Bronn (3)

"You finally told the truth, Bronn!"

"Now we can talk!"

Suleiman's voice rang out once more, carrying a trace of imperceptible amusement.

In Bronn's eyes, he was terrifying and unfathomable.

He searched his mind repeatedly.

This young noble definitely knew him!

"You killed a man when you were twelve." Suleiman tossed out these words unhurriedly.

Bronn's brain stalled.

This matter was his secret; he had never spoken of it to anyone!

Moreover, he was currently just an obscure mercenary.

How could someone go out of their way to learn about his past at age twelve?

"You... how do you know?" Bronn squeezed out the words hoarsely, his voice trembling.

Beyond shock, his eyes were filled with nothing but fear.

What exactly was the deal with this young noble?

"I know everything about you."

"So let's open up the conversation."

Suleiman smiled, not continuing to dig into Bronn's background.

In truth, the original work never mentioned Bronn's past.

The story of killing at twelve was something Bronn had told Tyrion himself.

But this was enough.

Suleiman sat down and leaned back in his chair.

"You are a rare talent, Bronn."

He extended his right hand in a gesture of invitation:

"I have a new plan, Bronn."

"A plan that can make you truly wealthy."

"Are you interested in hearing it?"

To be honest, Suleiman did not like Bronn.

As long as the price was high, this man had absolutely no loyalty.

Furthermore, this person had no bottom line.

But for the current Suleiman, he was a rare talent.

His swordsmanship was superb.

And right now, for the unknown Bronn, no one would offer a higher price than himself.

Therefore, there was no need to worry about his betrayal for the time being.

"Lord Suleiman? What do you mean?"

Bronn's heart gave a violent jolt; he licked his lips, which had gone dry from nervousness, and asked.

"My meaning is very simple." Suleiman leaned back against the chair, pointing a finger at Bronn. "I lack manpower, especially good hands like you."

There was nothing to hide.

He frankly admitted his intention to recruit him.

Bronn looked at Suleiman in silence.

"What can you give me?" Bronn finally spoke, his voice recovering the cold, pragmatic tone peculiar to a mercenary.

This was the question he cared about most.

Loyalty, honor—those were all bullshit.

Only tangible benefits could move the heart of a mercenary.

Suleiman smiled.

He suddenly felt that the young Bronn seemed somewhat foolish.

He was actually attempting to bargain with him.

"You do not have the right to choose."

"Bronn."

"Either accept."

"Or don the black cloak and guard The Wall."

"Or else! The crime of desertion! And you shall be hanged by my hand!"

Bronn fell silent; he felt as though everything were firmly within the grasp of this young noble.

Yet, he no longer had the strength to refute him.

But he would absolutely never do a thankless job.

"You must have seen my soldiers by now."

Suleiman looked at Bronn and spread his hands, his tone relaxed—it was time to offer a carrot.

"Did you notice?"

"They are all quite wealthy."

Bronn raised his head to look at Suleiman; he had indeed noticed this strange detail.

"I have an agreement with my soldiers: all spoils are split, half for me, half for them."

"Their half is divided equally based on military merit!"

Suleiman gestured for Bronn to stand up.

"I am not hiring you!"

"But with your skills!"

"In my ranks! You will earn a lot... a lot of money."

He paused, emphasizing his tone. "When the war ends."

"You can leave with your hard-earned gold!"

"Most importantly, I have given you a chance."

"A chance for you to make a name for yourself!"

"That will make your path in the future much smoother, won't it?"

This time, Bronn was truly terrified; this man knew everything.

He knew what he wanted, what he dreamed of!

"Sounds tempting." Bronn, now standing, grinned. "But the risks are also high, aren't they?"

"War is an opportunity, chaos is a ladder." Suleiman shook his head. "Besides, you have no choice."

"You can take your time to consider."

"However, I must remind you, my time is short, and my patience is limited."

"Once my patience runs out, you will be gifted a rope."

Bronn's smile froze on his face, and that flippant air vanished instantly.

He took a deep breath. "Suleiman. Ser of Foulkeep, I... I accept."

In truth, splitting spoils based on military merit.

For a mercenary, these were terms akin to heaven.

This was also the reason for Suleiman's calculation.

Given Bronn's character, a standard mercenary contract.

It was hard to believe he would remain loyal to his duties.

But this semi-partnership nature was different.

He would fight with all his might.

To get more money.

Bronn was not the type of person to be easily moved by words.

Only naked self-interest and irresistible pressure could make him temporarily submit.

"Very good, Bronn." Suleiman's voice turned relaxed again, as if he weren't the one who had just spoken. "You have made a wise choice."

"You are a smart man, Bronn." Suleiman casually pulled the dinner knife out of the table. "And I like dealing with smart men."

Bronn felt the atmosphere soften slightly and finally asked his own question.

"Do you know me? Lord Suleiman?"

"I know you, yet I don't." Suleiman answered the question with a blank expression. "I just met you."

Bronn looked completely bewildered.

"You may leave now!" Suleiman gestured toward the exit.

"One more thing!"

Bronn, who had already turned to leave, froze in his tracks upon hearing these words.

It was unclear what this young Sir Suleiman intended.

"You will offer your apologies to the soldiers you wounded—my soldiers."

Bronn took a deep breath. "I will, my lord!"

Seeing Bronn walk out, Suleiman gestured for Lushen and Roslyn to step forward.

"Keep a close eye on him," Suleiman said slowly. "However, he is an excellent swordsman; you may take this time to learn swordsmanship from him."

Lushen and Roslyn's swordsmanship possessed only the brute force of a peasant tilling a field; encountering Bronn might be an opportunity for improvement.

Suleiman did not truly believe Bronn intended to cooperate with him; such a seasoned rogue would bolt at any moment.

He possessed no aura of imperial dominance that would make Bronn fall to his knees in submission.

Furthermore, to him, loyalty was the primary requirement, even if one were otherwise incompetent.

Both men wore expressions of confusion.

Finally, Lushen spoke up:

"Master Suleiman, is he truly a deserter?"

Suleiman smiled, picked up the piece of parchment on the table, and shook his head. "There is no writing on this paper."

Roslyn's mouth fell open in even greater shock.

"Master Suleiman, do you know him?"

"You seem to understand him quite well."

He found it strange; Master Suleiman seemed to know everything about this man, yet they had never seen him before, nor had they ever seen the Old Lord interact with him.

"This man is a fine blade, but he is not a good man," Suleiman said.