic hacking.
"Thump!" Gendry easily dodged Ramsay's attack, then delivered a heavy kick to Ramsay's stomach. Ramsay stumbled and fell, feeling his body churn. In terms of strength and speed, Ramsay was far too inferior.
"I'm going to flay you, Bastard." The Unsullied stepped forward, then pinned down The Bastard of Bolton's hands. The Unsullied's boots stomped heavily on The Bastard of Bolton's palms. The Bastard of Bolton let out a pig-like squeal, staring deadly at Gendry with those indifferent eyes.
Gendry looked at The Bastard of Bolton, "Let's play a game, Ramsay. Don't you love chasing people with your The Hound?"
The Bastard of Bolton lifted his head, an unbelievable light flickering in his eyes. The Bastard of Bolton rolled up from the ground, whether genuinely or not, it was hard to tell.
"From now on, you can try to escape this courtyard, but if I catch you, you will receive a heavier punishment. Now, begin." Gendry left the room, taking the Unsullied with him.
"Keep his guard half-loose, half-tight. Let him escape. Every time he's caught, beat him severely, but don't go too far," Gendry instructed the Unsullied.
"Yes, My Lord!" the Unsullied replied.
The room became quiet again; even the figures of the Unsullied seemed to have disappeared. Ramsay felt a panic; could this be real?
Ramsay endured his pain, and only after he felt slightly better did he slowly push open the door. All the clamor seemed to have vanished, and the Unsullied guards were also gone.
Ramsay bravely pushed open the door; now was not the time to worry about Roose's sworn retainers, as they were not loyal to him. Ramsay opened the door and then wept with joy; everything was real, and he prepared to run wildly.
But Ramsay hadn't run far before two Unsullied emerged from the mansion's entrance and forcibly dragged the fat Ramsay back into the courtyard. Ramsay was a fat bug; such a person couldn't run far.
"Thump! Thump!" The Dothraki Unsullied looked at Ramsay, then violently smashed the hilt of their shortswords into him, giving Ramsay a beating. Ramsay wouldn't die, but he would always receive a beating. Then the Unsullied threw Ramsay back into the room. There was still food and Myr gunpowder herb in the room, ensuring Ramsay wouldn't starve.
Ramsay felt as if he had fallen into a dark, eternal night. He finally understood the pain of those he had killed and beaten in the past. And now, he himself was suffering such a fate, pain, torment. They hit him with sword hilts, humiliated him with slaps, humiliating him, the heir of House Bolton.
Ramsay missed everything about The Dreadfort: his The Hound, his good boys. He had to survive to escape this purgatory.
The courtyard was silent. The sworn retainers of House Bolton were held somewhere unknown, and Reek was also gone. The Unsullied threw down the meals, then waited outside the courtyard for the cat-and-mouse game.
Ramsay began to try various ways to escape: climbing over the courtyard wall, opening the gate, he even planned to bribe the Unsullied. Ramsay had considered death, but he couldn't abandon his longing for The Dreadfort, his The Hound, those girls, his good boys.
But every attempt Ramsay made resulted in an even more suffocating beating. Day, night, evening, Ramsay's escape was helpless.
Once, twice, thrice, four times. Ramsay chose to run, then was dragged back and beaten severely.
What was hope? Ramsay even doubted if he had any hope of survival. Ramsay wailed, Ramsay was terrified, and Ramsay also felt a loneliness; the Unsullied didn't talk to him, only beat him, and they couldn't understand each other's language.
As long as Ramsay kept trying, as long as he tried to escape, the iron fists of the Unsullied would coldly smash down. The Unsullied beat him severely with shields and sword hilts, then continued to send him back to his room.
No servants, no soldiers. Just like fishing, Ramsay felt himself caught in a loop, a painful loop.
"No more running, never again." Ramsay curled up in a corner of the room, no longer daring to step out of his door.
"Home." Ramsay even felt like a fish, constantly hooked, no matter where he fled, he would always be pulled back.
Ramsay even started a hunger strike. He didn't dare to eat the meals the Unsullied occasionally threw at his door, fearing he would still be beaten.
"Who are you?" Gendry pushed open Ramsay's door. Gendry looked at the desolate and decadent Ramsay; long hair would make one look listless. Ramsay's dirty, ice-like eyes began to lose their luster; there was no light in his eyes.
"Ramsay, I am Ramsay Snow." Ramsay looked at Gendry and cried, snot and tears mixing together, looking particularly miserable. Gendry was like an insurmountable mountain to him. Every attempt he made only brought heavier beatings.
"Do you still want to run, Ramsay?" Gendry asked him.
"No, I don't dare to run anymore. I will never leave!" Ramsay curled up, not daring to look at Gendry's face or hear his voice again. He was a demon, and also a butcher.
"Strength is strength, Ramsay." Gendry looked at Ramsay. Ramsay even wanted to lick his boots, but Gendry stopped him. "Everything, if I don't give it to you, you cannot take it. You cannot escape my grasp."
"Yes. Yes," Ramsay replied.
"Write down your deeds, Ramsay."
"Yes, Lord Gendry," Ramsay said respectfully, then crawled over on the ground. He took the pen and paper from Gendry. With these things, if they got out, he knew he would be abandoned by Roose, but he had no choice. He was afraid, he was terrified, he just wanted to live.
"Who am I?" Gendry continued to ask.
"You are the King," Ramsay shouted, but when he saw Gendry's face, he immediately changed his expression.
"You are my master; Ramsay will always be your servant," Ramsay wailed, putting on a fawning expression. Ramsay knelt on the ground, like a dog trying to please its master.
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