Gold Cloaks Headquarters, the prison was always dark and damp.
Many prisoners who were caught but not yet judged were locked together, eating, drinking, and defecating inside the prison. That sour smell rivaled Flea Bottom.
However, the cell where Corleone was located was an exception.
Perhaps his previous aura and verbal threats had an effect; the cell Sven Rosby arranged for him was relatively clean, and there was even only one "cellmate."
This person looked in his early twenties, dressed in exquisite fabric. Although somewhat messy, it was clear they were high-quality goods. He should be a noble scion who committed some offense.
However, this guy's existence formed a sharp contrast with the miserable environment inside the prison.
Before Corleone arrived, not only did he occupy a clean cell alone, but more exaggeratedly, when Corleone was locked in, this guy was sitting behind a large wooden table enjoying dinner!
Even this guy's cutlery was silver, and a pot of dark wine was placed by his hand.
It felt as if he was here on vacation.
The aroma of steak permeated the filthy air, immediately stimulating the starving prisoners in the surrounding cells.
"Damn Gold Cloaks, we need food!"
"Why can he eat meat in jail while we can't even see black bread!"
"We are all prisoners, this treatment difference is too big!"
"Food! Food!!"
Soon, angry prisoners began to bang on the iron bars in unison, curses ringing out.
But this commotion didn't last long.
Several guards rushed in with clubs, roughly beating the leaders of the troublemakers without listening to any explanations.
Only when the prisoners huddled back into the corners holding their heads did they leave cursing.
Regarding everything happening outside, the young noble seemed deaf to it, still enjoying his dinner slowly, completely immersed in his own world.
This calmness was simply out of place with the desperate atmosphere in the prison.
"What are you looking at, commoner!"
Seeming to sense Corleone's curious gaze, he looked up, his expression full of arrogance and superiority.
He raised a piece of cut steak with his fork ostentatiously, waving it twice in the air: "In a place like this, even if your pockets are full of Gold Dragons, you can't buy a slice of bread, understand?"
"And I... I am the son of Earl Rykker. The entire Duskendale belongs to my family. Even the Commander of the Gold Cloaks has to give face to our House Rykker."
Saying this, he triumphantly stuffed the meat into his mouth and chewed: "At most by tomorrow morning, my father can get me out."
"While you lowlifes... can only rot here, waiting for the judgment of the law!"
Looking at his unscrupulous appearance, Corleone felt a trace of interest.
Actually, Corleone didn't intend to create extra problems. Although captured, his heart was quite calm, without any worry about his situation.
After all, with the enhancement of [Insight Lv2], he had long seen that Sven Rosby was completely greedy but lacked true boldness in his bones.
Not to mention, even Rorge, who was betrayed by his subordinates and whom they were determined to put to death, had the opportunity to accept judgment and even choose to take the black.
He was sure his situation was far from desperate.
Taking ten thousand steps back, even if Jaime didn't come to find him, even if the other party was determined to sentence him to death, Corleone could still deal with it.
At worst, trial by combat.
With [Fate Gamble] in hand, even facing the worst situation, he was confident he could remain invincible.
A meaningful arc slowly curved at the corner of his mouth. Corleone stood up slowly and walked to Rykker.
"Just right, I seem a little hungry."
In Rykker's puzzled and even slightly disgusted gaze, Corleone spoke: "Let's make a bet, Rykker."
"Bet?"
Hearing this, Rykker scanned him up and down, revealing a contemptuous expression: "I see you don't even have a single Gold Dragon on you, what can you bet with me?"
"Never... be blinded by appearances, Rykker."
Corleone didn't get angry but smiled, taking out a Gold Dragon from his chest.
"You just swore that here, even with Gold Dragons, you can't buy a piece of bread. Let's bet whether I can get treatment equal to, or even better than yours, in this prison."
"If I do, then you owe me a favor."
"What, dare to take this bet?"
Hearing this bet, Rykker was stunned at first, then laughed exaggeratedly as if hearing a huge joke.
"Bet! Why not bet?"
He looked at Corleone like he was a madman: "I want to see how you, a commoner without even decent clothes, can live better than me in this hellhole!"
"Owe you a favor? Heh... wait until you win, but everyone knows that's impossible!"
"Remember your promise."
Seeing Rykker agree as expected, Corleone didn't mind his mockery, nodding calmly.
After speaking, he walked straight to the iron bars and spoke rightfully to a guard outside:
"I need a meal, same as his."
He pointed to the things on Rykker's table.
"Of course, my Lord!"
The guard, who was frowning, was stunned by Corleone's sudden request, but then responded with exaggerated enthusiasm: "A prime steak, a pot of Arbor gold wine, I'll get it right away!"
"Do I need to go to the Street of Silk and call a few prostitutes to serve you while dining?"
As soon as these words came out, although the surrounding prisoners feared the guard, they couldn't help laughing at this moment.
Rykker cast a look at Corleone as if looking at an idiot.
Facing this mockery, Corleone's face remained unchanged, pointing at Rykker again: "I don't need it, but my friend here might need it."
"Pah!"
Before he finished speaking, the guard spat thick phlegm fiercely on the ground: "Who the fuck do you think you are, a Lannister?"
"Daring to ask for food, drink, and women, get the hell aside!"
The laughter around grew louder, full of schadenfreude.
However, amidst the piercing ridicule, Corleone remained calm: "I am not a Lannister."
"But I do know a Lannister."
"Ha!"
The guard sneered: "Just you, know a Lannister? I've even whored with the King!"
"Hahaha!!"
"Has this kid gone stupid from being locked up?"
Mocking voices rose one after another, pouring into Corleone's ears.
When they were tired of laughing and the voices dropped slightly, Corleone spoke lightly: "Even the stupidest person is usually smarter than those who only know how to mock them."
"What did you say, stinking brat!!"
Old Moss was instantly enraged, throwing Sven's instructions to the back of his mind.
He suddenly pulled out the truncheon at his waist, walking aggressively to the cell door, intending to teach Corleone a profound lesson.
The prisoners jeered again, waiting to watch a good show. But the moment Old Moss's hand was about to touch the cell door, Corleone leaned forward actively, lowering his voice: "Poor Old Moss~~~~"
"Don't you want to know... how exactly to win back all the money you lost?"