Seeing Corleone's half-smiling expression, Ralf's heart couldn't help but skip a beat, and the smile on his face immediately froze.
But he immediately forced down the unease in his heart and sneered, "Trying to drive a wedge between me and my boss? You fool!"
"Do you have any idea how much money I've made for the boss over the past year, or how much dirty work I've done for him?"
"To tell you the truth, he met with me personally last night and promised with his own mouth that he would do everything in his power to protect me!"
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Having said this, seeing Corleone remain silent, Ralf only felt that the other party was intimidated by his prestige and couldn't help but reveal a smug smile.
Looking around, he saw that the Gold Cloaks had almost turned the Colosseum upside down by now, but they still had nothing to show for it. His smile grew even more radiant.
"Captain!"
"We found nothing. It's very clean; even the ledgers are..." Several Gold Cloaks came forward to report. Hearing their report, Humphrey's expression became increasingly grim.
Damn it...
Glancing at the smug Ralf, he knew very well in his heart that this guy must have received word in advance and transferred or destroyed all the evidence.
There's a traitor among the Gold Cloaks!
But this was also normal. After all, the royal finances were in such a mess right now that not only the brothers under him, but even he, the Captain of the Dragon Gate, hadn't received his salary for months.
To survive in King's Landing where prices were skyrocketing, aside from the children of wealthy nobles, there were probably few in the entire City Watch whose hands were clean.
Himself included.
But understanding was one thing; performing poorly in front of Lord Corleone was another.
He had gone through so much trouble to finish off Sven Rosby; if he messed up what commander Adam had personally entrusted to him, he could forget about being the Captain of the Dragon Gate.
Seeing Humphrey's constipated expression, Ralf pushed his luck even further, even stepping forward and raising his voice like a victor.
"Look at that, dear Captain Humphrey!"
"Your men have searched and inspected, but have they found anything?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Ralf!" Humphrey stared fiercely at Ralf, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword as he threatened, "No one in all of Flea Bottom is ignorant of the filthy things you do. I could find a hundred witnesses at a moment's notice!"
"Hahaha!!!" Such words, devoid of any deterrent, didn't scare Ralf at all. He strode to the door and shouted recklessly to the crowd that had already gathered outside: "Did you hear what Captain Humphrey said, you scum? If anyone has any evidence of my, Ralf's, crimes, please come forward and identify me. The just City Watch will definitely uphold justice for you!"
"Any volunteers?!"
With that, his fierce gaze swept across every familiar face—some were terrified, some numb, some curious, and there were even those who gloated or were indifferent.
But not a single person dared to stand up and accuse Ralf.
Clearly, as the most powerful underground force in Flea Bottom, everyone here feared Ralf's later retaliation.
Seeing this, Ralf sneered and turned to look at Humphrey: "It seems there's been a misunderstanding, Captain Humphrey. I told you long ago that I am a law-abiding merchant."
Then he generously opened his arms: "The brothers have worked hard all morning. Why not stay for a drink?"
"It's all on me!"
This extremely arrogant behavior left the Gold Cloaks looking at each other.
In truth, they really wanted to stay for a free drink, as such opportunities didn't come often, but they weren't blind; everyone could see the murderous look on their captain's face.
For a moment, not one of the dozens of Gold Cloaks dared to speak.
But just as Ralf was filled with pride, thinking he had the upper hand and intending to continue humiliating Corleone to his heart's content...
A burly figure stepped out from the ranks of the Gold Cloaks.
Seeing him appear, Ralf's pupils couldn't help but contract.
However, the man didn't even look at him. Instead, he walked straight to Corleone, knelt on one knee, took out a neatly folded piece of parchment from his breast, and offered it with both hands.
"Very good, my blood of blood."
Corleone nodded slightly, unfolded the parchment, and said in perfectly clear and standard Westerosi Common Tongue: "Martial Slavery Contract!"
As he read the title of the document, the entire Blood Cellar instantly fell silent, and every eye focused on that piece of parchment.
Ralf's expression froze instantly, and an ominous premonition flooded his heart.
"Fake... this is fake!" He instinctively wanted to step forward and snatch it, but two Gold Cloaks, one on each side, blocked him with their crossed iron-headed spears.
"Don't be in such a hurry, Lord Ralf."
Seeing him so anxious, Corleone only responded with a very polite smile and continued reading.
"Contractor: Ralf."
"In the year 299 AC, for the price of ten Silver Stags, purchased a Dothraki named Yigo from a slave caravan from the continent of Essos."
"The contract stipulates that the purchaser, Ralf, has full ownership of Yigo and may command, trade, or compel him to participate in any form of martial contest or gladiatorial combat until death."
"This contract is permanent and cannot be canceled without the consent of Ralf himself!"
Having finished, Corleone calmly held up the parchment so those around could see Ralf's scrawled signature and a crude blood thumbprint at the very bottom.
As soon as Corleone finished speaking, a thud was heard.
Ralf, who had been so smug just moments ago, suddenly stepped back, knocking over a chair, and pointed at Yigo, his whole body trembling violently.
That thin piece of parchment now appeared more blinding than a red-hot branding iron in Ralf's eyes.
But... this thing shouldn't be here!
He had clearly erased all illegal traces, destroyed the ledgers, and even sent away those gladiators who had signed short-term contracts!
One must know that buying and selling slaves in Westeros is a very serious crime. Since thousands of years ago, the Seven Kingdoms have not practiced slavery.
It is widely believed that the Old Gods and the New both utterly detest slavery, and it is explicitly forbidden by law.
The most typical case was several years ago, when Lord Jorah Mormont of Bear Island in The North was sentenced to death by the then Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, for privately selling slaves to the other side of the Narrow Sea.
Although that fellow fled in time and has yet to be caught, the fact that even a lord was sentenced to death fully demonstrates how serious the crime of slave trading is!
Not to mention, Ralf was just a commoner without any title. Once the crime of slave trading was proven, only the death penalty awaited him!
"Impossible, absolutely impossible!"
"I clearly gave all the contracts to the boss last night..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a bone-chilling cold rushed from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
Looking at Corleone's half-smiling expression and remembering the words the other had said earlier—"How can you be sure the big shot won't sell you out?"—a desperate thought flashed through Ralf's mind.
He was no fool; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to scramble through Flea Bottom for so many years and even bring down Rorger to take his place.
The answer was already plain to see.
The only one who could do all this was the "great figure" who had always been hidden behind the scenes, providing him with protection while taking most of his profits.
That person who always wore a faint, ambiguous smile, playing with everything in the palm of his hand...
However, while Ralf was in a state of unrest, the scene that followed pushed him completely into the abyss of despair.
Yigo reached into his breast again, and this time he pulled out a book with a thick cowhide cover.
When that book appeared before everyone's eyes, Ralf's face instantly turned deathly pale, and the last shred of hope in his heart was extinguished.
He remembered it clearly!
Late last night, he had personally sealed this ledger, which concerned his life and livelihood, in a wax box and handed it to that lord!
Inside were recorded the actual income and expenses of the "Blood Cellar," details of bribes, slave transactions, and even all the evidence of murdering nobles!
This was the "report card" he had to submit every quarter, and also the leverage he had to proactively place in the lord's hands!!
"No... you can't open it..." Ralf wanted to step forward and snatch it again, but this time the Gold Cloaks weren't so polite.
Just as he had dealt with Rorger before, an iron-clad wooden stick struck his knee hard. The force was so great that it instantly broke Ralf's joint, and the pale white bone pierced through the flesh, exposed to the air.
"Ah!!!"
The tragic wail echoed through the Blood Cellar. Looking at him like this, Corleone remained calm, nodding elegantly: "I said, don't be in a hurry, Lord Ralf."
Saying so, he handed the ledger to Humphrey.
He had already looked through it last night; the important contents inside had mostly been torn out, and the remaining few were all inconsequential things to the "big shots."
But these inconsequential things were enough to shock someone like Humphrey.
He casually flipped a page and, after just a few rough glances, his expression became incredibly solemn.
Because it clearly recorded how many Gold Dragons were paid to a certain Gold Cloaks captain or member on a specific date.
Its scope was so wide that it actually included nearly one-tenth of the City Watch members!
If this thing were taken out, one could imagine that the entire defense system of King's Landing would be shaken; after all, its involvement was just too broad!
"I... I want to be a witness... I want to report!"
Just then, Ralf, who had finally managed to recover from the intense pain, went completely mad and shouted at the top of his lungs.
He understood, he understood everything.
That "Lord" had no intention of protecting him at all; the other party might have had bigger plans, or perhaps it was just to sever ties with Flea Bottom.
In short, he, Ralf, had been packaged like a gift along with this place and given to Corleone!
The feeling of betrayal was even stronger than the broken leg; Ralf desperately wanted to roar out that name and drag the other person down with him!
"I want to report, the person behind me is..."
"
"Bang!"
But just then, the iron-clad wooden stick swung out once more, even fiercer and heavier than the last strike!
His face took a heavy hit, and Ralf's nasal bone shattered instantly. A section of his entire face caved in, and blood immediately gushed out like a fountain.
Under the intense pain, he opened his eyes only to see a noseless face appear before him, grinning savagely and swinging the stick again.
"Fuck..., Bang!"
Another strike blocked all of Ralf's insults back into his throat, but it wasn't over yet. Rorger very skillfully shoved the wooden stick in his hand crudely into Ralf's mouth and then stirred it frantically.
As it turned out, even the hardest bones in the human body could not compare to an iron-clad wooden stick.
Soon, almost all of the teeth in Ralf's mouth were smashed to pieces, and even his tongue was severed.
Only after Rorger had had his fill did Ralf collapse limply to the ground, unable to speak another word.
"Selling slaves and attempting to attack law enforcement officers—the evidence is conclusive!"
Humphrey completely ignored Rorger's overstepping behavior, only shouting sternly at his subordinates: "Take him away!"
"Yes!"
Two Gold Cloaks stepped forward, yet Rorger still beat them to it, grabbing Ralf by his blood-stained hair and crudely dragging him toward the door.
Ralf's body left a long blood trail on the rough stone floor, but he was already powerless to struggle; even his whimpering sounds were very faint.
Outside the Blood Cellar, the crowd of onlookers was silent.
Everyone was intimidated by this bloody and cruel scene. Watching the once-arrogant Ralf being dragged like a dead dog, seeing that once-fearsome face become a bloody mess, many people instinctively swallowed their saliva.
Dragging Ralf forward with large strides, escorted by the Gold Cloaks, the people also crowded around and followed Rorger's footsteps, heading all the way to the only open space in Flea Bottom.
As the large group left, the Blood Cellar suddenly became deserted.
Corleone did not go with them; instead, he examined the interior environment with interest and paced upstairs.
He casually picked up a jug of wine from a cupboard and found a clean cup to pour himself a drink.
Carrying the wine glass to the window, he pushed it open. At this moment, the sun happened to disperse the thin mist, making the crimson liquid in the cup shimmer.
Gazing in a certain direction, the corner of Corleone's mouth curled into a slight smile, and he raised his glass from afar to take a sip.
At the same time, in the tallest building on Silk Street, a short man who always wore an elegant smile stood by the window, also raising the wine glass in his hand and draining it in one gulp.
In Flea Bottom, beneath a bare flagpole.
A rough rope was looped around Ralf's neck, hanging him up. His feet left the ground, and he instinctively kicked his legs wildly due to suffocation, making a "he-he" sound in his throat.
Rorger turned around, facing the dense crowd, and grinned; his already hideous face looked even uglier.
"Open your fucking eyes and look clearly!"
The raspy voice spread clearly to every corner of Flea Bottom. Even those who didn't dare to step out couldn't help but poke their heads out to cautiously observe the movement here.
After making sure everyone's eyes were on him, Rorger pointed at the dying Ralf behind him and waved the ledger in his hand.
"This man, you should all know him; his name is Ralf!"
"He forced people into slavery and made them kill each other. He and his men treated Flea Bottom like a cesspool and you like maggots in that cesspool. They sucked your blood and then complained that your blood was dirty!"
"I know that maybe among you, some had relatives killed by him and turned into meat soup for sale; maybe your brothers or sisters were once raped by that guy!"
These words reminded many people of what they had experienced at Ralf's hands. They began to stir; anger and humiliation brewed in the silence.
"But today!"
Rorger's voice suddenly rose, his gaze sweeping over every indignant face: "Lord Vito Corleone has come!"
"He has brought new rules! Lord Corleone's rules!"
Saying so, he looked around at everyone, his gaze fierce and determined: "From now on, in Flea Bottom, no forcing and no oppression!"
"Lord Corleone promises to give you a clean way to live, to let your children not have to die in the gutters like rats!"
"But!"
Rorger's tone suddenly shifted, and he said sternly: "Lord Corleone's friendship and protection must be exchanged for your sincerity!"
"Anyone who dares to go against his will, anyone who dares to continue doing evil on this land..."
"
Rorger suddenly drew the bright dagger at his waist: "...will end up like this!"
Hand raised, blade fell.
Pfft!!
The sharp edge cleanly cut through Ralf's windpipe. Blood spurted out, dyeing the flagpole red and splashing onto Rorger's hideous face.
Ralf twitched randomly a few times and finally stopped.
His eyes were wide open, staring fixedly in the direction of Silk Street, as if he couldn't understand why he had been betrayed even in death.
Watching the fall of the once-arrogant Ralf, the people of Flea Bottom had varied expressions: numbness, joy, hatred, hesitation, schadenfreude, and more, all very complex.
However, most of them were apprehensive. With one Ralf dead, this "Lord Corleone" would next take over Flea Bottom; what would their fate be then?
After all, to the big shots, these lowly commoners were sometimes even more disgusting than stray dogs on the street and cheaper than weeds.
But just then, some people began to notice a brand-new flag slowly rising on the roof of the Blood Cellar.
The flag had a pure white background, and in the center was embroidered a huge black palm with five fingers slightly spread.
The posture of that palm was neither like a clenched fist full of aggression nor like an open hand signifying acceptance.
It was more like a kind of all-encompassing sense of control.
Under the people's gaze, this white flag with a black hand slowly unfurled in the bloody morning breeze.
It fluttered at the highest point of all Flea Bottom, silently announcing that this place had welcomed a new master.
And new, unchallengeable rules.
Vito Corleone slowly stepped out of the Blood Cellar's entrance, calmly looking up at the flag with a deep gaze, as if looking at a piece of art that had just been completed.
He didn't speak, but Corleone's will was about to permeate through everything.
From now on, in the lands where
the Old Gods and the Seven have never offered protection, only Corleone's laws are followed.
more chapter available in p@tréøñ(Atoki_29)