Janos Slynt's head was still swimming, and he paid no attention to the person outside the door.
When he saw Davion ignore him and turn to look elsewhere, anger surged through him again, and he roared:
"You fucking bastard! You dared hit me! Crouch down and beg for mercy right this instant, or I'll cut you down!"
Before Davion could speak, Tyrion's teasing voice rang out again, carrying a hint of contempt:
"Well, if it isn't Ser Shitstain! Why aren't you keeping order at the Hand's Tourney? What brings you to a brothel for a bit of fun instead?"
"Come, let me see. Just who is our Deputy Commander of the Gold Cloaks planning to cut down?"
Only then did Janos hear the voice clearly. It sounded familiar, and he instinctively turned to look. When he recognized Tyrion Lannister, his whole body shuddered, and the ferocity on his face vanished without a trace.
Tyrion might not have been favored by Tywin within House Lannister, but outside it, his status as a Lannister son was enough to make most people wary. Janos was naturally no exception.
He hurriedly forced a fawning smile onto his face, paying no heed to the stabbing pain in his right cheek, and spoke in a humble tone:
"Lord Tyrion! It's Slynt, not Shitstain. You've remembered my name wrong! Are you here for some fun too?"
Tyrion's gaze swept over Janos's badly swollen right cheek, then the blood and teeth on the floor, before finally settling on Davion's face.
A faint smile rested on Davion's face, making everything self-evident.
Tyrion understood and teased him:
"Oh, yes, yes, Deputy Commander Slynt. What a mouthful your name is! I thought I just heard you say you were going to cut someone down?"
Janos hurriedly pointed at Davion. "It's this little..."
He pointed at Davion and was about to curse again, but upon meeting Davion's icy gaze, he hastily changed his form of address.
"It's this little... this young gentleman. He slapped me for no reason and knocked out all the teeth on this side of my mouth! I'm going to arrest him in accordance with the law and maintain order in the capital!"
Tyrion curled his lip, his tone tinged with mockery:
"Oh, so that's what happened!"
"Luckily, all you've done is anger the new Hand's Tourney champion, Lord Davion, Earl of Harrenhal."
"Had it been me, a Lannister, you wouldn't have lost just a few teeth. You probably wouldn't have kept your head."
Janos froze at those words, his eyes widening. He turned to Davion again, his voice filled with disbelief:
"He... he's the champion of the Hand's Tourney?"
"The genuine article."
Tyrion nodded, his tone gradually growing colder.
"If I were you, Ser Janos, I wouldn't dare provoke him! Not only is he the Earl of Harrenhal, he's also a good friend of mine, Tyrion Lannister! Do you think you can afford to offend us?"
Janos Slynt trembled inwardly. His lips moved, but he could not utter a word.
He was not yet the commander he would become two years later, wielding full authority over the Gold Cloaks and acting without fear.
Facing Tyrion, he still lacked confidence.
Tyrion chuckled.
"What's this, Ser Slynt? Still not planning to leave? Are you waiting for me to have someone escort you out?"
Janos looked at Tyrion's icy gaze, then shot Davion another resentful glance. In the end, he gritted his teeth, pressed his lips together with a cold snort, and made for the door in disgrace.
Just as he was about to step outside, Tyrion's voice came from behind him again:
"Ser Janos, remember this. I don't want to see you in Shataya's brothel again. Understood?"
Janos Slynt went rigid. Without turning back, he nodded repeatedly and fled the brothel even faster.
Tyrion cast a contemptuous glance at his retreating figure and snorted, then turned around, his face instantly breaking into a smile.
He spread his arms and walked toward Davion.
"Well, my lord champion! You've only just returned to the brothel, and you've already run afoul of the Deputy Commander of the Gold Cloaks. Quite an accomplishment."
"If Lord Tyrion hadn't appeared in time, you might already be locked in a dungeon, living on prison fare!"
Davion smiled and shook his head.
"If you hadn't been here, that Shitstain fellow would already be a corpse!"
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. Thinking Davion was putting on a brave face, he could not help reminding him:
"Then the consequences would have been serious! The title of Earl of Harrenhal alone wouldn't protect you!"
"You'd face judgment from His Grace the King. At best, exile; at worst, beheading."
He stopped before Davion and lightly scratched his chin with one hand, pretending to ponder.
"For assaulting the Deputy Commander of the Gold Cloaks, you'd at least be sent to the Wall, don black, and spend the rest of your life in the Night's Watch."
"How tragic! You wouldn't be able to visit brothels anymore!"
Davion smiled.
"No, no, no. I'm innocent!"
"If the king really puts me on trial, I'll demand a trial by combat!"
"I trust the Seven will prove my innocence!"
Trial by combat was a judicial procedure reserved for the nobility of Westeros, deeply bound to the faith of the Seven.
If an accused person demanded trial by combat in public, it was difficult for a king, a Hand of the King, or a liege lord to refuse.
After all, on this continent that worshipped the Seven, refusing trial by combat was tantamount to admitting one did not believe in the Seven's justice, inviting public doubt and scorn.
Davion naturally knew how to judge the circumstances as well.
Given Robert's temperament, he would most likely be delighted if a trial by combat really took place. After all, he would get to watch another thrilling fight.
But if an unpredictable madman like Joffrey were on the throne now, Davion would not have taken such a risk.
Hearing this, Tyrion knew that although Davion professed faith in the Seven, he was actually just like him and did not believe in such nebulous things at all.
He could not help bursting into laughter:
"Hahaha! If the Seven knew you were using them as a shield, they'd surely perform a miracle in the night and come kick your arse!"
"Whatever the case, I still owe you my thanks, Lord Tyrion."
Davion said with a smile:
"Everything here tonight is on me. Drink and enjoy yourself as much as you like!"
"Good! Now that's how a champion should act!"
Tyrion's eyes lit up, and he said excitedly:
"Having money really does make a difference! Tonight, I'm drinking the most expensive wine, several bottles of it, and I'm not leaving sober! Hahaha!"
The night deepened, and it was past ten.
Davion was lying on the large bed in a luxurious private room, laughing and playing with five pretty girls.
Shataya needed to attend to the guests out front and would only be able to join him in the latter half of the night.
Davion had just finished a round of play with the five girls and was taking a break.
Suddenly, someone shoved the door open with a bang, shattering the room's intimate atmosphere.
Seven men in red leather armor and red cloaks walked in. A golden lion was embroidered on their cloaks: they were none other than House Lannister's personal guards.
Shataya followed anxiously beside them, her face pale and her tone pleading:
"My lords of House Lannister, if you need anything from Master Davion, you can simply tell me. There's no need to be so rough and disturb our honored guests."
The guards ignored Shataya entirely and walked straight to the bed. Staring coldly at Davion beside it, they barked:
"Davion Whent, is it? Get up, get dressed, and come with us!"
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