Corleone had indeed spoken too soon.
When he peeled the gauze off Vargo Hoat's ear, the sight made his brain buzz.
It was... utterly absurd.
How absurd?
Put it this way: his ear looked like it had been torn off whole by some wild beast, but he had forcibly stuck it back on and then wrapped it tightly with gauze!
Looking at the remnant of an ear, which was already severely infected, oozing pus, and turning black, Corleone's stomach churned violently. But he still relied on his solid professional knowledge to make an assessment.
The blood supply to the torn cartilage of the ear was completely cut off. Forcing it back on only turned it into a piece of necrotic foreign matter pressed tightly against the wound, perfectly blocking pus drainage and creating a sealed bacterial petri dish!
Typical post-traumatic tissue necrosis combined with severe infection!
This was a textbook example of botched treatment. The consequences were far more serious than simply losing an ear!
Isn't this just asking for death?
Although Corleone wished this brutal bastard would die sooner rather than later, if he really died, Corleone probably wouldn't live much longer himself.
After all, the shining blades of the man's subordinates were waving right under his nose!
"What are you staring at? Get to work, kid!"
Seeing Corleone hesitate, a skinny man brandishing a short blade nearby grew visibly impatient and urged him violently.
From their earlier conversation, Corleone learned that this man was named Urswyck, the deputy commander of the Brave Companions.
"My lord."
Corleone forced himself to calm down and explained steadily, "The situation is very serious. The ear you pressed back on has gone necrotic. It must be completely removed immediately along with all the rotting flesh. Otherwise, the sepsis will enter your blood, causing a high fever..."
"Wench!!!"
Before Corleone could finish, Vargo pointed furiously at Brienne and cursed, "You damn wench! You bit off my ear! I'm going to cut off your ears and stuff them into your ugly cunt!"
"Heh..."
Facing Vargo's threat, Brienne wasn't afraid in the slightest. She sneered, "That is a maiden's punishment for one who attempts to despoil her virtue."
Her mockery made Vargo even angrier. He stood up and unleashed a barrage of kicks and punches on Brienne.
Facing his companion's plight, Jaime beside her remained motionless, head still hanging low, his thoughts unknown.
Seeing this, Corleone deduced what might have happened between Brienne and Vargo earlier and couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
This leader of the Brave Companions must be truly desperate to try and eat anything.
However, it seems he didn't succeed. Otherwise, given Vargo's nature, Brienne wouldn't still be wearing armor right now.
No, she wouldn't be wearing anything at all.
After beating her for a while, Vargo's anger subsided a bit. He turned back and sat down heavily in front of Corleone, staring at him threateningly. "You better know what you're doing, kid!"
"Rest assured, my lord. I am confident."
Corleone swore confidently, but inside, he had no confidence at all.
Eight years of medical school, residency rotations... he had participated in debridement and suturing and acted as an assistant. But handling this level of infection and tissue adhesion independently, and under such terrible surgical conditions?
Even his mentor would probably be flustered.
"I need hot water!"
Whether he could cure this guy or not didn't matter. What mattered was bluffing his way through for now and ensuring his own survival first.
He didn't hold back, turning his head and shouting orders to several Brave Companions members: "Boiling hot water, clean cloth boiled in that water, salt, honey, an oil lamp, and a sharp knife or dagger!"
"It would be best if you could find some spiderwebs or clean moss!"
Corleone's sudden commands left the men momentarily stunned. However, seeing his subordinates about to get angry, Vargo grinned. "Do as he says!"
"The way this kid talks reminds me of Qyburn."
---
About half an hour later.
Inside the wooden hut, only sounds of "sizzle" and "snip snip" could be heard.
Corleone was fully focused, using a red-hot blade to quickly cut away the rotting flesh on Vargo's ear.
It wasn't an ideal tool, but it provided basic sterilization and hemostasis.
The small knife severed the adhered fibers while simultaneously cauterizing and sealing the blood vessels. His movements were extremely cautious, ensuring he didn't tear the area where blood vessels were densest at the base of the ear, which would cause massive bleeding.
Because if anything went wrong with the surgery, the two Brave Companions members beside him would definitely chop him into pieces.
Vargo Hoat, the patient, remained motionless.
Of course, this wasn't because he was tough. It was because early in the surgery, unable to bear the pain, he had been drinking non-stop until he finally passed out drunk.
A patient drinking heavily during surgery... if my mentor saw this, he'd flay me alive.
But in this environment, where even basic sterility is impossible, no one can ask Corleone to do better.
Time passed minute by minute. Finally, a large chunk of tissue, including the necrotic ear and surrounding rotting flesh, was completely removed, revealing a relatively fresh wound bed underneath.
Corleone dared not rest. He immediately performed a second round of cleaning with hot saline water, then applied honey and bandaged it.
In these medical conditions, high-proof distilled alcohol was unobtainable, so he had to settle for the next best thing. Fortunately, there was plenty of honey on the farm.
Its high sugar content could absorb moisture from bacteria, inhibiting their growth; most bacteria found it difficult to survive in it. Corleone had done similar experiments in his previous life.
Bandaging complete, he was mentally exhausted. His legs gave way, and he sat directly on the floor.
He had independently completed a difficult debridement surgery under harsh conditions, but Corleone felt no joy.
After all, debridement was only the first step.
Next, would the wound heal smoothly?
Would there be a Pseudomonas infection?
Would he get tetanus?
In a world without antibiotics, he couldn't guarantee whether the patient would suffer a postoperative infection.
Of course, at least for now, the surgery was very successful, and his life should be safe.
As for whether Vargo Hoat would start running a high fever in a few days and then angrily chop him, the doctor, into pieces as a sacrifice...
Corleone couldn't worry about that much. After all, he didn't plan on staying with these vicious bastards for long.
Thinking this, he subconsciously touched the Gold Dragon in his pocket.
"Quick work, kid!"
Just then, a large hand landed on Corleone's shoulder.
Deputy Commander Urswyck stared with sickly red eyes, grinning as he leaned in close. Corleone could even see the strange dark blue veins bulging on the back of his hand.
"Looks like the surgery was a success, right?"
Hearing this, Corleone smiled along and agreed, "It appears so, my lord!"
But contrary to his expectations, the smile on Urswyck's face froze instantly, turning ferocious as he grabbed Corleone by the neck!
The guy was strong. He kept applying pressure, choking Corleone directly, making him feel the distinct shadow of death.
He could only grip the Gold Dragon in his pocket tightly with his right hand, ready to activate the Gambit of Fate at any moment.
"Let him go, Urswyck. The boss's wound still needs this kid to treat it!"
Fortunately, the burly man nearby spoke up in time.
He was covered in scars and wore bells in his hair. Seeing Urswyck turn a deaf ear, he immediately drew the arakh at his waist and threatened, "Let go!"
"Heh..."
Hearing this, Urswyck glanced at the man, sneered, and released Corleone.
"Truly a loyal dog, Iggo."
"Back in your stinking Dothraki Sea, if you had been as loyal to your Khal as you are now, maybe you wouldn't have been hunted down and forced to flee to Westeros, eh?"
Facing Urswyck's mockery, the warrior named Iggo said nothing, just raised his head and stared at him.
The two stared at each other for a moment. Urswyck, finding it boring, sneered again. "Just stay here and lick your master's boots, Dothraki dog."
"I'm going out to find some fun!"
With that, he turned and left the wooden hut.
Corleone clutched his throat, coughing repeatedly. A large hand suddenly appeared in front of him.
He looked up, grasped Iggo's outstretched arm, and stood up.
"You cured Vargo. Urswyck is very unhappy. He thought you would kill Commander Vargo with your treatment."
The Dothraki explained to Corleone very bluntly, "He has wanted to be the commander for a long time."
"So that's how it is."
Hearing this, Corleone nodded. He didn't say much, but he firmly etched this information into his mind.
It seems the Brave Companions aren't a unified block. Perhaps I can use their internal strife to stir up some trouble.
"Thank you."
"Dothraki do not say thank you."
In response to Corleone's sincere thanks, Iggo spoke stiffly, "Until we return to Harrenhal and old Qyburn takes over Vargo's treatment, you must ensure he stays alive."
"Otherwise, I will kill you directly."
"Rest assured. You just saved my life. I am certain we can become friends." Corleone nodded and said with a smile:
"I never refuse a condition proposed by a friend."
"I believe in friendship and am willing to show my friendship first."
Hearing Corleone's answer, Iggo seemed a bit surprised.
He had been running around Westeros for over a decade. Flowery sentences like these were usually only heard from the mouths of noble lords.
With the straightforward thought process of a Dothraki, Iggo felt he really couldn't understand this scrawny peasant in front of him. But he also instinctively sensed that Corleone was fundamentally different from those who had been slaughtered earlier.
After thinking for a moment, Iggo picked up a piece of oatcake from the table nearby and handed it over.
"Eat, Westerosi."
Saying this, he pointed to the corner where Jaime was tied up with Brienne.
"When you are full, if you still have energy, you can take a look at that man's injury."
"Vargo forbids us from treating him because he offended him."
"Then why do you..."
Seeing the confusion in Corleone's eyes, Iggo continued to explain, "But his father is Lord Tywin Lannister. People say even the shit the Duke shits is gold."
"I do not want a pile of shit, but if it is gold, no one can refuse. So he cannot die."
"Among the Dothraki, a man whose arm is cut off rarely survives."
Saying this, he looked straight at Corleone. "Can you do it? Ensure he does not die on our way back to Harrenhal?"
Hearing this, Corleone looked at the oatcake in his hand, took a big bite, and then grinned. "I said, I never refuse a request from a friend."
"But I will not force my friendship on those who value me as nothing. When the day comes that I need your help, I hope you will not hesitate to lend a hand, my friend."
"You are called Iggo, right?"
"Remember, my name is Corleone."
"Vito Corleone."