Walking on the soft soil of the farm, each step was accompanied by an uncomfortable, viscous stickiness. It felt slimy.
As he lifted his feet, he could hear a faint, wet "squelch."
Corleone couldn't tell if what clung to his boots was wet mud or blood plasma that had cooled, coagulated, and seeped into the soil.
The fruit trees in every direction were hung with the bodies of the hired farmers who had once sweated alongside him in Ser Finn's orchard.
Those shadows dangling from the branches swayed slightly in the night breeze, like overripe fruit hanging from the trees.
Corleone didn't dare look around. He stared straight ahead, acting like a complete stranger, his heart seemingly unmoved by the tragic fate of his fellows.
His status within the Brave Companions hadn't substantially changed just because he treated Vargo. He was still a prisoner who could be executed at any moment, merely one who was temporarily useful.
However, this status wasn't enough to give Corleone the chance to move freely.
Perhaps when Vargo Hoat woke up from his drunken slumber in the wooden hut, Corleone would be hanged from an apple tree without reason.
Freedom?
Non-existent.
"Escorted" by a bandit to the edge of the woods, the two stopped.
"Go in, Doctor."
The noseless Rorge jerked his chin.
He was somewhat hunchbacked, heavy-set, and covered in black hair, looking more fierce and evil than anyone else in the Brave Companions.
But one truly couldn't judge a book by its cover; this guy happened to be the most polite among this gang of bandits.
---
For this meeting, Corleone had rehearsed his speech countless times in his mind.
But unexpectedly, when he made his request to Rorge, his guard, the man agreed directly without even asking, saving him a lot of trouble.
"Thank you very much for bringing me here, my lord."
Corleone bowed sincerely, his voice steady.
"Don't mention it."
Rorge grinned, placing a large, hairy hand on Corleone's shoulder. "I never refuse a doctor's request. After all, no one can guarantee they won't get hurt, right?"
"Go on, Urswyck is inside. But I suggest you wait until he's finished before speaking. That guy hates being disturbed when he's having fun."
As he spoke, his smile grew brighter, and his heinous face actually showed a trace of kindness.
"Your kindness will be etched in my heart, Lord Rorge."
Hearing this, the corners of Corleone's mouth turned up. He returned the smile and nodded slightly.
He didn't waste any more words. taking a deep breath, he tried to tread lightly as he walked alone into the dim woods.
After navigating around a few apple trees, a small, relatively open clearing appeared ahead. In the center of the clearing, a mass of white blubber was tied to a thick tree trunk.
His age was probably between ten and thirteen, but his massive size made him look like a deformed adult.
Corleone recognized him at a glance: Ser Finn's only son, Derek.
The landlord's idiot son, Corleone evaluated silently.
Not far in front of him, Urswyck was completely immersed in his "game." Young Master Derek, fatter than a pig, had been stripped to the waist and tied to the tree like a hog waiting for slaughter.
Urswyck wasn't using a sharp weapon, but a sharpened wooden stick, leisurely poking and prodding the boy's fatty flesh. Blood mixed with fat flowed out.
Listening to the suppressed screams and pleas for mercy, a look of sickly satisfaction appeared on his face.
"As a doctor, Lord Urswyck, allow me to offer you a professional suggestion."
Corleone didn't follow Rorge's advice. Instead, he boldly stepped forward and spoke, "Your efficiency is too low. It's easy to send him into shock from blood loss or pain. If he loses consciousness too early, it becomes boring!"
Urswyck, holding the wooden stick, didn't even have time to be angry. He froze.
He had tortured many people, but this was the first time someone had used this tone to offer professional advice on his torture methods.
"...What did you say?"
He almost thought he had misheard, frowning as he turned to look at Corleone.
Corleone shrugged, then pointed at the messy wounds on Derek's body, speaking calmly, "Shallow cuts are painful, but massive bleeding dilutes the pain sensation and easily induces shock."
"Destroying areas dense with nerve endings, like fingertips or armpits, does produce intense pain, but it lacks sustainability."
As he spoke, he seemed to inadvertently move closer. "If you want to obtain more lasting, profound feedback..."
"I suggest you avoid major blood vessels and organs. Try piercing non-weight-bearing muscle groups, like the front of the thigh or the upper arm. Control the depth to half a finger or a finger's length, avoiding the femoral and brachial arteries."
"This causes continuous burning pain and functional impairment without being immediately fatal."
His description was so clear and calm that even a veteran like Urswyck felt an inexplicable chill.
But following that came a huge excitement and curiosity at discovering a "fellow traveler," even an "expert."
Now, this is called professionalism!
"Damn... Doctor, you're a fucking monster!"
He lowered the wooden stick, staring at Corleone. His eyes revealed a mixture of surprise, appreciation, and intense interest. "I like it! Go on!"
"Please give me a dagger."
Walking up to Urswyck and extending his hand, Corleone's tone was calm and matter-of-fact.
Raising an eyebrow, Urswyck deftly pulled a small knife from his tunic and handed it over.
Taking it, Corleone walked up to the little fatty tied to the tree. Looking into the boy's eyes filled with despair and hatred, he spoke softly.
"I do not hate you, Young Master Derek."
"Even though you always liked to whip us along with the overseer, used your weight of over three hundred pounds to crush the hired farmers, and rode us like horses."
"Remember? You crushed two people to death and crippled three others."
Seeing Derek's eyes turn confused and fearful, Corleone shook his head with seeming regret.
Seems he doesn't remember.
But that's normal. This kid's intelligence looks lower than average. Based on Corleone's guess, it's likely due to inbreeding.
It is said Ser Finn married his own cousin.
"I do not hate you."
Corleone repeated, "What I am about to do has nothing to do with revenge. It is just a necessary business transaction."
"Of course, no business deal can benefit everyone. Someone must make a sacrifice."
"Like you."
Squelch~~~~
The dagger quickly plunged into the thigh, twisted, and was pulled out, avoiding all major blood vessels.
Derek let out a wretched howl, his body convulsing violently, but his consciousness remained exceptionally clear as he endured the continuous, sharp agony.
"See."
"This way, he can suffer for a long time, but won't die immediately."
Turning around, Corleone handed the bloodstained knife back to the dumbfounded Urswyck. His tone carried a hint of instruction, like he was conducting a medical demonstration.
"This is what I meant by control and efficiency."
Urswyck was stunned.
The bloody dagger was right in front of him, no longer in the victim's body, yet the little fatty was still convulsing and wailing violently. That continuous pain couldn't be faked.
Professional!
Too professional!
"Teach me!"
Urswyck licked his lips, his eyes full of thirst for knowledge and the excitement of violence. "Doctor, I want to learn this!"
The corners of Corleone's mouth lifted slightly.
Step one: Establishing the identity of "one of us." Success.
"You may call me Vito Corleone, Lord Urswyck."
"Rest assured, I will teach you everything."
He smiled as he placed the bloody dagger in the other man's hand. Then, changing the subject, his calm smile filled with a strange persuasiveness:
"But torturing an insignificant fatty is a trivial path."
"Don't you want to apply this 'precision' and 'control' to a grander goal?"
"For example... deciding who is truly qualified to sit on the seat of the Lord of Harrenhal forever?"