On the edge of the chaotic battlefield, Jaime Lannister and Brienne stood back to back.
The dagger in his left hand exerted constant force, and the tough rope snapped with a twang. Brienne struggled, and the bonds came loose.
They regained their freedom, but the sight before them left them momentarily dazed.
The camp had turned into a slaughterhouse. The Brave Companions had fractured into several groups, hacking at each other frantically, indiscriminate of friend or foe.
Firelight danced, illuminating twisted, ferocious faces. Blood and severed limbs were everywhere.
"Which side should we help?"
Brienne's blue eyes were full of confusion.
Faced with such chaos, even with her high martial prowess, she didn't know where to start.
Jaime flexed his freed left hand, his emerald eyes sweeping over the battlefield as he scoffed, "Who cares? Just kill anyone in sight!"
"They're all bandits who deserve the Seven Hells anyway. Cleaning them up will freshen the air in the Riverlands."
Hearing this, Brienne nodded in full agreement.
Before being kidnapped by these guys, she had seen and killed some bandits and villains, but never a group that disgusted her so much.
The Brave Companions seemed to embody all the evils of the world.
Just as she prepared to join the fray, a sturdy figure stumbled in the melee and fell right at Brienne's feet.
Brienne looked down, and the two immediately locked eyes like Xiahou Dun meeting Yang Jian.
"Waaaagh!!!!"
"Waaaagh!!!"
Both roared simultaneously, but Brienne's voice was noticeably louder and more majestic. She reacted extremely fast, spreading her broad arms and locking the opponent's throat in a rear naked choke!
The man was robust too and struggled constantly, but to his horror, he found he couldn't break free!
This woman's strength was ridiculously immense!
Modern medicine proves that choking someone unconscious takes at least thirty to forty seconds, but now every second counted.
While the two were in a stalemate.
Squelch—
A dagger easily penetrated the gap in the leather armor, plunging deep into the man's heart, ending the fight cleanly.
"Killing requires a weapon, my lady."
Jaime pulled out the dagger, wiped the blood on the dead man's clothes, and raised an eyebrow at the slightly panting Brienne.
"Your method is too inefficient."
However, facing his help, Brienne looked at the corpse on the ground, then at the dagger in Jaime's hand, frowning deeply, her face full of disapproval.
"That wasn't chivalrous, Kingslayer."
She curled her lip, bent down, and picked up the longsword the enemy had dropped.
Before Jaime could retort, she roared, "Waaaagh!!!!" and charged into the battlefield.
Clearly, being tied up all these days had suffocated her.
"Tch."
Called "Kingslayer," Jaime spat unhappily. Watching her retreating figure, he didn't rashly follow.
Does this woman have room for anything in her brain besides honor and duty?
Talking about chivalry with these guys in this hellhole?
Are you kidding me?
Just then, a calm voice sounded above his head.
"Don't be a hero if you want to live. Just stay alive, Ser Jaime Lannister."
Jaime looked up sharply. Corleone had climbed onto a large tree behind him at some point and was looking down at everything from above.
Firelight cast mottled shadows on his face, obscuring his specific expression, but one could feel the calmness in those bottomless black eyes.
"When time passes and circumstances change, heroes... seem a bit foolish, don't they?"
Corleone's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange persuasiveness, as if stating a simple fact.
Jaime was stunned for a moment, then scoffed. He looked toward the shadows in the distance, his voice clear and powerful: "I cannot agree, Lord Corleone."
"Some things, even knowing they are foolish, knowing they cannot be done, knowing they will cost everything... there are still reasons why they must be done!!"
...
Under the oak tree, the struggle had ended.
Vargo Hoat spat out a piece of flesh, panting heavily. His left eye was now just a bloody, empty socket.
He won.
He killed the traitor, biting through the opponent's windpipe like a beast, but he paid the price of an eye.
Staggering up from Urswyck's corpse, Vargo was terribly weak. High fever and excessive blood loss from his wounds made him dizzy and almost unable to stand.
Staring ahead, the camp was still filled with shouts of killing. Everyone was slaughtering each other like madmen, attacking anyone around them with weapons.
Watching the Brave Companions he built with his own hands self-destruct before his eyes, Vargo didn't step forward to stop the infighting. Instead, he chose to turn and leave directly.
In his current state, even protecting himself was difficult; he had no strength left to suppress this rebellion.
Vargo stumbled out of the woods. Scanning the ground, he suddenly spotted his broadsword.
Instinctively, he bent down to pick it up. However, just as his fingertips were about to touch the hilt, a mud-stained boot stepped on the blade of the broadsword.
Simultaneously, a sharp, cold sensation came from his neck, pressing against his chin and forcing Vargo to lift his head.
As his gaze moved up, Vargo's single remaining eye finally saw clearly.
The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister.
This guy had obtained a longsword from somewhere. His remaining left hand gripped it tightly against Vargo's neck. Dirty golden hair stuck to his forehead, and his emerald eyes held no warmth in the shadows.
Although his tall frame was somewhat gaunt from long imprisonment and injury, standing there now, he looked like an insurmountable wall.
Vargo froze.
Then he grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth, and mocked indifferently, "Heh, look here. Isn't this our noble Ser Jaime Lannister?"
"What, don't want your other hand either?"
Saying this, his gaze swept over Jaime's empty right sleeve. He tried to straighten up, displaying his dignity as Commander, but his constantly swaying body betrayed his extreme weakness.
Jaime stood there quietly, clearly capturing the fleeting panic in Vargo's single eye.
"I have never seen anyone as brazen as you, Vargo Hoat."
His voice was steady, yet sounded like he was pronouncing a death sentence on a guilty man. "People always curse, saying someone should go to the Seven Hells, but I truly feel... that place suits you perfectly."
Hearing this, Vargo spat a mouthful of bloody saliva. His remaining eye flashed with malicious light as he cursed, "You are no nobler than me, Kingslayer!"
"You are a traitor. Your hands are stained with the king's blood. We are the same kind!"
"Come on, stab me! I'll wait for you in hell. Your place there has probably been ready for a long time!"
He roared, trying to create momentum with curses of mutual destruction.
However, Jaime easily saw through this false courage.
"What a pity."
The eldest son of Casterly Rock shook his head slowly, his tone carrying a solemnity and firmness bordering on pity.
"I am not as shameless as you, Vargo Hoat. Even facing a despicable wretch like you, I am willing to give you a chance for a fair duel."
Then, under Vargo's incredulous gaze, Jaime actively took a small step back and removed his foot from the broadsword!
"Pick up the sword."
Jaime's voice suddenly rose as he ordered, "I said, pick up the sword!"