That thing...
Raff's pupils contracted abruptly, his hand gripping the cane tightly.
"That thing, you still have it?"
Although he knew Rorge was likely spouting nonsense, the huge temptation forced Raff to lower his head and stare at the face so close to him.
"One thousand Gold Dragons."
Rorge didn't answer directly but repeated: "Bet it all on the next match. If I lose, that thing is yours."
Hearing this, Raff narrowed his eyes slightly.
But the other's gaze was as cunning as ever, impossible to distinguish truth from falsehood.
"Fine, one thousand Gold Dragons."
After pondering for a long time, he slowly took a deep breath and scolded Maggy, who was sitting on the ground: "Get up, coward! Such a small matter should have been handled calmly and with ease!"
"What are the odds for the next match?"
Hearing this, Maggy hurriedly scrambled up, grabbing the recording board: "It's... it's five to one, Boss Raff."
"Five to one?" Raff frowned tightly: "Why such high odds?"
You must know, such ridiculous odds didn't appear more than a few times a year.
After all, high odds meant the other side's odds would be pitifully low, maybe only 1.2 to 1 or even lower. This was to prevent gamblers from betting on both sides to make a guaranteed profit.
And this also meant that gamblers' bets might be one-sided. After all, although the odds were low, it was almost a guaranteed win.
"Be... because the one fighting next is 'Butcher' Bod!"
Maggy answered: "And challenging him is a newcomer who just signed up. No one knows him at all, so..."
"'Butcher' Bod?"
Hearing this, Raff nodded.
That guy was the Blood Cellar's cash cow, maintaining an undefeated record of thirty-two matches so far.
Some even said that even the moving mountain under Duke Tywin wasn't Bod's match.
Of course, there might be exaggeration, but in Flea Bottom, Bod could absolutely not lose!
Only...
Raff looked at Rorge, sneering disdainfully: "Betting one thousand Gold Dragons, even if you win with nothing, you can only win two hundred at most. Is that enough for you to spend?"
"Oh, Raff... Raff, you are still so naive."
Hearing this, Rorge shook his head, looking disappointed, then revealed an even crazier smile: "Who told you... I want to bet on Bod winning?"
He paused deliberately, then suddenly raised his volume:
"One thousand Gold Dragons... all on that newcomer!"
!!!
As soon as these words came out, there was an uproar on the scene. Everyone stared at Rorge as if looking at a fool.
"He's crazy! Absolutely crazy!"
"No one can take a punch from the Butcher. That guy's arm is thicker than my waist!"
"I bet that newcomer won't last three breaths!"
"This noseless monster must have ruined his brain drinking bowl of brown!"
Voices of schadenfreude instantly filled the entire fighting pit. No one was optimistic about Rorge; after all, the Butcher's strength was obvious to all.
But Raff didn't laugh. He just stared coldly at Rorge, a trace of doubt flickering in his eyes.
Because he really couldn't understand what kind of game this guy was playing?
"It seems your trip out really ruined your brain, Rorge."
After thinking for a while and failing to figure it out, Raff simply snorted coldly: "Fine, I'll see how you lose!"
Dropping a harsh word, he leaned on his cane and turned to leave, but was stopped by Rorge.
"Hey, Raff."
Raff turned back impatiently: "What? Want to renege?"
"No no no... I'm not like some people with shaky stances."
Rorge waved his finger, putting on a fake smile and mocking: "But look, for a big customer like me betting one thousand Gold Dragons, shouldn't you treat me well?"
"I want two portions of fine steak, and a pot of Arbor gold wine, aged over ten years, sent to my boss."
He ordered familiarly, then gave a thumbs up, gesturing towards Corleone's direction.
Raff looked in that direction, only to find a man standing in the corner. The other party seemed to sense his gaze just right and nodded elegantly to him.
Boss?
He frowned. This guy looked ordinary, without a single valuable accessory on him.
How could Rorge follow such a boss?
"...Do as he says."
Tapping the ground heavily with his cane, Raff suppressed the suspicion in his heart and didn't dwell on it further, turning to leave surrounded by several subordinates.
Not a few steps later, a subordinate leaned in and whispered: "Boss Rorge... Rorge this guy came back suddenly, he must have some purpose. We screwed him so badly back then..."
Before he could finish, he was choked back by a cold look from Raff.
"Hmph!"
Glancing at Rorge walking towards the stands, Raff's eyes were vicious, his voice deep: "Go check, find out the background of him and his 'boss'."
"Yes, Boss!"
"Wait..."
The subordinate responded and was about to leave. Raff suddenly stopped him again.
"Go inform Commander Jacelyn Bywater, say the wanted criminal Rorge has returned to King's Landing and is right here."
"Huh?"
The lackey was startled, hesitating: "Call the Gold Cloaks?"
"Boss, there's no such rule on the streets. And we are doing this kind of business. Calling the Gold Cloaks over isn't asking for death..."
"Idiot!"
Raff scolded, the corner of his mouth curving into a sinister smile: "This year, I spent so much money in King's Landing feeding so many Gold Cloaks."
"It's time... to let those guys who take money but do nothing do some work!"
---
"As per your instructions, it's done, Boss Corleone."
Returning to the stands, Rorge bowed respectfully to Corleone, appearing very humble.
He felt slightly proud in his heart. After all, he not only completed the task but did it beautifully.
However, the expected praise did not come. Instead, there was a rebuke, neither light nor heavy:
"You seem very proud."
Hearing this, Rorge was stunned for a moment, then looked up at Corleone in feigned confusion.
He saw a faint smile on the other's lips. Despite the seemingly casual sitting posture, an invisible pressure was emanating from Corleone.
"I... I..." His throat felt tight.
Corleone didn't rush to scold him but gently adjusted his sitting posture, leaning back tactically, burying half his face in the boundary between light and shadow.
Only that smiling jawline was exposed under the firelight: "You disappoint me, Rorge. I didn't fish you out of the pile of dead bodies for you to play these petty tricks in front of me."
The powerful aura oppressed Rorge to breathlessness. He swallowed with difficulty, speaking stubbornly: "I don't understand, Boss. I did everything according to your instructions."
"Oh?"
Hearing this, Corleone chuckled lightly, looking at him with a playful expression: "Then did I instruct you to order food and wine without authorization, and then... deliberately draw those guys' attention to me?"
As soon as these words came out, cold sweat immediately soaked Rorge's back.
He didn't expect his little thought, which carried a slight probing meaning, to be seen through so easily by Corleone instantly!
"I'm sorry, Boss Corleone! I was wrong!"
However, Rorge was very straightforward. He immediately gave up all resistance, kneeling on the ground with a thud, moving so fast even Corleone almost didn't react.
Furthermore, he took out a dagger, holding it with both hands, raised it high above his head towards Corleone: "Please punish me!"
Corleone didn't speak, just reached out and slowly picked up the dagger.
Playing with it for a while, suddenly his wrist turned slightly, the sharp edge slowly approaching Rorge's flat face.
He instinctively dodged backward, as if deeply buried fear was triggered.
"The taste of having your nose cut off... must be very painful."
Corleone spoke pointedly: "Life is full of misfortune."
"But you are lucky, because pain is not irreversible like death."
With his words, that invisible oppression became stronger and stronger, almost solidifying into substance.
Rorge's breathing became heavy and short. Cold sweat oozing from his forehead began to slide down his temples.
But his muscles were tense all over, daring not to move, fearing a tiny movement would invite more serious consequences.
Just when Rorge was about to be driven crazy by this extreme inner pressure, Corleone raised his wrist and tossed the dagger to him casually.
"You hurt me, Rorge."
Corleone's voice showed no anger or joy: "You broke my heart. This is the first time."
"I will remember it. I hope you can remember it too."
"Understand?"
"Ye... Yes! Bo..."
"And..."
Corleone looked at him coldly, reminding: "In the future, address me as Lord Corleone."
"Yes! Lord Corleone!"
Rorge's body straightened instantly, answering loudly without thinking.
Only then did he feel relieved, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve indiscriminately.
But before he could relax completely, he heard Corleone's voice again.
"Now, we can talk about another matter."
"I am very curious, what promise did you make to that Raff, that a single sentence could be worth... a whole one thousand Gold Dragons?"