There was no skill description again, but from the literal meaning, it was clear enough.
[Majesty Lv2].
Although it was another auxiliary skill that didn't seem to directly enhance combat power, leaving Corleone, who yearned for more direct strength deep down, slightly disappointed, the improvement it brought was tangible.
Presence—this thing was mysterious, invisible, and untouchable, yet it truly existed.
It often played a decisive role in negotiations and dialogue. Its effect could even far surpass thousands of troops fighting on a battlefield.
Sometimes, a person could be penniless and dressed in rags, yet just by standing there, they could inexplicably convince people, make those around them follow willingly, and even die for them.
This was the immense advantage beyond the material level brought by presence, especially for Corleone, who currently had no power or background.
The enhancement of [Majesty Lv2] was causing this marvelous transformation in him.
It wasn't created out of thin air but amplified and externalized the insight from modern society ingrained in his bones, the calmness forged through life-and-death trials, and the confidence of strategizing, in an unprecedented way.
He was still wearing those ragged linen clothes stained with mud and dried blood, but in anyone's eyes, the sense of calm control radiating from within Corleone faintly surpassed those nobles who relied on fine clothes and titles, even carrying a composure that some kings lacked.
This internal transformation was directly reflected in his subtlest gestures and words.
At this moment, every word and deed of Corleone made listeners involuntarily convinced and ponder the weight of his words.
If he had possessed this [Majesty] while dealing with the Brave Companions earlier, many plans would undoubtedly have been implemented much more smoothly.
"Lord Bolton..."
Corleone paused slightly. Roose Bolton could even feel the gaze from the shadows seemingly piercing the darkness, locking firmly onto him.
That gaze wasn't fierce, yet it made Bolton, who was accustomed to being awed, feared, or fawned upon, feel a trace of extremely subtle discomfort.
As if he were being offended to his face, yet he had to summon twelve points of spirit to deal with it.
He couldn't help but adjust his sitting posture, his expression becoming focused, listening intently to the other's next words.
"I am a person who loves making friends."
"Admittedly, you are loyal to the King in the North, and currently in a hostile relationship with Ser Jaime, but I believe that in this world, no one easily refuses friendship."
Corleone's tone was steady as he spoke word by word:
"But similarly, I also believe that true friendship does not come from gifts or begging, but is born from an equal exchange. That kind of... common interest that both sides can see clearly and is beneficial to both."
"I don't deny it."
Roose looked at Corleone seriously, his tone earnest. Clearly, he had truly placed Corleone in a position of equal dialogue with himself.
In the strictly hierarchical Westeros, an Earl engaging in an equal dialogue with a farmer was almost inconceivable.
This was the effect produced by [Majesty Lv2] superimposed on Corleone.
"So, my lord."
Corleone continued, "Ser Jaime and I came here not to beg for your protection and mercy, but hoping to discuss such a 'friendship' that would be greatly beneficial to both of us."
"If you don't object, I can explain to you how to take the first step in establishing this friendship."
He threw the question back. It was both respect and a further probe.
Although judging from the progress in the original plot, this Lord of the Dreadfort very easily sided with Tywin and acted decisively and ruthlessly, showing almost no mercy.
But Corleone knew well that Roose's ambition was far more than what appeared on the surface.
Sure enough, Roose Bolton didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stared at the shadow enveloping Corleone, as if trying to see through the darkness and discern what thoughts this farmer harbored.
But unfortunately, the other party seemed confident; he couldn't see anything at all.
After a long while, Roose spoke softly:
"I am all ears."
This wasn't just a polite remark, but a very clear signal.
It represented the official start of "fair" negotiations between the two sides, even if this fairness was built upon completely unequal military force.
But Corleone, through the charm of language and his own presence, had exchanged for this opportunity for fair dialogue.
Having made initial progress, Corleone's face hidden in the shadows still showed no expression. He just slowly extended a finger:
"First, a 'gift' full of sincerity."
"Gift?"
Roose narrowed his eyes slightly, revealing a very playful expression.
"Correct, a gift."
Corleone repeated, explaining with a certain tone, "Vargo Hoat, and his Brave Companions."
"They occupy Harrenhal, nominally loyal to the King in the North, yet they loot wantonly in the Riverlands and flay innocents, ruining your reputation."
"They are like leeches attached to your robe, constantly sucking blood, and could turn on you at any moment."
Roose retorted, "But I quite like leeches."
Hearing this, Corleone knew the other wasn't lying. After all, according to the original text, this guy was very keen on "leech therapy."
As the name suggests, it means placing leeches on the body from time to time to suck blood. He believed this could clear the bad blood from the body and promote longevity.
"As a professional doctor, my lord, I feel I must remind you."
Corleone's expression didn't change as he answered calmly, "Occasionally using leeches to clear bad blood from the body is indeed a good method, but... the fear is that one day they grow big and strong, refusing to come off the skin."
"At that time, even if you have enough strength to remove them, you might lose a layer of skin."
His logic was clear, his tone still declarative without any doubt.
"And through our efforts, this group of leeches has been removed, clearing a potential internal threat for you."
"This is the first 'gift' I bring you."
Roose Bolton listened quietly, his pale fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair.
Then, he responded with his characteristic cold voice, "Oh?"
"According to you, I really should thank you properly, Lord Corleone."
There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, but he didn't deny that the destruction of the Brave Companions had positive significance for him. However, that was as far as it went.
After all, a "gift" of this magnitude wasn't enough to make him relent.
Corleone was not surprised by this.
He paused slightly, then calmly extended a second finger: "Second, Earl Bolton, let's talk about the... cause you are currently loyal to."
"The King in the North, Robb Stark."