Heavy footsteps accompanied by the clashing of metal armor sounded as the Gold Cloaks roughly pushed through the crowd, clearing a path.
Squad leader Sven Rosby walked in, his hand on his sword hilt, a faint arrogance on his face.
His gaze swept over the noisy crowd, seemingly inadvertently meeting Raff's eyes for a moment. After receiving a signal from the other party, his gaze finally settled on Rorge.
"Raff! You dirty maggot, you fucking broke the rules!"
The moment the Gold Cloaks broke in, Rorge jumped up and cursed loudly: "Didn't I teach you that no matter how big things get in Flea Bottom, you shouldn't involve the Gold Cloaks!"
"Has your brain been eaten by rats in the sewer? I should have left you in..."
Thud!
He kept cursing, but two Gold Cloaks pounced directly on him. One hit the back of his knee with an iron hammer forcing him to kneel, while the other smashed a spear shaft onto Rorge's mouth.
Watching from the side, Corleone couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Too professional!
Hit the legs first to prevent escape, then hit the mouth to stop him from talking nonsense. The whole set of actions flowed like water, the cooperation undeniably smooth.
At this time, Sven Rosby paced forward unhurriedly, his shiny boots stopping in front of Rorge. Looking down from above, he mocked: "Tsk tsk tsk... Rorge, oh, Rorge."
"For scum like you to crawl back to King's Landing is already the Seven Gods' grace, yet you dare to appear here swaggering!"
"Truly stupid enough!"
"Pah!" Even with his face swollen from the hit, Rorge struggled to lift his head and spat a mouthful of bloody foam.
"Heh... Sven Rosby?"
"Haven't seen you for over a year, mixing well, huh? Become a squad leader now? Remember back then at the 'Sow's Sigh' gambling den, someone lost everything, even betting his sword, then cried and knelt before me begging to borrow a hundred Gold Dragons..."
Thud!!!
Before he could finish, the exasperated Sven kicked him in the face again.
Fortunately, Rorge had no nose; otherwise, this would have really soured his nose.
"Shut up!"
Clearly, Rorge's words accurately poked Sven's sore spot. He drew his sword halfway, then remembered there were too many people around to kill directly, so he resentfully sheathed it back.
"Damn fugitive, still daring to spout nonsense!"
He straightened his back, pointing at Corleone standing aside: "Chain up this fugitive and his accomplice, take them to the dungeon!"
Under Sven's order, several Gold Cloaks immediately approached Corleone.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded not far away.
Sven looked back in confusion, only to see a figure leaping high like an eagle. The moment he landed, his right foot kicked a Gold Cloak in the side, followed by a left elbow strike to another Gold Cloak's face.
Thud! Thud!
Two muffled sounds, crisp and clean. The two Gold Cloaks attempting to approach Corleone fell to the ground instantly.
The whole process took only a breath. Before anyone could react, they saw the slender and robust Dothraki warrior already drawing his weapon to shield Corleone.
Like a mastiff protecting its master, he hunched slightly, his sharp eyes staring dead at Sven in front.
"Kill them, Blood of my blood?"
Iggo tilted his head slightly, asking in a muffled voice, seemingly not taking these dozen or so Gold Cloaks seriously.
Such powerful martial prowess and entrance instantly awed everyone present.
Sven, who was arrogant just now, couldn't help touching the sword hilt at his waist, but his obviously trembling arm betrayed his inner fear.
"Sheathe your weapon, Blood of my blood."
Amidst this tense atmosphere, Corleone spoke calmly.
His voice wasn't loud but was clearly audible in this silence.
Turning to look at Sven, he used his left hand to gently brush the shoulder touched by the Gold Cloak just now, as if brushing off a speck of dust.
"I have always believed that violence cannot solve the root cause of conflicts. Legal issues should be resolved within the framework of the law."
"Am I right, Captain Rosby?"
This unusually calm attitude stunned Sven, who was about to order his men to swarm up.
The calmness on the other party, and the aura faintly revealed between words, made this experienced Gold Cloak squad leader unsure for a moment.
Sven narrowed his eyes, releasing his right hand from the sword hilt, sizing Corleone up cautiously.
Plain clothes, ordinary appearance, yet possessing such demeanor and a "guard" of such powerful strength.
Out of caution, he restrained the arrogant expression on his face and probed carefully: "Sir... how may I address you? Do you hold any title?"
This act of asking about the other party's background and origin face-to-face might seem very offensive in Corleone's previous life, but in Westeros, it was all too normal.
Generally speaking, nobles had their own procedures. Asking clearly about family and surname in advance could distinguish nobles from commoners very well, and the attitude and result of handling things would naturally be different.
Simply put, it depends on who you are, not what you did.
"My name is Vito Corleone."
Corleone answered frankly, without any hesitation or concealment.
"Corleone?" Sven frowned slightly, quickly searching his brain for all the noble lineages and important surnames he knew, finally confirming that this was definitely not any family he knew.
However, he still didn't relax his vigilance, continuing to pursue: "Then... do you serve under any lord, or hold any important position in a castle?"
"No need to guess, Captain Rosby."
Easily seeing through his petty thoughts, Corleone spoke very calmly: "Relax, I have no title, nor do I serve anywhere, nor do I come from any noble family you know."
"Speaking of which, for me, King's Landing is almost a completely strange place. This is my first time here."
This answer seemed somewhat unexpected to Sven. However, before he could react, Raff beside him couldn't wait to laugh loudly in mockery: "Hahaha!!!"
"I thought some big shot came from somewhere, turns out to be a small fry!"
His laughter was very smug, sounding exceptionally piercing in the silent fighting pit.
Even Sven, hearing Corleone admit frankly that he had absolutely no background, prepared to order the arrest again.
However, just then, Corleone spoke again.
"But then again."
He raised his right eyelid slightly, his pitch-black eyes calmly scanning Sven and Raff. His voice carried a bit of magnetism. Although looking somewhat lazy, no one could ignore the serious temperament on him.
"Although I don't hold any position or title, I do know some people in the court."
"Most of them are high-ranking and powerful, and they all consider me... a friend."
Saying this, Corleone paced forward.
Meeting Sven's flickering gaze, leaning forward slightly, his voice suppressed very low, carrying a tone almost of pity, as if stating a destined future: "Listen, Captain."
"You can arrest me and my men right now, chain us up, and throw us into your dark and dirty cell. It's easy; you can totally do it."
"But I can tell you what will happen next."
He paused, letting the other party fully digest this sentence, then continued to speak with certainty:
"In less than a night, maybe half a night, some... big shot you definitely don't want to offend will personally kick open your small duty room."
"He won't listen to any of your explanations. He will scold you bloody with the filthiest words in front of all your subordinates."
"Then, you will be forced to make a choice."
"Not whether to release me, but..."
"Respectfully invite me out, or be thrown out of the Gold Cloaks headquarters like a dead dog by your former colleagues!"