"Want to make some extra money, Clegane?"
After thinking for a moment, Corleone's own light fell on the scarred and ferocious face of the hunting dog.
His voice was very calm, as if he was asking "Do you want to have breakfast together?"
Hearing this, the hunting dog narrowed his eyes slightly.
He was not immediately greedy or interested. On the contrary, there was a hint of vigilance in his eyes, like a beast smelling a scent near a trap.
Judging from the previous contacts, Hound believes that he already knows enough about Corleone.
After all, ever since He Jian Dao himself owed this guy a favor, whether it was looking for Amory Lochy or saving Oberyn, this man's Gold Dragon and favors were not so easy to get or repay.
"Another job for two hundred Gold Dragon?" In order to ensure his own interests, the hunting dog spoke hoarsely and nuzzled at Oberyn, who was unconscious on the operating table. "If you want me to protect this guy, I have to pay on a daily basis."
"And you have to pay first."
There was the usual rudeness and defensive sarcasm in his tone, as if to say, don't even think about sending me away with that little money.
However, Corleone waved his hand and said very confidently, "No, Prince Oberyn is safe in House of Order and does not need your protection."
He paused, and his eyes fell on the hunting dog's tall, strong, and explosive body.
The Hound is at least half a head taller than Oberyn, with wider shoulders and thicker arms. His overall body shape is closer to the powerful Warrior, similar to the Mountain. Although not as exaggerated, he is by no means an agile assassin like Oberyn.
And judging from this guy's combat prowess in the original work, if he can be taught a good lesson, there shouldn't be much of a problem.
"I plan to." Corleone said slowly, pronouncing every word clearly. "Let you replace Oberyn and fight against the Magic Mountain."
As soon as these words came out, the operating room immediately became silent.
Even Rorge was stunned. His big noseless face was full of horror, and his mouth was slightly open, as if he wanted to say, just this guy can fight the magic mountain?
The hunting dog's reaction is more direct.
His eyes were wide open, as if he had heard the most ridiculous crazy thing in his life.
"What?" The hunting dog roared loudly, and the sound exploded in the medical room, causing the medicine bottles on the wall to buzz. "You want me to fight him?"
Corleone was not frightened by the roar.
On the contrary, the smile on his face became more obvious, and there was even a hint of encouragement in that smile.
"Don't you want to take revenge? Regarding the scar on your face."
Hearing this, the hunting dog's body tensed up, his right hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, his knuckles turned white and veins popped out.
The burned left half of his face twitched, and the scars seemed to come alive at this moment, distorting as he gritted his teeth.
Because Corleone is right.
Lies cannot hurt, the truth is the sharpest knife.
That night when he was seven years old will always be engraved in his memory, deeper than any scar, causing hunting dogs to have an inexplicable fear of fire.
And that kind of heart-wrenching pain that is even colder than Far North.
"I can provide you with this opportunity." Seeing that he seemed a little moved, Corleone continued to confuse him, "Not only can you get revenge, but you can also make a lot of money."
"Think about it, in front of everyone, in front of those who have laughed at you, feared you, and treated you as a monster, knocking your brother to the ground, using your sword, your fists, venting all the anger and humiliation you have accumulated over the years."
"Then, take everything that belongs to the victor - glory, money, and... relief.
As Corleone narrated, the hunting dog stared at him, his breathing gradually became heavier, his chest heaved, and extremely complex emotions surged in his eyes.
"That's my brother." After an unknown amount of time, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "Everyone knows that he is difficult to deal with."
This sentence sounds like rejection.
But Corleone heard something else.
With the character of a hunting dog, if he really wants to refuse, he will just say "no" or simply turn around and leave.
He won't say "he's not easy to deal with", most likely he's bargaining to find a reason for himself to accept.
In other words.
"Two hundred Gold Dragon is too little." Sure enough, the hunting dog raised its neck and said the classic line that originally belonged to Corleone: "More money is needed!"
Hearing this, Corleone was stunned for a moment, after all, that was usually what he said to others.
I almost couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"Interesting." Corleone shook his head, and then said seriously, "Half done."
"What half?"
"Free Fighting Arena I will give you half of the total bet amount for the opening match."
"Half percent?" Obviously, the hunting dog was very disdainful of this number and curled his lips. "Then how much is it?"
Faced with such a reaction, Corleone was not surprised. He just told Rorge in an understatement, "Tell him what the current total bet amount is on the central handicap of the gambling house."
Hearing this, Rorge, who had been dumbfounded, suddenly came to his senses and quickly took out a small notebook from his arms. It was his habit of recording important figures at any time.
He quickly flipped through a few pages, licked his fingers, and found the line.
"As of this morning...
"The opening of Free Fighting Arena was originally scheduled for Red Viper's Revenge", and the total bet amount was two hundred and forty-seven thousand eight hundred and fifty-two Gold Dragon!"
Rorge finished speaking, and the hunting dog's expression froze.
His good eye blinked, and the muscles on the burned half of his face twitched, as if he was trying to understand the numbers.
"The more... take the less???"
"Two hundred and forty-seven thousand, eight hundred and fifty-two Gold Dragon, I counted it myself, it's absolutely correct." Rorge repeated, and straightened his chest.
"Two hundred and forty thousand..." Ignoring Rorge's proud look, the hunting dog just muttered to himself, his eyes full of confusion.
I don't know how much energy I wasted at the beginning, and I defeated countless enemies and became the champion of the martial arts competition, and only then received a bonus of 40,000 Gold Dragon.
You know, that was because the organizer at that time was the famous prodigal king Robert Baratheon. The prize money of that tournament was far higher than any previous one!
But now, Corleone is just a trial by combat, and more than 240,000 Gold Dragon of gambling money has been collected in just two days.
Damn it, is it so profitable to drive Fighting Arena?
I wish I had done this before.
"You...--." He opened his mouth and said in a dry voice, "You're fucking kidding me."
Hound Dog couldn't believe it. After all, 240,000 Gold Dragon, even if he only divided half of it, he would still get...
More than 10,000, or more than 20,000?
He was never very good at arithmetic, but he knew it was a lot of money.
Faced with the hound's doubts, Corleone just smiled. There were still two days before the opening game. Every minute he opened the handicap, Gold Dragon continued to flow in.
Although Oberyn was injured and "The Red Viper of Dorne's Revenge" could not be staged in front of the audience, with his eloquence and experience in building momentum, Corleone was very confident in making this "War of Brothers" a rare event in the entire Westeros.
After all, many of the people who came to place bets were not really here for Oberyn. In other words, Oberyn did play a role in boosting popularity, but a large part of it was due to Corleone sparing no effort to use his favor and face.
The Lake family bet ten thousand Gold Dragon, and House Stokeworth bet five thousand. It is even said that even Tywin Lannister bet ten thousand Gold Dragon through an intermediary to win the Magic Mountain.
But the biggest move was that the church pledged 50,000 yuan in the name of "Black Hand Poor Relief Foundation"!
In a sense, this is no longer a simple trial by combat.
This is a power game.
"I never joke in business." After the hunting dog had almost digested the impact of such a large sum of money, Corleone said, "But I have a condition."
"What?"
"You must win." Corleone looked directly into his eyes. "If you lose, not only will you not get a penny, but the magic mountain will kill you on Fighting Arena."
"At that time, your body will be thrown into a mass grave, your name will be forgotten, and your revenge will never be avenged."
He spoke slowly and clearly, making sure every word was engraved into the hound's mind.
"So this isn't a game, Clegane, it's a gamble."
"Use your life to bet Gold Dragon, which is enough for the rest of your life, and a chance for revenge."
"Of course you can choose not to gamble. I can also provide you with a job opportunity as a security captain at House of Order. You will receive fifty Gold Dragon every month and live peacefully."
"Or you can choose..." He spread his hands and said, "Bet big with me."
Corleone finished speaking, and the operating room fell into silence again.
The silence lasted for a long time this time.
The hound's self-reflection moved away from Corleone's face, as if hesitating, and then he grinned into a ferocious smile, with the burnt corners of his mouth tilted upward, revealing his white teeth.
"You're really good at judging people." He said, his voice hoarse but firm. "I'll take this job, Vito·Corleone."
"Remember to have the money ready. If I promise and don't see the money by then, I will burn your shop down!"
After saying that, the hound took one last look at Oberyn, turned and walked towards the door.
The operating room door closed behind you.
The light in the corridor was much darker than that of the operating room. The hunting dog walked in front, and his boots made a heavy sound on the stone floor.
Rorge followed behind, his footsteps so light that they were almost inaudible.
Neither of them spoke.
The corridor is very long, with closed doors on both sides.
This is the third floor of House of Order, the private area of Corleone. No one can come up except a few confidants.
Just when the hunting dog came to the corner of the corridor, Rorge moved.
He moved very quickly, without any warning, and suddenly rushed forward, grabbed the hunting dog's shoulders with both hands, and pressed him hard against the wall!
Bang!
His back hit the stone wall, making a muffled sound.
"Fuck you." Rorge gritted his teeth, and his noseless face came very close, breathing on the hound's face. "When you talk to Ser Corleone, you'd better be respectful!"
"That's Ser Corleone! Not your fair-weather friends who have never seen the world, the country bumpkins from the West!"
The hunting dog was stunned by the sudden attack, but he did not panic.
The hunting dog can feel the strength in Rorge's hand. It is not small. It is already amazing strength for ordinary people, but for him, it is not enough.
Far from enough.
Then he laughed.
"Let go," he said, his voice calm.
"I asked you to speak with respect!" But Rorge not only didn't let go, but tightened his grip even tighter.
He is very strong, and the brute force he developed in the street fights in Flea Bottom is enough to break the neck of an ordinary person.
But hunting dogs are no ordinary people.
He just raised his left hand. The movement looked unhappy, even a little lazy, and he easily grabbed Rorge's right wrist and twisted it gently.
Click.
The movement was so fast that it was almost invisible.
Rorge didn't even react before he felt his throat being grasped by iron-like fingers.
His eyes widened, and he instinctively let go of the arm that was holding the hunting dog and grabbed the hand that was holding his neck.
But the hound's hand remained motionless as if welded to his throat.
"Listen up, you noseless bastard."
The hunting dog hissed, and also put his face close to Rorge, with the burned skin almost touching the other person's face, and said sternly, "This is what I fucking say."
"It's been like this for decades, to the king, to the knights, to my damn brother, to everyone!"
His fingers tightened, Rorge's face began to turn red, and his eyeballs bulged.
"I don't like knights, nobles, or hypocrites who talk about honor."
"But for your Ser Corleone...
He paused and relaxed his grip slightly, allowing Rorge to take a breath. "... I'm not fucking disrespectful."
Rorge took a deep breath and tried his best to break the hunting dog's fingers with both hands, but the fingers were as if they were made of iron and could not move at all. His legs began to weaken and his eyesight turned black.
"That's the way I talk," The Hound said at last, and suddenly let go of his hand.
At this moment, several "Community Wardens" wearing gray uniforms heard the noise and rushed up, holding short sticks in their hands.
The hound took a step back, raised his hands, made a "no offense" gesture, and mocked. "So, put away your loyalty show."
"Nobles and knights never care how much their dogs bark for them, idiots."
After saying that, he stopped talking and turned around and walked towards the stairs.
Coordinatorss hesitated for a moment, and then automatically moved out of the way. After all, they remembered that this person was the friend Ser Corleone brought back in the morning.
Rorge leaned against the wall, panting.
My right wrist is still hurting. The joints are still burning from the twist just now, as is my throat. The place where the hunting dog scratched left clear fingerprints and has begun to turn purple.
Recalling the brief confrontation just now, Rorge could see that the other party was completely toying with him, just like an adult dealing with a child.
Damn...
Rorge gritted his teeth.
It's not that he doesn't know Hound. As the younger brother of the Mountain, both of them are famous in King's Landing.
Although the reputation is not very good.
But...Rorge never thinks that there is much difference between himself and the hunting dog. After all, the hunting dog's size is not as daunting and oppressive as the magic mountain.
Moreover, he always thought that he was very strong, but he was not usually very brave.
The behavior just now was indeed out of the other party's disrespect for Corleone's words. On the other hand, Rorge also meant to test whether the hunting dog really had the power to fight the magic mountain.
After all, this guy doesn't look like he can defeat the Magic Mountain.
But the hunting dog's performance today slapped Rorge hard.
It turned out that he was so vulnerable in front of the real Warrior.
"Are you okay, steward?" A young Coordinators came forward and asked cautiously.
"It's okay, we are just having fun." Rorge waved his hand and motioned for them to leave.
Just kidding?
Coordinators Although they were a little hesitant, they still obeyed the order and left.
When Rorge was the only person left in the corridor, he slowly slid to the ground, leaned his back against the cold stone wall, and closed his eyes.
Too weak.
It seems that these days, I have been busy with the opening of Fighting Arena, calculating the flow of tens of thousands of Gold Dragon, and the force I once relied on for survival has become unfamiliar.
Thinking like this, Rorge stood up supporting the wall.
The pain in his body reminded him of his powerlessness, but it also ignited something he thought had been extinguished long ago.
Ambition.
Not ambition for power or money, but something more innocent.
The desire to become stronger.
He wants to find a coach.
No, more than one.
He wanted to find the best instructor, and he wanted to learn swordsmanship, fists, daggers, sticks, and all the skills that could kill people.
He wants to become strong enough that the next time someone dares to disrespect Ser Corleone, he can silence him forever.
Instead of being pushed against the wall like a child like today.
Maybe...
Rorge walked towards the stairs, and a perfect candidate suddenly appeared in his mind.