As his words fell, the entire Arena instantly went quiet. Gasps rose all around, as though everyone wanted to suck the air dry and suffocate the people beside them.
But... a thousand Gold Dragons!
That amount was outrageous!
It was enough money to drive everyone in Flea Bottom mad!
Over a thousand Gold Dragons on a single bet-even the Lannisters did not wager like that!
Such a staggering wager made even some of the nobles dressed up in their finery crane their necks to look, trying to see which family's fool dared squander money like this, daydreaming of getting rich overnight.
After years of war, in King's Landing's current economic climate, there was certainly no shortage of desperate wastrels who had gambled away their ancestral property and hoped to stake everything they had left on a single comeback.
Last month, for instance, the eldest son of House Kever had thrown down five hundred Gold Dragons here in one go, setting this year's record for a single wager.
Now, it seemed that record was about to be broken again.
On his tall stool, the clerk's hand jerked, and he nearly dropped his charcoal pencil.
A thousand Gold Dragons!
That was their revenue for an entire month. If they could pocket that money, the boss would have enough to buy a title and lands!
When that happened, perhaps the boss would be so pleased that his bonus would pay for at least several nights on the Street of Silk!
They had to fleece this fat sheep!
With that thought, he hurriedly raised his head and met Rorge's eyes.
Clatter!
This time, the charcoal pencil really did fall.
"R... R... R-r-r-r..."
As though he had seen a ghost, the clerk slid off his tall stool and landed on his backside, pointing at Rorge, unable to get a complete sentence out.
Seeing his panic, Rorge grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth.
"Long time no see, Ma Ji."
"Rorge!!!"
At that grin, he screamed and scrambled backward several paces. "You... weren't you arrested by the Gold Cloaks and taken north with the Night's Watch? I saw them chain you up and load you onto the wagon myself!"
"How did you..."
"Because I missed all you 'good brothers' so much, Ma Ji."
Rorge bent down and stared hard at Ma Ji, licking the corner of his mouth as he sneered in a thoroughly perverse tone, "So... I crawled back out of that damned hell!"
That tone frightened Ma Ji even more. He clutched his head and kept retreating, and a few drops of urine even seemed to leak into his trousers.
The three burly men nearby did not seem to know Rorge, but from Ma Ji's behavior and their conversation, they roughly guessed that there might be some bad blood between them.
Before Rorge could advance any farther, they dutifully closed in and surrounded him.
"Get lost, you noseless freak!"
Their leader growled, "If you're looking for trouble, you've come to the wrong place. Leave now, or I'll break your arms and legs and throw you out like a dog!"
"Hey! Hey!"
Under their shoving, Rorge raised both hands and took half a step back, but his face was full of mockery. "Show some respect for the rules, friends!"
He shouted, drawing more eyes. "I'm here to give you money! What, has the Blood Pit gotten so rich it won't even take a thousand-Gold-Dragon wager anymore?"
"Or is that bastard Ralf afraid he won't have the money to pay if he loses?"
"Just say so! He may not have any balls, but I do. Back when I ran this Arena, I never turned anyone away!"
Hearing this, the three burly men frowned and did not dare act rashly for the moment.
Because the Ralf on Rorge's lips was the owner of this Arena, and from his tone, he not only knew Ralf well, but apparently... had once owned this place himself?
By now, however, the people around them had begun talking.
After all, refusing Rorge's wager would damage the Arena's reputation.
Just as they found themselves in a thoroughly difficult position-
"Who said I wouldn't take it?"
A slightly hoarse but powerful voice rang out from behind the crowd.
Rorge turned to look, and the packed crowd actually parted of its own accord to make a path.
The newcomer looked to be in his forties, with a slender build and an overly ornate purple velvet coat that seemed entirely out of place in these surroundings.
Most striking was the cane in his hand, set with a huge piece of amber. It was clearly worth a fortune.
Tap... tap...
The man approached at a measured pace, limping as his cane struck the ground with crisp taps.
Reaching the center, he first swept his gaze over Ma Ji, who sat sprawled on the ground, before lowering his head to look down at Rorge.
Under everyone's eyes, the two met each other's gaze.
Watching them from a distance, Corleone suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of déjà vu. He kept feeling that background music ought to start playing now.
"Soft... soft laughter, bringing me warmth... you fill me... with a powerful charge of joy..."
"I, Ralf, am open for business. However many Gold Dragons you bring, I'll take them."
Suddenly, the man spoke.
His voice was not loud, but it was forceful, reaching everyone's ears. "Win, and I'll pay according to the odds, not a coin short. Those are the rules of my Blood Pit."
As he spoke, he paused. More contempt entered his gaze as he looked at Rorge, and he gave an arrogant, vulgar smile. "Everyone in Flea Bottom knows that I, Ralf, have the biggest balls. Enormous ones!"
"Hahaha!"
The words were utterly crude, but they drew a burst of laughter from the thugs around them.
Hearing the surrounding laughter, Rorge's breathing instantly quickened a little, and barely restrained resentment flickered in his eyes.
But he quickly suppressed it.
"Look at you, Ralf."
In front of everyone, Rorge shrugged. "Look how well you're dressed now. Even that cane reeks of wealth."
"I reckon now... I can't even walk as fast as you."
At those words, Ralf's eyelid jerked, and the muscles in his cheeks twitched slightly as he stared at Rorge with a near-murderous gaze.
"Enough bullshit, Rorge."
His voice turned cold. "I don't care how you crawled back from that hellhole in the north, and I don't care what you've come back to do."
"A thousand Gold Dragons. Put them down, and see if I dare take the bet."
At that, Rorge grinned. "What, isn't my name alone worth a thousand Gold Dragons?"
"Don't forget, if I hadn't bought you out of that Brown Soup shop back then, you'd have been stewed into broth long ago!"
"Heh..."
Seeing that he indeed could not produce the money, Ralf sneered with utter disdain. "Rules are rules. Money first, then the wager goes on the books."
"Have you forgotten the rules you made yourself after one trip away?"
At those words, Rorge's expression darkened.
He seemed not to have expected the other man to show him so little respect.
Instinctively, he darted a glance toward Corleone. His new master was still standing quietly in the corner, seemingly studying the bloodstains that had yet to be fully cleaned from the Arena with considerable interest. He was not looking at Rorge, as though none of this had anything to do with him.
But that disregard only put Rorge under greater pressure.
He was no fool. Rorge had seen the friendship between Corleone and Jaime throughout their journey.
He might previously have followed Vargo Hoat in subjecting Jaime to every kind of humiliation, but that had been on the condition that they were far from King's Landing and far from Tywin.
Now that they had returned to King's Landing, however, his status and Jaime's would be worlds apart.
Never mind humiliation-Jaime needed only a look to crush an insignificant little ant like him.
Not to mention that, even when Corleone had been nothing more than a farmer, he had run circles around the entire Brave Companions and ultimately wiped them out completely.
Gritting his teeth, Rorge seemed to make some sort of decision.
He abruptly leaned close to Ralf's ear, lowered his voice, and whispered, "Money, I don't have any right now."
"But don't you want... that thing anymore?"
Before you continue