Rorge stepped forward and took the booklet with both hands. He was clearly curious about the contents, but without Corleone's permission, he dared not open it to look.
"I will personally deliver it to the prince and ensure that only he sees it, Ser."
Hearing this, Corleone nodded slightly and said nothing more.
The contents of the booklet were not classified; they were simply the weaknesses and corresponding countermeasures Corleone had gained through Insight when he fought the Mountain. Letting him see it was fine.
Rorge was now absolutely obedient to him, and he was very satisfied with this reaction.
"Go."
"Yes."
This time, Rorge did not pause. He turned and left decisively, carefully tucking the booklet—which looked ordinary but weighed heavily—into his bosom, and gently closed the door.
After Rorge left, the room was quiet for a moment.
Oliver Chessted was still sitting there, his spine straighter than before. After all, the strength and confidence Corleone had displayed exceeded his imagination.
If he really possessed the power to make Prince Prince Oberyn Martell obey, perhaps... he really could solve my trouble!
Thinking this, he quietly put the uneaten piece of bread back onto the wooden tray, waiting for the other to speak first.
As time passed, the light outside the window slanted a few more degrees, golden hues beginning to seep into the orange-red. Balerion stretched on the windowsill, its arched black spine like a gaping abyss.
A moment later, Corleone seemed to return from his thoughts and looked at him.
"It seems you cannot finish your lunch."
Corleone's voice rang out, gentle as ever: "How about we talk about your affairs now?"
Hearing this, Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately gathered his spirits: "I..."
"I am Oliver Chessted, Ser."
"Castle Chessted, not far to the east of the Kingswood, is my family's territory."
When he said his family name and territory, his voice unconsciously carried a hint of humbleness. Years had passed, and the decline of the Chessted family had caused this once-renowned great house to gradually lose its former pride and glory.
"Oliver Chessted."
Corleone repeated his name, then nodded slightly, and spoke straightforwardly: "I remember. Your family's castle is on the northeastern edge of the Kingswood. A small tributary of the Blackwater Rush passes through there. The land is not fertile, but the forest resources are abundant."
"You... you have been to Castle Chessted!"
Oliver widened his eyes, his astonishment almost washing away his nervousness. After all, Castle Chessted had long since lost its former glory; its roof leaked, and vines grew over the walls. In the noble circles of King's Landing, it had almost become synonymous with a pauper, and few would remember its specific appearance.
Yet Corleone, an outsider in King's Landing, was able to state so many details about the castle's territory.
Hearing this, the corners of Corleone's mouth hooked into a faint arc: "Learning is a very important thing, Ser Chessted. A person who wants to survive in a strange world must first understand its terrain and rules."
"Therefore, I read every book, record, map, genealogy, and tax ledger I can get my hands on."
He paused, looked up at Oliver, and a flash of understanding passed through his black eyes: "Moreover, Ser Jaime Lannister once mentioned your grandfather. His name was Lord Colton Chessted, right?"
"Ser Jaime mentioned my grandfather?"
Sure enough, as soon as these words were spoken, Oliver not only did not deny it, but his tone revealed a hint of excitement.
Colton Chessted was the last glory of the Chessted family, but it had been too long since the name was mentioned by big shots.
"Yes."
Corleone nodded: "Ser Jaime once said that your grandfather was the master of coin appointed by King Aerys II. Later, after Lord Jon Connington was exiled, he was promoted to hand of the king. His tenure was not long, about... one year and three months?"
"One year and four months." Oliver corrected him subconsciously, then realized his rudeness, his face flushing slightly.
However, Corleone did not mind, his mouth curving slightly: "Apologies, one year and four months."
"Ser Jaime's evaluation of him was very interesting. He called him the 'Hammer and Dagger Hand'. He told me some very secret things. I think your grandfather... was a quite tough man."
"Hammer and Dagger?" Oliver murmured, repeating it, then couldn't help but look down at his chest, at the family sigil that had almost faded in color.
Corleone's phrase "tough Hand" was like a small ember, briefly dispelling the coldness and humiliation in his heart.
For so many years, he had heard too many evaluations of his grandfather: "coward," "opportunist," "Aerys's yes-man," and even worse evaluations like "The Mad King's shoe-rag."
When nobles mentioned Colton Chessted, they almost all sneered with a mocking tone, as if the name that had once briefly held the power of The Seven Kingdoms was only fit to slowly turn into dust in the wind and rain, just like the peeling plaster on the walls of Castle Chessted.
He did not expect to hear such a... nearly objective, even slightly respectfully tinged evaluation from the mouth of this new upstart in King's Landing known for his strong-handed methods.
"Thank you, Ser." Oliver's voice was a bit dry. The gratitude was real, but more of it was an urgency of having found a straw to clutch: "You are a true knight."
"Too much small talk and flattery is unnecessary."
However, Corleone did not respond to this gratitude, just lifted his chin slightly, signaling him to continue: "Tell me what difficulties you have."
At this moment, Balerion also changed positions, curling into a pitch-black ball of fur.
Seeing this, Oliver hurriedly took a deep breath, knowing the moment to show weakness had arrived, but there was no other choice. He no longer tried to maintain that pitiful noble dignity, and his speed of speech increased: "As you know, the land of Castle Chessted... is not fertile."
"The tributary of the Blackwater Rush has little water and is prone to drying up in summer. Our ancestors chose that place back then, mostly valuing the timber and hunting grounds on the edge of the Kingswood."
"But that was a long time ago. Royal decrees are becoming stricter. The Kingswood is royal property, and the punishment for poaching..."
As he spoke, he gave a wry smile; that smile was even uglier than crying.
And Corleone also understood what he was helpless about. After all, with the power of the Chessted family back then, doing some side business around the Kingswood was not a problem at all, and the Targaryen family had almost turned a blind eye to it.
One must know that firewood and beasts were hard currency and quite valuable.
It was just that nowadays...
It could only be said that with a new emperor comes a new court. Not to mention that the previous King Robert was a man who loved hunting very much and attached great importance to his sovereignty over the Kingswood. If the Chessted family had dared to mess around under his nose, they probably wouldn't have been able to pass it down to Oliver.
Seeming to see the understanding in Corleone's eyes, Oliver blushed in embarrassment for a moment, but immediately thickened his skin and continued.
After all, he was about to run out of food, so face or whatever wasn't very important anymore.
"We certainly wouldn't dare to provoke the majesty of the royal family, so in order to survive, we only chose to hunt around the castle, outside the edge of the Kingswood, and in some hills and sparse forests, which are considered the 'no-man's-land' that doesn't belong to any specific lord."
"My people... actually there aren't many left. They mainly set traps in those places to catch rabbits, foxes, and such things. Occasionally, if we are lucky, we can get a lost fawn to barely get by."
"Coupled with the barren fields under the mountain and exchanging firewood for coarse wheat in Duskendale or Rosby every year, we have managed to survive."
Corleone listened quietly, his fingers tapping gently on the smooth oak tabletop with a steady rhythm.
He had indeed heard some things about the current situation of the Chessted family.
Sometimes in casinos and taverns, when knights and mercenaries were drunk, they would chat, occasionally mentioning that there was a "Rabbit Count" in the northeast corner of the Kingswood, whose family sigil was a hammer and dagger, yet he was so poor he could only hunt rabbits.
"But starting last month, things began to change."
Speaking of this, Oliver's voice lowered, carrying a hint of fear and helplessness: "People entering the mountain started to go missing. At first, it was one or two. We thought they encountered wild beasts or tripped and fell into mountain streams, but later it became more frequent. More than a dozen people have disappeared, men and women."
"Until a week ago, a hunter escaped back crawling and tumbling. He was covered in blood and had a broken arm. He said a band of mountain bandits came to the mountain, occupied several caves deep in the hills, set up ambushes and traps, robbed him of all his prey and tools, and killed his companions. Only he was lucky enough to escape."
"You, as the lord, didn't organize manpower to wipe them out?" Corleone asked, his tone flat, unable to tell if it was an inquiry or a reprimand.
Hearing this, Oliver's face flushed instantly, mixed with shame and powerlessness: "I... what do I have to wipe them out with, Ser?"
"Now in Castle Chessted, counting me and my attendants, there are no more than fifteen men who can hold weapons, and half of them are older than my father."
"The weapons and equipment are also... only a set of rusted half-old plate armor passed down by my grandfather. Besides a few wood-chopping axes and rusty pitchforks, there are only three longswords left."
"Moreover, I only have twenty gold dragons left on me now. This is all the property of Castle Chessted!"
The more he spoke, the more miserable he became, and he shook his head in despair: "The family assets that could be sold have long been sold over the years. I can't even afford to pay for ten mercenaries for a month."
"You know, these days, the price of mercenaries near King's Landing is ridiculously high."
Swallowing his saliva, Oliver almost cried, but he still lifted his head, his eyes rimmed with red, forcing himself not to lose his composure, just looking at Corleone with all his might: "Winter is coming, Ser."
"This year, the wars in The Riverlands and the Vale have affected trade routes. The price of grain in King's Landing changes every day. The little money we have saved cannot even buy half of the grain we used to buy in previous years."
"The prey in the mountains was originally our last hope for the winter, but now... the mountain bandits have blocked this road."
"If we don't find a way, the nearly one hundred people in Castle Chessted might not be able to survive this winter. I... I really had no choice, that's why I came to King's Landing with a thick skin, to see if there are any old friends who remember past kindness, or any hope at all."
Saying this, a flash of hope appeared in Oliver's eyes, and he choked up: "Later I heard that you established order in Flea Bottom, and you helped those who had no way out."
"I dare not pray for help without compensation, but at any cost, as long as the Chessted family can afford it, as long as you can help us get through this difficulty, I... Oliver Chessted, swear in the name of my grandfather, I will repay it!"
Oliver finished speaking in one breath, and the room fell into a brief silence.
Only the slight snoring of Balerion and the faint noise of the city coming from Flea Bottom in the distance remained.
Corleone leaned back into the high-backed chair, his gaze falling on Oliver's haggard face, which had been repeatedly ravaged by life, knowing that this guy was not lying.
However, he was indeed somewhat emotional.
The Chessted family, which had once produced a hand of the king and could occupy a seat at the Small Council table, had now fallen into such a desperate situation, forced into a corner by a group of mountain bandits, almost having to sell their last dignity for a mouthful of winter grain.
The rise and fall of Westeros are sometimes even steeper and more ruthless than the price trend chart of gold.
"Why didn't you go to the hand of the king?"
After thinking for a moment, Corleone suddenly asked, his voice carrying a hint of inquiry: "Lord Tywin Lannister sits in the Red Keep. Maintaining the order of The Seven Kingdoms and wiping out banditry is his responsibility."
"Although your territory is remote, it belongs to the Crownlands after all. He has the obligation, and it is right for him to send troops to deal with it."
As soon as these words were spoken, Oliver's face instantly became extremely embarrassed, even with a hint of panic.
He lowered his head, staring at his worn-out boots, his voice as thin as a mosquito: "You don't know, Ser."
"My grandfather... Lord Colton, during his tenure as master of coin, in order to gain the trust of The Mad King, he repeatedly... echoed other ministers at the Small Council, and against Lord Tywin, who was the hand of the king at the time... um."
"Although my grandfather later..."
"But a Lannister always pays his debts. This is known to everyone in the world."
So that's how it is.
Oliver's words were quite cryptic, but Corleone understood his meaning.
It was said that The Mad King Aerys Targaryen and the hand of the king Tywin did not get along. No matter what decision Tywin made, the king intended to oppose him.
At the tournament celebrating Aerys's 10th year of reign, he publicly humiliated and teased Tywin's wife, Joanna.
This matter made Joanna lose face, and Tywin even submitted his resignation for this, but it was not approved. Aerys still retained Tywin and took every opportunity to ridicule him.
Then, well.
The smart nobles discovered that whoever humiliated Tywin could attract the king's attention. The atmosphere of the entire Small Council at that time could not be said to be foul, but it could be described as tense.
And it was said that Colton, as the master of coin at the time, not only slandered Tywin, but even slandered Aerys's eldest son, Rhaegar, saying that he was winning people's hearts everywhere and plotting a rebellion!
That was really quite bottomless.
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