As his voice fell, the entire fighting pit instantly quieted down. Sounds of sharp gasps constantly arose from the surroundings, as if everyone wanted to drain the air in front of them and suffocate the people next to them.
But... one thousand Gold Dragons!
This amount was too ridiculous!
This was a huge sum of money that could make everyone in Flea Bottom go crazy!
Betting a thousand Gold Dragons in one go—even Lannisters didn't bet like this!
Such a grand gamble even made some decently dressed nobles stretch their necks to look over, trying to see which family's fool dared to squander money like this, dreaming of getting rich overnight.
With war raging for years, in the current economic environment of King's Landing, there was indeed no lack of red-eyed prodigals who had lost their ancestral properties, f**ing to bet their entire fortune for a turnaround.
For example, last month, the eldest son of House Cafferen threw down five hundred Gold Dragons here in one go, setting the record for a single bet this year.
Now it seemed this record was about to be broken again.
On the high stool, the bookkeeper's hand shook violently, the charcoal almost falling.
One thousand Gold Dragons!
This was their revenue for a whole month! If they could swallow this money, it would be enough for the boss to gather the money to buy a title and fief!
Then, maybe the boss would be happy and give him a bonus at least enough for him to spend several nights on the Street of Silk!
Must secure this fat sheep!
Thinking this, he hurriedly looked up, locking eyes with Rorge.
Clatter!
This time the charcoal really fell.
"Ro... Ro... Ro Ro Ro Ro..."
As if seeing a ghost, the bookkeeper slid off the high stool, sat on the ground on his butt, pointed at Rorge, and couldn't speak a complete sentence for a long time.
Looking at his panicked appearance, Rorge grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth:
"Long time no see, Maggy."
"Rorge!!!"
With this smile, he screamed, crawling back a few steps: "You... weren't you taken away by the Gold Cloaks and went north with the Night's Watch? I saw with my own eyes you were chained and put on the cart!!"
"How did you..."
"Because I missed you 'good brothers' so much, Maggy."
Rorge leaned down, staring dead at Maggy, licked the corner of his mouth with his tongue, and grinned in a very perverted tone: "So... I crawled back from that damn hell!"
This tone made Maggy even more scared. Holding his head, he kept retreating, seemingly even leaking a few drops of urine in his crotch.
The three burly men beside him didn't seem to know Rorge, but Maggy's appearance, coupled with the conversation between the two, roughly made them guess there might be some grudge.
Before Rorge could continue to approach, they closed in professionally, surrounding Rorge in the middle.
"Get lost, noseless ugly freak!"
The leader growled: "If you want trouble, you came to the wrong place. If you don't leave, I'll break your hands and feet and throw you out like a dog!"
"Hey! Hey!"
Under their pushing, Rorge raised his hands high and took a half step back, but his face was full of mocking expression: "Show some manners, friends!"
He shouted loudly, attracting more gazes: "I came to give you money. What, is the 'Blood Cellar' so rich now that it won't even accept a bet of one thousand Gold Dragons?"
"Or is it... that son of a bitch Raff fears losing and having no money to pay?"
"Should have said earlier. If he has no balls, I do. When I ran this fighting pit, I never refused anyone!"
Hearing him say this, the three burly men frowned instantly, daring not to act rashly for a moment.
Because the Raff mentioned by Rorge was exactly the boss of this fighting pit. And listening to his tone, not only was he familiar with Raff, but it seemed... he was the boss here before?
But at this time, people around began to discuss spiritedly.
After all, if Rorge's bet was refused, the reputation of this fighting pit would be affected.
Just when they felt incredibly tricky.
"Who says I dare not accept!"
A slightly hoarse but powerful voice sounded from behind the crowd.
Rorge turned to look. The crowded crowd spontaneously opened a path.
The newcomer was about forty years old, slender, wearing an overly gorgeous purple velvet coat, appearing out of place with the surrounding environment.
The most striking thing was the cane inlaid with a huge amber in his hand, looking expensive at a glance.
Tap... tap...
The man paced over, walking with a limp, the cane making crisp sounds hitting the ground.
Arriving in the field, his gaze first swept over Maggy sitting on the ground, then he lowered his head, looking down at Rorge.
Under everyone's gaze, the two looked at each other.
Corleone watched them from afar, suddenly having an inexplicable sense of deja vu, feeling that BGM should play at this moment.
"Light... laughter, sending warmth for me... you inject... happy strong electricity for me..." (Note: Lyrics from "A Better Tomorrow" theme song)
---
"I, Raff, open the door for business. I accept as many Gold Dragons as there are."
Suddenly, the man spoke.
His voice wasn't loud but very powerful, reaching everyone's ears: "If you win, compensation according to odds, not a copper less. This is the rule of my Blood Cellar."
Saying this, he paused, a few more points of disdain in his eyes looking at Rorge, then revealed an arrogant and vulgar smile: "Everyone in Flea Bottom knows, my Raff's balls are the biggest, super big!"
"Hahaha!!"
These words were extremely vulgar but drew a burst of laughter from the surrounding hooligans.
Listening to the surrounding laughter, Rorge's breathing quickened slightly, irrepressible resentment flickering in his eyes.
But he quickly suppressed this emotion.
"Look, Raff."
In front of everyone, Rorge shrugged: "Look at you now, dressed sharply, even this cane is strikingly rich."
"I guess now... I can't even walk as fast as you."
As soon as these words came out, Raff's eyelids jumped violently, the muscles on his cheeks twitching slightly, staring at Rorge with a gaze that almost wanted to kill.
"Cut the crap, Rorge."
His voice turned cold: "I don't care how you crawled back from that ghost place in the north, nor do I care what you want to do back here."
"One thousand Gold Dragons, bring it out to bet, see if I dare to accept."
Hearing this, Rorge grinned: "What, isn't my name, Rorge, worth one thousand Gold Dragons?"
"Don't forget, if I hadn't bought you back from the bowl of brown shop back then, you would have been stewed into meat soup long ago!"
"Heh..."
Seeing he indeed couldn't produce the money, Raff scoffed, full of disdain: "Rules are rules. Money first, then record the bet."
"Went out for a trip, did you forget the rules you set yourself?"
Hearing this, Rorge's face darkened.
He seemed not to expect the other party to give him no face like this.
Subconsciously glancing quickly at Corleone's direction, he saw his new master still standing quietly in the corner, seemingly admiring the uncleared bloodstains in the fighting pit with interest, not looking at him, as if all this had nothing to do with him.
But this disregard made Rorge feel even greater pressure.
He wasn't a fool. Along the way, Rorge had seen the friendship between Corleone and Jaime.
Don't look at how he followed Vargo Hoat to humiliate Jaime in every way before, but that was based on the premise that they were far from King's Landing, far from Tywin.
Now back in King's Landing, the status difference between him and Jaime would be heaven and earth.
Forget humiliation; the other party only needed a look to crush him like an insignificant ant.
Not to mention, when Corleone was just a farmer, he could play the entire Brave Companions in the palm of his hand, and in the end, completely destroyed them.
Gritting his teeth, Rorge seemed to make a certain determination.
He suddenly leaned close to Raff's ear, lowered his voice, and whispered: "Money, I don't have right now."
"But don't you want..... that thing?"